# Tom Jarnagan, Junior/Chapter 2

from St. Nicholas magazine, Vol 29.2 1902, pp. 885–890.

### Chapter II.
#### IN WHICH THE FIGHT BEGINS.

Tom read the passenger-agent's telegram twice, and tried to keep Kate from suspecting the true direfulness of it. Then he broke down and told her the whole story, sparing himself not at all, and even going so far as to excuse Cargill's apparent indifference.
Kate sat in the hammock and listened, relieving the strain on her nerves by tying knots in the fringe. When she found speech it was a fine mixture of indignation and reproach; and if there be any truth in signs, Mr. Frederic Cargill's left ear should have burned painfully.
"It's just too mean!" she declared; "after he had promised—" and then: "Oh, Tom, Tom, will you never learn to be heedful!"
Tom ignored the reproach and rose superior to mere personal bitternesses, shaking his head and answering out of a vaster experience of business.
"You're a girl, and you don't understand," he said dogmatically. "He says he's 'ordered,' and that settles it. Besides, if I'd given him that telegram at first, as I ought to have done, he wouldn't have promised. But that doesn't let me out. What are we going to do about it? That's the question."
It suited Kate's purpose at that moment to appear altogether devoid of suggestion, so she said, as if in despair: "Do? What can we do?"
"I don't know; wire father that I'm no good on top of earth, I suppose."
"What good will that do?"
Tom thought about it for a moment, and was constrained to admit that no good end could be attained by telegraphing.
"We're just done up, that's all; and it's my fault," he said desperately, when he had reasoned it out.
Kate went on with the knot-tying, and was silent while she measured her opportunity. Then she looked up and said:
"That message came half an hour ago, and I've been puzzling over it ever since." She stopped abruptly and looked him straight in the eyes. "Tom, how much have you learned about the passenger-business since you've been helping in the office?"
He saw whereunto her question would lead, and shook his head gloomily. "You might say next to nothing—anyway, not enough to make me believe I could do it."
But Kate knew her brother and would not be stopped. "I wish I knew as much as you do—about rates and such things; I'd go."
Tom's heart leaped within him, and then became as heavy as lead.
"Pooh! You wouldn't know the first identical thing to do after you got there, and neither should I. Of course I can figure rates, and all that, but that doesn't count."
"What does count?" demanded Kate.
"Oh, a whole lot of things. You've got to know your people, and how to get on their blind side, and how to jolly 'em up and make 'em believe your line's the only one there is, and all that."
"Who says so?"
"Why, all the men; I've heard them tell about it in the office lots of times. Then Mr. Manville will be there, and father says he's a hustler from 'way back, and as tricky as he is smart. I shouldn't be anywhere after the people got a good chance to laugh at me once."
Kate swung herself gently in the hammock and began to untie the knots. "I thought you had more nerve, Tom, and—I must say it—more magnanimity," she said, with true feminine artfulness. "You say it's your fault, but it is father who will have to suffer for it."
The remark was as spark to powder, as she had intended it to be.
"Nerve!" cried Tom, hotly. "You think I'm afraid, do you?—that I'm ashamed to go and tell them what a blockhead I've been? I'll just show you! If you'll give me the money, I'll go to Richville to-night. You'll see if I haven't nerve!"
Kate sat up and applauded.
"That's what I was waiting for; I knew it was in you if I could only press the right button. Now listen to me—I've thought it all out since that message came. You take the four-twelve to St. Paul, go to Mr. Donegal and get passes for us,—yes, I'm going, too; two heads are better than one, especially when neither of them happens to be a man's head,—then get your rate-sheets and things out of the office, and meet me at the Union Depot at five-thirty."
Tom went aghast at the immensity of the thing, but he was too near drowning not to catch at straws. At first sight the undertaking seemed little better than hopeless, even if they should reach Richville in time; but Kate's offer to go along and help turned the scale. She was three years his senior, and beneath a boyish assumption of contempt for all girls of whatever age he had a profound respect for his sister's diplomatic gifts.
"I don't know; maybe we can do it," he said doubtfully. "Anyway, we can try."
The preliminaries went near to arranging themselves. Mr. Donegal, the chief clerk in the general office of the S. E. & S. W., was amenable to reason in the matter of the passes, though he smiled at the forlorn hope.
"Of course you won't get the party," he said; "but you'll have a pleasant little trip, and the satisfaction of having done what you could. Here's your transportation; what else can I do for you?"
"Tell me about Richville—what kind of a place it is, I mean."
"It's a little country town, with a few stores and one hotel, at the crossing of our line and the W. & I."
"Thank you," said Tom. Then he went to his father's office, gathered up all the tariff-sheets, folders, time-tables, and other publications that might have the smallest grain of pertinent information in them, and hurried to the Union Depot to meet Kate.
She was waiting for him; and a few minutes later they had taken their section in the Southeastern sleeper, which presently clanked out over the switches at the tail of the Chicago Express.
After supper in the dining-car they spent the evening poring over the printed matter in Tom's bundle. Among the pamphlets there was a summer-resort folder of the W. & I. Railway, and in it Kate found what she was looking for.
"You'll make your headquarters at the hotel in town, won't you, Tom?" she asked.
"Why, yes, I suppose so; we'll both have to go there."
"I mustn't," she said decisively; "it would embarrass you—and me, too. I'm only going to be the advisory committee, you know, and it'll be best for me to keep entirely out of sight. Don't you think so?"
Tom assented, though Kate's real reason—the question of the proprieties—did not appeal to him.
"But how are we going to fix it? Mr. Donegal says there is only one hotel."
"Listen," said Kate, and she read from the list of summer hotels in the folder: "'The Maples, Mrs. Cartwright, proprietor. A family hotel on the shore of Lake Chokota, three miles from Richville. Telephone connection. A pleasant country home for teachers and families. Terms reasonable.'"
"That'll do," said Tom. "You can stay there and think up schemes; and I can drive out and talk to you whenever I get stuck. That will be about twenty times a day."
Then they put their heads together and tried to plan the campaign; but this is a difficult thing to do when one doesn't know the battle-field, the dispositions of the enemy, or anything more than the issue at stake. So they gave it up early and went to bed, mindful of the arriving-time at Richville, which was 5:30 a.m.
Seasoned travelers maintain that early-morning trains are perversely prone to be on time, and it was exactly half-past five the following morning when the Chicago Express clattered in over the W. & I. crossing at Richville. Kate and Tom were the only passengers to leave the train; and as the village hotel was only a square distant, there was no porter at the platform.
A farm team was drawn up behind the station, and its driver, a weather-worn man in the fifties, came up when he saw them hesitate.
"Looking for the hotel?" he asked. "It's right over there—just around the corner."
Tom rose to his responsibilities as caretaker, and made answer:
"We're going out to Mrs. Cartwright's—The Maples. Can you tell me where I can hire a horse and buggy?"
The farmer took the measure of the two, and glanced at his wagon. "I'm going right out by there on my way home. If the lady wouldn't mind riding in the wagon—"
Kate met the suggestion with her most winning smile. "Not in the least; I'd like to," she said; so they climbed in, filling the wide spring-seat to overflowing. The farmer whipped up his horses, and they soon left the sleeping village behind.
"It's a fine country around here," Tom ventured, feeling it incumbent upon him to make talk of some sort.
"Yes, good enough, but pretty long o' winters; leastways, that's what a lot of us 've about made up our minds to," replied the farmer.
Kate was sitting on the outside, and she signaled to Tom with the sharp point of her elbow. But Tom's faculties were already alert and needed no jogging.
"Going to emigrate?" he asked, with just the right degree of polite interest.
"That's what we're figuring on—'bout seventy-five of us, counting the women and children. I drove in this morning in hopes to meet a railroad-agent that was coming down to figure with us."
Tom held his breath and fought for clearness of mind. "What was his name? Perhaps we know him. My father is a railroad man."
"Jarnager," said the farmer, calmly. "I seen him two weeks ago, and we figured then we'd be ready before long. Then I wrote a letter to him, but I hain't heard anything from him, and I'm afraid he can't come."
"He can't," said Tom, briefly. "He's on his way to California with an excursion party."
"Sho! then you do know him? I'm kind of sorry for that; he's a right clever gentleman, and I took a fancy to him first sight. I think he's got the best rowte for us, too; but there's a lot of 'em think different now, since the Transcontinental man's been round."
"Mr. Manville's here, is he?" asked Tom, determined to know the worst.
"Well, I declare! you know him, too? Yes, he's here, circulatin' round in a buggy to beat everything."
"But he can't offer any better rates than fath—than the Colorado East & West, can he?"
"No, don't know as he can; but then, you see, he's on the ground, and Mr. Jarnager ain't. The folks like to have somebody they can see and talk to; and of course he tells all the good things about his road and all the bad ones about the other."
"Of course," echoed Tom; "that's his business. Then you think he's going to get the party?"
"Looks that way now. He's got Judge Sloan, and that means a good third of 'em. Judge knows everybody, y' see, and he's well liked. Then there's John Olestrom—owns the farm next to me; he controls all the Swedes and Norwejins, and Manville's got hold of him, somehow. That leaves me and about twenty more that'd like to go t' other way, but I guess we'll let the majority rule,'s long's Mr. Jarnager can't come."
Lake Chokota was in sight, and Tom questioned Kate with his eyes. She telegraphed back "Yes," and Tom braced himself for the plunge.
"This is Mr. Simpson, isn't it?" he asked, trying his best to be cool and businesslike.
"That's my name; how did you know?" queried the farmer, curiously.
"I guessed it right away. I'm Mr. Jarnagan's son, and we—that is, I've come down here to try to get your colony to go over our line."
Mr. Simpson pulled his team up short in the road, and turned half-way around in the wagon-seat to get a good look at his passengers.
"Well, I vow to gracious!" he declared. "Why, you ain't nothing but a—"
The Jarnagans laughed in concert. "Say it right out," said Tom; "nothing but a boy. But I know it, and father says when you know your handicap that's half the race. I'm here to get this party, and you've said enough to let me know you're my father's friend. More than that, it's my fault that father isn't here. Your letter came in time, but it was—was mislaid." He boggled over the stubborn word again, and hastened to say, "Please tell me what to do, and I'll do it just the best I can."
The explanation left Kate unaccounted for; but the farmer waived that point and spoke in regard to the business side of the affair.
"Well, I vow!" he repeated, not quite able to quench his astonishment. "It does beat all how the boys get to be men nowadays—it does, for a fact. But I'll help you, same as I would your father. I took a fancy to him. First thing is to go and see Judge Sloan."
"Where can I find him?"
"At his house, in town." The farmer gathered up the reins and drove on. "He's sort o' queer—man with lots of friends, and a kind word for every single one of 'em, and yet pretty middlin' gruff to strangers. He'll like as not snap you up sharp at first, but if you've got grit enough to hang, maybe you can fetch him round."
The description was not altogether heartening, but Tom made shift to answer courageously:
"I'll do my best; and after I've seen him I'll come out and tell you what he says. Is this The Maples?"
"Yes, this is Mis' Cartwright's." The farmer drew rein at the gate of the summer hotel. "Right nice place; but I should think you'd want to stop in town, so's to be handy."
"I'm going to; but my sister—this is my sister, Miss Kate Jarnagan, Mr. Simpson—thought she'd rather stay out here. The home folks are all away, and she couldn't very well stay alone."
"Yes—no—of course," acknowledged the farmer, helping Kate over the wheel. "Happy to know you, Miss Jarnager. We're all tore up at the house, getting ready to move, or I'd just take you right out with me. Mis' Simpson'd be proud."
Kate thanked him, and put in her word for the first time:
"My brother's reason is one, and another is that I thought I'd better be out of his way. On that account perhaps it would be as well if it is not generally known that I am here. It might make it harder for Tom, you know."
Farmer Simpson smiled shrewdly. "Shouldn't wonder if it would; some of 'em'll try to poke fun at him, anyway, maybe. But I won't let on; and, what's more, I'll do what I can to help out. My place is just two mile beyond here—big white house, sets on a little hill to the right. You can find me there when you want me."
He climbed back into the wagon and picked up the reins. "Shouldn't lose much time if I was you," he added, to Tom. "Manville's right anxious to get us to make a contract, and I don't know just how long we can stand it off."
"I'll see Judge Sloan right away after breakfast," Tom promised; and the farmer drove on, and they went up the walk to The Maples.
They waited an hour for breakfast, but the time was not lost. The opportune meeting with Aaron Simpson was discussed and made much of; and after breakfast Tom walked to town with his bundle of rate-sheets and folders under his arm, a confused jumble of lately acquired railway information trying to pigeonhole itself in his brain, and his heart far lighter than it would have been if he had known all the difficulties lying in wait for him.
Reaching the village before eight o'clock, he went first to the hotel and registered, so that he might have a right to a rallying-point. Then, as it was rather early to make even a business call, he sat down at the writing-table with the tariffs, to deduce, for the twentieth time, the rate of fare from Richville to Zabulon, Utah. While he was in the midst of the labyrinth of figures, two young men came out of the dining-room, found their hats, and sauntered across to the counter. One of them glanced at the register, smote upon the page with his fist, and shoved the book at his companion.
"Look at that, Manville! I thought you said Jarnagan couldn't get here."
"So he can't— Great Scott! Say,"—to the landlord,—"when did this man get in?"
Mine host, who was five feet seven and built barrel-wise, chuckled inwardly, till the barrel-hoops threatened to burst.
"It's not a man; it's—it's that—" indicating Tom in dumb-show.
The two young men looked, and laughed unfeelingly, whereat Tom came suddenly out of the fog of figures, flushed hotly, and gathered up his papers and went out. When he was gone, Manville spoke his mind freely:
"Well, I'll be switched! I've heard of sending a boy to mill, but I never saw it done in the passenger-business before. Why, Jarnagan must be getting childish in his old age!"
"I don't know about that," rejoined his companion. "It's just possible that Tom Jarnagan doesn't know anything about it; but if he does, it's more than likely he's given the boy a cut-rate low enough to put us clear out of the fight."
Manville leaned against the counter and thrust his hands deep down into his pockets.
"Don't you worry," he said, jingling the loose silver in one pocket and his keys in the other; "I've got the thing coopered up so tight that Tom Jarnagan himself couldn't get it out now."
"I only hope you know what you're talking about," said the other.
"I do," rejoined Manville, emphatically. "He's just a few hours too late. I've got the contract!"