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Title: Tamawaca Folks A Summer Comedy Author: John Estes Cooke Release Date: August 18, 2015 [EBook #49731] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TAMAWACA FOLKS *** Produced by Melissa McDaniel, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) Tamawaca Folks A Summer Comedy By JOHN ESTES COOKE Publishers THE TAMAWACA PRESS U. S. A. Copyrighted 1907 by G. J. WILSON List of Chapters PAGE I The Lawyer 9 II Jim 18 III Wilder 31 IV Just Girls 53 V Getting Acquainted 66 VI Found Out 80 VII The Meeting 96 VIII Something Doing 114 IX Developing the Negative 122 X Jim Gets a Raise 135 XI Rough-housing 152 XII Mrs. Herringford's Party 161 XIII Reconciliation 172 XIV Of Course 184 Tamawaca Folks EXPLANATIVE. The author begs to state that whatever is contained in this modest volume has been written in a spirit of the broadest goodfellowship, and with malice toward none. He has met odd and entertaining people in all quarters of the world and has brought them together in "Tamawaca Folks" merely that he might weave them into his little romance, and with no thought of being in any way personal. Therefore, since these are many and variant types and can have no individuality for that reason, the writer begs his reader not to attempt to fit any of the fictitious characters to living persons, lest your neighbor try to fit one of my masquerade costumes to you—which would be an impertinence I am sure you would not like. The temptation, I admit, is natural, because the people portrayed are all human and even their composites have prototypes in nearly every locality. But desist, I entreat you. Tamawaca exists, and is as beautiful as I have described it. I chose it as the scene of my story because I once passed an entire summer there and was fascinated by its incomparable charm. The middle West has no spot that can compete with it in loveliness. TAMAWACA FOLKS CHAPTER I. THE LAWYER. When Jarrod finally sold out the Crosbys he had a chance to breathe freely for the first time in years. The Crosbys had been big ranch owners and herders, mine owners, timber and mill owners, bankers, brokers, bucket-shop manipulators and confirmed bull-dozers and confidence-men. They played the game for big stakes always and won by sheer nerve and audacity. Jarrod was their lawyer and they kept him in hot water every minute. They had a habit of rounding up other folks' cattle, cutting other people's timber, jumping claims, tapping mines and misbehaving generally. And Jarrod had to straighten out these misdeeds and find a way to keep his clients from behind the bars. Old man Crosby, who had been shot in the hip in a raid, ran the Bank of Oklahoma, and ran it so crookedly that Jarrod was often in despair. No one would believe a Crosby under oath, while Jarrod was acknowledged by even his enemies to be square as a die and fair as the scales of justice. So his position was extremely difficult. He saved the Crosbys from their misdeeds for years, by dint of hard work and constant diplomacy, and at last, when a thousand penalties confronted them and could not be staved off much longer, the lawyer managed to sell for them their entire holdings and induced them to retire from business in general and lawlessness in particular. When it was all over Jarrod went home to Kansas City, nodded to his wife, looked curiously and with some interest at his children, and then sat down in an easy chair and sighed. It was all new and strange to him—this being "at home"— and he wasn't sure at first whether he liked it or not. Mrs. Jarrod liked it, though, and made much of him, so that gradually his uneasiness wore off and he settled down meekly to the practice of law in general. Four or five hours a day he spent in his office, listening to the unimportant grievances of common folks and striving to keep his nerves from jumping. He hadn't thought to feather his nest, yet the Crosbys had good-naturedly tossed a lump of money at him and he had accepted it. But a nervous man must keep busy, even when those same nerves operate to keep him cold and quiet as an alternative to dancing and yelling like a madman. So Jarrod "held on to himself" and tried to enjoy his devoted family and the petty details which were all that remained of a business too long neglected to serve those wild Crosbys. The reaction had set in following his recent months of hard work, and before many days he felt himself both physically and mentally exhausted and knew that unless he deliberately created a diversion his run-down constitution would be likely to involuntarily create one that he wouldn't like. As fate would have it, on a balmy spring day he met an old friend—a Dr. Brush—who was a prominent and highly respected clergyman. Said the doctor: "You need a change, Jarrod. Why don't you go to some quiet, pleasant summer resort, and loaf until fall?" "Where can I find such a place?" asked Jarrod. "Why, any of the Lake Michigan resorts are desirable—Tamawaca, Bay View, Charlevoix or Petoskey. I've been to Tamawaca a couple of summers myself, and like it immensely. It isn't so fashionable as Charlevoix and Petoskey, but it is the most beautiful place I have ever seen, bar none." "What's there?" enquired Jarrod, listlessly. "Lake Michigan, to begin with; and Tamawaca Pool, which is really a lovely inland lake. You'll find there good fishing and bathing, a noble forest running down to the water's edge, pretty cottages nestled among the trees, lots of ozone, and quiet till you can't rest." "Eh?" "I mean quiet so you can rest." "It sounds promising," said Jarrod. "Guess I'll go. My wife remarked yesterday we ought to escape the summer's heat on the children's account. This idea will please her—and it pleases me. I used to fish when I was a boy. And hunt. How's the hotel, Brush?" "Bad as possible. Take a cottage. That's the only way to enjoy life." "How can I get a cottage?" "Oh, ask Wilder, when you get to Tamawaca. There are always cottages to rent. But stay! you might take Grant's place. He's a St. Louis man, and I understand his cottage is for rent. I'll write and ask him, if you like." "Do, old fellow. And thank you very much." He went home and told Mrs. Jarrod, who was delighted with the plan. "Where did you say it was?" she asked. "On Lake Michigan, somewhere. I forget the name of the place." "How do you get there?" "I didn't enquire." "And whose cottage are you going to rent?" "Why,—it belongs to a man in St. Louis. Dr. Brush knows him." Mrs. Jarrod asked no more questions, but she straightway put on her bonnet and called upon Mrs. Brush. In an hour she knew all that was necessary about Tamawaca. The clergyman got a reply, in course of time, from Grant of St. Louis. His cottage was in Wilder's hands to rent. Jarrod must see Wilder about it as soon as he got to Tamawaca. It was all furnished and ready to move into. "Who is Wilder?" Jarrod asked his friend. "Wilder! Oh, I forgot you don't know Tamawaca," said Dr. Brush. "Therefore you don't know Wilder. Wilder is Tamawaca." "I see," returned Jarrod, nodding. "Oh, no you don't. You think you see, I've no doubt. But there is only one Wilder upon earth, and perhaps that is fortunate. You've been in with those pirate Crosbys for years. Well, Wilder is the Crosby—in other words the pirate— of Tamawaca. See now?" "He runs things, eh?" "Yes; for Wilder. A charming fellow, by the way. Looks like a cherub, and acts like——" "You interest me," said Jarrod, brightening. "I'm glad I'm going to Tamawaca." A few days later the Jarrods—bag and baggage, parents and children—travelled up to Chicago and landed in the morning at the Auditorium Annex. A little fat man stood before the counter in front of Jarrod and winked saucily at the clerk. His face was moon-shaped and rosy, guiltless of whisker, and bore an expression at once gentle and whimsical. "Gimme the best room you have," he called out, while scribbling his name on the register. "Ah, a twenty-dollar suite?" asked the clerk, cheerfully. "Hear me out!" retorted the little man. "Gimme the best room you have for four dollars a day." "Oh," said the clerk, his jaw dropping. "Here, front! show the gentleman up to 1906. Any baggage, sir?" "Just my wife," sighed the little man, with another wink, and a stout lady of ample proportions grabbed his arm and whisked him away. She didn't seem at all offended, but laughed pleasantly and said: "Now, George, behave yourself!" Jarrod looked at the register. The little fat man had written: "Geo. B. Still, Quincy, Ill." The Jarrods shopped during the day, and bought themselves and the children cool things for summer. In the evening they went down to the river and boarded the big steel steamer that was to carry them to their destination. CHAPTER II. JIM. A whistle blew; the little tug strained at its cable, and snorting and puffing in the supreme struggle it drew the great steamer "Plymouth" away from its dock to begin its journey down the river to the open lake and thence, discarding its tug, across mighty Michigan to Iroquois Bay, Tamawaca, and the quaint city of Kochton. The passengers thronged both the ample decks to catch the cooling breeze that came as soon as they were in motion, for the day had been especially warm for June. The older folks drew long lines of chairs to the rails, while the young people walked up and down, chattering and gay. To nearly all the voyage meant the beginning of a holiday, and hearts were light and faces eager and expectant. Jarrod had no sooner located his family in a comfortable corner than he was attracted by a young man who sauntered by. "Why, Jim, is it you?" he exclaimed, jumping up to hold out a hand in greeting. The other paused, as if astonished, but then said in a cordial tone: "You here, Mr. Jarrod?" He was a tall, athletic looking fellow, with a fine face, a straightforward look in his eyes and a clean-cut air about him that was pleasant to behold. Jarrod had recognized him as the only son of a man he had known in St. Louis—a man very prominent and wealthy, he remembered. "What are you doing here, Jim?" he enquired. "Why, I live in Chicago now, you know," was the reply. "You do?" "Didn't you know, sir? I left home over a year ago. I'm hoeing my own row now, Mr. Jarrod." "What's wrong, Jim?" "Father and I couldn't agree. He wanted me to take to the patent medicine business, because he has made a fortune in it." "Very natural," nodding. "The poor father suffers a good deal from rheumatism, you know; so as soon as I left college he proposed to turn over to me the manufacture and sale of his great rheumatism cure." "Ah." "And I balked, Mr. Jarrod. I said the proprietor of a rheumatism cure had no business to suffer from rheumatism, or else no business to sell the swindling remedy." "To be sure. I know your father, Jim, so I can imagine what happened, directly you made that statement. Did he give you anything when you—er—parted?" "Not a sou. I'm earning my own living." "Good. But how?" "They don't take a boy just out of college for the president of a bank or the director of a railway. I'm just a clerk in Marshall Field's." Jarrod looked him over, critically. The cheap new summer suit—perhaps it had cost fifteen dollars—could not disguise his manly bearing. On another man it might have proclaimed its cheapness; on Jim no one noticed its texture. "How much do you earn?" asked the lawyer, quietly. "Twelve dollars a week. But it's an interesting experience, Mr. Jarrod. You've no idea how well a fellow can live on twelve dollars a week—unless you've tried it." Jarrod smiled. "Where are you bound for?" he asked. "A little place called Tamawaca, there to spend my two weeks' vacation. Just think of it! After fourteen months I've saved enough for an outing. It isn't a princely sum, to be sure—nothing like what I spent in a day at college—but by economy I can make it do me in that out-of-the-way place, where the hotel board is unusually cheap." "I'm told it is as bad as it is cheap," said Jarrod. "That stands to reason, sir. I'm not expecting much but rest and sunshine and fresh air—and perhaps a nice girl to dance with in the evening. "I see." "And, by the way, Mr. Jarrod," this with some hesitation, "please don't tell anyone who I am, if you're asked. I call myself James Ingram—Ingram was my mother's name, you know—and I'd rather people wouldn't know who my father is, or why I'm living in this modest way. They would either blame me or pity me, and I won't endure either from strangers, for it's none of their business." "I'll remember, Jim. Will you let me present you to Mrs. Jarrod?" "Not tonight, please. This meeting has a little upset me. Wait till I get settled a bit. You're going to Tamawaca." "Yes. We shall spend the summer there, if we like it." "Then, sir, I'll be sure to see you again. Good night, Mr. Jarrod." The young man walked on, and the lawyer looked after him approvingly. "He'll do," he muttered. "He hasn't crushed down the pride yet, and I hope he never will. But he's got a backbone, and that's worth everything!" In drawing a chair to the rail he found that seated beside him was the little fat man he had noticed at the Annex. This jovial individual was smoking a big cigar and leaning back contentedly with his feet against the bulwark. Jarrod thought the expression upon the round face invited companionship. "Going to Tamawaca?" he asked. "Yep," said Geo. B. Still. "Been there before?" continued Jarrod, leaning back in turn. "Yep. Own a cottage there." "Oh," said the other; "then I'm glad to meet you." "Because I own a cottage?" "No; because you can tell me something about the place." "Sure thing!" responded Geo. B. "Climate's fine. When I first went there I had a bad case of indigestion. Doc said I was as good as dead. Told me to eat toasted straw for breakfast and have my wife get her black ready. Look at me now! Would a crape manufacturer smile at my picture? Pshaw!" "You seem very well," remarked Jarrod. "Was it the breakfast food, or the climate?" "Climate, I guess. My taste don't run to breakfast foods. I'd make a poor horse. So I shovelled in plenty of welsh rabbits and lobster newburgs and corn fritters and such remedies, an' washed 'em down with good beer and a few bottles of sherry. Why, sir, the treatment worked like magic! Digestion perfect—pulse reg'lar—spirits gay and unconfined—happiness rampant. That Tamawaca climate's a peach." "Do you think I can rent a cottage there?" "Sure. Ask Wilder. He'll fix you." "Is there a grocery handy, where one can purchase supplies?" "Yep. Wilder runs it." "And a meat market?" "Wilder's." "Can I rent a good boat, for fishing?" "Wilder has 'em." "Good. Dear me! I forgot to get a bathing suit in Chicago." "Never mind. Wilder's Bazaar has 'em. Two dollars for the dollar kind." "What time does the boat get to Tamawaca?" "Four o'clock in the morning. But you stay on board and ride to Kochton, and get your sleep out. Then, in the morning you take a trolley back to Tam. The steamer puts your baggage off at Iroquois Bay, just across the channel." "What becomes of it?" "Wilder ferries it over for twenty-five cents a piece. It's too far to jump." "But isn't that a heavy charge?" "Not for Wilder. It's a good deal, of course, but Wilder's deals are always good—for Wilder. You're lucky he don't take the baggage." "Oh. Is he that kind?" "Exactly. What you get, you get of Wilder. What Wilder hasn't got, you don't get. When you allow for expenses you want to figure on so many dollars for living, and so much to Wilder for letting you live." "But that's an outrage." Geo. B. laughed. "It always strikes a stranger that way—till he gets used to it," he said. "I've been to a good many summer resorts, in my day, and always there's somebody on hand to relieve the innocent resorter of his wad. If there wasn't, you'd feel you'd missed something. It's like going to law—don't matter much which lawyer you go to, you're bound to be robbed." Jarrod smiled. "Therefore, if you want Tamawaca, sir, you've just got to take Wilder with it," resumed the little man; "and perhaps you couldn't be half so happy there if Wilder was gone." "Does he own the place?" "Of course. He and old man Easton. Wilder has one-third and old man Easton two-thirds of the whole place; but then, Easton also has Wilder, just the same as all the rest of us have him." "What sort of a man is Easton?" "Fine old religious duffer, who loves to pray for your spiritual well-fare while he feels for your pocket-book. Public opinion's divided between the two partners. Some say Wilder's a highwayman and Easton's a robber, while others claim Easton's the highwayman and Wilder's the robber. You can take your choice." "What a bad state of affairs!" ejaculated Jarrod, with twinkling eyes. "I'm sorry the boat has started." "Never mind. It isn't as bad as Atlantic City, by a long shot. Why, last year a friend of mine went to Atlantic City with a letter of credit and an automobile, and in three months he was working at the hotel for money enough to get home and the hotel man was riding in his automobile. Tamawaca isn't as bad as that, so sit up and look pleasant. Tamawaca's the gem of the world—a heaven for loafers, lovers, bridge-players and students of nature—including human. You'll like it there. But as for Wilder and Easton—say! any combination lock on your inside pocket?" "No." "Then use a safety pin, and keep your coat buttoned." Jarrod smiled again. His spirits rose. He scented battle as a cat scents cream. Here was a delightful condition of affairs existing in a tucked-away resort where he was going to spend the summer, and the chances were he would be amply amused. Any capricious manifestation of human nature was sure to charm him, no matter what phase it exhibited, and the man who had for years fought and conquered the terrible Crosbys was not likely to shrink from a pair so frankly enterprising as Easton and Wilder seemed to be. And, if he must put in three long months at Tamawaca, Jarrod simply had to be amused. He slept well on the boat that night—the first sound sleep he had enjoyed for months. CHAPTER III. WILDER. When Jarrod arrived at Tamawaca in the course of the next forenoon he found all prophecies most amply fulfilled. Fronting the beautiful bay was a group of frame buildings bearing various signs of one general trend: "Wilder's Grocery;" "Wilder's Ice Cream and Soda Fountain;" "Wilder's Model Market;" "Wilder's Boat Livery;" "Wilder's Post Office" (leased to Uncle Sam;) "Wilder's Bakery;" "Wilder's Fresh-Buttered Pop-Corn;" "Wilder's Bazaar;" "Wilder's Real Estate Office," etc., etc. As the lawyer helped his family off the car a man dashed out of the grocery, ran up to him and seized both his hands in a welcoming grip. He was a stocky built, middle sized man, with round features chubby and merry, a small mouth, good teeth and soft brown eyes that ought to have been set in a woman's face. "My dear, dear boy, I'm delighted to see you—indeed I am! Welcome to Tamawaca," said the man, in a cordial, cheery tone. "And these are the dear children! My, my—how they have grown! And Mrs. Jenkins, too, I declare! Nora, my dear," turning to a pleasant faced woman who had followed him out, "here are our dear friends the Jenkinses, that Mr. Merrington wrote us about. Allow me to present Mrs. Wilder, my dear Mrs. Jenkins, and I'm sure she's as glad to see you as I am myself." "Pardon me," said the lawyer, a little stiffly; "my name is Jarrod." "Of course—of course!" cried Wilder, unabashed. "Nora, my dear, help me to welcome our good friends the Jarrods, that Dr. Brush has written us about. How nice to see you at last in lovely Tamawaca! And the children will have the time of their lives; and Mrs. Jarrod will be delighted with our swell society—nothing sweller in all Michigan, I assure you!" "It's awfully nice to see you here," added Mrs. Wilder, as smiling and cheerful as her mate. "Won't you come into the bazaar and sit down for awhile? Perhaps Mr. Jarrod has some business to talk over with my husband." "Yes," said Jarrod, as his wife and children trooped after the pleasant little lady into the roomy and well-stocked bazaar; "I want to enquire about Grant's cottage. He says you have the rental of it." Wilder's face fell, and his merry expression gave way to one of absolute despair. "Dear me!" he exclaimed, as if deeply distressed; "how very unfortunate. Grant's cottage was rented only last evening. How sad that I did not know you wanted it!" "But there are others, of course," suggested Jarrod, after a moment's thought. "Let—me—see," mused Wilder, reflectively. "There's the Stakes place—but that's rented; and Kimball's is gone, too; and Smith's, and Johnson's, and McGraw's—all rented and occupied. My dear boy, I'm afraid you're up against it. There isn't a cottage left in Tamawaca to rent! But never mind; you shall stay with me—you and the wife and the dear little ones. I live over the grocery, you know—really swell apartments. You shall stay there as my guests, and you'll be very welcome, I assure you." "Oh, I can't do that, Wilder," said Jarrod, much annoyed. They had strolled, by this time, to the porch of the grocery and bazaar—a long building facing the bay on one side and the hotel on the other. It had wide porches set with tables for the convenience of consumers of ice-cream sodas. Inside, the building was divided into the meat market, the grocery and the bazaar, all opening on to the same porch. Jarrod sat down at one of the tables, feeling homeless and despondent. He had eaten a dreadful breakfast in Kochton, an hour before, and it hadn't agreed with him. Through the open door of the bazaar he beheld Mrs. Wilder talking earnestly with his wife. She had given his little girl a large and expensive doll to hold and his little boy a full-rigged toy sail-boat to play with. "Ah!" cried Wilder, slapping the table with emphasis; "I have it! You are saved, dear boy—and not only saved but highly favored by fortune. How lucky I happened to think of it!" "What is it?" asked Jarrod, with reviving interest. "Why, I've got Lake View for sale, the prettiest and finest cottage in the whole Park. You shall have it, dear boy—you shall have it for a song." "But I don't want to buy a cottage," protested Jarrod. "I've not even seen Tamawaca yet, and I don't know as I'll like it." "Not like it! Not like Tamawaca!" Wilder's voice was sad and reproachful. "My dear boy, everybody likes Tamawaca. You can't help liking it. Come, I'll show you the charms of our little heaven upon earth, and at the same time you shall examine lovely 'Lake View.'" During this conversation a little group of people had been gathering a few paces behind Wilder, all with anxious faces but a diffidence about interrupting him. Wilder noted this group and excused himself from Jarrod for a moment. "Yes, Mrs. Jones," he said, in his earnest, winning tones, "give me your baggage checks and I'll have the trunks up to your cottage in a jiffy. Certainly, Miss Vanderslop, I'll be glad to telephone for you—no trouble at all! Here, William," to his clerk in the grocery, "cash this check for Mr. Chambers. What's that, Mrs. Harringford? the bread sour? Too bad, dear girl, too bad! But accidents will sometimes happen. William, give Mrs. Harringford her money back; the bread's sour. What is it, Mr. Harden? Gasoline stove won't work? I'll have a man up to fix it in half an hour; don't worry, dear boy; half an hour at the latest. Good morning, Mrs. Still! here are the keys to your cottage. I've had the women clean it and put it in order and it's all ready for you to walk into and sit down. No trouble at all—no thanks— glad to be of use to you. What is it, my little man? a note from mamma? Ah, yes; tell her it will give me great delight to reserve a berth for her on tomorrow night's boat. And now, Mr. Jarrod, I'm at your service." "You seem to be a busy man," said Jarrod, with a smile. "Usually I am," replied Wilder, mopping his forehead; "but there's not much doing this morning; it's too early in the season; I'm resting up for the busy days coming. Let us walk over to the Lake front, and I'll astonish you with the beauty of our fairyland." So Jarrod, leaving his family to be entertained by Mrs. Wilder, who seemed an eminently fitting spouse for her cheery husband, followed this modern Poo-Bah along a broad cement walk that led past the hotel and through a shady grove. There were cottages on every side, clustered all too thickly to be very enticing, but neatly built and pleasant enough for a summer's outing. A few paces more brought them to a magnificent view of the great inland sea, and soon they emerged upon a broad beach lapped by the rolling waves of grand old Michigan. Jarrod's eyes sparkled. It was beautiful at this point, he was forced to admit, and the cool breath of the breeze that swept over the waters sent an exhilarating vigor to the bottom of his lungs and brought a sudden glow to his cheek. Along the lake front was another row of pretty cottages, running north and south for a distance of half a mile or more. At frequent intervals an avenue led from the beach back into the splendid forest, where, Wilder explained, were many more cottages hidden among the trees. "Some people prefer to live in the forest," said he, "while others like to be nearer the water. The cottage you have just bought is near the big lake, and finely located." "I didn't know I had purchased it, as yet," remarked Jarrod, drily. "I forgot," said Wilder, laughing. "There are a good many things for me to think of, you know, and sometimes I get 'em mixed." "I see." "Here," continued the guide, as they went south along the wide beach walk, "is the residence of the Father of Tamawaca, my dear partner Mr. Easton. A fine man, sir, but erring in judgment now and then." He stumbled on a loose, worn out plank, and came to a halt. "This walk, dear boy, ought to be repaired. I've talked to Easton about it more than once, but he says he's too poor to squander money on public improvements. It's his idea that the cottagers should repair the walks." "Isn't this in front of his own residence?" asked Jarrod. "Y-e-e-e-s; seems to be. But Easton says, and with justice, that all the people living above here are obliged to use this walk to get down town—where the store and post-office are located—and so they ought to see that it's kept in proper condition." "Who owns the street?" enquired Jarrod. "Why, we own it, of course—Easton and I. You see, this whole place was once a farm and some men bought it and laid out and platted Tamawaca Park. They incorporated under the laws of Michigan as a summer resort company, and so they kept the control of all the streets and public grounds in their own hands. It's a private settlement, you understand, and when a man buys one of our lots he acquires the right to walk over our streets as much as he likes—as long as he behaves himself." "And if he doesn't?" "If he doesn't we can order him off." "Was the original plat recorded?" asked Jarrod. "Yes; of course." "With the streets and public grounds laid out in detail?" "Certainly." "Then," said the lawyer, "the first man that bought a lot here acquired a title to all your public streets and grounds, and you lost the control of them forever." "Nonsense!" cried Wilder. "I've read law a bit," said Jarrod, "and I know." "Michigan law is different, dear boy," announced Wilder, composedly. "Still we mean to do what's right, and to treat every cottage owner fair and square—as long as he does what we tell him to." Jarrod's face was beaming. He had not been so highly amused for months—not since the Crosbys had sold out. He hadn't seen Lake View Cottage as yet, but already he had decided to buy it. A condition that would have induced an ordinary man to turn tail and avoid Tamawaca was an irresistible charm to this legal pugilist. But his cue was now to be silent and let Wilder talk. "Here, dear boy," that seraphic individual was explaining, "is where Noggs lives, the wealthy merchant prince of Grand Rapids. And here's the cottage of our distinguished author. Don't have to work, you know. Just writes books and people buy 'em. Snap, ain't it?" "Looks that way," said Jarrod. "What's that cottage standing in the middle of yonder avenue?" "Oh, that belongs to old man Easton." "Why is it there?" "Why, lake front lots are scarce, you know; but cottages on the lake front rent for good money. So Easton built one in the street, and rents it at a high figure. Clever scheme, ain't it?" "Didn't the cottage owners object?" "It was built in the winter, when no one was here. When the resorters came in the spring and saw it, they wailed an' tore their hair. But it was too late, then. While they swore, Easton prayed for 'em; he's religious. The old saint's got lots o' cottages on public grounds, but no one can make him tear 'em down because we control the public grounds ourselves. Whatever's public here belongs to me an' Easton. Understand?" "Perfectly." "Here's where the big stock-yards man from Chicago lives. Pretty place, eh? And here's the cottage of George B. Still, the magnate of Quincy." "I've met him." "Fine fellow, and so's his wife. One of the largest grocery bills, sir, at the Park! Ah, here we come to the cottage of the famous philanthropist from Chicago Commons—Professor Graylor. Used to be a rich man, but spent everything he had to convert the heathen dagos of the Windy City. Now all he's got left is this cottage and a clear conscience—poor man!" "Why do you say 'poor man'?" "Because, dear boy, a clear conscience ain't an available asset. I've got one myself, and I know," said Wilder, plaintively. "But here we are at Maple Walk—one of the most picturesque avenues in town. Please climb these few steps; it is on this walk your charming cottage stands." "Mine?" "To be sure. No man of judgment, dear boy, would refuse to buy it, and I can see you're a good bit wiser than the average resorter. I'm so glad you came!" "Thank you." "You're just the sort of man we need, Mr. Jarrod—the sort we're always lookin' for." "To walk on your streets and repair your sidewalks?" "Exactly." "And patronize your mercantile establishments?" Wilder laughed heartily. "Why not?" he asked, laying a familiar and caressing hand on the other's shoulder. "You've got to live; an' poor Wilder's got to live." "Poor Wilder can't help living, it seems to me," returned Jarrod, reflectively. "All these people are forced to trade with you, because there's no one else to patronize. You've established a monopoly here." "It ain't that," said Wilder, becoming serious. "I don't want to monopolize anything, I'm sure. All I want is for people to come here and have a good time, and I can't trust anyone but myself to give 'em the right service and the right goods at the right prices. That's why I run everything myself—and lose money year after year a-doin' it." "How can you lose money?" "Why, on the folks that don't come here. If Tamawaca was double the size, I'd make double the money, wouldn't I? But it's a small place, you see, and no man's so energetic that he can get more than there is. So I work every season just to accommodate the people. When you've been here a little while you'll find that out. I'll cash your checks, lend you money, run your errands, settle your quarrels with your wife, reconcile your hired girl to sleeping in the basement and play blind-man's-buff with your children. That's Wilder—everybody's friend but his own, and too honest for his own good." "Indeed, Mr. Wilder," said Jarrod, "I can see already that you are a remarkable man. What could Tamawaca do without you?" "That's it! Why, dear boy, it would bust higher than Guilderoy's kite! That's why I take such good care of my health. But here we are at Lake View. Behold your future home!" Jarrod liked the place. It was high enough to command an outlook upon the lake and to catch every breeze, yet not too high for an ordinary climb. "What's the price?" he asked. "Just step inside and see the rooms. It's magnificently furnished." "What do you ask for the place?" "There's a fine pump in the back yard and a sideboard in the dining room." "How much?" "It was painted only this spring and everything's in apple-pie order. Just step inside." Jarrod sat down on the steps. "I'll give you a thousand dollars for it," he said. "My dear boy, the lot alone's worth fifteen hundred." "Is the cottage on the lot?" "Why do you ask?" "It don't look it." "Never mind that. I'll sell you the lot and the cottage. If the house isn't on the lot it's somewhere in the neighborhood, and no one's going to ask any questions." "Why not?" "Because they daren't. They're all in the same boat. There hasn't been a surveyor allowed in Tamawaca for ages. When a man wants to build, he buys a lot of me an' Easton an' then hunts for the lot. If he thinks he's found it, he's lucky. If there don't appear to be a lot where he thinks it ought to be, he just builds his cottage and takes the chances." "All right," said Jarrod. "I'll take my chances. How much for Lake View?" "Well, dear boy, I've taken a liking to you, and so I'm willing to sacrifice. I'll pay good money to get you here as a resident. But it's a dreadful shame to think how property's advanced here lately. I've tried to keep it down, but I can't. Here's a case, though, where I can forget high prices and be generous. You can have Lake View for four thousand dollars." "What!" "And I'll trust to luck to keep Nora and me out o' the poor-house." Jarrod reflected. "I'll give you two thousand," he said. "Then it's yours. Do you want to go in and look around, or shall we walk back and get your wife and children, so they can begin to enjoy their new home?" "We'll go back," said Jarrod, wondering to what extent he had been bled. "I'll have plenty of chances to see the inside of my cottage later." "True. And while we're down at the store we'll make out the list for groceries and meats and gasoline and such things, and I'll send 'em up in fifteen minutes." Mrs. Jarrod was glad to see her husband again, although in his absence Mrs. Wilder had thoroughly posted her in regard to everyone of note at Tamawaca. She was rather astonished at the rapidity with which they had acquired citizenship, but went to William at once to order her groceries and supplies, while Jarrod drew his check to pay for Lake View and then settled with Mrs. Wilder for the doll and the sail-boat—one of which had been broken while the other his dear child refused to part with without a scene. Two hours later they had taken possession of their cottage, unpacked their trunks and settled themselves for the summer. The children had taken off their shoes and stockings and run down to the lake to paddle around at the water's edge, where it was perfectly safe; Mrs. Jarrod was instructing a maid that Wilder had promptly secured and sent to her, while Jarrod himself—collarless and in his shirt-sleeves—had drawn an easy chair out upon the porch and set himself down to think. On a tree facing him was a sign that read: "Ask Wilder." These signs he had noticed everywhere at Tamawaca, and as he stared at this one he smiled grimly. "There's no need asking Wilder," he murmured. "Let him alone for a time and he'll tell you everything—even more than he imagines he does. But I'm glad I came. Wilder's a genius, and his nerve is a challenge to all the world!" CHAPTER IV. JUST GIRLS. She was rather pretty, judged by the ordinary standards. The other girls called her "the heiress," because she so frankly confided to them the information that her uncle—an enormously wealthy man—had no one to inherit his millions but herself, and so had made his will in her favor. Meantime, while he continued to live, this estimable old gentleman gave his niece "just anything I want, girls! He just begs me to spend all the money I can, and is sorry I don't spend more." Such opulence was not observable in the appearance of the young lady, nor did it lead her to reckless extravagances. She bought about as many ice-cream sodas as the other girls who were shy of rich uncles, and dressed equally as well as the majority of the young women at Tamawaca, but no better. She had no jewel cabinet, or automobile, or pug dog or embroidered underwear; so her chums and comrades, who only knew her at this summer resort, were wicked enough to rally her upon her vast wealth and slyly insinuate "they were from Missouri" by dubbing her "the heiress." Clara accepted the title with much content. She felt she was entitled to the distinction and held her chin a bit higher when she passed common folks on the street. This afternoon, however, she was not on dress parade. Dressed in her bathing uniform she reclined upon the sands in company with several companions likewise attired and listened eagerly to the comments of two young ladies who had made an important discovery. "He came this morning, girls," said Betty Lowden, impressively, "and he's just the cutest thing that ever came off from the boat. Such eyes, my dears!—and such lovely fluffy hair—" "And the air of a real gentleman, girls," broke in Mary Newton; "you couldn't mistake him anywhere; and before we passed him he looked at me twice!" "No dear, once at the weather signal and once at you," corrected Betty. "I noticed especially, for afterward he stared at me a whole minute." "Why, you mean, disagreeable—" "Seems to me," remarked little Susie, quietly, "that it's a bit of good luck to have any sort of a young man drop down upon us so early in the season. I'm told they're scarce enough at any time in Tamawaca, so I didn't expect to meet a real Charles Augustus for a whole month yet." "His name is James—James Ingram. Mary and I ran to look at the hotel register, and he's the only man that arrived today." "And you haven't met him yet, either," suggested Mary, with an exasperating air of proprietorship. "No?" said Susie, demurely, as she dipped her hands into the sands and let the shining grains run through her fingers. "But," glancing dreamily over the heads of the others, "I expect to meet him—within the next half hour." "Oh, Susie!" "How absurd!" "I'll bet you the sundaes for the crowd, Betty, that I'll be able to introduce him to all of you in half an hour from this second." "And you've never met him before?" suspiciously. "Never." "You must be crazy," said the heiress, scornfully. "Don't turn around quickly—take your time, Mary. But just let me know if that's James," continued the girl, in a soft voice. They gave a jump, then, and every one of them stared ruthlessly. They saw a tall young man come down the walk at a swinging stride, glance hungrily at the sparkling waves, and then enter "Wilder's Bathing Establishment," which stood near by, at the water's edge. "It must be him!" gasped the heiress. "It is him!" cried Betty, triumphantly. "Isn't he splendid?" "Say, girls," observed Gladys McGowan, "let's take Susie's bet. It'll be worth a round of sundaes to meet our Jim right away, without losing precious time." "Half an hour, Susie?" "Half an hour at the most, girls." "Then it's a go! How will you manage it?" Susie still played with the sands, while the others watched her nervously. She was a tiny thing, and not especially beautiful, but the girls liked her because she was "good fun" and exhibited a rare cleverness at times. All they knew of her history was that Susie was visiting at the Carleton cottage. "You'll help me, girls?" enquired the adventurous one. "Of course. But what's your plan, dear?" "Wait." Presently a bather emerged from Wilder's Establishment, walked down to the shore near them, gave a glance of brief interest at the group of girls reclining upon the sands, and straightway plunged into the lake and swam out with bold, vigorous strokes. Every feminine eye followed him. "Jim can swim, all right," observed Gladys, admiringly. Susie nodded. "I thought he could," she said. "Now, girls, in we go!" "What! Into the water?" "Certainly." "And get wet?" "It'll take a week to dry our hair again!" Susie ignored the protests. "Oh, we'll just putter around a bit. It won't hurt us," she said. They arose reluctantly and one or two dipped a stockinged toe into the cool water and cringed. But Susie waded in without a quiver, and realizing the importance of the occasion they grew bold and slowly followed her. The heiress waited until the very last, and hesitated even then. But there was "Jim" in the water, and it wouldn't do to let the other girls get an advantage over her. So presently they had all trailed along the gently shelving bottom until the water had reached their waists, and in the case of little Susie, who was in the lead, it came quite up to her chin. The young man had cleaved his way a good distance out; but now he was returning more slowly, leaping and turning like a dolphin at play and then floating luxuriously upon his back for awhile. As he drew nearer to the girls Susie whispered: "Now scream—and scream loud, mind you!" In amazement they watched her swim out a few strokes—for the girl could actually swim—and then saw her throw up her hands and heard her cry out. Wildly they shrieked a chorus. It was the real thing in the way of a scream, and owed part of its vigor to the fact that Susie's action seemed horribly natural. Instantly the young man rolled off his back and elevated his head, treading water. He saw a girl struggling madly and heard the shrill outcry of her companions. A moment more he was dashing to the rescue. Did Susie see him coming through one corner of her eye? She disappeared entirely, and was under water an alarming time. When she finally bobbed up a strong arm was folded around her waist. "Don't struggle! Keep quiet and leave it to me," said Jim, calmly; and the sound of his voice seemed to have a soothing effect upon the drowning girl. She rested in his circling arm quite comfortably, and before another minute he found a footing and then waded ashore with both arms around her, while Susie's envious friends scampered out beside him and insisted upon helping to restore her. Very gently the big fellow laid her on the sand and knelt anxiously beside her. But she had been rescued at exactly the right moment, so now she opened her eyes, smiled sweetly, and heaved a sigh. "Oh, thank you! Thank you, sir, for saving me!" she said. The voice was pretty husky for a girl that had to be held, but Jim was young and did not notice that. "Don't mention it," he replied, delighted to find she was likely to live. "You'd better get home as soon as possible, and have a good rub-down and a glass of tonic. May I assist you?" "If you please. I know it's foolish and—and silly; but I'm so frightened and weak yet." "Naturally," replied the sympathetic hero; and then the heiress, who could stand no more foolishness, jerked Susie to her feet before she had a chance to smile into the boy's grave eyes again. That was wasted energy, of course, for Susie just now absolutely controlled the situation. Her delicate form swayed so visibly that the boy seized her arm at once, and Clara thoughtfully usurped the other arm and began to lavish such tender devotion upon her that Gladys laughed outright—a cold, harsh laugh that sent a shiver down the heiress' back and made her vow to "get even" at the first opportunity. Mischievous Susie was dying for a good laugh herself at the complete success of her stratagem; but she mastered the impulse and, letting Jim support her as much as he would, tottered slowly along the beach in the direction of home. The girls surrounded her, flooding her with eager questions of how it had happened and how she felt, and generous praises of her brave and noble rescuer. For none except the heiress could withhold her admiration for Susie's cleverness or was the least bit jealous. On the way they were all introduced, in the most natural manner, to the man of the hour, and then the heroine enquired in a languid tone that could not disguise her meaning: "What time is it, Clara dear?" "Oh, less than half an hour since you attempted suicide," returned the heiress, composedly. "Brace up, Susie dear, for I'm going to buy you a sundae tonight." Of course the young man didn't understand this speech. He left the girl "whose life he had saved" at the Carleton porch, and begged permission to call in the evening and enquire after her—a permission instantly granted. Then, with Betty and Mary and Gladys and the heiress all chattering in a breath as they surrounded him, Jim returned to the bathing establishment, where they separated. The heiress was a pretty girl, and the boy smiled as he bade her good- bye. As he dressed himself he could not help congratulating himself upon his good luck in meeting this "bunch of nice girls" on the very day of his arrival. It augured a pleasant vacation. As for the "bunch," Gladys said on the way home: "Isn't Susie a deep one, though?" "She thinks she is," answered the heiress, with a toss of her shapely head. "Do you remember, dear, how the cat's paw once pulled the chest-nuts out of the fire for some one else?" "Oh, yes;" answered Gladys, sniffing. "It was for a monkey, wasn't it?" Those sweet, sweet girls! CHAPTER V. GETTING ACQUAINTED. Mrs. Still, who lived but a few doors from the Jarrods, called upon Mrs. Jarrod the next afternoon, and after welcoming her cordially to Tamawaca and congratulating her upon acquiring pretty Lake View, invited her and Mr. Jarrod to attend a card party at the yacht club that evening. Jarrod didn't play "five hundred," but when the good-natured Stills called for them soon after dinner he complacently accompanied his wife to the club, which was located half way around the bay and was reached by one of Wilder's ferry-boats after a five minutes' ride from the Tamawaca dock. It was a pretty building, gay with electric lights. On the ground floor was a reception room filled with sailing trophies, and a big room reached through swinging doors which was devoted to the needs of thirsty men. The upper floor was one large room set with card tables, and here Mrs. Still introduced Mrs. Jarrod to a numerous concourse of merry folks who were all impatient to get at the cards and gamble fiercely for two hours or so to win a set of prizes that represented an outlay of about seventy-five cents in the aggregate. When the "prizes" were won they were usually either dropped quietly into the lake on the way home or reserved to be gambled for at some other social gathering. I knew one lady who won the same prize seven times in the same season, and likewise gave it away seven times. The only reason that she kept it then was that her guests flatly refused to accept it as a trophy, it having become sadly shop-worn. Jarrod was ushered by Geo. B. into the thirst room and introduced to a solemn group of three or four men who wore yachting caps and shirts, and had brass buttons sewn on their blue serge coats. "Howdy," said Berwin, a man with a bald head and serious eyes. "Hear you've bought a cottage, Jarrod. Want to join our Club?" "I'd like to," the lawyer replied, hesitating; "but I've—" "Ten dollars, please. That's the price for season membership." Jarrod paid it. "But I've got no sail-boat," said he. "That's all right," observed Stakes, a little fellow with a peppery and pugnacious countenance. "None of the crowd upstairs owns a sail-boat, but they're all club members, just the same. We four—Homperton, Berwin, Diller and myself —own boats, and we're the yacht club in reality. We built this shop on credit, and run it ourselves, but we let the folks upstairs support it by paying ten dollars a year. It pleases 'em to be members of a yacht club, you know, and helps us out financially. Much obliged for your donation." "Do I have a vote?" asked Jarrod, much amused by this frank explanation. "Of course; but according to our constitution only men with sail-boats can be officers of the club. So you must vote for us." "Once," remarked Diller, a fine looking chap who was intently interested in a squat bottle and a siphon, "I had money and ambition and no sail-boat. Who was I, anyhow? A landsman! A nobody! Didn't belong to a yacht club, or anything else." "Except Mrs. Diller," interjected Geo. B., with a sly wink at Jarrod. "Then I bought a sail-boat—" "And a dingy," added Geo. B. "And paid up the debts of the club and was made Commodore. Commodore Diller! Who was I then? Why, ev'rybody said: 'Morn'n', Com-mo-dore!' 'Have a smoke, Com-mo-dore!' 'One more with me, Com-mo-dore!' Ah; that's bein' somebody, that is. Commodore Diller! Com-mo-dore Dil-ler." "Some men acquire greatness," said Jarrod, sympathetically. "Fact is," remarked the solemn Berwin, "that Diller's a fine sailor. Got a good boat, too. Every race we have, Diller's there." "Where?" asked Diller, looking up with a puzzled expression. "Oh, somewhere," said Berwin. "Only yesterday I said to Wilder—" "Con-found Wilder!" yelled little Stakes, growing red with sudden rage and pounding the table fiercely. "Why should that monster's name be mentioned in the sanctity of the sanctum of this respectable Yacht Club? Wilder's a robber, a thief, a con-man, a—a rascal, and a—a—a—" "That's all righ...