Get Rich Quick Wallingford Part 25

"I think I can see all I want to remember of it from here," he objected; "but anything's better than nothing. Shall we go, Vi?"

"That's us," replied the vivacious bride, who was already beginning to respond to all Mr. Wallingford's suggestions with more alacrity than either Mrs. Wallingford or Mr. Daw quite approved. "Let's go wake 'em up, Jimmy. Ring for a carriage."

The invaluable porter was already exchanging his white coat and ap.r.o.n for his dark-blue coat and derby, and, in another moment, that dusky autocrat, his face calm with the calmness of them who dwell near to much money, had asked the crowd outside the way to a livery stable.

Billy Ricks projected himself instantly through the a.s.semblage. "I'll show you," he said eagerly.

The autocrat surveyed Billy Ricks briefly and gauged him accurately.

"Suppose you go get the best two-horse carriage, to seat four, that you can find in town," and in Billy's palm he pressed a half dollar.

The excitement grew intense! The millionaires were positively to appear!

Doc Gunther's best "rig," his rubber-tired one, came rolling down Main Street, turned, and drew up near the car. The porter, now wearing his official cap, jumped down with his stepping box. Ah-h-h! Here they came!

First emerged huge, sleek Mr. Wallingford, looking more like a million cleverly won dollars than the money itself. Mr. Daw stepped down upon the gravel, tall and slender, clad in glove-fitting "Prince Albert," his black mustache curled tightly, his black eyes glittering. Descended the beautiful, brown-haired Mrs. Wallingford, brave in dark-green broadcloth. Descended the golden-haired Mrs. Daw, stunning in violet from hat to silken hose. Perfectly satisfactory, all of them; perfectly adapted to fill the ideal of what a quartette of genuine nabobs should look like! Under the skillful guidance of Mr. Wallingford they pranced up Main Street, of fully as much interest and importance as any circus parade that had ever wended its way along that thoroughfare.

The town of Battlesburg, converting a level, dusty country road into "Main Street" for a s.p.a.ce, lay across the railroad like a huge tennis racquet, its hand grip being the manufacturing district, its handle the business quarter, its net the residence section; and here were the first cross streets, little, short byways, the longest of them ten or twelve blocks in extent, and all ending against the fences of level fields. As they rode through the town, however, its pavements stirred to unusual liveliness by the great event, the impression that here was a place of merely sleeping money grew and grew upon J. Rufus Wallingford and appealed to his professional instincts.

"Some town, this," he concluded, turning to Mr. Daw. "They have rusty wealth here, and, if somebody will only give it a start, it will circulate till it gets all bright and s.h.i.+ny again. Then you can see by the flash where it is and nab it."

"Heads or tails to see who gets it," suggested Mr. Daw, and drew a dollar from his pocket.

"Heads!" called Mr. Wallingford, pulling on the reins, and just in front of the Baptist Church the fate of Battlesburg was decided.

Mr. Daw flipped the coin in the air over Mrs. Wallingford's lap. Upon the green broadcloth the bright silver piece came down with a spat, and the G.o.ddess of Liberty faced upward to the sky.

"I win the place!" exulted J. Rufus as they rolled on out past the cemetery and toward Battles' Grove. "I don't know just yet how I'll milk it, but the milk is here."

"You wouldn't honestly come back to this graveyard, would you?" inquired Mrs. Daw. "Why, you'd die."

"If I did, I'd die with money in both hands," responded Wallingford. "I can smell money, and I don't think there's a pantry shelf in this town without some spare coin tucked away in the little old cracked blue teapot. All you have to do is to play the right music, and all that coin will dance right out. I shouldn't be surprised that I'd come back here and toot a tune."

"There's no danger just yet a while," laughed Mrs. Wallingford. "You have too much wealth. In spite of this trip I never saw you get rid of money so slowly."

"He's a good enough spender for me," stated Mrs. Daw, with a sidelong glance at him from her round blue eyes. "He's a good sport, all right."

"I rather like this town, Jim," interposed Mrs. Wallingford quickly, catching that glance. "Let's do come back here and start up a business of some sort."

"I'm glad I lost," declared Mr. Daw vehemently. "It's too far away from a push b.u.t.ton."

He also had seen that glance. It was nothing to which he could object, of course, but he did not like it. A damper had somehow been put upon the spirits of the party, and, after they had driven far out of sight of the town, Mrs. Wallingford suggested that they had better turn back.

"I don't know," said her husband, looking at his watch. "We have nearly an hour and a half yet, and we can easily make it from here in half an hour."

"But what a long, long ways we are from a drink, if we wanted one,"

objected Mrs. Daw. "Just think of all that fizzy red wine in the ice box."

"You're a smart woman," declared J. Rufus with laughing enthusiasm, "and you win! Back we go."

They had scarcely proceeded a mile upon the return trip, however, when a shrill whistle screamed behind them. They turned, and there across the fields they saw a pa.s.senger train whizzing along at tremendous speed.

The same thought came to them instantly.

"I thought there wasn't another train in that direction until 3.45,"

exclaimed Mr. Daw, "and now it is only 2.40!"

The team was abruptly stopped, and both men gazed accusingly at their watches. Suddenly Wallingford swore and whipped up the horses.

"We've Western time!" he called over his shoulder.

The explanation, though depressing, was correct. They had thought that they were over the line in the morning, and had set their watches ahead.

When they discovered their error they had let it stand and had forgotten about it. They made the trip back to Battlesburg at record speed, and just beyond the cemetery they met Billy Ricks, in the middle of the road. He had been running.

"Number Two's jus' been through, an' it took away your private car!"

gasped Billy.

Mr. Wallingford, gazing straight ahead, made no intelligible answer, but he was muttering under his breath.

"Your colored gentleman tried to stop 'em," Billy went on with enthusiasm, delighted to be the bearer of good or ill tidings so long as it was startling, "but the conductor cussed an' said he had orders to stop here and take on private car 'Theodore,' an' he was goin' to do it.

Number Two didn't even stop at the depot. It jus' backed on to the sidin' an' took your private car an' whizzed out, an' the conductor stood on the back platform d.a.m.nin' Dave Walker till he was plumb out o'

hearin'!"

Mrs. Wallingford smiled. Mr. Daw chuckled. Mrs. Daw laughed hilariously.

"Ain't that the limit?" she demanded. "Let's _all_ be happy!"

"I jus' thought I'd come on out and tell you, 'cause you might want to know," went on Billy expectantly.

For the first time Mr. Wallingford looked at him, and the next minute his hand went in his pocket. Billy Ricks drew a long breath. Two half dollars for officious errands in one day was a life record, and he trotted behind that carriage all the way to the depot, where Mr.

Wallingford, with the aid of Dave Walker, immediately began to "burn up the wires." It seemed that the management of the P. D. S. positively refused to haul the "Theodore" back to Battlesburg. It was not their fault that the pa.s.sengers had not been aboard at the time they were warned Number Two would stop for them. They would hold the car at the end of that division, and instruct their agent at Battlesburg to issue transportation to the four on the next west bound train; and that was all they would do!

The only west bound train that night was a local freight; the only west bound train in the morning was the accommodation which had brought them to Battlesburg; then came Number Two, the next afternoon. They drove straight to the Palace Hotel and met the only man in Battlesburg who was not impressed by the high honor that a lucky accident had bestowed upon the city and upon his hostelry. Suspicion, engendered by thirty years of contact with a traveling public which had invariably either insulted his accommodations or tried to cheat him--and sometimes both--had soured the disposition of the proprietor of the Palace and cramped his soul until his very beard had crinkled. Suspicion gleamed from his puckered eyes, it was chiseled in the wrinkles about his nose, it rasped in his voice; and the first and only thing he noted about Mr. J. Rufus Wallingford and his splendid company was that they had no luggage! Whereupon, even before the multi-millionaire had finished inscribing the quartette of names upon his register, he had demanded cash in advance.

Judge Lampton, who had edged up close to the register, was shocked by this cra.s.s demand, and expected to see the retired capitalist give Pete Parsons the dressing down of his life. Instead, however, Mr. J. Rufus Wallingford calmly abstracted, from a pocketbook bulging with such trifles, a hundred-dollar bill which he tossed upon the desk, and went on writing. As impa.s.sive as Fate, Pete Parsons turned to his safe, slowly worked the combination, and still more slowly started to make change. In this operation he suddenly paused.

"Billy," said he to the ever-present Ricks, "run over to the bank with this hundred-dollar bill and see if Battles'll change it."

For just one instant the small eyes of Wallingford narrowed threateningly, and then he smiled again.

"Show us to our rooms," he ordered. "Send up the change when it comes."

He laid down the pen, but his hand had scarcely left the surface of the book when it was clutched by that of Judge Lampton.

"In the name of the judiciary and of the enterprising citizens of this place, I welcome you to Battlesburg," he announced.

Mr. Wallingford, "always on the job"--to use the expressive parlance of his friend Mr. Daw--drew himself up and radiated.

"Thank you," he returned. "I have already inspected your beautiful little city with much pleasure, and all that you need to make this a live town is a good hotel."

The Judge shot at Pete Parsons a triumphant grin. Ever since Mr. Lampton had been denied credit beyond the amount of two dollars at the Palace Hotel bar, himself and Mr. Parsons had been "on the outs."