Chapter XXVI

A Rope of Sand

Silas Farrington was much disturbed by Tony Stickles' arrival in Glendow. He had always laughed at the lad, considering him a stupid, ungainly creature. Occasionally he had overtaken Tony on the road trudging wearily along, but it had never occurred to him to offer him a seat in his waggon or sleigh.

"It spiles sich people," he had often said, "to take too much notice of 'em. They have a sartin place in life, an' should be made to keep it." But standing in the store that evening after Stephen's departure, the despised Tony occupied an important place in his mind. He would have laughed to scorn anyone who had suggested such a thing. But down deep in his heart, small and narrow though it was, dwelt considerable unrest. "What had the lad come back for?" he asked himself over and over again. "What was the special business which brought him so unexpectedly? Did he know anything?" Harrington's face twitched as he thought of these things. He strode up and down in the store. Once he paused before the safe standing in the corner, and looked long and thoughtfully upon it. A muttered curse escaped his lips. This was succeeded by a scornful laugh. "What a fool I am!" he exclaimed, "to worry about sich things! What is thar to find out? Let 'em do their best and be damned! We'll see who holds the stoutest and longest rope. That Steve Frenelle's a cur, an' I hate 'im. He's jist the one to stir up trouble. I've suspected 'im all along. He knows too much fer one of his age. Wait 'till I'm councillor, an' then I'll show 'im a thing or two." Waggons rattling along the road startled him. He glanced at his watch. "My! I didn't know 'twas so late; almost time for the meetin'. I must git ready."

The big public hall of Glendow was packed to the door. People came from all over the parish to this political meeting, for lively scenes were expected. The two candidates opposed to each other were to be there to discuss various problems of local interest. On the front seat sat Mrs. Farrington, Eudora and Dick.

Philip Gadsby was the first speaker. He was a man tall and somewhat thin, with a kind, thoughtful face. His voice was soft, well modulated, and his words carefully chosen. There was nothing of the orator about him, in fact his speech was somewhat of a hesitating nature. But he was possessed of a convincing manner, and all who were there knew they were listening to a man who was more than his words, and that what he said he would endeavour to accomplish to the best of his ability. He spoke about the needs of the parish, better roads, improvement of the schools, and the efforts which should be made to form an agricultural society in Glendow, which was essentially a farming community.

"Our watchword," he said in conclusion, "should be progress. Look at our roads. Money is spent upon them every season, but not in an intelligent way. We find men at times appointed roadmasters who seldom drive over the highway. Mud and sods are heaped up in the centre in a confused fashion, late in the fall. Let us do less, do it well, and use more gravel. Look at our schools. The buildings are old, ill equipped, and sometimes fifty to sixty children are crowded into one room fitted only to accommodate twenty, and one teacher to manage all. And we do need an agricultural society. We are farmers. We need to read, study, meet together and hear addresses from experts. New methods are employed elsewhere, while we are behind the times. Yes, we must advance. I have the welfare of the parish at heart, and whether elected or not I shall still take my part in the forward movement."

Often during the speech Gadsby was greeted with cheers and clapping, for those present realized the effectiveness of what he said, and he sat down amid great applause.

It was then that Farrington rose to his feet and mounted the platform. He had listened to Gadsby's speech with amused tolerance, and occasionally whispered something to his wife sitting by his side. He was a man possessed of an abundance of words, and he turned his attention at once upon the first speaker. Gadsby had made no personal allusion to his opponent. He simply stated his case and ceased. But not so Farrington. From the first word he uttered he began to pour forth contempt and ridicule. He laughed at Gadsby's ideas of progress.

"I think we're purty well advanced," he shouted. "The schools an' roads are good enough fer me. Progress means more money, an' more money means bigger taxes. The children of Glendow are well supplied, an' as fer the roads they're good enough. As fer an agricultural society--well," and here he cast a significant look at Gadsby, "them who talk sich things had better look at their own farms. Before I go out shoutin' about progress I had better be sure that my own bizness is on a good footin'. I generally find that sich people spend too much time gaddin' about instid of attendin' to their own home affairs."

And thus Farrington talked for over an hour. He wandered off into all kinds of subjects, made jokes at which the boys laughed, and told funny stories. He imagined he was putting his hearers in good humour, and he took their cheers and stamping as signs of approval. But he little knew what the serious-minded were thinking about. They were slow of speech, but they were keen observers, and they were mentally comparing the two candidates before them. Farrington knew nothing of this. He was in a rollicking, fine humour. He felt pleased with the people for their apparent approval, but more pleased with himself for the speech he was making. "I'm real glad to see so many of yez here," he said in conclusion. "I think nearly all the voters are present, at any rate every family is represented. Now if any of yez would like to ax a question I shall be glad fer 'im to do so. I take it that the meetin' is open fer free discussion."

"Guess I've made a hit," Farrington whispered to his wife as he resumed his seat by her side. "The people know a good thing when they find it."

"Ye done well, Si," was the reply. "I'm sartinly proud of ye. Thar's no doubt now about yer election."

The clapping and stamping had not ceased ere a man was noticed pushing his way through the crowd to the front of the hall. As he mounted the platform the noise suddenly stopped, for all were much surprised to see Stephen Frenelle standing there. Never before had he been known to do such a thing, especially at a political meeting. What could he have to say? All wondered. And Stephen, too, was surprised. He was not accustomed to public speaking, and shrank from the thought of facing so many people. But he was very calm now, and in his eyes flashed a light which bespoke danger. In his right hand he clutched several papers, which all noted. He looked steadily over the heads of the people before speaking, and an almost breathless silence ensued.

"You wonder why I am here," he began at length. "I am not used to the platform, and only a matter of great importance would ever make me mount it. The last speaker has given permission for all to ask questions. He has said that nearly all the voters are here, and that every family is represented. I will tell you of one voter who is not here, one who on an occasion like this was generally present. I need hardly mention his name, for you all know. I now ask why isn't Parson John with us to-night?" He paused as if for an answer, and looked into the faces before him. "You all know," he continued, "as well as I do. Because he was actually driven from the parish. He left it almost a heart-broken man."

At these words, Farrington sprang to his feet.

"What has all this nonsense to do with the election?" he cried. "He's out of order, an' I appeal to the chairman to stop 'im."

"Hear! hear!" yelled several. "Go ahead, Steve!" shouted others.

"Yes, I intend to go ahead," replied the latter. "You will find out, Mr. Farrington, before I am through the meaning of my words, and perhaps I will not be the only one out of order. It's more likely to be disorder.

"I was asking the question when I was interrupted, 'Why was Parson John driven from the parish?' Because of vile stories which were circulated about him. And what were those stories? You know as well as I do. I need not mention them all; of one only shall I speak. When old Billy Fletcher's house was burned to the ground, and the gold which he was supposed to have could not be found, what did some say? That Parson John took it. Yes, that's what they said, and you all know it. I've heard it ever since then. His friends knew it was a lie, but what could they say? What proof could they bring forward? I now ask you what became of that gold? It is a secret no longer. The witness is here," and Stephen held the papers aloft. The silence which now pervaded the hall was most intense. Every ear was strained to its utmost, and every eye was fixed full upon that up-lifted hand.

"Here is my witness," repeated Stephen, "and I ask the man, the last speaker, whose name is signed to this paper, to stand up and give us an explanation."

During the latter part of this speech, Farrington had turned as white as death. He sat bolt upright, with his hands clutching convulsively the edge of the seat. He felt that something terrible was pending, and a horrible, craven fear overwhelmed him! He knew that paper held up there only too well. It was simply a sheet of cheap writing-paper, and yet it was his ruin. It was damning him as a scoundrel and a sneak in the presence of these people!

"Cannot the last speaker explain how his name happens to be here and what he knows about that gold?"

These words fell like the knell of doom upon Farrington's ears. What was he to do? But something must be done.

"What d'ye mean?" he gasped. "What d'ye want me to explain?"

"About this writing."

"What writin', an' whar did ye git any writin' of mine? It's some mean trick!" he shouted, jumping to his feet. "This villain has come here fer the purpose of injurin' me! I tell ye it's false! it's false!"

"But what about this?" Stephen insisted, calmly holding up one of the papers. "And there are others."

"What is it? What is it? Read it, Steve," came the cry from the audience.

"I say it's false!" shouted Farrington, springing again to his feet, his face blanched with terror. "It's a mean trick! Put the villain out! Will ye let an honest man be put upon in this way?"

"Read the paper, Steve," urged several. "Let's know what's the matter. We don't understand this fuss."

Farrington made a pathetic figure as he stood there uncertain what to do. He knew he was in a trap, but he had not the moral courage to stand up and face the worst like a man. Had he done so there were many who would have pitied him. But he blustered and raved and threatened what he would do.

"If that man will be still for a few minutes," said Stephen, "I shall tell you what these papers contain."

"Sit down, Farrington!" came a general yell. "We'll hear you later."

"Now," began Stephen. "I shall read this one first. It is not long.

"'To-day October 30, 18-- I placed the sum of $5,000 in gold in Silas Farrington's safe for him to keep until called for. The money is locked in a stout, iron box marked with a cross with white paint. I do not like banks--they are not to be depended upon, and are always failing. This seems to be the best place to put my money. I am to give Mr. Farrington one dollar a month for the use of the safe. 'WILLIAM FLETCHER.'"

As Stephen finished the reading, a movement took place among the people and angry, threatening words were interchanged.

"It's a lie!" yelled Farrington. "It's made up to ruin me! Will ye believe sich a story?"

"Just wait a minute," continued Stephen, holding forth another small piece of paper. Here is further evidence which might be of some service. Listen to this.

"'Glendow, Friday, Oct. 30th, 18-- Received from William Fletcher, the sum of $5,000 in gold, in an iron box, to be kept for him in trust in my safe until called for, he promising to pay me one dollar a month for the use of my safe. 'SILAS FARRINGTON.'"

An intense silence now reigned in the hall. All were waiting to see what would happen next. It was the calm before the storm. The people were more than surprised, they were dumfounded at this sudden turn of events. The purpose of the meeting was forgotten. Then one wild cry went up. There was confusion everywhere, all talking and shouting at once. At this the chairman rose to his feet, and held up his hand for peace. Gradually the commotion subsided, and all waited to hear what he had to say.

"We are much astonished at what has happened," he began. "It is a very serious matter. These papers are of a most damaging nature to one of the candidates here to-night. He has emphatically denied the statements made therein. But we demand further proof. Let him now come forward and speak. Perhaps he can explain matters fully."

"Hear! Hear!" came from every part of the building.

Half dazed and trembling, Farrington staggered forward, and grasped the back of a chair for support.

"It's a lie, I tell ye!" he shouted. "But I want to ax one question. Whar did them papers come from? Ye all know very well that everything was burned which old Billy had in the house. Not a scrap of anything was left, and how did them papers escape? That's proof enough to show what a mean trick has been played upon me. I am the one to ax fer an explanation."

"That shall be granted at once," Stephen replied, and in a few words he told of Tony Stickles' arrival, their search beneath the large hearth-stone, and the discovery of the iron box containing the valuable papers.

"Tony is here," said Stephen in conclusion, "and if you do not believe me, ask him."

But there was no need for Tony's witness. The evidence was already strong enough, and the people were aroused.

"Mr. Farrington," said the chairman, motioning the audience to be quiet. "If you have that gold in your safe, it will save considerable trouble if you produce it at once. If it is there and you have kept silence and allowed that man of God to suffer, you deserve the severest punishment. Is it the wish of the people here that the safe should be opened?"

"Ay, ay!" came like a roar of thunder.

"Ye can't do it!" yelled Farrington, rising to his feet. "It's my private property, an' I defy anyone to touch my safe."

"Oh, we'll not touch it," the chairman coolly remarked. "We'll not lay hands on it. All we ask you to do is to throw open the door and show us what's inside."

"It ain't lawful, I say," shouted the desperate man.

"Maybe it isn't lawful. But we'll attend to that, I reckon. Sometimes people take the law into their own hands, and I guess that's what we'll do to-night. In my opinion there's not a judge or a jury in the whole land but would support our action. Come now, you'd better do as we desire at once."

Farrington, excited though he was, found it necessary to do some rapid thinking. He knew he could not delay that angry assembly much longer. One hope only remained, and upon this he acted.

"Very well," he replied, "I might as well go at once. Come when you like, you kin examine everything in the safe. I'm not afeer'd fer ye to look."

He took a step or two forward with the intention of leaving.

"Wait a minute," said the chairman. "Don't be in too big a hurry. We'll go along with you. It's always good to have company on such occasions."

"I don't want anyone," snapped Farrington, turning angrily upon him.

"No, I know you don't. But we're not considering your feelings just now."

"Then, I'll not go! Do what you like with me!" and Farrington sank back upon the seat, a pitiable bundle of wretched humanity.