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The High School Boys' Training Hike; or, Making Themselves "Hard as Nails", a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 17. Two Kinds Of Hobo |
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_ CHAPTER XVII. TWO KINDS OF HOBO Toward daylight the rain ceased. Dawn came in heavy and misty, but after an hour the sun shone forth, dispelling the low-lying clouds. Dick was sound asleep at this time, Tom and Harry having relieved the other watchers. All of the tramps lay stretched on the hard wooden floor, since none of the high school boys cared to have one of these fellows lying on his cot even when it was not in use. "Go down and take a look at the road, Hazy," Tom desired, after the sun had been out for an hour. "The water's running out of the road, or drying off, pretty fast" Hazelton reported on his return. "Still, a doctor would have a hard job getting over the road as yet." "Did you see anyone trying to get over the road with a vehicle?" Reade inquired. "Not a soul or a wheel," Harry answered. "As far as travel goes the road might as well be a strip of the Sahara Desert." Reuben Hinman's breathing was so labored that it disturbed the watchers a good deal. "We're doing all we can for you, and we'll get better care for you, just as soon as we can," Tom explained, resting a hand on the fever-flushed face. "I know," wheezed the old man painfully. "Good boy!" By eight o'clock all hands were astir. "Are we going to get any breakfast to-day?" asked the tramp known as Joe. "Yes," nodded Dick, choking back the temptation to say something caustic. By nine o'clock the meal had been eaten. The stove now made the tent so hot that Mr. Hinman's cot had to be moved to the farther end and the tent flaps thrown open to admit cooler air. Greg had attended to feeding both of the horses, which had gotten through the dismal night without very much discomfort. Now Dick went down to look at the road. "I'm going to mount our horse, bareback, and keep straight on up the road," he announced, coming back. "I will not have to go very far before I find a physician." "No, you're not going, either," broke in the boss tramp. "I am going." "But, see here, I can't very well let a stranger like you go off with our horse," Dick objected smilingly. "You don't have to," retorted the other. "I'll go on foot, and I'll make the trip as fast as I can, too. But maybe you'd better give me a note to the doctor. He might not pay much attention to a sick call from a fellow who looks as tough as I do." "If I let you go, can I depend upon you to keep right on going straight and fast, until you deliver a note to a doctor?" asked Prescott, eyeing the boss tramp keenly. "Yes!" answered the tramp, returning the glance with one so straightforward that Dick felt he could really trust the man. "And if the first doctor won't or can't come, I'll keep on going until I find one who will take the call." "Good for you!" cried Tom Reade heartily. "And if it weren't for fear of startling you, I'd say that the next thing you'll be doing will be to find and accept a job, and work again like a useful man!" "That would be startling," grinned the fellow, half sullenly. Dick wrote the note. Away went his ill-favored looking messenger. Dick turned to administer more nitre to the peddler. "Do you expect to move on at all to-day?" Dave asked of Dick. "It wouldn't be really wise, would it?" Dick counter-queried. "Our tent and shelter flap are pretty wet to take down and fold away in a wagon. We'd find it wet going, too. Hadn't we better stay here until to-morrow, and then break camp with our tent properly dry?" All hands voted in favor of remaining---except the hoboes, who weren't asked. They would remain indefinitely, anyway, if permitted, and if the food held out. But Dick soon set them to work. One was despatched for water, the other two set to gathering wet firewood and spreading it in the sun to dry out. Nor did the trio of remaining tramps refuse to do the work required of them, though they looked reluctant enough at first. Two more hours passed. "I'm afraid our friend, Hustling Weary, is having a hard time to get a doctor who'll come down the road," Dick remarked to Darrin. "Oh, the doctor will come, if Weary has found him," Dave replied. "Doctors always come. They have to, or lose their reputations." Half an hour later a business-like honk! was heard. Then, through the trees Dick & Co. saw an automobile halt down at the side of the road. A tall, stout man, who looked to be about sixty-five years old, but who displayed the strength and speed of a young man, leaped from the car, followed by the tramp messenger. "Mr. Prescott?" called the big stranger. "Yes, sir," bowed Dick. "Dr. Hewitt. Let me see your patient." For some minutes the physician bent over the peddler, examining and questioning the old man, who answered with effort. "I must get Hinman to a hospital some miles from here," the physician explained, aside, to Dick. "The poor old man is going to have pneumonia, and he'd die without hospital care. Probably he'll die, anyway. I'll give him a hypodermic injection in the arm, then wait for him to become quiet. After that we'll move him to the tonneau of my car and I'll take him to the hospital. I telephoned Hinman's son, over at Fenton, telling him where his father and his wagon are. The son ought to come over and take charge of the outfit." It was three quarters of an hour later when Dr. Hewitt examined his patient, then remarked: "He can be moved now, as well as at any time." "There's someone coming," announced Reade, as the sound of a horse's hoofs were heard. Tom went out to look at the new arrival. A man of forty, rather flashily dressed, though somewhat mud-spattered, rode up on a horse that looked much the worse for being abroad on the bad roads. "I understand that Mr. Hinman is here, ill," began the stranger. "He is," Tom nodded. "Have you any interest in him?" "Mr. Hinman is my father." "Come right in," Tom invited, throwing open the flap of the tent. "Hold my horse, will you?" Something in the younger Hinman's way of making the request caused Reade's backbone to stiffen. "I see that you have a piece of halter rope," Tom replied. "You may tie your horse to any one of the trees. They don't belong to me." The son frowned, but led his mount to a tree, hitching it there. Then he turned and entered the tent. "How are you, father?" asked the younger Hinman, crossing to the cot and bending over the old man. "Better, already, I think," replied Reuben Hinman feebly. "I should hope so," replied Timothy Hinman, looking more than a trifle annoyed. "You had no business to be out in that storm." "I couldn't help-----" began the old man slowly, but Dr. Hewitt broke in almost fiercely: "Your father is in no condition to talk, Mr. Hinman. I telephoned you so that you might come over and take charge of the horse and wagon. There is quite a bit of stock on the wagon, too, I believe." "My father must have considerable money with him," the young man hinted. "He has some," Dick replied. "I do not know how much." "I will take charge of his money for him," offered young Hinman. "You will do nothing of the sort," broke in Dr. Hewitt, scowling. "Hinman, your father will be some time at the hospital, and he will want to be able to pay his bills there. He will also want to be able to purchase some comforts for himself while convalescing. So your father will take his money with him to the hospital." "He can turn it over to me, if he has a mind to do so," insisted the younger man. "You get out of here!" ordered the doctor, speaking decisively, though in a low tone. At the same time he pointed to the doorway of the tent. Just then the doctor looked as though he might rather enjoy the opportunity of throwing young Hinman out into the open air. The peddler's son walked outside of the tent with an air of offended dignity. "Now, will four of you young men take hold of that cot, gently, and carry it out to my car?" asked Dr. Hewitt. Dick, Dave, Tom and Greg served as the litter bearers. Then, under Dr. Hewitt's instructions, they lifted the old man into the tonneau of the car as though he had been an infant. The boss tramp had already taken his place in the tonneau of the machine. After blankets brought by the physician had been wrapped about the peddler the tramp contrived to rest the old man against his own broad shoulder. "Good-bye, father," said the younger Hinman, who had looked on with a frown on his face. "I hope you'll be all right soon." Reuben Hinman tried to smile. He also moved as though trying to stretch out a hand to his son, but the folds of the blankets prevented. Dr. Hewitt went back to the tent to get his medicine case, which he had intentionally left behind. As he went he signed to Dick & Co. to accompany him. "You young men haven't done anything for the old man for which I am going to commend you," said the physician bluntly. "You've simply done what any upright, humane, decent people would have done for a stricken old man, and you've done it well. But by contrast you noticed the younger Hinman's conduct. He is not worried that his father is ill, but hopes that the old man will soon be back at his work. Of course, he hopes that his father will be at work, soon; for when the old man stops working the younger man will very likely have to go to work himself." "You don't mean, doctor, that that big, healthy-looking fellow is supported by his father?" gasped Dick Prescott. "That's just what I mean," nodded the man of medicine. "Why, I didn't suppose that old Mr. Hinman earned much." "In the tin-peddler's business it's nearly all profit except the wear and tear on horse and wagon," smiled the physician. "One who isn't fitted for that line of work would starve to death at it, but Reuben Hinman has always been a shrewd, keen dealer in his own line of work. Strange as it may seem, Reuben is believed to make more than three hundred dollars a month. He gives it all to that son and two daughters. He wanted to bring his children up to be ladies and gentlemen---and they are! They are all three of them too shiftless to do any work. They take the old man's money, but they won't live with him. They are too busy in 'society' to bother with the old man. On what he is able to turn over to his children every month they keep a rather pretentious home in Fenton, though they live a full mile away from their father. They never go near him, except for more money. If they meet him on his wagon, or when he is walking in his old clothes, they refuse to recognize him. Yet, though Reuben Hinman isn't a fool in anything else, he is very proud of the fact that his son is a 'gentleman,' and that his daughters are 'ladies.' Now, in a nutshell, you know the tragedy of the old man's life. Young Tim Hinman would, if he could, take the old man's money away from him at once and let him go to the hospital as a charity patient." "Humph!" muttered Dick, and then was silent. Timothy Hinman, when Dr. Hewitt and the boys stepped outside the tent, was inspecting the dingy old red wagon with a look of contempt on his face. "What am I going to do with this crazy old rattle-trap?" inquired young Hinman plaintively. "Would one of you boys accept a dollar to drive this over to Fenton, and put the horse up in my father's barn? The trip can be made in two days of good driving." Dick Prescott shook his head in order that he might avoid speaking. "I came by train, within five miles of here, then hired a horse and rode over here," the younger Hinman went on. "So I've got to take the horse back to where I got it, and then return by train. So I'll pay a dollar and a half to the boy who will drive this rig back to Fenton." This time there was no response to the magnificent offer. "See here," muttered young Hinman half savagely, "it's more than the job is worth, but I'll pay two dollars to have this rig driven home. Will you take the job?" He looked directly at Dick Prescott, who replied bluntly: "Thank you; I won't." "But what on earth am I going to do with the horse and wagon, then?" demanded Timothy Hinman, as though he found Prescott's refusal preposterous. "I would suggest," offered Dick coolly, "that you drive your father's rig home yourself." "I drive it?" gasped the son. "Certainly." "But it's no job for a gentleman!" protested the younger Mr. Hinman, looking very much aghast. "Then I don't know whether or not the owner of these woods would consent to your leaving your father's property here," replied Prescott, as he turned on his heel. Dr. Hewitt had watched the scene with a good deal of amusement. Now the physician turned to see whether his patient were as comfortable as possible. "My man," said the doctor, to the boss tramp, "you hold my patient as comfortably and skillfully as though you had once been a nurse. Were you ever one?" "No, sir," replied the tramp. "It just comes natural." "I've been looking for a man to work for me," continued Dr. Hewitt, regarding the tramp with calculating eyes. "I believe that you've got in you the making of a real man if you'd only stop being a tramp. How would you like to try it out?" "I dunno," replied the boss tramp, looking a bit staggered. "If you go to work for me, I don't want you to take it up as a casual experiment," went on the man of medicine. "I haven't any time for experiments. But, if you'll declare positively that you're going to make a useful man of yourself, and that you'll live up to what I expect of you, I'll take you on. I won't have an idler about my place, and I won't tolerate any use of alcohol. If you shirk or drink---even once out you go. But I'll start you at ten dollars a month and board, and raise you---if I keep you---two dollars a month until you're getting thirty dollars a month and board as a steady thing. Are you man enough to take me up, and to make it worth my while to take you on?" "Yes," replied the boss tramp huskily, after a struggle with himself. "All right, then, we'll see how much a man you are. By the way, what's your name?" "Jim Joggers," replied the tramp. Dr. Hewitt eyed the fellow keenly for a few seconds, before he replied, with a slight smile: "All right; we'll let it go at Joggers until you've put yourself far enough forward so that you'll be willing to use your own name." Honk! honk! The car was under way. When Dick and his three friends turned back to the tent they found all three of the remaining tramps in there, smoking vile pipes and playing with a greasy, battered pack of cards. "The weather's fine again," announced Dick, "and you'll find us the most hospitable fellows you ever met. My friends, we take pleasure in offering you the whole outside world in which to play!" "Talk United States!" growled one of the tramps, without looking up from the game. "Tom," laughed Prescott, turning to Reade, "strange dialects are your specialty. Kindly translate, into 'United States,' what I have just said to these men." "I will," agreed Tom. "Attention, hoboes! Look right at me! That's right. Now---git!" "You might let us stay on a bit longer," grumbled one of the tramps. "We ain't bothering you folks any." "Only eating us out of house and home," snapped Dave. "And delaying the time when we must wash up the tent after you," added Danny Grin. But the tramps played on, smoked on. "Did you fellows ever hear of that famous man, Mr. A. Quick Expediter?" Tom asked the tramps. "No," growled one of them. "Expediter was a truly great man," Tom continued. "He had a motto. It was a short one. One word, and that word was---'git'!" "We are famed for our courtesy," remarked Darry. "We'd hate to lose even a shred of our reputation in that line. But in these present years of our young lives we are football players by training, and high school boys merely for pleasure. We know some of the dandiest tackles you ever saw. Shall we show you a few of them? If you object to observing our tackles---and sharing in the effects---then signify your wishes by placing yourselves at a safe distance from such enthusiastic football wranglers as we are." Greg, Danny Grin and Harry were already crouching as though for a spring. Dave took his place in an imaginary football line-up, leaning slightly forward. Tom Reade sighed, then advanced to the line. All were waiting for the battle signal from Dick Prescott. By this time the most talkative of the three tramps noted the signs of a gathering squall. "Come on, mates," he urged, with a sulky growl, "let's get out of here. These young fellows want their place all to themselves. They're just like all of the capitalistic class that are ruining the country to-day! Things in this country are coming to a pass where there's nothing for the fellow who-----" "Who won't work hard enough to get the place in the world that he wants," Tom Reade finished for the tramp, as he ushered the three of them through the doorway. _ |
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