He did guarantee however, a stated, handsome income to Boardman. “Then,” he added, “you can run the mill for corn and flour, if you wish. However I’ll warrant you on logs a long, steady job; and it will pay you and me enough to make a handsome thing out of it. I’ll furnish logs for five years at least.”
At the same time, he made a great display of ready money, suggesting untold resources somewhere. He bought up the trees on extensive tracts of woodland far and near. Wherever he went, an immense business movement seemed to go with him. Uncle Boardman was bewildered. This great being, like a big oceancraft, bore down on him with such an imposing spread of financial sail, that he and his,—all but Aunt Lydia—were easy captures. Boardman built the mill, although he was forced to borrow five hundred dollars of Baggs that he might accomplish this. It was a note for this amount which Walter had stumbled upon and which his uncle had subsequently missed, but to cover the debt, he had written and tendered another. It is true that logs had not come to the mill so freely as Baggs had prophesied, for even logs need a little pushing to accomplish a journey; and Uncle Boardman’s receipts were not so large that the disposition of them had perplexed him. It was a fact also that some people had begun to label the mill “Boardman’s Folly;” but Bezaleel Baggs could furnish any amount of palaver, even if he could not make trees cut themselves down, and roll in large numbers to the mill; and his softly padded tongue kept Uncle Boardman quiet. Chauncy Aldrich represented his uncle’s interests at the mill, as that relative was often absent on mysterious journeys, from which he returned with an air of vast importance; as if he had bought up half the world to–day, and it would be delivered at ‘Blake’s Mills’ to–morrow. In connection with Baggs’ “office,” a small, ragged, unpainted shanty, there was a “store” to supply the hands at the mill. Uncle Boardman had stocked this emporium, and Baggs sold the goods on commission. Uncle Boardman sometimes thought that his profits were exceedingly small; though he knew that his “branch store,” as Baggs had pretentiously named it, could have very few customers. Some people had rashly asserted that liquor was sold at this store, but as a town–law forbade it, and as Boardman Blake’s principles forbade it also, the sale of liquor did not seem probable. For all that, something “mysterious” was sold there. It was at this “branch store” that Walter expected to serve, the afternoon of his return from his parents, as Chauncy wished to be away. The mail–wagon deposited Walter at the mill, and then clattered away. The mill was not running, as it was flood tide; and the water was rushing in from the sea, storing up the power that made all mill–running possible. No one seemed to be in the great barn–like mill, and few logs were accumulated there to feed the hungry saws when their sharp teeth might be set in motion.
“It looks quiet,” thought Walter.
It certainly was quiet in the big, deserted mill; in the narrow little road without; in the adjoining fields, so level and green; in the sky above, through which the sunshine was silently poured down. Nothing seemed to be stirring save the tide, racing up “Muskrat Creek,” and that went with an almost intelligent sound. As it rushed, and eddied, and gurgled, it seemed to say, “On hand, Boardman! We’ll start that lazy mill, shortly.” Ah, there was one other object stirring, at the office, store, shanty door, and this was Chauncy. He looked out into the road, then up to the sky, and then over toward the mill, as if he expected an arrival from some quarter.
“Ha, Plympton!” he shouted.
“Here I am,” replied Walter. “Am I late, Aldrich?”
“Oh no, but this is one of the days when the market seems to be paralyzed. Haven’t had a customer, and not a log has been hauled to the mill. However, Uncle Baggs is off stirring ’em up somewhere, and trade will begin to move this way. He is a master hand to stir people up and there will be a movement soon.”
Here he shoved back his cap, and showed that bristling wall of hair behind which he seemed to be entrenched, and from that impregnable position was defying all the world. His air was that of a challenge to Walter to “come on” if he dared, and show that Bezaleel Baggs would not “stir people up”; yes, “stir ’em up,” and bring on an immense movement in “the market.”
“Well,” said Walter, dropping his traveling bag, “if there is little to be done, I can get a chance to read a book I have in my bag. How long do you want to be away? Suit yourself, you know. I am here to accommodate you, and sha’n’t be needed at my uncle’s before six.”
“Oh, I will be back by five. Besides, my uncle may come, and he will relieve you. He is a great hand to drop on folks sort of unexpected.”