Bart did not get excited in the least. He looked so cool and collected that the colonel ground his teeth, stamped his foot and advanced swinging 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 took out his big plethoric wallet.

He selected a strip of paper and held it between his forefinger and thumb.

"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 for eighty-five dollars, damage done maliciously on my private grounds, yesterday evening. It represents the bare cost of a new copper pedestal to replace the one you shot to pieces last night, and it's a wonder you are not in jail for murder, for had that cannon ball struck a human being--Enough! before I take up this outrage with the district attorney in its criminal phase, are you going to settle the damage, or are you not?"

"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 his pocket--"go to jail!"

Bart regarded his enemy dumbly. Colonel Harrington was a power in Pleasantville, his will and his way were paramount there.

"I am sorry," said Bart finally, in a tone of genuine distress, "but eighty-five dollars is a sheer impossibility--in cash. If you would listen to me--"

"But I shan't!"

"I would like to offer payment or replace the pedestal on reasonable terms."

"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," a.s.serted Bart. "I never knew the cannon was loaded with 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 the colonel. "Aha! it's serious now, is it? Not so much fun breaking up my home and breaking up my speech at the grove to-day, hey?"

Bart saw very plainly that what rankled most with his volcanic visitor was 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--"laughing stock 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 do with this affair."

"She has!" vociferated the magnate, "or rather, her teachings. You're full 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 reach the express service. You'll stay in your present job just long enough for me to advise your employers of your true character."

Bart was dismayed--that threat touched him to the quick. He had felt very glad that Mr. Leslie had not met the irate colonel. The mean-spirited magnate noted instantly the effect of his threat.

"You'll insult and defy me, will you?" he cried, with a gloating chuckle. "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. I am the sole support of the family. I hope you will pause and consider before you plunge us into new trouble and distress that we do not deserve. I have never had the remotest thought of injuring you or your property in any way. I am willing to make all the amends I am able for the accidental damage to your property, but I can't and won't cringe to your injustice, nor grovel at your feet."

"Eighty-five dollars--one, the name of the person who loaded that cannon--two, C.O.D. before ten o'clock to-morrow morning, or I'll sweep you off the map!" shouted the colonel.

He marched off, puffing up as his vain senses were tickled with the fancy that he was a born orator, and had just given utterance to some profoundly apt and clever sentiments. Bart stared after him in sheer dismay.

"It's a bad outlook," he murmured, "but--I have tried to do my duty. I would like to have money and influence, but would rather be plain Bart Stirling than that man. He is coming back."

Bart thought this, for, just about to round the end of a dead freight and cross to the public street, his late visitor turned abruptly.

He did not, however, retrace his steps. Instead, he came to the strangest rigid pose Bart had ever seen a human being a.s.sume.

He stood staring, spellbound, at the partly open door of the nearest freight car. His cane had fallen from his hand, his head was thrown up as if he had been struck a stunning blow under the chin, and even at the distance he was, Bart could see that his usually red-puffed face was the color of chalk. Almost immediately, through the open doorway s.p.a.ce of the freight car an arm was protruded.

Its index finger was pointed, inflexible as an iron rod, directly at the colonel. It fascinated and transfixed the military man, and Bart Stirling, staring also at the strange tableau, was overcome with perplexity and mystification.

CHAPTER X

QUEER COMRADES

So many sensational occurrences had marked the last twenty-four hours of Bart Stirling's career, that it seemed as though the acc.u.mulating series would never end.

It was a particularly ragged and miserable-looking arm, and why it could so summarily check, halt and hold the great magnate of Pleasantville, was the problem that now tried Bart's reasoning faculties.

Bart closed the door of the express office and stepped out to where he could get a clearer view of the colonel and his environment.

Suddenly the strain was removed. The colonel threw up his arms with a gasp. He started to turn around, clutched at his neck in a strangling kind of a way, tottered, reeled, and plunged forward on his face against a heap of cinders.

"This is serious," murmured Bart.