The Americans (24 page)

dressing you, my fellow citizens of Dakota, on the Fourth of July, because it always seems to me that those who dwell in a new territory, and whose actions therefore are peculiarly fruitful, for good and bad alike, in shaping the future, have in consequence peculiar responsibilities-was The beginning didn't sound promising to W. It was as flowery as Rae's, if not more so. The bright sun glared on Roosevelt's glasses. Someone in the front row interrupted to point this out. Pink-faced with embarrassment, he removed the glasses and said in an aside, 'There. I'm surprised anyone would want to see more of this phiz of mine. I'd expect it to be the other way around." The little joke provoked laughter, friendly this time. Roosevelt capitalized on it: "Without my glasses, I can't see my text. That should improve the speech a hundred percent." More laughter, loud and prolonged. With just a few sentences, Roosevelt had overcome the crowd's hostility. He smiled that dazzling smile and took a more confident stance at the podium. Wind snapped the tri-color bunting nailed all around the edge of the speaker's platform. Will was watching from halfway back in the crowd. He was standing beside young A. T. Packard, the owner and editor of the Bad Lands Cowboy. The newspaperman had also ridden the freight train from Medora. But Will was hardly aware of him, or of the rattle of firecrackers a block away-or of anything except the speech. Roosevelt seemed to be talking directly to him: "But as you already know your rights and privileges so well, I am going to ask you to excuse me if I say a few words to you about your duties." Sentence by sentence, the address stung Will with its relevance to his own situation. There was nothing wrong with enjoying the material prosperity which the country had achieved, Roosevelt said. But that prosperity could become a destructive force if it took precedence over principle. It was clear Roosevelt had committed most of his text to memory. He used his eyeglasses only a few times to remind himself of a word or phase. He expanded and restated his theme-wealth must never be allowed to corrupt national or individual virtue. still am going to ask you to excuse me if I say a few words to you about your duties - Will knew what Roosevelt was really talking about. Choices. Choices between responsibility and the lack of it; between personal success and personal morality. He resented having to listen to one more discussion of the subject. The crowd listened in silence, completely won over by the speaker and his idealistic message. When Roosevelt finished, there was another moment of quiet, then an eruption of applause punctuated by cheering. Editor Packard said, "Fine speech, eh?" Will didn't answer. Packard gave him a puzzled look. "Nothing to get angry about, is it?" Again Will was silent. The editor didn't press the issue, saying instead, "I've never heard Theodore speak before." "I have." "What? I thought you told me you met him only a few weeks ago." 'That's right. But he sounds exactly like my father." And I'll be hanged 7st still" listen to either of them. Several people from Medora had gathered around Roosevelt at the foot of the platform steps. They were shaking his hand and slapping him on the back. The young newspaper editor went to join them. Will knew he should add his congratulations but he couldn't. He was still seething. He turned away and walked swiftly toward the back of the crowd and across the square to a plank sidewalk. Head down, a frown on his face, he paced toward the next corner. He was completely unaware of his surroundings until the door of a saloon swung outward and whacked his right arm. "Christ sake, boy, get outa the-thunderation!" Will stopped short, turned toward the speaker-and froze. He'd forgotten to stay alert. Now he'd paid the price. "Cletus? Cletus, hurry up an' come out here," said the man called Sweeney. The second man from the depot, Chadburn, appeared behind the first in the saloon entrance. Will took a step. Sweeney grabbed his forearm with fingers that dug in and hurt. Panicky, Will saw that no one in the street was paying attention to what must have struck them as just another saloon altercation. "Caught us a fish, Cletus," Sweeney said. "A Medora minnow. You been hopin' to get this one on your hook for quite a spell." Cletus Maunders came shuffling through the sawdust spread on the saloon floor. He was unsteady on his feet, but he wasn't so drunk that he failed to recognize the prisoner. He licked his lips and smiled. "I have," he said. "I surely h.** CHAPTER Xn Maunders Again CLETUS MAUNDERS WAS AS filthy as Will remembered. He reeked of whiskey and other, less appetizing things. So did his cronies. They stepped from the saloon door and crowded Will on both sides. The younger of the two, Sweeney, kept a hand fastened on Will's arm. A few pedestrians were struck by the group's odd tension. But no one interfered. Maunders squeezed his nose with his thumb and index finger. Then he held out the hand, fingers spread. was "Member this, punkin lily? 'Member the harm you done to it? Damn thing was stiff for nigh onto a month. Gonna have to chastise you for that." Chadburn faced away from the street. "Not out here, Cletus." A withering look from Maunders. "Why, sure. We'll sashay into the square and invite the whole town." Chad- burn reddened. Maunders" eyes slid back to W. "No, we want someplace real private. Alley, maybe-was Will was watching for a chance to pull free of the grip of the emaciated, pop-eyed man called Sweeney. His stomach ached ferociously now. He stiffened when Maunders reached toward his cheek. Grinning, Maunders slapped him lightly and whispered: "This time you'll be on your own, punkin lily. You won't have Four Eyes to come along and save your hash- look out!" Will lunged away from Sweeney, then rammed his elbow in the man's midsection. As Sweeney staggered, Will spun around. A father, mother, and three little girls from the state float blocked the sidewalk on his left. He whirled and ran the other way. A short distance down the block, an alley opened on his right. Will ran down the alley, toward the point where it intersected a second one which formed the crossbar of a T. He glanced over his shoulder. None of the three had appeared at the alley mouth. Maybe they hesitated to chase him in broad daylight with the town so crowded. He ran on. Damn you for not keeping your eyes open! an inner voice raged. Margaret's face flickered in his mind. Smiling a smug smile, as if he'd done exactly what she expected of him. At the junction of the alleys, Will headed left. He was into the turn when he heard a crash and a thump. Panicked, he looked back. Sweeney ran out of the saloon's rear door followed by Chadburn, then Maunders. They'd seen him flee into the alley and taken a shortcut. "Catch the little bastard!" Maunders panted, already out of breath. Sweeney sprinted past Chadburn. Will ran only four or five steps before Sweeney tackled him and knocked him down. Tears of fury filled his eyes as he struck the cinders and sand of the alley. A back door. Why didn't you stay out in front? Why didn't you think? Bungler. Sweeney grunted, climbed off Will and rolled him over. Will pulled his right knee against his belly and kicked. Sweeney jumped out of the way. He caught hold of Will's boot and twisted until Will slammed his palms against the dirt, his face wrenched by pain. his Maunders pulled his little finger out of one of his nostrils, flicked something off the tip and waved: was "Nuff, Sweeney." Sweeney let go. Will gasped and shook his head. Now that it was getting on toward midafteraoon, no sunlight reached the alley. The shadows were cold. Will's teeth began to chatter. "Get him up," Maunders ordered, shutting the saloon's back door. Sweeney took one arm, Chadburn the other. Will was jerked to his feet. He could barely stand on the twisted ankle. But he quickly forgot the pain. Chadburn was subjecting him to a strange kind of scrutiny. It wasn't quite a bullying look; Chadburn was almost smiling. Will really hadn't paid much attention to Chadburn until now. He was a powerfully built man about Maunders" age. White hair hung down beneath his hat, half concealing his ears. White stubble showed all over his chin. He had plump, sun-reddened cheeks, a pink mouth, and eyes so large and softly blue, they were almost girlish. With no warning at all, he reached out and pinched Will's buttocks. "Don't make trouble, now, punkin lily." His faintly moist eyes darted to Will's lips. "Wouldn't want to hurt a fine lookin' boy like you." "Just your type, huh?" Sweeney asked with a grin. "Anything in pants is Chadburn's type," Maunders said. A vile taste filled Will's mouth all at once. He was scared to death. He knew that unless he got out of the alley under his own power, he might wind up being carried out. Wounded, dead, or-or God knew what, he thought with a glance at Chadburn. Godamighty! The man didn't even bother to deny what Maunders said about him. Still staring at the prisoner, Chadburn ran the tip of his tongue across his upper lip. Maunders walked around a brimming rain barrel, and leaned back, his knee bent and his boot braced against the saloon wall. He leaned there, relaxing. His helpers had dragged Will out of the alley intersection. They were safe from observation by those on the street. Maunders fingered his groin. "Chadburn gave me an idea, punkin lily. The three of us spent every last cent on whiskey. Been drinkin' since sundown last night. All that liquor made us mighty randy. But we can't afford no whores." His gaze slid down Will's legs, then back to his face. "Maybe we got us a passable substitute." "Say, maybe we do," Sweeney said with a grin. "Way I been feelin', anything short of a sheep'd be fine." Chadburn's breathing quickened. His fingers began to drum a little tattoo on Will's forearm. With unmistakable eagerness, he said: "The storeroom of the saloon was empty, Cletus. Shall we take him in there?" "Jesus, Chad. Sometimes I think all you got for brains are your balls. We gotta take him someplace where it won't make no difference if he hollers. South of town, maybe. Out past that river-was Maunders sauntered forward, his revolver bobbing on his hip. He squeezed Will's cheeks between his palms: "Ought to be a real nice walk for you, punkin lily. You can think about all the sweet stuff that's in store for you when-was Will brought his right knee up into Maunders' groin. Maunders staggered and gasped. Will reached across Maunder's right hip and yanked an old Smith and Wesson from the worn leather holster. Chadburn and Sweeny were yelling and starting to pummel him. He shoved the muzzle against Maunders' belly and cocked the hammer. "Let go," he said to the men on either side of him. "Turn me loose or I'll kill him." ii A cloud passed in front of the sun, darkening the alley even more. Sweeney swore and reached for the revolver. Maunders whispered, "No." Sweeney pulled back. Maunders eyed Will, trying to judge the extent of his nerve. Angry, Chadburn said: "Shit, I'll bet he don't know how to use it, Cletus." "I do," Will said. "We ain't gonna wager on it and find out we was wrong," Maunders said. He glanced at the gun barrel digging a crater in the stained front of his hunting shirt. "What happens now, punkin lily?" "You and your friends leave. I keep the gun and that's the end of it." "Until you send the Elkhorn crew after us?" "No, I won't do that." Sweeney snorted. "Don't trust the little son of a bitch, Cletus. It's three on one. We can dig his ditch for good." "Shut your damn mouth!" Maunders cried in a hoarse voice. Nervous, he peered at W. "You mean to say that if we let you go, you won't try to get even?" "Not unless you make trouble for me in Medora." "We call it a draw, that it?" Chadburn was furious: "Cletus, you don't have to call it a draw with some weak-livered city boy who-was "Shut up. The gun's in my gut, not yours." For a second Will thought he detected a foxy glint in Maunders' eye. Then it was gone. Blowing rancid breath in Will's face, the older man said: "All right, punkin lily. It's a draw. Ill put both my hands in the air. At the same time, Chad and Sweeney will let go of you. Then I'll back away from that pistol and walk toward my friends and we'll light out. There'll be no trouble for you in Medora long as we don't get none either. Bargain?" Will's right arm was aching with tension. The revolver felt heavy and sweat-slippery in his hand. His hand and forearm started to tremble. So did his right leg. He held steady by force of will and said: "Bargain." "Okay, then. Let him go, lads." Grumbling, Sweeney and Chadburn released W. He heard their boots scuff as they moved behind him. He concentrated his attention on Maunders, who had raised his dirt-encrusted hands over his head and was stepping backward slowly. Maunders put his weight on his right foot and winced. "Got a pebble in my boot. I'm gonna try to shake it into another position. Don't get spooked and shoot me." Sweat shone like grease on Maunders' face. He lifted his right boot eight inches off the ground. In the process, he executed a turn, so that his left leg partially blocked Will's view of the right one. Maunders grasped the top of his right boot with both hands, a peculiar maneuver for loosening a pebble way down at the bottom of- "Duck, Chad!" Sweeney shouted as Maunders yanked a hideout knife from his boot top. Maunders pivoted back toward Will, his hand streaking upward for the throw. The hand started forward. Will leveled the Smith and Wesson and fired. The badly aimed bullet tore through the outside of Maunders' right thigh. The impact of the shot staggered him. His knife hand flew open. The blade dropped and hit the ground. Will hurled himself against the saloon wall. He bumped the rain barrel. Water sloshed on his sleeve. Chadburn and Sweeney were too stupefied to draw their revolvers. They stared at their friend, who was clutching his right leg with both hands. Blood leaked through a powder-blackened tear in his buckskin trousers, then oozed between his fingers. "Oh Jesus it hurts, Jesus -" From the direction of the street came a rising clamor: "Was that a shot or a firecracker?" "A shot." "Where'd it come from?" "The alley behind the saloon." "We got to get out of here," Maunders whimpered. Tears were trickling down his cheeks. "Got to kill him first, Cletus." Chadburn pulled his revolver. The voices were growing louder. Maunders shook his head, weeping as he squeezed his wounded leg: "We got to get away or they'll lock us up. You want to get locked up, you stay. You want to get chased and lynched, go ahead an' shoot him." He turned and started hobbling. Chadburn looked at Will and raised his revolver. Sweeney seized his arm. Will waited, knowing that if Chadburn decided to fire, he probably wasn't fast enough to beat him now that they both had guns in
their hands. Sweeney heard the men approaching in the other alley around the corner. He shook Chadburn's arm: "Don't do it. You're liable to hang. The satisfaction ain't worth the cost." Chadburn glared at Will a moment longer. Then he rammed his revolver back in the holster. He and Sweeney raced forward to Maunders. They propped his arms over their shoulders. Maunders beat a fist on Chadburn's back. "Come on. Hurry it up!" The three of them turned left at the mouth of the alley beyond the saloon's back door. The instant they were gone, Will started to close his eyes. Then he saw the knife shining just a yard away. He sprang toward it, groaning when he put sudden weight on the ankle Sweeney had twisted. He snatched up the knife and flung it in the rain barrel, and Maunders' revolver after it. He wanted no questions. No more trouble. He just wanted the whole business over with, because he hadn't acquitted himself well. Out in front of the saloon, at the very moment he'd needed to think clearly, his ineptitude had undone him. Men turned the corner from the other alley and then they were milling around him. He seemed to hear a dozen voices, all shouting the same questions: "What happened, boy? Who fired a shot?" In fascination, Will watched the last of a stream of small bubbles rise and burst on the surface of the rain barrel. The bubbles had streamed upward from the sinking gun. The men kept shouting at him. He wiped his sweating face to gam time. Over the back of his hand he scanned the alley for signs of Maunders' blood. He saw none. The final bubbles popped in the rain barrel. "I don't know who fired the shot," he said finally. "I heard it too. Must have come from the next street." In moments they were gone, pursuing the gunman. Will hurried toward the square to find the Elkhorn men. When he was asked why he was limping, he said a drunk had lurched into him and he'd twisted his ankle, that was all. Leaner, browner and more fit than ever before, Will boarded an eastbound Northern Pacific express in mid- August. He'd planned to stay on the Elkhorn until September first. But Gideon had written to suggest that he come back before that. They had to arrange plans for schooling, Gideon said. Since Roosevelt had no objection to the early departure, Will didn't argue. He had said nothing about the encounter with Maunders and his friends. For weeks after the celebration, Maunders' name hadn't even been mentioned on the ranch. Will finally assumed the secret was safe. Then, two days before he was to leave, Bill Sewall had returned from a trip to Medora with some startling news. One of Maunders' kin was saying Maunders had died in a sleazy hotel in Bismarck. According to what Sewall had heard, Maunders and his friends had shown up in Bismarck about the middle of July, intending to drink and gamble for a few days. Obviously they'd gotten money somewhere; stolen it, most likely. Maunders had been wearing a dirty bandage on one leg, and limping. Soon pain drove him to a doctor. The wound had become infected. Mephitic gangrene had already set in. Maunders had lasted only a couple of weeks after that. His friends had buried him in a pauper's grave, then telegraphed the news to relatives. Neither Chadburn nor Sweeney had come back to Medora. Expressionless, Will had listened to Sewall finish the story. The whole business left him with a bad taste. He felt neither glad that Maunders was dead nor, God help him, more than fleetingly sorry. What he felt most of all was a renewed sense of his own inferiority. His penchant for doing things wrong had precipitated the tilt in Dickinson. Now he was at the depot, ready to board the train. In many ways he hated to leave. The weeks he'd spent in the Bad Lands were among the happiest and most rewarding he'd ever known. He had learned a great deal about ranching, and he'd learned a few things about himself, some not very pleasant. Roosevelt had come into town to see him off. So had some of the hands. Wilmot Dow was there, and Ferris, and Bob Beaufort. Roosevelt himself had just returned from a trip East. Gossip among the cowboys said he was tiring of a widower's existence, and spoke often of his old friend, Edith Carow. Dow shook Will's hand and wished him good luck. Then Beaufort stepped up. Will especially valued the black cowboy's handshake, and the moment when Beaufort smiled and said, "Come back next summer and we'll make you into a first-class wrangler. You already turned into a pretty good one." "Thank you, Bob. Look me up in Boston sometime. You've got the address-was "Right here," Beaufort patted his pocket. Sylvanus Ferris of the Maltese Cross took his turn shak- ing hands. In a voice pitched so only Will could hear, he said: "See? The summer turned out a lot better than you thought. And I'll bet you did a lot more than you thought you could." Will remembered how unsure of himself he'd been the first time he spoke with Ferris. Much of that uncertainty had indeed been unwarranted. He'd found that if he pushed himself, he could do many things he'd thought were beyond his capabilities. He'd even saved a man's life on the roundup. A good feeling. But the confidence he'd built up had been severely undercut by his experience in Dickinson. There, he'd learned that the past hadn't really been laid to rest, and would continue to undo him when he least expected it. That was the final, discouraging lesson of the summer. Some things had changed, but not the most fundamental one. He refused to show Ferris how he felt. He smiled and said, "You're right, it did turn out a lot better." "Glad you feel that way." Ferris clapped him on the shoulder. "Safe journey to you." Roosevelt joined them. Ferris touched his hat brim and sauntered off. Will was happy to have a moment alone with the ranchman. For weeks, his conscience had been bothering him. "Mr. Roosevelt, I made a mistake on Independence Day. I never told how well you spoke." Roosevelt looked at Will in a sober way. "Generous of you to say that. I didn't compose that address with you in mind. I was stating what I believe. But when I spotted you in the crowd, frowning and looking ready to explode, I realized that perhaps I'd unconsciously included some phrases and some thinking that came right out of our discussion. I was speaking to an issue on which we disagreed and still do, I suppose. I'd have been thunderstruck if you'd been among my well-wishers afterward." "But I was rude not to tell you that you did a fine job.** Roosevelt's eyes grew merry then. "An apology along with a compliment! There's no need for the former-but it makes the latter doubly important. Thddank you very much." The conductor called all aboard. The whistle shrilled. Plumes of steam shot from under the locomotive. Roose- velt added, "YouVe been an asset to the ranch. I hope the summer's been to your liking also." He thought of Lon Adam and nodded. "I'll never forget it." A few backslash vords about your duties - Why did that damned speech nag him day in, day out? It had no application to him. He had no duties in connection with anyone but himself; and he'd already decided on the direction his life was going to take. Oddly, Roosevelt thought of the same thing just then. Sunlight flashed on his glasses as he said, "And medicine still captures your fancy, does it?" "Yes, sir* Definitely." "That's fine if it's what you really want. However, I'm sure your father will have strong opinions about its suitability as a career. Write and tell me whether there's an argument. And who wins." The train began to move. Will jumped up on the steps of the coach. He clung to the hand rail, frowning. The ranchman had just articulated a fear he'd been trying to ignore ever since it popped into his head some days ago. Gideon would have something to say. But what? Roosevelt whipped off his big sombrero and wigwagged it in farewell. The other cowboys waved their hats too. Roosevelt's voice boomed as the train pulled away: "Delighted to have had you with us! Deeeee-was The rest was lost in the howl of the whistle. CHAPTER XIH What Gideon Said GIDEON LIKED TO INSTALL the latest conveniences in his suite at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He felt it was his duty as a newspaper publisher to stay abreast of the inventions that were appearing at a dizzying rate, and he had the money to buy anything when it was new and hence at its most expensive. Some of the conveniences didn't always prove to be convenient, however. He was on the telephone, approving a long list of stock purchases one by one. The voice at the other end of the connection began to fade. Then, in a burst of crackling, it died altogether. A moment later the crackling was replaced by silence. "Daniel? Can you hear me, Daniel?" The instrument emitted a low buzz. Gideon cursed. He'd been speaking with Daniel Roth- man, the eldest son of his Boston banker, Joshua Rothman. The Wall Street firm of Rothman Freres had been started by Daniel and his younger brother Micah just five years ago. It was already one of the most successful brokerage houses in New York. Now Gideon's attention-and his wrath-were fixed on the telephone. Timing was essential to the success of a large-scale maneuver in the stock market, and the telephone had just caused his timing to misfire. He tore the instrument from its mounting, yanked the wires out of the wall and hurled the whole clanging mess on the floor. "Good heavens," Julia cried. "What on earth are you doing?" She was just coming through the foyer, her arms full of Lord and Taylor parcels. "Destroying Mr. Bell's infernal machine." Gideon pointed to the wreckage. "That's the fourth time in two days it's betrayed me. The last time, too." He wrenched the crank of another recently installed device, the telegraph call box. Then he snatched a Western Union blank from a desk pigeonhole and scribbled on it: D. ROTHMAN, ROTHMAN FRERES, WALL STILL CITY. BUY ALL ON LIST AT PRICES QUOTED. TELEPHONE NO LONGER OPERATING. USE MESSENGER HENCEFORTH. He signed his initials, cursing under his breath. "Calm down, dear," Julia said. "Surely something can be done to protest such bad service-was Gideon's face lit with inspiration. "You're absolutely right." He grabbed another blank and wrote a message to the telephone company: TAKE OUT YOUR DAMNABLE MACHINE. To that one he signed his full name. Julia bent over his shoulder, watching. The touch of her Abreast stirred him in a familiar but pleasurable way. She tapped a finger on the second telegram. "I don't believe they'll transmit profanity, dear." "I know. But it will get their attention." Julia suppressed a smile and walked to the window. The , late summer sunshine lent a golden cast to Madison Square, and to the suite's large sitting room. As she let the curtain fall, she asked: "Is Will home yet?" "No. He promised to be here by five." Gideon indicated a book on the floor next to his favorite chair. "I'm ready for him." "Dear-was She faced him, her dark eyes luminous in the muted light. "I'm sorry to say this, but I can't see the sense of what you're planning to do." "You can't see the sense?" he exclaimed. "Julia, his chosen profession is one which is in complete disarray!" "Even so, we both feel-was "Please, Julia," he interrupted, almost testily. "Let me handle it my way. Will's decision is extremely important to all of us." That, she understood. Gideon was constantly worrying about who would head the family when he was gone, and Will was his father's brightest hope. She supposed that explained all the reading and research Gideon had done in preparation for the forthcoming talk-and his nervousness now. "By the way, you should read this." He showed her a letter. "It arrived in the afternoon delivery. It's from Theodore. He's back at Sagamore Hill and may go to Europe. To see Miss Carow, I suspect." She read the letter, her face brightening: "Oh, Gideon, how grand. He's absolutely glowing in his praise of Will's work this summer." Gideon nodded. Will had been home for a couple of weeks; two days earlier, the family had steamed down to New York aboard Auvergne. L *The trip worked miracles on his attitude," Julia went on. Hisby '"More than I could have hoped for," Gideon agreed. "I never imagined Dakota would give a direction to his life, but it did. That's why I'm so anxious for him not only to make the right decision, but to stick with it. A wrong choice now could ruin everything." He strode to the window; whipped the curtain aside. "Where the devil is he, anyway?" "It's a long way to the Annexed District, remember.** She was referring to the section of the city which lay beyond the Harlem River in We/chester County. It was open country for the most part, popular with young sportsmen. Gideon kept one of his carriages, the expensive Brewster, at the city stables of the Coaching Club. With had taken the carriage for the day, hired four horses at a livery stable, and gone to the Annexed District to practice four-in-hand driving. "And coaches do break down," Julia added. "Yes, but-was He started at the sound of knocking. Of course it wouldn't be W; he'd have walked right in. It was the messenger boy from the neighborhood telegraph office, responding to Gideon's signal on the call box. The boy took the two printed messages. He was all smiles until he saw the second one: "Oh, sir, it isn't permissable to send-** "Just make sure you give it to your supervisor. I wish to have this thing removed as soon as possible." He kicked the wreckage of the phone, producing a feeble ping from the bell. A tip pacified the shocked boy. Just as the messenger was leaving, Will walked out of the elevator and into the foyer. Julia spied him and gasped. Will's suntanned face was filthy caret There were big black stains on his bottle green coat, gold waistcoat, and white trousers. His boots were dirty, and a fine rust-colored powder had sifted through his hair. The messenger boy gaped as Will said: "Those damned elevated railways will kill us all." "What happened to you?" Julia asked. "Nothing happened to me. Oh, I got shaken up a little, but otherwise I'm fine." Gideon shut the door in the messenger's face. "You didn't have an accident with the carriage-?" Glum, Will nodded. "The Third Avenue Railroad's the culprit. I made the mistake of returning that way. The usual deluge of cinders, oil, and sparks came down. The off leader took a hot coal on his neck and bolted. The horses are all right-was He dropped into a chair, sighing. *'But the Brewster's a total wreck. I seem to make a botch of everything." ii At first Gideon was upset that one of his best carriages had been overturned and wrecked. Will was apologetic, and repeatedly promised to earn the money for a new vehicle. Somewhat testily, Gideon replied that a Brewster wasn't the same as the bakery wagon Carter had destroyed, and that unless his son had an income comparable to Jay Gould's, he might be a long time paying off the debt. A moment after he'd made the