Ted and the Telephone Read online

  CHAPTER II

  TED RENEWS OLD TIMES

  Mr. Wharton was about the last person on earth one would have connectedwith boxes of strings and wires hidden away beneath beds. He was agraduate of a Massachusetts agricultural college; a keen-eyed, quick,impatient creature toward whom people in general stood somewhat in awe.He had the reputation of being a top-notch farmer and those who knewhim declared with zest that there was nothing he did not know aboutsoils, fertilizers, and crops. There was no nonsense when Mr. Whartonappeared on the scene. The men who worked for him soon found that out.You didn't lean on your hoe, light your pipe, and hazard the guess thatthere would be rain to-morrow; you just hoed as hard as you could anddid not stop to guess anything.

  Now it happened that it was haying time both at Aldercliffe and PineLea and the rumor got abroad that the crop was an unusually heavy one;that Mr. Wharton was short of help and ready to hire at a good wageextra men from the adjoining village. Mr. Turner brought the tidingshome from the mill one June night when he returned from work.

  "Why don't you try for a job up at Aldercliffe, my lad?" concluded he,after stating the case. "Ever since you were knee-high to a grasshopperyou had a knack for pitching hay. Besides, you'd make a fine bit ofmoney and the work would be no heavier than handling freight down atthe mills. You've got to work somewhere through your summer vacation."

  He made the latter statement as a matter of course for a matter ofcourse it had long since become. Ted always worked when he was notstudying. Vacations, holidays, Saturdays, he was always busy earningmoney for if he had not been, there would have been no chance of hisgoing to school the rest of the time. Sometimes he did errands for oneof the dry-goods stores; sometimes, if there were a vacancy, he helpedin Fernald and Company's shipping rooms; sometimes he worked at thetown market or rode about on the grocer's wagon, delivering orders. Byone means or another he had usually contrived, since he was quite asmall boy, to pick up odd sums that went toward his clothes and "keep."As he grew older, these sums had increased until now they had become arecognized part of the family income. For it was understood that Tedwould turn in toward the household expenses all that he earned. Hisfather had never believed in a boy having money to spend and even if hehad every cent which the Turners could scrape together was needed athome. Ted knew well how much sugar and butter cost and thereforewithout demur he cheerfully placed in the hands of his sister Ruth, whoran the house, every farthing that was given him.

  From childhood this sense of responsibility had always been in hisbackground. He had known what it was to go hungry that he might haveshoes and go without shoes that he might have underwear. Money had beenvery scarce on the Vermont farm, and although there was now more of itthan there ever had been in the past, nevertheless it was notplentiful. Therefore, as vacation was approaching and he must get a jobanyway, he decided to present himself before Mr. Wharton and ask for achance to help in harvesting the hay crops at Aldercliffe and Pine Lea.

  "You are younger than the men I am hiring," Mr. Wharton said, after hehad scanned the lad critically. "How old are you?"

  "Fourteen."

  "I thought as much. What I want is men."

  "But I have farmed all my life," protested Ted with spirit.

  "Indeed!" the manager exclaimed not unkindly. "Where?"

  "In Vermont."

  "You don't say so! I was born in the Green Mountains," was the quickretort. "Where did you live?"

  "Newfane."

  Instantly the man's face lighted.

  "I know that place well. And you came from Newfane here? How did youhappen to do that?"

  "My father could not make the farm pay and we needed money."

  "Humph! Were you sorry to give up farming?"

  "Yes, sir. I didn't want to come to Freeman's Falls. But," added theboy brightening, "I like the school here."

  The manager paused, studying the sharp, eager face, the spare figure,and the fine carriage of the lad before him.

  "Do you like haying?" asked he presently.

  "Not particularly," Ted owned with honesty.

  Mr. Wharton laughed.

  "I see you are a human boy," he said. "If you don't like it, why areyou so anxious to do it now?"

  "I've got to earn some money or give up going to school in the fall."

  "Oh, so that's it! And what are you working at in school that is soalluring?" demanded the man with a quizzical glance.

  "Electricity."

  "Electricity!"

  "Wireless, telegraphs, telephones, and things like that," put in Ted.

  For comment Mr. Wharton tipped back in his chair and once more let hiseye wander over the boy's face; then he wheeled abruptly around to hisdesk, opened a drawer, and took out a yellow card across which hescrawled a line with his fountain pen.

  "You may begin work to-morrow morning," he remarked curtly. "If it ispleasant, Stevens will be cutting the further meadow with a gang ofmen. Come promptly at eight o'clock, prepared to stay all day, andbring this card with you."

  He waved the bit of pasteboard to and fro in the air an instant to becertain that the ink on it was dry and afterward handed it to Ted.Instinctively the boy's gaze dropped to the message written upon it andbefore he realized it he had read the brief words:

  "Ted Turner. He says he has farmed in Vermont. If he shows any evidence of it keep him. If not turn him off. Wharton."

  The man in the chair watched him as he read.

  "Well?" said he.

  "I beg your pardon, sir. I did not mean to read it," Ted replied with astart. "I'm very much obliged to you for giving me the job."

  "I don't see that you've got it yet."

  "But I shall have," asserted the lad confidently. "All I asked was achance."

  "That's all the world gives any of us," responded the manager gruffly,as he drew forth a sheet of paper and began to write. "Nobody candevelop our brains, train our muscles, or save our souls butourselves."

  With this terse observation he turned his back on the boy, and afterloitering a moment to make sure that he had nothing more to say, thelad slipped away, triumphantly bearing with him the coveted morsel ofyellow pasteboard. That its import was noncommittal and even containeda tang of skepticism troubled him not a whit. The chief thing was thathe had wrested from the manager an opportunity, no matter howgrudgingly accorded, to show what he was worth. He could farm and heknew it and he had no doubt that he could demonstrate the fact to anyboss he might encounter.

  Therefore with high courage he was promptly on hand the next morningand even before the time assigned he approached Stevens, thesuperintendent.

  "What do you want, youngster?" demanded the man sharply. He was in ahurry and it was obvious that something had nettled him and that he wasin no humor to be delayed.

  "I came to help with the haying."

  "We don't want any boys as young as you," Stevens returned, movingaway.

  "I've a card from Mr. Wharton."

  "A card, eh? Why didn't you say so in the first place? Shell it out."

  Shyly Ted produced his magic fragment of paper which the overseer readwith disapproval in his glance.

  "Well, since Wharton wants you tried out, you can pitch in with thecrowd," grumbled he. "But I still think you're too young. I've had boysyour age before and never found them any earthly use. However, youwon't be here long if you're not--that's one thing. You'll find apitchfork in the barn. Follow along behind the men who are mowing andspread the grass out."

  "I know."

  "Oh, you do, do you! Trust people your size for knowing everything."

  To the final remark the lad vouchsafed no reply. Instead he moved awayand soon returned, fork in hand. What a flood of old memories camesurging back with the touch of the implement! Again he was in Vermontin the stretch of mowings that fronted the old white house where he wasborn. The scent of the hay in his nostrils stirred him like an elixir,and with a thrill of pleasure he set to work. He had not anticipatedtoiling out there in the hot sunshine at
a task which he had alwaysdisliked; but to-day, by a strange miracle, it did not seem to be atask so much as a privilege.

  How familiar the scene was! As he approached the group of older men ittook him only a second to see where he was needed and he thrust hispitchfork into the swath at his feet with a swing of easy grace.

  "Guess you've done this job before," called a man behind him after hehad worked for an interval.

  "Yes, I have."

  "You show it," was the brief observation.

  They moved on in silence up the field.

  "Where'd you learn to handle that fork, sonny?" another voice shouted,as they neared the farther wall.

  "In Vermont," laughed Ted.

  "I judged as much," grunted the speaker. "They don't train up farmersof your size in this part of the world."

  Ted flushed with pleasure and for the first time he stopped work andmopped the perspiration from his forehead. He was hot and thirsty buthe found himself strangely exhilarated by the exercise and the sweetmorning air and sunshine. Again he took up his fork and tossed thenewly cut grass up into the light, spreading it on the ground with amethodical sweep of his young arm. The sun had risen higher now and itsdazzling brilliance poured all about him. Up and down the meadow hewent and presently he was surprised to find himself alone near thepoint from which he had started. His fellow-laborers were no longer insight. The field was very still and because it was, Ted began towhistle softly to himself.

  He was startled to hear a quiet laugh at his elbow.

  "Don't you ever eat anything, kid?"

  Mr. Wharton was standing beside him, a flicker of amusement in his grayeyes.

  "I didn't know it was noon," gasped Ted.

  "We'll have to tie an alarm clock on you," chuckled the manager. "Thegang stopped work a quarter of an hour ago."

  "I didn't notice they had."

  The boy flushed. He felt very foolish to have been discovered workingthere all by himself in this ridiculous fashion.

  "I wanted to finish this side of the field and I forgot about thetime," he stammered apologetically.

  "Have you done it to your satisfaction?"

  "Yes, I'm just through."

  For the life of him Ted could not tell whether the manager was laughingat him or not. He kicked the turf sheepishly.

  "Aren't you tired?" inquired Mr. Wharton at length.

  "No--at least--well, I haven't thought about it. Perhaps I am alittle."

  "And well you may be. You've put in a stiff morning's work. You'dbetter go and wash up now and eat your lunch. Take your full hour ofrest. No matter if the others do get back here before you. Stevens saysyou are worth any two of them, anyway."

  "It's just that I'm used to it," was the modest reply.

  "We'll let it go at that," Mr. Wharton returned ambiguously. "And onething more before you go. You needn't worry about staying on. We canuse you one way or another all summer. There'll always be work for aboy who knows how to do a job well."