CHAPTER XXVII.
A “GENUINE CHUMP.”
It seemed so absurd that a twelve-year-old boy should be considering plans for raising the large sum of money necessary to help Colonel Dale out of his difficulties, that, after Arthur had gone to bed, those who were left down-stairs found considerable amusement in wondering what his scheme could be.
His grandfather said it would probably be a proposition to form an errand-boy trust; while Mrs. Dale thought it would only prove to be some absurd idea concerning railroad life, that the boy had picked up during his recent travels. Miss Harriet, however, said that her “Prince Dusty” was wiser than they imagined, and she did not believe he ever spoke seriously, upon any subject, without knowing pretty well what he was saying. So, by talking the matter over, they became greatly interested, and quite curious to hear what Arthur would have to say the next morning.
When they began to question him at breakfast time he gravely answered that he had heard his papa say that the breakfast-table was not the proper place to discuss business affairs. The seriousness with which this speech was uttered, caused a general smile, and as Colonel Dale had been heard to make the very same remark, no objections could be raised against it.
After breakfast the little fellow invited his grandfather to accompany him into the library, where he proceeded to unfold his plan. It was nothing more nor less than that they should go back to Pennsylvania, and sink a well, for oil, on the farm that his father had left him.
For a moment Colonel Dale looked at the boy to see if he were in earnest, and then burst into a hearty laugh. “Why, Arthur!” he said at length, “whatever put such an idea into your head? I don’t know the first thing about oil wells, and I am afraid that, wise as you are, you don’t know much more than I do.”
“That’s just it, sir!” replied the boy, eagerly. “And it is because both of us are ‘chumps’ that we’ll be certain to strike oil. Brace Barlow always said so. You see, a ‘chump’ is somebody who doesn’t know any more about oil, or where to find it, than we do. What Brace Barlow says is, that while those who know all about the business often strike ‘dusters,’ a ‘genuine chump’ always has luck with his first well. Now, you are a ‘genuine chump,’ you know. I’m afraid I am not quite genuine, because Brace Barlow has told me so much about the business, and because I helped him shoot a well. But, I think you must be genuine enough for both of us. It’s a perfectly splendid way to make money, unless you strike a ‘duster,’ but only ‘sharps’ do that.”
“What do you mean by ‘dusters’ and ‘sharps’? They sound exceedingly like slang words,” said Colonel Dale, smiling.
“Oh, no, indeed, they are not!” cried Arthur. “Brace Barlow uses them, and so does Uncle John. A ‘duster’ is a dry well—one that doesn’t have any oil, you know; and a ‘sharp’ is one who understands all about the oil business. He is just the most different kind of a man from a ‘chump,’ and is nearly always too wise to make money.”
“But, my boy, your farm is not even in the oil region; so what makes you fancy that we could strike oil by sinking a well on it?” asked Colonel Dale.
“Because I know two secrets about it,” answered the boy, mysteriously. “One day when papa and I were walking in the back wood-lot, we smelled gas, and by and by we found a tiny place in the rocks where it came out. Papa lighted it, and it burned beautifully. Then he put it out, and told me always to remember that place, but not to say anything about it to anybody until the proper time came. After that papa studied a great deal about oil, and he found out that our farm was on the forty-five degree line, and said he was quite sure that oil would some day be found on it.
“So, while he didn’t tell anybody but me about it, he made Uncle John promise never to sell the farm. I have thought several times, when I needed money, that I would go back to my farm and get some oil to sell; but then it has always come some other way, so I haven’t had to touch it. Then I thought I would save it, until I was ready to be a railroad man, and wanted to build a railroad of my own. Now I have decided that I would rather you should have it than to do anything else in the world with it, and then you can make Dalecourt beautiful again, and we can always live here and be happy.”
Although at the time Colonel Dale made light of his little grandson’s plans for acquiring wealth, this curious conversation set him to thinking, and to looking up all the information concerning oil that he could obtain. The more he considered the scheme, the more favorably he was impressed with it, and the more inclined he was to attempt it.
Mrs. Allen Dale thought it was all nonsense; but Miss Harriet was delighted with it, and begged her uncle to undertake it. “Just think!” she exclaimed, “how fine it would be, if our little ‘Prince Dusty’ should turn out to be a little oil Prince. Wouldn’t it be splendid?”
At length, when the winter had passed, and the Virginia forests were putting on their delicate spring robes of leaves and blossoms, Colonel Dale decided to make the venture, and to sink a “wild-cat” well on the Pennsylvania farm belonging to his grandson, with the hope of finding oil.
It was a curious thing for a staid and elderly Virginia planter to undertake; and, but for the desperate state of his fortunes, it is doubtful if he would have considered the plan for a moment. As it was, he mortgaged Dalecourt for the very last cent that could possibly be raised on it, and, with the few thousand dollars thus obtained, started for Pennsylvania.
Arthur and Miss Harriet accompanied him; the former, as a matter of course, because, as he said, he was to be his grandpapa’s partner in this new business. The latter went to keep house for them while the well was being sunk, and to continue Arthur’s education, which she had undertaken when he first came to Dalecourt. Mrs. Dale was to remain in charge of the beautiful old place, which might so soon pass into the hands of strangers, and Uncle Phin was also left behind to fill the responsible position of head gardener.
On the morning that the little party set forth on the journey that, to them, promised as much of glorious success or disastrous failure as did ever an ancient voyage of discovery or exploration, Arthur was enthusiastic over their undertaking, and confident of its complete success. Miss Harriet was smiling and hopeful. Colonel Dale was serious, and his face wore an air of quiet determination; while Mrs. Allen Dale was tearful and doubtful. She bade them good-bye as though she never expected to see them again; and, when they were gone, she gazed as sadly about her, as though the last hope of Dalecourt had departed with them.
The journey was a rapid and pleasant one, occupying but two days and one night, which was in striking contrast to the three months spent by Arthur and Uncle Phin in traversing the same distance.
Arthur did not manifest much interest in Washington, as they passed through it. He had suffered too much there to care to renew his associations with the place. He only looked eagerly from the car window at all the dogs that were to be seen, with the faint hope that one of them might be his dear Rusty.
At Harrisburg he tried to point out to his companions Conductor Tobin’s cottage; and, from there to Pittsburgh, he felt almost certain that every freight train they passed must be No. 15, and that on each he recognized Brakeman Joe. He was greatly disappointed that they did not have time to go and see Aunt Charity; for he gratefully remembered all those who had been kind to him in the time of his need, and would gladly have renewed their acquaintance.