CLEANING UP A PROFIT
Hiram crawled through the wires, and followed the plain foot-marks back to the Dickerson sheds. He lost them there, of course, but he knew by the size of the footprints that either Sam Dickerson or his oldest son had been over to the line fence.
"And that shooting-star!" considered Hiram. There was something peculiar about that. I wonder if there wasn't a shooting star, also, away back there at New Year's when our other stack of fodder was burned?"He loitered about the sheds for a few moments. It appeared as though all the Dickersons were indoors. Nobody interfered with him.
Of a sudden Hiram began to sniff an odor that seemed strange about a cart-shed. At least, no wise farmer would have naphtha, or gasoline, in his outbuildings, for it would make his insurance invalid.
But that was the smell Hiram discovered. And he was not long in finding the cause of it.
Back in a dark corner, upon a beam, lay a big sling-shot--one of those that boys swing around their heads with a stone in the heel of it, and then let go one end to shoot the missile to a distance.
The leather loop was saturated with the gasoline, and it had been scorched, too. The smell of burning, as well as the smell of gasoline, was very distinct.
Hiram took the sling-shot with him, and went up to the Dickerson house.
He had got along so well with the Dickersons for these past months that he honestly shrank from "starting anything" now. Yet he could not overlook this flagrant piece of malicious mischief. Indeed, it was more than that. Two stacks had already been burned, and it might be some of the outbuildings--or even Mrs. Atterson's house--next time!
Besides, Hiram felt himself responsible for his employer's property. The old lady could not afford to lose the fodder, and Hiram was determined that both of the burned stacks should be paid for in full.
He looked through the window of the Dickerson kitchen. The familywas around the supper table-Mr. and Mrs. Dickerson, Pete, and the children, little and big. It was a cheerful family group, after all. Rough and uncouth as the farmer was, Dickerson likely had his feelings like other people. Instead of bursting right in at the door as had been Hiram's intention, and accusing Pete to his face, the indignant young fellow hesitated.
He hadn't any sympathy for Pete, not the slightest. If he gave him--or the elder Dickerson--a chance to clear up matters by making good to Mrs. Atterson for what she had lost, Hiram Strong decided that he was being very lenient indeed.
He stepped quietly onto the porch and rapped on the door. Then he backed off and waited for some response from within.
"Hullo, Mr. Strong!" exclaimed the farmer, coming himself to the "door. Why! is that your stack burning?""Yes, sir," said Hiram, quietly. "Another one!""That is the second," admitted Hiram. "But I don't propose that another shall be set afire in just the same way."Sam Dickerson stepped suddenly down to the young farmer's level, and asked:
"What do you mean by that?Do you know how it got afire?" Hiram held out the sling-shot in the light of his lantern.
"A rag, saturated with gasoline, was wrapped around a pebble, then set afire, and stone and blazing rag were shot from our line fence into the fodderstack.
"I found the footprints of the incendiary on New Year's morning at the same place. And I'll wager a good deal that your son Pete's boots will fit the footprints over there at the line now!"Sam Dickerson's face had turned exceedingly red, and then paled. But he spoke very quietly.
"What are you going to do with him, Mr. Strong?" he asked. "It will be five years for him at least, if you take it to court--and maybe longer.""I don't believe, Mr. Dickerson, that you have upheld Pete in all the mean tricks he has played on me""Indeed I haven't! And since I got a look at myself--back there when the wife was hurt---"Sam Dickerson's voice broke and he turned away for a moment so that his visitor should not see his face.
"Well!" he continued. "You've got Pete right this time--no doubt of that. I dunno what makes him such a mean whelp. I'll lambaste him good for this, now I tell you. But the stacks---""Make him pay for them out of his own money. Mrs. Atterson ought not to lose the stacks," said Hiram, slowly.
"Oh, he'll do that, anyway, you can bet!" exclaimed Dickerson, with conviction.
"I don't believe that sending a boy like him to jail will either improve his morals, or do anybody else any good," observed Hiram, reflectively.
"And it'll jest about finish his mother," spoke Sam.
"That's right, too," said the young farmer. "I tell you. I don't want to see him--not just now. But you do what you think is best about this matter, and make Peter pay the bill--ten dollars for the two stacks of fodder.""He shall do it, Mr. Strong," declared Sam Dickerson, warmly. "And he shall beg your pardon, too, or I'll larrup him until he can't stand. He's too big for a lickin', but he ain't too big for me to lick!"And the elder Dickerson was as good as his word. An hour later yells from the cart shed denoted that Pete was finally getting what he should have received when he was a younger boy.
Before noon Sam marched the youth over to Mrs. Atterson. Pete was very puffy about the eyes, and his cheeks were streaked with tears. Nor did he seem to care to more than sit upon the extreme edge of a chair.
But he paid Mrs. Atterson ten dollars, and then, nudged by his father, turned to Hiram and begged the young farmer's pardon.
"That's all right, etc.," said Hiram, laying his hand upon the boy's shoulder. "Just because we haven't got on well together heretofore, needn't make any difference between us after this.
"Come over and see me. If you have time this summer and want the work, I'll be glad to hire you to help handle my celery crop.
