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A faint degree of his father's scepticism had crept into him and the only reply he vouchsafed was a polite smile. It was absurd to fancy for an instant that the senior member of the Fernald company, the head of the firm, the owner of Aldercliffe, the great and rich Mr. Lawrence Fernald, would ever trouble himself to hunt up a boy who worked on the place. Ridiculous!
"I have had the matter on my conscience for months. Look at that tenement of the Turners! It is old, out of date, crowded and stuffy. There isn't a ray of sunshine in it. It's a disgrace to herd a family into such a place. And I suppose there are ever so many others like it in Freeman's Falls." "I'm afraid there are, Father." "I don't like the idea of it," growled old Mr. Fernald.
Nodding, Ted fitted the key into the padlock, turned it, and rolled the doors apart, allowing Mr. Fernald to pass within. The mill owner was a large man and as he stalked about, peering at the fireplace with its andirons of wrought metal, examining the chintz hangings, and casting his eye over the books on the shelf, he seemed to fill the entire room.
"I gave orders up at the toolhouse that you were to have whatever boards, nails, and tools you wanted, so don't hesitate to sail in and hunt up anything you need." "You are mighty kind, sir." "Pooh, pooh. Nonsense! Aren't you improving the Fernald property, I'd like to know?" Mr. Wharton laughed. "This boathouse has been an eyesore for years.
Clarence Fernald bought for Laurie a comfortable Adirondack canoe luxuriously fitted up with cushions. The stream before the boathouse was broad and contained little or no current except down toward Pine Lea, where it narrowed into rapids that swept over the dam at Freeman's Falls.
Turner's station in life should view the plan with anything but pride and complacency was evidently a new thought to the financier. "Why, sir, my father and sisters are very fond of me and may not wish to have me remain longer away from home. They have missed me a lot this summer, I know that. You see I am the youngest one, the only boy." "Humph!" interpolated the elder Mr. Fernald.
"See Jake Dolan, John it's up to him. He can satisfy you," said Fernald, and turned, leaving Barclay in the street. Up the hill trudged the gray-clad little man, with his pugnacious shoulders weaving and his bronzed face set hard and his mean jaw locked. On the steps of the court-house he found Jake Dolan, smoking a morning pipe with the loafers in the shade of the building.
"How gamey those fish are!" observed Mr. Fernald reminiscently. "And bass are sporty, too." "I'd rather fish for bass than anything else!" asserted Ted. "Ever tried landlocked salmon?" "N o. We didn't get those." "That's what you get in Maine and New Brunswick," explained Mr. Fernald. "I don't know, though, that they are any more fun to land than a good, spirited bass.
He plans to connect it by piping with the central heating plant. So you see you will have a regular housekeeping bungalow instead of a camp." Ted gasped. "But but I can't let Mr. Fernald do all this for me," he protested. "It's it's too much." "I shouldn't worry about him, if I were you," smiled the elder man. "It won't scrimp him, I imagine.
Lawrence Fernald declared. "We do not see how we are ever to thank you. Come, there must be something that you would like some wish you would be happy to have gratified. Tell us what it is and perhaps we can act as magicians and make it come true." "Yes," pleaded Mr. Clarence Fernald, "speak out, Ted. Do not hesitate.
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