ofinformation. Thanks to him, I was able to see that ferny wood that's sofamous--about two miles up the road. You know--the one that there's apoem written about!"
The shot told! Short-lip burst into a display of dazzling little teethand caught the other girl convulsively by the shoulders. The superiorgirl bent her pretty brows, and said, "Eunice, what's gone of ye? Quitthat!" but, as Hamlin thought, paled slightly.
"Of course," said Hamlin, quickly, "you know--the poem everybody'stalking about. Dear me! let me see! how does it go?" The rascal knit hisbrows, said, "Ah, yes," and then murmured the verse he had lately sungquite as musically.
Short-lip was shamelessly exalted and excited. Really she could scarcelybelieve it! She already heard herself relating the whole occurrence.Here was the most beautiful young man she had ever seen--an entirestranger--talking to them in the most beautiful and natural way,right in the lane, and reciting poetry to her sister! It was like anovel--only more so. She thought that Cynthia, on the other hand, lookeddistressed, and--she must say it--"silly."
All of which Jack noted, and was wise. He had got all he wanted--atpresent. He gathered up his reins.
"Thank you so much, and your brother, too, Miss Cynthia," he said,without looking up. Then, adding, with a parting glance and smile, "Butdon't tell Bob how stupid I was," he swiftly departed.
In half an hour he was at the Green Springs Hotel. As he rode into thestable yard, he noticed that the coach had only just arrived, havingbeen detained by a land-slip on the Summit road. With the recollectionof Bob fresh in his mind, he glanced at the loungers at the stageoffice. The boy was not there, but a moment later Jack detected himamong the waiting crowd at the post-office opposite. With a view offollowing up his inquiries, he crossed the road as the boy entered thevestibule of the post-office. He arrived in time to see him unlock oneof a row of numbered letter-boxes rented by subscribers, which occupieda partition by the window, and take out a small package and a letter.But in that brief glance Mr. Hamlin detected the printed address of the"Excelsior Magazine" on the wrapper. It was enough. Luck was certainlywith him.
He had time to get rid of the wicked sparkle that had lit his dark eyes,and to lounge carelessly towards the boy as the latter broke open thepackage, and then hurriedly concealed it in his jacket-pocket, andstarted for the door. Mr. Hamlin quickly followed him, unperceived, and,as he stepped into the street, gently tapped him on the shoulder. Theboy turned and faced him quickly. But Mr. Hamlin's eyes showed nothingbut lazy good-humor.
"Hullo, Bob. Where are you going?"
The boy again looked up suspiciously at this revelation of his name.
"Home," he said, briefly.
"Oh, over yonder," said Hamlin, calmly. "I don't mind walking with youas far as the lane."
He saw the boy's eyes glance furtively towards an alley that ran besidethe blacksmith's shop a few rods ahead, and was convinced that heintended to evade him there. Slipping his arm carelessly in the youth's,he concluded to open fire at once.
"Bob," he said, with irresistible gravity, "I did not know when I metyou this morning that I had the honor of addressing a poet--none otherthan the famous author of 'Underbrush.'"
The boy started back, and endeavored to withdraw his arm, but Mr. Hamlintightened his hold, without, however, changing his careless expression.
"You see," he continued, "the editor is a friend of mine, and, beingafraid this package might not get into the right hands--as you didn'tgive your name--he deputized me to come here and see that it was allsquare. As you're rather young, for all you're so gifted, I reckon I'dbetter go home with you, and take a receipt from your parents. That'sabout square, I think?"
The consternation of the boy was so evident and so far beyond Mr.Hamlin's expectation that he instantly halted him, gazed into hisshifting eyes, and gave a long whistle.
"Who said it was for ME? Wot you talkin' about? Lemme go!" gasped theboy, with the short intermittent breath of mingled fear and passion.
"Bob," said Mr. Hamlin, in a singularly colorless voice which was veryrare with him, and an expression quite unlike his own, "what is yourlittle game?"
The boy looked down in dogged silence.
"Out with it! Who are you playing this on?"
"It's all among my own folks; it's nothin' to YOU," said the boy,suddenly beginning to struggle violently, as if inspired by thisextenuating fact.
"Among your own folks, eh? White Violet and the rest, eh? But SHE'S notin it?"
No reply.
"Hand me over that package. I'll give it back to you again."
The boy handed it to Mr. Hamlin. He read the letter, and found theinclosure contained a twenty-dollar gold-piece. A half-supercilioussmile passed over his face at this revelation of the inadequateemoluments of literature and the trifling inducements to crime. Indeed,I fear the affair began to take a less serious moral complexion in hiseyes.
"Then White Violet--your sister Cynthia, you know," continued Mr.Hamlin, in easy parenthesis--"wrote for this?" holding the coincontemplatively in his fingers, "and you calculated to nab it yourself?"
The quick searching glance with which Bob received the name of hissister, Mr. Hamlin attributed only to his natural surprise thatthis stranger should be on such familiar terms with her; but the boyresponded immediately and bluntly:--
"No! SHE didn't write for it. She didn't want nobody to know who shewas. Nobody wrote for it but me. Nobody KNEW FOLKS WAS PAID FOR PO'TRYBUT ME. I found it out from a feller. I wrote for it. I wasn't goin' tolet that skunk of an editor have it himself!"
"And you thought YOU would take it," said Hamlin, his voice resumingits old tone. "Well, George--I mean Bob, your conduct was praiseworthy,although your intentions were bad. Still, twenty dollars is rathertoo much for your trouble. Suppose we say five and call it square?" Hehanded the astonished boy five dollars. "Now, George Washington," hecontinued, taking four other twenty-dollar pieces from his pocket, andadding them to the inclosure, which he carefully refolded, "I'm going togive you another chance to live up to your reputation. You'll take thatpackage, and hand it to White Violet, and say you found it, just asit is, in the lock-box. I'll keep the letter, for it would knock youendways if it was seen, and I'll make it all right with the editor. But,as I've got to tell him that I've seen White Violet myself, and knowshe's got it, I expect YOU to manage in some way to have me see her.I'll manage the rest of it; and I won't blow on you, either. You'llcome back to the hotel, and tell me what you've done. And now, George,"concluded Mr. Hamlin, succeeding at last in fixing the boy's evasive eyewith a peculiar look, "it may be just as well for you to understandthat I know every nook and corner of this place, that I've already beenthrough that underbrush you spoke of once this morning, and that I'vegot a mare that can go wherever YOU can, and a d----d sight quicker!"
"I'll give the package to White Violet," said the boy, doggedly.
"And you'll come back to the hotel?"
The boy hesitated, and then said, "I'll come back."
"All right, then. Adios, general."
Bob disappeared around the corner of a cross-road at a rapid trot, andMr. Hamlin turned into the hotel.
"Smart little chap that!" he said to the barkeeper.
"You bet!" returned the man, who, having recognized Mr. Hamlin, wasdelighted at the prospect of conversing with a gentleman of suchdecidedly dangerous reputation. "But he's been allowed to run a littlewild since old man Delatour died, and the widder's got enough to do, Ireckon, lookin' arter her four gals, and takin' keer of old Delatour'sranch over yonder. I guess it's pretty hard sleddin' for her sometimesto get clo'es and grub for the famerly, without follerin' Bob around."
"Sharp girls, too, I reckon; one of them writes things for themagazines, doesn't she?--Cynthia, eh?" said Mr. Hamlin, carelessly.
Evidently this fact was not a notorious one to the barkeeper. He,however, said, "Dunno; mabbee; her father was eddicated, and the widderDelatour, too, though she's sorter queer, I've heard tell. Lord!Mr. Hamlin, YOU oughter remember old
man Delatour! From Opelousas,Louisiany, you know! High old sport French style, frilledbosom--open-handed, and us'ter buck ag'in' faro awful! Why, he droppeda heap o' money to YOU over in San Jose two years ago at poker! You mustremember him!"
The slightest possible flush passed over Mr. Hamlin's brow under theshadow of his hat, but did not get lower than his eyes. He suddenly HADrecalled the spendthrift Delatour perfectly, and as quickly regrettednow that he had not doubled the