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LIGHT OF THE ATMA – THE SPARK WITHIN
onesty and Crogg did not travel the same path. When he was young, he was unluckily put on the crooked path of a mischievous life as a ‘means to accomplishment,’ by his father who made his living by stealing other men’s hard-earned money in card games.
“Elm,” he used to say to his boy, “hard work is only for fools. When you’ve got the kind of talent we’ve got for gambling, son, the kind of talent that brings the easy life right to your door through the luck of the cards, you use it.”
But it wasn’t Lady Luck who caused Elmer’s father to win at cards, for he was a gambling man who knew all the slippery tricks there were to know when it came to dealing himself the good hand and the other guy the bad one.
As a consequence to this wrong advice and training, Elmer grew up with a false sense of confidence and never acquired the fear of God nor the fear of sin. And the absence of fear for sin easily meant, there was no need to fear consequences from God; for he saw plenty a sin-fearing man live with trouble and turmoil, the kind that told Elmer that maybe there was no God doling out consequences but people’s own ignorance and stupidity dishing out a hefty portion of pain. All their faith, was merely the misgivings of their own imaginings. And since there was really no God to uphold this ancient, religious artifact called Faith, how could there really be anything to fear?
rogg didn’t have a veracious bone in his body, but were his devious plans detectable? Not for the most part, because he learned the secret of successfully concealing his shady intentions.
He learned the best way to guarantee another man’s cooperation, was to do him favors, always keeping the list of what he did for others, so when it came time for needing a favor the person he did a lot for, would do him a favor in return. “Better than cash,” he always used to say.
If that wasn’t enough, one of his favorite tricks was to find the skeleton in the family closet, and use this information against the person if he had to force a ‘little favor’ in return.
And if blackmail wasn’t enough, he would “frame” the person for an indiscretion, then threaten to release it to the press . . .if the person was really stubborn.
“Sometimes it takes a ‘one- two punch and sometimes a one-two-three punch’ to get cooperation from others.” he use to say. “You might think these people would wake up and just do it the easy way.”
It was by these means and various other means, that Crogg was able to use a series of clever ploys, paid-for testimonies, and forged documents, and blackmail to surreptitiously maneuver Michael’s entire fortune and estate, lock, stock and barrel into his own avarice hands – except for a small percentage here, and there used as bribe money for those who conspired with him.
llison didn’t know what Crogg was up to, nor how he was able to become Peter’s guardian, but whatever he had done and was yet in the process of doing, she knew it wasn’t good. ‘That man is dangerous!’ she spoke to herself, and She immediately ordered a carriage drawn and sent word to Peter to hurry while she went to her room to change.
A few minutes later, Peter came to her room and knocked on the door. “Come in . . .” As the door opened, she looked at him standing in the doorway. “Are you ready?” she asked. He nodded. “Good,” she replied with haste in her tone, and they both left her room, descended the stairs and walked toward the front door.
Grover, seeing that they were going somewhere, boldly stepped forward to bid them off with a parting phrase. Charles opened the door for them and said a few words of his own which conveyed his friendship toward them both.
Allison and Peter stepped outside. Looking down the road, she caught sight of an approaching automobile off in the distance. Believing it could be trouble, she indicated to Peter to get into the carriage without delay. But before they left, she turned to Charles. “Tell no one where we went.” Charles nodded. “And send our luggage secretly, we’ll have to leave without them.”
Grover, who was very pleased that she was leaving, watched on from a distance. He did not overhear their conversation. He just sniffed and gave himself that ‘good riddance’ acknowledgement.
Allison quickly walked down the front steps, and got into the carriage. “Clemmons,” she ordered, “leave by the back road, and put a pace to it!”
Clemmons pulled the carriage toward the rear of the mansion and down the dirt road that Michael had put in just for reasons similar to this.
As the carriage rolled along the back road, it bounced with jolts, and swayed with the turns causing Allison and Peter to hang on for safety.
“Why so fast?” Peter questioned. “And why this way?”
“I am just pretty tired of dealing with the likes of men like Mr. Crogg, Peter. That approaching automobile is probably filled with more of his sort, no doubt. My ears are full of their babbling prattle. The quicker we leave, the less chance of our meeting.”
Peter turned and ran his eyes across the field to the road. He saw the approaching auto to which she had referred, rolling up the road with a cloud of dirt behind it. He sat straight in his seat and gave her a look that revealed he too was relieved by her out foxing them. Allison just smiled.
“SOMEONE TAKING A TRIP?”
t was fussy ol’ Beechwater, the pestiferous chief coordinator of the takeover and a couple of other cohorts who were with him, chugging up the lengthy driveway in the pride of Beechwater’s life – a fancy new horseless carriage.
He stopped his ‘putt- putt – putting’ auto in front of the estate, and shut off the ignition. He turned around, and told the men with him, with a barking, grumbling order to, ‘stay seated,’ while he stepped down, and conducted some business.
He pulled his goggles and hat off and tossed them both upon his seat then stumped up the stairs to the front door as if he, at the 300 pounds he was, were plodding through mud. All the servants were curious about the horseless buggy, and were peeking from every window; some even from around the back of the house.
Beechwater, with a grimace on his face looked at the police officer. “Legal business,” he stated flagging some papers in his face.
In the meantime, the handyman had just delivered the last of Allison’s and Peter’s trunks to the entrance hall, and placed them at the front door, exactly as he was told not to do. His instructions were to place them at the back door!
Beechwater became curious as he entered the hall. “What is this?” He said working the words out of his mouth with some difficulty because of his weight. “Someone taking a trip?” But the handyman did not answer him.
The officer standing in the doorway handed Beechwater’s papers back to him and spoke pleasantly, “Everything seems in order Sir.”
“Of course they’re in order, you idiot!” A statement that caused some facial reaction from the officer.
As Beechwater stepped into the hallway, Grover, who was nosing about, asked, “What can I do for you today Sir?”
Beechwater gave Grover a gritty look. “I want to talk to that – that – that…”
“Do you mean Miss Hamilton, Sir?” His tone was snooty.
“That’s the one,” Beechwater acknowledged with a brash jerk of his head causing the flab around his second, and third chins to wobble and rebound.
“I’m afraid you just missed her Sir. She just left.”
“Well,” he barked, “if she does comes back, give her these!” and he rudely slapped some folded papers into Grover’s hand which caused it to smart.
Beechwater then added, “These papers also give those gentlemen there,” pointing to the men in the automobile as he turned around with some effort, “the right to enter the premises,” and he waved to them to get out of his auto, and come up to the door.
Grover gave them a strange look as they approached, then stepped aside as they pushed themselves into the mansion. Grover looked at the papers he was holding. He asked Beechwater, “Am I to tell her what the papers are?”
Beechwater gave him a look of cynical delight. His eyes seemed like they were revealing some evil intent which caused Grover to step back away from him. “Tell her they’re her walking papers! Oh, and by the way Beanpole, they’re your walking papers too! Get your stuff and get out!!”
Grover gave him a bewildered stare, but Beechwater laughed at him as though he thought he was a fool.
Beechwater then walked back to his auto, his feet making hard sounds as he walked down the steps. As he reached his auto he yelled to one of the servants as he waved for him to come over. “Crank me up, will ya’?” he yelled.
Grover was ‘put out,’ and every line on his face showed it. “I’d like to, %#&$*&* he mumbled as he turned around, and stared to walk away. As he passed a waste paper basket he tossed the papers away.
Allison and Peter were far down the back road that encircled the estate. They were just approaching the main road which was some miles away from the mansion.
“Where to Miss?” Clemmons asked as he turned around to speak to her.
“To the train station,” she replied with noticeable anxiety in her voice. Clemmons slapped the reins, and headed the team toward town.
he mastermind behind the plan, Elmer Crogg, had just passed this intersection moments before Allison’s and Peter’s carriage reached it. He was on his way back to the mansion, as they were on their way to the train station.
He smiled with smug gratification as the police in their wagons passed him on the main road back to town.
Crogg’s driver moseyed the well-groomed, tan-colored horses up through the driveway then brought them to a smooth stop directly in front of the mansion.
One attendant came as a matter of procedure to tend to the horses. As Crogg stepped down from the carriage, he looked around for a moment, then walked up the steps, and boldly opened the door without a knock.
A sense of cynical pleasure came over him as he noticed the travel trunks stacked up in the entrance hall. Just then, Grover was trekking down the long hallway, his man’s man behind him carrying their luggage.
“Put them down right there,” Grover directed, pointing to a spot on the floor next to Allison’s, and Peter’s luggage.
As they passed him, Crogg grabbed Grover’s arm forcing him to a stop. “The tutor?” he questioned with a threatening demand in his voice. Grover, not liking the manhandling, gave Crogg a snout, and with disdain, tried to pull from his grasp. Crogg became impatient with him, and jerked his arm for a response. “The tutor?!” he demanded harshly.
“There is no need to become barbaric!” Grover huffed. “She has already left the premises.” Crogg pushed him away with a force with sent him into the wall. If Grover had a tail, it would certainly be between his legs at that moment.
Crogg glanced at Grover just one last time giving him an expression that revealed how pithless he thought he was. ‘The milksop has more luggage than some women,’ he commented to himself, then swaggered into the study where his two associates were waiting for him.
“Well what do you think?” he said gloatingly as he walked into the room with a dance to his step. The two men, known as Lefty, who was a boxer, and Knuckles, his trainer smiled with approval in response to Crogg’s question.
Festering with the deleterious greed that was churning within him, Crogg stood there and declared, as he gaped around, “I’m going to own this town before I’m through.” The two men with half-wit smiles, gave their puny salutations by waving their cigars in the air.
Crogg walked over to Michael’s desk, that he had admired and sat down behind it. He leaned back, and swung his feet upon it.
Lefty asked, “How ya’ gonna explain to da kid’s relatives, dat he ain’t gonna inherit his ol’ man’s estate?”
“Creative ink,” Crogg responded wise-crackingly. “I’ve had the paperwork gone over by experts. They’ve spent exhausting hours on it; and by the time we’re done with the boy, well . . . he’ll be too scared, and too uncertain of anything to have anyone use him to challenge us in court . . . even if his kin beg him to! By the way,” he added looking at Lefty, and Knuckles, “where is the kid?!”
Lefty, and Knuckles looked at each other with some wonder. Crogg let loose with a barking tone. “Do you mean to tell me, neither one of you know where he is?!” What do you think I sent you here an hour early for, anyway?!”
“We tot you sent us ‘ere,” Knuckles explained defensively, “ta intimidate dat…lady teacher inta leavin’.”
Then Lefty stupidly added: “She ain’t been down yet. We been waitin’ ta put da pressure on her da minute she shows her face.”
“You imbeciles!” he yelled as he looked at them with disgust. He took his feet off the desk, and sat up straight. “She’s already left!”
“Den why are her travel trunks still in da hall!” Lefty asked.
“Why are her travel trunks are still in the hall!” Crogg mocked. “Those aren’t hers, you idiot! They belong to that squeamish governor. The kid’s got to be in his room, or on the grounds somewhere. Or else . . .” and he began to suspect that Allison may have taken Peter. “Check his room, and if you do find him, take it easy with him. Just tell him I want to see him.”
As they went off to locate Peter, Crogg sought out Charles. “Well!” he demanded of Charles. “Was Peter with her when she left, or not?” Charles who stood six inches taller than Crogg, remained mute. Crogg wanted to have his men give Charles a lesson in manners he wouldn’t forget for some time, instead he lashed out, “You’re fired! Get your stuff and clear out!”
Crogg steamed off and grabbed the arm of a passing maid, and asked her rather offensively, “Where’s the boy?”
“Well . . .” she stuttered, afraid of Crogg, “Master Peter left with his governess.” Her eyes filled with terror, and fright.
“Where did they go?!” he shouted as he shook her arm harshly.
“I do not know Sir, I do not know,” she cried with a hysterical quiver.
“When did they leave?!” he yelled.
Gasping for her breath she answered: “Only moments before you arrived, Sir.”
“But, I didn’t see . . .oh, of course,” he remarked with realization as he remembered the back roadway. “Why that slippery little . . .” and he released the tight hold he had on the maid and left her standing there as he ran to the stairs as fast as he could, and whistled upward for Knuckles and Lefty.
The maid, frightened by Crogg’s treatment toward her, ran off in tears.
As Lefty and Knuckles looked down over the balcony, he waved his hand, and yelled, “Come on! She has the lad!”
Not waiting another moment, Crogg dashed back into the study to get his hat off the desk, then scurried from the room as quickly as he could with the intention of chasing after Allison and Peter himself.
“WELL, DID SHE, OR DIDN’T SHE?”
Down at the depot, after a fruitless search, Crogg and his associates reconnoitered outside. Feeling disgust for his men, and none for himself, Crogg walked back into the station, over to the ticket cage, and placed a five dollar bill on the counter.
“Destination?” the ticket clerk routinely questioned.
“Did a young lady . . .so high, with a younger boy purchase a couple of tickets to Boston a little while ago?”
The ticket agent looked at the money on the counter with eyes wide, then cautiously peered around. “Come to think of it,” he divulged with a sly squeeze in his tone, “there was a young lady with a boy who wanted to go to Boston,” and he eyed Crogg suspiciously.
Crogg pushed the bill a little closer. “Well, did she or didn’t she?”
The ticket agent hesitantly looked around one more time. “She purchased two tickets all right, but to New York, not Boston.”
“New York?” Crogg accentuated. His vile thoughts were present within his words, and when he spoke they poisoned the very air he breathed.
“I remember her wanting to go to Boston,” the ticket agent said, “but when I told her the train to Boston wasn’t scheduled to depart as quickly as she desired, she purchased two tickets to New York instead.” He spoke as though he was giving away a precious secret that may even cost her her life. He felt the wrong in what he was doing , but the greed in him persuaded him to betray his own values of life.
Crogg’s eyes spoke to him, two orbs throbbing with vengeance pounded away at the agent’s heart. “So,” Crogg asked, “when does the next train leave for Boston?” and he thumped his thumb on the counter as the ticket agent slowly picked up his schedule book, and flipped through the pages.
“Let’s see,” he mumbled as he licked his fingers to turn the pages, “they’ll arrive in New York . . .”
Crogg’s words lit up like fire. “I’m not interested when they will arrive in New York!” The heat from his tone burned the agents mind which nearly caused him to fall off the stool he was sitting on.
Toning down his ire he said, “I’ll ask you one more time. When does the next train leave from the station and when will it arrive in Boston? And include the facts if I will be able to arrive in Boston before they will.”
The agent, trying to regain his composure, picked up the book from the floor where it had fallen when he jumped from his stool. He placed it on the counter and started to nervously thumb through it again. His hand shook as his fingers ran down the column. When he reached the line he was searching for, he cautiously said, “Your best alternative [gasping for his breath] is to take the next train to New York, which departs from our station in two hours, because your party is having having a layover in New York, for the night. The train departing for Boston leaves here at 7am, and arrives in Boston at 12pm, with stops in-between. Their connecting train from New York City, arrives at Boston at 9am. So, if you want to meet up with them. . . there is no other way to accomplish this except to take the next non – stop train to New York. . .” and he nervously looked a Crogg.
“And when does the New York City bound train leave this station?” His voice held every threat to the agent if he didn’t like what he heard.
“In two hours.” Crogg reached into his wallet and placed some money on the counter. “Give me two tickets to New York, with two transfer tickets to Boston.”
The ticket agent took from the drawer a roll of tickets; tore two from the roll for New York, and then two for Boston, then slid them across the counter in exchange for the money Crogg placed there.
With his voicing shaking and cracking, the agent carefully spoke, “Now the tickets I gave you for Boston, will be valid to Boston when you reach New York.” He counted out Crogg’s change and slid it toward him. Crogg took the tickets, leaving the change behind. He left the station holding the tickets tightly in his hand.
The ticket agent took the money Crogg left and threw it in the waste paper basket, including the tip (bribe) Crogg gave him; closed his widow, and went into a back room.
As Crogg got outside, he spoke to Lefty and Knuckles who were waiting for him. “Remember those travel trunks you said were the missy’s? Well, if they were hers, they were tagged with an address label. I’m sure of it! So all we have to do . . .”
The trunks were still sitting in the hall when they got back. Crogg entered eagerly and lifted the tag on Peter’s valise to read it. “You see Gentlemen, how easy it is?” They, in turn, lifted the tag to look for themselves. Crogg walked ahead of them into the study. He placed his hat on the rack in the corner, then meandered over to the desk and sat down.
“Gentlemen,” he commented, “I’m going to get that boy back before he falls into the wrong hands – if you know I mean?” and they grinned along with each other in symbiotic anticipation.
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