Ted and the Telephone Read online

  CHAPTER V

  A VISITOR

  Fervent as this wish was, it was several days before Ted saw Mr.Wharton again and in the meantime the boy began to adapt himself to hisnew mode of living with a will. His alarm clock got him up in themorning in time for a plunge in the river and after a brisk rub-down hewas off to breakfast with the Stevens's, whose cottage was one of atiny colony of bungalows where lived the chauffeurs, head gardener,electricians, and others who held important positions on the twoestates.

  It did not take many days for Ted to become thoroughly at home in thepretty cement house where he discovered many slight services he couldperform for Mrs. Stevens during the scraps of leisure left him aftermeals. His farm training had rendered him very handy with tools and hewas quick to see little things which needed to be done. Moreover, thewillingness to help, which from the moment of his advent to Aldercliffeand Pine Lea had made him a favorite with Mr. Wharton and the men,speedily won for him a place with the kindly farmer's wife.

  Had Ted known it, she had been none too well pleased at the prospect ofadopting into her home a ravenous young lad who might, nay, probablywould be untidy and troublesome; but she did not dare oppose Mr.Wharton when the plan was suggested. Nevertheless, although sheconsented, she grumbled not a little to her husband about theinconvenience of the scheme. The money offered her by the manager hadbeen the only redeeming factor in the case. Quite ignorant of theseconditions, Ted had made his advent into the house and she soon foundto her amazement that the daily coming of her cheery boarder became anevent which she anticipated with motherly interest.

  "He is such a well-spoken boy and so nice to have round," asserted sheto Mr. Wharton. "Not a mite of trouble, either. In fact, he's a hundredtimes handier than my own man, who although he can make a garden thrivecan't drive a nail straight to save his life. And there's never anyfussing about his food. He eats everything and enjoys it. I believeStevens and I were getting dreadful pokey all alone here by ourselves.The lad has brightened us up no end. We wouldn't part with him now foranything."

  Thus it was that Ted Turner made his way. His password was usefulness.He never measured the hours he worked by the clock, never was too busyor too tired to fill in a gap; and although he was popular witheverybody, and a favorite with those in authority, he never tookadvantage of his position to escape toil or obtain privileges. In fact,he worked harder if anything than did the other men, and as soon as hisassociates saw that the indulgence granted him did not transform himinto a pig, they ceased any jealousy they cherished and accorded himtheir cordial goodwill. For Ted was always modestly respectful towardolder persons; and if he knew more about farming and some other thingsthan did a good many of the laborers on the place, he did not pushhimself forward or boast of his superiority.

  Consequently when he ventured to say, "I wonder if somebody would helpme with this harrow?" he would receive a dozen eager responses, the mennever suspecting that Mr. Wharton had given this little chap authorityto order them to aid with the harrowing of the field. Instead eachworkman thought his cooperation a free-will offering and enjoyed givingit.

  Thus a fortnight passed and no one could have been happier than was TedTurner on a certain clear June evening. He had finished his Saturdaynight supper of baked beans and brown bread and after it was over hadlingered to feed the Stevens's hens, in order to let Mr. Stevens goearly to Freeman's Falls to purchase the Sunday dinner. As a result, itwas later than usual when he started out for his camp on the river'sbrink. The long, busy day was over; he was tired and the prospect ofhis comfortable bed was very alluring. It was some distance to theshack, and before he was halfway through the pine woods that separatedAldercliffe from Pine Lea darkness had fallen, and he was compelled tomove cautiously along the narrow, curving trail. How black the nightwas! A storm must be brewing, thought he, as he glanced up into thestarless heavens. Stumbling over the rough and slippery ground on hewent. Then suddenly he rounded a turn in the path and stood arrestedwith terror.

  Not more than a rod away, half concealed in the denseness of thesweeping branches rose his little shack, a blaze of light! A wave ofconsternation turned him cold and two solutions of the mysteryimmediately flashed into his mind--fire and marauders. Either somethinghad ignited in the interior of the house; or, since it was isolated andhad long been known to be vacant, strolling mischief-makers had brokenin and were ransacking it. He remembered now that he had left a windowopen when he had gone off in the morning. Doubtless thieves were atthis moment busy appropriating his possessions. Of course it could notbe any of the Fernald workmen. They were too friendly and honorable tocommit such a dastardly deed. No, it was some one from outside. Was itnot possible men had come down the river in a boat from Melton, thevillage above, and spying the house had made a landing and encampedthere for the night?

  Well, live or die, he must know who his unwelcome guests were. It wouldbe cowardly to leave them in possession of the place and make noattempt to discover their identity. For that invaders were inside theshack he was now certain. It was not a fire. There was neither smokenor flame. Softly he crept nearer, the thick matting of pine needlesmuffling his footsteps. But how his heart beat! Suppose a twig shouldcrack beneath his feet and warn the vandals of his approach? Andsuppose they rushed out, caught him, and--for a moment he halted withfear; then, summoning every particle of courage he possessed, hetiptoed on and contrived to reach one of the windows.

  There he halted, staring, his knees weak from surging reaction.

  Instead of the company of bandits his mind had pictured, there in therocker sat Mr. Wharton and opposite him, in the great leather armchair,was Mr. Clarence Fernald. The latter fact would have been astoundingenough. But the marvel did not cease there. The light suffusing thesmall room came from no flickering candles but glowed steadily from twostrong, unblinking electric lights, one of which had been connectedwith a low lamp on his desk, and the other with a fixture in theceiling.

  Ted could scarcely believe his eyes. All day, during his absence,electricians must have been busy. How carefully they had guarded theirsecret. Why, he had talked with Tim Toyer that very morning on his wayto work and Tim had breathed no word, although he was the headelectrician and had charge of the dynamo which generated the currentboth for Aldercliffe and Pine Lea. The Fernalds had never depended onFreeman's Falls for their electricity; on the contrary, they maintaineda small plant of their own and used the power for a score of purposeson the two estates.

  Evidently either Mr. Wharton or Mr. Clarence Fernald himself must havegiven the order which had with such Aladdin-like magic been so promptlyand mysteriously fulfilled. It certainly was kind of them to do thisand Ted determined they should not find him wanting in gratitude.Pocketing his shyness, he opened the door and stepped into the room."Well, youngster, I thought it was about time the host made hisappearance," exclaimed Mr. Wharton. "We could not have waited muchlonger. Mr. Fernald, this is Ted Turner, the lad I have been tellingyou about."

  Ted waited.

  The mill-owner nodded, let his eye travel over the boy's flushed face,and then, as if satisfied by what he saw there, he put out his hand.

  "I have been hearing very excellent reports of you, Turner," said he,"and I wished to investigate for myself the quarters they have givenyou to live in. You've made a mighty shipshape little den of thisplace."

  "It didn't need very much done to it," protested Ted, blushing underthe fixed gaze of the great man. "I just cleaned it up and arranged thefurniture. Mr. Wharton was kind enough to give me most of it."

  "I can't claim any thanks," laughed the manager. "The traps I gave youwere all cast-offs and not in use. It is what you have done with themthat is the marvel."

  "You certainly have turned your donations to good purpose," Mr. Fernaldobserved. "I've been noticing your books in your absence and see thatmost of them are textbooks on electricity. I judge you are interestedin that sort of thing."

  "Yes, sir, I am."

  "Humph!"

  The financier dru
mmed reflectively on the arm of his chair.

  "How did you happen to go into that?" he asked presently.

  "I have been studying it at school. My father is letting me go throughthe high school--at least he hopes to let me finish my course there. Ihave been two years already. That is why I am working during thesummer."

  "I see. And so you have been taking up electricity at school, eh?"

  "Yes, sir. I really am taking a business course. The science work inthe laboratory is an extra that I just run in because I like it. Myfather wanted me to fit myself for business. He thought it would bebetter for me," explained Ted.

  "But you prefer the science?"

  "I am afraid I do, sir," smiled Ted, with ingratiating honesty. "But Idon't mean to let it interfere with my regular work. I try to rememberit is only a side issue."

  Mr. Clarence Fernald did not answer and during his interval of silenceTed fell to speculating on what he was thinking. Probably the magnatewas disapproving of his still going to school and was saying to himselfhow much better it would have been had he been put into the mill andtrained up there instead of having his head stuffed with stenographyand electrical knowledge.

  "What did you do in electricity?" the elder man asked at length.

  "Oh, I fussed around some with telephones, wireless, and telegraphinstruments."

  Mr. Fernald smiled.

  "Did you get where you could take messages?" inquired he with realinterest.

  "By telegraph?"

  The financier nodded.

  "I did a little at it," replied Ted. "Of course I was slow."

  "And what about wireless?"

  "I got on better with that. I rigged up a small receiving station athome but when the war came I had to take it down."

  "So that outfit was yours, was it?" commented Mr. Fernald. "I noticedit one day when I was in the village. What luck did you have with it?"

  "Oh, I contrived to pick up messages within a short radius. My outfitwasn't very powerful."

  "I suppose not. And the telephone?"

  They saw an eager light leap into the lad's eyes.

  "I've worked more at that than anything else," replied he. "You see oneof the instruments at the school gave out and they set me to tinkeringat it. In that way I got tremendously interested in it. Afterward someof us fellows did some experimenting and managed to concoct a crude onein the laboratory. It wasn't much of a telephone but we finally got itto work."

  "They tell me you are a good farmer as well as an electrician," Mr.Fernald said.

  "Oh, I was brought up on a farm, sir."

  The great man rose.

  "Well, mind you don't let your electricity make you forget yourfarming," cautioned he, not unkindly. "We need you right where you are.Still I will own electricity is a pleasant pastime. You will have acurrent to work with now whenever you want to play with it. Just besure you don't get a short circuit and blow out my dynamo."

  "Do--do--you really mean I may use the current for experiments?"demanded Ted.

  Whether Mr. Fernald had made his remarks in jest or expected them to betaken seriously was not apparent; and if he were surprised at havingthe boy catch him up and hold him to account, he at least displayed nota trace of being taken unawares. For only an instant was he thoughtful,and that was while he paused and studied the countenance of the ladbefore him.

  "Why, I don't know that I see any harm in your using the current forreasonable purposes," he answered slowly, after an interval ofmeditation. "You understand the dangers of running too many voltsthrough your body and of crossing wires, don't you?"

  "Oh, yes, sir," laughed Ted.

  "I must confess I should not trust every boy with such a plaything,"continued the magnate, "but you seem to have a good head on yourshoulders and I guess we can take a chance on you." He moved silentlyacross the room but on the threshold he turned and added withself-conscious hesitancy, "By the way my--my--son, Mr. Laurie, chancesto be interested in electricity, too. Perhaps some day he might drop inhere and have a talk about this sort of thing."

  "I wish he would."

  With a quiet glance the father seemed to thank the lad for his simpleand natural reply. Both of them knew but too well that such an eventcould never be a casual happening, and that if poor Mr. Laurie ever_dropped in_ at the shack it would be only when he was brought there,either in his wheel-chair or in the arms of some of the servants fromPine Lea. Nevertheless it was obvious that Mr. Fernald appreciated themanner in which Ted ignored these facts and suppressed his surprise atthe unusual suggestion. Had Mr. Laurie's dropping in been an ordinaryoccurrence no one could have treated it with less ceremony than didTed.

  An echo of the gratitude the capitalist felt lingered in his voice whenhe said good night. It was both gentle and husky with emotion and thelad fell asleep marvelling that the men employed at the mills shouldassert that the Fernalds were frigid and snobby.