# Riddles (Bacheller)/Chapter 3

From Everybody's Magazine 1921 May, pp. 36-37.
Chapter Three
The Young Millionaire, having won the Confidence of his Employers and being Highly Sympathetic, Becomes a Useful Butler, and Interests Himself in the Welfare of a Young Lady and Her Mother. He Learns also of the Plans and Profiteering of Erastus Waters and Lays a Plan of His Own.
“WE HAVE decided to give you a room in the house now that the maids are gone,” Mrs. Martin said to Riddles on his return. “You will have a bath and books to read if you care for them. Come, I will show it to you.”
“The bath will be kind o' soothin',” said Riddles as he followed her.
When they had come to the room she added: “Here are some clothes and boots which belonged to my husband. I wish you would try them on and let us see how you look. Would you mind?”
“Not a bit,” Riddles answered.
“Try the riding-breeches and the gray coat. When you are ready, come down to the sun parlor.”
There were a number of suits of clothes and undergarments hanging in the closet. There were soft, flannel shirts and collars and neckties on the chiffonier. Riddles took a luxurious bath and put on clean underclothes and the riding costume of the late Mr. Martin, all of which fitted him fairly well.
“My word!” Miss Harriet exclaimed as he entered the sun parlor. “I wouldn't know him.”
“Nor I. He's quite a different man,” said Mrs. Martin. “If you don't mind, I wish you would help my maid with the luncheon. Mr. Waters is going to be here and we'll have to make out the best we can. After luncheon I want you to ride down to Bellemead with Harriet and try to get a cook.”
Riddles broiled the steak while the maid baked the crust for the shortcake and heated a can of soup. The maid, who was not accustomed to cooking, burnt her hand in the oven and was not able to do the serving.
“Don't worry, ma'am. I'll jump in and do my best,” Riddles said to Mrs. Martin when the latter came into the kitchen.
He was an admirable butler. That dining-room had never seen a more perfect or a more dignified service. As the luncheon progress Mrs. Martin told of her troubles. She had had bad luck in speculation. Her debts were pressing.
“How much do you owe on this place?” Waters asked.
“Thirty-five thousand dollars and the other debts are as much more. But my equity in the New York house is more than enough to cover them.”
“I'd sell this place,” said Waters. "It's an elephant on your hands. It has been walking on you. Get rid of it. Put it up at auction, then nobody can complain of the price it brings.”
“I am in love with this farm,” said Harriet with a look of alarm.
“I'll bid it in and see that it brings enough to pay the debts,” Waters answer. “If anybody will pay you more, I'll meet them. Then you can live here as long as you like and have no trouble with the details of management. I'll build a farmhouse and put a man here to look after it. I could use the produce in my stores at Coulterville and Nutwood.”
About three o'clock Riddles and Miss Harriet Martin set out for Bellemead. He was an admirable rider, as the young lady was quick to observe.
"Smith. is there anything that you can not do?” she asked. “You are a mysterious man. We don't know what to make of you.”
“Don't try to make anything of me—my father tried that long ago and failed. Then I took up the job and have made—some whiskers and a few resolutions.”
“And at least two friends and a capital likeness of Uncle Sam,” said Miss Harriet. “I'd love to see you dressed for the part. If you don't object, I'm going to call you Uncle Sam, Jr.”
“Go ahead. I don't mind being your uncle—if—if you need one and will be kind to me.”
THEY were near the grove where Riddles had given away his clothes. In a cornfield, nearly opposite, he saw a scarecrow dressed in the faded, ragged and familiar garments of the tramp, which had been left on the river shore. It was crowned with the old straw hat. They rode on to the thriving little city where they found that there were no servants to be had on short notice.
“Never mind, I have a very good plan,” said Riddles as they started back.
“What is it?” Miss Harriet asked.
“I'll lay out the work and each will have his job and we'll all get busy. You see there will be no one sleeping in the hay meadow and coming up to meals. I'll cook the beefsteaks if you'll agree to keep your temper while you're eating 'em. Also, I will do the marketing and mind the garden. Mary can do the waiting and the down-stairs work.”
“And mother and I will attend to the chambers. I love to work. I had thought of your plan but, honestly, I didn't dare to propose it.”
“Why?”
“For fear you'd give notice and quit.”
“Now that I see you're willin' to do your share, I give notice that I shall not quit until your trouble has backed up an' turned around an' begun to move away.”
“I'd love to know how it happened that you became a tramp farmer,” the young lady remarked after a little silence.
“That is not a tale for the saddle. It would be dangerous. You'd need to have both feet on the ground an' somethin' to lean on. Besides, you wouldn't believe it until—until you know me better. I can hardly believe it myself. Some time, on a rainy day. I'll tell you the story.”
When they rode up to the gate young Percy Waters was standing there. He assisted Miss Harriet to dismount and greeted Riddles with these words:
“Smitty, you look like a new man. Why don't you cut that bunch of whiskers off your chin?”
“That's my fool catcher,” said Riddles as he took out a pencil and began to make an entry in a little memorandum book. "It's somethin' like the cowcatcher on a locomotive. Ye see when a man gits careless at the muzzle end of a set of whiskers an' didn't know they was loaded, he's it. Every time I meet one I put down a straight mark. This time I guess I'll put down two—'cause there's some that counts double.”
Miss Harriet laughed as Percy changed color. The young man was filled with confusion while Riddles rode away with the horses.
“I sure got mine—didn't I?” said Percy.
“You sure did!” the young lady answered. “That fellow is some man, believe me.”
Then she told of Riddles's talk with Cawkins and of his work in the kitchen and dining-room.
That evening Riddles drove to Coulterville in one of the Ford cars. There he found a letter, sent in care of Mrs. Martin, which has its bearing on the events of this little history. This is the letter:
   Dear Smith: I am in the way of getting a fine job—just the one of all others for which I am qualified by nature and education. God knows I dislike to ask you for more help, but a trifle of one hundred dollars—for while it is much to me, I can not help thinking that it is a trifle to you—would clear the way for me to success. It would help me to go forward, a wiser man with all my errors behind me. You are my only friend and I have a sublime faith in your goodness, dear Smith. Do not fail me and I promise you an achievement worthy of your patience.
   Sincerely yours, J. Reginald Travers.
Riddles bought a check from Bullwether and sent it on that night with a note which said:
   Dear Travers: I enclose the check you ask for. I am not easily discouraged. I hope that the investment will turn out well, and that whatever your past has been there will be no mistakes in the future.
   Sincerely, Smith.
Riddles learned that evening from Bullwether that the man Cawkins had been spreading evil gossip regarding Mrs. Martin and her daughter and hinting at dark thoughts regarding the intimacy of the latter with the new hired man. The disguised mill-owner was indignant. Until after ten o'clock he sat in the store with a group of men who were exchanging reminiscences of the village.
“It ought to be called Thief Center,” said Ezra Jenkins, a retired farmer with a full beard. “There are more pious, unconvicted thieves in this place than in any other part of the uncivilized world. The worst part of it is they don't suspect themselves. They're so busy watchin' other folks that the real criminal gets away with the goods right under their eyes. I cal'late that a man who is a thief an' don't know it is worse off than one that's better informed.”
“What do you mean?” asked the Reverend Horace Wells, the young Presbyterian minister.
“I mean the folks who keep borryin' things an' never give 'em back—or take all the value out of 'em before ye see 'em again,” Mr. Jenkins answered.
“That's right! Yes, sir!” exclaimed a chorus of voices.
“Why, one feller borry'd my wheel-barrer an' busted it an' patched it up a little an' sent it back—spoilt,” Mr. Jenkins went on. “A woman borry'd a pound o' butter an' sent back some that was so bad we couldn't use it. Another woman borry'd seventy-five cents an' has been three years tryin' to think to pay it back an' ain't succeeded yet, an' she's well off, too.”
“I've had all kinds o' things borry'd from me—umbrellas an' saws an' rakes an' augers an' gimlets an' hammers an' a real split-bamboo fish-rod,” said Henry Silcock, the village carpenter.
“An' never seen 'em ag'in,” said the pessimistic Mr. Jenkins.
“Oh yes, I have—I've seen 'em often in the other feller's hands,” Mr. Silcock affirmed. “Once I asked a man for a saw o' mine that he was usin' an' he was so mad he ain't spoke to me since.”
“There's a town in the West where, once a year, they have what they call a 'Take-It-Back Day,'” said the Reverend Wells. “Every one goes over his effects carefully and takes back what has been borrowed. If he can not remember where he borrowed it he takes it to the village park where its owner may find and claim it. It is a kind of 'Tell-the-Truth Day'—a day of public confession, a day of forgiving and good will. If any man has wronged his neighbor he can take it back and clean his conscience if he wishes to do so. Of course, it's a great chance for the ministers. They go to work and get the town ready for this day of days. It would be a salutary experience for the village of Coulterville.”
“Why don't you try it?” the new hired man asked.
“I've been thinking of that,” Mr. Wells answered. “I'm going to get the other ministers together and talk it over.”
When Riddles left the store that evening he went to a certain bench in the park where he had an appointment with Henry Bradshaw. In the course of their talk the former said:
“I wish you would have a talk with the Reverend Wells about his plan for a Take-It-Back Day. Tell him you have a friend of means who likes the idea and will do what he can to help.” Their talk was interrupted by the thorny tongue of Ab Risley, who came along laughing as if he were having a good time with himself.
“Say, me and Rat Waters have got some job on our hands,” he declared. “Percy has been up to his tricks ag'in.”
“What has Percy been doing?” Bradshaw asked.
“TOOK a couple o' gals over to Spellman's an' got 'em drunk an' had an awful careless time. Me an' the ol' man have been flyin' around to-day an' have got it all hushed up. One o' the gals is over to Black Mary's an' is purty sick. Don't you say a word. We've spent hundreds o' dollars to keep it quiet.”
“As a matter of fact, Mr. Waters left one leak in the pail,” Bradshaw said to Riddles as they left the park together. “That leak was Ab Risley. He knows all the undercurrents of our life.”
“Is Percy really so bad?” Riddles asked.
“He is the limit,” Bradshaw answered. “Yet, his father's wealth and influence have kept him from disgrace. He moves in the best society.”