The methods of Messrs. Colt and Adams, the Boston firm of building movers, were certainly progressive, if promptness in getting to work is any criterion. Two days after the acceptance of their terms by Mr. Williams, a freight car full of apparatus arrived at East Harniss. Then came a foreman and a gang of laborers. Horses were hired, and within a week the "pure Colonial" was off its foundations and on its way to the Edwards lot. The moving was no light task. The big house must be brought along the Shore Road to the junction with the Hill Boulevard, then swung into that aristocratic highway and carried up the long slope, around the wide curve, to its destination.
Mr. Phinney, though he hated the whole operation, those having it in charge, and the mighty Williams especially, could not resist stealing down to see how his successful rivals were progressing with the work he had hoped to do. It caused him much chagrin to see that they were getting on so very well. One morning, after breakfast, as he stood at the corner of the Boulevard and the Shore Road, he found himself engaged in a mental calculation.
Three days more and they would swing into the Boulevard; four or five days after that and they would be abreast the Edwards lot.
Another day and . . . Poor Olive! She would be homeless. Where would she go? It was too early for a reply from the Omaha cousin, but Simeon, having questioned the minister, had little hope that that reply would be favorable. Still it was a chance, and if the money SHOULD come before the "pure Colonial" reached the Edwards lot, then the widow would at least not be driven penniless from her home. She would have to leave that home in any event, but she could carry out her project of opening another shop in one of the neighboring towns. Otherwise . . . Mr. Phinney swore aloud.
"Humph!" said a voice behind him. "I agree with you, though I don't know what it's all about. I ain't heard anything better put for a long while."
Simeon spun around, as he said afterwards, "like a young one's pinwheel." At his elbow stood Captain Berry, the depot master, hands in pockets, cigar in mouth, the personification of calmness and imperturbability. He had come out of his house, which stood close to the corner, and walked over to join his friend.
"Land of love!" exclaimed Simeon. "Why don't you scare a fellow to death, tiptoein' around? I never see such a cat-foot critter!"
Captain Sol smiled. "Jumpin' it, ain't they?" he said, nodding toward the "Colonial." "Be there by the tenth, won't it?"
"Tenth!" Mr. Phinney sniffed disgust. "It'll be there by the sixth, or I miss my guess."
"Yup. Say, Sim, how soon could you land that shanty of mine in the road if I give you the job to move it?"
"I couldn't get it up to the Main Street lot inside of a fortnight," replied Sim, after a moment's reflection. "Fur's gettin' it in the road goes, I could have it here day after to-morrow if I had gang enough."
The depot master took the cigar out of his mouth and blew a ring of smoke. "All right," he drawled, "get gang enough."
Phinney jumped. "You mean you've decided to take up with Payne's offer and swap your lot for his?" he gasped. "Why, only two or three days ago you said--"
"Ya-as. That was two or three days ago, and I've been watchin' the 'Colonial' since. I cal'late the movin' habit's catchin'. You have your gang here by noon to-day."
"Sol Berry, are you crazy? You ain't seen Abner Payne; he's out of town--"
"Don't have to see him. He's made me an offer and I'll write and accept it."
"But you've got to have a selectmen's permit to move--"
"Got it. I went up and saw the chairman an hour ago. He's a friend of mine. I nominated him town-meetin' day."
"But," stammered Phinney, very much upset by the suddenness of it all, "you ain't got my price nor--"
"Drat your price! Give it when I ask it. See here, Sim, are you goin' to have my house in the middle of the road by day after to-morrer? Or was that just talk?"
"'Twa'n't talk. I can have it there, but--"
"All right," said Captain Sol coolly, "then have it."
Hands in pockets, he strolled away. Simeon sat down on a rock by the roadside and whistled.
However, whistling was a luxurious and time-wasting method of expressing amazement, and Mr. Phinney could not afford luxuries just then. For the rest of that day he was a busy man. As Bailey Stitt expressed it, he "flew round like a sand flea in a mitten," hiring laborers, engaging masons, and getting his materials ready.
That very afternoon the masons began tearing down the chimneys of the little Berry house. Before the close of the following day it was on the rollers. By two of the day after that it was in the middle of the Shore Road, just when its mover had declared it should be. They were moving it, furniture and all, and Captain Sol was, as he said, going to "stay right aboard all the voyage." No cooking could be done, of course, but the Captain arranged to eat at Mrs. Higgins's hospitable table during the transit. His sudden freak was furnishing material for gossip throughout the village, but he did not care. Gossip concerning his actions was the last thing in the world to trouble Captain Sol Berry.
The Williams's "Colonial" was moving toward the corner at a rapid rate, and the foreman of the Boston moving firm walked over to see Mr. Phinney.
"Say," he observed to Simeon, who, the perspiration streaming down his face, was resting for a moment before recommencing his labor of arranging rollers; "say," observed the foreman, "we'll be ready to turn into the Boulevard by tomorrer night and you're blockin' the way."
"That's all right," said Simeon, "we'll be past the Boulevard corner by that time."
He thought he was speaking the truth, but next morning, before work began, Captain Berry appeared. He had had breakfast and strolled around to the scene of operations.
"Well," asked Phinney, "how'd it seem to sleep on wheels?"
"Tiptop," replied the depot master. "Like it fust rate. S'pose my next berth will be somewheres up there, won't it?"
He was pointing around the corner instead of straight ahead.
