Chapter Seven
Which Presents the Developments of the Curious Festival of “Take-it-Back Day” in Which Miss Harriet takes Back a Certain Resolution and John Riddles and J. Reginald Travers Each Opens the Door of His Spirit.
“TAKE-It-Back Day” had arrived. Posters had announced that, at the conclusion of the program, the Martin farm would be sold at auction. Riddles, whose friends had returned to Belleharbor, remained in Coulterville for that unique festival. He spent Sunday playing golf and in a long ride with David Galt, which had ended in a dinner-party at which the Martins were present.
“To-morrow I expect to see you turn over a new leaf, and try to reform,” he had said to Miss Harriet at the table. “You have much to take back.”
“Too much for one to carry,” she announced.
“I'll give you a hand if you will let me,” he suggested. “I shall drive out for you and your mother—if I may—right after luncheon.”
The people from the village, and many from the country houses on the hills around it, assembled in the park that day. It was a curious affair. The fountain pool had been emptied and turned into a great booth filled with garden tools and house hold articles. People were “taking it back” and shaking hands in token of good will. Women who had said spiteful things of their neighbors were apologizing and being kissed. The names of sundry people were called from the big booth. On their coming forward envelopes containing divers sums of money were given them from unknown sources. This was said to be conscience money coming back after many years with interest added.
The most notable feature of this part of the program was an annuity of one thousand a year for life to Mrs. Henry Taylor of Connors, who was present to receive it. The Reverend Mr. Wells announced that the gift was from Mr. and Mrs. J. Reginald Travers. Goods of any value which were unclaimed were to be sold at auction for the benefit of the Y.M.C.A.
A local clergyman made a prayer and a speech and two children spoke pieces. Then Erastus Waters—the notorious profiteer—announced his intention of building a hospital for the village by way of giving back part of his earnings. Old Ab Risley—the village drunkard—enlivened the proceedings with a new note. He declared that he had once said that Rat Waters was a rascal. He had been drunk when he said it, and did not realize the injustice he was doing. He wished now to take it back and give him his full due. He was a damn rascal. How nice of him to build a hospital for those who were sick of his robberies! As to himself he would prefer a check.
“Me an' Rat Waters have done a lot for this town," he added. “Now he has give it a hospital an' I have give it an opinion.”
When Risley had sat down, who should rise and go to the platform but Mary—the gray-haired woman in black whom Riddles had seen so often in the park those summer days. She was calm and self-possessed, and spoke with a pleasant smile in saying:
“Many kind words have been said to me. Many things have been taken back. For these I am grateful. The money which has come to me here—from whom I can only guess—will help to purge my heart of its bitterness. But no one can give back my youth or the good name it bore which was unjustly taken from me. Those who did it I have forgiven and now I seek only peace and the love of my neighbors.”
THE auctioneer was a man of wit and imagination. He kept the crowd laughing with fanciful bits of history relating to the objects on sale.
When at last the Martin farm was offered, Riddles thought it was done in terms not calculated to stimulate the desire to possess it. It was run down, the auctioneer declared, the buildings needed repair and the land some fertilizing, but it was a good farm with an exceptional view of the hills and river valley. What was he offered.
Erastus Waters started the bidding.
“Twenty thousand dollars,” the auctioneer repeat. “Who will say twenty-five?”
Riddles rose and said, “I will bid forty thousand.”
“Forty-five,” Waters shouted with a scarlet face.
“Sixty thousand,” said Riddles, and the sympathetic crowd began to applaud him.
Half a moment of silence followed while the finger of the auctioneer pointed at Mr. Waters.
“Sixty-five!” the latter shouted.
“Seventy-five,” Riddles rejoined.
Waters turned toward his adversary. The notion had come to him rather suddenly that he was really bidding for the hand of Harriet Martin for his son. Riddles' view of the situation was not quite so serious. He was really bidding to save the ladies from a sense of obligation to Waters, and to insure them a comfortable surplus above their debts.
“Does the gentleman understand that this is a cash transaction?” Waters demanded.
“Perfectly,” Riddles answered.
“Then I bid eighty thousand.”
“One hundred thousand,” was the bid of Riddles.
WATERS threw up his hands, shook his head and sat down.
“Backed off the dump!” Ab Risley shouted amid laughter and applause and John Riddles was declared to be the owner of the Martin farm.
The prosecuting attorney came to him with congratulations.
While they were talking they were interrupted by Erastus Waters.
“I have new evidence in the matter of the Connors murder,” he declared. “It involves this man and another. I am going to demand a hearing before the grand jury.”
“I should advise you to take that back,” said Riddles. “I came here with peaceful intentions, but I have evidence which would put your son in prison. The thing for you is peace; but if you want war I am prepared.”
“Mr. Waters, I know all about this man,” said the prosecuting attorney. “He is right when he says that he could make you trouble. You had better not begin knocking anybody. As to the Connors case, I shall be glad to talk with you in my office, but I do not think that you have made any discovery which will be new to me.”
“Well, what's the use of fighting anyhow!” Waters exclaimed as he offered his hand.
“If we can not be friends we need not be enemies,” said Riddles.
The latter finished his business with the auctioneer. As he was leaving the park with the ladies, he turned to Harriet Martin and said:
“Now you are free to do as you like. There is no string on you. The sale gives you enough above your debts to confer a degree of independence. I hate to have you marry Percy, but if you really want to I shall give you some facts and then, if you persist, my blessing.”
“To tell you the whole truth, I don't want to,” she answered.
“Then perhaps you would consider me?”
“No,” she answered. “I would not consider you a minute.”
“Why not?”
“I would say yes very quickly.”
“Thanks! I shall go home with you and there we shall attend to all the details.”
“I had it in mind yesterday to make a historic suggestion,” said she.
“What is that?”
“Speak for yourself, John,” she answered with a laugh.
While Harriet and her mother were shopping. Riddles met Mr. J. Reginald Travers.
“Travers,” said the mill owner, “I would like to know something of your past.”
“Often I think that I know very little about it myself,” said Travers. “I do not mind telling you in confidence that I used to be an actor—a very good actor in England. I went to the war and got rather careless with human life. I came out of it seeing red and drinking red. Came over here and went broke, and joined a labor union in the trade I had known as a boy. Now I am back on the stage again playing second lead in a really great part. I love it, but the performance is endless and there isn't a brick or a red flag in the play so far. I'm rather glad. Curious how your sympathies change with your circumstances.”
Riddles looked into his eyes and understood.
“I hope you are happy,” he remarked.
“Let me tell you a little story,” Travers proposed. “It is quite thrilling. I lived for a time in a dugout over in France. There were thirty-two steps in the stairway that led down to it. On either side of the stairway were pockets in which bombs were kept. When an attack came we grabbed some bombs on our way up and at the top step were ready to meet the enemy. Each bomb had a pin on one side that discharged it. You gave the pin a shove and then you had to get rid of that little thunderbolt and quickly. Four seconds later it went off and tore itself and everything near it into bits. One day a fellow near the top of the stairs carelessly dropped a bomb. I, down in the dugout, saw it come hopping from step to step toward me. Would it strike the pin or not? That was the question. It didn't. It rolled to my feet and stopped.”
“ONE couldn't stand that every day,” said Riddles.
“Unless one has to,” Travers laughed. “It's a highly emotional part so far, but I have got along with it very well. Rather in my line, you know. Good-by, the madam is waiting. Thanks for all you have done.”
Before leaving town Riddles went to say good-by to the prosecuting attorney. “My friend,” said the latter, “you were wrong. Travers did not kill Taylor. I have here the written confession of the man who did it. He was a friend of Travers who had fought at his side in France. He saved Travers's life one night. Brought him into camp badly wounded under fire. Our friend took the Connors crime on himself as an act of gratitude. The confession is supported by the affidavit of an eye-witness.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Riddles asked.
“The guilty man will be punished but not severely. I learn that while the brick may have hastened the death of Taylor it was not the direct cause of it. He had an incurable disease from which he had long suffered.”
“Well it occurs to me that there are few who can play the part of a gentleman more successfully than J. Reginald Travers,” said Riddles.
THE END