# Riddles (Bacheller)/Chapter 5

From Everybody's Magazine 1921 June, pp. 47-49.
Chapter Five
Riddles out on Bail, gets Home and Presently Returns for Examination with his Friend John Galt and Credentials, and Learns of the Singular Plight of the unsuspected Mr. J. Reginald Travers. He Goes to the Martin Farm in Purple and Fine Linen with his Friend, and Finds that Miss Harriet Has a Mind of Her Own—very like the one under His Hat.
THE next day Riddles, clean-shaven and in a fashion of dress familiar to his friends, entered the office of the factory in Belleharbor. The men had returned to their work.
“What a change!” said Galt as he greeted the master of the works. “You look as fit as when you were captain of the football team years ago. Your skin has the hue of copper; your eyes are as bright as a boy's.”
“Yes—it's your turn now,” Riddles answered. “I see the men have come back.”
“They had counted on a fight,” said Galt. “When they found that they had no one to fight with, they were disappointed. Suddenly the black pall of prohibition had fallen on the town. It was bone-dry. The gin-mills ceased to grind. They were filled with gloom, anger and profanity. Their proprietors decided to show the people what prohibition meant. The barrooms were dusty, unwept and dimly lighted. Most of their help had been discharged. Nothing but soft drinks at the bar. There wasn't a ripple of excitement on the Bryany deep. The glowing lights, the polished mahogany, the ruby gleams in glittering crystal, the merry toast, the songs of cheer had been follow by the silence and the solemn dusk of the tomb and the uninviting look and flavor of root beer and sarsaparilla.
“The enthusiasm of the strikers lacked the stimulation to which it had been accustomed. Home and near-beer and beefsteak could not long support it. At home the kids were bawling and the wife scolding more or less. The wife couldn't strike. Her work had to go on. She was naturally irritated by her man and his friends loafing about the place, and littering the floor, while they were waiting for their meals. They were in the way. Under these circumstances idleness became intolerable. Soon a committee came to me with a perfectly sane and reasonable demand. We had no difficulty in reaching an agreement and the works were opened.”
“I also have good news to report,” said Riddles. “I have found the girl. She is a wonder—good-hearted, witty, modest, beautiful and gifted with common sense.”
“And you didn't make love to her?”
“I couldn't, even if I had had a mind to turn traitor.”
“Why not?”
“That's a long story and I haven't time to go into it now. I've been playing fool, and some day I'll confess the details.”
Within a day a letter from Henry Bradshaw notified Mr. Riddles that their attorney had secured an adjournment of the examination for one month, as its date interfered with the holiday plans of the prosecuting officer.
It was late in August when Riddles set out for Coulterville in his big, new limousine with three guests: Galt, the mayor of Belleharbor, and the president of the First National Bank of that flourishing city. On the way he told them the story of his adventurous holiday. It was often interrupted by merry laughter. In that village up in the hills of New England, Riddles introduced himself and his friends to the prosecuting attorney.
“I AM the late Reuben Smith,” said Riddles when they were seated, “and I am here to prove my innocence of all the crimes and misdemeanors with which I am charged.”
“Here are papers which will prove his identity,” said the mayor of Belleharbor as he passed sundry documents to the smiling prosecutor.
The latter examined them hurriedly, arose from his chair and said politely:
“Mr. Riddles, if these gentlemen will excuse us for half an hour or so, I should like to talk with you in my private office.”
The two retired to an inner room. The attorney closed its door, and placed a chair close to his own for Riddles.
“I am glad you have come,” he began with a smile. “I am in disgrace with the political leaders of this county and you are in a degree responsible for it. Therefore, I feel that I have a right to all the help you can give me. I've got to square myself with old David Galt or go down to posterity as a failure. He calls me a bum prosecutor. Here are the facts as I have them: You were walking on the state road from the west on or about the seventeenth of June. You rode with a pedler to a point on the river shore known as Pine Grove. There you left him for rest. While you were resting a tramp came along. You had a talk with him. He interested you in his welfare to such an extent, that you bought a farm suit from the pedler on his return from Hope Center, and gave the clothes off your back to the tramp. They were good clothes and fitted him. It was a singular act, and a blow to law and order in this county. It enabled a criminal to get away. He was a well-set-up man of about your own build. He had been bathed and shaved and shorn. He probably looked like a gentleman. I presume you loaned him money. The tramp left, and probably got a ride out of this part of the country with some passing tourist. You, seeking exercise and new adventures, had assumed the dress and manners of a hired man and the name of Reuben Smith. What I should like to know is this. How did you chance to take the name of Reuben Smith?”
“The tramp suggested it,” said Riddles.
“Was he a friend of yours?”
“No, he was no friend of mine.”
“THEN he was a clever man!” the attorney exclaimed with a laugh. “It had been the name under which he had committed a serious crime. Now before you had left the grove, Mr. J. Reginald Travers—a wealthy Englishman—walking for his health, came along and got acquainted with you. Then both joined a picnic party from which you went home with the Martins, and he went with Mrs. Pulsifer and the Cornings. Now, I have a question to ask. Have you any further knowledge of the tramp you befriended? Have you seen him or heard from him since the seventeenth of June?”
“That question I shall not answer unless I am compelled to,” Riddles replied.
“Then we shall put you under oath,” said the attorney. “Surely, you do not wish to defeat the processes of justice.”
“No, but if you knew the man as well as I do, I am inclined to think that you would not wish to disgrace and punish him even if it were possible.”
“Still, that is a matter for me to decide,” the attorney insisted. “The examination will come on to-morrow. Then, of course, you will have to tell the truth. Meanwhile. you had better let me know what is coming. It will be easier for all of us. ”
“I am in a rather embarrassing position. Give me a few hours in which to think it over,” said Riddles.
“Only give me your word that you will appear at the justice's office at ten in the morning. It would delay and embarrass us if you were to leave the state.”
“I give you my word for that,” said Riddles.
“Your word is sufficient. Some of us know you pretty well here. If the people of this town knew you as well as I do, they would be strewing roses in your path. And, by the way, our leading citizen—Mr. David Galt—is giving a dinner to-night at the Country Club to his new brother-in-law, Mr. J. Reginald Travers—a man, you know, who is highly esteemed here. I have the matter in charge, and I am sure that I shall be expressing his wishes when I ask you and your friends to that dinner.”
“I think I can speak for my friends and tell you that we shall be glad to join your party,” Riddles answered.
That morning Riddles and his superintendent, Mr. John Galt, left their friends at the inn and rode out to the Martin farm.
“I was never quite so excited in my life,” said Galt.
“You may well be,” Riddles answered. “You are going to meet the sweetest girl in America—bad luck to you!”
“I appreciate your kindness—old man,” said Galt.
“I hate it,” said Riddles. “I'll recommend you; but remember, if she turns you down it's me for the breach.”
There was the house. As they turned in at the familiar gate. Riddles felt a thrill that brought the color to his face. His thoughts were as busy as swallows before a rain. He was not now and would never be again the drawling, whiskered, illiterate Uncle Sam, Jr. He was in purple and fine linen with the urbane manners of Riddles of Belleharbor. The big, silent, glowing limousine with its silver mountings—so unlike the mud stained “Maggie toters” in which he had traveled that road—was the modern symbol of opulence. Harriet and her mother were cutting roses near the front door. The car stopped near them. They looked a little frightened in their morning frocks. Harriet dropped her roses and began to feel her hair. It could not have been more becomingly disarranged. A little strand of it loosed by the breeze flickered on her red cheek, and she was trying to catch it
“I'M GLAD to see you wearing that frock—I always liked it,” said Riddles as he got out of the car. “I am the late Reuben Smith, suspected of many crimes and guilty only of deceiving you with a foolish masquerade.”
Miss Harriet looked at him for half a moment while her cheeks grew redder. She stepped forward and gave him her hand with a merry smile, and with a pretty touch of dignity in her manner.
“My goodness!” she exclaimed. “What a change! But you never deceived me. I knew that you were a gentleman.”
“And I owe you many apologies,” said Mrs. Martin.
“Being in your debt, the apologies should come from me,” Riddles answered. “I have brought a young man with me who wishes to meet your daughter.” Turning to Miss Harriet he added: “You have heard me speak of him. May I introduce my friend, Mr. John Galt?”
“We shall be glad to meet him,” said the young lady.
Mr. Galt stepped out of the car and was presented. Miss Harriet greeted him rather coolly. The party sat down on the veranda.
“We have mutual friends,” Galt said to the young lady. “The Gordons of New York. I expected to meet you in their house last winter, but was called away. I have seen you, now and then, at St. Bartholomew's. The last time I saw you was on the dock of the Cunard company. You were saying good-by to some friends.”
“He never forgets a face worth remembering,” said Riddles.
“Do we not all see faces in the crowd that passes us which we love to remember?” Galt asked.
“And, soon or late, we see the one face that has the great light in it,” said Riddles. “Gee! I've slipped into poetry, but I can put a stop to that. I am going down to look at the pigs. They would put out the fire of a Tennyson. That's what's the matter with America—too many pigs! Too many antidotes for poetry!”
“IF YOU don't mind, and mother and Mr. Galt will excuse us, I'll go along with you,” said Miss Harriet. “I think a look at the pigs would do me good.”
They walked down a lane between two fields of rye.
“I like this place,” said Riddles. “I like the distant hills and the meadow flats and the fine old house and its inhabitants. It's like the farm I was raised on.”
“Some time I should like to see that farm,” said the young lady.
“I'd like to show it to you. It's not so far from here.”
“We're naturally interested in you. Smith—excuse me—I believe I am to call you Mr. Riddles hereafter—we have heard so many things about our hired man since he left.”
“What have you heard?”
“Oh, all about your wealth and public-spirit and general greatness. The world is little, and the prosecuting attorney was on your trail. It's all very strange and wonderful.”
“It's like seeing in the moonlight when every object takes on a look of grandeur. I warn you that I am a very small and foolish man. I have brought a real man with me. I have tried him out. He is wise and gentle and big-hearted. He fell in love with the look of you more than a year ago.”
“Poor fellow! Somehow his look does not impress me,” said Miss Harriet.
“Why?”
“I don't know. Perhaps, it's because he isn't big enough and then—he's too slow.”
“How? You've only known him for a quarter of an hour. Give him a chance.”
“Well, you know, I'm only a girl; but if I saw a young man that I liked and knew where to find him, it wouldn't take me a year to make his acquaintance. Not on your life.”
“But he has had a lot to do in the last year.”
“And bad judgment as to the main issue. He doesn't know what to neglect. He may be a good business man, but as a lover he is a joke. Thanks for your kindness, but I am disappointed. You have gone and brought the wrong man.”
“What a riddle is a woman's heart! I want you to ask him to dinner and really get acquainted before you form an opinion.”
“It will do no good. Don't worry about me. My plans are made.”
“Perhaps you are already engaged?”
“Not quite. But my mind is not like my hair this morning. It is made up.
I know what I am going to do.”
“Your hair never looked better. As to your mind, I'm going to reserve my judgment,” said Riddles.
“In behalf of my hair, I say thanks,” she answered. “I am sure my mind never looked worse. It's a disorderly and neglected mind with a lot of rubbish on the floor. I'm glad you can not see it.”
“I am going to be very brave and ask you to open the door of your mind and give me a look at its plans.”
“And I am going to be very 'cagey,' as you men like to put it, and tell you to wait and see. Can you come to dinner this evening, and—you may bring your friend if you care to?”
“I am sorry. We are to dine with Mr. David Galt at the Country Club. He is paying a compliment to his new brother-in-law.”
“Oh, then I will see you there. I had not quite decided to go. I think our time is up. They will be looking for us and we haven't seen the pigs. On the whole, I think we had better not look at the pigs.”
“That's a noble thought! Let us remain unsullied. Being a modern farmer, your mother will think that we have been attacked by an infuriated pig.”
Mrs. Martin and John Galt met them at the head of the lane.
“We have good servants now and could not think of letting you go until after luncheon,” Mrs. Martin said to Riddles.
“Besides, you have treated us unfairly,” Miss Harriet added. “You have taken us by surprise, and here we are in our working clothes and you so immaculate—in spats and silk and lovely soft tweed and polished leather—and I with a stunning new morning suit in the closet which I have never worn. You simply can not go away until you have seen it.”
“I LONG to see it,” said Riddles. “Besides I'm hungry. As to our unheralded arrival, what else would you expect from a rather sentimental hired man who was accustomed to seeing you in simple clothes, and who wanted to see you just as you used to look. I thought of telephoning, but I didn't know how.”
“The hired man game doesn't go with me any longer,” Miss Harriet said. “You're forgiven on condition that you two will take a walk until we are ready. Don't forget to show the pigs to Mr. Galt, and please don't hurry him.”
When the young men returned from their walk the ladies met them at the door.
“Now we are trying to show a proper respect for our hired man,” said Miss Harriet.
“It's a beautiful gown. You couldn't look lovelier.”
“But my blood is drying up with sorrow,” the young lady answered. “The butler has left. Struck for more money, and when I refused it, he cleared out bag and baggage.”
“Good! Here's where I get back on my old job,” said Riddles as he rose from the table. “Please let me. I shall love it.”
So Riddles was permitted to bring the food from the pantry. He did it with a severe but kindly dignity; and would take no part in the talk until each course was served, and he had sat down at the table. He kept the party laughing with his playful humor, and finally “gave notice” that he would have to look for another place.
“You are like all the butlers,” said Miss Harriet. “We pay you the price you ask and then you want more.”
“I do not have privileges enough,” said Riddles with a laugh.
“You may think better of that,” the young lady answered. Monday we have what is called a 'Take-It-Back Day' in Coulterville. It will be a day for the righting of old wrongs—a day of 'owning up' and paying back and turning new leaves in the book of life. The Y.M.C.A. and the Christian Endeavor people have been working up a lot of surprises. The ceremonies are to be held in the park. You will have a chance to see your errors and confess them.”
“That's too big a contract,” said Riddles. “It would take me a week to get through.”
Near the middle of the afternoon the young men started for Coulterville.
“She is all that I thought, but I can see that my case is hopeless,” said Galt as they were riding along. “I am like poor Standish. I sent the wrong ambassador.”
“Old man—honor bright!—I have tried to keep faith. I have done my best for you in spite of the fact that I am in love with the girl myself—a thing I couldn't help.”
“My friend, I have not a word of complaint,” Galt answered. “I would be the last man to blame you for falling in love with her, and, of course, you couldn't help showing it.”
“Galt, I'm going to make another play for you. If it works. I'll retire from the scene and leave you here. I'm rather resigned to the fate of a bachelor.”
“I forbid it. I haven't had time to get so hard hit as you are. You must go ahead. I am out of it.”
“Don't be hasty. I have slender faith in my chances.”
“Then I am sure you are blind,” Galt answered. “I can see that she loves you.
“Galt, we're both foolish about women,” said Riddles. “I don't profess to be able to read 'em.”