CHAPTER I QUEER ACTIONS
"Here's cheerful news—not!" exclaimed Dick Hamilton, as he tossed a letter on the bed of the room occupied by himself and his chum, Paul Drew, at the Kentfield Military Academy. "Nice, rich, juicy news, Paul!"
"What's the matter, old man? Has some one sent you a bill?"
"No, but it's a note from my Uncle Ezra Larabee, of Dankville, saying he's coming to pay me a visit. Whew!"
"A visit from Uncle Ezra; eh? Isn't he that sour-faced man who hates your bulldog, Grit, and who thinks football is a waste of time?"
"That's the man, Paul. And he's the same uncle who tried to kidnap me, to teach me how sinful it was to go off and have a good time on my yacht. Oh, he's the limit!"
"But if there isn't any love lost between you, why is he coming here, Dick? I think you told me he was about as near to being a miser as it's possible to get, and it costs money to come here from Dankville."
"Oh, he isn't coming specially to see me—you can make up your mind to that, Paul. I'm only a side issue. Let's see what he says," and Dick took up the letter again. "'Dear Nephew Richard,'" he read—"he never calls me anything but Richard, you know. 'I hope you are doing well in your studies'—no, that isn't it—'I trust you have gotten rid of your savage dog'—no, it isn't there—quiet, Grit!" he called to a handsome-homely dog in one corner of the room, the intelligent beast having growled instinctively at the mention of Uncle Ezra's name.
"Let's see, where is that part of his note?" went on Dick, leafing over the sheet. "He's wasteful enough of paper, ink and words, if he isn't of money. Oh, here it is. 'I have some business to attend to near Kentfield, and after I have finished I will run over and see you.'
"There you are, Paul. You see he's only coming to see me as an after-thought. Probably he knows I'll ask him to take dinner with me in the mess hall, and he can save the price of a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Oh, Uncle Ezra is mighty saving!"
"He must be."
"Well, he won't be here until afternoon, Paul. So let's take advantage of it and go for a walk. You haven't anything on; have you?"
"No; drill's over and I'm through with lectures. I'm with you. Where do you want to go?"
"Oh, anywhere. Let's walk out toward the hills. It's more like the country there, and with summer almost here I always want to get out in the woods and fields."
"The same with me. It won't be long until vacation now. What are you going to do, Dick?"
"I don't know," replied the young millionaire, musingly, as he donned a fatigue uniform. "Dad did think of going to Europe, and if he does I shall probably go with him. But I'd rather put in a good time on this side, with some of the fellows. What's your programme, Paul?"
"It's up to the folks, and they haven't made up their minds yet. It's always a toss-up between the mountains and the seashore. I generally vote for the shore, though I wouldn't mind a trip across the mill-pond. However, I suppose I'll have to stick with the family. Well, are you ready?"
"Yes. Come along, Grit!" and Dick had to brace himself against the demonstrative leaps of the fine animal that was delighted at going on a jaunt with his master.
"I guess I'll leave word that if Uncle Ezra should come in while we're out, he can wait here for us," went on Dick, and on his way out he spoke to the care-taker in charge of the dormitory.
"I have to be decent to him, if he did treat me pretty mean," went on Dick. "After all, he thinks he's doing right, and he is my dead mother's brother."
"Did he say what his business was around here?" asked Paul.
"No, but you can be pretty sure it is something to do with money. Probably Uncle Ezra is coming to collect some bill."
"I'm glad I don't owe him anything, Dick."
"The same here. He'd get the last penny from you. I pity anyone who does owe him, if he can't pay. Here, Grit, you never mind that cat," for the bulldog, with a low growl and a raising of the hair on the ridge of his back, had shown an inclination to chase a cat that scuttled across the drive from the barrack stables where the troop horses of the military academy were kept.
"That must be a strange feline," remarked Paul. "Grit knows all the regulars."
"Guess you're right, Paul. There goes Beeby. Hi, Innis!" Dick called to a tall cadet, crossing the parade ground. "Want to come for a walk?"
"Can't—I've got some work to do."
"'Work was made for slaves,'" quoted Paul.
"Then I'm a slave," retorted Innis Beeby. "See you later," and he turned into his dormitory.
Paul and Dick kept on by themselves, meeting chums and acquaintances occasionally, until they were well away from the military academy, swinging along a country road at a good pace—heads up, shoulders back and with a true military carriage, attained only after long practice.
"Which way?" asked Paul, as they came to a place where the road branched off, one highway leading to Lake Wagatook, and the other to a small town about two miles away.
"Let's go in to Westville. I want to see about getting a new collar for Grit. No, I didn't call you," he said to the bulldog, who came back on hearing his name.
"On to Westville then," assented Paul, and not until some time afterward did either of them realize how their choice of roads that day had to do with an important epoch in the life of a certain young man.
About half way to Westville the highway was crossed by a railroad embankment, the road being carried under it by a big culvert. It was on approaching this embankment that Paul, looking up, and seeing the figure of a man on the tracks, called Dick's attention to him.
"Look there!" he exclaimed. "That fellow's acting mighty queer, Dick. I've been noticing him ever since we came in sight of the railroad. Watch him."
Dick looked up. The man on the track above them did not seem aware of their presence. He would walk along the embankment a short distance, pause, and seem to be contemplating the rails; then, with an odd gesture would retrace his steps.
"You're right, Paul, he does act queer," agreed Dick. "I wonder what he's up to?"
"I don't know. Let's watch him a bit longer. He doesn't seem to be paying any attention to us."
As they looked, the man sat down on a pile of stones near the edge of the track, and began looking through his pockets. He seemed to find what he wanted—a bit of paper that fluttered in the wind—and then, placing it on his knee he began to write.
"He's making notes," said Dick.
"Maybe he's a track walker, and he's found some defect in the rails," suggested Paul.
"Track-walkers don't dress that way. He's got a tailor-made suit on."
"That's so, Dick. I wonder who he is?"
Whatever the man was writing did not seem to take long, for he soon arose. Then the two cadets saw him carefully pin the paper he had written to the inner pocket of his coat.
"Well, what do you know about that?" demanded Dick.
"It looks strange," admitted Paul. "He sure isn't going to lose that paper."
As he spoke the man resumed his pacing of the track. He came to the edge of the concrete bridge that carried the railroad over the highway, paused a moment, and then, with a shake of his head, retraced his steps. Then he came to a pause at the place where he had rested to write the note. He looked down the embankment, and once more shook his head.
Suddenly the whistle of an approaching train was heard, though it was some distance off, and would not be along for several minutes. At the sound the man on the tracks threw his hands upward with a tragic gesture.
"Paul!" cried Dick, "there's something wrong with that man! Maybe he's partly insane and doesn't realize his danger. I'm going up and tell him to get off the track."
"Maybe it would be a good idea, Dick. Go ahead—I'm with you."
The cadets scrambled up the yielding ashes and earth that formed the elevated embankment. As they advanced they could hear the distant rumbling of the approaching train. The man who had acted so strangely now saw them, but only regarded them with a sort of melancholy smile, and did not hasten away.
"I beg your pardon," panted Dick, as he walked toward the stranger somewhat winded after his climb, "but it's dangerous up here. There's a train coming."
"Thank you, I know it." The man spoke calmly, in contrast with his queer actions.
"I thought perhaps you might be a stranger around here," the young cadet resumed. "There are two trains that pass here about the same time. You might get out of the way of one, and step in the path of the other."
"Thank you for the warning," said the man. "I—er—I——"
He hesitated, and seemed to be struggling with some emotion.
"Perhaps I had better get off the track—for the present," he said, slowly.
"You had, if you don't want to be killed!" exclaimed Dick, with a laugh that took the grim meaning from the words. "I guess we'd all better. The trains are getting nearer, and it's too good a world to leave by way of the iron route."
"Is it a good world?" asked the man, suddenly.
"I find it so," answered the cadet. "Especially in this kind of weather, and vacation so near at hand; eh, Paul?"
"That's right!"
"You are students at the Kentfield Academy then?"
"Yes. Better move a bit faster. Here comes the express. It will pass the local on the bridge, I guess. Yes, there they both come."
Whistles from the locomotives of the two approaching trains, which rounded curves at this point, showed that the two engineers had seen the figures on the track.
"That's for us!" exclaimed Paul, quickly.
The stranger did not answer, but slowly followed Dick, who scrambled down the embankment. Ere they reached the lower level the trains rushed thunderously past in a cloud of dust and cinders.
"Now you can walk the track with more safety," remarked Dick to the man. "There won't be another train for three hours."
"Thank you, I think I'll go the rest of my journey by the highway," and the man, with a little bow, turned aside, going in the direction from which the boys had come. As he walked along Paul turned in time to see him take from his pocket the note he had pinned there and tear it up, scattering the fragments along the road.
For a few moments Paul and Dick walked along in silence, Grit following at their heels. Then Paul spoke.
"Dick!" he exclaimed, "do you know I think you saved that man from committing suicide!"
"Suicide! Nonsense, Paul!"
"That's right. If I ever saw despair and hopelessness on a man's face it was on his."
"Well, he didn't look very happy, that's a fact. But what had that to do with an intention to take his own life?"
"Lots, when you think of the way he acted."
"Oh, you imagine it."
"I do not! I believe he came here with the intention of throwing himself under a train, or at least allowing himself to be struck by one. I believe he wrote a note of farewell, and pinned it in his pocket so it wouldn't get lost. Just see how queer he acted! No one would stay on the track the way he did, with two trains coming, unless he had it in mind to get hurt. No, Dick, you can say what you like, but I believe your going up when you did, and talking to him, saved his life."
"Well, I'd like to think that I did that for a fellow being, Paul; but I still can't admit it."
"It's true, whether you admit it or not. You saved his life, and some day you'll know it, or I'm mistaken."
"Oh, nonsense!"
"No nonsense at all. You'll see. That man was at the end of his rope—he was all in. He was in despair, and he wasn't a common sort, either. He comes of a good family, I can see that. And the way you talked to him, just at the right moment—saying this was a pretty good old world after all—you saved his life, Dick—at least for a time."
"Get out!" But in spite of his denial Dick felt glad that he had done what he had. And it was not until some time after that he learned what really had taken place. Under strange circumstances he was to meet that man again.