Part 4

"It--I don't want no one to hear me," said the boy, with a motion toward the log and Billy's slim young back.

The Watermelon hesitated, but in the shifty eyes he saw fear and deference. If he knew the Watermelon for a tramp, there would be no deference.

"Gwan, spit it out," ordered the Watermelon. "I ain't keen for the pleasure of hearing any of your heart to heart secrets."

"It's very important," said the boy, "and no one must hear."

"I suppose you think every one is busting to hear your words of wisdom," said the Watermelon. "Probably get a dime a word, eh?"

"It's about you," said the boy, harsh with impatience and nervousness. "It's--" He drew a piece of paper from his pocket and held it out. "He gave me that to send."

"Who are you?"

"The telegraph clerk," whispered the boy, with a frightened glance toward Billy on the log.

The Watermelon read the paper and smiled a slow, sweet smile of anticipated pleasure as the full import of Bartlett's telegram became clear. He glanced at Billy and his smile deepened. Then he turned and drew the boy farther away.

"Bartlett sent this, eh?"

"Yes," cried the boy, eager with excitement over the service he was rendering the great man. "And the minute I read it and knew that you were here, I knew you ought to have it."

"Didn't you send it?"

"Yes, I had to. You see he stood right there. But just as soon as he went, I lit out to find you."

"Where is he now?"

"I seen him on the front porch with Miss Grossman. Say, you'll want to be going now, won't you, huh? You ken get to New York to-night if you hurry."

The Watermelon rattled the coins in his pockets and looked down at the thin, crafty face of the youngster. "Kid," said lie, "if you keep on as you've begun, you'll be doing time, sure. You're a thieving little snipe and ought to be the head of a corporation some day, or a United States senator, 'cause you haven't as much honor as a grasshopper, see? I don't know why you shouldn't land in Sing Sing, if you miss the corporation job or the senate."

"Huh," said the boy, reddening with the praise of the great man.

"If you let on that you have shown this to me, you will lose your job here, you know. So, until I can see my friend, J. Pierpont, about that other job for you, you'd better keep your mouth shut. Understand?"

"Sure," cried the boy. "Course I understand."

The Watermelon handed him a quarter. "When I reach New York," said he airily, "I'll send you me check for a thousand."

*CHAPTER VII*

*WATERMELON YIELDS*

Eager to accomplish the plan he had suddenly conceived, the Watermelon turned and strolled back to Billy, while the boy gazed after such majesty in awed admiration.

"Who was it?" asked Billy, looking up as the Watermelon approached.

"The telegraph clerk," said the Watermelon calmly. "A telegram--and he brought it to me."

He made no motion to sit down and Billy rose.

"I suppose you have to go back," said she. She had to throw back her head to see into his face, for the top of her beflowered hat only reached to his shoulder.

"No," said the Watermelon, preparing the way for the future. "I could take a few days off, if I wanted to. Come on. I might as well try and save the remains of my car after the general has done his best to ruin it. I heard him go into the garage as we got out of sight. The general is more expensive than a motorcar."

"I like the general," said Billy, as they started slowly back.

"I suppose he has been like a grandfather to you," said the Watermelon, glancing down at the top of the big hat. "Don't you want me for a relative of some kind?"

"You said relatives were afflictions," objected Billy.

"I know; but it is only through our afflictions that we can rise to higher things."

"What higher things?"

"Why, Heaven, as I described it last."

They found the general with Henrietta and Bartlett in the garage. The general was kindly superintending the filling of the absent Batchelor's car with gasolene, Bartlett was expounding the merits of his make of car as superior to any other make, while Henrietta sat on the step of the general's car and pretended to be listening.

"I took the liberty," apologized the general, as the other two appeared in the doorway, feeling, on the contrary, that he was doing the young man an inestimable favor.

"Go ahead," said the Watermelon.

"Draw the line somewhere," advised Henrietta. "Father is too fond of trying to see what makes the wheels go round to give him carte blanche with any car."

"I understand a car thoroughly, Henrietta," said the general. "I have always been fond of mechanics."

"I know it, dear," said Henrietta with contrition. "I have always said that if you hadn't been a general, you would have been a master mechanic."

"Thank God, he's a general," whispered the Watermelon into the small ear of Billy.

"To thoroughly appreciate a car, you should take a trip of a week or two," said Bartlett, not glancing at the Watermelon, apparently talking to the general alone. "There is nothing like it. It has revolutionized travel. Have you ever done it, General, spent a month, a week, at least, in your car, going where you wanted, stopping as long as you wanted and as often?"

Assured that Alphonse was attending to the gasolene, the general withdrew his invaluable supervision and turned to the others.

"We spent a week in the car last summer, and we intended to do it again this year, but have somehow put it off."

"It's perfectly delightful," said Henrietta. "You wonder how you ever tolerated a train."

"It is tramping idealized," declared Bartlett.

"It's dandy," cried Billy. "Daddy, do you remember that time we went from Maine straight down the coast to Maryland?"

The general turned to the Watermelon. "I suppose you have grown tired of it," said he, "A young unmarried man can go when and where he wants."

"Oh, I've been around some," admitted the Watermelon modestly. "But never in a car."

"You should try it, my dear sir," said Bartlett. "Upon my word, you have no idea how fascinating it is."

"I never owned a car."

"You do now," laughed Henrietta. "Now's your chance."

"I've no one to go with," replied the Watermelon innocently, smiling down at Henrietta on the car step and not looking at Bartlett.

Henrietta laughed and threw out one of her delicate, graceful hands with a little gesture that embraced the whole group. "You have all of us, now," said she. "We have made you one of us."

Bartlett agreed with a chuckle. Things were coming his way with hardly any effort on his part, as they, had had a way of doing until William Hargrave Batchelor had made himself too annoying. He took it as a good sign and smiled cheerfully.

"You can take us all," laughed Billy.

"A week," said Bartlett tentatively, "in the country, away from telegrams and letters and papers, it would do me a vast amount of good. I have been overworking lately." He nodded gravely, in confirmation of his own remark. "I would like to drop everything, now, this minute, crank up the car and start, no matter where, any place, any road. You don't need clothes. The lighter you travel, the better. You can put up anywhere you happen to be for the night, and, if you get lost it does not matter, merely adds to the fun and affords an adventure."

"It sounds alluring," said Henrietta. "Suppose we all go, just as we are!"

"We could," cried Billy. "Why, Dad, we could do it easily. I have that linen dress I wore yesterday, and my brush and comb and things, and you have yours."

"But the general and Henrietta," objected Bartlett. "They only ran up here for the day, my dear. They may not have anything."

"Yes, we have," cried Henrietta, "We planned to stay a week or two and sent a trunk along. We could easily pack a suit-case."

"Oh!" exclaimed Billy. "Do let's do it."

"I noticed a suit-case in your car, Batchelor," Bartlett turned to the Watermelon, genially. "I judge you are planning to take a few days' jaunt somewhere."

"I was thinking of it," acknowledged the Watermelon, with truth, lounging gracefully in the doorway.

Bartlett laughed. "We are crazy, all of us," said he and waved the suggestion aside as a whimsical fancy best forgotten.

"Oh, Daddy, please," teased Billy.

"But, Billy, child, the others don't want to do it, the general or Batchelor."

"I want to," said Henrietta, "and so does the general. Father, wouldn't you like to take a trip in the car somewhere for a week or two?"

The general's attention had wandered back to the car. He turned abstractedly. "Do what, Henrietta?"

"Take a trip in the car for a week or two."

"Yes, we must plan one later, as we did last summer."

"But we mean now, father, start right now."

"Now? Henrietta, you're foolish, my dear."

"No, indeed, father. Why not now? 'Do it now' is your favorite motto, you know."

"It is impossible," and the general, also, dismissed the subject.

Bartlett thrust his hands in his pockets and appeared absorbed in his car. He knew Billy.

"Why impossible?" asked Billy, laying a small hand on the general's arm. "You were going to spend a week here. Why not spend it in your car? You have no engagement, have you?"

"No," said the general, smiling into her pretty face. "But what about clothes?"

"Clothes," laughed Billy, "why, clothes--"

"Be hanged," said the Watermelon.

Bartlett laughed. "Quite so. Wash out on the line, general. Better come."

"Pretend the Indians have risen," said Henrietta, "and you are given an hour to get into marching order."

"Ah, yes," cried the eager Billy, patting the arm she clung to. "You used to do it, General, why, in half an hour, out on the plains."

"What do you know about it, puss?" asked the general.

"Didn't you?" pleaded Billy.

"Yes," said the general, who always gave in to a pretty woman. "I used to. In those days we were always ready for a fight."

"So you will go? I knew you would."

"But Mr. Batchelor may have to return to the city," suggested Henrietta, glancing at the Watermelon.

Bartlett shot a glance at the young man and began to whistle softly through his teeth as he indifferently raised the bonnet of his car and examined the clean, well-ordered machinery within. Would Billy's charms be enough to hold the young man against his better judgment? Could he forget what the next week meant to him, forget the lure of the Street, the rise and fall of stocks, in the light of a woman's eyes, in the sound of a woman's laugh? If Billy could not keep him, what could? He must be kept. A week with him out of the way, the ring could be renewed, strengthened, that which was lost, regained. Bartlett bent low over his car, but he heard Billy, sweetly speaking to the Watermelon.

"You don't have to return to the city, do you? You would much rather go with us, wouldn't you?"

The Watermelon glanced at Bartlett. If he accepted too readily, Bartlett might wonder, yet if he hesitated, if he thought apparently of how important his presence in the city would be in the coming week, even if there were to be a few days of armed neutrality, it might seem even more impossible that he would consent to go.

"Can't you join us, Batchelor?" asked the general. "You've made enough for one while. When you run out of that three million, you can go back. Time enough then."

"Swollen fortunes are a crime nowadays," said Henrietta, smiling her odd, half gay, half tender smile.

"Come ahead, Batchelor," urged Bartlett with friendly good nature, neither too eager, nor too insistent, but his eyes were half shut and the palms of his hands wet as he rubbed them on his handkerchief.

"We will start to-night," said Billy. "It will be beautiful. In the night, driving is perfectly lovely, you know, Mr. Batchelor."

"Better come," advised the general. "We can keep in touch with the telegraph. It's not as if we were going into the wilds of Africa."

"No, indeed," said Bartlett. "I have interests in New York, myself, that I want to keep an eye on."

Billy laid her hand on his arm. "Won't you come?" she teased.

The Watermelon looked down, under the brim of her hat, into the gray-green eyes and smiled.

"Yes," he said simply. "I would like to."

*CHAPTER VIII*

*GRATITUDE IS A FLOWER*

James lay in the shade of the butternut tree and smoked gloomily. He was well-shaved and his hair newly cut and carefully brushed, but his clothes were still the rags that had graced his muscular form since the dim, nearly forgotten long ago, when he had stolen them one lucky night from some back yard passed in the course of his travels.

He squinted at the sun through the tree tops and judged it to be about four. The Watermelon had evidently done no better or he would have turned up before. Mike, sprawled in the grass beside him, slept with the stentorian slumber of the corpulent. James kicked him.

"Aw, wake up," he growled. "I want your rare intelligence to unbosom me sorrowful and heavy heart to."

Mike yawned, stretched and sat up, pushing his shapeless hat to the back of his round hot head. He drew his sleeve across his streaming forehead and yawned and stretched again.

"You ought to relax, James," said he, cutting a square from the plug of tobacco that he carried carefully wrapped in a soiled piece of tinfoil. "Youse will have noivous prostration one of these days with the strenuous life youse leads. The modern hurry and worry is all wrong. Now, take me--"

"No one would take you, not even a kodak," sneered James, scowling before him moodily.

"The matter with you, James," said Mike, sticking the tobacco into his mouth with the blade of his knife, "the matter with you is youse are harboring and cultivating that green-eyed monster called jealousy. Youse are, in short, jealous of me young friend, the Watermillion."

"Aw, jealous of a kid! Who? Me? Not on your tin-type."

"You say so, James. We all deny the werminous cancers that gnaw our vitals. But look into your own heart, question yourself--"

"Aw, pound yer ear," snapped James.

Some one was heard approaching and Mike paused from cleaning the blade of his knife in the ground before him to listen.

"The youth comes," said he, and rose clumsily to his little fat legs. He stepped aside to see up the path, but James did not move.

"A radiant vision of manly beauty," announced Mike, one hand on his heart, the other shading his small eyes as though dazzled by a great and brilliant light.

James glanced up sullenly. A youth was coming through the trees, tall and graceful and broad-shouldered. His suit of soft brown, his gently tipped panama, his light shoes and silk socks brought with them a breath of motor-cars and steam yachts, of the smoker in a railway train, with a white-clad, attentive porter, instead of the brake beam underneath and an irate station-master and furious conductor. From the lapel of his coat gleamed a heavy gold chain and in his stylish tie a pin of odd but costly workmanship caught the eye of the enraptured beholder.

Mike laid his hand on his heart again, removed his hat, and standing aside for the youth to pass, bowed low.

"Me lud," said he in humble salutation.

James glanced up from his seat under the butternut tree. He regarded the vision of affluence before him a moment in growing admiration and awe. Then he removed his pipe and spoke.

"You'll get three years for this," said he cheerfully, and put his pipe back into his mouth.

"Three nothing," sneered the Watermelon.

"Jealousy," said Mike, putting his hat on the back of his frowsy head. "Jealousy maketh the tongue cruel and the heart bitter. Me," he spread forth his fat dirty hands, "me beauty is such it gives me no concern. I realize youse can not gild the lily."

The Watermelon drew himself up to his full height, threw back his shoulders and fastidiously adjusted his cuffs, with their heavy gold links.

"With every passing moment, more beautiful," murmured Mike.

James snorted.

"Well," asked the Watermelon, "who gets the prize?"

"Me humble faculties," said Mike, with one wary eye on James, "me humble faculties are incapable of rendering true and accurate judgment in the present case where two such rare specimens of manly beauty compete in my honored and deeply grateful presence."

The Watermelon laughed and ran his hand over his smooth chin and hairless cheeks with a gesture of gentle pride. "James said if I could not get a suit, I would be counted down and out. I," and he drew himself up, "I do not have to take advantage of a mere technicality. I scorn to win by default."

"True nobility," said Mike, "is in them words."

"Aw, cut the gas!" growled James. "Where'd you get the blooming outfit?"

"I win, do I?" persisted the Watermelon.

"Mike's the judge," returned James, losing interest in what was too obviously a one-sided contest.

"In this competition, there are three points to decide," declared Mike, not quite sure whom he feared the more, James or the Watermelon. "Beauty of face, beauty of clothes and beauty of soul. The one who gets two points out of the three wins."

The Watermelon nodded, James grunted.

Mike glanced thoughtfully from one to the other and decided that danger lay in either choice. "Neither of you," said he slowly and wisely, "win. For unexcelled art in raiment, me young friend here might be said to be the only competitor. For rare physical beauty and winning charm in looks, unaided by mere externals, me friend and fellow-citizen, James, gets the just reward, and for pure, manly beauty of the soul, truth, which I always follow, compels me to give the prize to me humble self."

"Aw," growled James, "this ain't no show. We will have another."

The Watermelon hitched up his trousers and chose a clean seat on a fallen log. When coat and trousers legs were adjusted so as best to keep their faultless creases, he spoke with the bored accents of the weary scion of great wealth.

"I'm starting for a motor tour with some of me friends," said he.

"I," said Mike, "have always felt for you as for a dear and only son."

"Gwan," said James imperiously. "Where did you get the glad rags?"

The Watermelon told them briefly how from a nameless hobo a few short hours before, he had become a famous young financier, hobnobbing with generals and millionaires. He chuckled as he told it with the half-cynical amusement of the philosopher for the follies of the poor, seething, hurrying, struggling crowd of humanity, too busy in their rush for gold and social position to see their own laughable pitiful shams and affectations. Poverty clears the eyesight as nothing else can, and the Watermelon had been poor so long and was so indifferent to his position that he had lost none of his clearness of vision in the strenuous endeavor of the others, and he saw, unconsciously, but nevertheless keenly, the dead level of human nature, with its artificial hills of gold and social position.

"Me father, I believe, is a policeman," said he. "Me mother a wash-woman. If I had a grandfather, no one knows. I'm fortunate to have a father and no questions asked, yet just because I can write me check, as they think, for a million and have it honored, I'm 'my boy' to the elite of the land, the 'best people.' Gosh, it's enough to make an ass bray."

"It is that," said Mike. "For me, only the intrinsic worth of the soul. Maybe there was a bit of change in the pockets?" he added as an afterthought.

"Yes, there was quite a bit. He's fresh at the game and carries a roll to show off with," returned the Watermelon, pulling a roll of bills from his pocket. Mike edged a bit nearer. "See here, I want you fellers to do something for me."

"For you," said Mike, "I would give me immortal soul."

"I want something more than that, Mike," said the Watermelon.

"Me plug of baccy?" asked Mike with feeling.

The Watermelon shook his head as he slowly pulled a greenback from the bunch he held. "I want you two to go to that lake, get my clothes out of the log and give 'em to the poor devil."

"Don't be a fool," advised James. "He's all right. Nothing will happen to him."

"I know, but I keep thinking of him. He can afford to lose what he is going to lose, but all the same, he's cold and tired."

"Aw, don't go and do that," pleaded Mike. "He'll have youse arrested--"

"I ain't going to be around here; besides, no one would think of looking for me with the swell bunch I'm going with."

"Maybe not," admitted James gravely, "but there's always the danger that some cop will have brains. And he's bound to get away to-night, all right, and have the bulls on you the minute he does. You had better take all the time you can to get away and don't try to shorten it none."

The Watermelon slowly unwound another bill and nodded. "I know, but I'm sorry for him. A few hours won't make much difference. He hasn't the slightest idea who swiped his clothes. He'll think some tramp did and that the feller is getting out of the country by cross-cuts and as fast as he can. Don't you see? No one will look for me with the general and Bartlett. I'm going to have a week of fun--"

"Maybe," said James gloomily. "Hardly, if you give that bloke his clothes before you need to."

The Watermelon waved the statement aside. "We are going to leave about five," said he. "They are waiting for me, now. It will take you a bit of a walk to find the place. I put the clothes in an empty log near a pile of rocks at the foot of three tall pines, standing together about ten yards from the lake. You can't help but find it. Give him the clothes and this check-book and fountain pen. I can't use them and you two won't get gay with them 'cause Mike's a coward, and James has too much sense."

"You're a damn fool," said James shortly.

"He's all right," argued Mike, meaning the man in the forest shades. "What can hurt him?"

"I know, but he's mighty uncomfortable. Can't sit down, maybe, and there may be flies and mosquitoes--"

"Naw," protested Mike. "He's just comfortable. If it was the style, I would like to have gone naked to-day."

"He'll have the police after youse," warned James, "as soon as he can reach the village."

"Sure he will. Gratitude is a flower," said Mike grandiloquently, "that I have never picked."

"And never will," added James with grim pessimism.

"That's all right," returned the Watermelon. "I ain't gathering any flowers this trip. Here's a ten-spot for each of you, and mind you do what I say."

"For you," said Mike, "I'd give me heart's blood."

"Where do we find this pond?" asked James.

"Come with me and I'll take you to the road that leads by it. You give me time to get to the hotel, though, before you give him his clothes."

"Trust me," said Mike, lovingly concealing the greenback in the dark dirty recesses of his rags.

They parted in the road where the Watermelon had come upon the big red touring car. Mike and James watched him until he disappeared over the top of the hill, then climbed the wall and made their way through the woods to the little mountain lake.

"We won't get the clothes," said James, "until we have had a talk with the guy and tried to get him into a reasonable frame of mind. It's just likely that he may be somewhat put out."

There was no one in sight as they made their way cautiously to the edge of the lake. The trees grew nearly down to the narrow, pebbly beach and were reflected in the quiet depths of the water. The little brook, tumbling over its miniature waterfall, with a ripple and splash, was the only sound that broke the all-pervading silence. Nothing stirred in the underbrush, neither man nor beast, and James and Mike were about to slip away as quietly as they came when a stick snapped behind them sharply and Mike wheeled.