The first American King

A-a-a-h!

A prolonged sigh swelled from Dean’s lips.

“Thunder and Mars!” Kearns raised himself languidly on his elbow.

It seemed to them both that they had been sleeping for quite a long time—an unusually long time.

Where was the Doctor?

The sunlight was streaming down upon their faces. They were no longer in the cave, but were lying in the outer air upon the grass, their rugs still wrapped about them. A few steps away were two men, apparently laborers, who stood contemplating them with looks of wonderment not unmingled with alarm.

Slowly and unsteadily, Kearns rose to his feet. Dean followed his example. Both seemed weak and dizzy.

Kearns turned a pair of blinking eyes toward the laborers.

“How did we get here?” he asked with the husky voice of a man with a bad cold.

One of the laborers pointed toward the cave. About the entrance some felled trees and piled underbrush showed where the men had been working.

“Where—where is the Doctor?” stammered Kearns, his eyes still blinking in the strong sunlight and his thoughts and words coming with some effort.

The two laborers turned to each other. On the face of each was a bucolic leer. They eyed each other for an instant and then the taller of the two slowly raised his forefinger, tapped his forehead, and winked knowingly to his companion. He was a tall, loose-jointed fellow, with a little black mark on the left side of his nose and there was something impudent and aggressive in him as he stood there grinning and showing his yellow fangs. His companion was short and stocky, with a freckled face, sandy hair, and a manner suggestive of bashful awkwardness. He turned to the two strangers furtively, as if half fearful that the other’s actions might give offense.

“The Doctor,” repeated the taller man slowly and with peculiar intonation; “the Doctor! I guess the chances be he’s not far off and in a hot chase after both of yees!”

And he chuckled softly to himself, glancing at his companion.

“Not far off! Have you seen him? Which way did he go?” quickly inquired Dean.

“Seen him?” repeated the rustic; “no! I ain’t seen him, nor any of his men.”

“Then what made you say he was not far off?” demanded Dean.

Silence from the two rustics, who continued to exchange glances.

“Look here, my good men!” exclaimed Kearns impatiently; “wake up and listen to me. Just show us the way to the road and you shall be suitably rewarded. Perhaps, too, you would find us a horse and carriage which we could hire to take us home.”

The two men stared at the speaker, open-mouthed, amazed. Again they turned to each other.

“A horse and kerridge!” they exclaimed in a breath.

Then they broke into a loud laugh. Now it was the turn of Kearns and the Professor to exchange glances of astonishment. That a simple request to be supplied with information as to where a horse and carriage could be hired should produce such results was certainly amazing.

Kearns stepped nearer to Dean. “I believe these fellows are crazy,” he whispered. “Perhaps they have escaped from the Weldon Asylum.”

“The smaller man seems a case of senile dementia,” whispered back the Professor, cautiously; “but the larger fellow looks to me like a dangerous lunatic—possibly a homicidal maniac. We may be in danger of our lives!”

While this colloquy was in progress, the rustics had not taken their eyes off the strangers for an instant. The taller of the two again spoke up.

“A horse and kerridge,” he said. “Maybe if ye had a pitchfork apiece ye could scoot away through the air, leaving only a streak of brimstone behind ye. I’ve heerd tell o’ sech things!”

Kearns’ quick temper flashed up. He advanced upon the speaker.

“Confound you, you impudent——”

“Run fer it, Jem; run fer it!” yelled the smaller man apprehensively. “They’re a-goin’ to spell!” He took to his heels at full speed.

Jem gave one quick glance at Kearns and was off after his companion.

Kearns and the Professor stood watching their rapidly retreating figures until they disappeared around the bend of a hill.

“Well—I’m hanged!” exclaimed Kearns. “Mad,” he added with conviction, “mad as March hares.”

“You see what comes of ill-advised asperity!” remarked Dean reprovingly. “Instead of soothing these two unfortunate madmen, you have thrown them into a condition of excitement. Your impetuosity has reacted upon them. You have sent them flying—running amuck—and God knows what may happen to any unfortunate who crosses their path!”

“But did you ever know of such impudence?” cried Kearns, still angry. “I civilly ask these louts the direction of the main road and where I can hire a horse and carriage; they laugh in my face; invite me to ride on a pitchfork! Things have come to a pretty pass if every lunatic one meets thinks he has full license to be as impudent as he pleases. And they acted as if they thought we were crazy, confound them!”

“It’s a common delusion of crazy folks to imagine everyone is crazy except themselves,” said the Professor.

“Yes; that’s very true! I’ve noticed that!” assented Kearns.

“As I remarked before, a case of senile dementia, that little fellow,” said the Professor sagaciously; “a clear case of senile dementia, my good friend!”

“Yes,” declared Kearns, “I noted his sickly smile.”

“Well,” said Dean, “they’re gone and we are fortunately left alive to tell the story and to put the madhouse people on their trail. The next thing to be done is to find the main road and get to the nearest village. There we can hire a conveyance and get refreshments. I am both hungry and thirsty.”

“The nearest village,” repeated Kearns musingly; “I take it that would be Averill, or would Patchley be nearer?”

“I should say Averill, decidedly.”

“Well; let’s be off, then, and find the main road,” suggested Kearns. “This must be the way, I’m pretty sure.” Picking up the blankets and rugs in which they had been wrapped, he tossed them through the entrance to the cave and started off.

“Is it safe, do you think, for us to leave those things there?” asked the Professor.

“What else can we do with them?” answered Kearns. “Let the Doctor attend to that. We’ll notify him, of course, as soon as we get back. He had no business to leave us in that fashion, anyway!”

“I quite agree with you as to that,” assented the Professor. “Tired out with our walk, we must have fallen asleep as we smoked and he calmly left us.”

“By George!” exclaimed Kearns, with a sudden start; “I wonder if the Doctor has been up to any of his pranks.”

“Pranks!” repeated the Professor in astonishment.

“Yes; putting people to sleep. I wonder if this sleep of ours was of his contriving.”

The Professor contracted his brows thoughtfully.

“Now that you mention it,” he declared, “I should not be astonished if it was.”

“Did you notice that pale-colored, peculiar, but certainly very excellent tobacco?” continued Kearns eagerly. “Upon my word, I begin to suspect it was fixed—doped—drugged!”

“You don’t mean to say so!” exclaimed the Professor.

“Well, I just did say so,” retorted Kearns.

“If such is indeed the case, how long do you think we have slept?” questioned the Professor.

Kearns drew out his watch, looked at it and then put it to his ear.

“What does your watch say?” he asked.

The Professor consulted his watch.

“It has stopped,” he declared. “Why, it seems to be run down.”

Kearns glanced at the sky.

“Professor,” he remarked solemnly, “it looks to me as if we had slept clean into the next day.”

“How so?” asked the Professor, vacantly.

“Both our watches are run down,” replied Kearns. “That’s one point. When we entered the cave it was half past three o’clock in the afternoon. From the sun I’d say it’s now about one o’clock. As time hasn’t the habit of going backward, I’d reach the conclusion that this must be the afternoon of the following day.”

“Really, this is most astonishing!” exclaimed the Professor, apparently quite shocked at the idea that he should have thus slumbered for nearly twenty-four hours.

They worked their way around the base of a hill, over ground rough and stony and partially covered with trees and undergrowth. Before long they emerged upon comparatively open ground and then a puzzling feature presented itself to their attention. When led to the cave by the Doctor, he had taken them miles through scrub growth and over rough land. Now, after traveling a comparatively short distance they had emerged into the open and before them stretched fields under cultivation, while some three-quarters of a mile away lay a broad, white road. This was decidedly a much shorter cut than the path the Doctor had taken. But how was it that he had not known of it? It was really puzzling!

“There’s the road!” exclaimed Dean, pointing to the broad, white line in the distance.

“Yes,” assented Kearns, musingly, “but is that the road we are looking for? This doesn’t seem to be the way we came. The lay of the land is different.”

“Perhaps we have come out of the brush in a different direction,” suggested Dean.

“We certainly must have,” replied Kearns. “Well, right or wrong, there’s nothing to do but to make for that road before us.”

The wisdom of this view was apparent, and they accordingly made their way around the fields under cultivation and finally—hot and tired—gained the road. Up and down it they looked and perceived in the distance, some two miles away to the left, the outlines of what appeared to be a goodly-sized town.

“I wonder what the name of that place may be,” remarked Kearns.

“Whatever it is, it’s a good way off,” replied Dean, mopping the perspiration from his brow. “But have you noticed what a magnificent road this is? It reminds me of one of those splendid chemins of Southern France, only this is even finer.”

Both stood admiringly contemplating the road. It was very wide, very white and splendidly smooth. On one side was a broad, raised pathway, evidently for the use of foot-passengers. A curious feature of the roadway itself was its division by a raised earthwork barrier, cutting it into two even parallel halves. At regular intervals were steps by which ascent might be made from the road to the footway and also little bridges connecting the dividing barrier with the pathway.

“Quite a model road,” commented Kearns. “I suppose it’s some kind of a speedway. It’s queer, though, that I never heard there was such a road in this section. Fact is, I don’t remember ever seeing a road of this kind anywhere.”

“Nor I,” declared Dean.

They were standing on the extreme edge of the road, just where they had stepped out from the field. A short distance away was a bend, concealing the run of the road for some little distance beyond.

Suddenly there were two sharp toots, as of a horn, a rattle and a rush of wheels, and past them dashed a peculiar, arrow-shaped, horseless vehicle, traveling at tremendous speed. So rapid was its flight that they had time to catch only a fleeting glimpse of a man, whose right hand gripped a long, shining lever. So sudden was the appearance of the vehicle and so great its speed that the two wayfarers were both startled and astonished.

“Was that an automobile?” exclaimed Dean.

“It looked like one,” answered Kearns, “but I never before saw one of that peculiar construction. And the speed! Whew!”

“Yes; reckless to the last degree,” remarked Dean. “I think it would be highly desirable for us to gain the footpath before we meet another traveler.”

“Stated with the accuracy of science,” declared Kearns. “By all means, let’s take the footpath.”

They accordingly traversed the first roadway, clambered over the dividing barrier, crossed the second roadway and ascended to the footpath. Then they turned their faces in the direction of the town visible in the distance. They had proceeded but a few steps when Kearns suddenly stopped and turned to the Professor with the air of a man to whom a happy thought has come.

“Professor,” he said with a smile, “it’s just occurred to me that right here, in my hind pocket, I’ve a flask. I remember slipping it in before starting, thinking it might come in handy during our walk, and it looks now as if it might.”

“A flask!” exclaimed the Professor, diffidently. “May I ask what it contains?”

“Whiskey—just plain whiskey,” replied Kearns, as he pulled out the flask. “It’s a warm day and we’re both tired, in spite of that long rest. May I invite you to join me?”

“The day is warm,” assented the Professor, “and we are tired. I do not usually indulge, but upon this occasion——”

“Help yourself,” exclaimed Kearns, detaching the small silver receptacle which served as a drinking cup and handing it and the flask to Dean.

The latter helped himself and handed back the flask to Kearns. “Really!” he exclaimed with some show of alarm, “that seems to be powerful stuff. I can feel it all through me.”

“It’s the finest old Kentucky whiskey,” replied Kearns, somewhat nettled that the quality of his liquor should be questioned. “It was a special present to me from Colonel Claybourne, the famous distiller.”

“Powerful—very powerful!” repeated Dean.

Kearns poured himself out a liberal measure.

“Ah! Splendid stuff!” he exclaimed as he lowered the drinking cup from his lips. “That puts new life into one. But, by George, you’re right! It is strong. I never before found it so strong as this.”

“It must be because we are drinking it upon empty stomachs,” suggested the Professor.

“Even so,” declared Kearns, “I can’t understand why it should seem to have such strength.”

They proceeded on their way and had gone but a short distance when they came to a huge sign-board, planted high up upon the barrier dividing the two roadways. This sign-board bore a number of lines, in great black letters. The two wayfarers stopped and eagerly scanned the inscription. It read:—

They read the sign over and both stood staring at it, a puzzled expression on their faces.

“Very curious!” commented Dean. “The language used seems to me quite strange. Take that word voiter, for instance. What does it mean? Did you ever see the word before?”

“Never!” declared Kearns, still staring at the sign-board.

“It is, I take it,” continued Dean, “a new-fangled word coined by the makers of automobiles to designate some new kind of motor conveyance. Possibly it is taken from the French word voiture, which means carriage.”

“What’s puzzling me,” said Kearns, “is the title of this fellow Waring, who signs that notice. Read it: ‘I. & R. Commissioner of Highways.’ It’s high-sounding enough, but what the deuce does the ‘I. & R.’ stand for?”

“‘I. & R.,’” repeated the Professor, staring hard at the sign. “I find it impossible to imagine what those letters stand for. If we were in Europe, I should instantly surmise the meaning, but we are in the United States.”

“Yes; we’re in the United States,” replied Kearns, “and here we see those letters only around election time—‘I’ for Independent and ‘R’ for Republican. But that wouldn’t explain matters here; for what’s the meaning of the ‘and’ between the two letters? Well, I don’t suppose we’ll find out by standing here in the sun staring at that big board. Besides, I don’t care a rap whether this Waring is a Republican or a confounded Independent. Let’s have another little nip from the flask to recruit our strength and move on.”

“I seldom indulge,” began the Professor, “but——”

“Don’t be bashful, Professor,” hastily interposed Kearns; “help yourself.”

After each had thus refreshed himself, they renewed their journey.

“From your scornful reference to Independents just now,” remarked Dean, “you don’t seem to hold them in very high estimation.”

“Ah, those Independents!” exclaimed Kearns, with fine scorn. “It’s my experience that an Independent is usually a fellow with a keen eye to his independent interest. His independence consists of balancing his vote between the two parties, with a view to casting it for the side offering him the higher inducement. A pest on your Independents, I say! But, hello! what’s the matter with your hat?”

The sun was streaming fiercely down and the Professor, to shield his face, gave the brim of his white Fedora a sharp pull over his eyes. But the brim parted from the crown and settled comically around his nose. An examination of the hat showed the goods to be in a condition which Kearns described as “absolutely rotten”—almost brittle as tinder.

“A nice hat that!” commented Kearns. “Permit me to ask you the classic question: Where did you get that hat?”

“At Knox,” ruefully answered the Professor. “But,” he added, critically surveying his companion, “it doesn’t seem to me that you have much to boast about as a Beau Brummell.”

It was Kearns’ turn to examine his clothes. Glancing down at the blue serge suit he wore, he saw that a large section of cloth had apparently rotted away from the bottom of one of the trouser legs, and the lining of the coat had broken away from the material in several places. Like the Professor’s hat, the whole material seemed tinder-like and brittle. To add to his discomfiture, the leather of his left shoe began to part company with the sole. Ruefully, Kearns noted this involuntary disrobement. He had always been somewhat particular in dress.

“Professor,” he exclaimed humorously, “if we want to keep our reputation for decency it’s high time we reached home.”

“Very high time,” assented Dean solemnly.

“If we could only get a hack, or a conveyance of any kind,” lamented Kearns.

“I would be willing to ride home in the bottom of an express wagon,” declared the Professor. “Even a coal cart I would not despise.”

“But there’s not a vehicle in sight!” deplored Kearns.

“Not even an ash-cart, or a hearse,” declared the Professor.

“There’s just one more nip left in the flask,” said Kearns, sadly; “let’s take that and move on.”

“I rarely indulge,” began the Professor, “but——”

“Yes, I know!” interrupted Kearns hastily; “you’ve mentioned that before. Kindly help yourself.”

“But,” said the Professor, sternly, “I was going to add that I felt it my duty to do so upon this occasion out of regard for you.”

“Regard for me!” exclaimed Kearns in perplexity.

“Yes,” continued the Professor. “For some time past I have noticed, sir, that the tip of your nose is becoming unduly red, and that your eyes have the congested appearance which betokens incipient intoxication. I do not know, sir, whether in due regard for you—who, from the position you hold, are presumed to pose as a conservator of public morals—it is not my duty to forthwith dispose of that little which yet remains in this pernicious flask.”

“Professor,” declared Kearns, mockingly, “out of consideration for you, I have hesitated to speak earlier, but it now is incumbent upon me to say that I have had my eye on you for more than ten minutes past. You, as an instructor of the community and a trainer of budding youth, should stand forth as a firm and shining example of all that is straightforward and goodly, and yet it is my duty to inform you that your present way is not straightforward nor is your walk upright. In a word, you are staggering, Professor.”

“Sir!” exclaimed the Professor with dignity.

“A fact, sir!” declared Kearns. “I will draw a mark upon this path and I’ll wager two to one you can’t walk it in a straight line.”

“I can’t accept your test,” said the Professor cautiously. “I’m somewhat fatigued to-day and I admit a certain peculiar weakness in the knees.”

“H’m!” exclaimed Kearns.

“Shall we divide?” asked the Professor softly, holding the flask in his hand.

“Agreed!” whispered back Kearns.

Once more they started, speculating as they went over what strange necromancy the Doctor could have exerted to work such curious effects alike upon their surroundings and their persons. When about a mile from the village they saw approaching two women, carrying between them a basket.

“Good-day, Ma’am,” said Kearns with much politeness, as they met; “it’s a warm day.”

“Yes, sir,” answered the elder woman, “it is a warm day, but seasonable for this time of year.”

“Why,” said Kearns, “you don’t usually have it as warm as this out here so early in the year, do you?”

“Early in the year!” exclaimed the woman. “Sure it’s not too warm for the end of July.”

The end of July!

Kearns and the Professor turned to each other in bewilderment. It was the tenth day of June when they had started on the walk with Dr. Jaquet, and here was this woman telling them it was the end of July. Oh, monstrous, incredible! They had slept a full six weeks!

“Then, too, sir,” continued the woman, who seemed not disinclined to rest her heavy basket and indulge in a little gossip, “it’s always apt to be warm on a hot day around fourteen o’clock.”

“Around fourteen o’clock!” repeated Kearns and the Professor, both agape.

“Yes; but I consider fifteen o’clock to be the hottest hour of the day.”

“Fifteen o’clock!” echoed the men.

“Tell me,” said Kearns, after a pause, “what’s the name of that village?”

“Pemberton, sir.”

“Pemberton—Pemberton,” repeated Kearns. “I thought I knew all the places in this section, yet I never heard of Pemberton. Can you tell me in which direction lies Averill?”

“Averill, sir? I never heard the name.”

“Have you lived here long?”

“All my life.”

Kearns paused a moment thoughtfully. Then a sudden thought occurred to him.

“You say this is the end of July?”

“Yes sir; the twenty-fifth.”

“Any news lately about the nominations?”

“Nominations, sir!” repeated the woman; “what nominations?”

“Why, the Presidential, of course!”

“The Presidential,” repeated the woman blankly.

“Yes,” said Kearns, gently; “the Presidential nominations.”

The woman made no reply; she stood staring blankly at the speaker.

The younger woman all this time had been eyeing the wayfarers with curiosity. Into her brown eyes there now came a look of suspicion and mistrust.

“Mother,” she whispered, plucking the elder woman by the sleeve, “we’d better be going.” And she caught up one end of the basket.

The situation was certainly embarrassing. Kearns made a hasty endeavor to turn the subject.

“The village seems a good way off and we are tired,” he said. “Do you think, if we wait here, we might get a horse and carriage to take us to the village?”

The woman glanced sharply at him and gathered up her end of the basket. She and her daughter started on their way. As she passed Kearns, she turned her head.

“It’s ill work,” she said, “a-poking fun at those who’ve given you naught but civil answers.”

Kearns and Dean stood watching the retreating figures as they passed down the road. Suddenly, as by one impulse, they faced each other. The Professor laid his hand upon Kearns’ shoulder.

“The twenty-fifth of July—did you hear that woman say——”

“Yes; I heard,” answered Kearns, slowly.

“If her statement be true, we have been dead to the world for a good six weeks.”

Both men stood silent for a moment. Then the Professor again spoke:

“These strange surroundings—the queer actions of these people! What can it all mean?”

“Mean!” answered Kearns with a laugh. “It begins to look as if we were either mad, or bewitched!”