CHAPTER VII
A TELEPHONE MESSAGE
SEVERAL days after this, during which time Dan had been kept very busy about the farm, and helping Mrs. Savage with the housework, a neighbor called to him as he was hoeing the potatoes in the garden patch.
“Say, Dan, is Mr. Savage in the house?”
“I think so, sir; did you want to see him?”
“Well, not exactly, but some one has just called him up on my telephone, and they want to talk to him. I don’t see why he doesn’t get a telephone of his own. Too mean, I suppose. I had to leave off fixing a set of harness and come running over to tell him.”
“It’s too bad you had that trouble,” responded Dan. “I will call him.”
Dan dropped his hoe and started for the house.
“Tell him to hurry,” advised the man. “Whoever it is that’s calling him has to hold the wire, and that costs money.”
“Mr. Savage will not like that.”
“Oh, well, he doesn’t have to pay for the time. The person who called him up has to foot the bill.”
“Then I’ll tell him to hurry so as to save all the expense he can.”
“Very well, I’ll go back to my work.”
Dan found his employer trying to sew up a rip in one of his shoes, for Mr. Savage hated to spend money on anything, and repairing his own footwear was one of the ways he endeavored to save.
“Some one wants to speak to you on the telephone, Mr. Savage.”
“Telephone? What telephone?”
“The one in Mr. Lane’s house.”
“Want’s to speak to me on th’ telephone? I wonder who it can be? Nobody would want to telephone me.”
“You had better hurry,” advised Dan. “It costs money to hold the wire.”
“Hold th’ wire? Costs money? Say, ef anybody thinks I’m goin’ t’ waste money t’ talk over one of them things, they’re mighty much mistaken. I ain’t got no money t’ throw away on sech foolishness,” and he was about to proceed with his shoe mending.
“No, no, it doesn’t cost you anything,” explained Dan. “The person who called you up has to pay.”
“Oh, that’s different. Wa’al, I guess I might as well go then,” and he leisurely laid aside the shoe, the piece of leather and needle.
“I think you had better hurry,” said Dan respectfully.
“Hurry? What fer? Didn’t ye say th’ other fellow was payin’ fer it? I ain’t got no call t’ hurry. It don’t cost me nothin’, an’ ef folks calls me up they has t’ wait till I git good an’ ready t’ answer.”
There was no use trying to combat such a mean argument as Dan felt this to be, so he said nothing, but went back to resume his hoeing, before Mr. Savage would have a chance to scold him for being lazy.
“I wish some one would call me up on the telephone, and tell me they had a good job for me—somewhere else besides on a farm,” thought Dan, as he bent to his work. “I wonder how it seems to talk over a wire. It must be queer.”
When he found out he did not have to pay for the telephone message Mr. Savage proceeded slowly down the road to Mr. Lane’s house. Though he pretended he was not anxious, the old miserly farmer was, nevertheless, quite excited in wondering who could want to talk to him.
“Maybe it’s a message from th’ police, to say that th’ feller what give me that bad quarter has been arrested,” he murmured as he approached the house. “I hope it is. I’d like t’ see him git ten years. It was a mean trick t’ play on me.”
“You’d better hurry,” advised Mr. Lane, as he saw Mr. Savage coming up the front walk. “The party on the other end of the wire is getting impatient.”
“Wa’al, folks what bothers me at my work has t’ wait,” spoke up Mr. Savage, in rather a surly tone, and he did not thank Mr. Lane for his trouble in calling him to the telephone.
Mr. Savage took up the receiver, and fairly shouted into the transmitter:
“Hello: Who be ye? What ye want?”
“Not so loud,” cautioned Mr. Lane. “They can hear you better if you speak lower.”
But Mr. Savage paid no attention. However he ceased to shout, as the person on the other end of the wire was talking. The farmer listened intently. Then he began to reply:
“Yes, yes,” he said. “I s’pose I kin do it, but it takes my time. Yes, ye can tell her I’ll send it. Guess I’ll have t’ let Dan bring it over. I’ll send him t’night so’s t’ save time.”
Then he hung up the receiver.
“No bad news, I hope?” asked Mrs. Lane politely.
“Yes, ’tis,” replied Mr. Savage. “My sister Lucy, over t’ Pokesville, was took suddenly sick this mornin’. That was her husband telephonin’ t’ me. Lucy wants a bottle of our old family pain-killer. I ain’t got none in th’ house, nuther, an’ I’ve got t’ go t’ th’ village an’ git it. That’s goin’ t’ take a lot of time.”
“Is she very sick?”
“Pretty bad, I guess, th’ way her husband talked,” but Mr. Savage did not seem to regard this so much as he did the loss of his time.
“He didn’t say nothin’ about pay, nuther,” he went on. “I’ve got t’ put out my money fer th’ medicine, an’ goodness knows when I’ll get it back. Then I’ve got t’ let Dan Hardy take th’ medicine over. Land sakes! But sickness is a dreadful nuisance! I don’t see what wimen is allers gittin’ sick fer.”
“Probably she couldn’t help it,” said Mr. Lane, who was indignant at the lack of feeling on the part of Mr. Savage.
“Wa’al, mebby not. But it takes my time an’ money just th’ same. But I’ll make Dan travel by night, so he won’t lose any time.”
“No, it would be too bad if he had a few hours off,” said Mr. Lane in a sarcastic manner, which, however, was lost on Mr. Savage.
“I’m—I’m much obliged fer callin’ me,” said the old farmer as he started away. It seemed as if it hurt him to say those words, so crusty was he.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” replied Mr. Lane coldly.
Mr. Savage found his wife much excited, waiting for him to return and tell her about the message, for she had learned from Dan where her husband had gone.
“Has any one died an’ left ye money?” was her first question.
“No sech luck,” replied Mr. Savage. “I’ve got t’ spend money as ’tis.”
“Can’t ye send the medicine by express, collect?” asked Mrs. Savage when her husband told of his sister’s illness.
“Wish I could, but there ain’t no express that goes that way. No, I’ve got t’ send Dan.”
Mr. Savage began his preparations to go to the village after the old family pain-killer, a mixture that had been used by himself and his relatives as far back as he could remember. It was taken for almost every thing, as few people care to call in a doctor every time they feel ill.
“You’ll have t’ go over t’ Pokeville t’night, Dan,” said the farmer, as he was driving to the village, and he explained the reason. “Ye kin go hoss back, an’ that’ll be quicker,” he added.
“It will take nearly all night to go there and return, Mr. Savage.”
“Wa’al, I can’t help it. Ye ought t’ be back here by five o’clock, an’ ye kin git an hour’s sleep, an’ start in t’ work. Boys don’t need much rest.”
“No, nor not much else, if you had your way,” thought Dan. “Oh, I’ve a good notion to run away, only I don’t know where to run to. I must see Mr. Harrison, and ask his advice,” and, pondering over his hard lot, Dan continued to hoe the potatoes.