Kitabı oku: «Facing the World», sayfa 2

CHAPTER III
HARRY DISAGREES WITH HIS GUARDIAN

Harry and his guardian met at the dinner table. Mrs. Fox had provided a boiled dinner, to which Harry was ready to do justice.

Mr. Fox seemed unusually pleasant.

“I find, Harry,” he said, clearing his throat, “that you have already been distinguishing yourself.”

“Then you heard of the narrow escape of the train?” said Harry.

“Yes, I heard that but for your presence of mind, and Mrs. Brock’s tablecloth, there would have been a smash-up.”

“What on earth are you talkin’ about, John Fox?” demanded his wife, curiously.

“Well, you see, Maria, the rain of last night washed away part of the railroad track, and the train would have been plunged into a gully if our young boarder here hadn’t seen the danger, and, borrowin’ a tablecloth from Mrs. Brock, signaled the train.”

“You don’t say?”

“That isn’t all,” resumed John Fox. “The passengers took up a contribution, and I expect gave quite a handsome sum to our young friend.”

“How much did the folks give you?” asked Joel eagerly.

“I’ve got fifteen dollars left,” he replied. “I gave some money to Mrs. Brock for the use of the tablecloth.”

John Fox looked disappointed and disgusted.

“You don’t mean to say,” he ejaculated, sharply, “that you gave away almost half of your money for the use of an old tablecloth that would be dear at a dollar?”

“If I hadn’t had the tablecloth, I couldn’t have attracted the engineer’s attention,” said Harry, mildly.

There was a little more conversation on the subject, but Harry remained tranquil, and did not appear disturbed by the criticisms elicited by his conduct. He heartily hoped that his guardian’s family would not find out how large a sum he had received.

When dinner was over, Harry was about to leave the house, when John Fox said, insinuatingly: “Don’t you think you’d better give me that money to keep for you? It will be safer in my hands.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fox,” said Harry, “but I think I can take care of it myself.”

“Fifteen dollars is a good deal of money for a boy like you to carry round with you,” said his guardian.

“I don’t think I shall lose it, sir,” replied the boy.

“Perhaps not, but you will be tempted to spend it wastefully.”

John Fox didn’t look amiable. He was in doubt whether he might not properly take from his ward the money by force, but it occurred to him that it would be better not to assert his authority quite so soon.

“We will speak of this again,” he said.

“It is well I didn’t bring all the money home. I wonder how soon Mr. Fox will make another attempt to secure the sum I have with me,” thought Harry.

The attempt was made that same night.

Harry was afraid he would be expected to occupy the same room with Joel, in which case he could hope for no privacy, and would be unable to conceal his money, which he had little doubt his guardian intended to secure, either by fair means or foul. It chanced, however, that Joel slept in a small bedroom opening out of his parents’ chamber. So Harry was assigned an attic room, in the end of the house, the sides sloping down to the eaves. It was inferior to the chambers on the second floor, but our hero was not disposed to complain. He valued solitude more than superior finish.

Harry’s suspicion was roused by the circumstance that his guardian did not again refer to his money, nor did he manifest any disappointment at his ward’s declining to intrust him with it.

During the evening, Joel brought out a backgammon board, and proposed to Harry to play. If there would have been anything to read Harry would have preferred entertaining himself in that way, but Mr. Fox didn’t appear to be literary. There were a few books in the house, but they were not of an attractive character.

Partly in backgammon, partly in conversation with the son and heir of the Foxes, the time passed till half-past eight o’clock.

“Joel, you can go to bed,” said his mother. “It is half-past eight.”

Joel yawned, and interposed no objection.

“You may as well go, too, Harry,” said Mrs. Fox.

“I am ready to go to bed,” said Harry.

In fact, he felt rather sleepy, and anticipated little pleasure in sitting up in the far from exciting company of Mr. and Mrs. Fox.

“Joel!” said his mother, “take this candle and show Harry upstairs in the attic chamber.”

“Yes, mam.”

So, preceded by Joel, Harry went up two flights of stairs to the attic room reserved for him. It was the only room that had been finished off, and the garret outside looked dark and forbidding.

“I would be scared to sleep up here,” said his companion.

“I shall not be at all frightened, Joel,” said Harry.

“Good-night. Just hold the candle while I go downstairs.”

When he was fairly all alone, Harry began to look about him, to ascertain in what kind of quarters he was to pass the night. To begin with he examined the door, he ascertained that it was a common latch door, and there was no lock. There was nothing to prevent anyone entering the room during the night. There was a small cot bed in one corner, a chair, and an old wooden chest. There was no bureau nor washstand. The absence of the latter annoyed Harry.

He learned afterward that he was expected to go downstairs and wash in a large basin in the kitchen sink—wiping his face on a brown, roll towel which was used by the entire family. This was quite unsatisfactory to Harry, who was scrupulously neat in his tastes.

“This isn’t a palace exactly,” Harry said to himself.

Then came the thought, “What was he to do with his money?”

Now, it so happened that Harry was the possessor of two pocketbooks—one—shabby, and well worn, which he had failed to throw away on buying another just before he left home. In connection with this, a scheme for outwitting Mr. Fox came into his mind. He folded up a fragment of newspaper, and put it into the old pocketbook, bulging it out till it looked well filled, and this he left in the pocket of his pantaloons.

“Now to hide the other,” said he to himself.

He looked about the room seeking for some place of concealment. Finally he noticed in one portion of the floor a square board, which looked as if it might be lifted. He stooped over and succeeded in raising it. The space beneath was about a foot in depth—the lower level being the lathing and plastering of the room below.

“That will do,” said Harry, in a tone of satisfaction. “I don’t think Mr. Fox will find my money here,” and dropping the pocketbook into the cavity he replaced the square board. Then he went to bed and awaited results.

When Harry had gone up to his bed, Mr. and Mrs. Fox naturally began to compare notes respecting him.

“That new boy rides a high horse,” said Mrs. Fox, grimly. “Are you going to allow it?”

“Certainly not.”

“He wouldn’t give up his money to you, though you are his guardeen.”

“Very true, but I mean to have it all the same. I shall go up to his bedroom after he is asleep, and then it will be the easiest thing in the world to take the pocketbook without his knowin’ anything about it.”

“He’ll know it in the mornin’.”

“Let him! Possession is nine p’ints of the law, Mrs. Fox.”

“He might say you stole it.”

“He can’t do that, for I’m his guardeen, don’t you see?”

A little after ten Mr. Fox, considering that Harry must be sound asleep, decided to make him a visit. He removed his shoes, and in his stocking feet, candle in hand, began to ascend the narrow and steep staircase which led to the attic.

“Shall I go with you, John?” queried his helpmeet.

“No, I guess I can manage alone.”

His wife wanted to share in the excitement of the night visit. There was something alluring in the thought of creeping upstairs, and removing by stealth, the pocketbook of the new inmate of their home.

Left to himself, Mr. Fox pursued his way up the attic stairs. They creaked a little under his weight, and, much to his annoyance, when he reached the landing at the top he coughed.

“I hope the boy won’t hear me,” he said to himself.

He paused an instant, then softly opened the door of Harry’s chamber.

All seemed satisfactory. Our hero was lying quietly in bed, apparently in a peaceful sleep. Ordinarily he would have been fast asleep by this time, but the expectation of a visit from his guardian had kept him awake beyond his usual time. He had heard Mr. Fox cough, and so, even before the door opened, he had warning of the visit.

Harry was not a nervous boy, and had such command of himself, that, even when Mr. Fox bent over, and, by the light of the candle, examined his face, he never stirred nor winked, though he very much wanted to laugh.

“All is safe! The boy is sound asleep,” whispered Mr. Fox to himself.

He set the candle on the floor, and then taking up Harry’s pantaloons, thrust his hand into the pocket.

The very first pocket contained the pocketbook which our hero had put there. Mr. Fox would have opened and examined the contents on the spot, but he heard a cough from the bed, and, quickly put the pocketbook into his own pocket, apprehending that his ward might wake up, and taking up the candle, noiselessly withdrew from the chamber.

After he had fairly gone, Harry had a quiet laugh to himself.

Mr. Fox returned in triumph to his own chamber, where his wife was anxiously waiting for him.

“Have you got it, Mr. F.,” she asked, eagerly.

“Got it? Why shouldn’t I get it?”

“Well, open it, and let us see what it contains.”

This Mr. Fox proceeded to do. But no sooner did his glance rest on its contents than his lower jaw fell, and his eyes opened wide in perplexity.

“Well, what are you staring at like a fool?” demanded his wife, who was not so situated that she could see the contents of the pocketbook.

“Look at this, Mrs. F.,” said her husband, in a hollow voice. “There’s no money here—only this piece of newspaper.”

“Well, well, of all the fools I ever saw you are about the most stupid!” ejaculated Mrs. Fox. “What you undertake you generally carry through, do you? After all the fuss you’ve brought down a pocketbook stuffed with waste paper.”

“I don’t understand it,” said Fox, his face assuming a look of perplexity. “Surely the boy told the truth when he said he had fifteen dollars.”

“Of course! Joel saw the money—a roll of bills, and saw him take them out of his pocketbook. He must have taken them out. Did you search all his pockets?”

“No; when I found the pocketbook I thought I was all right.”

“Just like a man!” retorted Mrs. Fox. “I’ll go up myself, and see if I can’t manage better than you.”

“Then you’d better take this wallet, and put it back in his pocket.”

“Give it to me, then.”

With a firm step Mrs. Fox took the candle, and took her turn in going up the attic stairs.

CHAPTER IV
MRS. FOX COMES TO GRIEF

Harry confidently anticipated a second visit to his chamber.

He was rather surprised when the door was again opened, and Mrs. Fox entered. Opening his eyes a little way, he saw her, after a brief glance at the bed, go to the chair containing his pantaloons, and put back the deceptive wallet. She was about to prosecute a further search, when Harry decided that matters had gone far enough. He did not fancy their night visits, and meant to stop them if he could.

Chance favored his design. A puff of air from the door, which Mrs. Fox had left wide open, extinguished the candle, and left the room, as there was no moon, in profound darkness.

“Drat the candle!” he heard Mrs. Fox say.

Then a mischievous idea came to Harry. In his native village lived a man who had passed a considerable time in the wild region beyond the Missouri River, and had mingled familiarly with the Indians. From him Harry had learned how to imitate the Indian warwhoop.

“I’ll scare the old lady,” thought Harry, smiling to himself.

Immediately there rang out from the bed, in the darkness and silence, a terrific warwhoop, given in Harry’s most effective style.

Mrs. Fox was not a nervous woman ordinarily, but she was undeniably frightened at the unexpected sound.

“Heavens and earth, what’s that?” she ejaculated, and dropping our hero’s clothes, retreated in disorder, almost stumbling downstairs in her precipitate flight. Dashing into the chamber where Mr. Fox was waiting for her, she sank into a chair, gasping for breath.

“Good gracious, Maria, what’s the matter?” exclaimed her husband, gazing at her in astonishment.

“I—don’t—know,” she gasped.

“You look as if you had seen a ghost.”

“I haven’t seen anything,” said his wife, recovering her breath, “but I’ve heard something terrible. It’s my belief the attic is haunted. I went upstairs and put back the wallet, and was looking to see if I could find another, when all at once the candle went out, and a terrible noise shook the chamber.”

“What was it like, Mrs. F.?”

“I can’t tell you. I never heard anything like it before. All I know is, I wouldn’t go up there again tonight for anything.”

“Did the boy sleep through it all?”

“How can I tell? The candle was out.”

“Perhaps he blew it out.”

“Perhaps you’re a fool Mr. Fox. It wasn’t near the bed, and he was fast asleep, for I looked at him. It made me think of—of Peter,” and Mrs. Fox shuddered.

Peter had been taken from the poorhouse three years ago by Mr. Fox, and apprenticed to him by the town authorities. According to popular report he had been cruelly treated and insufficiently fed, until he was taken sick and had died in the very bedroom where Mrs. Fox had been so frightened. This may explain how it was that a woman so strong-minded had had her nerves so easily upset.

“We won’t talk of Peter,” said Mr. Fox, shortly, for to him, also, the subject was an unpleasant one. “I suppose you didn’t find another wallet?”

“No, I didn’t. You can order the boy to give it up to-morrow. The best thing to do now is to go to bed and rest.”

The breakfast hour at the house of Mr. Fox was half past six. Harry was called at six, and was punctual at the table. Mr. Fox cast a suspicious glance at his ward, but the boy looked so perfectly unconcerned, that he acquitted him of any knowledge of the night visit.

“How did you sleep, Harry?” asked Mrs. Fox.

“Soundly, thank you,” answered Harry, politely.

“You didn’t hear any—strange noises, then?”

“No.”

“Now, Harry,” said Mr. Fox, after breakfast, “we may as well speak of our future arrangements. I have considerable to do on my twenty acres of land, and I can give you work here.”

“What compensation do you offer, sir?”

“As a boarder I should have to charge you five dollars a week for your board, and fifty cents extra for your washing—that would go to Mrs. Fox; as well as pay twenty-five cents a week for your mending. That also would go to my wife. Now, if you work for me, I will take off three dollars, making the charge to you only two dollars and seventy-five cents per week.”

“Don’t you think, Mr. Fox, that is rather low pay for my services?”

“I might say two dollars and a quarter,” said Mr. Fox, deliberating.

Harry smiled to himself. He had not the slightest idea of working for any such trifle, but he did not care to announce his determination yet.

“I will pay full price for a week, Mr. Fox,” he said, “and during that time I will consider your offer.”

“I may not offer you as favorable terms a week from now,” said Fox, who wanted to get his ward to work at once.

“I will take my chance of it, sir. I prefer to have a few days of freedom.”

“By the way, Harry, don’t you think you had better give me your money to keep? You might lose it.”

“You are very kind, Mr. Fox; but I am not afraid of losing it.”

After breakfast Harry went to walk. His steps naturally tended to the place where he had left the greater part of his treasure. It was possible that he had been seen hiding it, and he thought on the whole it would be better to find another place of concealment.

“Joel,” said his mother, “follow Harry, and see where he goes. He may be goin’ to hide his money. But don’t let him see you.”

“All right, mam; I’ll do it. I wish I had followed him yesterday.”

A position as detective would have suited Joel. Whatever was secret or stealthy had a charm for him.

In the present instance he managed to shadow Harry very successfully. The task was made easier, because our hero had no idea that anyone was following him.

“So he’s goin’ to the railroad,” said Joel, to himself

Arrived at the railroad track, Harry’s course diverged to the hillock, at the top of which he had concealed his treasure.

Joel posted himself at a point where he had a good view of the elevation, and could see what Harry was doing. He saw our hero digging at a particular spot, and concluded that he was going to hide the fifteen dollars there. What was his surprise and delight when he saw him dig up and expose to view a large roll of bills.

“Oh, cracky!” ejaculated Joel, “there must be a hundred dollars in that roll of bills. Wouldn’t dad open his eyes if he saw it?”

Unconscious of observation, Harry held the money in his hand and deliberated. Then he put it in his pocket, resolved to think over at his leisure its ultimate place of deposit.

Now, unfortunately for Joel, just at this moment he slipped from his perch on the branch of a small tree, and for about half a minute what Harry did was concealed from him. He clambered into the tree again, but only to see Harry filling up the hole again.

He didn’t want Harry to catch sight of him when he descended from the hill, and accordingly scuttled away sufficiently far to escape suspicion, yet not too far to entirely lose sight of Harry’s movements.

Five minutes later Harry descended from the hill, and bent his steps toward that part of the railway where the accident had occurred. Joel, who had hastened away in a different direction, went back to the hill as soon as he thought it would be safe, and eagerly ascended it. He found without difficulty the spot where Harry had been digging. With the help of a fragment of wood which he had picked up below, he in turn began to dig—his eyes glistening with expectation and cupidity.

He kept digging, but gradually became anxious, as the expected treasure did not show itself.

“I’m sure I have dug deep enough,” he said to himself.

“He must have took the money when I fell from the tree,” thought Joel, crestfallen. “He’s served me a mean trick. Won’t I tell dad, though, and get him into trouble? Oh, no!”

Meanwhile Harry, not knowing how narrowly he had escaped being robbed, pursued his way to the railway.

“If I were only in my old home,” he thought, “I would ask Mr. Howard to take care of it for me. Then I should know it was all right.”

He thought of the president of the railroad, to whom he was principally indebted for the money.

“If I could only see him,” he thought, “I would ask him to take care of it for me.”

What was his surprise, when, on reaching the depot, the first person on whom his eyes fell was the very gentleman of whom he was thinking.

“How do you do, sir?” said Harry, politely.

“Ah, my young friend that saved the train!” said the president cordially. “I hope you haven’t spent the money you received on riotous living.”

“No. Will you take care of it for me? I don’t want to spend it, and I am afraid of losing it.”

“Well, my boy, if you really desire it, I will take the money.”

“I shall regard it as a very great favor.”

No sooner said than done. They went into the depot and Harry, counting out two hundred and fifty dollars, passed it over to the president.

He made out a brief receipt, signing it, “Thomas Conway, President of the Craven County Railroad,” and Harry pocketed it with a feeling of relief.

While he was standing in front of the depot waiting for the arrival of the eight-thirty train, Joel came up.

“Goin’ a-travelin’?” asked Joel, with a grin.

“Not this morning.”

“I wish I had a hundred dollars!” continued Joel, surveying Harry sharply. “I’d make a journey out West. Say, Harry, did you ever have a hundred dollars in your pocket?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you’ve got it now?”

“Where should I get it?” demanded Harry.

“I do’no. Jest empty your pockets, and le’me see how much you’ve got.”

“Thank you; I don’t see any use in it,” said Harry.

“You dassent!”

“Very well! Call it that.”

“Joel’s been spying on me. He must have seen me on the hill,” concluded Harry. “It’s well I gave most of my money to Mr. Conway.”