CHAPTER XV TWO IRONS IN THE FIRE

When Major Squiers arrived he greeted Morey cordially.

“Lieutenant Purcell and Mr. Wright, between them, have given me a most flattering account of you, my son. I wish we had a few such boys in the corps.”

“I’m anxious to enlist,” Morey exclaimed at once.

This was Lieutenant Purcell’s chance. He was not slow to express his own views in opposition to Morey’s desires. But, perhaps to his surprise, Major Squiers did not agree with him.

“The science of air navigation,” the elder officer insisted, “is yet in its infancy. In the nature of things the army is intensely interested in the development of both dirigible balloons and aeroplanes. In some respects I think the study of this problem is as important as the solution of new naval problems. As a means of offense and defense the army is compelled to keep abreast if it does not lead in these experiments. And we mean to do it. But, for the greatest success, we must have brains. We must have just the intelligence that this young man possesses. Naturally, those who are to assist us, should be under military direction and control; they should be soldiers. And they must begin in the ranks. But I know of no department in the service where promotion is so sure and certain. Nor do I know of any other opportunity for a young man to get a technical education at so little cost to himself. Instead of dissuading the boy, I think he should be encouraged.”

“There, you see,” exclaimed Morey turning jubilantly to Lieutenant Purcell, “isn’t that what I said? Will you enlist me?” he asked eagerly facing Major Squiers again.

“You’ll have to obtain your parent’s consent. If you can, I’ll be glad to do so. And I’ll guarantee to make an aviator out of you in a mighty short time.”

Until dinner was over nothing was said about Colonel Marshall’s secret. Lieutenant Purcell had not yet seen the packet. But, with a few words of explanation from the younger officer, Morey produced the precious package from his inside coat pocket. The two military experts immediately adjourned to the library and began an investigation. Morey was a little surprised and disappointed that there was no outburst of astonishment. As they proceeded slowly through the faded pages, talking to each other in low tones from time to time, he became nervous. After all, what if his father’s idea meant nothing at all? What if their land was worth no more than Judge Lomax said? Enlisting in the Signal Corps would not help him out of his predicament. In fact, it would be a selfish abandonment of his mother.

When Major Squiers had at last finished the long manuscript, which Morey himself had not attempted to read or understand, he lit a cigar and waited for the younger officer to finish his examination. Again they spoke together. It was in a low tone and Morey refrained from listening. Lieutenant Purcell made a calculation and shook his head. Morey’s heart sank.

At that, the elder officer motioned to the boy to approach.

“My son,” he began, “I assume that you are willing to let me take this matter—I mean these papers.”

“Certainly,” answered Morey. “I have no idea whether they are of value, but if you will be good enough to look into them, I shall be very grateful.”

“You are quite sure no one has seen them?”

“Other than my father, no one. I have not even tried to read them myself.”

Lieutenant Purcell glanced at his superior officer.

“He has an idea that may mean a great deal,” said Major Squiers. “In carrying out his theory of turning liquid hydrogen into free gas again he has also suggested an apparatus that may solve a difficult problem. We won’t try to go into it technically, my son, but I want to show these drawings to the department. Will you trust them to me?”

Overjoyed, Morey gave ready acquiescence. Then he exclaimed:

“Do you think I could have his machine patented?”

Major Squiers laughed and shook his head.

“My son,” he explained, “that apparatus is one of the missing links in the theory of carrying liquid hydrogen in balloons. The government of every progressive nation is now searching for it. If we decide that your father’s plans are practicable I will undertake to say that the War Department will buy them outright. But they will never be patented. It will be an aeronautical secret to be guarded jealously from the rest of the world. Are you prepared to sell them outright?”

Morey sprang up radiant. He took the loose sheets from the table, put them tremblingly in order and placed them in Major Squiers’s hands.

“You are to do with them whatever you think best. I have no suggestions to make, and no conditions.”

When Major Squiers had gone, Morey, enthusiastic as a child, laid his arm on Lieutenant Purcell’s shoulders.

“Lieutenant,” said the boy, “why are you so good to me?”

The young officer grew suddenly sober, was silent a moment, and then said:

“Because I can see how hard you are working to make a good man out of a very foolish boy.”

That was a new thought for Morey. Hurt by it at first, he cogitated over it a long time before going to sleep that night. At last, lying in his bed, he smiled. “Wasn’t I the limit?” he said to himself. “Buying a four hundred dollar engine on a capital of seventy-five cents!”

Lieutenant Purcell’s official duties demanded his attention until noon the next day. But, after luncheon, it was arranged that he and Morey were to go into the city in an electric car and open up negotiations as to selling his mother’s land or borrowing money on it. Morey saw at once that the negotiations under way would be extended over several days. He had no desire to force himself upon his new friend’s hospitality and he had found it impossible to tell his host that he had but $1.88 in funds. After puzzling over the matter some time he decided to take advantage of his unoccupied morning to dispose of Betty. He would thus be beyond the necessity of borrowing funds to cover his and Amos’ expenses for a short time.

Amos had not wandered far from the lieutenant’s quarters. Fear of the guard house kept him close to the kitchen. Calling the black boy, Morey visited the military barn, secured Betty, gave the enlisted hostler a quarter for his good nature, and drove out of the reservation.

When Morey turned old Betty’s head to the west, Amos for the first time showed signs of life.

“Da’s right, Marse Morey. Le’s go back home. Dis no place fo’ we all.”

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Amos? It’s a lucky thing they didn’t keep you in jail.”

The black boy shook his head and then as the reservation was gradually left behind he began to show boldness.

“Ef dem soldiers did’n have no guns I reckon I’d show ’em.”

“Look here, you rascal, you were scared to pieces. Don’t get so brave. We’re going back again.”

“We gwine back to dat soldier place?”

“We certainly are, and if I hear any more bragging out of you I’ll tell the soldiers.”

Amos shrank perceptibly.

“Dat soldier man ’sulted me.”

“You’d better forget it,” remarked Morey curtly. “I’ve had to forget several things in the past few days.”

As soon as he had passed beyond the more pretentious country places Morey turned into a cross road, and at the first thrifty-looking farmhouse he pulled up. In fifteen minutes the faithful old Betty had been sold for $30, surrey thrown in, and Morey and Amos were on their way back to the fort, toiling and sweating beneath their bag and bundles.

“How come yo’ did’n leab dese in the barn?” panted Amos.

“Because,” explained Morey, “since Lieutenant Purcell has insulted you I thought you wouldn’t want to sleep and eat in his house. We are going in to Washington.”

“He did’n ’sult me ’bout eatin’. I had roas’ beef las’ night,” Amos retorted, smacking his lips. “I ain’t fussin’ ’bout stayin’ dar.”

Morey was in no mood for further discussion. When he reached the trolley line he boarded a car and a few minutes later had crossed the river and was in Georgetown. Keeping a vigilant lookout he finally discovered, as the car crossed Jefferson street, in the vicinity of a river basin and a maze of railroad tracks, a cheap hotel. As soon as he could stop the car he made his way back. He could get two rooms at the rate of fifty cents each a day, without meals. A bargain was struck and the boys took possession of adjoining apartments. It was a hotel for railroad and dock laborers. Neither rooms nor surroundings were very savory, but they were reasonably clean.

Amos was in somewhat of a panic when he learned that he was to be left here until night.

“Whar’ I gwine to eat?” was his first question.

“Amos,” said Morey with a laugh, “you don’t appreciate your good luck. See that bed? It has sheets on it. You haven’t had sheets in years.”

“No, sah. I don’ want ’em. Dey ain’ gwine keep me wahm.”

“And this apartment is yours. I don’t know how long we’ll be here. But make yourself at home.” He took out of his pocket four silver quarters. “I’ve paid for your room. Down near the dock you’ll find places to eat—fried fish and pork and bread and coffee.”

“How much dat gwine cos’ me?” exclaimed Amos, a grin on his usually somber face.

Morey took up a quarter.

“Never,” he said with a frown, “never, so long as I am paying your bills, spend more than two bits for a meal.”

“No, sah,” responded the black boy. “Ah knows dat—two bits.”

“And now,” said Morey, “you can eat and sleep until I come back. And don’t get lost. Be here by six o’clock or I’ll send the police after you.”

Morey still had time for his toilet. Unpacking his bag he got out fresh linen and while Amos brushed his clothes and shoes he took as much of a bath as he could get. This done, he locked their rooms, took Amos to a drug store, treated the happy black boy to an ice cream soda, started him back toward the “Basin House,” their hotel, and then boarded a car for Fort Meyer.

There was a vigorous protest when he explained that he had removed Amos and their baggage to a hotel.

“But how about the horse?” asked Lieutenant Purcell.

The facts had to come out. Once started, Morey concealed nothing.

The officer laughed.

“Morey,” he exclaimed, “you’ll certainly win out. I don’t blame you. You were more than welcome here, but I suppose I would feel the same way that you do. However, if you run out of funds before something turns up, remember this—I accepted your hospitality as to the trout stream.”

Morey laughed in turn.

“That was in my foolish days. We didn’t own any more of that trout creek than you did.”

Within an hour after luncheon the officer and Morey were in the city and in a well-known real estate and loan office. A clerk passed them on to Lieutenant Purcell’s friend, who gave Morey’s long story his personal attention. The manager began shaking his head at once. But, when Morey mentioned Major Carey and the Barber Bank, he took a new attitude. Turning to his desk he looked in an index and then, excusing himself, went into the outer office and after some minutes returned with several documents.

“Do you know the Hargrave farm of one hundred and twenty acres,” he asked, calling Morey over to his desk.

“I don’t know how many acres he had,” answered Morey, “but Mr. Hargrave used to live next to our corn land. Don’t any one live there now?”

The manager turned to Lieutenant Purcell.

“The old Richmond Trust Company made a good many peculiar loans out there in Rappahannock County. It loaned this man Appleton, who had a tobacco piece, five thousand dollars on one hundred and twenty acres. It sold the mortgage to a client of ours and he had to foreclose. I thought I recalled the transaction when your friend mentioned the Barber Bank and this man Carey. Carey bought the land less than a year ago and paid forty dollars an acre for it.”

These business details confused Morey.

“Looks as if Major Carey was out for something soft,” commented Lieutenant Purcell.

“Our land’s worth as much as the Appleton place,” exclaimed Morey, who had grasped that much of the situation.

“Leave me your address,” suggested the manager. “I’ll send a man out there on a quiet investigation. These country banks are great boosters—for themselves. You’ll hear from me in a few days. It isn’t improbable that I can be of help to you.”