“I got this yesterday,” he said. “It is from an old acquaintance of mine by the name of Harum, who lives in Homeville, Freeland County. He is a sort of a banker there, and has written me to recommend someone to take the place of his manager or cashier whom he is sending away. It’s rather a queer move, I think, but then,” said the general with a smile, “Harum is a queer customer in some ways of his own. There is his letter. Read it for yourself.”
The letter stated that Mr. Harum had had some trouble with his cashier and wished to replace him, and that he would prefer someone from out of the village who wouldn’t know every man, woman, and child in the whole region, and “blab everything right and left.” “I should want,” wrote Mr. Harum, “to have the young man know something about bookkeeping and so on, but I should not insist upon his having been through a trainer’s hands. In fact, I would rather break him in myself, and if he’s willing and sound and no vice, I can get him into shape. I will pay a thousand to start on, and if he draws and travels all right, may be better in the long run,” etc. John handed back the letter with a slight smile, which was reflected in the face of the general. “What do you think of it?” asked the latter.
“I should think it might be very characteristic,” remarked John.
“Yes,” said the general, “it is, to an extent. You see he writes pretty fair English, and he can, on occasion, talk as he writes, but usually, either from habit or choice, he uses the most unmitigated dialect. But what I meant to ask you was, what do you think of the proposal?”
“You mean as an opportunity for me?” asked John.
“Yes,” said General Wolsey, “I thought of you at once.”
“Thank you very much,” said John. “What would be your idea?”
“Well,” was the reply, “I am inclined to think I should write to him if I were you, and I will write to him about you if you so decide. You have had some office experience, you told me—enough, I should say, for a foundation, and I don’t believe that Harum’s books and accounts are very complicated.”
John did not speak, and the general went on: “Of course, it will be a great change from almost everything you have been used to, and I dare say that you may find the life, at first at least, pretty dull and irksome. The stipend is not very large, but it is large for the country, where your expenses will be light. In fact, I’m rather surprised at his offering so much. At any rate, it is a living for the present, and may lead to something better. The place is a growing one, and, more than that, Harum is well off, and keeps more irons in the fire than one, and if you get on with him you may do well.”
“I don’t think I should mind the change so much,” said John, rather sadly. “My present life is so different in almost every way from what it used to be, and I think I feel it in New York more even than I might in a country village; but the venture seems a little like burning my bridges.”
“Well,” replied the general, “if the experiment should turn out a failure for any reason, you won’t be very much more at a loss than at present, it seems to me, and, of course, I will do anything I can should you wish me to be still on the lookout for you here.”
“You are exceedingly kind, sir,” said John earnestly, and then was silent for a moment or two. “I will make the venture,” he said at length, “and thank you very much.”
“You are under no special obligations to the Careys, are you?” asked the general.
“No, I think not,” said John with a laugh. “I fancy that their business will go on without me, after a fashion,” and he took his leave.
XII
And so it came about that certain letters were written as mentioned in a previous chapter, and in the evening of a dripping day early in November John Lenox found himself, after a nine hours’ journey, the only traveler who alighted upon the platform of the Homeville station, which was near the end of a small lake and about a mile from the village. As he stood with his bag and umbrella, at a loss what to do, he was accosted by a short and stubby individual with very black eyes and hair and a round face, which would have been smooth except that it had not been shaved for a day or two. “Goin’ t’ the village?” he said.
“Yes,” said John, “that is my intention, but I don’t see any way of getting there.”
“Carry ye over fer ten cents,” said the man. “Carryall’s right back the deepo. Got ’ny baggidge?”
“Two trunks,” said John.
“That’ll make it thirty cents,” said the native. “Where’s your checks? All right; you c’n jest step ’round an’ git in. Mine’s the only rig that drew over tonight.”
It was a long clumsy affair, with windows at each end and a door in the rear, but open at the sides except for enamel cloth curtains, which were buttoned to the supports that carried a railed roof extending as far forward as the dashboard. The driver’s seat was on a level with those inside. John took a seat by one of the front windows, which was open but protected by the roof.
His
