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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Was there something you wanted to say to me, Colonel Harrington?" inquired Bart. "Yes there was!" snapped out the rich man of Pleasantville. "Anxious to see you! Just drove up to your house. They told me you were here. I once offered you a hundred dollars." Bart nodded, with a faint smile. "It wasn't enough," stumbled on the colonel. "I am now going to make it a thousand."
The city of Titusville now stands on that farm and those Pleasantville wells flow on, and that farmer who had studied all about the formation of oil since the second day of God's creation clear down to the present time, sold that farm for $833, no cents again I say "no sense." But I need another illustration, and I found that in Massachusetts, and I am sorry I did, because that is my old State.
"Unless I do get more air, you will not be troubled long by me!" declared the judge in a tone of melancholy conviction. The building was intolerably hot, the advantages of ventilation having been a thing the citizens of Pleasantville had overlooked.
It's a good many miles from the lumber camp to this neighborhood, so the three fugitives must be traveling in this direction. If they keep on for fifteen or twenty miles further, they will come out of the mountains near Pleasantville or Maple Gap. They can board a train at either place. The state police already are watching both stations.
He left a dollar to pay for the broken hand car lock. He was in high spirits as he caught the east bound train. The whistles were blowing for a quarter of six as he reached Pleasantville and leaped from the engine, where a friendly engineer had given him a free ride, and in three minutes was at the door of the little express office. Animated voices reached him from the inside.
Only one person in Pleasantville had that mixture of lofty command and tragic emphasis, and that was Colonel Jeptha Harrington. As Bart turned, he saw the village magnate ten feet away, planted like a rock, and extending his big golden-headed cane as if it was a spear and he was poising to immediately impale a victim. The colonel's brow was a veritable thundercloud.
Johnson, whose enforced confinement in Rat Hell gave him a unique fame in Libby, also made good his escape, and now lives at North Pleasantville, Kentucky. Of the fifteen men who dug the successful tunnel, four are dead, viz.: Fitzsimmons, Gallagher, Garbett, and McDonald.
Bart felt much gratified over the way all these tangled strands in the warp and woof of his young life had been straightened out, but he experienced a final blessing that filled him with unutterable joy and gratefulness. A week previous his father had returned from a month's treatment by a city expert oculist. Robert Stirling came back to Pleasantville a well man.
A week later Colonel Harrington sought out Baker, told him he had trumped up a charge against him that would land him in jail, which Baker later discovered was the truth, and gave him twenty-four hours to leave the country. From that time the poor fellow was a fugitive, venturing to appear only in disguise at Pleasantville.
"How long is it since he left?" she asked at last, reaching down to untangle the worsted from the end of the rocker. "Six weeks," said I. "It's just six weeks coming to-morrow since Tim and I parted at Pleasantville. To think he has been promoted already! At that rate he should be head of the firm in a year or two." "Mr. Weston has been very kind," said she.
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