CHAPTER XXX. FRANK CALLS ON SQUIRE HAYNES
The next morning Mr. Morton was a passenger by the early stage for Webbington, where he took the train for Boston. Thence he was to proceed to New York by the steamboat train.
“Good-by, Mr. Morton,” said Frank, waving his cap as the stage started. “I hope you’ll soon be back.”
“I hope so, too; good-by.”
Crack went the whip, round went the wheels. The horses started, and the stage rumbled off, swaying this way and that, as if top-heavy.
Frank went slowly back to the house, feeling quite lonely. He had become so accustomed to Mr. Morton’s companionship that his departure left a void which he hardly knew how to fill.
As he reflected upon Mr. Morton’s story he began to feel an increased uneasiness at the mortgage held by Squire Haynes upon his father’s farm. The time was very near at hand—only ten days off—when the mortgage might be foreclosed, and but half the money was in readiness.
Perhaps, however, Squire Haynes had no intention of foreclosing. If so, there was no occasion for apprehension. But about this he felt by no means certain.
He finally determined, without consulting his mother, to make the squire a visit and inquire frankly what he intended to do. The squire’s answer would regulate his future proceedings.
It was Frank’s rule—and a very good one, too—to do at once whatever needed to be done. He resolved to lose no time in making his call.
“Frank,” said his mother, as he entered the house, “I want you to go down to the store some time this forenoon, and get me half a dozen pounds of sugar.”
“Very well, mother, I’ll go now. I suppose it won’t make any difference if I don’t come back for an hour or two.”
“No, that will be in time.”
Mrs. Frost did not ask Frank where he was going. She had perfect faith in him, and felt sure that he would never become involved in anything discreditable.
Frank passed through the village without stopping at the store. He deferred his mother’s errand until his return. Passing up the village street, he stopped before the fine house of Squire Haynes. Opening the gate he walked up the graveled path and rang the bell.
A servant-girl came to the door.
“Is Squire Haynes at home?” inquired Frank.
“Yes, but he’s eating breakfast.”
“Will he be through soon?”
“Shure and I think so.”
“Then I will step in and wait for him.”
“Who shall I say it is?”
“Frank Frost.”
Squire Haynes had just passed his cup for coffee when Bridget entered and reported that Frank Frost was in the drawing-room and would like to see him when he had finished his breakfast.
“Frank Frost!” repeated the squire, arching his eyebrows. “What does he want, I wonder?”
“Shure he didn’t say,” said Bridget.
“Very well.”
“He is captain of the boys’ company, John, isn’t he?” asked the squire.
“Yes,” said John sulkily. “I wish him joy of his office. I wouldn’t have anything to do with such a crowd of ragamuffins.”
Of course the reader understands that this was “sour grapes” on John’s part.
Finishing his breakfast leisurely, Squire Haynes went into the room where Frank was sitting patiently awaiting him.
Frank rose as he entered.
“Good morning, Squire Haynes,” he said, politely rising as he spoke.
“Good morning,” said the squire coldly. “You are an early visitor.”
If this was intended for a rebuff, Frank did not choose to take any notice of it.
“I call on a little matter of business, Squire Haynes,” continued Frank.
“Very well,” said the squire, seating himself in a luxurious armchair, “I am ready to attend to you.”
“I believe you hold a mortgage on our farm.”
Squire Haynes started. The thought of Frank’s real business had not occurred to him. He had hoped that nothing would have been said in relation to the mortgage until he was at liberty to foreclose, as he wished to take the Frosts unprepared. He now resolved, if possible, to keep Frank in ignorance of his real purpose, that he might not think it necessary to prepare for his attack.
“Yes,” said he indifferently; “I hold quite a number of mortgages, and one upon your father’s farm among them.”
“Isn’t the time nearly run out?” asked Frank anxiously.
“I can look if you desire it,” said the squire, in the same indifferent tone.
“I should be glad if you would.”
“May I ask why you are desirous of ascertaining the precise date?” asked the squire. “Are you intending to pay off the mortgage?”
“No, sir,” said Frank. “We are not prepared to do so at present.”
Squire Haynes felt relieved. He feared for a moment that Mr. Frost had secured the necessary sum, and that he would be defeated in his wicked purpose.
He drew out a large number of papers, which he rather ostentatiously scattered about the table, and finally came to the mortgage.
“The mortgage comes due on the first of July,” he said.
“Will it be convenient for you to renew it, Squire Haynes?” asked Frank anxiously. “Father being absent, it would be inconvenient for us to obtain the amount necessary to cancel it. Of course, I shall be ready to pay the interest promptly.”
“Unless I should have sudden occasion for the money,” said the squire, “I will let it remain. I don’t think you need feel any anxiety on the subject.”
With the intention of putting Frank off his guard, Squire Haynes assumed a comparatively gracious tone. This, in the case of any other man, would have completely reassured Frank. But he had a strong distrust of the squire, since the revelation of his character made by his friend Mr. Morton.
“Could you tell me positively?” he asked, still uneasy. “It is only ten days now to the first of July, and that is little enough to raise the money in.”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” said the squire. “I said unless I had sudden occasion for the money, because unforeseen circumstances might arise. But as I have a considerable sum lying at the bank, I don’t anticipate anything of the kind.”
“I suppose you will give me immediate notice, should it be necessary. We can pay four hundred dollars now. So, if you please, the new mortgage can be made out for half the present amount.”
“Very well,” said the squire carelessly. “Just as you please as to that. Still, as you have always paid my interest regularly, I consider the investment a good one, and have no objection to the whole remaining.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Frank, rising to go.
Frank took his hat, and, bowing to the squire, sought the front door. His face wore a perplexed expression. He hardly knew what to think about the interview he had just had.
“Squire Haynes talks fair enough,” he soliloquized; “and, perhaps, he means what he says. If it hadn’t been for what Mr. Morton told me, I should have confidence in him. But a man who will betray a trust is capable of breaking his word to me. I think I’ll look round a little, and see if I can’t provide for the worse in case it comes.”
Just after Frank left the house, John entered his father’s presence.
“What did Frank Frost want of you, father?” he asked.
“He came about the mortgage.”
“Did he want to pay it?”
“No, he wants me to renew it.”
“Of course you refused.”
“Of course I did no such thing. Do you think I am a fool?”
“You don’t mean to say that you agreed to renew it?” demanded John, in angry amazement.
Squire Haynes rather enjoyed John’s mystification.
“Come,” said he, “I’m afraid you’ll never make a lawyer if you’re not sharper than that comes to. Never reveal your plans to your adversary. That’s an important principle. If I had refused, he would have gone to work, and in ten days between now and the first of July, he’d have managed in some way to scrape together the eight hundred dollars. He’s got half of it now.”
“What did you tell him, then?”
“I put him off by telling him not to trouble himself—that I would not foreclose the mortgage unless I had unexpected occasion for the money.”
“Yes, I see,” said John, his face brightening at the anticipated disaster to the Frosts. “You’ll take care that there shall be some sudden occasion.”
“Yes,” said the squire complacently. “I’ll have a note come due, which I had not thought about, or something of the kind.”
“Oh, that’ll be bully.”
“Don’t use such low words, John. I have repeatedly requested you to be more careful about your language. By the way, your teacher told me yesterday that you are not doing as well now as formerly.”
“Oh, he’s an old muff. Besides, he’s got a spite against me. I should do a good deal better at another school.”
“We’ll see about that. But I suspect he’s partly right.”
“Well, how can a feller study when he knows the teacher is determined to be down upon him?”
“‘Feller!’ I am shocked at hearing you use that word. ‘Down upon him,’ too!”
“Very well; let me go where I won’t hear such language spoken.”
It would have been well if Squire Haynes had been as much shocked by bad actions as by low language.
This little disagreement over, they began again to anticipate with pleasure the effect of the squire’s premeditated blow upon the Frosts.
“We’ll come up with ‘em?” said John, with inward exultation.
Meanwhile, though the squire was entirely unconscious of it, there was a sword hanging over his own head.
CHAPTER XXXI. SQUIRE HAYNES SPRINGS HIS TRAP
As intimated in the last chapter, Frank determined to see if he could not raise the money necessary to pay off the mortgage in case it should be necessary to do so.
Farmer Maynard was a man in very good circumstances. He owned an excellent farm, which yielded more than enough to support his family. Probably he had one or two thousand dollars laid aside.
“I think he will help me,” Frank said to himself, “I’ll go to him.”
He went to the house, and was directed to the barn. There he found the farmer engaged in mending a hoe-handle, which had been broken, by splicing it.
He unfolded his business. The farmer listened attentively to his statement.
“You say the squire as much as told you that he would renew the mortgage?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I wouldn’t trouble myself then; I’ve no doubt he’ll do it.”
“He said, unless he should have some sudden occasion for the money.”
“All right. He is a prudent man, and don’t want to bind himself. That is all. You know the most unlikely things may happen; but I don’t believe the squire’ll want the money. He’s got plenty in the bank.”
“But if he should?”
“Then he’ll wait, or take part. I suppose you can pay part.”
“Yes, half.”
“Then I guess there won’t be any chance of anything going wrong.”
“If there should,” persisted Frank, “could you lend us four hundred dollars to make up the amount?”
“I’d do it in a minute, Frank, but I hain’t got the money by me. What money I have got besides the farm is lent out in notes. Only last week I let my brother-in-law have five hundred dollars, and that leaves me pretty short.”
“Perhaps somebody else will advance the money,” said Frank, feeling a little discouraged at the result of his first application.
“Yes, most likely. But I guess you won’t need any assistance. I look upon it as certain that the mortgage will be renewed. Next fall I shall have the money, and if the squire wants to dispose of the mortgage, I shall be ready to take it off his hands.”
Frank tried to feel that he was foolish in apprehending trouble from Squire Haynes, but he found it impossible to rid himself of a vague feeling of uneasiness.
He made application to another farmer—an intimate friend of his father’s—but he had just purchased and paid for a five-acre lot adjoining his farm, and that had stripped him of money. He, too, bade Frank lay aside all anxiety, and assured him that his fears were groundless.
With this Frank had to be content.
“Perhaps I am foolish,” he said to himself. “I’ll try to think no more about it.”
He accordingly returned to his usual work, and, not wishing to trouble his mother to no purpose, resolved not to impart his fears to her. Another ground of relief suggested itself to him. Mr. Morton would probably be back on the 27th of June. Such, at least, was his anticipation when he went away. There was reason to believe that he would be both ready and willing to take up the mortgage, if needful. This thought brought back Frank’s cheerfulness.
It was somewhat dashed by the following letter which he received a day or two later from his absent friend. It was dated New York, June 25, 1863. As will appear from its tenor, it prepared Frank for a further delay in Mr. Morton’s arrival.
“DEAR FRANK: I shall not be with you quite as soon as I intended. I hope, however, to return a day or two afterward at latest. My business is going on well, and I am assured of final success. Will you ask your mother if she can accommodate an acquaintance of mine for a day or two? I shall bring him with me from New York, and shall feel indebted for the accommodation.
“Your true friend,
“HENRY MORTON.”
Frank understood at once that the acquaintance referred to must be the clerk, whose evidence was so important to Mr. Morton’s case. Being enjoined to secrecy, however, he, of course, felt that he was not at liberty to mention this.
One day succeeded another until at length the morning of the thirtieth of June dawned. Mr. Morton had not yet arrived; but, on the other hand, nothing had been heard from Squire Haynes.
Frank began to breathe more freely. He persuaded himself that he had been foolishly apprehensive. “The squire means to renew the mortgage,” he said to himself hopefully.
He had a talk with his mother, and she agreed that it would be well to pay the four hundred dollars they could spare, and have a new mortgage made out for the balance. Frank accordingly rode over to Brandon in the forenoon, and withdrew from the bank the entire sum there deposited to his father’s credit. This, with money which had been received from Mr. Morton in payment of his board, made up the requisite amount.
About four o’clock in the afternoon, as Mrs. Frost was sewing at a front window, she exclaimed to Frank, who was making a kite for his little brother Charlie, “Frank, there’s Squire Haynes coming up the road.”
Frank’s heart gave an anxious bound.
“Is he coming here?” he asked, with anxiety.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Frost, after a moment’s pause. Frank turned pale with apprehension.
A moment afterward the huge knocker was heard to sound, and Mrs. Frost, putting down her work, smoothed her apron and went to the door.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Frost,” said the squire, lifting his hat.
“Good afternoon, Squire Haynes. Won’t you walk in?”
“Thank you; I will intrude for a few minutes. How do you do?” he said, nodding to Frank as he entered.
“Pretty well, thank you, sir,” said Frank nervously.
The squire, knowing the odium which would attach to the course he had settled upon, resolved to show the utmost politeness to the family he was about to injure, and justify his action by the plea of necessity.
“Take a seat, Squire Haynes,” said Mrs. Frost “You’ll find this rocking-chair more comfortable.’
“I am very well seated, thank you. I cannot stop long. I have merely called on a matter of business.”
“About the mortgage?” interrupted Frank, who could keep silence no longer.
“Precisely so. I regret to say that I have urgent occasion for the money, and shall be unable to renew it.”
“We have got four hundred dollars,” said Mrs. Frost, “which we are intending to pay.”
“I am sorry to say that this will not answer my purpose.”
“Why did you not let us know before?” asked Frank abruptly.
“Frank!” said his mother reprovingly.
“It was only this morning that the necessity arose. I have a note due which must be paid.”
“We are not provided with the money, Squire Haynes,” said Mrs. Frost. “if, however, you will wait a few days, we can probably raise it among our friends.”
“I regret to say that this will not do,” said the squire, “I would gladly postpone the matter. The investment has been satisfactory to me, but necessity knows no law.”
Frank was about to burst out with some indignant exclamation, but his mother, checking him, said: “I think there is little chance of our being able to pay you to-morrow. May I inquire what course you propose to take?”
“It will be my painful duty to foreclose the mortgage.”
“Squire Haynes,” said Frank boldly, “haven’t you intended to foreclose the mortgage all along? Hadn’t you decided about it when I called upon you ten days ago?”
“What do you mean by your impertinence, sir?” demanded the squire, giving vent to his anger.
“Just what I say. I believe you bear a grudge against my father, and only put me off the other day in order to prevent my being able to meet your demands to-morrow. What do you suppose we can do in less than twenty-four hours?”
“Madam!” said the squire, purple with rage, “do you permit your son to insult me in this manner?”
“I leave it to your conscience, Squire Haynes, whether his charges are not deserved. I do not like to think ill of any man, but your course is very suspicious.”
“Madam,” said Squire Haynes, now thoroughly enraged, “you are a woman, and can say what you please; but as for this young rascal, I’ll beat him within an inch of his life if I ever catch him out of your presence.”
“He is under the protection of the laws,” said Mrs. Frost composedly, “which you, being a lawyer, ought to understand.”
“I’ll have no mercy on you. I’ll sell you up root and branch,” said Squire Haynes, trembling with passion, and smiting the floor with his cane.
“At all events the house is ours to-day,” returned Mrs. Frost, with dignity, “and I must request you to leave us in quiet possession of it.”
The squire left the house in undignified haste, muttering threats as he went.
“Good, mother!” exclaimed Frank admiringly. “You turned him out capitally. But,” he added, an expression of dismay stealing over his face, “what shall we do?”
“We must try to obtain a loan,” said Mrs. Frost, “I will go and see Mr. Sanger, while you go to Mr. Perry. Possibly they may help us. There is no time to be lost.”
An hour afterward Frank and his mother returned, both disappointed. Mr. Sanger and Mr. Perry both had the will to help but not the ability. There seemed no hope left save in Mr. Morton. At six o’clock the stage rolled up to the gate.
“Thank Heaven! Mr. Morton has come!” exclaimed Frank eagerly.
Mr. Morton got out of the stage, and with him a feeble old man, or such he seemed, whom the young man assisted to alight. They came up the gravel walk together.
“How do you do, Frank?” he said, with a cheerful smile.
“We are in trouble,” said Frank. “Squire Haynes is going to foreclose the mortgage to-morrow.”
“Never mind!” said Mr. Morton. “We will be ready for him. He can’t do either of us any more mischief, Frank. His race is about run.”
A heavy weight seemed lifted from Frank’s heart. For the rest of the day he was in wild spirits. He asked no questions of Mr. Morton. He felt a firm confidence that all would turn out for the best.
CHAPTER XXXII. TURNING THE TABLES
The next morning Mr. Morton made inquiries of Frank respecting the mortgage. Frank explained that a loan of four hundred dollars would enable him to cancel it.
“That is very easily arranged, then,” said Henry Morton.
He opened his pocketbook and drew out four crisp new United States notes, of one hundred dollars each.
“There, Frank,” said he; “that will loosen the hold Squire Haynes has upon you. I fancy he will find it a little more difficult to extricate himself from my grasp.”
“How can I ever thank you, Mr. Morton?” said Frank, with emotion.
“It gives me great pleasure to have it in my power to be of service to you, Frank,” said his friend kindly.
“We will have a mortgage made out to you,” continued Frank.
“Not without my consent, I hope,” said Mr. Morton, smiling.
Frank looked puzzled.
“No, Frank,” resumed Mr. Morton, “I don’t care for any security. You may give me a simple acknowledgment of indebtedness, and then pay me at your leisure.”
Frank felt with Justice that Mr. Morton was acting very generously, and he was more than ever drawn to him.
So passed the earlier hours of the forenoon.
About eleven o’clock Squire Haynes was observed approaching the house. His step was firm and elastic, as if he rejoiced in the errand he was upon. Again he lifted the knocker, and sounded a noisy summons. It was in reality a summons to surrender.
The door was opened again by Mrs. Frost, who invited the squire to enter. He did so, wondering at her apparent composure.
“They can’t have raised the money,” thought he apprehensively. “No, I am sure the notice was too short.”
Frank was in the room, but Squire Haynes did not deign to notice him, nor did Frank choose to make advances. Mrs. Frost spoke upon indifferent subjects, being determined to force Squire Haynes to broach himself the business that had brought him to the farm.
Finally, clearing his throat, he said: “Well, madam, are you prepared to cancel the mortgage which I hold upon your husband’s farm?”
“I hope,” said Mrs. Frost, “you will give us time. It is hardly possible to obtain so large a sum in twenty-four hours.”
“They haven’t got it,” thought the squire exultingly.
“As to that,” he said aloud, “you’ve had several years to get ready in.”
“Have you no consideration? Remember my husband’s absence, and I am unacquainted with business.”
“I have already told you,” said the squire hastily, “that I require the money. I have a note to pay, and–”
“Can you give us a week?”
“No, I must have the money at once.”
“And if we cannot pay?”
“I must foreclose.”
“Will that give you the money any sooner? I suppose you would have to advertise the farm for sale before you could realize anything, and I hardly think that car be accomplished sooner than a week hence.”
“The delay is only a subterfuge on your part,” said the squire hotly. “You would be no better prepared at the end of a week than you are now.”
“No, perhaps not,” said Mrs. Frost quietly.
“And yet you ask me to wait,” said the squire indignantly. “Once for all, let me tell you that all entreaties are vain. My mind is made up to foreclose, and foreclose I will.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” interrupted Frank, with a triumphant smile.
“Ha, young impudence!” exclaimed the squire, wheeling round. “Who’s to prevent me, I should like to know?”
“I am,” said Frank boldly.
The squire fingered his cane nervously. He was very strongly tempted to lay it on our hero’s back. But he reflected that the power was in his hands, and that he was sure of his revenge.
“You won’t gain anything by your impudence,” he said loftily. “I might have got you a place, out of pity to your mother, if you had behaved differently. I need a boy to do odd jobs about the house, and I might have offered the place to you.”
“Thank you for your kind intentions,” said Frank, “but I fear the care of this farm will prevent my accepting your tempting offer.”
“The care of the farm!” repeated the squire angrily. “Do you think I will delegate it to you?”
“I don’t see what you have to do about it,” said Frank.
“Then you’ll find out,” roared the squire. “I shall take immediate possession, and require you to leave at once.”
“Then I suppose we had better pay the mortgage, mother,” said Frank.
“Pay the mortgage! You can’t do it,” said the squire exultingly.
“Have you the document with you?” inquired Mrs. Frost.
“Yes, madam.”
“Name the amount due on it.”
“With interest eight hundred and twenty-four dollars.”
“Frank, call in Mr. Morton as a witness.”
Mr. Morton entered.
“Now, Frank, you may count out the money.”
“What!” stammered the squire, in dismay, “can you pay it.”
“We can.”
“Why didn’t you tell me so in the first place?” demanded Squire Haynes, his wrath excited by his bitter disappointment.
“I wished to ascertain whether your course was dictated by necessity or a desire to annoy and injure us. I can have no further doubt about it.”
There was no help for it. Squire Haynes was compelled to release his hold upon the Frost Farm, and pocket his money. He had never been so sorry to receive money before.
This business over, he was about to beat a hurried retreat, when he was suddenly arrested by a question from Henry Morton.
“Can you spare me a few minutes, Squire Haynes?”
“I am in haste, sir.”
“My business is important, and has already been too long delayed.”
“Too long delayed?”
“Yes, it has waited twelve years.”
“I don’t understand you, sir,” said the squire.
“Perhaps I can assist you. You know me as Henry Morton. That is not my real name.”
“An alias!” sneered the squire in a significant tone.
“Yes, I had my reasons,” returned the young man, unmoved.
“I have no doubt of it.”
Henry Morton smiled, but did not otherwise notice the unpleasant imputation.
“My real name is Richard Waring.”
Squire Haynes started violently and scrutinized the young man closely through his spectacles. His vague suspicions were confirmed.
“Do you wish to know my business with you?”
The squire muttered something inaudible.
“I demand the restitution of the large sum of money entrusted to you by my father, just before his departure to the West Indies—a sum of which you have been the wrongful possessor for twelve years.”
“Do you mean to insult me?” exclaimed the squire, bold in the assurance that the sole evidence of his fraud was undiscovered.
“Unless you comply with my demand I shall proceed against you legally, and you are enough of a lawyer to understand the punishment meted out to that description of felony.”
“Pooh, pooh! Your threats won’t avail you,” said the squire contemptuously. “Your plan is a very clumsy one. Let me suggest to you, young man, that threats for the purpose of extorting money are actionable.”
“Do you doubt my identity?”
“You may very probably be the person you claim to be, but that won’t save you.”
“Very well. You have conceded one point.”
He walked quietly to the door of the adjoining room, opened it, and in a distinct voice called “James Travers.”
At the sound of this name Squire Haynes sank into a chair, ashy pale.
A man, not over forty, but with seamed face, hair nearly white, and a form evidently broken with ill health, slowly entered.
Squire Haynes beheld him with dismay.
“You see before you, Squire Haynes, a man whose silence has been your safeguard for the last twelve years. His lips are now unsealed. James Travers, tell us what you know of the trust reposed in this man by my father.”
“No, no,” said the squire hurriedly. “It—it is enough. I will make restitution.”
“You have done wisely,” said Richard Waring. (We must give him his true name.) “When will you be ready to meet me upon this business?”
“To-morrow,” muttered the squire.
He left the house with the air of one who has been crushed by a sudden blow.
The pride of the haughty had been laid low, and retribution, long deferred, had come at last.
Numerous and hearty were the congratulations which Mr. Morton—I mean Mr. Waring—received upon his new accession of property.
“I do not care so much for that,” he said, “but my father’s word has been vindicated. My mind is now at peace.”
There was more than one happy heart at the farm that night. Mr. Waring had accomplished the great object of his life; and as for Frank and his mother, they felt that the black cloud which had menaced their happiness had been removed, and henceforth there seemed prosperous days in store. To cap the climax of their happiness, the afternoon mail brought a letter from Mr. Frost, in which he imparted the intelligence that he had been promoted to a second lieutenancy.
“Mother,” said Frank, “you must be very dignified now, You are an officer’s wife.”