Hiram in the Middle West: A Young Farmer's Upward Struggle and Hiram the Young Farmer
Burbank L. Todd
9781465514080
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
For an hour before the accommodation train stopped at Pringleton the rain had etched zigzag lines upon the windowpane beside Hiram Strong's seat; so to find the platform aglitter with puddles in the dull lamp light and the water dripping drearily from the station eaves did not surprise him. What was rather astonishing was to find Pringleton such a very lonely place. As far as he could see, when he had walked around the bungalow-built station the light in the stationmaster's ticket office was the only light visible save the switch-targets and the disappearing green lamps on the end of the train. Hiram, with his heavy bag, was the only passenger who had got off the evening train. When he came around to the front of the station again he saw the stationmaster humped over his desk in the bay window, with a pen stuck over his ear, looking for all the world like a secretary bird. He peered out of the window at Hiram curiously, and finally pushed up the sash. "I don't know whether you know it or not, young fellow," the stationmaster said, "but the company charges mileage if you use this platform for a walking track. And you'll make trouble for me if you keep going around, for I never have found out how many laps make a mile, and I sha'n't know what to charge you." Hiram Strong smiled his approval of this brand of humor, yet his question put in reply was quite serious: "Have you seen anybody around here, sir, from a place called Sunnyside Farm?" "There isn't anybody at Sunnyside Farm, as far as I know," said the stationmaster; "and there hasn't been since the house burned down last year." "Yes, I know," Hiram said quickly. "But I rather expected Mr. Bronson would have somebody over here to meet me." "Mr. Stephen Bronson?" asked the man. "Him that's just bought the Sunnyside place?" "Yes. It's quite a walk to the farm, isn't it?" "It is the longest two miles you ever walked, son," declared the stationmaster. "Were you thinking to walk it to-night?" "As there is nobody here to meet me, I guess I'll have to," replied the youth cheerfully. "Which way do I head? You'll have to start me right, or else I may wear out your platform walking around and around on it all night." The stationmaster chuckled. "Well, young fellow," he observed, "it is evidently to my advantage to put you on your way. Turn around, pick up your bag, go right down those steps to the road and walk straight ahead. You are now facing west. When you get into the road you will find it not so dark as it seems." "Dark enough, I guess," muttered Hiram. "You can't miss the road even on a dark night, for there is no fork in it till after you pass Sunnyside." "But," asked the youth, "is there anybody up that way who will lodge me for the night, as the Sunnyside house is burned?" "You may get taken in at Miss Delia Pringle's, just beyond Sunnyside—first house after you pass the ruins of the burned farmhouse. This station is named after her folks. Don't make the mistake of going to the first house this side of Sunnyside." He said this last so curiously that Hiram asked him: "Why not?" "Because that is Yancey Battick's place. He'll likely blow a charge of rock salt into you from his shotgun and then ask what you want afterward." "Why, what's his idea?" asked Hiram much amazed. "Says he's afraid of rats—that's all," declared the stationmaster, and immediately slammed down the window to shut out the searching February wind. The youth hesitated for only a moment longer. He rather thought the stationmaster of Pringleton was quite as odd as the man he called Yancey Battick, who met all visitors with a salt-loaded shotgun and was afraid of rats. "And this isn't really a night fit for a rat to be out," Hiram muttered, after he had walked for some time along the muddy road leading west from the station.
