Afore they'd left they made a dicker. He wa'n't the principal in it. He was the private secretary and fust mate of Mr. Professor Ansel Hobart Dixland, the scientist--perhaps Scudder'd heard of him?
"Perhaps he had, but if so, Nate forgot it, though he didn't tell him that. Harmon ordered a fifteen-foot-high board fence built all around the house and barn, and made Nate swear not to tell a soul who was comin' nor anything. Dixland might want the island two months, he said, or he might want it two years. Nate didn't care.
He was in for good pickin's, and begun to pick by slicin' a liberal commission off that fencebuildin' job. There was a whole passel of letters back and forth between Nate and Harmon, and finally Nate got word to meet the victims at the depot.
"There was the professor himself, an old dried-up relic with whiskers and a temper; and there was Miss Olivia Dixland, his niece and housekeeper, a slim, plain lookin' girl, who wore eyeglasses and a straight up and down dress. And there was a freight car full of crates and boxes and land knows what all. But nary sign was there of a private secretary and assistant. The professor told Nate that Mr. Harmon's health had suddenly broke down and he'd had to be sent South.
"'It's a calamity,' says he; 'a real calamity! Harmon has been with me in my work from the beginnin'; and now, just as it is approachin' completion, he is taken away. They say he may die. It is very annoyin'.'
"'Humph!' says Nate. 'Well, maybe it annoys HIM some, too; you can't tell. What you goin' to do for a secretary?'
"'I understand,' says the professor, 'that there is a person of consider'ble scientific attainment residin' with you, Mr. Scudder, at present. Harmon met him while he was here; they were in the same class at college. Harmon recommended him highly. Olivia,' he says to the niece, 'what was the name of the young man whom Harmon recommended?'
"'Tolliver, Uncle Ansel,' answers the girl, lookin' kind of disdainful at Nate. Somehow he had the notion that she didn't take to him fust rate.
"'Hey?' sings out Nate. 'Tolliver? Why, that's Augustus!
AUGUSTUS! well, I'll be switched!'
"Augustus Tolliver was Nate's nephew from up Boston way. Him and Nate was livin' together at that time. Huldy Ann, Mrs. Scudder, was out West, in Omaha, takin' care of a cousin of hers who was a chronic invalid and, what's more to the purpose, owned a lot of stock in copper mines.
"Augustus was a freckle-faced, spindle-shanked little critter, with spectacles and a soft, polite way of speakin' that made you want to build a fire under him to see if he could swear like a Christian.
He had a big head with consider'ble hair on the top of it and nothin' underneath but what he called 'science' and 'sociology.'
His science wa'n't nothin' but tommy-rot to Nate, and the 'sociology' was some kind of drivel about everybody bein' equal to everybody else, or better. 'Seemed to think 'twas wrong to get a good price for a thing when you found a feller soft enough to pay it. Did you ever hear the beat of that in your life?' says Nate.
"However, Augustus had soaked so much science and sociology into that weak noddle of his that they kind of made him drunk, as you might say, and the doctor had sent him down to board with the Scudders and sleep it off. 'Nervous prostration' was the way he had his symptoms labeled, and the nerve part was all right, for if a hen flew at him he'd holler and run. Scart! you never see such a scart cat in your born days. Scart of a boat, scart of being seasick, scart of a gun, scart of everything! Most special he was scart of Uncle Nate. The said uncle kept him that way so's he wouldn't dast to kick at the grub him and Huldy Ann give him, I guess.
"'Augustus Tolliver,' says old Dixland, noddin'. 'Yes, that is the name. Has he had a sound scientific trainin'?'
"'Scientific trainin'!' says Nate. 'Scientific trainin'? Why, you bet he's had it! That's the only kind of trainin' he HAS had.
He'll be just the feller for you, Mr. Dixland.'
"So that was settled, all but notifyin' Augustus. But Scudder sighted another speculation in the offin', and hove alongside of it.
"'Mr. Harmon, when he was here,' says he, 'he mentioned you needin' a nice, dependable man to live on the island and be sort of general roustabout. My wife bein' away just now, and all, it struck me that I might as well be that man. Maybe my terms'll seem a little high, at fust mention, but--'
"'Very good,' says the professor, 'very good. I'm sure you'll be satisfactory. Now please see to the unloading of that car. And be careful, VERY careful.'
"Nate broke the news to Augustus that afternoon. He had his nose stuck in a book, as usual, and never heard, so Nate yelled at him like a mate on a tramp steamer, just to keep in trainin'.
"'Who? Who? Who? What? What?' squeals Augustus, jumpin' out of the chair as if there was pins in it. 'What is it? Who did it?
Oh, my poor nerves!'
"'Drat your poor nerves!' Nate says. 'I've got a good promisin' job for you. Listen to this.'
"Then he told about the professor's wantin' Gus to be assistant and help do what the old man called 'experiments.'
"'Dixland?' says Gus, 'Ansel Hobart Dixland, the great scientist!
And I'm to be HIS assistant? Assistant to the man who discovered DIXIUM and invented--'
"'Oh, belay there!' snorts Nate, impatient. Tell me this--he's awful rich, ain't he?'
"'Why, I believe--yes, Harmon said he was. But to think of MY bein'--'
"'Now, nephew,' Nate cut in, 'let me talk to you a minute. Me and your Aunt Huldy Ann have been mighty kind to you sence you've been here, and here's your chance to do us a good turn. You stick close to science and the professor and let me attend to the finances. If this family ain't well off pretty soon it won't be your Uncle Nate's fault. Only don't you put your oar in where 'tain't needed.'
"Lord love you, Gus didn't care about finances. He was so full of joy at bein' made assistant to the great Ansel Whiskers Dixland that he forgot everything else, nerves and all.
