CHAPTER IX

THE GOLD COMPANY

Two minutes later I had begun to regret my decision, and to wonder if it was a mistake to stay on the island. I reflected that I was alone, with two strangers. Yet they were posting advertis.e.m.e.nts, and asking everybody in Lanesport to come to the island tomorrow.

They would hardly do that if there was anything shady about them.

From the very first, I had no fault to find with the Professor.

The trouble with the other man was that he seemed to be so very, very GOOD.

"Now, James," said he, "we'll leave the Professor to finish some work here, while you and I go up to the house. ... Wonderful man, the Professor!" he continued, after the latter had vanished down the trap-door, and we had started up the hill,--"wonderful man!

How future generations will bless his name! That is it,--that is all that induced me to become connected with this great enterprise,--the blessedness of it! I would never have anything to do with any work unless it was for the good of my fellowman. I asked the Professor if his work was going to be for the benefit of ALL mankind. He told me that it was. Then I consented to come in with him. He has a marvellous brain."

"What is he professor of?"

"Transcendental chemistry ... He has studied in all the leading universities of Europe. ALL of them. The name of Von Bieberstein will be blessed by generations yet unborn. And how devoutly happy am I that the name of Snider will come in for some of those blessings! It will be a.s.sociated with his in this great work,-- this GOOD work!"

"Is that his name?"

"Professor Von Bieberstein. Yes. And mine is Snider. ... James, I hope you are a good boy."

I said nothing, but if to be a good boy would turn me into anything like Mr. Snider when I grew up, I hoped I was the worst kind of boy.

"You don't use tobacco, I hope, James?"

"No."

"Don't ever do it. It leads to lying. And drinking. I have known the greatest criminals and blacklegs in the city of New York, murderers, and thieves, and men like that,--and they all became what they were through using tobacco. All of them."

We had arrived at the house, and Mr. Snider led the way around to the side-door.

"Here is the platform, you see, James," said he, pointing to the band-stand, "all ready for the gathering tomorrow. Yes. It will be a great occasion. Historic. Nothing that this ancient house has ever seen could match it. And yet I suppose that many of the world's great discoveries were made in places humble and obscure like this. ... Suppose we split a little wood, James, and bring some water from the well. Then we can have supper ready, when the Professor comes back from his work. He is very absent-minded.

Very. His mind is engaged on these problems all day. He would not remember to eat unless I reminded him of it. I have to take care of him,--his life is very precious to the world, James!"

We went to a shed where there was a little kindling wood in one corner. Mr. Snider handed me a hatchet, and I split some wood, while he stood near and talked to me about the importance of being good and virtuous.

"It's the way to be happy, James, and successful, and RICH. Did you ever hear of Abraham P. Fillmore, James?"

"Oh, yes. Lots of times." "Worth ninety million dollars, James!

Think of it! Ninety million dollars!" Mr. Snider licked his lips.

"The richest man in the world, today. Some say that John Sanderson is richer,--but it isn't true. No; it isn't true. The last time I saw A. P. Fillmore, I said to him: 'Brother Fillmore,' I said, 'how do you account for it? How did you do it? How did you GET it?' And he said: 'Caleb,' he said, 'I'll tell you. It was by following the Golden Rule.' That's all there is to it, James,-- just by being GOOD. Isn't that simple, James? Oh! why can't we all do that!"

I looked at Mr. Snider in astonishment. Here was a man who knew the famous millionaire, A. P. Fillmore, well enough to call him "Brother Fillmore," and to be called "Caleb" in return by him. I had seen pictures of Fillmore in the newspapers ever since I could remember,--people were always talking about him. "You must think I am as rich as A. P. Fillmore!"--how many times I had heard people say that! And Mr. Snider, who was on such friendly terms with him, was standing here in a woodshed, talking with me! I wondered why I had never heard of Mr. Snider before.

Presently we went in the house, after we had the wood and a pail of water. The house was almost empty of furniture, and it was pretty dismal. The kitchen was the only room they used downstairs,--it contained a cook-stove, two tables, a couple of broken-down chairs, and some boxes set on end, for seats. An old- fashioned kitchen clock, its hands broken off, stood on a shelf, silent. But a handsome little gla.s.s and gold clock was ticking away in front of it.

The Professor joined us while we were kindling a fire in the stove. He did not seem at all neglectful of his food, he inquired how soon supper would be ready, and suggested that we have some sausages in addition to what Mr. Snider was preparing to cook.

They sent me out to the shed for some more wood, and again to the well for another pail of water, so that we could wash our hands and faces at the sink.

We ate our supper in the kitchen, and as soon as the Professor finished eating he lighted a long cigar. Mr. Snider did not seem to notice this, though it made me wonder why he did not tell his friend how many scoundrels he had known who had come to their downfall through using tobacco. When the cigar was nearly gone, the Professor said he would wash the dishes, if I would help him wipe them. I agreed, and we began the work. Mr. Snider presently started to talk to me once more about being good. He did not get very far, however, before the Professor turned to him and said:

"Oh, shut up!"

Mr. Snider raised his eyebrows, smiled his hideous smile, and relapsed into silence. After a minute or two he went outside, and walked slowly up and down the driveway, with his hands behind his back. When the dishes were finished, the Professor lighted another cigar, sat down at a table, and began to write and figure on a piece of paper.

This wasn't very amusing to me, so I looked about to see if I could find something to do. In a pa.s.sage leading from the kitchen to another room, I found a shelf which held some empty medicine bottles, and four or five dusty books. I took the books down, one after the other. There was "The Life of Rev. Thomas Miltimore,"--I put that back on the shelf. There was "Leading Men of Rockingham County,"--I put that back. Then there was a book of hymns, and Foxe's "Book of Martyrs." I was about to take the latter to the kitchen with me, and curdle my blood again with its ghastly pictures, when I found another book under an old, yellow newspaper. It was "The Rifle Rangers; or Adventures in Southern Mexico by Captain Mayne Reid." The frontispiece, which was protected by a torn and stained leaf of tissue paper, showed a soldier in a tropical forest, being startled by a skeleton which had apparently risen out of the ground. On the t.i.tle-page someone had written in pencil "A mity Good Book." Underneath, in another handwriting, were the words, "you Bett!" This seemed well recommended,--even if the name of the author hadn't been a strong recommendation in itself. A faded legend on a fly-leaf showed that the book had been "Presented to Edward Rogers, on his Fourteenth Birthday, Jan'y 21st, 1852, By his Uncle Daniel."

I took that book back to the kitchen. The Professor had a lamp burning on the table beside him, and I sat down in its light. In a few seconds I was following the adventures of the hero,--a hero whose foot, it seemed "had pressed the summits of the Andes, and climbed the Cordilleras of the Sierra Madre." He had "steamed it down the Mississippi, and sculled it up the Orinoco."

The Orinoco! That magic river with the musical name! I knew it too, and could see it in my mind's eye as I read. The branches of the trees met across the stream,--parrots screamed, monkeys chattered, and scampered from one tree to another. The kitchen, the Professor, vanished from my sight. I was unconscious of the hard, uncomfortable chair in which I sat, and of the dim, sputtering light of the badly trimmed lamp.

What else had he done? He told you about his past adventures, before he began upon the new one. "I had hunted buffaloes with the p.a.w.nees of the Platte, and ostriches upon the Pampas of the Plata; I had eaten raw meat with the trappers of the Rocky Mountains, and roast monkey among the Mosquito Indians." Now, it seemed, he was off for the war in Mexico,--and I could come along with him, if I liked.

I did like, and it was two hours later when I suddenly heard an oily voice saying: "Why, it's half past nine,--James, you're not going to read all night, are you?" Then I came back to Rogers's Island with a b.u.mp, and saw the obnoxious face of Mr. Snider looking down at me. The Professor had left the room, though I had not noticed when he went.

"What is that book, James? Something improving, I trust?"

"It's a fine book," said I.

He took it and looked it over, making a clicking sound of disapproval with his tongue.

"How much better it would be," he observed, "to read some book of useful information, or something with a MORAL! Such a book as this TEACHES you nothing. Couldn't you find anything better?"

I was sorry that the Professor wasn't there, to tell him to shut up. I had no patience to stay and hear a book of brave adventure decried by this sanctimonious looking hum-bug,--whose mouth watered when he talked about old Fillmore and his ninety million dollars. Fillmore, so everybody said, was so stingy that he cut his own hair, and went around looking like a fright, rather than pay a barber. Worse than that, he was hated like fury by all the people who worked for him because he screwed their wages down to the lowest possible figure. But Mr. Snider thought him a great man, and boasted to me of knowing him within ten minutes of the time we met.

I told Mr. Snider that I was ready to go to bed, if he would show me where I was to sleep. He led me upstairs, past two or three rooms, to one in the rear. The floors were all bare, but the rooms had some furniture,--four-post beds, wash-stands, and one or two hair-cloth chairs. The bed in my room had a mattress and blankets, but no other bed-clothes. Mr. Snider bade me good-night, tried to shake hands with me--an attempt in which I foiled him--and softly departed down stairs.

After I was in bed I could hear the murmur of his voice below, as he talked with the Professor. Just as I was dropping off to sleep the voices grew suddenly louder for a moment or two, as if a door had opened somewhere.

"Maybe," I heard the Professor say, "but they'd never send a kid like that."

Mr. Snider answered something,--I could not distinguish the words.

"Oh, rats!" said the Professor, "what could he have seen?"

Again Mr. Snider murmured.

"Oh, sure, sure," the Professor's voice came again, "I was for keeping him, from the first. But just to be perfectly safe. We want to keep him till the first crowd has gone, anyway,--and till the second one has gone, if you say so. I don't care."

Another mutter from Snider; the Professor laughed and spoke again:

"It won't make a bit of difference. Bowditch has got all those hayseeds hypnotised. That's where you come in,--with your pink whiskers. ... Say, that door's open!"

There was a sound of footsteps, and the soft closing of a door.

Presently another door closed, outside, and I heard the two men come upstairs. I jumped out of bed, and locked the door of my room. It was fairly plain to me that I was in the house with a couple of swindlers, of some kind or other, and though I didn't believe they would harm me, there was no need to take unnecessary chances.

They went into one of the front rooms. I heard four thumps, one after the other, as they took off their shoes, and threw them on the floor, so I judged they were going to bed. As I lay there, listening for them to begin to snore, I fell asleep myself.