Tamawaca Folks - Lyman Frank Baum

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you don't know Wilder. Wilder is Tamawaca."

      "I see," returned Jarrod, nodding.

      "Oh, no you don't. You think you see, I've no doubt. But there is only one Wilder upon earth, and perhaps that is fortunate. You've been in with those pirate Crosbys for years. Well, Wilder is the Crosby—in other words the pirate—of Tamawaca. See now?"

      "He runs things, eh?"

      ​"Yes; for Wilder. A charming fellow, by the way. Looks like a cherub, and acts like——"

      "You interest me," said Jarrod, brightening. "I'm glad I'm going to Tamawaca."

      A few days later the Jarrods—bag and baggage, parents and children—travelled up to Chicago and landed in the morning at the Auditorium Annex. A little fat man stood before the counter in front of Jarrod and winked saucily at the clerk. His face was moon-shaped and rosy, guiltless of whisker, and bore an expression at once gentle and whimsical.

      "Gimme the best room you have," he called out, while scribbling his name on the register.

      "Ah, a twenty-dollar suite?" asked the clerk, cheerfully.

      "Hear me out!" retorted the little man. "Gimme the best room you have for four dollars a day."

      "Oh," said the clerk, his jaw drop​ping. "Here, front! show the gentleman up to 1906. Any baggage, sir?"

      "Just my wife," sighed the little man, with another wink, and a stout lady of ample proportions grabbed his arm and whisked him away. She did n't seem at all offended, but laughed pleasantly and said: "Now, George, behave yourself!"

      Jarrod looked at the register. The little fat man had written: "Geo. B. Still, Quincy, Ill."

      The Jarrods shopped during the day, and bought themselves and the children cool things for summer. In the evening they went down to the river and boarded the big steel steamer that was to carry them to their destination.

      ​

      Jim

       Table of Contents

      CHAPTER II.

       Table of Contents

      JIM.

      A whistle blew; the little tug strained at its cable, and snorting and puffing in the supreme struggle it drew the great steamer "Plymouth" away from its dock to begin its journey down the river to the open lake and thence, discarding its tug, across mighty Michigan to Iroquois Bay, Tamawaca, and the quaint city of Kochton.

      The passengers thronged both the ample decks to catch the cooling breeze that came as soon as they were in motion, for the day had been especially warm for June. The older folks drew long lines of chairs to the rails, while the young people walked up and down, chattering and gay. To nearly all the voyage meant the beginning of a holiday, and hearts were ​light and faces eager and expectant.

      Jarrod had no sooner located his family in a comfortable corner than he was attracted by a young man who sauntered by.

      "Why, Jim, is it you?" he exclaimed, jumping up to hold out a hand in greeting.

      The other paused, as if astonished, but then said in a cordial tone:

      "You here, Mr. Jarrod?"

      He was a tall, athletic looking fellow, with a fine face, a straightforward look in his eyes and a clean-cut air about him that was pleasant to behold. Jarrod had recognized him as the only son of a man he had known in St. Louis—a man very prominent and wealthy, he remembered.

      "What are you doing here, Jim?" he enquired.

      "Why, I live in Chicago now, you know," was the reply.

      "You do?"

      "Did n't you know, sir? I left ​home over a year ago. I'm hoeing my own row now, Mr. Jarrod."

      "What's wrong, Jim?'

      "Father and I could n't agree. He wanted me to take to the patent medicine business, because he has made a fortune in it."

      "Very natural," nodding.

      "The poor father suffers a good deal from rheumatism, you know; so as soon as I left college he proposed to turn over to me the manufacture and sale of his great rheumatism cure."

      "Ah."

      "And I balked, Mr. Jarrod. I said the proprietor of a rheumatism cure had no business to suffer from rheumatism, or else no business to sell the swindling remedy."

      "To be sure. I know your father, Jim, so I can imagine what happened, directly you made that statement. Did he give you anything when you—er—parted?"

      ​"Not a sou. I'm earning my own living."

      "Good. But how?"

      "They don't take a boy just out of college for the president of a bank or the director of a railway. I'm just a clerk in Marshall Field's."

      Jarrod looked him over, critically. The cheap new summer suit—perhaps it had cost fifteen dollars could not disguise his manly bearing. On another man it might have proclaimed its cheapness; on Jim no one noticed its texture.

      "How much do you earn?" asked the lawyer, quietly.

      "Twelve dollars a week. But it's an interesting experience, Mr. Jarrod. You've no idea how well a fellow can live on twelve dollars a week—unless you've tried it."

      Jarrod smiled.

      "Where are you bound for?" he asked.

      "A little place called Tamawaca, ​there to spend my two weeks' vacation. Just think of it! After fourteen months I've saved enough for an outing. It is n't a princely sum, to be sure—nothing like what I spent in a day at college—but by economy I can make it do me in that out-of-the-way place, where the hotel board is unusually cheap."

      "I'm told it is as bad as it is cheap," said Jarrod.

      "That stands to reason, sir. I'm not expecting much but rest and sunshine and fresh air—and perhaps a nice girl to dance with in the evening."

      "I see."

      "And, by the way, Mr. Jarrod," this with some hesitation, "please don't tell anyone who I am, if you're asked. I call myself James Ingram—Ingram was my mother's name, you know—and I'd rather people would n't know who my father is, or why I'm living in this modest way. They ​would either blame me or pity me, and I won't endure either from strangers, for it's none of their business."

      "I'll remember, Jim. Will you let me present you to Mrs. Jarrod?"

      "Not tonight, please. This meeting has a little upset me. Wait till I get settled a bit. You're going to Tamawaca.

      "Yes. We shall spend the summer there, if we like it."

      "Then, sir, I'll be sure to see you again. Good night, Mr. Jarrod."

      The young man walked on, and the lawyer looked after him approvingly.

      "He'll do," he muttered. "He has n't crushed down the pride yet, and I hope he never will. But he's got a backbone, and that's worth everything!"

      In drawing a chair to the rail he found that seated beside him was the little fat man he had noticed at the Annex. This jovial individual was smoking a big cigar and leaning back ​contentedly with his feet against the bulwark. Jarrod thought the expression upon the round face invited companionship.

      "Going to Tamawaca?" he asked.

      "Yep," said Geo. B. Still.

      "Been there before?" continued Jarrod, leaning back in turn.

      "Yep.

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