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LIGHT OF THE ATMA – THE SPARK WITHIN
ome men are possessed with a passion for violent sports. Crogg was one of those men who had that type of craving which desires to see other men hurt.
Under the circumstances, Crogg couldn’t appease or allow for Lefty’s thirst for getting at Peter, but had the circumstances been different, plausible enough to spin some yarn about it as to put it in a favorable light…might he have?
The fact that Lefty and Peter went at each other like a bulldog and a kitten, amused Crogg to a certain point. If Crogg were to be turned over and shaken out, would any real concern over Peter’s well-being fall out?
What concerned Crogg the most, was the bad publicity that might erupt from a spar between his prize fighter and Peter, just a kid, already the victim of the loss of his well-known parents. As it was, the stories that were going to circulate would have to be dealt with. But how does one deal with a negative strike against you, and spin it into a positive one?
If any one could do it, it was Crogg, for he knew how to tell people, that what they think they thought about something was not what happened at all, and what they thought they saw, was not actually what they had seen!
Keeping the story as it had happened, would only cause his own image to get besmirched. Even though everyone who witnessed the spectacle would certainly have their own version of what happened anyway, he thought to himself, ‘I can fix all that!’ The wrong attention of the sporting public on his self-glorious image he worked so hard to build just wasn’t worth losing to the momentary thrill of seeing Peter get a beating….not to speak of the potential loss of millions upon millions of dollars. So, he would work to preserve Peter’s safety, but only for the preservation of his own reputation.
The spotlight of glory was on Crogg, and he immensely enjoyed the popularity with the public, due to the fact that he now was the owner of a potential, heavyweight champion boxer.
Wherever Lefty appeared, he received rave reviews, and was deluged with crowds who wanted his autograph. Crogg’s sense of pride was heightened enormously by managing the ‘Future Champ’.
The sense of power he felt from owning this boxer was bringing him high into the realms which make a man feel that he is better than other men, for what he has.
This demonic sense of superiority came from a vile trait that grew like a weed in Crogg’s heart since he was a kid playing with the disenfranchised street gangs of Chicago.
Having made something of himself in the world, by wrong means though it was, gave him a sense of power, and he enjoyed exercising that power over everyone. Peter was just another satisfaction he was enjoying exercising his power over. Crogg felt that Peter was merely a challenging-delight to taunt and to tease; so, while he play-acted the part of the concerned guardian, he did little to protect Peter from Lefty’s aggressions, whatever he could get away with, without looking bad in the process.
Oh – he played his role, made the sounds effects of a concerned guardian, but all they really were – were just empty noises. Crogg hated those who were born into wealth. ‘Why should anyone have that kind of power without ever having to work or struggle for it? Wealthy people are no better than me. As a matter of fact, many of them are worse than I am . So why did they get the breaks of being born with a sliver spoon in their mouths, and to have everything they want, when I would get nothing?!’
No, he was not about to let Peter inherit all the things he had worked so hard to manipulate into his own hands. So…..Lefty was jeopardizing his moves somewhat, here and there, but Crogg’s debased nature caused him to simply not care at points. Yet, when Crogg’s concern for satisfying his demonic pleasures surged stronger than his vicious desire to see Peter hurt, well, then he called an end to the trouble.
Still, Crogg was one who always lived on the edge, tempting fate at every turn. When he won over the odds, as he often did . . . he smiled as though the evil victory had been worth all the risk.
“WE’LL DO THIS AGAIN,
ONLY IN THE REVERSE ORDER”
Two girl friends, more special than the rest of the array of beauties already staying at the mansion at Crogg’s invitation, rushed into the study when they heard of his mishap. They hadn’t heard the tumult from the far end of the mansion, but when they found out, they rushed to his side and coddled him to help alleviate his pains.
“How are you feeling, Elmer?” they asked him.
“I can’t complain. Pint Size there gave me something to take the pain away, and now here you are, my selfless nurses offering me the pills of pleasure to take the rest of my pain away.”
“Oh, Elmer, you’re so naughty!”
Both girls were lightly rubbing his ribs, and giving sympathetic coos and oohs, each woman doing her utmost to make everything better for him.
Crogg drank in every ounce of attention to the point of intoxication. One of the women lit a cigar, and gave it its first few puffs for him. Crogg’s eyes suddenly got a straight-line view of the grandfather clock as it sounded the advancement of time with each swing of the pendulum.
“Eleven o’clock,” he spoke aloud. “You better help me with my shirt,” he said as he got comfortable.
“Oh -” the girls soothed. The first put the cigar in Crogg’s mouth, then the other helped to get his shirt back on. After buttoning it up, they helped him with his jacket.
“Thank you Ladies, thank you, thank you very much. We’ll have to do this again some other time, only in the reverse order,” and he gave them a big smile. They giggled at his naughtiness. He patted them both, then sent them on their way.
“Alright guys,” he said as he specifically looked at Stilts, then Pint Size, “there is a schedule to keep. Time to get back to work!” And everyone cleared out.
Crogg labored to take out his pocket watch. “11:05AM,” he said aloud, then tucked it back into his vest pocket. His thoughts moved into a deep, and seemingly un-trodden area, as he took his gold Egyptian coin from his vest pocket and rubbed it.
He got up, and walked over to the desk, and sat down in Michael’s favorite chair, and leaned back.
Cornings happened to be passing the study and opened the door to check on Crogg. Seeing that his boss was trying to reach for the telephone, he walked over and gave it to him in his hands.
“Thank you Cornings, you’re a good man”
“You’re welcome Sir. Will there be anything else, Sir?”
“No thank you, Cornings. You’re dismissed.”
“Thank you, Sir,” and he left the study.
Crogg placed a call to Judge Walker. After a brief conversation with him he hung up, and put the telephone on the desk. He took out his gold coin and rubbed it a few times as though it actually possessed mystical powers. He leaned back in his chair and dosed off due to the medicine Pint Size had given him.
Crogg’s eyelids opened to see the the night was just starting. Pint Size was sleeping on the nearby sofa watching guard, of sorts, to see that no one disturbed Crogg while he slept.
“Ohoooo. . . .” Crogg moaned as he moved, and he slowly got up. Pint Size got up from the sofa, and asked how he felt.
“Sore, very sore.”
Pint Size went over to the bar and poured him a Sarsaparilla* and plopped a few pills in it. “Here Boss, this will help ya a lot,” and he handed it to him. Crogg drank it down, then looked at the old grandfather clock. It was nearing 8:PM.
“Ah . . .the day is just beginning,” he commented. He sniffed the air . . .”Do I smell something?”
Pint Size informed him, “It’s the boy’s fa-vor-rite meal.” Croggs’s eyebrows raised as Pint Size continued, “I took the liberty of having the cooks render up a dish of all his fa-vor-rites. Some servants are fanning the aroma down toward the wine cellar. You know that’s the best way to soften a man’s mind, just cook his favorite meal.”
“Smart thinking, smart thinking.”
“With me figuring you’re gonna have to go down there sooner or later, I thought I’d give ya the edge. By the way Boss, you’re gonna need Stilts’ help with opening the door. It’s a massive one. “
“Yes, I know the one. . . “
Crogg slowly got up and labored down toward the cellar, Stilts following behind, to talk with Peter. When they got to the cellar, Stilts led the way holding a lantern high above, in front of them. The stairs were a tricky maneuver.
“How did you get down here in the first place?” Crogg asked Stilts.
“Duds helped me by holding the lantern.” His voice was like a low musical c-note – below, low C.
As he carefully stepped down the stairs, clearing out some of the cobwebs that were still there after Stilts first went down, Crogg thought out his plan of approach to Peter. ‘Whatever I tell the Lad, it will have to be a selling point, otherwise it might all be over tonight.’ He knew that Peter would be cocked and ready to shoot off his mouth with a hair trigger. ‘But, if you never try to win with a bluff, you’ll never know if you could have won. The bet is always against you when you never try.’
Peter had been in the cellar for nearly twelve hours. It was a place that had no windows, being two floors below ground level, and someone forgot to put the lantern back after they had used it, so he was in total darkness.
There were no secret passageways to or from the cellar; otherwise, Peter would have already escaped. He was imprisoned in total darkness in that large wine cellar, until someone would decide to let him out.
Suddenly, Peter could hear two sets of footsteps walking in the dirt from across the way, right up to the large, oval-topped door outside. Then they were walking down the stairs, one of them sounded like Stilts from his heavy footsteps, the other’s he guessed were Crogg’s. He stood up from the dirt ground from where he had been lying down, and leaned against the brick wall at the far end of the cellar where he had be thrown by Stilts.
The door at the bottom of the stairs stood some eight feet tall and five feet wide, was made from one-foot thick, old-world timber from the Black Forest of England. It was once used as the entrance of an old English CASTLE DUNGEON where the people of the state were tortured and put to death in the medieval times….how coincidental.
Michael was fascinated with the huge door while visiting the castle, of which the Lord was bankrupt, so he bought it from him. Michael showed up with it at home one day and had it installed. He even had some shackles hug on the cellar wall for a conversation piece and a few laughs.
It had a blacksmith-crafted, large lock embedded in it, with a Giant Iron Key that fit into it. Two people had to lift the key in order to insert it in the lock, then work together to turn it.
Metal upon metal sounds clattered, clicked and scraped against each other until finally… ‘CLACK’, the door was unlocked by Stilts, for him a one-man job.
Stilts pulled opened the one-ton door, and its hinges eerily squealed, howled and moaned, echoing all the tormenting sounds of the men who were once tortured in the dungeons behind that door.
Crogg patted Stilts on the back and said, “Good going Big Guy,” and he indicated that Stilts should stand back in the darkened shadows of a corner so he wouldn’t be seen.
Stilts handed him the lantern from the over-head hook on which he had placed it and stepped back in the shadows. Crogg carefully held it up so he could see inside. He knew that Peter could throw an array of bottles at him, so he stood there for a moment or two.
The light from the lamp traveled along the long row, down which Peter could barley be seen by the lamp light, and at that, only as a dark form against the far wall.
From Peter’s perspective, he could see Crogg’s face as he held the lantern with his out-stretched arm. Crogg slowly, and guardedly stepped in the room.
Peter’s eyes were filled with the toxicity of hatred toward Crogg. Thinking that Stilts was out in the other area of the cellar somewhere, he didn’t bother to move.
Then, from out of the gloom of the darkness like bats fleeing a cave, Peter’s words flew out of his mouth.
“Do you really think you’re going to get me to go to England . . . do you? You’ve got another thing coming if you believe that!”
Crogg took a chance, and walked a little closer so he could see Peter’s eyes. When the light from the lantern finally illuminated his face, Crogg didn’t like what he saw. He saw a intensive, deadly stare coming at him that was screaming revenge.
Crogg reacted with a sympathetic gaze. His words were clever, and his tone was smooth as sanded wood with ten or fifteen coats of lacquer. “Peter, I’m sorry for what my fighter did to you, it was most unfortunate what he did. I sent him off, he’s banned from ever coming back here!” Peter remained silent. Nothing Crogg could say would be enough. Crogg continued to ply his ways, “When certain things occur in our lives . . . when they happen to us without warning . . . as they have to you . . .well, one must realize that things may not ever be able to return, as they once were.
When circumstances have changed as drastically for you as they have, who knows the secrets of changing them back for you? If I knew those secrets, and had that kind of power, I would restore everything to you . . .if I could.
But, seeing that I can’t, and you, yourself can’t, you are going to have to familiarize yourself with some real-life facts concerning yourself and the direction your life is going to go from here.”
“And what would they be?” Peter’s tone was still sizzling.
“Well. . . you’re going to have to accept that you have fallen under the jurisdiction of the court, and that means you may not enjoy the previous freedoms you once possessed. And being this is so, you have to accept the orders issued by the court for your sake. And that simply translates into you having to listen, and follow the suggestions, or commands of others in charge, because you simply have no choice – and you above all, who is so versed in these aspects of law, know you are bound by them.
The fact that you happen to be wealthy in this case, or used to be, buys you no special privileges. You’re treated as everyone else would be, by a standard of law that favors no one. Everyone gets the same justice given to them, that’s what equality under the law means.”
That’s not the way I was taught,” Peter balked. “I was taught that the best comes to those who can afford to have the best. And I can afford to have the best defense on my side, and not the justice of some rigged court!”
“Unfortunately,” Crogg replied, slanting the truth to his favor as usual, “the law is blind in that way. It doesn’t pick and choose who it will favor or not. Rich and poor are treated the same.”
“Hog-wash! That’s not my experience. I have seen the rich by their way through the legal system whenever they need or want to. They buy off judges and persuade laws. And, what you are doing is railroading me into what you want me to do!”
“No, no. Not so,” Crogg countered. “The role of the courts, and the law that governs matters and issues like this, be that as it may be, are automatically kicked in to see after the welfare of juveniles; however, as far as I am concerned, I’m not interested in forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do. I know your capabilities.”
Peter snapped, “As if you’re not trying to force me to go to England, where I don’t want to go.”
Crogg shook his head, “What the court wanted to do, was to put you in a foster home, until they could sort though all the facts, and claims of people that are coming out of the wood work, claiming to be a relatives of yours, so distant that they seem to go back to the founding of this country.
The court can’t protect you while you in the care of a foster home when so-called relatives start coming to seek you out. In order to keep you safe, you would have to be switched from home to home, until this is all sorted out.
To prevent all that from happening to you, I volunteered to be your guardian, until everything is settled. What I am now trying to do, is reason things out with you. I’m not meant to be here for long and can’t take you with me, so what better place for you to be than in England where your father felt you’d be safe?
But, if you’re so child-minded that you can’t be reasoned with, then what can I do? I’ll just have to inform Judge Walker of the situation and let him deal with you. That way, the pledge I made to your father . . . and the word I gave to your mother . . . and the duty I took on, being both of their friends, will be fulfilled… half fulfilled actually, but never-the-less, fulfilled to the very best of my ability.”
Peter’s tone was as a double-edged sword swinging back and forth. “Talking things out with reason,” he jabbed, “also means hearing and listening to my reasons, or are you referring to a one-way conversation – only yours?! I have to listen to your reasons, and you can ignore mine? Is that the game you’re playing?”
“Perhaps we can strike on a compromise that suits your needs?” Crogg answered in a pleasant tone. “I want that you come back upstairs, freshen up, take a bath, and then we’ll talk things over.”
But Peter resisted. He stood unmoved and unwilling. Seeing Peter was going to be obstinate, Crogg decided on another tactic. He took a few steps toward Peter, and gave him that, ‘I’m your friend’ look.
“How old were you when you saw your grandfather last? Seems to me you were about oh – five or six at the time. Do you remember how you hugged my leg when your mother was going to take you to Boston that one spring, and how you didn’t want to go?”
Who’s the one who took you to ball games, and carnivals when your father wasn’t home? Who’s the one who shared belly laughs with you at the vaudeville shows? Did you forget all those good times we shared?” Peter gave thought to these things, but remained silent as Crogg spoke on.
“Listen Lad, why are you so angry with me? What did I do? I find to my horror, that your governess had snatched you; I notified the court, and the court sends two official city detectives assigned to your case, to retrieve you, and you’re blowing your top at me? Well Lad,” he went on, in a sweet-as-honey, but laced-with-poison sort of way, “I had come here to tell your governess that I had been assigned as your temporary, legal guardian, and quite frankly, she ordered me thrown out, and she threatened to call the newspapers.
I showed her the court papers I had, but she literally threw them back at me forcing me to pick them up. She then told me she had custody of you, and she was going to take you to your grandparents home in Boson.
Now, ordinarily that would of been okay. I can take a little slap in the face, but the court had some notion it wanted to have checked out somethings concerning your grandparents, so they assigned me to guard over you while this process was under way. Of course, once I reported back that you were taken against the Court’s will, the court itself sent the two-city detectives to fetch you back.” Crogg went on with his elaborate and plausible fabrication, “Personally, to me, I have to say, it looked as though she coaxed you out of my protection by playing your sympathies . . . like a Stradivarius.”
There they stood, in the middle of an enormous wine cellar that housed several thousand wooden barrels of stored wine . . . and at least a hundred thousand bottles, resting in racks. The room was dark and damp, the kind of damp that comes from never seeing the light of day, for years on end.
The aroma of his favorite meal kept wafting under his nose, and it fueled his desire to eat. He just wanted to go upstairs and take a bath, eat and then go to bed.
But he had serious, unresolved issues with Crogg, and as much as he disliked standing there and chatting with him, he had to work out these problems, or at least try to get the solutions under way.
The light from the one lamp didn’t radiate far from the source, and it barely outlined both of their physical forms.
Still pushing his point, Crogg continued to try to gain traction. “You know Lad, I had some dealings with your grandfather some years back. He went through about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars of your father’s money. He used it to buy himself a plush position onto the board of directors at Boston’s hospital. Not long after that, he wanted another loan, and your father and he soon crossed words.
When your father wouldn’t fork over the money, your grandfather tried to put the pinch on me for several grand. And, well, as I already told you, your grandfather thinks he’s a thoroughbred who can win the political derby. But the truth of it is, he just can’t run up against real thoroughbreds who are legends.
And as such, your father made me give my solemn word that if anything – anything,” he stressed again mildly punching one hand into the other, “ever happened to him, and your mother – bless her soul,” he prayed making the sign of the cross over his chest, “I would guard over your welfare.
When you turn twenty-one, you’re going to have a nice nest egg, find some debutante, get married, settle down, have kids. But, if you let your grandfather get a hold of your inheritance, what may be left of it, you’ll end up in the bread lines.
You know, your father despised men who mooched from others. Well, here I am telling you that when you already know what he thought, better than I do. You know your father said, ‘A dollar should be ‘earned out,’ and not ‘squirmed out’.”
Crogg held on to his ribs, and sat down on a nearby crate, and drew a needed breath or two. He looked up at Peter. “Listen Lad, you’re a fine young man with a good head on your shoulders. As a matter of fact, you’re a spittin’ image of your father, and I might add, you’ve got his spirit of integrity too.
But you have to be more careful around some women, otherwise some beautiful gold digger, with flashy brown eyes could wrap you around her little finger.”
“Are you referring to Allison?”
“How many other beautiful women do you know?”
“Allison wasn’t like that,” Peter defended, shaking his head.
“Of course she was, only you didn’t see it, because you were enjoying yourself too much with her. Had you not been so infatuated by her, you would have seen she was only fawning your affections for her self-profits.”
Peter objected to his perspective, “She was my governess Mr. Crogg. She had no interest of that sort in me, and it is indecent of you to suggest it. Also, although I am more advanced for my age, I never looked upon her in any other way than that of a governess and a friend to me.”
Crogg disagreed as he shook his head, “She had no real interest in you Lad, except how eligible it would make her in society later on. Everyone saw it, but you. It was one of these rumors that got around the servant class at first, and then, when they went home they spread it to others, until it found itself in the pages of the newspapers, then, the entire city knew about it.”
Peter was annoyed but not surprised, ” They’re all lies, based on the false observations of mere servants. What do they not stand to gain by such tale telling? Do their pockets not grow a little richer for the scandals they spin at my expense?”
“Come on Peter, if anyone knows it, you do…A woman gains a little class when she has diamonds dangling from her necklace and from her ears,” Crogg pointed out, referring to a small gift Peter had given to Allison on her birthday. “Did you really think that wouldn’t get around? Anyway, you shouldn’t be so defensive of this one! How many governesses have you had that ever cared enough to see you through the hard times?”
That part was true, and Peter knew it. He looked within as if to review the past and could only see the truth of that statement.
“You see Peter, no one walks out on a friendship. You don’t see your pretty little miss caressing you in her arms right now, do you? She knows you’re here!” Peter’s eyes now reflected swirling depths of confusion. “She hasn’t even attempted to call you, or contact you – not at all. Do you know why? Because we have her number, that’s why. We’re on to her, and this has made her keep her distance.
As a matter of fact, I had your father’s attorneys telephone Allison, but she refused to speak to them. I myself sent her a telegram asking her to call here, and speak with you. But did she?”
Peter felt at a loss. “Why would you do that?”
“To gauge her sincerity. If there were any misunderstandings at all on my part, this was the time to clear them up, and I stated so in my telegram. But, she refused respond.” A sense of doubt concerning Allison flashed across Peter’s face, and that was the signal Crogg was looking for. Seeing Peter’s reaction, he continued to hammer away. “Peter, didn’t your father teach you, that you can only trust those who have as much money as you do; otherwise, what will their eyes be on?
Take me for instance, I don’t need your money. You know I have enough of my own, so I don’t need to cast my eyes on the fortunes of others! They, on the other hand look at me with greedy eyes ….So, why the suspicious attitude toward me?”
Peter didn’t know what to say. Crogg, with his stultifying tactics was succeeding at making him feel foolish. “When this troubling responsibility fell on my shoulders,” Crogg continued, “I accepted it gladly, and why? Because I care for you, that’s why. Anyway, as your father used to say, ‘Trust only those you’ve thoroughly come to know…the time-tested friendships. And trust least those who say they know you,’ . . . Now, do we have an understanding?”
Peter reluctantly, very reluctantly nodded his head. He was too tired to continue on this course. Crogg stood up, and wanted to walk out of the wine room only Peter stopped him with a question. “Why did you have me thrown in this wine cellar?”
“Lefty gave me no choice. He wouldn’t relent, and quite frankly with a fighter like that, when he doesn’t want to stop, who can stop him? He was out of his head with rage! What could I do? I had to do what I had to do to protect you. Because you were pretty fired up and caught in the snarl too. And who is there who can stop you from doing what you want to do, when you’re so riled up? If you think about it, you both put me in a spot. If I had let you go at the height of your rage, you would have continued going after Lefty, probably until all the priceless artifacts in the mansion were destroyed. You do hope to have something of value left here, don’t you? In your rage, you didn’t care.
What I’m really getting at here, is neither one of you would let the problem go. Now in my opinion it wasn’t Lefty who was in danger, it was you. I had to stop him from getting at you, so I had Stilts put you down here, just to keep Lefty from harming you. It was the one place where I knew I could keep you safe.”
“So you were actually trying to protect me?”
“What? Did I volunteer to become your guardian?”
Peter nodded his head okay. “So what took you so long to come down here? It doesn’t feel much like you care when you leave me here for so long, like a prisoner in my own home.”
Reaching over and taking a bottle from a rack which housed a precious wine that cost a cool thousand dollars a bottle he sighed, “Some kid I was trying to protect, knocked me down a flight of stairs and it broke my ribs. I was knocked out from the pain for some time. As soon as I woke up, I came here to check on you. Believe me I would have come sooner.”
Peter gave a slight nod, almost with a feeling of guilt for that, but still retaining his sense that somehow Crogg brought it all on himself anyway. He watched as Crogg fawned the bottle of wine. Crogg glanced up to see the contempt still in Peter’s eyes.
“Believe it or not Lad, I was the one who located this stock from a man who had them in his cellar in France. After a friendly game of cards, I struck a deal with him to get this collector’s vintage,” and he looked at Peter with a permissive look. “You should really try some of this. It’s an affair with your taste buds you will never forget,” and he put some effort into standing back up, and talked to Peter as they started to walk across the wide dirt floor of the wine cellar back toward the huge door.
“You know Lad, there are classy men as well as classy dames, and there are antagonistic men as well as sassy dames. There are people who range from the noble to the barbaric. Experience Lad, teaches you how to deal with the variety of people you come across in life. Academics can take you just so far in learning how to deal with people.
Take me for instance,” he said, as he stopped to get his breath at the foot of the stairs. “I’m a man of experience. I’ve had to learn how to tolerate all kinds of people in all sorts of situations. You on the other hand, overreact because you lack experience. You let a hard-nose like Lefty provoke you.
Now I ask you, is that showing control?” He stood there for a moment giving Peter a manly look. “That kind of discipline Lad, cannot be learned from nannies.
Your father believed that men of character are the pillars of society. Character means strength and I’m not just talking about brawn or brain; I’m talking about inner strength – the kind it takes to deal with life and the people in it.”
He asked Peter, as he took the fist step, “Help me up these stairs, will you Lad? It’s a bit much for me.”
When they reached the top, they stood at the doorway for a few minutes. Crogg continued to say, “Now you may not fancy those sacred halls your father once walked through, but it will sure bring the man right out of you. And tell me Lad, what more could a father want for his son than to see that he’s turned into a real man?
Besides all that, I want to hear more about that deal your father made with you, about you making your own decisions if your grades stayed high.”
“Oh?!” Peter questioned sarcastically.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you Lad . . . in business, there’s give, and take. It’s not all a one-way street, you know. Just because you’re walking up the lane, doesn’t mean your neighbor isn’t going to want to walk down the lane, does it?
My destination in this world may be different from the next man’s. As a consequence, he may be walking north while I’m walking south. Because people have different aims and goals in life, we have to learn how to respect one another otherwise we would only get into endless problems if we were to deliberately decided to step in someone’s way?
So, your father wanted you to walk up the lane, but you’d rather walk down the lane. Okay. I can respect that because I have no personal stake in what you decide for yourself.
So, what do you say Lad, you go upstairs, and have a bath,” which Crogg had Charles pre-heat for him, “come back down and have some dinner? And in about an hour or so, I’ll meet you in the study and we’ll attempt to solve some minor problems.”
asn’t Crogg misleading Peter? Oh, yes. Of course he was. It’s the old classic, ‘Tell them what they want to hear’ – story.
That was how Crogg manipulated people. A convincing reason here, a convincing reason there, all greased with a little smooth talk and applied sympathy, to make it too slippery to fully comprehend the matter at hand, and bingo, bongo….he’d have them right where he wanted them.
Crogg was doing some pugilistic maneuvering with his words, setting Peter up for the one-two punch; and like the victim of a con who doesn’t realize he’s been taken until it’s too late, Peter was being punched dumb with a barrage of double talk.
Captain Montgomery had been due about noon that day, but Crogg gave orders to have the captain assigned a room in the mansion to linger for a while out of sight, and await further orders.
After dinner, Peter went into the study, but was on guard, looking for Lefty to come out of nowhere. He opened the door, and walked into a cloud of cigar smoke. He looked around at the men Crogg has piled in there, and gave a look to Crogg that said, ‘Get them all out!’
IN THE STUDY
eter walked over to several windows and opened them for air. A breezed entered slightly ruffling some papers, on which he place a paper weight to keep them from flying away.
Crogg initiated the conversation. “I’m going to take it on faith, and honor your father’s verbal contract with you. You don’t want to go to the military academy, you don’t have to go! I’m going to talk to Judge Walker about this matter, and get you a reprieve.” He looked at Peter with that befriending ‘don’t worry, I’m on your side’ look, then continued. “I learned a long time ago that most men leave a lot of gaps in their thinking, and Lad, many of those gaps create loopholes.
Now all you have to do to satisfy the wish of the court, is to use one of those loopholes, and like magic, you’ve fooled the system.”
Peter raised his eyebrows as he plopped himself in the leather chair adjacent to his father’s desk. Crogg looked up at him while he kept his head low going through the paper work. “It works like this,” and he sat down, leaned back, and squared his eyes on Peter. “You sail to England, register in person for next semester and sail back home. This will fool the system. Instead of attending, you simply skip the year. Take a vacation, or do whatever you want to do, the fact is you won’t have to actually attend because the the judge on this end will give ample time to work things out in your favor. Then, the college of choice – is yours!
Peter said nothing. Crogg threw in, “Tell you what!” and he picked up the telephone. “Operator? Get me the courthouse . . . Hello Judge? This is Elmer.”
Crogg went on to dramatize his explanation to the judge in front of Peter. “Now are you sure you can do all this, Judge?” Crogg nodded his head to Peter, and called him over to the phone.
“Repeat that will ya’ Judge, I think I got a bad connection here,” and he put the earpiece between his ear and Peter’s so they both could hear what the judge had to say.
As Peter put his ear to the earpiece, he heard the judge say, “Yes I can do this for him. As a matter of fact, I’ve been wanting something better for Peter than the narrow choice he has been given. Tell Peter for me, it would be my pleasure to see that he gets exactly what he wishes for!
“Say Judge” Crogg questioned, “what if Peter decides to go to Boston and visit with his grandparents? Would this be okay with you?” . . .
Still listening in, Peter heard the judge’s response.”Now you know that would be a mistake, Elmer. We’ve already discussed at length how the grandfather is trying to ruin the boy.
Once he gets Peter with him in Boston, he’ll manipulate him to where Peter’s inheritance will come out looking like Swiss cheese. ‘The cheese for him, the holes for Peter!
And, mark my words Elmer, I’m going to do everything in my power to protect the boy from that kind of takeover! Do you hear me? You tell Peter for me that he should stay away from his grandfather!”
Crogg shifted the earpiece to his own ear as Peter walked over to the window to get some fresh air. “Now you’re sure the boy won’t have to go to military school?” Crogg spoke. “You’re sure? . . .Thanks Judge,” and he hung up. He looked over to Peter at the window, “You see Laddie, everything can be worked in your favor. All you have to do is play the game.”
Peter was dazed and confused from the whole ordeal. Laden with immense depression, he lumbered across the room. “I’ll going to bed, and I don’t want to be disturbed.”
Crogg sent for Captain Montgomery. When he knocked at the door one of his men let him in.
“Captain, have you ever met Mr. Smith’s boy?”
“No Sir, I can’t say I’ve ever had the privilege.”
“Well, he’s a delight really. Unfortunately, this tragic incident has unbalanced him some.”
“That’s quite understandable, Sir. Losing one’s parents can be hard on a boy his age.”
“You’re an understanding man, Captain.”
“Thank you Sir.”
“Have a seat , and a cigar Captain?” Crogg lifted the lid on the handcrafted cigar box Michael got from Holland.
“Why thank you, Sir.” The captain stood up, slightly leaned over, took one, then sat back down.
“These little goodies,” Crogg commented admiringly as he stared at the cigar in front of his eyes, “have been rolled, and wrapped by a master cigar maker in Havana. Mr. Smith was introduced to him one day when he was doing business there.
Some leading figures who lived like kings on that Island, liked to romp down to the slums to visit this thin-stick of a man in his little shack, and watch him roll the his cigars.
Mr. Smith decided what is basically good can be made better and what is better, can be made into something great, so he financed this cigar maker and his sons to where they could hire on more help, and grow more of the best tobacco on the island.
But he wasn’t content with that. He bought out a large tobacco farm and put this little frail man and his sons in charge of everything, the whole show, if you know what I mean. And all for what?
So, that Smith would have the corner on the market, financing the best hand-rolled cigars in the world. He didn’t do it for profit mind you – just did it so he could hand them out as gifts wherever he went. “‘My profit,'” he used to tell me, “‘is in return favors!'”
Crogg looked at the captain, “Yes indeedy. . . these are the only cigars like them in the world. They’re a measured blend of five different types of leaves.” Shaking his head he remarked, “If there was anything Smith had – it was good taste!” The captain raised his eyebrows, and put the flame to his own cigar.
“Do you know what Michael used to say about these cigars Captain? He used to say that, “‘Next to a hot dame, there’s nothing better than a lit cigar.’ Do you believe that captain?”
“Oh, yes sir!”
“Good,” Crogg replied, “a man of my own taste.”
The captain drew the smoke in, and let it out slowly.
Then Crogg commented, “I think Smith got it a little wrong. I think a good smoke is better than a woman anytime.” and everyone in the room laughed.
And into the night they told each other stories as they played cards with a few of the boys.
And the night wore on.
THE NEXT MORNING
Crogg looked at his watch. It read 6:00 AM. “Excuse me, Captain, but you go ahead and guard over all your winnings while I attend to some business.” Many of the guys were on the sofas or on chairs sleeping. The Captain too, was dozing off.
Crogg had let the captain win five-thousand dollars, a two-year salary for the good captain. He was winning because Crogg’s little plan called for it.
Crogg had sent for Peter so he could set sail early. Getting word that Peter was cooperating, he went back to the game with the captain. “Your passenger will be ready shortly, and Captain, I want you to look after the Lad. I want you to watch over him, and treat him as though he were my own son.” The captain, half mast, but trying to recover, nodded.
“Now Captain, I suggest you take your winnings, go freshen up, and I’ll see you down here in one hour sharp!”
eter had left his room for the last time, then walked toward his mother’s room which was half-way down the hall.
He somberly opened the door to her room and quietly walked in for the last time. It seemed pleasant to him, no sight or sense of anything wrong. ‘How deceptive things can be,’ he thought, and he took one last look around, knowing it would be a long time before he would be able to see it again. He stepped toward his mother’s dresser and took from the top drawer, a silk scarf and lifted it to his face to feel it as if feeling her embrace, and to take in her fragrance, as if she could still be standing there, then the put the scarf into his inside vest pocket. He sighed with ineffable pain, then left her room. As though he were in a trance, he closed the door, then proceeded to his father’s room.
As he walked inside, it felt as if something about his room was somehow eerie. As strange as it must seem to him standing in a bright lit room with the sun shining in, a sense of darkness slowly drew him toward the inner bedroom.
When he reach it, the room seemed cold and foreboding. As his eyes scanned the interior, they landed upon a picture of his mother which his father kept on the night table near his bed. Lifting it in his hands, he gazed at her image for a moment then slipped the photo from the frame, and tucked it in his pocket.
On the wall near his father’s dresser across the room hung a large painting of his father. He stared at it from afar, then walked over to it , and too it from the wall. As his eyes peered into his father’s portrait, a hate-filled anger grew like a blazing fire within him. With a sudden burst of hostility rising like a flaring flame he lifted the flame from the wall and raised it over his head and yelled, “AHHH! I HATE YOU!” and he smashed it against the corner of the bureau with violent force.
The shattering frame flew out in all directions, as it busted, and the impact ripped the picture to the point of non-recognition. As the anger within him surged even greater, he threw the broken frame against the wall, and stormed from the room.
He tromped his way down the hall, and down the back stairway. When he reached ground level, Charles was busy doing something.
Peter approached him. His face was still flustered from anger, and his tone contained a firey hot anger. Yet, he didn’t spill it over to Charles as he spoke to him. “Tell Mr. Crogg I’m not ready to leave yet. I’m taking a walk down the arboretum road to reflect on things.” He began to leave but turned back for just a moment, “And Charles, make a point of telling him that I really would appreciate it, if my privacy were respected this time.”
“I understand, Sir.” Charles stood there in the hallway and watched as Peter left from the back and crossed the huge lawn.
n the back acreage there sat a beautiful arboretum. It spread across the landscape bordering the lake like a royal garden. It was a magnificent park, filled with walking lanes, waterfalls and beautiful ponds, all meticulously planned and created by Peter’s mother.
This ‘heaven on earth’ as she put it, was her treasure – her retreat.
Michael set aside this expanse at Margaret’s insistence; if it had been only up to him, the entire stock of land they owned would have been dedicated to his own enjoyment. As it was, what he decided was his, was his! For the most part, she got the remnants, the leftovers, except for the precious hundred acres directly behind the mansion to the lake.
And why? Because Michael wanted the gardens of his palace-style mansion to resemble the royal gardens of European leaders themselves. And so they did for a small portion, but Margaret had other ideas, so she tuned the rest into an arboreal paradise.
What Margaret did for the land was as if God Himself had come to earth, and took His own hand to the soil. People by the hundreds used to take strolls through what came to be known as, ‘The Emerald Gardens – The Park of Shimmering Elegance’.
Margaret insisted that wherever Michael traveled, he should bring back some plants native to that region. And so he did! As a result of his supplies, and her love for gardening, the estate was transformed from its natural wooded scene, into a beautiful painting from Margaret’s heartfelt brush-strokes of love.
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