Produced by Afra Ullah, Brett Koonce and PG Distributed Proofreaders
AUNT JANE'S NIECES ON VACATION
BY
EDITH VAN DYNE
1912
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE HOBO AT CHAZY JUNCTIONII THE INVASION OF MILLVILLEIII THE DAWN OF A GREAT ENTERPRISEIV THE WAY INTO PRINTV DIVIDING THE RESPONSIBILITIESVI MR. SKEELTY OF THE MILLVII THE SKETCH ARTISTVIII THE _Millville Daily Tribune_IX TROUBLEX THURSDAY SMITHXI THE HONER'BLE OJOY BOGLINXII MOLLY SIZER'S PARTYXIII BOB WEST INTERFERESXIV THE DANCER SIGNALXV A CLEVER IDEAXVI LOCAL CONTRIBUTORSXVII THE PENALTIES OF JOURNALISMXVIII OPEN WARFAREXIX A MERE MATTER OF REVENGEXX DEFENDING THE PRESSXXI THE COMING OF FOGERTYXXII UNMASKEDXXIII THE JOURNALISTS ABDICATEXXIV A CHEERFUL BLUNDER
CHAPTER I
THE HOBO AT CHAZY JUNCTION
Mr. Judkins, the station agent at Chazy Junction, came out of his littlehouse at daybreak, shivered a bit in the chill morning air and gave aninvoluntary start as he saw a private car on the sidetrack. There weretwo private cars, to be exact--a sleeper and a baggage car--and Mr.Judkins knew the three o'clock train must have left them as it passedthrough.
"Ah," said he aloud; "the nabobs hev arrove."
"Who are the nabobs?" asked a quiet voice beside him.
Again Mr. Judkins started; he even stepped back a pace to get a betterview of the stranger, who had approached so stealthily through the dimlight that the agent was unaware of his existence until he spoke.
"Who be you?" he demanded, eyeing the man suspiciously.
"Never mind who I am," retorted the other in a grumpy tone; "theoriginal question is 'who are the nabobs?'"
"See here, young feller; this ain't no place fer tramps," observed Mr.Judkins, frowning with evident displeasure; "Chazy Junction's got all itkin do to support its reg'lar inhabitants. You'll hev to move on."
The stranger sat down on a baggage truck and eyed the private carreflectively. He wore a rough gray suit, baggy and threadbare, a flannelshirt with an old black tie carelessly knotted at the collar, a brownfelt hat with several holes in the crown, and coarse cowhide shoes thathad arrived at the last stages of usefulness. You would judge him to befrom twenty-five to thirty years of age; you would note that his facewas browned from exposure, that it was rather set and expressionless butin no way repulsive. His eyes, dark and retrospective, were his mostredeeming feature, yet betrayed little of their owner's character. Mr.Judkins could make nothing of the fellow, beyond the fact that he wasdoubtless a "tramp" and on that account most unwelcome in this retiredneighborhood.
Even tramps were unusual at Chazy Junction. The foothills were sparselysettled and the inhabitants too humble to be attractive to gentlemen ofthe road, while the rocky highways, tortuous and uneven, offered noinvitation to the professional pedestrian.
"You'll hev to move on!" repeated the agent, more sternly.
"I can't," replied the other with a smile. "The car I was--er--attachedto has come to a halt. The engine has left us, and--here we are, I andthe nabobs."
"Be'n ridin' the trucks, eh?"
"No; rear platform. Very comfortable it was, and no interruptions. Thecrazy old train stopped so many times during the night that I scarcelywoke up when they sidetracked us here, and the first thing I knew I wasabandoned in this wilderness. As it grew light I began to examine mysurroundings, and discovered you. Glad to meet you, sir."
"You needn't be."
"Don't begrudge me the pleasure, I implore you. I can't blame you forbeing gruff and unsociable; were you otherwise you wouldn't resideat--at--" he turned his head to read the half legible sign on thestation house, "at Chazy Junction. I'm familiar with most parts of theUnited States, but Chazy Junction gets my flutters. Why, oh, why in theworld did it happen?"
Mr. Judkins scowled but made no answer. He was wise enough to understandhe was no match in conversation for this irresponsible outcast who knewthe great world as perfectly as the agent knew his junction. He turnedaway and stared hard at the silent sleeper, the appearance of which wasnot wholly unexpected.
"You haven't informed me who the nabobs are, nor why they choose to besidetracked in this forsaken stone-quarry," remarked the stranger,eyeing the bleak hills around him in the growing light of dawn.
The agent hesitated. His first gruff resentment had been in a mannerdisarmed and he dearly loved to talk, especially on so interesting asubject as "the nabobs." He knew he could astonish the tramp, and thetemptation to do so was too strong to resist.
"It's the great John Merrick, who's got millions to burn but don't lightmany bonfires," he began, not very graciously at first. "Two years agohe bought the Cap'n Wegg farm, over by Millville, an'--"
"Where's Millville?" inquired the man.
"Seven mile back in the hills. The farm ain't nuthin' but cobblestonean' pine woods, but--"
"How big is Millville?"
"Quite a town. Eleven stores an' houses, 'sides the mill an' a bigsettlement buildin' up at Royal, where the new paper mill is jeststarted. Royal's four mile up the Little Bill Hill."
"But about the nabob--Mr. Merrick, I think you called him?"
"Yes; John Merrick. He bought the Cap'n Wegg place an' spent summer'fore last on it--him an' his three gals as is his nieces."
"Oh; three girls."
"Yes. Clever gals, too. Stirred things up some at Millville, I kin tellyou, stranger. Lib'ral an' good-natured, but able to hold their own withthe natives. We missed 'em, last year; but t'other day I seen ol' Hucks,that keeps their house for 'em--he 'n' his wife--an' Hucks said they wascumin' to spend this summer at the farm an' he was lookin' fer 'em anyday. The way they togged up thet farmhouse is somethin' won'erful, I'mtold. Hain't seen it, myself, but a whole carload o' furnitoor--an' thensome more--was shipped here from New York, an' Peggy McNutt, over t'Millville, says it must 'a' cost a for-tun'."
The tramp nodded, somewhat listlessly.
"I feel quite respectable this morning, having passed the night as theguest of a millionaire," he observed. "Mr. Merrick didn't know it, ofcourse, or he would have invited me inside."
"Like enough," answered the agent seriously. "The nabob's thet recklessan' unaccountable, he's likely to do worse ner that. That's what makeshim an' his gals interestin'; nobody in quarries. How about breakfast,friend Judkins?"
"That's my business an' not yourn. My missus never feeds tramps."
"Rather ungracious to travelers, eh?"
"Ef you're a traveler, go to the hoe-tel yonder an' buy your breakfas'like a man."
"Thank you; I may follow your advice."
The agent walked up the track and put out the semaphore lights, for thesun was beginning to rise over the hills. By the time he came back acolored porter stood on the platform of the private car and nodded tohim.
"Folks up yit?" asked Judkins.
"Dressing, seh."
"Goin' ter feed 'em in there?"
"Not dis mohnin'. Dey'll breakfas' at de hotel. Carriage here yit?"
"Not yit. I s'pose ol' Hucks'll drive over for 'em," said the agent.
"Dey's 'spectin' some one, seh. As fer me, I gotta live heah all day,an' it makes me sick teh think of it."
"Heh!" retorted the agent, scornfully; "you won't git sick. You're toowell paid fer that."
The porter grinned, and just then a little old gentleman with a rosy,cheery face pushed him aside and trotted down the steps.
"Mornin', Judkins!" he cried, and shook the agent's hand. "What aglorious sunrise, and what crisp, delicious air! Ah, but it's good to bein old Chazy County again!"
The agent straightened up, his face w
reathed with smiles, and cast an "Itold you so!" glance toward the man on the truck. But the stranger haddisappeared.