Part 34 (1/2)

The old workman was shocked. ”What! you don't mean it!” He shook his grizzly head sadly. ”I hadn't heard that he was that bad.”

Henry laughed. ”We're not keepin' the old boy in, Uncle Pete--not yet.

So far, our orders are only to keep people out. Dangerous people, I mean--the kind that might want to run away with the castle, or steal a look at the fountain, or sneak a smell of the flowers or something--y'

understand.”

Pete smiled. ”How do you like your job, Henry?”

”Oh, it's all right just now when the strike is on. But was you wantin'

to come in, Uncle Pete, or just pa.s.sing' by?”

”I wanted to see Adam if I could.”

The man swung open the gate. ”Help yourself, Uncle Pete, just so you don't stick a knife into him or blow him up with a bomb or poison him or something.” He pointed toward that part of the grounds where Helen had watched her father from the arbor. ”You'll find him over there somewhere, I think. I saw him headed that way a few minutes ago. The rest of the family are gone to church.”

”Is Adam's life really threatened, Henry?” asked Pete, as he stepped inside and the gates were closed behind him.

”Search me,” returned the guard, indifferently. ”I expect if the truth were known it ought to be by rights. He sure enough thinks it is, though. Why, Uncle Pete, there can't a b.u.t.terfly flit over these grounds that Adam ain't a yellin' how there's an aeroplane a sailin'

around lookin' fer a chance to drop a monkey wrench on his head or something.”

”Poor Adam!” murmured the old workman. ”What a way to live!”

”Live?” echoed the guard. ”It ain't livin' at all--it's just bein' in h.e.l.l before your time, that's what it is--if you ask me.”

When Peter Martin, making his slow way through the beautiful grounds, first caught sight of his old bench mate, Adam was pacing slowly to and fro across a sunny open s.p.a.ce of lawn. As he walked, the Mill owner was talking to himself and moving his arms and hands in those continuous gestures that seemed so necessary to any expression of his thoughts.

Once Pete heard him laugh. And something in the mirthless sound made the old workman pause. It was then that Adam saw him.

There was no mistaking the sudden fear that for a moment seemed to paralyze the man. His gray face turned a sickly white, his eyes were staring, his jaw dropped, his body shook as if with a chill. He looked about as if he would call for help, and started as if to seek safety in flight.

”Good-morning, Adam Ward,” said Pete Martin.

And at the gentle kindliness in the workman's voice Adam's manner, with a suddenness that was startling, changed. With an elaborate show of friendliness he came eagerly forward. His gray face, twitching with nervous excitement, beamed with joyous welcome. As he hurried across the bit of lawn between them, he waved his arms and rubbed his hands together in an apparent ecstasy of gladness at this opportunity to receive such an honored guest. His voice trembled with high-pitched a.s.surance of his happiness in the occasion. He laughed as one who could not contain himself.

”Well, well, well--to think that you have actually come to see me at last.” He grasped the workman's hand in both his own with a grip that was excessive in its hearty energy. With affectionate familiarity he almost shouted, ”You old scoundrel! I can't believe it is you. Where have you been keeping yourself? How are Charlie and Mary? Lord, but it's good to see you here in my own home like this.”

While Pete was trying to make some adequate reply to this effusive and startling reception, Adam looked cautiously about to see if there were any chance observers lurking near.

Satisfied that no one was watching, he said, nervously, ”Come on, let's sit over here where we can talk.” And with his hand on Pete's arm, he led his caller to lawn chairs that were in the open, well beyond hearing of any curious ear in the shrubbery.

Giving the workman opportunity for no more than an occasional monosyllable in reply, he poured forth a flood of information about his estate: The architectural features of his house--the cost; the loveliness of his trees--the cost; the coloring of his flowers--the cost; the magnificence of his view, And all the while he studied his caller's face with sharp, furtive glances, trying to find some clew to the purpose of the workman's visit.

Peter Martin's steady eyes, save for occasional glances at the objects of Adam's interest as Adam pointed them out, were fixed on the Mill owner with a half-wondering, half-pitying expression. Adam's evident nervousness increased. He talked of his Mill--how he had built it up from nothing almost, to its present magnitude--of the city and what he had done for the people.

The old workman listened without comment.

At last, apparently unable to endure the suspense a moment longer, Adam Ward said, nervously, ”Well, Pete, out with it! What do you want? I can guess what you are here for. We might as well get done with it.”

In his slow, thoughtful manner of speech that was so different from the Mill owner's agitated expressions, the old workman said, ”I have wanted for nothing, Adam. We have been contented and happy in our little home.

But now,” he paused as if his thoughts were loath to form themselves into words.