THE BIG MOGUL _By JOSEPH C. LINCOLN_ THE BIG MOGUL QUEER JUDSON RUGGED WATER DOCTOR NYE FAIR HARBOR GALUSHA THE MAGNIFICENT THE PORTYGEE “SHAVINGS” MARY-’GUSTA CAP’N DAN’S DAUGHTER THE RISE OF ROSCOE PAINE THE POSTMASTER THE WOMAN-HATERS KEZIAH COFFIN CY WHITTAKER’S PLACE CAP’N ERI EXTRICATING OBADIAH THANKFUL’S INHERITANCE MR. PRATT MR. PRATT’S PATIENTS KENT KNOWLES: “QUAHAUG” CAP’N WARREN’S WARDS THE DEPOT MASTER OUR VILLAGE PARTNERS OF THE TIDE THE OLD HOME HOUSE CAPE COD BALLADS THE MANAGERS The Big Mogul by Joseph C. Lincoln Author of “Queer Judson,” “Rugged Water,” “Shavings,” etc. [Illustration] D. APPLETON AND COMPANY NEW YORK 1926 LONDON COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY Copyright, 1926, by The Crowell Publishing Company PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA THE BIG MOGUL THE BIG MOGUL CHAPTER I This was the library of the Townsend mansion in Harniss. Mrs. Townsend had so christened it when the mansion was built; or, to be more explicit, the Boston architect who drew the plans had lettered the word “Library” inside the rectangle indicating the big room, just as he had lettered “Drawing-Room” in the adjoining, and still larger, rectangle, and Mrs. Townsend had approved both plans and lettering. In the former, and much smaller, home of the Townsends there had been neither library nor drawing-room, the apartments corresponding to them were known respectively as the “sitting-room” and the “parlor.” When the little house was partially demolished and the mansion took its place the rechristened sitting-room acquired two black walnut bookcases and a dozen “sets,” the latter resplendent in morocco and gilt. Now the gilt letters gleamed dimly behind the glass in the light from the student lamp upon the marble-topped center table beside which Foster Townsend was sitting, reading a Boston morning newspaper. It was six o’clock in the afternoon of a dark day in the fall of a year late in the seventies. The student lamp was a large one and the light from beneath its green shade fell upon his head and shoulders as he sat there in the huge leather easy-chair. Most of the furniture in the library was stiff and expensive and uncomfortable. The easy-chair was expensive also, but it was comfortable. Foster Townsend had chosen it himself when the mansion was furnished and it was the one item upon which his choice remained fixed and irrevocable. “But it is so big and--and _homely_, dear,” remonstrated his wife. “It doesn’t look--well, genteel enough for a room in a house like ours. Now, truly, do you think it does?” Her husband, his hat on the back of his head and his hands in his trousers’ pockets, smiled.