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Page 4
CHAPTER II
"WAKING THE NATIVES!"
Turning the corner of the in-freight house Bart came to a quick halt.
He had nearly run down a man who sat between the rails tying his shoe.
The minute Bart set his eyes on the fellow he remembered having seen him
twice before--both times in this vicinity, both times looking wretched,
dejected and frightened.
The man started up, frightened now. He was about forty years old, very
shabby and threadbare in his attire, his thin pale face nearly covered
with a thick shock of hair and full black beard.
"Hello!" challenged Bart promptly.
"Oh, it's you, young Stirling," muttered the man, the haunted expression
in his eyes giving way to one of relief.
"Found a job yet?" asked Bart.
"I--haven't exactly been looking for work," responded the man, in an
embarrassed way.
"I should think you would," suggested Bart.
"See here," spoke the man, livening up suddenly. "I'll talk with you,
because you're the only friend I've found hereabouts. I'm in trouble,
and you can call it hiding if you like. I'm grateful to you for the help
you gave me the other night, for I was pretty nigh starved. But I don't
think you'd better notice me much, for I'm no good to anybody, and I
hope you won't call attention to my hanging around here."
"Why should I?" inquired Bart, getting interested. "I want to help you,
not harm you. I feel sorry for you, and I'd like to know a little more."
A tear coursed down the man's forlorn face and he shook his head
dejectedly.
"You can't sleep forever in empty freight cars, picking up scraps to
live on, you know," said Bart.
"I'll live there till I find what I came to Pleasantville to find!"
cried the man in a sudden passion. Then his emotion died down suddenly
and he fell to trembling all over, and cast hasty looks around as if
frightened at his own words.
"Don't mind me," he choked up, starting suddenly away. "I'm crazy, I
guess! I know I'm about as miserable an object as there is in the
world."
Bart ran after him, drawing a quarter from his pocket. He detained the
man by seizing his arm.
"See here," he said, "you take that, and any time you're hungry just go
up to the house and tell my mother, will you?"
"Bless her--and you, too!" murmured the man, with a hoarse catch in his
throat. "I'll take the money, for I need it desperately bad, but don't
you fret--it will come back. Yes! it will come back, double, the day I
catch the man who squeezed all the comfort out of my life!"
He dashed away with a strange cry. Bart, half decided that he was
demented, watched him disappear in the direction of a cheap eating house
just beyond the tracks, and started homewards more or less sobered and
thoughtful over the peculiar incident.
It was nearly eight o'clock when Bart got through with his supper, did
his house chores, mended a broken toy pistol for one junior brother,
made up a list of purchases of torpedoes, baby-crackers and punk for the
other, and helped his sisters in various ways.
Bart was soon in the midst of the fray. Every live boy in Pleasantville
was in evidence about the village pleasure grounds, the common and the
hill. Group after group greeted Bart with excited exclamations. He was a
general favorite with the small boys, always ready to assist or advise
them, and an acknowledged leader with those of his own age.
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