"Bunch of motoring fellows down in town—Mercury Club—want to get up an auto parade, end with supper somewhere. Hotels at Lake Lucas, Pleasant Valley, and half a dozen others all crazy to get 'em. Happen to know a chap or two in town who could swing it out here for you if you cared to make the bid, and could handle the crowd. Chance for you, if you want it. Make a big thing of it—lanterns, bonfires, fireworks, orchestra—regular blow-out."
Tom's breath came in gasps. "Why—why——" he stammered. "How could we—how could we—afford——What——? How——?"
Perkins threw away the stub of his cigar, chewed to a pulp at the mouth end. His eyes had an odd glitter. "I've what you might call a bit of experience in that sort of thing," he said in a quiet tone which yet had a certain edge of energy. "Going away next week, but might put this thing through for you, if you cared to trust me."
"But—the money?" urged Tom.
"Willing to stand for that—pay me back, if you make enough. Otherwise—my risk. Something of a gambler, I am. Club'll pay for the fireworks—that's their show. Bonfires on the mountains around are easy. Lanterns cheap. Get special terms on the music—friend of mine can. Supper's up to you. Can you get extra help?"
"We can manage the supper," agreed Tom, his round cheeks deeply flushed with excitement. "Say, you're—you're awfully kind. I don't know why——"
Perkins vaulted over the porch rail. From the ground below he looked back at Tom. For the first time since he had come to Boswell's Inn Tom caught sight of the gleam of white teeth, as an oddly brilliant smile broke out for an instant on the face which was no longer deadly white but brown with tan. "Son," said Perkins, preparing to swing away down to the post-office, "I told you I was a gambler. Gambler out of work's the lamest duck on the shore. Game of booming the Inn interests me—that's all."
Tom watched the lithe, slim figure in the distance for a minute before he went in to break the plan to the force of Boswell's. "He's no gambler," said he to himself, "or I couldn't trust him the way I do. He's queer, but I don't believe he has any other motive for this than wanting to help us."
With which innocent faith in the goodness of the man who had already seen more of the world than Tom Boswell would ever see, he rushed in to tell Bertha and the rest of his excited family the astounding talk he had just had with Perkins.