Kitabı oku: «Robert Coverdale's Struggle: or, on the Wave of Success», sayfa 12
"I'll tell you what we'd better do, Mr. Badger. We'll go into our room and lock ourselves in."
"Let me come in, too," said Andrew. "He'll kill me! He hates me!"
"Yes, my darling, you may come, too!" said his mother.
So the valiant three locked themselves up in a chamber and listened nervously.
But Tom Tapley was already out of the house. He made his escape over the roof, fearing that the neighborhood would be roused and his safety endangered.
So passed a night of unparalleled excitement in the Badger homestead.
CHAPTER XXX
ATTACKED IN THE REAR
Early the next morning the three Badgers held a council of war.
It was unanimously decided that something must be done, but what that something should be it was not easy to determine.
Mr. Badger suggested that the town constable should be summoned.
"The boy has committed assault and battery upon our persons, Mrs.
Badger," he said, "and it is proper that he should be arrested."
"Shall I go for the constable?" asked Andrew Jackson. "I should like to have him put in jail. Then we should be safe."
"The constable would not be up so early, Andrew."
"Besides," said Mrs. Badger, "we shall be laughed at for not being able to take care of a single small-sized boy."
"You know what he is capable of, Mrs. Badger. At least you did when you came flyin' down the attic stairs into my arms!"
"Shut up, Mr. Badger," said his wife, who was ashamed when she remembered her panic. "You'd better not say anything. He got you on the floor and pounded you – you a full-grown man!"
"I'd like to pound him!" said Badger, setting his teeth hard.
"It's a pity if three of us can't manage him without calling in a constable," continued Mrs. Badger, who, on the whole, had more courage than her husband.
"What do you propose, wife?" asked Nathan.
"I propose that we all go up and seize him. He is probably asleep and can't give any trouble. We can tie him hand and foot before he wakes up."
"Capital!" said Mr. Badger, who was wonderfully assured by the thought that his young enemy might be asleep. "We'll go right up."
"He may be awake!" suggested Andrew Jackson.
"True. We must go well armed. I'll carry the gun. It will do to knock the pistol out of his hand before he gets a chance to use it."
"Perhaps so," assented Mrs. Badger.
"And you, Andrew Jackson, what can you take?"
"I'll take the poker," said the heroic Andrew.
"Very good! We had better arm ourselves as soon as possible or he may wake up. By the way, Mr. Badger, where is the ball of twine? It will be useful to tie the boy's hands."
"If his hands are tied he can't work."
"No, but I will only keep them tied while I give him a thrashing. You can take possession of his pistol and hide it. When he is thoroughly subdued we will untie him and send him to work."
"Without his breakfast?" suggested Andrew.
"No, he has already fasted since yesterday morning, and it may make him desperate. He shall have some breakfast, and that will give him strength to work."
Andrew Jackson was rather disappointed at the decision that Bill was to have breakfast, but on this point he did not venture to oppose his father.
The plan of campaign having been decided upon, it only remained to carry it out.
Mr. Badger took the old musket and headed the procession. His wife slipped downstairs and returned with the kitchen broom and a poker. The last she put in the hands of her son.
"Use it, Andrew Jackson, if occasion requires. You may be called upon to defend your father and mother. Should such be the case, do not flinch, but behave like a hero."
"I will, ma!" exclaimed Andrew, fired perhaps by the example of the great general after whom he was named. "But you and pa must tackle him first."
"We will!" exclaimed the intrepid matron. "The disgraceful scenes of last evening must not again be enacted. This time we march to certain victory. Mr. Badger, go on, and I will follow."
The three, in the order arranged, advanced to the foot of the stairs, and Mr. Badger slowly and cautiously mounted them, pausing before the door of the room that contained, as he supposed, the desperate boy.
"Shall I speak to him before entering?" he asked in a tone of indecision, turning back to his wife.
"Certainly not; it will put him on his guard. Keep as still as you can.
We want to surprise him."
To account for what followed it must be stated that Dick Schmidt awakened his visitor early and the two went down to breakfast. Mr. Schmidt was going to the market town and found it necessary to breakfast at five o'clock. This happened fortunately for Bill, as he was able to obtain a much better breakfast there than at home.
When breakfast was over he said soberly:
"Dick, I must go back."
"Why do you go back at all?" said Dick impulsively.
"I must. It is the only home I have."
"I wish you could stay with me."
"So do I, but Mr. Badger would come after me."
"I suppose he would. Do you think he will flog you?"
"I am sure he will."
"I'd like to flog him – the brute! Don't take it too hard, Bill. You'll be a man some time, and then no one can punish you."
Poor Bill! As he took his lonely way back to the house of his tyrannical employer in the early morning he could not help wishing that he was already a man and his days of thraldom were over. He was barely sixteen. Five long, weary years lay before him.
"I'll try to stand it, though it's hard," murmured Bill. "I suppose he's very mad because I wasn't home last night. But I'm glad I went. I had two good meals and a quiet night's sleep."
It was not long before he came in sight of home.
Probably no one was up in the Badger household. Usually Bill was the first to get up and Mrs. Badger next, for Andrew Jackson and his father were neither of them fond of early rising.
The front and back doors were no doubt locked, but Bill knew how to get in.
He went to the shed, raised a window and clambered in.
"Perhaps I can get up to my room without anybody hearing me," he reflected.
He passed softly through the front room into the entry and up the front stairs. All was quiet. Bill concluded that no one was up. He came to the foot of the attic stairs, and his astonished gaze rested on the three Badgers, armed respectively with a gun, a broom and a poker, all on their way to his room.
"Were they going to murder me?" he thought.
Just then Andrew Jackson, who led the rear, and was therefore nearest to
Bill, looked back and saw the terrible foe within three feet of him.
He uttered a loud yell, and, scarcely knowing what he was about, brought down the poker with force on his mother's back, at the same time crying:
"There he is, ma!"
Mrs. Badger, in her flurry, struck her husband with the broom, while her husband, equally panic-stricken, fired the musket. It was overloaded, and, as a natural result, "kicked," overthrowing Mr. Badger, who in his downward progress carried with him his wife and son.
Astonished and terrified, Bill turned and fled, leaving the house in the same way he entered it. He struck across the fields and in that moment decided that he would never return to Mr. Badger unless he was dragged there. He felt sure that if he did he would be murdered.
He had no plans except to get away. He saw Dick Schmidt, bade him a hurried good-by and took the road toward the next town.
For three days he traveled, indebted to compassionate farmers for food. But excitement and fatigue finally overcame him, and he sank by the roadside, about fifty miles from the town of Dexter, whence he had started on his pilgrimage.
CHAPTER XXXI
BILL BENTON FINDS A FRIEND
Late one afternoon Robert Coverdale reached Columbus on his Western trip. The next day he was to push on to the town of Dexter, where he had information that the boy of whom he was in search lived.
The train, however, did not leave till eleven o'clock in the forenoon, and Robert felt justified in devoting his leisure hours to seeing what he could of the city and its surroundings.
He took an early breakfast and walked out into the suburbs.
As he strolled along a little boy, about seven years old, ran to meet him.
"Please, mister," he said, "won't you come quick? There's a boy layin' by the road back there, and I guess he's dead!"
Robert needed no second appeal. His heart was warm and he liked to help others when he could.
"Show me where, bub," he said.
The little fellow turned and ran back, Robert keeping pace with him.
By the roadside, stretched out, pale and with closed eyes, lay the poor bound boy, known as Bill Benton.
He was never very strong, and the scanty fare to which he had been confined had sapped his physical strength.
Robert, at first sight, thought he was dead. He bent down and put his hand upon the boy's heart. It was beating, though faintly.
"Is he dead, mister?" asked the boy.
"No, but he has fainted away. Is there any water near by?"
Yes, there was a spring close at hand, the little boy said.
Robert ran to it, soaked his handkerchief in it, and, returning, laved the boy's face. The result was encouraging.
Bill opened his eyes and asked in a wondering tone:
"Where am I?"
"You are with a friend," said Robert soothingly. "How do you feel?"
"I am very tired and weak," murmured Bill.
"Are you traveling?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
Robert thought that the boy's mind might be wandering, but continued:
"Have you no friends in Columbus?"
"No. I have no friends anywhere!" answered Bill sorrowfully, "except
Dick Schmidt."
"I suppose Dick is a boy?"
"Yes."
"Where have you been living?"
"You won't take me back there?" said Bill uneasily.
"I won't take you anywhere where you don't want to go. I want to be your friend, if you will let me."
"I should like a friend," answered Bill slowly. Then, examining the kind, boyish face that was bent over him, he said, "I like you."
"Have you had anything to eat to-day?" asked Robert.
"No."
"Will you go with me to my hotel?"
"I have no money."
"Poor boy!" thought Robert, "it is easy enough to see that."
Bill's ragged clothes were assurance enough of the truth of what he said.
"I must take care of this poor boy," thought Robert. "It will delay me, but I can't leave him."
He heard the sound of approaching wheels, and, looking up, saw a man approaching in a wagon. Robert signaled him to stop.
"I want to take this boy to the hotel," he said, "but he has not strength enough to walk. Will you take us aboard? I will pay you a fair price."
"Poor little chap! He looks sick, that's a fact!" said the kind-hearted countryman. "Yes, I'll give you both a lift, and I won't ask a cent."
There was some surprise felt at the hotel when Robert appeared with his new-found friend. Some of the servants looked askance at the ragged clothes, but Robert said quietly:
"I will pay for him," and no objection was made.
When Bill was undressed and put to bed and had partaken of a refreshing breakfast he looked a great deal brighter and seemed much more cheerful.
"You are very kind," he said to Robert.
"I hope somebody would do as much for me if I needed it," answered
Robert. "Do you mind telling me about yourself?"
"I will tell anything you wish," said Bill, who now felt perfect confidence in his new friend.
"What is your name?"
"Bill Benton; at any rate, that's what they call me."
"Don't you think it's your real name, then?"
"No."
"Have you any remembrance of your real name?" asked Robert, not dreaming of the answer he would receive.
"When I was a little boy they called me Julian, but – "
"Julian!" repeated Robert eagerly.
"Yes."
"Can you tell what was your last name?" asked Robert quickly.
Bill shook his head.
"No, I don't remember."
"Tell me," said Robert, "did you live with a man named Badger in the town of Dexter?"
The sick boy started and seemed extremely surprised.
"How did you find out?" he asked. "Did Mr. Badger send you for me?"
"I never saw Mr. Badger in my life."
Bill – er perhaps I ought to say Julian – looked less anxious.
"Yes," he said, "but he treated me badly and I ran away."
"Did you ever hear of a man named Charles Waldo?"
"Yes, he was the man that sent me to Mr. Badger."
"It's a clear case!" thought Robert, overjoyed, "I have no doubt now that I have found the hermit's son. Poor boy, how he must have suffered!"
"Julian," said he, "do you know why I am traveling – what brought me here? But of course you don't. I came to find you."
"To find me? But you said – "
"No, it was not Mr. Badger nor Mr. Waldo that sent me. They are your enemies. The one that sent me is your friend. Julian, how would you like to have a father?"
"My father is dead."
"Who told you so?"
"Mr. Waldo. He told Mr. Badger so."
"He told a falsehood, then. You have a father, and as soon as you are well enough I'll take you to him."
"Will he be kind to me?"
"Do not fear. For years he has grieved for you, supposing you dead. Once restored to him, you will have everything to make you happy. Your father is a rich man, and you won't be overworked again."
"What is my father's name?" asked Julian.
"His name is Gilbert Huet."
"Huet! Yes, that's the name!" exclaimed Julian eagerly. "I remember it now. My name used to be Julian Huet, but Mr. Waldo was always angry whenever any one called me by that name, and so he changed it to Bill Benton."
"He must be a great scoundrel," said Robert. "Now, Julian, I will tell you my plan. I don't believe there is anything the matter with you except the want of rest and good food. You shall have both. You also want some new clothes."
"Yes," said Julian, looking at the ragged suit which now hung over a chair. "I should like some new clothes."
A doctor was called, who confirmed Robert's opinion.
"The youngster will be all right in a week or ten days," he said. "All he wants is rest and good living."
"How soon will he be able to travel?"
"In a week, at the outside."
During this week Robert's attention was drawn to the following paragraph in a copy of the Dexter Times, a small weekly paper, which he found in the reading room of the hotel:
"A DESPERATE YOUNG RUFFIAN. – We understand that a young boy in the service of Mr. Nathan Badger, one of our most respected citizens, has disappeared under very extraordinary circumstances. The evening previous to his departure he made an unprovoked attack upon Mr. and Mrs. Badger, actually throwing Mr. Badger downstairs and firing a pistol at Mrs. Badger. He was a small, slight boy, but the strength he exhibited was remarkable in thus coping successfully with a strong man. Mr. Badger thinks the boy must have been suddenly attacked by insanity of a violent character."
"What does this mean, Julian?" asked Robert, reading the paragraph to his young protege.
"I don't know," answered Julian, astonished. "I spent the last night before I came away with my friend Dick Schmidt."
In a few days Julian looked quite another boy. His color began to return and his thin form to fill out, while his face wore a peaceful and happy expression.
In a new and handsome suit of clothes he looked like a young gentleman and not at all like Bill Benton, the bound boy. He was devotedly attached to Robert, the more so because he had never before – as far as his memory went – received so much kindness from any one as from him.
"Now," thought Robert, "I am ready to go back to Cook's Harbor and restore Julian to his father."
CHAPTER XXXII
ONCE MORE IN COOK'S HARBOR
Various had been the conjectures in Cook's Harbor as to what had become of Robert Coverdale.
Upon this point the hermit was the only person who could have given authentic information, but no one thought of applying to him.
Naturally questions were put to Mrs. Trafton, but she herself had a very vague idea of Robert's destination, and, moreover, she had been warned not to be communicative.
Mr. Jones, the landlord, supposed he had gone to try to raise the amount of his mortgage among distant relatives, but on this point he felt no anxiety.
"He won't succeed," said he to his wife; "you may depend on that. I don't believe he's got any relations that have money, and, even if he has, they're goin' to think twice before they give a boy two hundred dollars on the security of property they don't know anything about."
"What do you intend to do with the cottage, Mr. Jones?"
"It's worth five hundred dollars, and I can get more than the interest of five hundred dollars in the way of rent."
"Is anybody likely to hire it?"
"John Shelton's oldest son talks of getting married. He'll be glad to hire it of me."
"What's to become of Mrs. Trafton?"
"I don't know and I don't care," answered the landlord carelessly. "The last time I called she was impudent to me; came near ordering me out of the house till I made her understand that I had more right to the house than she had."
"She puts on a good many airs for a poor woman," said Mrs. Jones. "It's too ridiculous for a woman like her to be proud."
"If anything, she isn't as bad as that young whelp. Bob Coverdale. The boy actually told me I wasn't respectful enough to his precious aunt. I wonder if they'll be respectful to her in the poorhouse – where it's likely she'll fetch up?"
"I don't see where the boy got money enough to go off," said Mrs.
Jones.
"He didn't need much to get to Boston or New York. He's probably blackin' boots or sellin' papers in one of the two."
"I hope he is. I wonder how that sort of work will suit the young gentleman?"
"To-morrow the time's up, and I shall foreclose the mortgage. I'll fix up the place a little and then offer it to young Shelton. I guess he'll be willin' to pay me fifty dollars a year rent, and that'll be pretty good interest on my two hundred dollars."
"Have you given Mrs. Trafton any warning?"
"No, why should I? She knows perfectly well when the time is out, and she's had time to get the money. If she's got it, well and good, but if she hasn't, she can't complain. Oh, there's young Shelton," said the landlord, looking out of the window.
"I'll call him and see if we can make a bargain about renting the cottage."
"Frank Shelton!" called out Mr. Jones, raising the window.
The young fisherman paused.
"Come in; I want to speak to you."
Frank Shelton turned in from the street and the landlord commenced his attack.
"Frank, folks say you're thinkin' of gettin' married?"
"Maybe I shall," said the young man bashfully.
"Whereabouts do you cal'late to live?"
"Well, I don't know any place."
"What do you say to the Widder Trafton's house?"
"Is she goin' to leave?"
"I think she'll have to. Fact is, Frank, I've got a mortgage on the place which she can't pay, and I'll have to foreclose. You can have it as soon as you want it."
"How much rent did you cal'late to ask, Mr. Jones?"
"I'd ought to have five dollars a month, but, seein' it's you," said the politic landlord, "you may have it for fifty dollars a year."
"I'll speak to Nancy about it," said the young fisherman. "I don't want to turn Mrs. Trafton out, but if she's got to go, I suppose I might as well hire the house as any one else."
"Just so. I tell you, Frank, I'm offerin' you a bargain."
Just then Frank Shelton, who was looking out of the window, exclaimed in surprise:
"Why, there's Bob Coverdale!"
"Where?"
"He just walked by, with a smaller boy alongside."
"You don't say so!" uttered Mr. Jones, hardly knowing whether to be glad or sorry. "Well, he's come in time to bid good-by to his old home. I'll go up to-morrow, first thing, and settle this matter. I s'pose they'll try to beg off, but it won't be any use."
Robert had written to the hermit from Columbus a letter which conveyed the glad tidings of his success. It filled the heart of the recluse with a great and abounding joy.
Life seemed wholly changed for him. Now he felt that he had something to live for, and he determined to change his course of life entirely. He would move to Boston or New York and resume the social position which he had abandoned. There he would devote himself to the training and education of his boy.
And Robert – yes, he would richly reward the boy who had restored to him the son lost so long. He would not yet decide what he would do for him, but he felt that there was no reward too great for such a service.
He knew on what day to expect the two boys, for Robert had informed him by letter. Restless, he waited for the moment which should restore his son to his arms. He took a position on the beach in front of the entrance to the cave and looked anxiously for the approach of the two boys.
No longer was he clad in his hermit dress, but from a trunk he had drawn out a long-disused suit, made for him in other days by a fashionable tailor on Broadway, and he had carefully trimmed and combed his neglected locks.
"My boy must not be ashamed of my appearance," he said proudly. "My hermit life is over. Henceforth I will live as a man among men."
Presently his waiting glance was rewarded. Two boys, one of whom he recognized as Robert, descended the cliff and walked briskly toward him on the firm sand beach.
He did not wait now, but hurried toward them. He fixed his eyes eagerly upon the second boy.
Julian had much improved in appearance since we first made his acquaintance. It does not take long to restore strength and bloom into a boy of sixteen. He was slender still, but the hue of health mantled his cheeks; he was no longer sad, but hopeful, and in his delicate and refined features his father could see a strong resemblance to the wife he had lost.
"Julian!" said Robert Coverdale, "that's your father who is coming. Let him see that you are glad to meet him.
"Mr. Huet," he said, "this is your son."
"You do not need to tell me. He is too like his mother. Julian, my boy,
Heaven be praised that has restored you to me!"
It is hardly to be expected that Julian should feel the rapture that swelled the father's heart, for the thought of having a father at all was still new and strange, but it was not long before he learned to love him.
The poor boy had received so little kindness that his father's warm affection touched his heart, and he felt glad and happy to have such a protector.
"God bless and reward you, Robert!" said Mr. Huet, taking the hand of our hero. "You shall find that I am not ungrateful for this great service. I want to talk to my boy alone for a time, but I will come to your aunt's house to supper with Julian. Please tell her so, and ask her to let it be a good one."
"I will, Mr. Huet."
From Julian his father drew the story of his years of hardship and ill treatment, and his heart was stirred with indignation as he thought of the cruelty of the relative who had subjected him and his son to that long period of grief and suffering.
"Your trials are over now, Julian," he said. "You will be content to live with me, will you not?"
"Will Robert live with us?" asked the boy.
"Do you like Robert?" asked his father.
"I love him like a brother," said Julian impulsively. "You don't know how kind he has been to me, father!"
"Yes, Robert shall live with us, if he will," said Mr. Huet. "I will speak about it to him tomorrow."
"Will you live here, father?"
"Oh, no! You must be educated. I shall take you to Boston or New York, and there you shall have every advantage that money can procure. Hitherto I have not cared to be rich. Now, Julian, I value money for your sake."
Together they went to Mrs. Trafton's cottage to supper.
"What makes you look so sober, Robert?" asked Mr. Huet, observing that the boy looked grave.
"I have heard that Mr. Jones will foreclose his mortgage to-morrow."
"Not if you pay it," said Mr. Huet quietly. "Come with me after supper, and I will hand you all the money you require."
Robert was about to express his gratitude, but Mr. Huet stopped him.
"You owe me no thanks," he said. "It is only the first installment of a great debt which I can never wholly repay."
