Chapter XVI: The Night Alarm

It was a hard thing for Leslie to keep away from the Horner home these days. He had much in common with Dick to talk over, what with the progress of the black-face farce; the wonderful scheme Dick was carrying out looking to the bringing together of old Deacon Nocker and his son’s little family; and now, last of all, the mystery hanging over the returned Silas Langhorne.

Leslie was particularly interested in the weary wanderer who had spent the better part of his life in the endeavor to coax fortune to pour her favors into his lap, only to meet with final defeat.

“Even if he is Dick’s real uncle, which I doubt a whole lot,” he often told himself, “think of the nerve of him coming here to hang on to those poor people like a barnacle does to a ship’s keel. Why, with another mouth to feed, they’ll go hungry more’n a few times, if the winter’s as hard as they say it’s going to be. I tell you it doesn’t look right to me; and I’ve just _got_ to expose that old fraud.”

So Leslie, in pursuance of his determination, was over with Dick on the night that followed the encounter at the gymnasium.

Dick was induced to read a little more of his farce while the two of them sat in his den, and Leslie again laughed heartily over the humorous way the writer expressed himself, as well as at the jokes he worked in between the jolly songs and choruses.

“Don’t you dare get cold feet about this thing, Dick,” he told his chum sternly, when the other absolutely refused to read any more that night, as supper was nearly ready, and Leslie had agreed to eat with them. “I tell you it’s a peach, and Nat, for all his boasting, isn’t going to have a show-in.”

Of course, Dick liked to hear that sort of thing, for he really needed all sorts of encouragement to bolster up his drooping spirits. That golden prize hung temptingly before his eyes, but he feared he was doomed never to clutch it; although already he had figured out how many things besides a suit of new clothes it would afford him that winter.

The boys went in to supper when the summons came. Silas was still in evidence. He looked considerably better, now that he had washed up, and brushed the dust from his shabby clothes, which were pretty nearly all his possessions, for he had only been carrying a little bundle done up in a gunny-sack when Dick first met him.

“I ought to be goin’ on my way by this time,” Silas was remarking, as they sat at the table and partook of the humble fare, which, however, was plentiful enough for that occasion; “though I must say I’m terribly disappointed at not hearin’ from my old side partner, Joe Shepard, down in New York City, in answer to the letter I sent him.”

Mrs. Horner shook her head at hearing that.

“Stay a little longer with us, Silas,” she urged; “until you are stronger at any rate. You don’t eat much, and I’m sure, as my only brother, you are welcome to share in what we have. We put our trust in Providence, and so far we have never been forgotten. Something will turn up to help us, sooner or later.”

This showed Leslie Capes what a splendid little woman Dick’s mother was, and deep down in his heart he knew she was right; but all the same he could not get over his firm distrust of the wanderer.

“As sure as anything,” he told himself as he continued to eat, “that was something mighty like a grin I saw workin’ on the old fraud’s face when she said that. It’s a shame, that’s what it is, the way he’s imposing on Dick’s folks. I’m just bound to find him out, so as to expose him for the impostor he is.”

He meant to warn his chum again, though he felt pretty confident the other would only laugh at him, Dick was so frank and unsuspicious himself by nature.

“If I should happen to get real sick, Polly,” he heard the wanderer saying, “I want you to open my bundle, and you’ll find just a little mite of money I’ve hung on to, enough I hope to put me under the ground decently. I’d feel pretty badly if I thought I’d come all the way from Alaska just to make you additional expense in burying me.”

“Don’t speak of it, Silas,” said Mrs. Horner, shaking her head. “You’re going to rest a bit now, and perhaps when you get stronger, there may open up some way for you to earn a little money. We haven’t reached the end of our scanty resources yet, I hope.”

“And my quarterly pension money will be coming along about the first of the year, when we can pay all we owe, and have a bit left over,” said Grandpop Horner, proudly. “Ah! I reckon I earned all Uncle Sam pays me now in my old age, when you remember the terrible sufferings we endured. Many a time I lay on the cold ground in a storm so that my hair was frozen to the soil, and a comrade had to actually chop me loose with a hatchet in the morning.”

The garrulous old veteran was so full of reminiscences, and could be started off so easily, that Dick and his mother always had to be ready to turn the conversation into another channel, once he began to “remember.”

No doubt grandpop found an attentive listener in the returned wanderer, for they had spent many hours smoking together while the housewife carried on her numerous duties.

Leslie had really come over on this occasion to find out when Dick considered the time ripe for springing the great surprise on Deacon Nocker. He was beginning to feel impatient about it, and told Dick as much later on that evening as they sat in the latter’s little room.

“Never fear,” Dick assured him, “but what it’s going to be brought to a climax soon now. I think we’ve got the old gentleman so wrapped up in little Billy that he would accept a dozen relatives rather than have the youngster pass out of his life forever. The deacon is a changed man these days, lots of people have said; and we know what the reason for it is.”

“Are you meaning to let him meet his daughter-in-law as Mrs. Smith,” continued Leslie, “and get interested in her too, before he learns the staggering truth that Billy really belongs to him?”

“Mr. Holwell thinks that would be the best plan,” replied Dick. “He says if the deacon tries to meet the child’s mother soon, not to interfere.”

“Huh! the easiest way to bring that about,” said Leslie, eagerly, “would be just to have Billy stay at home a couple of days. Then you bet Mr. Nocker’ll hurry over and ask to see the child’s mother, so as to inquire about Billy.”

“Just what Mr. Holwell suggested,” remarked Dick. “I’ll speak to her about it tomorrow. We can fix it so when the surprise is sprung perhaps a few of us who are most interested may be on hand to see how the old man acts when he learns the truth.”

“Good for you, Dick!” cried Leslie. “I’d give a heap to be there when he hears that Billy is his sure-enough grandson. And I give you my word he’ll never dream of doing anything but taking Tilly, his boy Amos’ widow, to his heart to keep forever. Whee! but this is a glorious scheme you’ve been playing, a thousand times better all around than any one of Nat’s grand games, that are always cruel.”

“I’ve certainly had more real enjoyment out of it so far than Nat could have found in all his pranks bunched together,” asserted Dick. “Besides, it’s going to do several people good; and my mother has backed me up in it, which pleases me a whole lot in the bargain.”

“Listen! that’s the wind commencing to blow, and from the north, too, Dick. I had a hunch it’d come up strong about ten tonight, and give us some real winter weather again. How it moans around the corner of the house. They say that’s always a sure sign of cold weather.”

“Let it blow,” laughed Dick, “so far as I’m concerned. We’ve got a tight roof overhead, and plenty of coal in the cellar, for a time at least. If the cold gives us a thick coat of ice on the pond for skating, so much the better. But as you say it does begin to howl like sixty around that north end of the house.”

“Whee! I should think your Uncle Silas”--how Leslie did enjoy putting emphasis on that word “Uncle” whenever he spoke it--“would shake hands with himself over the change in his fortunes since he struck the Horner cottage. If he had to camp out on a night like this he’d shake half to pieces.”

“Oh! I’m glad he doesn’t have to,” remarked Dick, firmly. “He’s told us a good many thrilling things that have happened to him in all these years of his wanderings; and I guess the poor old chap feels like a ship that’s reached the end of its last voyage.”

Leslie laughed softly at hearing Dick say this.

“I don’t know about that, Dick,” he ventured to remark. “According to my notion, he’s got considerable of a hold on life yet. Mebbe now that things have turned so pleasant for him he may linger a long time. They nearly always do, my father says, with no worries on their minds.”

“Hark! wasn’t that the fire bell?” suddenly demanded Dick, jumping up.

“It sure enough is!” echoed the other boy, as the clanging sounds came more plainly than before; “and what a terribly hard night for a blaze, too. Where’s my hat and coat, Dick? I never could keep from running to a fire.”

“I’m with you there, old fellow!” said Dick, as he hastily donned his outer garment, after which both lads hastened from the house.

“Look there!” exclaimed Leslie, almost immediately. “A bright light is leaping up; and Dick, honest to goodness it’s coming from that direction too. I’m afraid it must be either Deacon Nocker’s house, or the Brandon place next door!”