CHAPTER IX
COLONEL JEPTHA HARRINGTON
The young express agent recognized the tones before he saw the speaker'sface. Only one person in Pleasantville had that mixture of lofty commandand tragic emphasis, and that was Colonel Jeptha Harrington.
As Bart turned, he saw the village magnate ten feet away, planted like arock, and extending his big golden-headed cane as if it was a spear andhe was poising to immediately impale a victim. The colonel's brow was averitable thundercloud.
"Yes, sir," announced Bart promptly--"what can I do for you?"
Bart did not get excited in the least. He looked so cool and collectedthat the colonel ground his teeth, stamped his foot and advancedswinging his cane alarmingly.
"I've come to see you--" he began, and choked on the words.
"May I ask what for?" interrogated Bart.
Colonel Harrington shook, as he placed his cane under his arm and tookout his big plethoric wallet.
He selected a strip of paper and held it between his forefinger andthumb.
"Young man," he observed, "do you know what that is?"
Bart shook his head.
"Well, I'll tell you, it's a bill, do you hear? a bill. It's foreighty-five dollars, damage done maliciously on my private grounds,yesterday evening. It represents the bare cost of a new copper pedestalto replace the one you shot to pieces last night, and it's a wonder youare not in jail for murder, for had that cannon ball struck a humanbeing--Enough! before I take up this outrage with the district attorneyin its criminal phase, are you going to settle the damage, or are younot?"
"Colonel Harrington, I haven't got eighty-five dollars."
"Then get it!" snapped the Colonel.
"Nor can I get it."
"Then," observed the colonel, restoring the bit of paper to hispocket--"go to jail!"
Bart regarded his enemy dumbly. Colonel Harrington was a power inPleasantville, his will and his way were paramount there.
"I am sorry," said Bart finally, in a tone of genuine distress, "buteighty-five dollars is a sheer impossibility--in cash. If you wouldlisten to me--"
"But I shan't!"
"I would like to offer payment or replace the pedestal on reasonableterms."
"It don't go!"
"And, further, I am not to blame in the matter."
"What!" roared the colonel "what's that?"
"It's the truth," asserted Bart. "I never knew the cannon was loadedwith a ball."
"Do you know who loaded it?"
Bart was silent.
"You won't tell? We'll see if a jury can't make you, then!" fumed thecolonel. "Aha! it's serious now, is it? Not so much fun breaking up myhome and breaking up my speech at the grove to-day, hey?"
Bart saw very plainly that what rankled most with his volcanic visitorwas the blow to his pride he had suffered that afternoon at the grove.
"You put me in a nice fix, didn't you?" cried the colonel--"laughingstock of the community! Young man, you're on the downward road, fast.You're all of a brood. Your mother--"
Bart started forward with a dangerous sparkle in his eye.
"Colonel Harrington," he said decisively, "my mother has nothing to dowith this affair."
"She has!" vociferated the magnate, "or rather, her teachings. You'refull of infernal pride and presumption, the whole kit of you!"
"We have our rights."
"I'm a stockholder in the B. & M., and I fancy my influence will reachthe express service. You'll stay in your present job just long enoughfor me to advise your employers of your true character."
Bart was dismayed--that threat touched him to the quick. He had feltvery glad that Mr. Leslie had not met the irate colonel. Themean-spirited magnate noted instantly the effect of his threat.
"You'll insult and defy me, will you?" he cried, with a gloatingchuckle. "Very well--you take your medicine, that's all."
Bart could hardly control his voice, but he said simply:
"Colonel Harrington, my father has been blinded at his post of duty. Iam the sole support of the family. I hope you will pause and considerbefore you plunge us into new trouble and distress that we do notdeserve. I have never had the remotest thought of injuring you or yourproperty in any way. I am willing to make all the amends I am able forthe accidental damage to your property, but I can't and won't cringe toyour injustice, nor grovel at your feet."
"Eighty-five dollars--one, the name of the person who loaded thatcannon--two, C.O.D. before ten o'clock to-morrow morning, or I'll sweepyou off the map!" shouted the colonel.
He marched off, puffing up as his vain senses were tickled with thefancy that he was a born orator, and had just given utterance to someprofoundly apt and clever sentiments. Bart stared after him in sheerdismay.
"It's a bad outlook," he murmured, "but--I have tried to do my duty. Iwould like to have money and influence, but would rather be plain BartStirling than that man. He is coming back."
Bart thought this, for, just about to round the end of a dead freightand cross to the public street, his late visitor turned abruptly.
He did not, however, retrace his steps. Instead, he came to thestrangest rigid pose Bart had ever seen a human being assume.
He stood staring, spellbound, at the partly open door of the nearestfreight car. His cane had fallen from his hand, his head was thrown upas if he had been struck a stunning blow under the chin, and even at thedistance he was, Bart could see that his usually red-puffed face was thecolor of chalk. Almost immediately, through the open doorway space ofthe freight car an arm was protruded.
Its index finger was pointed, inflexible as an iron rod, directly at thecolonel. It fascinated and transfixed the military man, and BartStirling, staring also at the strange tableau, was overcome withperplexity and mystification.