style="font-size:15px;"> “How do you do, boys?” said the woman, in a thin, trembling voice.
“We just told her we were bound for Oak Hall,” said Jessie, who was also present. “And she says she knows somebody there.”
“She knows Mr. Job Haskers,” finished Laura.
“Mr. Haskers!” repeated Dave, mentioning the name of one of the teachers – a dictatorial individual nobody liked, and who was allowed to keep his position mainly because of his abilities as an instructor. The chums had had more than one dispute with Job Haskers, and all wished that he would leave the school.
“Yes, yes, I know him,” answered Mrs. Breen, nodding her head gravely and thoughtfully. “He is a great scholar – a very great scholar,” and she nodded again. She was not well and her mind did not appear to be overly bright. She lived alone in the cottage, a neighboring farmer taking care of her few acres of ground for her.
“Dave, come here,” whispered Laura, and led her brother to a corner of the room. “Mrs. Breen tells me that Mr. Haskers owes her money – that he used to board with her and that he borrowed some – and she says he writes that he can’t pay her because he gets so little salary, and that sometimes he has to wait a long while himself.”
“How much is it?” asked Dave, with interest. He remembered how close-fisted Job Haskers had been on more than one occasion.
“Nearly two hundred dollars, so she says.”
“He ought to be able to pay that, Laura. I think he gets a fair salary – in fact, I am sure of it – and I am also pretty sure that Doctor Clay doesn’t keep him waiting for his money.”
“It is too bad! She looks so helpless and so much in need,” murmured the girl.
“I’ll find out about this,” answered Dave.
He sat down, as did the others, and soon had the elderly lady telling her story in detail. It was not very long. Job Haskers had boarded with her one summer, just before obtaining his position at Oak Hall, and he owed her sixty dollars for this. During the time he had spent with her he had spoken of a school-book he was going to publish that would bring him in much money, and she had loaned him a hundred and twenty-five dollars for this. But she had never seen the school-book, nor had he ever paid back a cent. His plea, when she had written to him, had been that his pay was poor and that he had to wait a long time to get money, and that his publishers had not yet gotten around to selling his book.
“I never heard of any book he got out,” said Roger. “And I think I would hear if there was such a book.”
“That’s so,” added Phil. “Old Haskers would be so proud of it he would want everybody to know.”
“It is certainly a shame he doesn’t pay this lady, if he has the money,” was Dunston Porter’s comment. “Did he give you a note?” he asked of Mrs. Breen.
“He wrote out some kind of a paper and was going to give it to me. But I never got it.”
“He’s a swindler, that’s what he is!” murmured Phil, wrathfully.
“It looks that way,” answered Dave, in an equally low tone.
“He knows this lady is next to helpless and he intends to do her out of the money!”
“He ought to be sued,” exclaimed Roger.
“You have no note, or other writing about the money?” questioned Mr. Porter.
“I have his letters,” answered the elderly lady. “They are in the bureau yonder.” And she pointed to an ancient chest of drawers.
“Shall I get them?” asked Jessie, for she saw that it was a task for the old lady to move around.
“If you will, my dear. I am so stiff it is hard to get up.”
Both girls went to the chest of drawers and brought out a small box of letters. Mrs. Breen put on her glasses and fumbled them over and brought forth three communications which were, as the boys recognized, in Job Haskers’s well-known jerky handwriting. She passed them over to be read, and all present perused them with interest.
The contents, however, were disappointing, especially to the boys and Dunston Porter, who had hoped to find something by which legally to hold the school-teacher. Not once did Job Haskers mention that he owed Mrs. Breen any money. He simply stated that he regretted he could do nothing for her, that times were hard, and that his income was limited and hard to get. He said as little as possible, and the tone of the communications showed that he hoped he would hear no more from the old lady who had done what she could to aid him.
“I think this is the limit!” said Dave to his uncle. “Don’t you think he ought to be sued?”
“I don’t know about suing him, Dave; but I think this ought to be put in a lawyer’s hands.”
“He makes money enough to pay this lady,” said Phil. “Say, I’ve a good mind to give him a piece of my mind!” he added, hotly.
“I’ll look into this when I come back this way,” said Dunston Porter, after a little more talk. “Perhaps I can get one of our lawyers to prod this Haskers a little, and also state the case to Doctor Clay.”
“Oh, will you do that, Uncle Dunston?” cried Laura, brightening, for she, as well as all of the others, felt sorry for Mrs. Breen, who seemed so poor, old, and lonesome.
“Yes, I’ll do it. And now we had better be on our way, – if we want to reach Oakdale by noon,” went on Mr. Porter.
The boys went out, followed by Jessie. Laura lingered, to whisper something in her uncle’s ear. Dunston Porter nodded, and then Laura joined the others.
“Mrs. Breen, I will be back in a day or two, to see you about this money affair,” said Mr. Porter, when he and the old lady were alone. “In the meantime, as you were so kind as to take the young ladies in while we were mending our machine, allow me to make you a little present,” and as he finished he placed a five-dollar bill in her lap.
“Oh!” she cried, taking up the banknote. “Why, it’s five dollars! I – I can’t really take all that money!”
“Oh, yes, you can,” said Mr. Porter, smiling. “Use it as you see fit, and remember that I’ll be back, and we’ll do what we can to get that money from Mr. Haskers.”
“You are very, very kind!” murmured the old lady, and tears stood in her eyes. The past winter had been a severe one for her, and she had had a hard struggle to get along.
“Good-by!” shouted the girls and boys to her, and she waved her hand to them. Then the automobile started off once more, in the direction of Oakdale.
CHAPTER V
AT OAK HALL ONCE MORE
“Hurrah! here we are at Oakdale at last!”
“Old town looks natural, doesn’t it?”
“So it does, Roger. See any of the fellows?”
“Not yet, Dave. But we are sure to meet somebody, even if it is a school-day,” went on the senator’s son.
“Uncle
