The Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason\'s Corner Folks

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"It's Dupont and Kidder that put that up on us, and we must get
even," said Tom.

"But how?" was the question.

A week later Tom purchased tickets for a whole row of seats at one of
the principal theatres, explaining that they were for a large theatre
party. Dupont and Kidder had been recipients of complimentary tickets
which entitled them to seats in the middle of the row. They expected
that Quincy and Tom and other students would complete the party. Not
so, as events proved. Dupont and Kidder, immaculately dressed, had
for companions two waitresses at a well-known Cambridge cafe, two
Harvard Square hairdressers, and a number of individuals whose dress
and general appearance indicated physical strength rather than mental
powers. Dupont and Kidder went out at the end of the first act and
did not return.

The next time that Tom met Fred Dupont he asked,

"Do you believe in the Declaration of Independence?"

"My great-grandfather signed it," said Dupont proudly.

"How does it read?" asked Tom--"something about men being born free
and equal--a barber's as good as a millionaire's son--isn't it?"

"It's all right," replied Dupont, "Kidder and I only took one bell to
the theatre, but you kindly supplied us with two. Nothing's too good
for us at that cafe now, and we've invited Kitty and May to go to the
theatre with us to-morrow night."

"It's no use, Quincy," said Tom. "Dupont and Kidder took their
medicine as patiently as we did, and they liked it so well they're
going to have more of it."

Then he told Quincy what Dupont had said.

"The victory's ours," cried Quincy. "That shows that Americans, rich
or poor, are democratic at heart. All that keeps them apart is the
foolish idea that the possession of money lifts them above their
fellows. Put them on a money equality, and only the very exclusive
ones will care about the colour of their blood. It was a good lesson
for Dupont and Kidder whose fathers are wealthy men, and they have
wisely profited by it."

"Then you don't believe in social castes?" said Tom.

"Why should I? My father married a poor girl and I don't expect to
find my wife on Beacon Street or Commonwealth Avenue."

After Tom had asked his question the thought came to him that if
Quincy had believed in social distinctions on account of wealth he
would not have chosen the son of a cotton weaver as his boon
companion, but it was too late to take back the question, and Quincy
had answered it.

The four years of study were at an end. Quincy was loaded with
scholastic honours while Tom's prowess has been most effectually
shown on the ball team and in the 'Varsity Eight, which came near
winning a trophy for the Crimson.

Just before Class Day, Quincy went into the office of Sawyer,
Crowninshield, Lawrence & Merry to see Harry Merry about some matters
connected with his income.

"Quincy, I am glad to see you," exclaimed Mr. Merry. "I was on the
point of sending a messenger out to Cambridge to have you come right
in. Something very strange has happened this morning and it may be a
question which even your friend Miss Dana may find worthy of her
skill in attempting to solve."

"What is it, Uncle Harry? There is nothing I love like a mystery, and
Miss Dana often talks her cases over with me."

"This is a mystery in which you and your mother in England may be
greatly concerned; but before letting her know anything about it I
think it better to find out what it really means. For you to
understand the matter clearly, I will have to go back a number of
years. In your father's will your grandfather and Dr. Paul Culver
were named as executors. After a while the doctor wished to resign,
and as you know I was appointed in his place."

"Yes, and you have always done more than your duty, and I am truly
grateful. But, pardon me for interrupting you. Please go on."

"To make myself thoroughly familiar with all the details of my trust,
I went over all the old accounts. When your father and mother started
on that unfortunate trip to Europe, your father took with him some
English gold, some bank notes, and, to last him for his further
expenses while abroad, five bills of exchange, each for two hundred
pounds, Sterling, a total of about five thousand dollars. These bills
of exchange were drawn by his bank here in Boston, and in favour of
the bank's agents in London. About six years ago I changed the
deposits of your trust account to another bank. Until then I had
always kept that five thousand still intact, as it was drawing fair
interest, and as, you may not know, your mother has always had an
idea that your father was not drowned. But, when I changed the
account, it seemed foolish to leave that money still there, and as
the bills of exchange had never been presented for payment, I had no
trouble in having them cancelled, and receiving the money.

"But, and here is where the important part of the matter comes in for
you, one of those bills of exchange, drawn over twenty-three years
ago, has to-day been returned to the bank here in Boston from the
London agents."

"Why, Uncle Harry," cried Quincy, "what can it mean? Is it possible
that my father is still alive? I can't understand it, I am
bewildered," and strong man as he was he was unnerved.

"Calm yourself, Quincy," said Harry Merry, "I am afraid that would be
entirely too good news to be true, but at least it must mean that
your father's body was found some time or other, and probably the
bill of exchange got into the hands of some dishonest person who has
cashed it."

"Have you got it here?"

"Yes," and Mr. Merry handed a paper to him.

"Is the signature that of my father?" asked Quincy turning the bill
over, and looking at the various endorsements on the back.

"I am not sure. If I were, there would be one great question solved,
for he would never have put his name to it, of course, until he was
ready to cash it. In a way it looks a little like his writing, but it
may be, and I think it is, a rather bungling forgery. It is more than
likely that in the wallet in which he kept the bills of exchange he
may have had some papers to which he had signed his name, and the
signature was copied from that."

"I want to show this to Miss Dana," said Quincy, "perhaps she can
help me solve the problem. Have you got any paper with my father's
signature to it?"

"Wait a few minutes, and I will see if I can find any in the old
files."

After a good quarter of an hour, which to Quincy seemed as though it
would never end, Mr. Merry came back, covered with dust, but with the
required paper in his hand.

"A lawyer should never destroy a paper," said Mr. Merry, "and I am
glad to say this firm never does. Here is a letter your father wrote
to your grandfather nearly thirty years ago, and is dated from
Mason's Corner. Take it, and the bill of exchange with you. I hope
you can solve the mystery, and let's pray it will turn out to mean
that you are Quincy Adams Sawyer, Junior; but, my boy," and Harry put
his hand on Quincy's shoulder, "do not build too many air castles on
it. If you do, I am afraid you have a bitter disappointment before
you."

Quincy immediately called on Mary Dana, and had a long talk with her
about the matter. He told her all his conversation with Harry Merry
and showed her the bill of exchange, and the signature of his
father's which he knew to be genuine. After examining them both Mary
said,

"In many ways, this looks like a very clever forgery. The characters
are all made the same as in the signature to the letter,--notice the
peculiar little twist to the S in the word Adams, but your father
wrote a very firm, strong hand, and the writing on the bill of
exchange is weaker and a little shaky. That is undoubtedly due partly
to the fact that the signature on the bill of exchange is written
with a very fine steel pen, while that in the letter was written with
a quill. But, what makes me doubt the genuineness of the signature is
this,--although the characters are practically the same on the two
pieces of paper, your father's name in the letter is the writing of
an educated man, that on the bill of exchange looks like the efforts
of a man unaccustomed to write, probably through ignorance, but
perhaps due to the fact that he has not held a pen for a long time."

"But, Mary," asked Quincy, "how are we going to find out about it,
how can we learn who did sign it?"

"There are the endorsements on the back. They are the only clues.
Below your father's name appears that of Jonathan Drake; then that of
Agostino Tombini, and, below that, Macquay Hooker. There is also the
stamp of the London bank. Where the bill of exchange was cashed does
not appear. It is evident, however, that the last person who signed
it before it reached the bank in London was Macquay Hooker. We will
cable London now, and in the morning will have an answer. Be in to
see me early, but, if I were you, I would hold myself in readiness to
leave for Europe at a moment's notice. Is your work all finished at
Cambridge?"

"Yes, I had my last examination yesterday, and I should leave for the
summer in a few days. Class Day is all that keeps me now, but I am
perfectly willing to recall the invitations I have sent out, and can
leave at any time."

On his return to his rooms Quincy told Tom what had happened.

"I had been intending to speak about our going abroad anyway this
summer," said Quincy. "It's the style for college boys after being
graduated to go to Europe. I want to see my mother and aunt, too. To
be sure, I have had nice long, loving letters from them, and I've
kept them fully posted as to my doings, but that doesn't quite come
up to seeing them. Now, with this mystery on my hands, with all it
may mean to me, I must go anyway. Will you come along with me?"

"If dad don't mind, I'll go."

"We'll run down to Fernborough for a day or two to say good-bye, if
there is time, and you can see your father about it."

At ten o'clock the next morning, Quincy entered the office of the
Isburn Detective Bureau.

"I have good news for you, Quincy," said Mary. "I have found out from
London that Macquay Hooker is a banker in Rome, and I have cabled
him, asking who the other two endorsers are. We should receive a
reply by noon at the latest."

A good half hour before noon a messenger boy came in and handed Mary
an envelope. She scanned the cablegram quickly, and handed it over to
Quincy. It read, "Tombini banker, Drake American consul, Palermo,
Sicily."

"You see," said Mary, with a smile, "matters are simplifying
themselves considerably. I shall cable now to Drake at Palermo, and
find out what I can about the original signer of the bill of
exchange. This is Wednesday. The Gallia sails from here to England on
Saturday. You had better engage passage, and make arrangements to go
then. Come back late this afternoon, and I will tell you what has
developed in the meantime."

After engaging a stateroom for Saturday, Quincy returned to
Cambridge, packed what things he needed for a couple of days, and
with Tom came back to Boston, intending to go to Fernborough on the
late train in the evening.

"The answer has just come," said Mary, when Quincy saw her later in
the day, "but, I am sorry it is not as satisfactory as I could wish.
Mr. Drake is away from Palermo at present, and beyond the fact that a
Quincy Adams Sawyer had registered at the consulate about a month ago
and has since left the town, they seem to know nothing about the
matter."

"Well," said Quincy, "we have a starting point anyway, and more than
we had in Bob Wood's case in the beginning. I shall go directly to
Fernborough Hall to see my mother for a day or so, but I think I will
not mention the real reason for my trip abroad until I have found out
more. I will tell her that Tom and I are anxious to get to the
continent as soon as possible, and that we will return to England
later on. Then we will go down through Italy to Sicily, and start in
there tracing the signer of that bill of exchange."

"I think that is the best plan," said Mary. "In the meantime I will
keep in close touch with Mr. Merry here, and if another one of those
bills of exchange comes in I will cable you, care of your bankers in
London, the names of the endorsers."

"Mary," said Quincy as he took her hand at parting, and held it
perhaps a little longer than was really necessary, "I can't thank you
for all you have done for me. I am truly grateful, and wish there
were some way in which I could show you my true appreciation."

"Your thanks are all I want. Besides, you may be the means of
bringing a very clever criminal to justice," and the smile left her
face as she said it, "for I am afraid that is all you will find. You
must not hope too much for what seems the impossible."

On their way to Fernborough that evening, Quincy and Tom decided it
would be best not to mention the real object of their going to
Europe, so Mr. Chripp thought it was only a pleasure trip. He did not
object to his son going,--but he made one condition, that Tom should
visit the village in old England in which he was born and bring him
back a picture of the little thatched cottage in which Mr. Chripp had
lived until the tales of high wages and better prospects in America
had drawn him from his native land.

Quincy had said good-bye to all his relatives, friends, and
acquaintances except Mr. Obadiah Strout. That gentleman should have
no reason to say he had been snubbed.

When Quincy entered the store Mr. Strout was weighing some butter.
Quincy noticed that the wooden plate and a sheet of thick paper were
put on the scales before the butter was cut from the tub.

"Well, what can I do for you, Master Sawyer?" said Strout when the
customer who had paid thirty cents a pound for butter including wood
and paper had departed.

"I came to say good-bye. I am going to Europe."

"I s'pose you'll like England with its 'ristocrats and kings so well
that you won't come back to these ordinary United States."

Quincy knew that Mr. Strout wished he would stay in England, so he
replied,

"Oh, no. I'm coming back sure. I know a little about weighing
groceries and I've decided to come back and go into business."

"What good will your book larnin' do you then?"

"For one thing, they teach something besides dead languages in
colleges nowadays. I studied moral philosophy, which points out the
difference between right and wrong, between honesty and dishonesty,
between fifteen ounces of butter and one ounce of wood and paper, and
sixteen ounces of butter to the pound."

With this parting shot, Quincy joined Tom in front of the store and
they started for Boston, from which port the _Gallia_ was to sail two
days later.

CHAPTER XXII

ALICE'S DREAM

"Do you believe in dreams, Aunt Ella?"

"No, Alice, I do not."

"Not if they come true?"

"Only a coincidence. If they don't come true are you willing to
acknowledge that all are unreliable? Or, if some prove true do you
consider them all reliable? You can have either horn of the dilemma."

"What causes dreams, Aunt Ella?"

"Usually what's on your mind. Your brain doesn't wake up all at once
and dreams flit through it until it gets full control."

"What if a person dreams the same thing three nights in succession?"

"That proves nothing. When my first husband died I dreamed for a
month or more that he was still alive and that I must wake him at a
certain time because the morning he died he was to take a train at an
early hour. You make your own dreams."

"But supposing you see something in your dreams that you never saw
before--that you never knew existed until you viewed it when asleep?"

"What have you been dreaming, Alice?"

"You won't laugh at me?"

"I promise not to laugh, but I won't promise to believe."

"If my husband is dead," said Alice, "he is dead and I shall never
see him again in this world; if he is still living, he is somewhere
in this world, and it's my duty to find him."

"I will agree to that," assented her hearer, "but you know that I
have no faith that he is alive. Just think, twenty-three years have
passed away and you have had no word from him. Out of deference to
your feelings, Alice, I had put off making my will since Sir Stuart
died until yesterday. It is now signed and in my lawyer's hands. It
is no secret, I have left all I possess to your son Quincy."

"Why did you do that?"

"I promised his father that he should have it, but as I think he will
never come to claim it, I gave it to his son, as he or you would do
if it was yours. Now, your dreams have put some idea into your head.
Where do you think your husband is?"

"I don't know what country it is, but, in my dreams, thrice repeated,
I have seen him standing in a grove of trees filled with fruit--
lemons and oranges they appeared to be."

"Did he speak to you or you to him?"

"He looked at me but gave no sign of recognition. I called his name,
but he did not answer me."

"That proves what I said. You are always thinking about him, and your
mind made up your dream."

"Where do lemons and oranges grow?"

"In so many countries that you would have to go round the world to
visit them all." She thought to herself, "they don't grow in the
ocean."

"You speak of twenty-three years having passed. That's not so long. I
have read of sailors being away longer than that and finally
returning home. Men have stayed in prison longer than that and have
come out into the world again. Why, Quincy is only fifty-three now."

"And I'm seventy--an old woman some think me, and others call me so,
but if I were sure that by living I could see Quincy again, I'd
manage some way to keep alive until he came."

"You are just lovely, Aunt Ella, and I love you more than ever for
those words. I believe that Quincy wants me to come to him--and I am
going!"

"My dear Alice, I'm sure the only way you will ever see Quincy is by
going to him, for he can never come to you."

The next day Alice spent in studying the cyclopedias and maps. She
estimated the cost of a six months' trip to the citron groves of
Europe and America. For a week she pondered over the matter.

Then something occurred that led her to make up her mind definitely.
She had the same dream for the fourth time. She awoke screaming, and
shaking with terror. Her aunt was awakened and ran to her room.

"What is it, Alice? Dreaming again?"

"Yes, the same and yet different. I saw a big man raise a club and
strike Quincy on the head. He fell and I awoke."

Aunt Ella grew cynical. "Why didn't you wait long enough to see the
effect of the blow?"

"Oh, Auntie," and Alice burst into tears. "What shall I do?"

"I know what I'm going to do. I shall send for Dr. Parshefield and
have him give you a sleeping potion."

The next day Alice began making preparations for her journey. Aunt
Ella's arguments and appeals were in vain.

"I must go," said Alice. "Where, I do not know, but God will direct
me."

"God won't do anything of the kind," exclaimed Aunt Ella.

Her patience was exhausted. Then her manner changed. She accepted the
inevitable, and did all she could to help her niece. One thing she
insisted upon, and that was that Alice should have a companion. One
who could speak French and German was found and Alice started upon
her quest into, to her, unknown lands.

CHAPTER XXIII

"BY THE BEAUTIFUL BLUE DANUBE"

Alice did not tell Aunt Ella where she was going. To have done so
would have led her aunt to say that it was foolish to go there, for
although she aided Alice in getting ready for her journey she was
decidedly opposed to it. In fact, in her own mind she called it "a
wild goose chase." But she had learned that Alice had an indomitable
will and she fully realized that further argument and opposition were
useless.

Alice went on board the boat at Dover with some foreboding. She had
read and had been told of the rigours of the Channel passage and her
experience was equal to the descriptions. Had it not been for the
presence of Babette, the maid so wisely provided by her aunt, her
journey might have ended at Calais, or even before. She had a horror
of the water and it was with a sense of great mental and physical
satisfaction that her feet touched solid ground again.

They went to Paris, but spent no time in the gay city. Their
objective point was the south of Italy, and then the island of
Sicily. Did not the guide books say that Sicily was the home of the
orange and the lemon?

They would stop a short time in each important town. Carriages were
taken from day to day and inquiry was made at the principal groves in
the near vicinity of the towns. Then trips were made into the
country, but everywhere Alice's questions were answered in the
negative. She was allowed to talk to the labourers, by the aid of an
interpreter, but none had any remembrance or had heard of any such
man as she described.

At only one grove, near Palermo, was she refused admittance. The
proprietor, Silvio Matrosa, said he had no authority to admit
strangers. Besides, two of the men had been fighting and one was so
seriously injured by a blow upon his head by a club, that he had been
sent to the hospital and it was thought he would die. Under the
circumstances "Would the ladies excuse him?" and Alice was obliged to
give up her search in that direction.

She had been so impressed with the reality of her dreams that she had
thought she could easily recognize her husband's surroundings, but
she confessed to Babette, who was sympathetic and engaged eagerly in
the search, that she had seen no place that resembled the scene of
her dreams.

More weary wandering without result followed, and so intent was she
on the object of her search that the beauties of "Sunny Italy" were
lost upon her. The weather was hot and enervating and Babette
suggested that her mistress should go to Switzerland and rest before
continuing her search. Alice consented, but when they reached Vienna
she was too ill to proceed farther. Babette was at home in Vienna for
she could speak German, and she soon learned that the Hospital of St.
Stephen's would give her mistress the rest and medical treatment that
her condition required--for she was on the verge of nervous
prostration. The discomfort of travelling was not the cause of her
physical break-down for Aunt Ella had told her "that nothing was too
good for a traveller" and every comfort and convenience that money
could supply had been hers. Her mental disquietude had produced the
physical relapse. She had been so confident of the truth of her
dreams, and that some power, she knew not what, but which she trusted
implicitly, would lead her to her husband, that her disappointment
was more than her strained nervous system could bear.

After a week's rest, although unable to rise, she called Babette to
her bedside. "I wish to send word to my aunt in England but I do not
feel able to sit up and write. I will dictate, you can write, and I
will sign it."

Then Babette wrote:

"MY DEAR AUNT ELLA: Confession, they say, is good for the soul. My
body is weak to-day and so Babette is writing my confession. I have
been to Sicily and all over the southern part of Italy, but no
success has come to me. If Quincy had been in one of those orange or
lemon groves he could not have lived there for so many years; the
work is too hard, and he was never used to manual labour. So, as soon
as I am able, I am coming home. I will never trouble you with any
more dreams. I believe, as you do, that they are products of
imagination. I am not sick, only tired out, and naturally, at first,
very much disheartened. I shall be with you very soon, never more to
leave you." ALICE.

"P. S. As soon as I am able to take a drive I am going to view the
attractions of this city--which Babette says is even more beautiful
than Paris. I must see 'The Beautiful Blue Danube,' and I must hear
Johann Strauss's orchestra. They will be the only happy memories of
my fruitless journey."

CHAPTER XXIV

"WE THREE"

Nothing marred the pleasure of the trip on the _Gallia_ and young
Quincy and Tom could not have been happier than they were when the
great steamer made its way up the Mersey towards its Liverpool pier.

A few hours only in the great bustling city and then they were off to
find the house in which Tom's father was born and lived. It was near
Chester, that modernized reminder of the old Roman days, and on their
way to Fernborough Hall.

They found it uninhabited. The thatched roof was full of holes and
the interior showed the devastation that wind and water had worked.
Tall weeds filled the little garden and the general effect was dismal
indeed.

"It won't do to take Dad a picture of this old shanty," said Tom.

"Perhaps we can find a house that looks like it," Quincy suggested.

They had no difficulty in doing that, for the same architectural
plan, if the design be worthy the name, had plainly been followed in
the construction of many cottages. They found one with the roof
covered with moss and a garden full of old-fashioned flowers, and
several views were taken with Quincy's camera.

"It's cheating in one way," said Tom, "but it would break Dad's heart
to see a picture of his old home as it really is--so we'll show him
one as it ought to be."

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