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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5673-0.txt b/5673-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..53fc363 --- /dev/null +++ b/5673-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8425 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Young Musician, by Horatio Alger + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Young Musician + or, Fighting His Way + +Author: Horatio Alger + +Release Date: August 7, 2002 [eBook #5673] +[Most recently updated: May 29, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Carrie Fellman + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG MUSICIAN *** + + + + +The Young Musician +or +Fighting His Way + +by Horatio Alger + +Chicago + + +Contents + + CHAPTER I. A CANDIDATE FOR THE POORHOUSE + CHAPTER II. PHILIP AT HOME + CHAPTER III. NICK HOLDEN’S CALL + CHAPTER IV. THE AUCTION + CHAPTER V. AN ALLIANCE AGAINST PHILIP + CHAPTER VI. FUSS ABOUT A FIDDLE + CHAPTER VII. MR. JOE TUCKER + CHAPTER VIII. IN THE ENEMY’S HANDS + CHAPTER IX. THE POORHOUSE + CHAPTER X. BAD TIDINGS + CHAPTER XI. PHILIP’S NEW ROOM + CHAPTER XII. A PAUPER’S MEAL + CHAPTER XIII. A FRIENDLY MISSION + CHAPTER XIV. PHILIP MAKES HIS ESCAPE + CHAPTER XV. ESCAPE AND FLIGHT + CHAPTER XVI. A NIGHT ADVENTURE + CHAPTER XVII. A REFORMED BURGLAR + CHAPTER XVIII. A PROFESSIONAL ENGAGEMENT + CHAPTER XIX. NEW ACQUAINTANCES + CHAPTER XX. A LIVELY EVENING + CHAPTER XXI. FORTUNE SMILES AGAIN + CHAPTER XXII. RIVAL MUSICIANS + CHAPTER XXIII. AN HOUR OF TRIUMPH + CHAPTER XXIV. LORENZO RICCABOCCA + CHAPTER XXV. A CHANGE OF NAME + CHAPTER XXVI. A PROMISING PLAN + CHAPTER XXVII. UNEXPECTED HONORS + CHAPTER XXVIII. A TRIUMPHANT SUCCESS + CHAPTER XXIX. BESET BY CREDITORS + CHAPTER XXX. A TIMELY GIFT + CHAPTER XXXI. THE PROFESSOR’S FLIGHT + CHAPTER XXXII. THE RACE ACROSS FIELDS + CHAPTER XXXIII. THE LOST WALLET + CHAPTER XXXIV. A NEW BUSINESS PROPOSAL + CHAPTER XXXV. SQUIRE POPE IS AMAZED + CHAPTER XXXVI. THE PRETENDED GUARDIAN + CHAPTER XXXVII. HIS OWN MASTER + CHAPTER XXXVIII. AN OFFER DECLINED + CHAPTER XXXIX. AN AMBITIOUS WAYFARER + CHAPTER XL. THE INDIAN HUNTER + CHAPTER XLI. AN ADVENTURE IN THE WOODS + CHAPTER XLII. AN INDIAN AT LAST + CHAPTER XLIII. A WELCOME LETTER + CHAPTER XLIV. A FRESH START + + + + +CHAPTER I. +A CANDIDATE FOR THE POORHOUSE. + + +“As for the boy,” said Squire Pope, with his usual autocratic air, “I +shall place him in the poorhouse.” + +“But, Benjamin,” said gentle Mrs. Pope, who had a kindly and +sympathetic heart, “isn’t that a little hard?” + +“Hard, Almira?” said the squire, arching his eyebrows. “I fail to +comprehend your meaning.” + +“You know Philip has been tenderly reared, and has always had a +comfortable home—” + +“He will have a comfortable home now, Mrs. Pope. Probably you are not +aware that it cost the town two thousand dollars last year to maintain +the almshouse. I can show you the item in the town report.” + +“I don’t doubt it at all, husband,” said Mrs. Pope gently. “Of course +you know all about it, being a public man.” + +Squire Pope smiled complacently. It pleased him to be spoken of as a +public man. + +“Ahem! Well, yes, I believe I have no inconsiderable influence in town +affairs,” he responded. “I am on the board of selectmen, and am +chairman of the overseers of the poor, and in that capacity I shall +convey Philip Gray to the comfortable and well-ordered institution +which the town has set apart for the relief of paupers.” + +“I don’t like to think of Philip as a pauper,” said Mrs. Pope, in a +deprecating tone. + +“What else is he?” urged her husband. “His father hasn’t left a cent. +He never was a good manager.” + +“Won’t the furniture sell for something, Benjamin?” + +“It will sell for about enough to pay the funeral expenses and +outstanding debts—that is all.” + +“But it seems so hard for a boy well brought up to go to the +poorhouse.” + +“You mean well, Almira, but you let your feelings run away with you. +You may depend upon it, it is the best thing for the boy. But I must +write a letter in time for the mail.” + +Squire Pope rose from the breakfast-table and walked out of the room +with his usual air of importance. Not even in the privacy of the +domestic circle did he forget his social and official importance. + +Who was Squire Pope? + +We already know that he held two important offices in the town of +Norton. He was a portly man, and especially cultivated dignity of +deportment. Being in easy circumstances, and even rich for the resident +of a village, he was naturally looked up to and credited with a worldly +sagacity far beyond what he actually possessed. + +At any rate, he may be considered the magnate of Norton. Occasionally +he visited New York, and had been very much annoyed to find that his +rural importance did not avail him there, and that he was treated with +no sort of deference by those whom he had occasion to meet. Somehow, +the citizens of the commercial metropolis never suspected for a single +moment that he was a great man. + +When Squire Pope had finished his letter, he took his hat, and with +measured dignity, walked to the village post-office. + +He met several of his neighbors there, and greeted them with affable +condescension. He was polite to those of all rank, as that was +essential to his retaining the town offices, which he would have been +unwilling to resign. + +From the post-office the squire, as he remembered the conversation +which had taken place at the breakfast-table, went to make an official +call on the boy whose fate he had so summarily decided. + +Before the call, it may be well to say a word about Philip Gray, our +hero, and the circumstances which had led to his present destitution. + +His father had once been engaged in mercantile business, but his health +failed, his business suffered, and he found it best—indeed, +necessary—to settle up his affairs altogether and live in quiet +retirement in Norton. + +The expenses of living there were small, but his resources were small, +also, and he lived just long enough to exhaust them. + +It was this thought that gave him solicitude on his death-bed, for he +left a boy of fifteen wholly unprovided for. + +Let us go back a week and record what passed at the last interview +between Philip and his father before the latter passed into the state +of unconsciousness which preceded death. + +“Are you in pain, father?” asked Philip, with earnest sympathy, as his +father lay outstretched on the bed, his face overspread by the deathly +pallor which was the harbinger of dissolution. + +“Not of the body, Philip,” said Mr. Gray. “That is spared me, but I own +that my mind is ill at ease.” + +“Do you mind telling me why, father!” + +“No; for it relates to you, my son, or, rather, to your future. When my +affairs are settled, I fear there will be nothing left for your +support. I shall leave you penniless.” + +“If that is all, father, don’t let that trouble you.” + +“I am afraid, Philip, you don’t realize what it is to be thrown upon +the cold charities of the world.” + +“I shall work for my living,” said Philip confidently. + +“You will have to do that, I’m afraid, Philip.” + +“But I am not afraid to work, father. Didn’t you tell me one day that +many of our most successful men had to work their way up from early +poverty!” + +“Yes, that is true; but a boy cannot always get the chance to earn his +living. Of one thing I am glad; you have a good education for a boy of +your age. That is always a help.” + +“Thanks to you, father.” + +“Yes; though an invalid, I have, at all events, been able to give +private attention to your education, and to do better for you than the +village school would have done. I wish I had some relative to whom I +might consign you, but you will be alone in the world.” + +“Have I no relatives?” asked Philip. + +“Your mother was an only child, and I had but one brother.” + +“What became of him, father?” + +“He got into trouble when he was a young man, and left the country. +Where he went to I have no idea. Probably he went first to Europe, and +I heard a rumor, at one time, that he had visited Australia. But that +was twenty years ago, and as I have heard nothing of him since, I think +it probable that he is dead. Even if he were living, and I knew where +he was, I am not sure whether he would make a safe guardian for you.” + +“Have you any advice to give me, father?” asked Philip, after a pause. +“Whatever your wishes may be, I will try to observe them.” + +“I do not doubt it, Philip. You have always been an obedient son, and +have been considerate of my weakness. I will think it over, and try to +give you some directions which may be of service to you. Perhaps I may +be able to think of some business friend to whom I can commend you.” + +“You have talked enough, father,” said Philip, noticing his father’s +increasing pallor and the evident exertion with which he spoke. “Rest +now, and to-morrow we can talk again.” + +Mr. Gray was evidently in need of rest. He closed his eyes and +apparently slept. But he never awoke to consciousness. The conversation +above recorded was the last he was able to hold with his son. For two +days he remained in a kind of stupor, and at the end of that time he +died. + +Philip’s grief was not violent. He had so long anticipated his father’s +death that it gave him only a mild shock. + +Friends and neighbors made the necessary arrangements for the funeral, +and the last services were performed. Then, at length, Philip realized +that he had lost his best earthly friend, and that he was henceforth +alone in the world. He did not as yet know that Squire Pope had +considerately provided him with a home in the village poorhouse. + + + + +CHAPTER II. +PHILIP AT HOME. + + +When the funeral was over, Frank Dunbar, whom Philip regarded as his +most intimate friend, came up to him. + +“Philip,” he said, “my mother would like to have you spend a few days +with us while you are deciding what to do.” + +“Thank you, Frank!” answered Philip. “But until the auction I shall +remain at home. I shall soon enough be without a home.” + +“But it will be very lonely for you,” objected Frank. + +“No; I shall have my thoughts for company. When I am alone I can think +best of my future plans.” + +“Won’t you come to our house to meals, then?” + +“Thank you, Frank! I will do that.” + +“When is the auction to be?” + +“To-day is Monday. It is appointed for Thursday.” + +“I hope there will be something left for you.” + +“There will be about enough left to pay my father’s small debts and his +funeral expenses. I would not like to have him indebted to others for +those. I don’t think there will be anything over.” + +Frank looked perplexed. + +“I am sorry for you, Phil,” he said. “I wish we were rich, instead of +having hard work to make both ends meet. You would not lack for +anything then.” + +“Dear Frank,” said Philip earnestly, “I never doubted your true +friendship. But I am not afraid that I shall suffer. I am sure I can +earn my living.” + +“But why do you shut yourself up alone, Philip?” asked Frank, not +satisfied to leave his friend in what he considered the gloomy solitude +of a house just visited by death. + +“I want to look over my father’s papers. I may find out something that +I ought to know, and after the auction it will be too late. Father had +some directions to give me, but he did not live long enough to do it. +For three days I have the house to myself. After that I shall perhaps +never visit it again.” + +“Don’t be downhearted, Philip,” said Frank, pressing his hand with +boyish sympathy. + +“I don’t mean to be, Frank. I am naturally cheerful and hopeful. I +shall miss my poor father sadly: but grieving will not bring him back. +I must work for my living, and as I have no money to depend upon, I +cannot afford to lose any time in forming my plans.” + +“You will come over to our house and take your meals!” + +“Yes, Frank.” + +Frank Dunbar’s father was a small farmer, who, as Frank had said, found +it hard work to make both ends meet. Among all the village boys, he was +the one whom Philip liked best, though there were many others whose +fathers were in better circumstances. For this, however, Philip cared +little. Rich or poor, Frank suited him, and they had always been known +as chums, to adopt the term used by the boys in the village. + +It may be thought that as Philip’s circumstances were no better, such +an intimacy was natural enough. But Philip Gray possessed special +gifts, which made his company sought after. He was a fine singer, and +played with considerable skill on the violin—an accomplishment derived +from his father, who had acted as his teacher. Then he was of a +cheerful temperament, and this is a gift which usually renders the +possessor popular, unless marred by positive defects or bad qualities. +There were two or three young snobs in the village who looked down upon +Philip on account of his father’s poverty, but most were very glad to +associate with our hero, and have him visit their homes. He was +courteous to all, but made no secret of his preference for Frank +Dunbar. + +When Philip parted from Frank, and entered the humble dwelling which +had been his own and his father’s home for years, there was a sense of +loneliness and desolation which came over him at first. + +His father was the only relative whom he knew, and his death, +therefore, left the boy peculiarly, alone in the world. Everything +reminded him of his dead father. But he did not allow himself to dwell +upon thoughts that would depress his spirits and unfit him for the work +that lay before him. + +He opened his father’s desk and began to examine his papers. There was +no will, for there was nothing to leave, but in one compartment of the +desk was a thick wallet, which he opened. + +In it, among some receipted bills, was an envelope, on which was +written, in his father’s well-known hand: + +“The contents of this envelope are probably of no value, but it will be +as well to preserve the certificate of stock. There is a bare +possibility that it may some day be worth a trifle.” + +Philip opened the envelope and found a certificate for a hundred shares +of the Excelsior Gold Mine, which appeared to be located in California. +He had once heard his father speak of it in much the same terms as +above. + +“I may as well keep it,” reflected Philip. “It will probably amount to +nothing, but there won’t be much trouble in carrying around the +envelope.” He also found a note of hand for a thousand dollars, signed +by Thomas Graham. + +Attached to it was a slip of paper, on which he read, also in his +father’s writing: + +“This note represents a sum of money lent to Thomas Graham, when I was +moderately prosperous. It is now outlawed, and payment could not be +enforced, even if Graham were alive and possessed the ability to pay. +Five years since, he left this part of the country for some foreign +country, and is probably dead, and I have heard nothing from him in all +that time. It will do no harm, and probably no good, to keep his note.” + +“I will keep it,” decided Philip. “It seems that this and the mining +shares are all that father had to leave me. They will probably never +yield me a cent, but I will keep them in remembrance of him.” + +Phillip found his father’s watch. It was an old-fashioned gold watch, +but of no great value even when new. Now, after twenty years’ use, it +would command a very small price at the coming sale. + +Ever since Philip had been old enough to notice anything, he remembered +this watch, which was so closely identified with his father that more +than anything else it called him to mind. Philip looked at it wistfully +as it lay in his hand. “I wish I could keep it,” he said to himself. +“No one else will value it much, but it would always speak to me of my +father. I wonder if I might keep it?” + +Philip had a mind to put it into his pocket, but the spirit of honesty +forbade. + +“It must be sold,” he said, with a sigh. “Without it there wouldn’t be +enough to pay what we owe, and when I leave Norton, I don’t want any +one to say that my father died in his debt.” + +There was nothing else in the desk which called for particular notice +or appeared to be of any special value. After a careful examination, +Philip closed it and looked around at the familiar furniture of the few +rooms which the house contained. + +There was one object which he personally valued more than anything +else. This was his violin, on which he had learned all that he knew of +playing. His father had bought it for him four years before. It was not +costly, but it was of good tone, and Philip had passed many pleasant +hours in practicing on it. + +“I can take this violin, at any rate,” said Philip to himself. “It +belongs to me, and no one else has a claim on it. I think I will take +it with me and leave it at Frank Dunbar’s, so that it needn’t get into +the sale.” + +He put back the violin into the case and laid it on one side. Then he +sat down in the arm-chair, which had been his father’s favorite seat, +and tried to fix his mind upon the unknown future which lay before him. + +He had sat there for half an hour, revolving in his mind various +thoughts and plans, when he heard a tap on the window, and looking up, +saw through the pane the coarse, red face of Nick Holden, a young +fellow of eighteen, the son of the village butcher. + +“Let me in!” said Nick; “I want to see you on business.” + + + + +CHAPTER III. +NICK HOLDEN’S CALL. + + +Philip had never liked Nick Holden. He was a coarse, rough-looking boy, +his reddish face one mass of freckles, and about as unattractive as a +person could be, without absolute deformity. This, however, was not the +ground for Philip’s dislike. + +With all his unattractiveness, Nick might have possessed qualities +which would have rightly made him popular. So far from this, however, +he was naturally mean, selfish, and a bully, with very slight regard +for truth. + +Will it be believed that, in spite of his homely face, Nick really +thought himself good-looking and aspired to be a beau? For this reason +he had often wished that he possessed Philip’s accomplishment of being +able to play upon the violin. + +His conversational powers were rather limited, and he felt at a loss +when he undertook to make himself fascinating to the young ladies in +the village. If he could only play on the violin like Philip he thought +he would be irresistible. + +He had therefore conceived the design of buying Philip’s instrument for +a trifle, judging that our hero would feel compelled to sell it. + +The reader will now understand the object which led to Nick’s call so +soon after the funeral of Mr. Gray. He was afraid some one else might +forestall him in gaining possession of the coveted instrument. + +When Philip saw who his visitor was, he was not overjoyed. It was with +reluctance that he rose and gave admission to Nick. + +“I thought I would call around and see you, Phil,” said Nick, as he sat +down in the most comfortable chair in the room. + +“Thank you,” responded Phil coldly. + +“The old man went off mighty sudden,” continued Nicholas, with +characteristic delicacy. + +“Do you mean my father?” inquired Philip. + +“Of course I do. There ain’t any one else dead, is there!” + +“I had been expecting my poor father’s death for some time,” said +Philip gravely. + +“Just so! He wa’n’t very rugged. We’ve all got to come to it sooner or +later. I expect dad’ll die of apoplexy some time—he’s so awful fat,” +remarked Nicholas cheerfully. “If he does, it’s lucky he’s got me to +run the business. I’m only eighteen, but I can get along as well as +anybody. I’m kinder smart in business.” + +“I am glad you are smart in anything,” thought Philip; for he knew that +Nick was a hopeless dunce in school duties. + +“I hope your father’ll live a good while,” he said politely. + +“Yes, of course,” said Nick lightly. “I’d be sorry to have the old man +pop off; but then you never can tell about such a thing as that.” + +Philip did not relish the light way in which Nick referred to such a +loss as he was suffering from, and, by way of changing the subject, +said: + +“I believe you said you came on business, Nicholas?” + +“Yes; that’s what I wanted to come at. It’s about your fiddle.” + +“My violin!” said Philip, rather surprised. + +“Oh, well, fiddle or violin! what’s the odds? I want to buy it.” + +“What for?” + +“To play on, of course! What did you think I wanted it for?” + +“But you can’t play, can you?” + +“Not yet; but I expect you could show me some—now, couldn’t you?” + +“What put it into your head to want to play on the violin?” asked +Philip, with some curiosity. + +“Why, you see, the girls like it. It would be kind of nice when I go to +a party, or marm has company, to scrape off a tune or two—just like you +do. It makes a feller kinder pop’lar with the girls, don’t you see?” +said Nick, with a knowing grin. + +“And you want to be popular with the young ladies!” said Philip, +smiling, in spite of his bereavement, at the idea being entertained by +such a clumsy-looking caliban as Nick Holden. + +“Of course I do!” answered Nick, with another grin. “You see I’m +gettin’ along—I’ll be nineteen next month, and I might want to get +married by the time I’m twenty-one, especially if the old man should +drop off sudden.” + +“I understand all that, Nicholas—” + +“Call me Nick. I ain’t stuck up if I am most a man. Call me pet names, +dearest.” + +And Nicholas laughed loudly at his witty quotation. + +“Just as you prefer. Nick, then, I understand your object. But what +made you think I wanted to sell the violin?” + +It was Nick’s turn to be surprised. + +“Ain’t there goin’ to be an auction of your father’s things?” he said. + +“Yes; but the violin is mine, and I am not going to sell it.” + +“You’ll have to,” said Nick. + +“What do you mean by that, Nicholas Holden?” said Philip quickly. + +“Because you’ll have to sell everything to pay your father’s debt. My +father said so this very morning.” + +“I think I know my own business best,” said Philip coldly. “I shall +keep the violin.” + +“Maybe it ain’t for you to say,” returned Nick, apparently not aware of +his insolence. “Come, now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. My father’s got +a bill against yours for a dollar and sixty-four cents. I told father I +had a use for the fiddle, and he says if you’ll give it to me, he’ll +call it square. There, what do you say to that?” + +Nicholas leaned back in his chair and looked at Philip through his +small, fishy eyes, as if he had made an uncommonly liberal offer. As +for Philip, he hardly knew whether to be angry or amused. + +“You offer me a dollar and sixty-four cents for my violin?” he +repeated. + +“Yes. It’s second-hand, to be sure, but I guess it’s in pretty fair +condition. Besides, you might help me a little about learnin’ how to +play.” + +“How much do you suppose the violin cost?” inquired Philip. + +“Couldn’t say.” + +“It cost my father twenty-five dollars.” + +“Oh, come, now, that’s too thin! You don’t expect a feller to believe +such a story as that?” + +“I expect to be believed, for I never tell anything but the truth.” + +“Oh, well, I don’t expect you do, generally, but when it comes to +tradin’, most everybody lies,” observed Nick candidly. + +“I have no object in misrepresenting, for I don’t want to sell the +violin.” + +“You can’t afford to keep it! The town won’t let you!” + +“The town won’t let me?” echoed Philip, now thoroughly mystified. + +“Of course they won’t. The idea of a pauper bein’ allowed a fiddle to +play on! Why, it’s ridiculous!” + +“What do you mean?” demanded Philip, who now began to comprehend the +meaning of this thick-witted visitor. “What have I got to do with the +town, or with paupers?” + +“Why, you’re goin’ to the poorhouse, ain’t you?” + +“Certainly not!” answered Philip, with flashing eyes. + +“I guess you’re mistaken,” said Nick coolly. “Squire Pope was over to +our shop this mornin’, and he told dad that the seleckmen were goin’ to +send you there after the auction.” + +Philip’s eyes flashed angrily. He felt insulted and outraged. Never for +a moment had he conceived the idea that any one would regard him as a +candidate for the poorhouse. + +He had an honorable pride in maintaining himself, and would rather get +along on one meal a day, earned by himself in honest independence, than +be indebted to public charity even for a luxurious support. + +“Squire Pope doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” retorted Philip, +who had to exercise some self-restraint not to express himself more +forcibly “and you can tell him so when you see him. I am no more likely +to go to the poorhouse than you are!” + +“Come, that’s a good one,” chuckled Nick. “Talk of me goin’ to the +poorhouse, when my father pays one of the biggest taxes in town! Of +course, it’s different with you.” + +“You’ll have to excuse me now,” said Philip, determined to get rid of +his disagreeable companion. “I have something to do.” + +“Then you won’t sell me the fiddle, Phil?” + +“No, I won’t,” answered our hero, with scant ceremony. + +“Then I’ll have to bid it off at the auction. Maybe I’ll get it +cheaper.” + +And Mr. Nicholas Holden at length relieved Philip of his company. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +THE AUCTION. + + +It so happened that Nick Holden met Squire Pope on the village street, +and, being rather disappointed at the result of his negotiations with +Philip, thought it might be a good idea to broach the subject to the +squire, who, as he knew, had taken it upon himself to superintend the +sale of Mr. Gray’s goods. + +“I say, squire, I’ve just been over to see Phil Gray.” + +“Ahem! Well, how does he seem to feel?” + +“Kinder stuck up, I reckon. He said he wouldn’t go to the poorhouse, +and I might tell you so.” + +“I apprehend,” said the squire, in his stately way, “he will be under +the necessity of going, whether he likes it or not.” + +“Just so; that’s what I told him!” interjected Nick. + +“And he should be grateful for so comfortable a home,” continued the +public man. + +“Well, I dunno,” said Nick. “They do say that old Tucker most starves +the paupers. Why his bills with dad are awful small.” + +“The town cannot afford to pamper the appetites of its beneficiaries,” +said the squire. “Where is Philip now?” + +“I guess he’s at home. I offered to buy his fiddle, but he said he was +going to keep it. I offered him a dollar and sixty-four cents—the same +as dad’s bill against his father, but he wouldn’t take it.” + +“Really, Nicholas, your offer was very irregular—extremely irregular. +It should have been made to me, as the administrator of the late Mr. +Gray, and not to a boy like Philip.” + +“Will you sell me the fiddle for dad’s bill, squire?” asked Nicholas +eagerly. + +“You are premature, Nicholas—” + +“What’s that?” + +“I mean you must wait till the auction. Then you will have a chance to +bid on the instrument, if you want to secure it.” + +“Phil says it’s his, and won’t be for sale at the auction.” + +“Then Philip is mistaken. He is only a boy. The estate will be settled +by those who are older and wiser than he.” + +“I guess you’ll find him hard to manage, squire,” said Nick, laughing. + +“We shall see—we shall see,” returned the squire. + +And, with a dignified wave of the hand, he continued on his walk. + +After the visit of Nicholas, Philip thought it most prudent to convey +the violin which he prized so much to the house of his friend, Frank +Dunbar, where he had been invited to take his meals. + +He was willing to have the furniture sold to defray his father’s small +debts, but the violin was his own. It had not even been given him by +his father. Though the latter purchased it, the money which it cost had +been given to Philip by a friend of the family. He rightly thought that +he had no call to sell it now. + +“Frank,” said he to his boy-friend, “I want you to put away my violin +safely, and keep it until after the auction.” + +“Of course I will, Phil; but won’t you want to play on it!” + +“Not at present. I’ll tell you why I want it put away.” + +And Philip told his friend about Nick’s application to purchase it, and +the liberal offer he had made. + +“Nick’s generosity never will hurt him much,” said Frank, laughing. +“What in the world did he want of your violin?” + +“He wants to make himself popular with the girls.” + +“He’ll never do that, even if he learns to play like an angel!” said +Frank. “You ought to hear the girls talk about him. He couldn’t get a +single one of them to go home with from singing-school last winter. He +teased my sister to go, but she told him every time she was engaged to +some one else.” + +The two days that intervened between the funeral and the auction +passed, and the last scene connecting Philip with the little cottage +which had been his home was to take place. + +In a country town, an auction—however inconsiderable—draws together an +interested company of friends and neighbors; and, though no articles of +value were to be sold, this was the case at the present sale. + +Philip didn’t at first mean to be present. He thought it would only +give him pain; but at the last moment he came, having been requested to +do so by Squire Pope, as information might be required which he could +give. + +The bulk of the furniture was soon disposed of, at low prices, to be +sure, but sufficiently high to make it clear that enough would be +realized to pay the small bills outstanding. + +Philip’s lip quivered when his father’s watch was put up. He would have +liked to buy it, but this was impossible; for he had only about a +dollar of his own. + +Nick Holden’s eyes sparkled when he saw the watch. He had forgotten +about that, but as soon as he saw it he coveted it. He had a cheap +silver watch of his own, which he had bought secondhand about three +years before. He had thought that he might some day possess a gold +watch, but he was not willing to lay out the necessary sum of money. + +By dint of actual meanness, he had laid up two hundred dollars, which +he now had in the savings-bank in the next village, and he could +therefore have bought one if he had chosen; but, like Gilpin, + +“Although he was on pleasure bent, he had a frugal mind.” + + +Now, however, there seemed a chance of getting a gold watch at a low +price. Nick reasoned rightly that at an auction it would go much below +its value, and it would be a good thing for him to buy it—even as an +investment—as he would probably have chances enough to trade it off at +a handsome profit. + +“I shouldn’t wonder if I could double my money on it,” he reflected. + +Accordingly, when the watch was put up, Nick eagerly bid two dollars. + +Philip’s lip curled when he heard this generous bid, and he heartily +hoped that this treasured possession of his dead father might not fall +into such hands. + +Nick rather hoped that no one would bid against him, but in this he was +destined to be disappointed. + +“Five dollars!” was next heard. + +And this bid came from Mr. Dunbar, the father of his friend Frank. +Philip’s eyes brightened up, for there was no one he would sooner see +the possessor of the watch than his kind friend. + +Nick looked chopfallen when he heard this large increase on his +original bid, and hesitated to continue, but finally mustered up +courage to say, in a rather feeble tone: + +“Five and a quarter.” + +“Five dollars and a quarter bid!” said the auctioneer. “Do I hear +more?” + +“Six dollars,” said Mr. Dunbar quietly. + +The bid was repeated, and the auctioneer waited for a higher one, but +Nick retired ignominiously from the contest. + +He wasn’t sure whether he could get much over six dollars for it +himself, and he foresaw that Mr. Dunbar intended to have it, even if it +cost considerable more. + +“It’s kinder hard on a feller,” he complained to the man standing next +him. “What does Mr. Dunbar want of the watch? He’s got one already.” + +“Perhaps he thinks it is a good bargain at the price.” + +“It’s what I’ve been wantin’ all along,” said Nick. “He might have let +me have it.” + +“Why don’t you bid more?” + +“I wanted to get it cheap.” + +“And the auctioneer wants to get as much as he can for the articles, +and so do Philip’s friends,” This was a consideration which, of course, +had no weight with Nicholas. However, he had one comfort. He would bid +on the violin, and probably no one else would bid against it. He did +not see it, to be sure, but concluded, of course, that it would be bid +off. When the sale drew near the end, he went to Philip, and said: + +“Whereabouts is the fiddle, Phil?” + +“It isn’t here,” answered our hero. + +“Ain’t it goin’ to be sold?” + +“Of course not! It’s mine. I told you that once already.” + +“We’ll see!” said Nicholas angrily. + +And going up to Squire Pope, he held a brief conversation with that +gentleman. + +The squire nodded vigorously, and walked over to Philip. + +“Philip,” said he, “go and bring your violin.” + +“What will I do that for!” asked our hero quietly. + +“So that it may be sold.” + +“It is not to be sold,” returned Philip quietly. “It belongs to me.” + +“Nothing belongs to you except your clothes!” said the squire angrily. +“I require you to go and fetch the instrument.” + +“And I decline to do it,” said Philip. + +“Do you know who I am,” demanded the squire, with ruffled dignity. + +“I know you perfectly well,” answered Philip “but I am the owner of the +violin, and I don’t mean to have it sold.” + +“YOU will repent this!” said Squire Pope, who felt that his lawful +authority and official dignity were set at naught. + +Philip bowed and left the house. He did not know what steps the squire +might take, but he was resolved not to give up his cherished violin. + + + + +CHAPTER V. +AN ALLIANCE AGAINST PHILIP. + + +Squire Pope was not a bad man, nor was he by nature a tyrant, but he +was so fully convinced of his own superior judgment that he was in all +things obstinately bent on having his own way. He had persuaded himself +that our young hero, Philip, would be better off in the poorhouse than +in a place where he could earn his own living, and no one could +convince him to the contrary. + +As to the boy’s feelings on the subject, he considered those of no +importance. He had good reason to know that Philip would object to +being an inmate of the almshouse, but he was determined that he should +go there. + +In like manner, before the auction was over, he saw clearly that it +would realize a sum more than sufficient to pay the funeral expenses of +the late Mr. Gray and the few small bills outstanding against his +estate, and that there was no necessity that Philip’s violin should be +sold, but none the less he resolved that it should be sold. + +“Shall I allow a young lad to dictate to me?” Squire Pope asked +himself, in irritation. “Certainly not! I know better what is right +than he. It is ridiculous that a town pauper should own a violin. Why, +the next thing, we shall have to buy pianos for our almshouses, for the +use of the gentlemen and ladies who occupy them. A violin, indeed!” + +This Squire Pope regarded as irresistible logic and withering sarcasm +combined. + +He saw Philip go out of the cottage, but, as the sale was not over, he +was unable to follow him. + +“Never mind, I’ll fix him as soon as I have time,” he said to himself. + +“Back so soon? Is the auction over!” asked his friend, Frank Dunbar, +who was engaged in splitting wood in the rear of the house. + +“No, Frank, not quite; but it’s almost over..Who do you think bid on +father’s gold watch?” + +“I don’t know.” + +“Nick Holden.” + +“He didn’t get it, did he?” + +“I am glad to say not. Your father bought it.” + +“Did he! Why, he’s got one watch already.” + +“I am glad he’s got it. I couldn’t bear to think of Nick Holden +carrying my father’s watch. He was disappointed about one thing +besides.” + +“What was that?” + +“The violin. He went to Squire Pope, and complained that it was not in +the sale.” + +“That’s just like his impudence. What did the squire say?” + +“He came to me and ordered me to get it, so that it might be sold.” + +“Shall I get it for you, then?” + +“Not much!” answered Philip emphatically. “It is mine, as I have +already told you. If the auction doesn’t bring in enough to settle up +everything, I may agree to sell it for a fair price; but I am sure, +from the prices, that it won’t be necessary.” + +“Squire Pope’s a dreadful obstinate man,” said Frank doubtfully. “He +may insist upon your selling the violin.” + +“Let him do it!” said Philip contemptuously. “I should like to see him +get it. Where have you put it, Frank?” + +“Where Squire Pope won’t be apt to find it—in an old chest up in the +garret. It’s full of old clothes, belonging to my grandfather, and +hasn’t been looked into by any one except me for years. I put it away +under all the clothes at the bottom. No one knows where it is except +you and me, not even mother.” + +“That’s good. I guess we can defy the squire, then.” + +Half an hour later, Mr. Dunbar came home from the auction. + +Philip went to meet him. + +“Thank you for buying father’s watch,” he said. “But for you, Nick +Holden would have had it, and I should have been sorry for it.” + +“He was badly disappointed,” said Mr. Dunbar smiling. “But I didn’t buy +the watch for myself, Philip.” + +“For whom, then?” asked Philip, in some surprise. + +“For the one that has the best right to it—for you,” and the farmer +took the watch from his pocket, and handed it to Philip. + +“But I haven’t the money to pay for it, Mr. Dunbar,” said our hero. + +“Then I give it to you as a present,” said Mr. Dunbar. + +“I am very grateful,” said Philip; “but I ought not to accept it. You +are too kind to me.” + +“Let me be the judge of that.” + +“Besides, it wouldn’t be safe for me to take it. Squire Pope will try +to get my violin away from me in order to sell it, and he would be sure +to try to do the same by the watch if he found that I had it.” + +“But, Philip, I don’t need the watch myself.” + +“Then, Mr. Dunbar, will you be kind enough to keep it for me, and when +I can afford to pay for it, and there is no danger of its being taken +from me, I will ask you for it. I shall be very glad, indeed, when I am +older, to carry my father’s watch, for I have seen it in his hands so +often that it will constantly remind me of him.” + +“Perhaps that will be the best arrangement,” said Mr. Dunbar. “You +might have it stolen from you, if you carried it yourself just at +present. As you request, I will keep it, subject to your order; but I +would rather let it be a gift from me, and not require you to pay for +it.” + +“We won’t talk about that now,” said Philip, smiling. “At any rate, you +must let me thank you for your great kindness to me.” + +“Don’t speak of that, Phil,” said the farmer kindly. “I had a great +respect and liking for your father, and I verily believe my Frank loves +you as well as if you were his own brother. So, come what may, you have +a friend in our family.” + +“I indorse all that father says,” Frank said. + +And he extended his hand to Philip, who grasped it heartily. + +It warmed his heart to think that he had such good friends, though he +was an orphan and alone in the world. + +After supper, Mr. Dunbar went to the village store, while Frank and +Philip remained at home. + +Suddenly Frank said: + +“Philip, you are going to have a visitor, I guess.” + +“A visitor!” + +“Yes; I saw Squire Pope stumping along the road, nourishing his +gold-headed cane. He is headed this way, and it’s likely he is going to +honor you with a call. He’s got somebody with him, too. Who is it!” + +Philip shaded his eyes with his hand, for the Sun was near its setting, +and shining with dazzling brightness from the quarter toward which he +was looking. + +“It’s Nick Holden!” he said. + +“So it is! What can he want?” + +“I understand very well. He wants my violin. He couldn’t get it at the +sale, so he has come here to see if he can’t make me give it to him.” + +“And will you?” + +“You ought to know me better than to ask, Frank,” said Philip firmly. +“Nick might as well have stayed away, for he won’t accomplish +anything.” + +Nick, however, held a different opinion. After Philip left the cottage, +he had gone to Squire Pope, and cunningly asked: + +“Are you going to let Philip keep his fiddle in spite of you, squire?” + +“What do you mean, Nicholas?” demanded the squire, in a stately way. + +“Why, seems to me he’s kinder settin’ up his will agin yours. You say +the fiddle shall be sold, and he says it shan’t. He told me he didn’t +care what you said, he should keep it.” + +“Did he say that, Nicholas?” asked the squire, who felt that his +dignity was outraged by such insolence. + +“I’m sartain he did. He’s pretty big feelin’, Phil is. He always wants +to have his own way.” + +“He will find that he can’t defy me with impunity,” said the squire +stiffly. + +“Just so. Then you’ll sell me the fiddle?” + +“I will!” said the squire emphatically. + +“You won’t ask too much, will you?” asked Nick anxiously. + +Now Squire Pope, who knew nothing of the price of violins, and had a +very inadequate idea of their value, after some haggling on the part of +Nick, agreed to sell him the instrument for two dollars and a half, and +to see that it was delivered that evening. + +“Do you know where it is, Nicholas?” he asked. + +“Why, Phil is staying over at Frank Dunbar’s, and I guess he’s got it +there somewhere. I guess we’d better go over there and get it.” + +“Very well, Nicholas. After supper, if you will come to my house, I +will go over there, and see that you have the instrument.” + +“All right, squire!” said Nick gleefully, “Phil will find that he can’t +have his own way this time.” + +“I apprehend he will,” said the squire complacently. + +Now the reader understands how it happened that Squire Pope and Nick +Holden made a call on Philip. As to what passed at the interview, we +must refer him to the next chapter. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. +FUSS ABOUT A FIDDLE. + + +“Ahem! Good evening!” said Squire Pope to Frank Dunbar, taking no +notice of Philip’s cold but polite salutation. + +“Good evening! Will you go into the house?” said Frank. + +“I believe not. I have not time.” + +“I am sorry father isn’t home. He just started for the village.” + +“Ahem! it was not to see your father that I called,” answered Squire +Pope. “I wish to have a few words with this young man,” indicating +Philip stiffly. + +“I am at your service, Squire Pope,” said Philip, with ceremonious +politeness. + +“We came about the fiddle,” interrupted Nick Holden, who always wanted +to have a share in the conversation. + +Squire Pope frowned, for he did not relish Nick’s interference. + +“Nicholas,” he said severely, “I apprehend I am competent to manage the +business we have come upon.” + +“Don’t get riled, squire,” said Nick, by no means abashed by this +rebuke. “I thought you were kinder slow about comin’ to the point.” + +“Your interruption was very indecorous. I do not require any assistance +or any suggestions.” + +“All right, squire!” + +Squire Pope now turned to our hero, and said: + +“As I was about to say, when interrupted by Nicholas, I have come to +require you to give up the Violin which, without authority and against +my express command, you withheld from the auction.” + +“The violin is mine, Squire Pope,” said Philip firmly, “and I mean to +keep it!” + +“You talk like an ignorant boy. As a minor, you had no claim to the +possession of any article except your clothing. I judged it best that +the violin should be sold at the auction, and it is presumptuous for +you to set up your judgment against mine!” + +“I don’t take that view of it,” said Philip, and then he stopped. + +He knew it was of no use to argue against the squire, who was obstinate +to the verge of pig-headedness, if I may be allowed to use the +expression. He felt that it would be only wasting his breath. + +“It is quite immaterial how you view the subject,” said the squire +pompously. “My mind is made up, and my resolution is not likely to be +shaken by a boy.” + +“Then, sir,” answered Philip, in a respectful tone but with a slight +smile, “it is hardly worth while for me to say any more.” + +“I am glad you have arrived at so sensible a conclusion,” said Squire +Pope. “I take it that you have the violin here.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Then bring it out and give it to me.” + +Now came the critical point, when Philip must array himself in +determined opposition to Squire Pope. He felt that he was entirely in +the right; still he regretted the necessity of the antagonism. + +Philip had one thing in his favor: He had plenty of self-control, and, +although he was very indignant at the course of the squire, which he +regarded as unjustifiable, he made up his mind to be as respectful as +circumstances would permit. + +“I don’t think you understand me, Squire Pope,” he said. “I refuse to +give up the violin!” + +“You refuse to give up the violin!” repeated Squire Pope, scarcely +believing the testimony of his ears. “Do I hear you aright?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“I never saw such impudence!” ejaculated Nick Holden, wishing to egg on +the squire. + +“Do you mean to defy me to my face?” demanded Squire Pope, growing very +red. + +“I don’t wish to defy you or anybody else,” returned Philip; “but I +shall stand up for my rights.” + +“Misguided boy!” said the squire severely; “you will yet rue this rash +and heedless course. Frank,” he continued, turning to Frank Dunbar, “do +you know where Philip’s violin is!” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Do me the favor to bring it out and place it in my hands.” + +“You must excuse me, Squire Pope,” answered Frank. “It belongs to +Philip, and I have no right to meddle with it.” + +“If Philip has told you this, he has misrepresented,” said the squire, +rather discouraged by this second rebuff. “The violin does not belong +to Philip. It belongs to this young man.” + +And, with a wave of his hand, he designated Nick Holden. + +It was not polite, but Frank Dunbar was so surprised by this +announcement that he whistled. + +As for Philip, he regarded Nick calmly; but there didn’t seem to be any +sign of yielding in his look. + +“It belongs to Nicholas, because I have sold it to him,” continued +Squire Pope doggedly. + +“That’s so!” corroborated Nick complacently. “The squire sold me the +fiddle for two-fifty. It’s mine now, and you’d better fetch it along +out, or there’ll be trouble.” + +Philip turned to Squire Pope, and said quietly: + +“As you had no right to sell it, the sale amounts to nothing. If you +had a right, I should say you were not very shrewd to sell an +instrument that cost twenty-five dollars—and was considered a bargain +at the price—for two dollars and fifty cents.” + +“The violin cost twenty-five dollars!” ejaculated the squire, in +genuine surprise. + +For, as it has already been stated, he had no idea whatever of the +usual price for a violin. + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Don’t you believe him, squire,” said Nicholas, afraid that he would +lose what he knew to be a good bargain. “No fiddle that was ever made +cost twenty-five dollars. It’s ridiculous!” + +“It does seem a large price,” said the squire guardedly. + +Squire Pope would doubtless have been surprised to learn that certain +violins of celebrated make—such as the Cremonas—have sold for thousands +of dollars. Probably he would have disbelieved it. + +Nevertheless, he began to think that he had been too precipitate in +accepting Nick Holden’s offer. + +If he should sacrifice, or sell at an utterly inadequate price, any +article belonging to the boy whom he considered his ward, he knew that +he would be blamed, and he began to consider how he could recede from +the bargain. + +“Nicholas,” he said, “I didn’t exactly sell the violin to you. I will +ascertain what is a fair price for it, and then I will consider your +proposal.” + +“You sold it right out, squire,” said Nick, “and I can prove it. Didn’t +you just say it was mine. There, now!” + +Nick turned triumphantly to Frank and Phil, but, for very good reasons, +they did not care to side with him. + +“I say, you haven’t treated me right,” persisted Nick, who had no +particular respect nor veneration for the squire, and was not to be +deterred from speaking as he felt. “I offered you two-fifty, and you +said I should have it, and you got me to call at your house to come +here for it.” + +“I cannot sacrifice the property of my ward,” said Squire Pope. “I must +ascertain how much the violin is worth.” + +“A bargain is a bargain, every time!” said Nick, irritated. + +“I will let you have it as cheap as anybody,” said the squire, who +thought it possible that Nick might be the only one who desired to +purchase it. “That ought to satisfy you. Philip, go and bring me the +violin, and I will carry it home and dispose of it to the best +advantage.” + +“You must excuse me, Squire Pope. I shall not let it leave my +possession.” Just then Squire Pope espied Mr. Dunbar returning from the +village, and hailed him as a probable ally. He laid the matter before +him, and requested him to compel Philip to get the violin. + +“You must excuse me, squire,” said Mr. Dunbar coldly. “Philip is my +guest, and he shall be protected in his rights as long as he remains +here.” + +Without a word, Squire Pope walked off, in angry discomfiture, in one +direction, while Nick, equally dissatisfied, walked off in another. + +“They don’t seem happy!” said Frank slyly. + +“I wish I knew where it was going to end,” returned Philip gravely. + +“It seems to me,” said Frank, “the squire is making a great fuss about +a fiddle, for a man of his dignity.” + +“He doesn’t care about the violin. He wants to have his own way,” said +Philip, thus hitting the nail on the head. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. +MR. JOE TUCKER + + +Before going further, I will introduce to the reader, a citizen of +Norton, who filled a position for which he was utterly unfitted. This +man was Joe Tucker, in charge of the almshouse. + +He had not been selected by the town authorities on the ground of +fitness, but simply because he was willing to work cheap. He received a +certain low weekly sum for each one of his inmates, and the free use of +apartments for himself and family, with the right to cultivate the ten +acres of land connected with the establishment, and known as the Town +Farm. + +His family consisted of three persons—himself, his wife, and a son, +Ezekiel, familiarly known as Zeke, now sixteen years old. The leading +family trait was meanness. + +Mr. Tucker supplied a mean table even for a poorhouse, and some of the +hapless inmates complained bitterly. One had even had the boldness to +present a complaint to the selectmen, and that body, rather +reluctantly, undertook to investigate the justness of the complaint. +They deputed Squire Pope to visit the poorhouse and inquire into the +matter. + +Now, though Squire Pope thought himself unusually sharp, it was the +easiest thing in the world for a cunning person like Joe Tucker to +satisfy him that all was right. + +“Mr. Tucker,” said Squire Pope pompously, “I am deputed by the +selectmen, and I may add by the overseers of the poor, to investigate a +complaint made by one of the paupers in relation to the fare you offer +them.” + +“Who is it!” inquired Mr. Tucker. + +“It is Ann Carter. She says you don’t allow her sugar in her tea, and +only allow one slice of bread at supper, and that the meat is so bad +she can’t eat it.” + +“Just like the old woman!” exclaimed Mr. Tucker indignantly. “Oh, she’s +a high-strung pauper, she is! Expects all the delicacies of the season +for seventy-five cents a week. She’d ought to go to the Fifth Avenoo +Hotel in New York, and then I’ll bet a cent she wouldn’t be satisfied.” + +It is observable that even in his imaginary bets Mr. Tucker maintained +his economical habits, and seldom bet more than a cent. Once, when very +much excited, he had bet five cents, but this must be attributed to his +excited state of mind. + +“So you regard her complaints as unreasonable, do you, Mr. Tucker?” +observed the investigating committee. + +“Unreasonable? I should think they was. I allow, Squire Pope, we don’t +live like a first-class hotel”—Mr. Tucker’s language was rather +mixed—“but we live as well as we can afford to. As to sugar, we don’t +allow the paupers to put it in for themselves, or they’d ruin us by +their extravagance. Mrs. Tucker puts sugar in the teapot before she +pours it out. I s’pose Ann Carter would put as much in one cup of tea +as Mrs. T. uses for the whole teapotful, if she had her way.” + +This was very probably true, as the frugal Mrs. Tucker only allowed one +teaspoonful for the entire supply. + +“That looks reasonable, Mr. Tucker,” said the squire approvingly. “Now +about the bread and the meat?” + +“The paupers has plenty of bread,” said Mr. Tucker. “Our bread bill is +actually enormous.” + +“And as to the meat?” + +“We don’t give ’em roast turkey every day, and we don’t buy tenderloin +steaks to pamper their appetites,” said Mr. Tucker, “though we’re +perfectly willing to do it if the town’ll pay us so we can afford it. +Do you think the town’ll agree to pay me twenty-five cents more a week +for each one, squire?” + +“Certainly not. It can’t be thought of,” said the squire hastily, +knowing that if the selectmen advocated such a measure they would +probably lose their reelection. + +“If it would, we might live a little better, so that Ann Carter +wouldn’t have to complain, though, bless your soul! that woman is +always complainin’.” + +“Ahem! Mr. Tucker, you present the matter to me in a new light. I +really feel that Ann Carter is very unreasonable in her complaints.” + +“I knowed you’d do me justice, squire,” said Mr. Tucker effusively. +“You’re a sharp man. You ain’t a-goin’ to be taken in by any of them +paupers’ rigmarole. I always said, Squire Pope, that you was the right +man in the right place, and that the town was lucky to have so +intelligent and public-spirited a citizen fillin’ her most important +offices.” + +“Mr. Tucker,” said the squire, “you gratify me. It has ever been my aim +to discharge with conscientious fidelity the important trusts which the +town has committed to my charge—” + +“I’ll bear witness to that, squire.” + +“And your sincere tribute gives me great satisfaction.” + +“I hope you’ll report things right to the board, Squire Pope?” said Mr. +Joe Tucker insinuatingly. + +“Be assured I will, Mr. Tucker. I consider you a zealous and +trustworthy official, striving hard to do your duty in the place the +town has assigned you.” + +“I do, indeed, squire,” said Mr. Tucker, pulling on a red handkerchief +and mopping some imaginary tears. “Excuse my emotions, sir, but your +generous confidence quite unmans me. I—I—trust now that I shall be able +to bear meekly the sneers and complaints of Ann Carter and her fellow +paupers.” + +“I will stand by you, Mr. Tucker,” said Squire Pope cordially, for the +man’s flattery, coarse as it was, had been like incense to his vanity. +“I will stand by you, and uphold you by my testimony.” + +“Thank you, squire. With such an impartial advocate I will continue to +do my duty and fear nothing.” + +As Squire Pope left the almshouse, Mr. Tucker winked at himself in the +glass, and said quizzically: + +“I guess I’m all right now. The vain old fool thinks he’s a second +Solomon, and thinks I regard him as such. Oh, it takes me to get round +him!” + +Squire Pope wrote an elaborate report, in which he stated that, after +searching investigation, he had ascertained that the complaints of Ann +Carter were absolutely groundless, and gave it as his conviction that +Mr. Tucker’s treatment of her and her associate paupers was +characterized by remarkable consideration and humanity. + +Such officials as he have much to answer for, and yet there are plenty +just as false to their responsibilities as he. + +It was two days after Squire Pope’s ineffectual attempt to possess +himself of Philip’s violin, that our hero was walking along a country +road, on his return from an errand which, he had undertaken for his +friend’s father, when his attention was drawn to the yelping of a small +dog, that seemed in fear or pain. + +Looking over the stone wall, Philip saw Zeke Tucker amusing himself by +thrusting the dog’s head into a pool of dirty water, and holding it +there till the animal was nearly strangled. The dog’s suffering +appeared to yield the most exquisite amusement to the boy, who burst +into peal after peal of rude laughter as he watched the struggles of +his victim. + +Philip, like every decent boy, had a horror of cruelty, and the sight +stirred him to immediate anger and disgust. + +“What are you doing there, Zeke Tucker?” he demanded sternly. + +“None of your business!” answered Zeke, frowning. + +“You’d better answer my question,” said Philip, who had by this time +jumped over the wall. + +“Then I will. I’m havin’ a little fun. What have you got to say about +it?” retorted Zeke. + +And once more he plunged the head of the poor dog into the filthy pool. + +The next moment he found himself floundering on his back, while the +dog, slipping from his grasp, was running across the meadows. “What did +you do that for!” demanded Zeke, springing up, his face flaming with +rage. + +“I rather think you understand well enough,” answered Philip +contemptuously. + +“What business have you to touch me? I can have you arrested, you low +pauper!” + +“What’s that? What did you call me?” demanded Philip. + +“I called you a pauper.” + +“By what right?” + +“Squire Pope told my father he was going to bring you over to the +poorhouse to live. You just see if my father doesn’t give it to you +then!” + +“Thank you,” said Phil contemptuously; “but I don’t propose to board at +your establishment, not even to obtain the pleasure of your society.” + +“Maybe you can’t help yourself,” said Zeke gleefully. + +For he saw what had escaped the notice of Philip, whose back was +turned—namely, a four-seated carryall, containing his father and Squire +Pope, which had just halted in the road, hard by. + +“Mr. Tucker,” said Squire Pope, in a low tone, “now will be the best +opportunity to capture the boy and carry him to the almshouse.” + +“All right—I’m ready,” said Tucker readily. + +For another boarder would bring him sixty cents a week more. + +They stopped the horses and prepared for business. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. +IN THE ENEMY’S HANDS + + +Philip heard a step, and turned to see whose it was; but, when he +recognized Mr. Tucker, the latter’s hand was already on his collar. + +“What have you been doin’ to Zeke? Tell me that, you young rascal,” +said Mr. Tucker roughly. + +“He pitched into me savage, father,” answered Zeke, who had picked +himself up, and was now engaged in brushing the dust from his coat. + +“Pitched into ye, did he?” repeated Joe Tucker grimly. “I reckon he +didn’t know your father was ’round. What have you got to say for +yourself, eh?” + +Philip regarded his captor contemptuously, and didn’t struggle to +escape, knowing that he was not a match for a man five inches taller +than himself. But contempt he could not help showing, for he knew very +well that Zeke had inherited his mean traits largely from his father. + +“I’ll thank you to remove your hand from my collar, sir,” said Philip. +“When you have done that, I will explain why I pitched into Zeke, as he +calls it.” + +“Don’t you let go, father!” said Zeke hastily. “He’ll run away, if you +do.” + +“If I do, you can catch me between you,” returned Philip coolly. + +“I reckon that’s so,” said Mr. Tucker, withdrawing his hand, but +keeping wary watch of our hero. + +“Now go ahead!” said he. + +Philip did so. + +“I saw Zeke torturing a small dog,” he explained, “and I couldn’t stand +by and let it go on.” + +“What was he doin’ to him?” inquired Mr. Tucker. + +“Putting the poor animal’s head into this dirty pool, and keeping it +there till it was nearly suffocated.” + +“Was you doin’ that, Zeke?” asked his father. + +“I was havin’ a little fun with him,” said Zeke candidly. + +“It might have been fun to you, but it wasn’t to him,” said Phil. + +“Why didn’t you ask Zeke to stop, and not fly at him like a tiger?” +demanded Mr. Tucker. + +“I did remonstrate with him, but he only laughed, and did it again.” + +“He hadn’t no right to order me,” said Zeke. “It wa’n’t no business of +his if I was havin’ a little fun with the dog.” + +“And I had a little fun with, you,” returned Philip—“You couldn’t have +complained if I had dipped your head in the water also.” + +“I ain’t a dog!” said Zeke. + +“I should respect you more if you were,” said Philip. + +“Are you goin’ to let him talk to me like that!” asked Zeke, appealing +to his father. + +“No, I ain’t,” said Mr. Tucker angrily. “You’ve committed an assault +and battery on my son, you rascal, and you’ll find there ain’t no fun +in it for you. I could have you arrested and put in jail, couldn’t I, +squire?” + +“Ahem! Well, you could have him fined; but, as he is to be under your +care, Mr. Tucker, you will have a chance of making him conduct himself +properly.” + +“What do you mean by that, Squire Pope?” asked Philip quickly. + +“Young man, I do not choose to be catechized,” said Squire Pope, in a +dignified manner; “but I have no objections to tell you that I have +made arrangements with Mr. Tucker to take you into the poorhouse.” + +“I’ve heard that before, but I couldn’t believe it,” said Philip +proudly. + +“I guess you’ll have to believe it pretty soon, he, he!” laughed Zeke, +with a grin which indicated his high delight. “I guess dad’ll make you +stand round when he gits you into the poor-house.” + +“Don’t you consider me capable of earning my own living, Squire Pope?” +asked Philip. + +“Ahem! Yes, you will be one of these days. You won’t have to stay in +the almshouse all your life.” + +“You’ll have a chance to earn your livin’ with me.” said Mr. Tucker. “I +shall give you something to do, you may depend.” + +“You can make him saw and split wood, father, and do the chores and +milk the cow,” suggested Zeke. + +“I have no objection to doing any of those things for a farmer,” said +Philip, “but I am not willing to do it where I shall be considered a +pauper.” + +“Kinder uppish!” suggested Mr. Tucker, turning to Squire Pope. “Most +all of them paupers is proud; but it’s pride in the wrong place, I +reckon.” + +“If it is pride to want to earn an independent living, and not live on +charity, then I am proud,” continued Philip. + +“Well, squire, how is it to be,” asked Mr. Tucker. + +“Philip,” said Squire Pope pompously, “you are very young, and you +don’t know what is best for you. We do, and you must submit. Mr. +Tucker, take him and put him in the wagon, and we’ll drive over to the +poorhouse.” + +“What! now?” asked Philip, in dismay. + +“Just so,” answered Joe Tucker. “When you’ve got your bird, don’t let +him go, that’s what I say.” + +“That’s the talk, dad!” said Zeke gladfully. “We’ll take down his +pride, I guess, when we’ve got him home.” + +Joe Tucker approached Philip, and was about to lay hold of him, when +our hero started back. + +“You needn’t lay hold of me, Mr. Tucker,” he said. “I will get into the +wagon if Squire Pope insists upon it.” + +“I’m glad you’re gettin’ sensible,” said the squire, congratulating +himself on finding Philip more tractable than he expected. + +“And you will go to the poorhouse peaceful, and without making a fuss?” +asked Joe. + +“Yes, I will go there; but I won’t stay there.” + +“You won’t stay there!” ejaculated the squire. + +“No, sir! In treating me as a dependent on charity, you are doing what +neither you nor any other man has a right to do,” said Philip firmly. + +“You don’t appear to remember that I am a selectman and overseer of the +poor,” said the Squire. + +“I am aware that you hold those offices; but if so, you ought to save +money to the town, and not compel them to pay for my support, when I am +willing and able to support myself.” + +Squire Pope looked a little puzzled. This was putting the matter in a +new light, and he could not help admitting to himself that Philip was +correct, and that perhaps his fellow citizens might take the same view. + +On the other hand, the squire was fond of having his own way, and he +had now gone so far that he could not recede without loss of dignity. + +“I think,” he answered stiffly, “that I understand my duty as well as a +boy of fifteen. I don’t mean to keep you here long, but it is the best +arrangement for the present.” + +“Of course it is,” said Zeke, well pleased with the humiliation of his +enemy. + +“Shut up, Zeke!” said his father, observing from the squire’s +expression that he did not fancy Zeke’s interference. + +“All right, dad,” said Zeke good-naturedly, seeing that things had +turned out as he desired. + +“Jump in!” said Mr. Tucker to Philip. + +Our hero, without a word, obeyed. He was firmly resolved that Squire +Pope should not have his way, but he did not choose to make himself +ridiculous by an ineffectual resistance which would only have ended in +his discomfiture. + +Seated between Mr. Tucker and the squire, he was driven rapidly toward +the poorhouse. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. +THE POORHOUSE. + + +There was no room for Zeke to ride—that is, there was no seat for +him—but he managed to clamber into the back part of the wagon, where he +sat, or squatted, rather uncomfortably, but evidently in the best of +spirits—if any inference could be drawn from his expression. + +The poorhouse was not far away. It was a three-story frame house, which +badly needed painting, with a dilapidated barn, and shed near by. + +A three-story farmhouse is not common in the country, but this dwelling +had been erected by a Mr. Parmenter, in the expectation of making a +fortune by taking summer boarders. + +There was room enough for them, but they did not come. The situation +was the reverse of pleasant, the soil about was barren, and there were +no shade or fruit trees. It was a crazy idea, selecting such a spot for +a summer boarding-house, and failure naturally resulted. + +There had, indeed, been two boarders—a man and his wife—who paid one +week’s board, and managed to owe six before the unlucky landlord +decided that they were a pair of swindlers. He had spent more money +than he could afford on his house, and went steadily behind-hand year +after year, till the town—which was in want of a poorhouse—stepped in +and purchased the house and farm at a bargain. So it came to be a +boarding-house, after all, but in a sense not contemplated by the +proprietor, and, at present, accommodated eleven persons—mostly old and +infirm—whom hard fortune compelled to subsist on charity. + +Mr. Tucker had this advantage, that his boarders, had no recourse +except to stay with him, however poor his fare or harsh his treatment, +unless they were in a position to take care of themselves. + +When Philip came in sight of the almshouse—which he had often seen, and +always considered a very dreary-looking building—he was strengthened in +his determination not long to remain a tenant. + +Mr. Tucker drove up to the front door with a flourish. + +A hard-featured woman came out, and regarded the contents of the wagon +with curiosity. + +“Well, Abigail, can you take another boarder!” asked Mr. Tucker, as he +descended from the wagon. + +“Who is it?” + +“Well, it ain’t likely to be Squire Pope!” said Joe facetiously; “and +Zeke and I are regular boarders on the free list.” + +“Is it that boy?” + +“Yes; it’s Phil Gray.” + +“Humph! boys are a trial!” remarked Mrs. Tucker, whose experience with +Zeke had doubtless convinced her of this fact. + +“I sha’n’t trouble you long, Mrs. Tucker,” said Philip. “I don’t intend +to stay.” + +“You don’t, hey?” retorted Joe Tucker, with a wolfish grin and an +emphatic nod of the head. “We’ll see about that—won’t we, Squire Pope?” + +“The boy is rather rebellious, Mrs. Tucker,” said the selectman. “He +appears to think he knows better what is good for him than we do. You +may look upon him as a permanent boarder. What he says is of no +account.” + +Philip said nothing, but he looked full at the squire with an +unflinching gaze. If ever determination was written upon any face, it +was on his. + +“Come down there!” said Mrs. Tucker, addressing our hero. “You’re at +home now.” + +“Mr. Dunbar won’t know what has become of me,” said Philip, with a +sudden thought. “They will be anxious. May I go back there and tell +them where I am?” + +“Do you think I am green enough for that?” Mr. Tucker, touching the +side of his nose waggishly. “We shouldn’t be likely to set eyes on you +again.” + +“I will promise to come back here this evening,” said Philip. + +“And will you promise to stay?” asked Squire Pope doubtfully. + +“No, sir,” answered Philip boldly. “I won’t do that, but I will engage +to come back. Then Mr. Tucker will have to look out for me, for I tell +you and him frankly I don’t mean to stay.” + +“Did you ever hear such talk, squire!” asked Mr. Tucker, with a gasp of +incredulity. “He actually defies you, who are a selectman and an +overseer of the poor.” + +“So he does, Mr. Tucker. I’m shocked at his conduct.” + +“Shall we let him go?” + +“No, of course not.” + +“I agree with you, squire. I know’d you wouldn’t agree to it. What +shall I do about his wantin’ to run away?” + +“It will be best to confine him just at first, Mr. Tucker.” + +“I’ll shut him up in one of the attic rooms,” said Mr. Tucker. + +“I think it will be the best thing to do, Mr. Tucker.” + +Philip took all this very coolly. As to the way in which they proposed +to dispose of him for the present he cared very little, as he did not +intend stay till morning if there was any possible chance of getting +away. The only thing that troubled him was the doubt and anxiety of his +good friends, the Dunbars, when he did not return to the house. + +“Squire Pope,” he said, turning to that official, “will you do me a +favor?” + +“Ahem! Explain yourself,” said the squire suspiciously. + +“Will you call at Mr. Dunbar’s and tell them where I am.” + +Now, for obvious reasons, the squire did not like to do this. He knew +that the Dunbars would manifest great indignation at the arbitrary step +which he had adopted, and he did not like to face their displeasure, +especially as his apology would perforce be a lame one. + +“I don’t think I am called upon to do you a favor, seeing how you’ve +acted, Philip,” he said hesitatingly. “Besides, it would be out of my +way, and I ought to get home as soon as possible.” + +“Then you refuse, sir?” + +“Well, I’d rather not.” + +“Will you get word to them, Mr. Tucker?” asked Philip, turning to him. + +“I hain’t got time,” answered Mr. Tucker, who feared that the Dunbars +would come for Philip and release him in the course of the evening. + +Philip was nonplused. Always considerate of the feelings of others, he +was unwilling that his friends should suffer anxiety on his account. + +As Mr. Tucker and Squire Pope walked away together, our hero turned to +Zeke. + +“I suppose it’s no use to ask you to do me a favor, Zeke?” he said. + +“Do you want me to tell Frank Dunbar where you are?” + +“Yes, I wish you would.” + +“Then I’ll do it.” + +“You’re a better fellow than I thought you were, Zeke,” said Philip, +surprised. + +“No, I ain’t! Do you want to know why I’m willin’ to go?” + +“Why?” + +“I know Frank Dunbar’ll feel bad, and I hate him.” + +“So that is your object, is it, Zeke?” + +“You’ve got it.” + +“Well, whatever your motive may be, I shall be much obliged to you if +you go. Here’s ten cents for you!” + +Zeke grasped at the coin with avidity, for his father was very +parsimonious, and his mother no less so, and he seldom got any ready +money. + +“Thank you!” said Zeke, with unusual politeness. “I’ll go right off. +But, I say, don’t you tell dad where I’ve gone, or he might prevent me, +and don’t you let on you’ve given me this dime, or he’d try to get it +away.” + +“No, I won’t say anything about it,” answered Philip. + +“A curious family this is!” he thought, “There doesn’t seem to be much +confidence in each other.” + +Zeke sauntered away carelessly, to avert suspicion but when he had got +round a bend of the road he increased his speed, never looking back, +lest he should see his father signaling for him. + +Philip breathed a sigh of relief. + +“I’ve got a messenger at last,” he said. “Now my friends will know what +has become of me when I don’t come home to supper.” + +He was a little curious to learn what they were going to do with him, +but he was not long kept in suspense. + + + + +CHAPTER X. +BAD TIDINGS. + + +Leaving Philip for a short time in the hands of his captor, we will +follow Zeke on his errand. He didn’t have to go as far as Mr. Dunbar’s +house, for he met Frank Dunbar about a quarter of a mile this side of +it. + +Now, between Frank Dunbar and Zeke Tucker there was no love lost. There +had been a difficulty between them, originating at school, which need +not be particularly referred to. Enough that it led to Zeke’s cordially +disliking Frank, while the latter, who was a frank, straightforward +boy, could not see anything in Mr. Tucker’s promising son to enlist +either his respect or his liking. + +There was a small river running through Norton, which crossed the main +thoroughfare, and had to be bridged over. Frank Dunbar, fishing-line in +hand, was leaning over the parapet, engaged in luring the fish from +their river home. He looked up, when he saw Zeke approaching him. Not +having any particular desire to hold a conversation with him, he +withdrew his eyes, and again watched his line. Zeke, however, +approached him with a grin of anticipated enjoyment, and hailed him in +the usual style: + +“Hello, Frank!” + +“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Frank Dunbar indifferently. + +“Yes it’s me. I suppose you thought it was somebody else,” chuckled +Zeke, though Frank could see no cause for merriment. + +“Well, I see who it is now,” he responded. + +“Where is Phil Gray?” inquired Zeke, chuckling again. + +“Do you want to see him?” asked Frank, rather surprised. + +“Oh, no! I shall see him soon enough.” + +And again Zeke chuckled. + +Frank looked up. + +He was expecting Philip to join him, and was, in fact, waiting for him +now. Zeke’s mysterious merriment suggested that he might have met +Philip—possibly bore some message from him. + +“Do you know anything about Phil?” asked Frank, looking fixedly at his +visitor. + +“I reckon I do. I know all about him,” said Zeke, with evident +enjoyment. + +“Well. If you have any message from him, let me hear it.” + +“You can’t guess where he is,” blurted out Zeke. + +“He isn’t in any trouble, is he?” asked Frank quickly. + +“No; he’s safe enough. But you needn’t expect to see him tonight.” + +“Why not?” demanded Frank, not yet guessing what was likely to detain +his friend. + +“Because he’s at our house,” chuckled Zeke. “Dad and Squire Pope have +carried him to the poorhouse, and he’s goin’ to stay there for good.” + +This was a surprise. In his astonishment, Frank nearly let go his rod. +He was eager now to question Zeke further. + +“You don’t mean to say Phil has been carried to the poorhouse against +his will?” he exclaimed. + +“I reckon he was anxious to go,” said Zeke. + +“Where was he when your father and Squire Pope committed this outrage?” +said Frank indignantly. + +“I thought you’d be mad,” said Zeke, with the same unpleasant chuckle. + +“Answer my question, or I’ll pitch you into the river,” said Frank +sternly. + +He did not mean what he said, but Zeke drew back in alarm. + +“Quit now! I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it,” said Zeke hastily. “Me +and him was over in Haywood’s pasture when dad come along with the +squire in his wagon. Well, they made Phil get in, and that’s all of it, +except I promised I’d come and tell your folks, so you needn’t get +scared or nothin’ when he didn’t come back to-night.” + +“He will come back to-night,” said Frank. “He won’t stay in the +poorhouse.” + +“Yes, he will. He can’t help himself. Dad’s goin’ to lock him up in the +attic. I guess he won’t jump out of the window. Where you goin’! You +ain’t got through fishin’, be you?” + +“Yes, I’m through,” answered Frank, as he drew his line out of the +water. “Just tell Phil when you go home that he’s got friends outside +who won’t see him suffer.” + +“Say, ain’t you goin’ to give me nothin’ for comin’ to tell you!” asked +Zeke, who was always intent on the main chance. + +Frank flung a nickel in his direction, which Zeke picked up with +avidity. + +“I guess it pays to run errands when you can get paid twice,” he +reflected complacently. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. +PHILIP’S NEW ROOM. + + +We return to Phil. + +“Foller me, boy!” said Mr. Tucker, as he entered the house, and +proceeded to ascend the front steps. + +Philip had formed his plans, and without a word of remonstrance, he +obeyed. The whole interior was dingy and dirty. Mrs. Tucker was not a +neat woman, and everything looked neglected and slipshod. + +In the common room, to the right, the door of which was partly open, +Philip saw some old men and women sitting motionless, in a sort of +weary patience. They were “paupers,” and dependent for comfort on the +worthy couple, who regarded them merely as human machines, good to them +for sixty cents a week each. + +Mr. Tucker did not stop at the first landing, but turned and began to +ascend a narrower and steeper staircase leading to the next story. + +This was, if anything, dirtier and more squalid than the first and +second. There were several small rooms on the third floor, into one of +which Mr. Tucker pushed his way. “Come in,” he said. “Now you’re at +home. This is goin’ to be your room.” + +Philip looked around him in disgust, which he did not even take the +trouble to conceal. + +There was a cot-bed in the corner, with an unsavory heap of +bed-clothing upon it, and a couple of chairs, both with wooden seats, +and one with the back gone. + +That was about all the furniture. There was one window looking out upon +the front. + +“So this is to be my room, is it?” asked our hero. + +“Yes. How do you like it?” + +“I don’t see any wash-stand, or any chance to wash.” + +“Come, that’s rich!” said Mr. Tucker, appearing to be very much amused. +“You didn’t think you was stoppin’ in the Fifth Avenoo Hotel, did you?” + +“This don’t look like it.” + +“We ain’t used to fashionable boarders, and we don’t know how to take +care of ’em. You’ll have to go downstairs and wash in the trough, like +the rest of the paupers do.” + +“And wipe my face on the grass, I suppose?” said Philip coolly, though +his heart sank within him at the thought of staying even one night in a +place so squalid and filthy. + +“Come, that’s goin’ too far,” said Mr. Tucker, who felt that the +reputation of the boarding-house was endangered by such insinuations. +“We mean to live respectable. There’s two towels a week allowed, and +that I consider liberal.” + +“And do all your boarders use the same towel?” asked Phil, unable to +suppress an expression of disgust. + +“Sartain. You don’t think we allow ’em one apiece, do you!” + +“No, I don’t,” said Philip decidedly. + +He had ceased to expect anything so civilized in Mr. Tucker’s +establishment. + +“Now you’re safe in your room, I reckon I’d better go downstairs,” said +Tucker. + +“I will go with you.” + +“Not much you won’t! We ain’t a-goin’ to give you a chance of runnin’ +away just yet!” + +“Do you mean to keep me a prisoner?” demanded Philip. + +“That’s just what we do, at present,” answered his genial host. + +“It won’t be for long, Mr. Tucker.” + +“What’s that you say? I’m master here, I’d have you to know!” + +Just then a shrill voice was heard from below: + +“Come down, Joe Tucker! Are you goin’ to stay upstairs all day?” + +“Comin’, Abigail!” answered Mr. Tucker hastily, as he backed out of the +room, locking the door behind him. Philip heard the click of the key as +it turned in the lock, and he realized, for the first time in his life, +that he was a prisoner. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. +A PAUPER’S MEAL + + +Half an hour later Philip heard a pounding on the door of his room. + +He was unable to open it, but he called out, loud enough for the +outsider to hear: + +“Who is it?” + +“It’s me—Zeke,” was the answer that came back. + +“Did you tell the Dunbars where I was?” asked Philip eagerly. + +“Yes.” + +“I shouldn’t think you had time to go there and back,” said Philip, +fearing that Zeke had pocketed his money and then played him false. +But, as we know, he was mistaken in this. + +“I didn’t go there,” shouted Zeke. “I met Frank on the bridge.” + +“What did he say?” + +“He was mad,” answered Zeke, laughing. “I thought he would be.” + +“Did he send any message to me?” asked Philip. + +“No; he stopped fishin’ and went home.” Here the conversation was +interrupted. The loud tones in which Zeke had been speaking, in order +to be heard through the door, had attracted attention below. + +His father came to the foot of the attic stairs and demanded +suspiciously: + +“What you doin’ there, Zeke?” + +“Tryin’ to cheer up Phil Gray,” answered Zeke jocosely. + +“He don’t need any cheerin’ up. He’s all right. I reckon you’re up to +some mischief.” + +“No, I ain’t.” + +“Come along down.” + +“All right, dad, if you say so. Lucky he didn’t hear what I was sayin’ +about seein’ Frank Dunbar,” thought Zeke. “He’d be mad.” + +Presently there was another caller at Philip’s room, or, rather, +prison. This time it was Mr. Tucker himself. He turned the key in the +lock and opened the door. Philip looked up inquiringly. + +“Supper’s ready,” announced Joe. “You can come down if you want to.” + +Philip was provided with an appetite, but he did not relish the idea of +going downstairs and joining the rest of Mr. Tucker’s boarders. It +would seem like a tacit admission that he was one of their number. Of +course, he couldn’t do without eating, but he had a large apple in his +pocket when captured, and he thought that this would prevent his +suffering from hunger for that night, at least, and he did not mean to +spend another at the Norton poorhouse. The problem of to-morrow’s +supply of food might be deferred till then. + +“I don’t care for any supper,” answered Philip. + +“Perhaps you expect your meals will be brought up to you?” said Mr. +Tucker, with a sneer. + +“I haven’t thought about it particularly,” said Philip coolly. + +“You may think you’re spitin’ me by not eatin’ anything,” observed Mr. +Tucker, who was rather alarmed lest Philip might have made up his mind +to starve himself. + +This would be embarrassing, for it would make an investigation +necessary. + +“Oh, no,” answered Philip, smiling; “that never came into my mind.” + +“I don’t mind bringin’ you up your supper for once,” said Tucker. “Of +course, I can’t do it reg’lar, but this is the first night.” + +“I suppose I shall be better able to make my escape if I eat,” thought +Philip. “Probably the most sensible thing is to accept this offer.” + +“How much are you to get for my board, Mr. Tucker?” he asked. + +“Only sixty cents,” grumbled Tucker. “It ain’t enough, but the town +won’t pay any more. You’ve no idea what appetites them paupers has.” + +“You made a mistake when you agreed to take me,” said Philip gravely. +“I’m very hearty, you’ll be sure to lose money on me.” + +Mr. Tucker looked uneasy. + +“Well, you see I expect to have you earn part of your board by doin’ +chores,” he said, after a pause. + +“That will give me a good chance to run away,” remarked Philip calmly. +“You’ll have to let me out of this room to work, you know.” + +“You wouldn’t dare to run away!” said Tucker, trying to frighten Philip +by a blustering manner. + +“That shows you don’t know me, Mr. Tucker!” returned our hero. “I give +you fair warning that I shall run away the first chance I get.” + +Philip’s tone was so calm and free from excitement that Mr. Tucker +could not help seeing that he was in earnest, and he looked perplexed. + +“You don’t look at it in the right light,” he said, condescending to +conciliate his new boarder. “If you don’t make no trouble, you’ll have +a good time, and I’ll let you off, now an’ then, to play with Zeke. He +needs a boy to play with.” + +Philip smiled, for the offer did not attract him very much. + +“You are very kind,” he said, “but I don’t think that even that will +reconcile me to staying here with you. But, if you’ll agree to let me +pay you for the supper, you may bring me up some.” + +“The town will pay me,” said Tucker. + +“That’s just what I don’t want the town to do,” said Philip quickly. “I +will make you an offer. At sixty cents a week the meals for one day +will not cost over ten cents. I’ll pay you ten cents for supper and +breakfast.” + +“You’re a cur’us boy,” said Tucker. “You want to pay for your vittles +in a free boardin’-house.” + +“It isn’t free to me. At any rate, I don’t want it to be. What do you +say?” + +“Oh, I ain’t no objections to take your money,” said Tucker, laughing. +“I didn’t know you was so rich.” + +“I am not rich, but I think I can pay my board as long as I stay here.” + +This Philip said because he had decided that his stay should be a very +brief one. + +“Just as you say!” chuckled Mr. Tucker. + +As he went downstairs he reflected: + +“I can take the boy’s money and charge his board to the town, too. +There’s nothin’ to hender, and it’ll be so much more in my pocket. I +wish the rest of the paupers would foller his example.” + +He went downstairs and explained to Mrs. Tucker that he wanted Philip’s +supper. + +“Tell him to come down to the table like the rest of the folks!” +retorted Mrs. Tucker. “He ain’t too lazy, is he?” + +“No; but it’s safer to keep him in his room for the first twenty-four +hours. He’s a desperate boy, but I reckon he’ll get tamed after a +while.” + +“I’ll desperate him!” said Mrs. Tucker scornfully. “I don’t believe in +humorin’ him.” + +“Nor I, Abigail. He’d like to come down, but I won’t let him. We can +manage him between us.” + +“I should smile if we couldn’t,” said Mrs. Tucker. “If you want any +supper for him, you can get it yourself. I’ve got too much to do. No, +Widder Jones, you can’t have another cup of tea, and you needn’t beg +for it. One cup’s plenty for you, and it’s all we can afford.” + +“Only this once,” pleaded the poor old woman. “I’ve got a headache.” + +“Then another cup of tea would only make it worse. If you’ve got +through your supper, go back to your seat and give more room for the +rest.” + +While Mrs. Tucker was badgering and domineering over her regular +boarders, her husband put two slices of dry bread on a plate, poured +out a cup of tea, not strong enough to keep the most delicate child +awake, and surreptitiously provided an extra luxury in the shape of a +thin slice of cold meat. He felt that, as he was to receive double +price, he ought to deal generously by our hero. + +He carried this luxurious supper to the third story, and set it down +before Philip. + +Philip promptly produced a dime, which Mr. Tucker pocketed with +satisfaction. He waited till his young guest had finished his repast, +in order himself to carry down the dishes. + +There was no butter for the bread, and the tea had been sweetened +scantily. However, Philip had the appetite of a healthy boy, and he ate +and drank everything that had been provided. + +“I’ll be up in the morning,” said Mr. Tucker. “We go to bed early here. +The paupers go to roost at seven, and me and my wife and Zeke at eight. +You’d better go to bed early, too.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. +A FRIENDLY MISSION. + + +Philip was glad to hear that all in the almshouse went to bed so early. +He had not yet given up the hope of escaping that night, though he had +as yet arranged no definite plan of escape. + +Meanwhile, he had an active friend outside. I refer, of course, to +Frank Dunbar. Frank had no sooner heard of his friend’s captivity than +he instantly determined, if it were a possible thing, to help him to +escape. + +He would not even wait till the next day, but determined after it was +dark to visit the poor-house and reconnoiter. First, he informed his +parents what had befallen Phil. Their indignation was scarcely less +than his. + +“Squire Pope is carrying matters with a high hand,” said the farmer. +“According to my idea, he has done no less than kidnap Philip, without +the shadow of a legal right.” + +“Can’t he be prosecuted?” asked Frank eagerly. + +“I am not sure as to that,” answered his father, “but I am confident +that Philip will not be obliged to remain, unless he chooses, a +dependent upon the charity of the town.” + +“It is outrageous!” said Mrs. Dunbar, who was quite as friendly to +Philip as her husband and son. + +“In my opinion,” said Mr. Dunbar, “Squire Pope has done a very unwise +thing as regards his own interests. He desires to remain in office, and +the people will not be likely to reelect him if his policy is to make +paupers of those who wish to maintain themselves. Voters will be apt to +think that they are sufficiently taxed already for the support of those +who are actually unable to maintain themselves.” + +“If I were a voter,” exclaimed Frank indignantly, “I wouldn’t vote for +Squire Pope, even for dog-catcher! The meanest part of it is the +underhanded way in which he has taken Phil. He must have known he was +acting illegally, or he would have come here in open day and required +Phil to go with him.” + +“I agree with you, Frank. Squire Pope may be assured that he has lost +my vote from henceforth. Hitherto I have voted for him annually for +selectman, knowing that he wanted the office and considering him fairly +faithful.” + +“Father,” said Frank, after a thoughtful pause, “do you think Philip +would be justified in escaping from the poorhouse?” + +“I do,” answered Mr. Dunbar. “In this free country I hold that no one +ought to be made an object of charity against his will.” + +“Philip is strong enough and smart enough to earn his own living,” said +Frank. + +“That is true. I will myself give him his board and clothes if he will +stay with me and work on the farm.” + +“I wish he would. He would be a splendid companion for me; but I think +he wants to leave Norton, and try his fortune in some larger place.” + +“I can’t blame him. If his father were living and he had a good home, I +should not think it wise; but, as matters stand, it may not be a bad +plan for him.” + +“Father,” said Frank, after supper, “I am going out and I may not be +back very early.” + +“Are you going to see Philip?” + +“Yes; but I want to see him alone. If possible, I will see him without +attracting the attention of Joe Tucker.” + +“You won’t get into any trouble, Frank?” said his mother anxiously. + +“No, mother; I don’t know what trouble I can get into.” + +“You may very likely fail to see Philip,” suggested his father. “I hear +that Tucker and his boarders go to bed very early.” + +“So much the better!” said Frank, in a tone of satisfaction. “The only +one I want to see is Philip, and he isn’t likely to go to sleep very +early.” + +Mr. Dunbar smiled to himself. + +“Frank has got some plan in his head,” he thought. “I won’t inquire +what it is, for he has good common sense, and won’t do anything +improper.” + +About eight o’clock, Frank, after certain preparations, which will +hereafter be referred to, set out for the poorhouse, which was about a +mile distant. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. +PHILIP MAKES HIS ESCAPE. + + +It grew darker and darker in Philip’s chamber, but no one came to bring +him a light. It was assumed that he would go to bed before he required +one. + +By seven o’clock the paupers had settled themselves for the night, and +when eight o’clock struck, Mr. and Mrs. Tucker sought their beds. It +was no particular trial for Joe Tucker to go to bed early, for he was +naturally a lazy man, and fond of rest; while his wife, who worked a +great deal harder than he, after being on her feet from four o’clock in +the morning, found it a welcome relief to lie down and court friendly +sleep. Zeke wasn’t always ready to go to bed. In fact, he would much +rather have gone up to the village now and then, but if he had done so +he would have had to stay out all night. There was one thing his +parents were strict about, and that was retiring at eight o’clock. + +Philip, however, did not retire at that hour. It was earlier than his +usual hour for bed. Besides, he was in hopes his friend Frank would +make his appearance, and help him, though he didn’t exactly understand +how, to make his escape. + +At half-past eight it was dark. The stars were out, and the moon was +just making its appearance. Philip had opened his window softly, and +was looking out, when all at once he saw a boyish figure approaching. + +Could it be Frank Dunbar? + +He hoped so, but in the indistinct light could not be quite certain. + +The boy, whoever it might be, approached cautiously, till he stood +within fifty feet of the house. + +Then Philip saw that it was indeed Frank, and his heart beat joyfully. +It was something to see a friend, even though they were separated by +what seemed to him to be an impassable gulf. + +About the same time, Frank recognized his friend, in the boyish figure +at the window. + +“Is that you, Phil?” he asked, in a guarded voice, yet loud enough to +be heard. + +“Yes, Frank; I have been expecting you. I knew you wouldn’t desert me.” + +“I should think not. I didn’t come before, because I didn’t want to be +seen by any of Tucker’s folks.” + +“They are all abed now, and I hope asleep.” + +“Can’t you come downstairs, and steal away?” + +“No; my chamber door is locked on the outside.” + +“That’s what I thought.” + +“Can’t you help me in any way?” + +“I’ll see. Suppose you had a rope—could you swing out of the window?” + +“Yes; I could fasten it to the bedstead, and fix that just against the +window.” + +“Then I think I can help you. Can you catch a ball?” + +“Yes; but what good will that do?” + +“You’ll see. Make ready now, and don’t miss it.” + +He produced a ball of common size, and after taking aim, threw it +lightly up toward Philip’s window. The first time it didn’t come within +reach. The second Philip caught it skilfully, and by the moonlight saw +that a stout piece of twine was attached to it. At the end of the twine +Frank had connected it with a clothesline which he had borrowed from +home. + +“Now pull away, Phil,” urged Frank. + +Philip did, and soon had the stout line in his possession. + +“It will hold; it’s new and strong,” said Frank. “Father only bought it +last week. I didn’t think, then, what use we should have for it.” + +Philip, however, was not afraid. He was so anxious to escape that, even +if there had been any risk to run, he would readily have incurred it +for the sake of getting away from the poor-house, in which he was +unwilling to spend a single night. He fastened one end of the rope +firmly to his bedstead, as he had proposed, then cautiously got upon +the window-sill and lowered himself, descending hand over hand till he +reached the ground. + +He breathed a sigh of relief as he detached himself from the rope and +stood beside Frank Dunbar. + +Just then the boys heard a second-story window open, and saw Mr. +Tucker’s head projecting from it. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. +ESCAPE AND FLIGHT. + + +Though the boys had made as little noise as possible, conversing in an +undertone, they had been heard by Mrs. Tucker. Her husband, as was his +custom, had gone to sleep; but Mrs. Tucker, who, during the day, had +discovered the loss of ten cents from her bureau drawer in which she +kept her savings, had been kept awake by mental trouble. Some of my +readers may think so small a loss scarcely worth keeping awake for, but +Mrs. Joe Tucker was a strictly economical and saving woman—some even +called her penurious—and the loss of ten cents troubled her. + +She would have laid it to one of “them paupers,” as she was wont +contemptuously to refer to them, except that she never allowed one of +them to enter the sacred precincts of her chamber. + +A horrible thought entered her mind. Could it be Zeke, the boy whom she +thought such a paragon, though no one else had been able to discover +his virtues or attractions? She did not like to think of it, but it did +occur to her that Zeke, the previous day, had asked her for ten cents, +though he would not own the purpose for which he wanted it. The boy +might have been tempted to take the money. At any rate, she would go +and see. + +Zeke slept in a small room adjoining. When his mother entered, with a +candle in her hand, he was lying asleep, with his mouth wide open, and +one arm dropped over the side of the bed. + +Mrs. Tucker took a look at him, and saw that he was wrapped in slumber +and unable to notice what she proposed to do. His clothes were thrown +down carelessly on a chair near-by. + +Mrs. Tucker searched first in the pockets of his pants, and, though she +discovered a large variety of miscellaneous articles, “of no use to any +one except the owner,” she didn’t discover any traces of the missing +dime. She began to hope that he had not taken it, after all, although, +in that case, the loss would continue to be shrouded in obscurity. But, +on continuing her search, she discovered in one of the pockets of his +vest a silver ten-cent piece. + +Mrs. Tucker’s eyes flashed, partly with indignation at Zeke’s +dishonesty, partly with joy at the recovery of the missing coin. + +“I’ve found you out, you bad boy!” she said, in a low voice, shaking +her fist at the sleeping boy. “I wouldn’t have believed that my Zeke +would have robbed his own mother. We must have a reckoning to-morrow.” + +She was half-inclined to wake Zeke up and charge him with his crime, +confronting him with the evidence of it which she had just discovered; +but on second thoughts she decided that she might as well let him +sleep, as the next day would do just as well. + +Poor Zeke! he was not guilty, after all, though whether his honesty was +strict enough to resist a powerful temptation, I am not sure. + +The dime which Mrs. Tucker had discovered was the same one that Philip +had given to Zeke in return for his service in notifying Frank Dunbar +of his captivity. In another pocket was the five-cent piece given him +by Frank, but that had escaped his mother’s attention. + +The reader will understand now how it happened that Mrs. Tucker was +kept awake beyond her usual time. She was broad awake when Frank Dunbar +arrived, and she heard something through the partially open window of +the conference between the two boys. She heard the voices that is to +say, but could not tell what was said. + +With her mind dwelling upon Zeke’s supposed theft, however, she was +more easily frightened than usual, and immediately jumped to the +conclusion that there were burglars outside, trying to get in. + +The absurdity of burglars attempting to rob the town poorhouse did not +occur to her in panic. She sat up in bed, and proceeded to nudge her +husband in no gentle fashion. + +“Mr. Tucker!” she exclaimed. + +Her husband responded by an inarticulate murmur, but did not wake. + +“Mr. Tucker!” she exclaimed, in a louder voice, giving him a still more +vigorous shake. + +“Eh! What! What’s the matter?” said Tucker, opening his eyes at last, +and staring vacantly at his wife. + +“What’s the matter!” retorted his wife impatiently. “The matter is that +there’s burglars outside!” + +“Let ’em stay outside!” said Joe Tucker, in a sleepy tone. + +“Did any one ever hear such a fool?” exclaimed Mrs. Tucker, +exasperated. “They’re trying to get in. Do you hear that, Mr. Tucker?” + +“Trying to get in! Is the door locked?” asked Joe, a little alarmed. + +“You must get up and defend the house,” continued Mrs. Tucker. + +Now, Mr. Tucker was not a brave man. He had no fancy for having a +hand-to-hand conflict with burglars, who might be presumed to be +desperate men. It occurred to him that it would be decidedly better to +stay where he was and run no risk. + +“Never mind, Abigail,” he said, soothingly. “The burglars can’t do us +any harm. They can’t do any more than carry off a pauper or two, and I +don’t, believe they’ll do that.” + +“I wouldn’t mind that, Mr. Tucker; but I’ve left the spoons +down-stairs!” answered his wife. + +“How many are there!” + +“Six. I want you to go down and get them and bring them up here, where +they will be safe.” + +“But suppose I should meet some of the burglars!” suggested Tucker, +trembling. + +“Then you must defend yourself like a man!” + +“You might find me in the morning weltering in my gore!” said Joe, with +an uneasy shudder. + +“Are we to have the spoons stolen, then!” demanded Mrs. Tucker sharply. + +“If you care so much for the spoons, Abigail, you’d better go +down-stairs yourself and get ’em. I don’t value them as much as my +life.” + +“I don’t know but I will, if you’ll look out of the window and see +whether you can see any of the burglars outside,” responded Mrs. +Tucker. “If they haven’t got in yet, I’ll take the risk.” + +“Where did you hear ’em, Abigail?” + +“Right outside. Open the window and look out, and you may see ’em.” + +Mr. Tucker was not entirely willing to do this, but still he preferred +it to going down-stairs after the spoons, and accordingly he advanced, +and, lifting the window, put his head out, as described at the close of +the last chapter. + +Philip and Frank were just ready to go when they heard the window +rising, and naturally looked up in some trepidation. + +“It’s old Tucker!” said Frank, in a low voice. + +Philip looked up, and saw that his friend was right. + +Mr. Tucker had not yet discovered them, but the whisper caught his ear, +and looking down he caught sight of the two boys. + +In his alarm, and the obscurity of the night, he did not make out that +they were boys and not men, and was about to withdraw his head in +alarm, when a mischievous impulse seized Frank Dunbar. + +“Give me the ball, Philip!” he said quickly. + +Philip complied with his request, not understanding his intention. + +Now, Frank belonged to a baseball club, and had a capital aim. He threw +up the ball and struck Mr. Tucker fairly in the nose. The effect upon +the terrified Joe was startling. + +Full as his mind was of burglars, he fancied that it was something a +great deal more deadly that had struck him. + +“Oh, Abigail! I’m shot through the brain!” he moaned in anguish, as he +poked in his head and fell back upon the floor. + +“What do you mean, Joe?” asked his wife, in alarm, as she hastened to +her prostrate husband, whose hand was pressed convulsively upon the +injured organ, which, naturally ached badly with the force of the blow. + +“I’m a dead man!” moaned Mr. Tucker; “and it’s all your fault. You made +me go to the window.” + +“I don’t believe you’re shot at all! I didn’t hear any report,” said +Mrs. Tucker. “Let me see your face.” + +Mr. Tucker withdrew his hand mournfully. + +“You’ve only been struck with a rock or something,” said she, after a +careful examination. + +“It’s bleeding!” groaned Joe, seeing a dark stain on his night-dress. + +“Suppose it is—it won’t kill you. I’ll look out myself.” + +But she saw nothing. Philip and Frank had immediately taken to flight, +and vanished in the darkness. + +“They’ve run away!” announced Mrs. Tucker. “My spoons are safe.” + +“But my nose isn’t,” groaned Mr. Tucker. + +“You won’t die this time,” said Mrs. Tucker, not very sympathetically. +“Soak your nose in the wash-basin, and you’ll be all right in the +morning.” + +The two boys were destined to have another adventure that night. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. +A NIGHT ADVENTURE. + + +“I didn’t mean to hit him,” said Frank, as he and Philip hurried away +from the poorhouse, “I only intended to give him a fright.” + +“I think you have. I wonder whether he recognized us!” + +“I don’t believe it. He had hardly got his head out of the window +before I let drive.” + +“Then he won’t imagine I have escaped.” + +“What are your plans, Phil? Suppose they try to take you back to the +poorhouse?” + +“They won’t get the chance. Before five o’clock to-morrow morning I +shall leave Norton.” + +“Leave town?” exclaimed Frank, in surprise. “And so soon?” + +“Yes. There is nothing for me to do here.” + +“Father would like to have you stay and assist him on the farm. He said +so to me. He wouldn’t be able to pay much, but I think we would have a +good time together.” + +Philip pressed his friend’s hand warmly. + +“I know we should, Frank,” he said, “but if I remained here, it would +only remind me of my poor father. I would rather go out into the world +and try my fortune.” + +“Isn’t it risky, Phil?” objected Frank doubtfully. + +“I suppose it is; but I am willing to work, and I don’t expect much.” + +“Suppose you fall sick?” + +“Then, if I can, I will come back to you and your good father and +mother, and stay till I am well.” + +“Promise me that, Phil?” + +“I promise.” + +“I wish I could go with you, Phil,” said Frank, with a boyish impulse. + +“No, it wouldn’t be wise for you. You have a good home, and you will be +better off there than among strangers.” + +“It might be your home, too, Phil.” + +“Thank you; but I shall be better away from Norton for a time.” + +A minute later, Frank said suddenly: + +“There’s Squire Pope coming. He will see you.” + +“I don’t care. He won’t take me back.” + +“Get behind the stone wall, and I will wait and interview him.” + +Philip immediately followed the advice of his friend. He was curious to +hear what the squire would say. + +Squire Pope’s eyesight was not good, and it was only when he came near +that he recognized Frank Dunbar. He stopped short, for there was a +subject on which he wished to speak. + +“Frank Dunbar!” he said. + +“Do you wish to speak to me, sir?” inquired Frank coldly. + +“Yes. Where have you been?” + +“Out walking,” answered Frank shortly. + +“Have you been to the poorhouse?” + +“I have.” + +“Did you see Philip?” + +“I saw him looking out of a third-story window.” + +Squire Pope chuckled, if, indeed, such a dignified man can be said to +chuckle. + +“What did he say?” he condescended to inquire. + +“That he wouldn’t stay.” + +“He will have to,” responded Squire Pope complacently. “Mr. Tucker will +see to that.” + +“Probably Mr. Tucker will wake up some fine morning and find Phil’s +room empty,” said Frank quietly. + +“I’ll take the risk of it,” returned the squire serenely. “But there’s +a matter I want to speak to you about. You’ve got Philip’s fiddle in +your possession.” + +“Suppose I have.” + +“I wish you to bring it round to my house in the morning, and I’ll give +you something for your trouble.” + +“You must excuse me, Squire Pope. If it were your property, I would +bring it to you and charge nothing for my trouble.” + +“Young man,” said the squire sternly. “I am Philip’s legal guardian, +and I have a right to receive his violin. You will get into trouble if +you resist my authority.” + +“If you will give me Philip’s order for it, you shall have it, sir.” + +“Frank Dunbar, you are trifling with me. Philip is now a pauper, and +has no right to hold property of any kind. He cannot give a legal +order.” + +“Then you are guardian to a pauper?” + +“In my capacity of overseer of the poor.” + +“In my capacity as Philip’s friend, I refuse to consider you his +guardian. You may call him a pauper, but that doesn’t make him one.” + +“He is an inmate of the Norton Poorhouse.” + +Frank laughed. + +“I don’t want to be disrespectful, Squire Pope,” he said; “but I can’t +help telling you that you undertook a bigger job than you thought for, +when you made up your mind to make a pauper of Philip Gray.” + +Squire Pope was indignant at the coolness of Frank. + +“I shall come to your house to-morrow morning,” he said, “and convince +you to the contrary.” + +“Very well, sir.” + +Frank Dunbar bowed, and the squire went his way. + +“That’s a very impudent boy!” he soliloquized. “Just like the Gray boy. +It wouldn’t do him any harm to put him under Joe Tucker’s care, too.” + +After the squire had passed on, Philip came out from behind the stone +wall. + +“Did you hear what passed between your guardian and myself?” asked +Frank. + +“Yes, I heard every word.” + +“He little thought that the bird had flown, Phil.” + +“He will make all the trouble he can. That is one more reason why I +think it best to leave town.” + +“I wouldn’t let Squire Pope drive you out of town.” + +“I would stay and face the music if it suited me, but I want to go +away.” + +“Suppose we cut across this field. It will be a little nearer.” + +“All right.” + +There was a pathway through a pasture-lot, comprising some ten acres, +poor land, covered with puny bushes, and a few gnarled trees, producing +cider-apples. It belonged to an old bachelor farmer, who lived in +solitary fashion, doing his own cooking, and in general taking care of +himself. He was reputed to have money concealed about his premises, +which was quite probable, as he spent little, and was known to have +received, four years before, a considerable legacy from the estate of a +brother who had died, a successful merchant in the city of New York. + +The boys had to pass by the small and weather-stained house where he +lived, as the path ran very near it. + +When within a few rods of the house, the boys were startled by a sharp +cry of terror, which appeared to proceed from inside the house. + +Both simultaneously stood still. + +“What’s that!” exclaimed both in concert. + +“Somebody must be trying to rob Mr. Lovett,” suggested Frank. + +“Can’t we do something!” said Phil quickly. + +“We can try.” + +There were two stout sticks or clubs lying on the ground at their feet. +They stooped, picked them up, and ran to the house. A glance showed +that one of the windows on the north side had been raised. + +The window sill was low. Pausing a moment before springing over it into +the room, they looked in and this was what they saw: + +The farmer lay half-prostrate on the floor, half supporting himself by +a chair, which he had mechanically grasped as he was forced downward. +Over him stood a ruffianly looking tramp, whom Phil remembered to have +seen about the streets during the day, with a stick uplifted. He had +not heard the approach of the boys. + +“Give me two hundred dollars, and I’ll go,” he said to the man at his +feet. + +“I cannot do it. I haven’t got as much here.” + +“That’s a lie!” said the other coarsely. “I heard all about you to-day. +You’re a miser, and you’ve got no end of money stowed away here. Get it +for me, quick, or I’ll dash your brains out.” + +Just then the prostrate farmer saw what the tramp could not see, his +back being turned to the window, the faces of the two boys looking +through the window. Fresh courage came to him. Single-handed, and taken +at advantage, he was no match for the ruffian who had entered his +house; but with these two young auxiliaries he felt that all was not +lost. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. +A REFORMED BURGLAR. + + +“What do you say!” demanded the tramp impatiently. “Speak quick! I +can’t stay here all night.” + +“Let me up, and I’ll see if I can find the money for you.” + +“I thought I’d bring you to terms,” said the tramp, laughing grimly. + +He allowed his victim to rise, as he certainly would not have done if +he had looked behind him and seen the two boys at the window. + +“Now’s our time,” answered Philip. + +He gave a light spring into the room, followed by Frank. + +Of course, the tramp heard them, and turned in sudden alarm. As he +turned, the farmer snatched the club from his hand, and he found +himself unexpectedly unarmed and confronted by three enemies. + +“It’s my turn now,” said Lovett. “Do you surrender?” + +The tramp saw that the game was up and made a dash for the open window, +but Philip skillfully inserted a stick between his legs, and tripped +him up, and, with the help of Mr. Lovett, held him, struggling +desperately, till Frank fetched a rope, with which he was securely +bound. + +“Confound you!” he said, scowling at the two boys. “But for you I would +have succeeded and got away with my booty.” + +“That’s true!” said the farmer. “I owe my escape from robbery, and, +perhaps, bodily injury, to you.” + +“I am glad we were at hand,” said Philip. + +“And now, my friend,” said the farmer, “I may as well say that you were +quite mistaken in supposing I kept a large amount of money in this +lonely house. I should be a fool to do it, and I am not such a fool as +that.” + +“Where do you keep your money, then?” growled the tramp. + +“In different savings-banks. I am ready to tell you, for it will do you +no good.” + +“I wish I’d known it sooner. I came here on a fool’s errand.” + +“I am glad you have found it out.” + +“Now, what are you going to do with me!” + +“Keep you here till I can deliver you into the hands of the law.” + +“That won’t do you any good.” + +“It will give you a home, where you cannot prey on the community.” + +“I don’t mean to do so any more. I’m going to turn over a new leaf and +become an honest man—that is, if you’ll let me go.” + +“Your conversion is rather sudden. I haven’t any faith in it.” + +“Listen to me,” said the man, “and then decide. Do you think I am a +confirmed lawbreaker?” + +“You look like it.” + +“Yes, I do; but I am not. Never in my life have I been confined in any +prison or penitentiary. I have never been arrested on any charge. I see +you don’t believe me. Let me tell you how I came to be what I am: Two +years since I was a mechanic, tolerably well-to-do, owning a house with +a small mortgage upon it. It was burned to the ground one night. I +built another, but failed to insure it. Six months since, that, too, +burned down, and left me penniless and in debt. Under this last blow I +lost all courage. I left the town where I had long lived, and began a +wandering life. In other words, I became a tramp. Steadily I lost my +self-respect till I was content to live on such help as the charitable +chose to bestow on me. It was not until to-day that I formed the plan +of stealing. I heard in the village that you kept a large sum of money +in your house, and an evil temptation assailed me. I had become tired +of wandering, and determined to raise a sum which would enable me to +live at ease for a time, I should have succeeded but for these two +boys.” + +“And you are sorry you did not succeed?” + +“I was, five minutes since, but I feel differently now. I have been +saved from crime. Now, I have told you my story. Do with me as you +will.” + +The man’s appearance was rough, but there was something in his tone +which led Mr. Lovett to think that he was speaking the truth. + +“Boys,” he said, “you have heard what this man says. What do you think +of it?” + +“I believe him!” said Philip promptly. + +“Thank you, boy,” said the tramp. “I am glad some one has confidence in +me.” + +“I believe you, too,” said Frank. + +“I have not deceived you. Your words have done me more good than you +think. It is my first attempt to steal, and it shall be my last.” + +“If you want to become an honest man, God forbid that I should do aught +to prevent you!” said the farmer. “I may be acting unwisely, but I mean +to cut this rope and let you go.” + +“Will you really do this?” said the tramp, his face lighting up with +mingled joy and surprise. + +“I will.” + +He knelt on the floor, and drawing from his pocket a large jack-knife, +cut the rope. + +The tramp sprang to his feet. + +“Thank you,” he said, in a husky voice. “I believe you are a good man. +There are not many who would treat me as generously, considering what I +tried to do just now. You sha’n’t repent it. Will you give me your +hand!” + +“Gladly,” said the farmer; and he placed his hand in that of the +visitor, lately so unwelcome. “I wish you better luck.” + +“Boys, will you give me your hands, too?” asked tke tramp, turning to +Philip and Frank. + +Tke boys readily complied with his request, and repeated the good +wishes of the farmer. + +The stranger was about to leave the house, when Lovett said: + +“Stay, my friend, I wish to ask you a question.” + +“Very well, sir.” + +“Have you any money?” + +“Not a cent.” + +“Then take this,” said the farmer, drawing from his vest pocket a +five-dollar bill. “I lend it to you. Some time you will be able to +repay it, if you keep to your resolution of leading an honest life. +When that time comes, lend it to some man who needs it as you do now.” + +“Thank you, sir. I will take it, for it will help me greatly at this +time. Good-by! If you ever see me again, you will see a different man.” + +He leaped through the window and was gone. + +“I don’t know if I have done a wise thing, but I will take the risk,” +said the farmer. “And now, boys, I want to make you some return for +your assistance to-night.” Both Frank and Philip earnestly protested +that they would receive nothing in the conversation that ensued. Philip +made known his intention to leave Norton the next morning. + +“What are your plans? Where do you mean to go?” asked the farmer. + +“I don’t know, sir. I shall make up my mind as I go along. I think I +can make my living somehow.” + +“Wait here five minutes,” said Lovett, and he went into an adjoining +room. + +Within the time mentioned, he returned, holding in his hand a sealed +letter. + +“Philip,” he said, “put this envelope in your pocket, and don’t open it +till you are fifty miles from here.” + +“Very well, sir,” answered Philip, rather puzzled, but not so much +surprised as he might have been if he had not known the farmer’s +reputation for eccentricity. + +“I suppose it contains some good advice,” he thought. “Well, good +advice is what I need.” + +The two boys went home immediately upon leaving the farmhouse. Though +so much had happened, it was not late, being not quite half-past nine. + +Philip received a cordial welcome from Mr. and Mrs. Dunbar, who, +however, hardly expected to see him so soon. “Are you willing to +receive a pauper beneath your roof?” asked Philip, smiling. + +“That you will never be while you have health and strength, I’ll be +bound,” said Mr. Dunbar. “I like your pride and independence, Philip.” + +They tried to induce Philip to give up his resolution to leave Norton +the next morning, but did not succeed. + +“I will come back some time,” he said. “Now I feel better to go.” + +At five o’clock the next morning, with a small bundle swung over his +shoulder, attached to a stick, Philip Gray, carrying his violin, left +the village, which, for some years, had been his home. Frank +accompanied him for the first mile of his journey. Then the two friends +shook hands and parted—not without sorrow, for who could tell when they +would meet again? + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. +A PROFESSIONAL ENGAGEMENT. + + +A depressing feeling of loneliness came to Phil after he had parted +with Frank. He was going out into the world with no one to lean upon, +and no one to sympathize with him or lend him a helping hand. No wonder +he felt friendless and alone. But this mood did not last long. + +“I shall find friends if I deserve them,” he reflected, “and I don’t +mean to do anything dishonorable or wrong. I am willing to work, and I +believe I can make a living.” + +Leaving him to proceed, we go back to the poor-house, where his absence +was not noticed till morning. + +Joe Tucker, in spite of the blow which his nasal organ had received, +slept pretty comfortably, and was awakened at an early hour by his +vigilant spouse. + +“You’d better go up and wake that boy and set him to work, Mr. Tucker,” +she said. “There are plenty of chores for him to do.” + +“You are right, Abigail,” said Mr. Tucker, with approval. He reflected +that he could assign to Philip some of the work which generally fell to +himself, and the reflection was an agreeable one. He had tried to get +work out of Zeke, but he generally found that it was harder to keep him +at work than it was to do the job himself. + +After he had made his toilet—not a very elaborate one—Mr. Tucker went +up-stairs to arouse his young prisoner. He found the key in the outside +of the door. Everything seemed right. + +“I wonder how he feels this morning?” chuckled Mr. Tucker. “Wonder +whether he’s tamed down a little?” + +He turned the key in the lock and threw open the door. He glanced at +the bed, started in amazement to find that it had not been slept in, +and then his wonder ceased, for the telltale rope explained how the boy +had escaped. + +He ran down-stairs in anger and excitement. + +“What’s the matter with you, Joe Tucker?” demanded his wife. “Are you +drunk or crazy?” + +“Enough to make me both, wife,” he answered. “The boy’s gone!” + +“Gone!” exclaimed Mrs. Tucker, stopping short, with a saucepan in her +hand. + +“Gone!” ejaculated Zeke, his mouth wide open. + +“I don’t believe it,” said Mrs. Tucker positively. “He couldn’t go. +He’d have to jump out of the third-story window.” + +“Sure enough!” said Zeke. + +“I can’t help it—he’s gone,” declared Mr. Tucker. “He tied a +clothesline to the bedstead and let himself down from the window. Now, +I want to know who left a clothesline in the room?” + +“There wasn’t any,” said Mrs. Tucker. + +“Maybe he had one in his pocket,” suggested Zeke. + +But this suggestion was not considered worthy of notice by his parents. + +“Now I know who hit me in the nose!” exclaimed Mr. Tucker, light +flashing upon him. “There was two of ’em—the ones I took for burglars.” + +“Then the other one must have been Frank Dunbar,” said Mrs. Tucker. + +“Zeke,” said his father, “go right off and tell Squire Pope that Philip +Gray has escaped. Ask him if I can’t have him arrested for assault and +battery. It’s likely he’s at Frank Dunbar’s now. We’ll have him back +before the day is out, and then I’ll see he don’t get out!” + +“All right, dad! As soon as I’ve had breakfast I’ll go.” + +The result of Zeke’s message was that Squire Pope hurried over to the +poorhouse and held a conference with Mr. and Mrs. Tucker. + +The next step was that he and Joe rode over to Mr. Dunbar’s, to demand +the return of the fugitive. + +They found Frank splitting wood in the yard. To him they made known +their errand, requesting him to call Philip out. + +“He isn’t here,” answered Frank. + +“Isn’t here? I don’t believe it!” said the squire hastily. + +“Sorry you doubt my word, Squire Pope, but it’s just as I say.” + +“Where is he, then?” demanded the squire suspiciously. + +“He has left town.” + +“Left town?” repeated the squire and Joe Tucker, in dismay. “Where is +he gone!” + +“He’s probably ten miles away by this time,” answered Frank, enjoying +their perplexity. “I guess you’d better wait till he comes back.” + +Joe and the squire conferred together, but no satisfactory result was +arrived at, except it wouldn’t pay to pursue Philip, for two +reasons—one, because they were quite uncertain in what direction he had +gone; another, because, even if overtaken, they would have no authority +to apprehend him, since he had been guilty of no crime. + +Finally a bright idea came to the squire. + +“Bring me out his fiddle,” he said to Frank. “I’m his guardian, and I +will take care of it for him.” + +“He carried it away with him,” said Frank. The squire’s lower jaw fell. +He was defeated at all points. “I guess we can’t do nothing, under the +circumstances, squire,” said Joe Tucker, scratching his head. + +“I shall have to reflect upon it,” said Squire Pope, in a crestfallen +tone. + +“That’s as good as a circus,” thought Frank, as his roguish glance +followed the two baffled conspirators as they rode out of the yard. +“It’s a pity Phil was not here to enjoy it.” + +At the end of the second day, Philip was some forty miles distant from +Norton. He had not walked all the way, but had got a lift for a few +miles from a tin-peddler, with whom he had a social chat. + +It cannot be said that he was depressed, or that he regretted having +left Norton, but he certainly did feel uncomfortable, and his +discomfort sprang from a very homely cause. + +To tell the plain truth, he was hungry. He had not had anything to eat +for six hours except an apple, which he had picked up by the roadside, +and during those six hours he had walked not far from fifteen miles. + +“I believe I never was so hungry before,” thought Philip. “The question +is, where is my supper to come from?” + +Although he knew pretty well the state of his finances, he began to +search his pockets to see if he could not somewhere find a stray dime, +or, better still, a quarter, with which to purchase the meal of which +he stood so much in need. But his search was unproductive, or, rather, +it only resulted in the discovery of a battered cent. + +“So that penny constitutes my whole fortune,” thought Philip. + +There were two houses in sight, one on each side of the road. + +Probably they would have given Philip a supper at either, but our +hero’s honest pride revolted at the idea of begging for a meal, much as +he stood in need of it. He might as well be a pauper, as he justly +reflected. So he pushed on. + +Evidently he was drawing near a village, for houses began to appear at +nearer intervals. + +“Hello, my boy! Where are you traveling!” asked a hearty voice. + +Philip turned round, and his glance rested on a stout young farmer, +whose face, though very much sunburned, was pleasant and good-natured. + +“I don’t know,” answered Philip. + +“Don’t know?” was repeated in surprise. + +“I am in search of work.” + +“Oh, that’s it! Are you a musician?” asked the young man, looking at +the violin. + +“Yes; a little of one.” + +“Are you looking for a job at fiddling?” asked the young man. + +“Yes, if I can find one,” answered Philip, smiling. + +“Can you play dancing-music?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then I guess I can get you a job for this evening.” + +“I wish you could,” said Philip hopefully, catching at a way out of his +troubles. + +“You see, there’s to be a little dance in School-house Hall to-night,” +said the farmer; “or there was to be one, but the fiddler’s took sick, +and we was afraid we’d have to give it up. Now, if you’ll take his +place, we can have it, after all.” + +“I’ll do it,” said Philip promptly. + +“What’ll you charge?” + +“How much was the other one going to charge?” + +“Five dollars. You see, he would have to come six miles.” + +“I’ll come for three dollars and my supper and lodging,” said Philip. + +“All right! You shall have supper and lodging at our house. There it +is, down that lane. Come right along, for supper must be on the table. +After supper I’ll go and tell the committee I’ve engaged you.” + +Philip’s spirits rose. Help had come from an unexpected quarter. He +felt that a new career was opening before him. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. +NEW ACQUAINTANCES. + + +On his way to the farmhouse, Philip ascertained that his companion’s +name was Abner Webb, and that he and his brother Jonas carried on a +farm of about a hundred acres. Abner appeared to be about twenty-five +years old. + +“You seem pretty young to be a fiddler,” said the young man, surveying +Philip with a glance of curiosity. + +“I am almost sixteen.” + +“I am twenty-five, and I can’t play at all.” + +“It isn’t all in the age,” returned our hero. “Did you ever try to +learn?” + +“Yes, I took one or two lessons, but I had to give it up for a bad job. +I couldn’t get into it somehow.” + +“You didn’t try very long,” said Philip, smiling. + +“I reckon I’d never do much at it. How long have you been a fiddler?” + +“I’ve been playing three or four years.” + +“Sho! You don’t say so! Do you like it?” + +“Yes; very much.” + +“Well, I’m glad you happened along. It would have been a pity to have +our dance spoiled.” + +By this time they had reached the farmhouse, and Abner went in, +followed by our hero. + +A young woman, his brother’s wife, looked at Philip in some surprise. + +“You see, I’ve got a fiddler, after all,” said Abner gleefully. “We +won’t have to put off the dance.” + +As he spoke, his brother Jonas came into the room, and the explanation +was repeated. + +“That’s good,” said Jonas heartily. “You’d better go down to the store +after supper, Abner, and tell the boys, for they’ve just heard that +Paul Beck can’t come.” + +“You just save me some supper, and I’ll go now. The boy’ll stay with us +to-night. That’s the bargain I made with him.” + +“He’s heartily welcome,” said Jonas Webb, a pleasant-faced man, with +sandy complexion, who was probably from two to three years older than +his brother. “You’ve happened along just at the right time.” + +“I am glad of it,” said Philip; and there is no doubt he was sincere, +for we know how much he stood in need of employment, though he +naturally did not care to let his new friends know of his destitution. + +“My brother didn’t tell me your name,” said Jonas. + +“My name is Philip Gray,” answered our hero. + +“Do you go round playing for dances?” inquired Jonas. + +“I have only just begun.” + +Philip didn’t think it necessary to say that the idea of making money +in this way had never occurred to him till this very day. + +“Sit right up to supper, Jonas, and you, too, Mr. Gray,” said Mrs. +Webb. + +Philip was by no means loath, for the dishes which he saw on the table +had had the effect of stimulating his appetite, already sharpened by +his long walk and long fast. + +Philip, as the guest, was first helped to a bountiful supply of cold +meat, a hot biscuit, and some golden butter, not to mention two kinds +of preserves, for the Webbs always lived well. He was not slow in doing +justice to the good supper spread before him. He was almost afraid to +eat as much as he wanted, lest his appetite should attract attention, +and, therefore, was pleased to see that Jonas quite kept pace with him. + +Indeed, when he had already eaten as much as he dared, Mrs. Webb said, +hospitably: + +“I am afraid, Mr. Gray, you won’t make out a supper.” + +“I don’t think there is any danger of that,” said Philip, smiling. “I +have enjoyed my supper very much.” + +The young woman looked gratified by this tribute to her cooking, and +just then Abner came in. + +“Did you see the boys, Abner?” asked Jonas. + +“Yes, I saw them all. They were awfully glad we could have the dance, +after all. You see, we’ve been lookin’ forward to it, and didn’t like +to be disappointed. And now I must hurry down my supper, for I’ve got +to slick up and go for Mary Ann Temple. Are you goin’, Lucy?” + +“Of course she is,” answered Jonas. “I don’t have so far to go for my +girl as you do,” he added slyly. + +“You used to go farther once, Jonas—six miles, where I have only to go +two.” + +When supper was over, Philip inquired: + +“How early will the dance commence?” + +“About eight. We keep early hours in the country, and we like to get +our money’s worth.” + +“If you have no objection, I will go out to the barn and try my violin +a little to see if it is in good tune.” + +“Try it in the next room,” said the farmer’s wife. + +“Yes, do!” said her husband. “We’d like to hear you.” + +He was a little afraid, judging from Philip’s youth, that he could not +play very well, and this would give him an opportunity of deciding how +competent the boy was to take the place of Paul Beck, of Pomfret, who +had quite a reputation in the towns around. + +Philip went into the next room and began to prepare himself for his +evening’s task. Though his training had by no means been confined to +dancing-tunes, he was quite proficient in that department, having more +than once been called upon in Norton to officiate in a similar +capacity. + +When Jonas had listened for five minutes to Philip, he turned to Abner +with a satisfied look. + +“He understands his business,” he said, nodding with emphasis. “He +ain’t no new beginner.” + +“I think he beats Paul Beck,” said Abner, delighted to find his choice +approved. + +“I don’t know but he does. I feel as if I wanted to start off now.” + +“I don’t see how he does it,” said Abner, with a puzzled look. “I never +could do anything at it, though I’m almost twice as old.” + +He passed into the room where Philip was practising. + +“You’re a tip-top player,” said he, to Philip admiringly. “Why, you +beat Paul Beck.” + +“Is he the one you expected to have?” + +“Yes. Paul’s got a big name for fiddlin’.” + +“I am glad you like my playing,” said Philip, who was naturally pleased +to find that he was likely to give satisfaction in his new business. + +“The boys will be pleased, I can tell you.” + +“I will do all I can to give them satisfaction,” said Philip modestly. + +“Oh, you will! there’s no doubt about that. How much did you pay for +your fiddle?” + +“I believe it cost twenty-five dollars. My father gave it to me.” + +“Sho! I didn’t think fiddles cost so much.” + +“Some cost a great deal more.” + +“Seems a good deal to lay out, but you’ll get your money back, if you +can get enough to do.” + +“I hope so.” + +“Well, you must excuse me now. I’ve got to slick up, and go after Mary +Ann Temple. She’d have been awfully disappointed if we’d had to give it +up.” + +“Is she fond of dancing?” + +“You’d better believe she is. Why, that girl could dance for four hours +stiddy—without wiltin’!” + +“How late do you keep it up?” + +“Till eleven or twelve. You won’t be sleepy, will you?” + +“If I am, I will get up later to-morrow morning.” + +“That’s all right. You can get up jest as late as you like. Lucy will +save you some breakfast. We don’t allow no one to go hungry here. But I +must be off. You will go to the hall along with Jonas and Lucy. They’ll +introduce you round and see that you are taken care of.” Philip +congratulated himself on being so well provided for, at least for one +night. The future was uncertain, but with the money which he was to +receive for his services, he would be able to get along for two or +three days, and he might, perhaps, if successful, obtain another +similar engagement. + +He had a new reason for being thankful that Squire Pope had not +succeeded in depriving him of his violin, for this was likely to prove +a breadwinner. + +He continued to practice till it was time to go over to the hall. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. +A LIVELY EVENING. + + +Schoolhouse Hall, as may be inferred, was a large hall, occupying the +second story of the Center Schoolhouse, and though not originally +intended for dancing-parties, answered very well for that purpose. + +The hall was tolerably well filled when Philip entered in company with +Jonas Webb and his wife. + +Philip had effaced, as well as he could, the stains of travel, had +arrayed himself in a clean shirt and collar, brushed his hair neatly, +and, being naturally a very good-looking boy, appeared to very good +advantage, though he certainly did look young. + +As he walked through the hall, with his violin under his arm, he +attracted the attention of all, it having been already made known that +in place of the veteran Paul Beck—a man of fifty or more—an unknown boy +would furnish the music for the evening. + +Philip could not avoid hearing some of the remarks which his appearance +excited. “What! that little runt play the fiddle?” said one countrified +young man, in a short-waisted blue coat, and tow-colored hair, +plastered down on either side of his head with tallow. “I don’t believe +he can play any more than I can.” + +“I hope he can,” retained his partner—a plump, red-cheeked, young +farmer’s daughter. “He’s very good-looking, anyhow.” + +“He isn’t anything to brag of,” said her partner jealously. + +“Oh, how can you say so, Jedidiah? See what beautiful black hair and +eyes he’s got, and such a lovely color on his cheeks!” + +Now, Jedidiah, in appearance, was just the reverse of Philip. His hair, +as already stated, was tow-color, his face was tanned, and the color +rather resembled brick-dust than the deep red of our hero’s cheeks. + +His partner was a rustic flirt, and he was disposed to be jealous, not +being certain how far she favored him. He, therefore, took offense at +his partner’s admiration of the young fiddler. + +“He looks very common to me,” said Jedidiah pettishly. “You’ve got a +strange taste, Maria.” + +“Perhaps I have, and perhaps I haven’t,” retorted Maria, tossing her +head. + +“Perhaps you’re in love with him?” continued Jedidiah, in a tone meant +to be sarcastic. + +“I should be if he was a little older,” said the young lady, rather +enjoying her lover’s displeasure. + +“I don’t believe he can play at all,” growled Jedidiah. “He’s fooled +Abner Webb, like as not. It’s a pity we couldn’t have Paul Beck.” + +“Very likely he can play better than Paul Beck,” said Maria—not because +she thought so, but because she knew it would tease her partner. + +“Don’t be a fool, Maria,” said Jedidiah, scarcely conscious of the +impoliteness of his speech. + +The young lady, however, resented it at once. + +“I am sure you are very polite, Mr. Jedidiah Burbank—so polite that I +think you had better find another partner!” + +“Excuse me, Maria,” said Jedidiah hastily, alarmed at the prospect of +being left without a partner. “Of course, I didn’t mean anything.” + +“If you didn’t mean it, what made you say it?” retorted Maria, tossing +her head. “I ain’t used to being called a fool. I never knew a +gentleman to make such a remark to a lady. I think you’d better find +some other partner.” + +“I take it all back,” said Jedidiah, in alarm. “I was only in fun.” + +“I don’t like that kind of fun,” said Maria, in a tone of dignified +coldness. + +“Then I won’t joke you again. I guess he can play well enough, if Abner +says so.” + +Miss Maria Snodgrass allowed herself to be propitiated, more especially +as she herself might have been left without a partner, had she adhered +to her determination and sent Jedidiah adrift. + +He took his place in a quadrille, not exactly wishing Philip to fail, +but rather hoping that he would prove a poor performer, in order that +he might have a little triumph over Maria, who had the bad taste to +prefer the young musician’s appearance to his. + +Meanwhile Philip, following Jonas Webb across the room, had been +introduced to Frank Ingalls, who acted as manager. + +“I am glad to see you, Mr. Gray,” said Ingalls. “I hope we sha’n’t make +you work too hard. We are very fond of dancing here.” + +“I don’t get tired very easily,” answered Philip. “I hope you will be +satisfied with my playing.” + +“No fear of that, Mr. Ingalls, I’ve heerd him play at home, and I tell +you he can do it.” + +“Thank you, Mr. Webb,” said Philip, bowing his acknowledgment of the +compliment. + +“I guess we may as well commence, Mr. Gray,” said Mr. Ingalls. “The +boys seem to be getting impatient. Here’s the order of dances for the +evening.” + +“Very well, Mr. Ingalls.” + +The manager raised his voice, and said, “Gentlemen and ladies, you +already know that Beck is sick, and cannot be with us this evening, as +he engaged to do. In his place we have engaged a young musician, who +has already gained a great reputation in his profession—” + +Philip was rather surprised to hear this, but it was not for him to +gainsay it. + +“Let me introduce to you Mr. Philip Gray.” + +Philip bowed and smiled, and, putting his violin in position, +immediately commenced a lively air. + +In less than five minutes the manager felt perfectly at ease concerning +the young musician. It was clear that Philip understood his business. +Philip himself entered into the spirit of his performance. His cheek +flushed, his eyes sparkled, and he almost outdid himself. + +When the first dance was concluded, there was a murmur of approval +throughout the ballroom. The dancers were both surprised and pleased. + +“He’s a smart boy!” said more than one. “He plays as well as Paul Beck, +and Paul’s been play-in’ for more’n twenty years.” + +“As well? I never heard Paul Beck play as well as that,” said another. + +Among those who were most pleased was Miss Maria Snodgrass. + +“What do you think now, Mr. Burbank?” she said, addressing her partner. +“Do you think the boy can play now?” + +“Yes, he can play most as well as Paul Beck,” admitted Jedidiah. + +“Most as well? Paul Beck can’t begin to play as well as him,” returned +Maria, who was not educated, and occasionally made slips in grammar. + +“Just as you say, Maria,” answered Jedidiah, submissively; “only don’t +call me Mr. Burbank.” + +“Why? Ain’t that your name?” asked the young lady demurely. + +“Not to you, Maria.” + +“Well, I won’t, if you’ll take me up and introduce me to Mr. Gray.” + +“What for?” asked Jedidiah jealously. + +“Because I want to know him.” + +Mr. Burbank was obliged to obey the request of his partner. + +“Oh, Mr. Gray, you play just lovely!” said Miss Snodgrass rapturously. + +“Thank you for the compliment,” said Philip, with a low bow. + +“I like your playing ever so much better than Paul Beck’s.” + +“You are too kind,” said Philip, with another bow. + +“Isn’t he just lovely, Jedidiah!” said Maria, as she walked away with +her lover. + +“Maybe he is—I ain’t a judge!” said Mr. Burbank, not very +enthusiastically. + +So the evening passed. Philip continued to win the favorable opinion of +the merry party by his animated style of playing. + +When at half-past eleven the last dance was announced, he was glad, for +after his long walk, and the efforts of the evening, he felt tired. + +At the conclusion, Mr. Ingalls handed him three dollars, saying: + +“Here’s your money, Mr. Gray, and we are much obliged to you besides.” + +“Thank you!” said our hero, carelessly slipping the money into his vest +pocket. + +The manager little imagined that it constituted his entire capital. + +“I hope we may have you here again some time, Mr. Gray,” continued the +manager. + +“Perhaps so,” said Philip; “but I am not sure when I shall come this +way again.” + +“Good night, Mr. Gray,” said Miss Snodgrass effusively. “I should be +glad to have you call at our house.” + +Philip bowed his thanks. He did not notice the dark cloud on the brow +of the young lady’s escort. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. +FORTUNE SMILES AGAIN. + + +Notwithstanding his exertions during the day and evening, Philip rose +the next day at his usual hour, and was in time for the family +breakfast, at seven o’clock. + +“Don’t you feel tired, Mr. Gray?” asked Mrs. Webb. + +“No, thank you. I slept well, and feel quite refreshed.” + +“He’s used to it, Lucy,” remarked her husband. + +“They look upon me as a professional player,” thought Philip. + +“I think you and I ought to be more tired, for we were dancing all the +evening,” continued the farmer. + +When they rose from the table, Philip looked for his hat. + +“You’re not going to leave us so soon, Mr. Gray?” said Mrs. Webb +hospitably. “We shall be glad to have you stay with us a day or two, if +you can content yourself.” + +“That’s right, Lucy. I’m glad you thought to ask him,” said her +husband. + +Philip was tempted to accept this kind invitation. He would have free +board, and be at no expense, instead of spending the small sum he had +earned the evening previous; but he reflected that he would be no +nearer solving the problem of how he was to maintain himself, and while +this was in uncertainty, he was naturally anxious. + +“I am very much obliged to you both,” he said. “If I come this way +again, I shall be glad to call upon you, but now I think I must be +pushing on.” + +“You’ll always be welcome, Mr. Gray,” said Mrs. Webb. + +Philip thanked her, and soon after set out on his way. + +He was more cheerful and hopeful than the day before, for then he was +well nigh penniless, and now he had three dollars in his pocket. + +Three dollars was not a very large sum, to be sure, but to one who had +been so near destitution as Philip it seemed very important. + +Besides, he had discovered in his violin a source of income, whereas, +hitherto, he had looked upon it merely as a source of amusement. This +made him feel more independent and self-reliant. + +He had walked perhaps two miles, when he heard the rattle of wheels +behind him. He did not turn his head, for there was nothing strange in +this sound upon a frequented road. He did turn his head, however, when +he heard a strong voice calling “Hello!” + +Turning, he saw that a young man who was driving had slackened the +speed of his horse, and was looking toward him. + +Philip halted, and regarded the driver inquiringly. + +“You’re the young chap that played for a dance last night, ain’t you!” +said the newcomer. + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Then you’re the one I want to see—jump in, and we’ll talk as we are +going along.” + +Philip had no objection to a ride, and he accepted the invitation with +alacrity. The driver, he noticed, was a young man, of pleasant manners, +though dressed in a coarse suit. + +“I drove over to Jonas Webb’s to see you, and they told me you had just +gone,” he continued. “I thought maybe you’d get up late, but you was up +on time. Are you engaged for this evening?” + +Philip began to prick up his ears and become interested. Was it +possible that his good luck was to continue, and that he was to have an +opportunity of earning some more money through his faithful friend, the +violin? He didn’t think it well to exhibit the satisfaction he felt, +and answered, in a matter-of-fact tone; + +“No, I have no engagement for this evening.” + +“I’m glad of it,” responded the young man, evidently well pleased. “You +see, we had arranged to have a dance over to our place, but Mr. Beck, +being sick, we thought we’d have to give it up. One of my neighbors was +over last evening and heard you play, and he thought maybe we could +secure you.” + +“I shall be glad to play for you,” said Philip politely. + +“What are your terms?” asked his companion. + +“Three dollars and board and lodging for the time I need to stay.” + +“That’s satisfactory. I’ll engage you.” + +“Is it near here?” asked Philip. + +“It’s in Conway—only four miles from here. I’ll take you right over +now, and you shall stay at my house.” + +“Thank you, I shall find that very agreeable,” said Philip. + +“Does Mr. Beck live near you?” asked our hero, a little later. + +“Bless you! he lives in our place.” + +“I suppose his services are in demand?” + +“Yes, he is sent for to all the towns around. Fact is, there isn’t +anybody but he that can play to suit; but I expect, from what I’ve +heard, that you can come up to him.” + +“I couldn’t expect to do that,” said Philip modestly. “I am very young +yet.” + +“Folks do say you beat Paul. It seems wonderful, too, considering how +young you are. What might be your age, now?” + +“Just sixteen.” + +“Sho! you don’t say so? Why, Paul Beck’s over fifty.” + +“Mr. Beck won’t think I’m interfering with him, will he?” asked Philip. + +“Of course, he can’t. We’d a had him if he was well. We can’t be +expected to put off the party because he’s sick. That wouldn’t be +reasonable, now, would it?” + +“I should think not.” + +Just then Philip became sensible that a light wagon was approaching, +driven by a young lady. + +He did not, however, suppose it was any one he knew till the carriage +stopped, and he heard a voice saying: + +“Good morning, Mr. Gray!” + +Then he discovered that it was the same young lady who had asked for an +introduction to him the evening previous. + +“Good morning, Miss Snodgrass!” he said politely, remembering, +fortunately, the young lady’s name. + +Meanwhile, Maria and Philip’s drivers had also exchanged salutations, +for they were acquainted. + +“And where are you carrying Mr. Gray, Mr. Blake?” she asked. + +“I’m carrying him over to our place. He’s going to play for us this +evening.” + +“Is there going to be a dance in Conway this evening?” inquired Miss +Snodgrass, with sudden interest. + +“Yes. Won’t you come over?” + +“I will, if I can get Jedidiah to bring me,” answered Maria. + +“I guess there’s no doubt about that,” answered Andrew Blake, who knew +very well Jedidiah’s devotion to the young lady. + +“Oh, I don’t know!” answered Maria coquettishly. “Perhaps he won’t care +for my company.” + +“If he doesn’t, you won’t have any trouble in finding another beau.” + +After a little more conversation, the young lady drove away; but not +without expressing to Philip her delight at having another chance to +hear his beautiful playing. + +“She’ll be there,” said Andrew Blake, as they drove away. “She makes +Jedidiah Burbank do just as she orders him.” + +“Are they engaged?” asked our hero. + +“Yes, I expect so; but there may be some chance of your cutting him +out, if you try. The young lady seems to admire you.” + +Philip smiled. + +“I am only a boy of sixteen,” he said. “I am too young to think of such +things. I won’t interfere with Mr. Burbank.” + +“Jedidiah’s apt to be jealous,” said Blake, “and Maria likes to torment +him. However, she’ll end by marrying him, I guess.” + +In half an hour or thereabouts, Andrew Blake drew up at the gate of a +small but neat house on the main street in Conway. He was a carpenter, +as Philip afterward found, and had built the house himself. He was +probably of about the same age as Jonas Webb, and like him was married +to a young wife. + +During the afternoon, Philip, being left pretty much to his own +devices, took a walk in and about the village, ascending a hill at one +side, which afforded him a fine view of that and neighboring villages. + +He was pleasantly received and hospitably entertained at the house of +Mr. Blake, and about quarter of eight started out for the hall, at +which he was to play, in company with his host and hostess. + +As they approached the hall, a young man approached them with a +perplexed face. + +“What do you think, Andrew?” he said. “Paul Beck’s in the hall, as mad +as a hatter, and he vows he’ll play himself. He says he was engaged, +and no one shall take his place.” + +Andrew Blake looked disturbed, and Philip shared in his feeling. Was he +to lose his engagement, after all? + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. +RIVAL MUSICIANS. + + +They entered the hall, which was already well filled, for the young +people of both sexes liked to have as long a time for enjoyment as +possible. + +At the head of the hall, in the center of a group, stood a tall, thin +man, dressed in solemn black, with a violin under his arm. His face, +which looked like that of a sick man, was marked by an angry +expression, and this, indeed, was his feeling. + +“I suppose that’s Mr. Beck?” said Philip. + +“Yes, it is,” answered Andrew Blake, in evident discomposure. “What on +earth brings him here from a sick-bed, I can’t understand. I heard that +he had a fever.” + +The fact was that Paul Beck was jealous of his reputation as a +musician. It was satisfactory to him to think that he was so +indispensable that no one could take his place. He had sent word to the +committee that he should be unable to play for them, supposing, of +course, that they would be compelled to give up the party. When +intelligence was brought to him during the afternoon that it would come +off, and that another musician had been engaged in his place, he was +not only disturbed, but angry, though, of course, the latter feeling +was wholly unreasonable. He determined that he would be present, at any +rate, no matter how unfit his sickness rendered him for the evening’s +work. He resolved to have no rival, and to permit no one to take his +place in his own town. + +It did not seem to occur to Mr. Beck that, having formally declined the +engagement on account of sickness, he had no claim whatever on the +committee, and was, in fact, an interloper. It was in vain that his +sister protested against his imprudence. (He was an old bachelor and +his sister kept house for him.) He insisted on dressing himself and +making his way to the hall, where, as was to be expected, his arrival +produced considerable embarrassment. + +Paul Beck stood in sullen impatience awaiting the arrival of his rival. + +It so happened that no one had thought to mention to him that it was a +boy. He was prepared to see a full-grown man. + +Philip followed Andrew Blake up to the central group. + +“Who is it, I say,” Mr. Beck was inquiring, “that engaged another +musician to take my place?” + +“No one, sir,” answered Andrew Blake firmly, for Mr. Beck’s +unreasonableness provoked him. “I engaged a musician to play this +evening, but it was not in your place, for you had sent us word that +you could not appear.” + +“Where is he, I say?” continued Paul Beck sourly. + +“Here he is,” replied Blake, drawing toward our hero, who felt that he +was placed in an awkward position. + +“Why, he’s only a baby!” said Beck, surveying our hero contemptuously. + +Philip’s cheek flushed, and he, too, began to feel angry. + +“He isn’t as old as you are, Mr. Beck,” said Andrew Blake manfully, +“but you’ll find he understands his business.” + +“I certainly didn’t expect you to get a child in my place,” said Paul +Beck scornfully. + +“I suppose a musician may know how to play, if he isn’t sixty-five,” +said Miss Maria Snod-grass, who had listened indignantly to Mr. Beck’s +contemptuous remarks about our hero, whose cause she so +enthusiastically championed. + +Poor Mr. Beck! He was sensitive about his age, and nothing could have +cut him more cruelly than this exaggeration of it. He was really +fifty-five, and looked at least sixty, but he fondly flattered himself +that he looked under fifty. “Sixty-five!” he repeated furiously. “Who +says I am sixty-five?” + +“Well, you look about that age,” said Maria, with malicious pleasure. + +“I shall have to live a good many years before I am sixty,” said Paul +Beck angrily. “But that’s either here nor there. You engaged me to play +to-night, and I am ready to do it.” + +Andrew Blake felt the difficulty of his position, but he did not mean +to desert the boy-musician whom he had engaged. + +“Mr. Beck,” said he, “we shall be glad to have you serve us on another +occasion, but to-night Mr. Gray, here, is engaged. You gave up the +engagement of your own accord, and that ended the matter, so far as you +are concerned.” + +“Do you refuse to let me play?” demanded Paul Beck, his pale cheek +glowing with anger and mortification. + +“You understand why,” answered Blake. “This young man is engaged, and +we have no right to break the engagement.” + +Philip, who had felt the embarrassment of his position, had meanwhile +made up his mind what to do. The three dollars he expected to earn were +important to him, but he didn’t care to make trouble. He did not doubt +that his lodging and meals would be given him, and that would be +something. Accordingly, he spoke: + +“I have been engaged, it is true,” he said, “but if Mr. Beck wants to +play I will resign my engagement and stay and hear him.” + +“No, no!” exclaimed several—Mr. Blake and Miss Snodgrass being among +them. + +“Mr. Gray, you were regularly engaged,” said one of the committee. + +“That’s true,” answered Philip, “and,” he couldn’t help adding, “I +should be justified in insisting upon playing; but since Mr. Beck seems +to feel so bad about it, I will give way to him.” + +He spoke manfully, and there was no sign of weakness or submission +about him. He asserted his rights, while he expressed his willingness +to surrender them. + +There was a little consultation among the committee. They were all +disgusted with the conduct of Paul Beck, and were unwilling that he +should triumph. At the same time, as they might need his services at +some future time, they did not wish wholly to alienate him. + +Finally, they announced their decision through Andrew Blake. + +“We are not willing to accept Mr. Gray’s resignation wholly,” he said, +“but we propose that he and Mr. Beck shall divide the evening’s work +between them—each to receive half the usual compensation.” + +There was considerable applause, for it seemed to be a suitable +compromise, and would enable the company to compare the merits of the +rival musicians. + +“I agree,” said Philip promptly. + +“What do you say, Mr. Beck?” asked Andrew Blake. + +Now, while Paul Beck did not like to give up half the honor, he felt +thoroughly convinced that Philip was only a beginner, and that he, as +an experienced player, could easily eclipse him, and thus gain a +triumph which would be very gratifying to his pride. + +As for the compensation, to do him justice, he did not much care for +that, being a man of very good means. He played more for glory than for +pay—though he, of course, had no objection to receiving compensation. + +“I have no objections,” he said. “If you want to give the boy a chance +to practice a little, I am willing.” + +Philip understood the sneer, and he secretly determined to do his best. + +The committee was much pleased at the satisfactory conclusion of what +had threatened to be a very troublesome dispute, and it was arranged, +Philip consenting, that Mr. Beck should play first. + +The old musician played, in a confident manner, a familiar +dancing-tune, accompanying his playing with various contortions of the +face and twistings of his figure, supposed to express feeling. It was a +fair performance, but mechanical, and did not indicate anything but +very ordinary talent. His time was good, and dancers always found his +playing satisfactory. + +When Paul Beck had completed his task, he looked about him +complacently, as if to say, “Let the boy beat that if he can,” and sat +down. + +Philip had listened to Mr. Beck with attention. He was anxious to learn +how powerful a rival he had to compete with. What he heard did not +alarm him, but rather gave him confidence. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. +AN HOUR OF TRIUMPH. + + +When Paul rose and stood before this audience, violin in hand, he +certainly presented quite a strong contrast to his rival. + +Paul Beck, as we have already said, was a tall, thin, lantern-jawed +man, clad in solemn black, his face of a sickly, sallow hue. + +Philip was of fair height, for his age, with a bright, expressive face, +his hair of a chestnut shade, and looking the very picture of boyish +health. His very appearance made a pleasant impression upon those +present. + +“He’s a nice-looking boy,” thought more than one, “but he looks too +young to know much about the violin.” + +But when Philip began to play, there was general surprise. In a +dancing-tune there was not much chance for the exhibition of talent, +but his delicate touch and evident perfect mastery of his instrument +were immediately apparent. In comparison, the playing of Paul Beck +seemed wooden and mechanical. + +There was a murmur of approbation, and when Philip had finished his +first part of the program, he was saluted by hearty applause, which he +acknowledged by a modest and graceful bow. + +Paul Beck’s face, as his young rival proceeded in his playing, was an +interesting study. He was very disagreeably surprised. He had made up +his mind that Philip could not play at all, or, at any rate, would +prove to be a mere tyro and bungler, and he could hardly believe his +ears when he heard the sounds which Philip evoked from his violin. + +In spite of his self-conceit, he secretly acknowledged that Philip even +now was his superior, and in time would leave him so far behind that +there could be no comparison between them. + +It was not a pleasant discovery for a man who had prided himself for +many years on his superiority as a musician. If it had been a man of +established fame it would have been different, but to be compelled to +yield the palm to an unknown boy, was certainly mortifying. + +When he heard the applause that followed Philip’s performance, and +remembered that none had been called forth by his own, he determined +that he would not play again that evening. He did not like to risk the +comparison which he was sure would be made between himself and Philip. +So, when Andrew Blake came up to him and asked him to play for the next +dance, he shook his head. “I don’t feel well enough,” he said “I +thought I was stronger than I am.” + +“Do you want the boy to play all the rest of the evening?” + +“Yes; he plays very fairly,” said Beck, in a patronizing manner, which +implied his own superiority. + +“There can be no doubt about that,” said Andrew Blake, with emphasis, +for he understood Mr. Beck’s meaning, and resented it as one of the +warmest admirers of the boy-musician whom he had engaged. + +But Paul Beck would not for the world have revealed his real opinion of +Philip’s merits. + +“Yes,” he continued, “he plays better than I expected. I guess you can +get along with him.” + +“How shall we arrange about the compensation, Mr. Beck?” asked Blake. +“We ought in that case to give him more than half.” + +“Oh, you can give him the whole,” answered Beck carelessly. “If I felt +well enough to play, I would do my part, but I think it will be better +for me to go home and go to bed.” + +His decision was communicated to Philip, who felt impelled by +politeness to express his regrets to Mr. Beck. + +“I am sorry you don’t feel able to play, Mr. Beck,” he said politely. + +“Oh, it’s of no consequence, as they’ve got some one to take my place,” +returned Beck coldly. + +“I should be glad to hear you play again,” continued Philip. + +Paul Beck nodded slightly, but he felt too much mortified to +reciprocate Philip’s friendly advances. Half an hour later he left the +hall. + +The dancers by no means regretted the change of arrangement. They +evidently preferred the young musician to his elderly rival. The only +one to express regret was Miss Maria Snodgrass. + +“I declare it’s a shame Mr. Beck has given up,” she said. “I wanted you +to dance with me, Mr. Gray. I am sure if you can dance as well as you +can play, you would get along perfectly lovely. Now you’ve got to play, +and can’t dance at all.” + +“It isn’t leap-year, Maria,” said Jedidiah Burbank, in a jealous tone. + +Miss Snodgrass turned upon him angrily: + +“You needn’t put in your oar, Jedidiah Burbank!” she said. “I guess I +know what I’m about. If it was leap-year fifty times over, I wouldn’t +offer myself to you!” + +And the young lady tossed her head in a very decided manner. + +“Now don’t get mad, Maria!” implored Jedidiah, feeling that at the +prompting of jealousy; he had put his foot in it. “I didn’t mean +nothing.” + +“Then you’d better say nothing next time,” retorted the young lady. + +Meanwhile, Philip acknowledged the young lady’s politeness by a smile +and a bow, assuring her that if it had been possible, it would have +given him great pleasure to dance with her. + +“If Mr. Burbank will play for me,” he said with a glance at the young +man, “I shall be glad to dance.” + +Miss Snodgrass burst out laughing. + +“Jedidiah couldn’t play well enough for an old cow to dance by,” she +said. + +“There ain’t any old cows here,” said Jedidiah, vexed at being +ridiculed. + +“Well, there are some calves, anyway,” retorted Maria, laughing +heartily. + +Poor Jedidiah! It is to be feared that he will have a hard time when he +becomes the husband of the fair Maria. She will undoubtedly be the head +of the new matrimonial firm. + +There was nothing further to mar the harmony of the evening. It had +begun with indications of a storm, but the clouds had vanished, and +when Mr. Beck left the hall, there was nothing left to disturb the +enjoyment of those present. + +The favorable opinions expressed when Philip commenced playing were +repeated again and again, as the evening slipped away. + +“I tell you, he’s a regular genius!” one enthusiastic admirer said to +his companion. “Paul Beck can’t hold a candle to him.” + +“That’s so. He’s smart, and no mistake.” + +Poor Mr. Beck! It was fortunate he was unable to hear these comparisons +made. He could not brook a rival near the throne, and had gone home in +low spirits, feeling that he could never again hold his head as high as +he had done. + +When the dancing was over, there was a brief conference of the +committee of management, the subject of which was soon made known. + +Andrew Blake approached Philip and said: + +“Mr. Gray, some of us would like to hear you play something else, if +you are not tired—not a dancing-tune.” + +“I shall be very happy to comply with your request,” answered Philip. + +He spoke sincerely, for he saw that all were pleased with him, and it +is gratifying to be appreciated. + +He paused a moment in thought, and then began to play the “Carnival of +Venice,” with variations. It had been taught him by his father, and he +had played it so often that his execution was all that could be +desired. The variations were of a showy and popular character, and very +well adapted to impress an audience like that to which he was playing. + +“Beautiful! Beautiful!” exclaimed the young ladies, while their +partners pronounced it “tip-top” and “first-rate,” by which they +probably meant very much the same thing. + +“Oh, Mr. Gray!” exclaimed Miss Snodgrass fervently. “You play like a +seraphim!” + +“Thank you!” said Philip, smiling. “I never heard a seraphim play on +the violin, but I am sure your remark is very complimentary.” + +“I wish you could play like that, Jedidiah,” said Maria. + +“I’ll learn to play, if you want me to,” said Mr. Burbank. + +“Thank you! You’re very obliging,” said Maria; “but I won’t trouble +you. You haven’t got a genius for it, like Mr. Gray.” + +The evening was over at length, and again Philip was made the happy +recipient of three dollars. His first week had certainly been +unexpectedly prosperous. + +“This is better than staying in the Norton Poorhouse!” he said to +himself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. +LORENZO RICCABOCCA. + + +Philip’s reputation as a musician was materially increased by his +second night’s performance. To adopt a military term, he had crossed +swords with the veteran fiddler, Paul Beck, and, in the opinion of all +who heard both, had far surpassed him. + +This was said openly to Philip by more than one; but he was modest, and +had too much tact and good taste to openly agree with them. This +modesty raised him higher in the opinion of his admirers. + +He was invited by the Blakes to prolong his visit, but preferred to +continue on his journey—though his plans were, necessarily, not clearly +defined. + +Andrew Blake carried him five miles on his way, and from that point our +hero used the means of locomotion with which nature had supplied him. + +Some six miles farther on there was a manufacturing town of +considerable size, named Wilkesville, and it occurred to him that this +would be a good place at which to pass the night. + +Something might turn up for him there. He hardly knew what, but the two +unexpected strokes of luck which he had had thus far encouraged him to +think that a third might come to him. + +Philip continued on his way—his small pack of clothing in one hand and +his violin under his arm. Being in no especial hurry—for it was only +the middle of the forenoon—he bethought himself to sit down and rest at +the first convenient and inviting place. + +He soon came to a large elm tree, which, with its spreading branches, +offered a pleasant and grateful shade. + +He threw himself down and lay back on the greensward, in pleasant +contemplation, when he heard a gentle cough—as of one who wished to +attract attention. Looking up he observed close at hand, a tall man, +dressed in black, with long hair, which fell over his shirt collar and +shoulders. + +He wore a broad collar and black satin necktie, and his hair was parted +in the middle. His appearance was certainly peculiar, and excited our +hero’s curiosity. + +“My young friend,” he said, “you have chosen a pleasant resting-place +beneath this umbrageous monarch of the grove.” “Yes, sir,” answered +Philip, wondering whether the stranger was a poet. + +“May I also recline beneath it?” asked the newcomer. + +“Certainly, sir. It is large enough to shelter us both.” + +“Quite true; but I did not wish to intrude upon your meditations.” + +“My meditations are not of much account,” answered Philip, laughing. + +“I see you are modest. Am I right in supposing that yonder case +contains a violin?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Then you are a musician?” + +“A little of one,” replied Philip. + +“May I ask—excuse my curiosity—if you play professionally?” + +“Perhaps he may help me to an engagement,” thought our hero, and he +said readily, “I do.” + +“Indeed!” said the stranger, appearing pleased. “What style of music do +you play?” + +“For each of the last two evenings I have played for dancing-parties.” + +“Alone?” + +“Yes.” + +“You do not confine yourself to dancing-music?” + +“Oh, no! I prefer other kinds; but dancing-tunes seem most in demand, +and I have my living to make.” The stranger seemed still more +gratified. + +“I am delighted to have met you, Mr.—— Ahem!” he paused, and looked +inquiringly at Philip. + +“Gray.” + +“Mr. Gray, I believe Providence has brought us together. I see you are +surprised.” + +Philip certainly did look puzzled, as he well might. + +“I must explain myself more clearly. I am Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca, +the famous elocutionist and dramatic reader.” + +Philip bowed. + +“Doubtless you have heard of me?” said the professor inquiringly. + +“I have never lived in large places,” answered Philip, in some +embarrassment, “or no doubt your name would be familiar to me.” + +“To be sure, that must make a difference. For years,” said the +professor, “I have given dramatic readings to crowded houses, and +everywhere my merits have been conceded by the educated and refined.” + +Philip could not help wondering how it happened in that case that the +professor should look so seedy. A genius appreciated so highly ought to +have brought in more gold and silver. + +Perhaps Professor Riccabocca understood Philip’s expressive look, for +he went to to say: + +“The public has repaid me richly for the exercise of my talent; but, +alas, my young friend, I must confess that I have no head for business. +I invested my savings unwisely, and ascertained a month since that I +had lost all.” + +“That was a great pity!” said Philip sympathizingly. + +“It was, indeed! It quite unmanned me!” said the professor, wiping away +a tear. “I felt that all ambition was quite gone, and I was mad and +sick. Indeed, only a week since I rose from a sick-bed. But Lorenzo is +himself again!” he exclaimed, striking his breast energetically. “I +will not succumb to Fate. I will again court the favor of the public, +and this time I will take care of the ducats my admirers bestow upon +me.” + +“I should think that was a good plan,” said Philip. + +“I will begin at once. Nearby is a town devoted to the mammon of trade, +yet among its busy thousands there must be many that will appreciate +the genius of Lorenzo Riccabocca.” + +“I hope so,” answered Philip politely. + +He could not help thinking that the professor was rather +self-conceited, and he hardly thought it in good taste for him to refer +so boastfully to his genius. + +“I wish you, Mr. Gray, to assist me in my project,” continued the +professor. + +“How can I do so, sir?” inquired Philip. + +“Let me tell you. I propose that we enter into a professional +partnership, that we give an entertainment partly musical, partly +dramatic. I will draw up a program, including some of my most humorous +recitations and impersonations, while interspersed among them will be +musical selections contributed by yourself. Do you comprehend?” + +“Yes,” answered Philip, nodding. + +“And what do you think of it?” + +“I think well of it,” replied the boy-musician. + +He did think well of it. It might not draw a large audience, this mixed +entertainment, but it would surely pay something; and it would +interfere with no plans of his own, for, in truth, he had none. + +“Then you will cooperate with me?” said the professor. + +“Yes, professor.” + +“Give me your hand!” exclaimed Riccabocca dramatically. “Mr. Gray, it +is a perfect bonanza of an idea. I may tell you, in confidence, I was +always a genius for ideas. Might I ask a favor of you?” + +“Certainly, sir.” + +“Give me a touch of your quality. Let me hear you play.” + +Philip drew his violin from its case and played for his new +professional partner “The Carnival of Venice,” with variations—the same +which had been received with so much favor the evening previous. + +Professor Riccabocca listened attentively, and was evidently agreeably +surprised. He was not a musician, but he saw that Philip was a much +better player than he had anticipated, and this, of course, was likely +to improve their chances of pecuniary success. + +“You are a splendid performer,” he said enthusiastically. “You shall +come out under my auspices and win fame. I predict for you a +professional triumph.” + +“Thank you,” said Philip, gratified by this tribute from a man of +worldly experience. “I hope you will prove a true prophet.” + +“And now, Mr. Gray, let us proceed on our way. We must get lodgings in +Wilkesville, and make arrangements for our entertainment. I feel new +courage, now that I have obtained so able a partner. Wilkesville little +knows what is in store for her. We shall go, see, and conquer!” + +An hour later Philip and his new partner entered Wilkesville. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. +A CHANGE OF NAME. + + +Wilkesville was an inland city, of from fifteen to twenty thousand +inhabitants. + +As Philip and the professor passed along the principal street, they saw +various stores of different kinds, with here and there a large, high, +plain-looking structure, which they were told was used for the +manufacture of shoes. + +“Wilkesville will give us a large audience,” he said, in a tone of +satisfaction. + +“I hope so,” said our hero. + +“Hope so? I know so!” said the professor confidently. “The town is full +of young men, employed in shoe-making. They are fond of amusement, and +they will gladly seize an opportunity of patronizing a first-class +entertainment like ours.” + +The professor’s reasoning seemed good, but logic sometimes fails, and +Philip was not quite so sanguine. He said nothing, however, to dampen +the ardor of his partner. + +“Let me see,” said the professor, pausing, “yonder stands the +Wilkesville Hotel. We had better put up there.” + +It was a brick structure of considerable size, and seemed to have some +pretensions to fashion. + +“Do you know how much they charge?” asked Philip prudently. + +“No; I neither know nor care,” answered Professor Riccabocca loftily. + +“But,” said Philip, “I haven’t much money.” + +“Nor I,” admitted Riccabocca. “But it is absolutely necessary for us to +stop at a first-class place. We must not let the citizens suppose that +we are tramps or vagabonds. They will judge us by our surroundings.” + +“There is something in that,” said Philip. “But suppose we don’t +succeed!” + +“Succeed? We must succeed!” said the professor, striking an attitude. +“In the vocabulary of youth, there’s no such word as ‘fail’! Away with +timid caution! Our watchword be success!” + +“Of course, you have much more experience than I,” said Philip. + +“Certainly I have! We must keep up appearances. Be guided by me, and +all will come right.” + +Philip reflected that they could not very well make less than their +expenses, and accordingly he acceded to the professor’s plans. They +entered the hotel, and Professor Riccabocca, assuming a dignified, +important step, walked up to the office. “Sir,” said he, to the clerk, +“my companion and myself would like an apartment, one eligibly located, +and of ample size.” + +“You can be accommodated, sir,” answered the young man politely. “Will +you enter your names?” + +Opening the hotel register, the elocutionist, with various flourishes, +entered, this name: “Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca, Elocutionist and +Dramatic Reader.” + +“Shall I enter your name?” he asked of Philip. + +“If you please.” + +This was the way Professor Riccabocca complied with his request: +“Philip de Gray, the Wonderful Boy-musician.” + +He turned the book, so that the clerk could see the entries. + +“We propose to give an entertainment in Wilkesville,” he said. + +“I am glad to hear it,” said the clerk politely. + +“After dinner I will consult you as to what steps to take. Is there +anything in the way of amusement going on in town this evening?” + +“Yes, there is a concert, chiefly of home-talent, in Music Hall. There +is nothing announced for to-morrow evening.” + +“Then we will fix upon to-morrow evening. It will give us more time to +get out hand-bills, etc. Is there a printing-office in town?” + +“Oh, yes, sir. We have a daily paper.” + +“Is the office near at hand?” + +“Yes, sir. It is on the corner of the next street.” + +“That will do for the present. We will go up to our apartment. Will +dinner be ready soon?” + +“In half an hour.” + +Here the servant made his appearance, and the professor, with a wave of +his hand, said: + +“Lead on, Mr. de Gray! I will follow.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. +A PROMISING PLAN. + + +They were shown into a front room, of good size, containing two beds. +The servant handed them the key, and left them. + +“This looks very comfortable, Mr. de Gray,” said the professor, rubbing +his hands with satisfaction. + +“Why do you call me Mr. de Gray?” asked Philip, thinking he had been +misunderstood. “It is plain Gray, without any de.” + +“I am only using your professional name,” answered the professor. +“Don’t you know people will think a great deal more of you if they +suppose you to be a foreigner?” + +Philip laughed. + +“Is Lorenzo Riccabocca your true or professional name, professor?” he +asked. + +“Professional, of course. My real name—I impart it to you in the +strictest confidence—is Lemuel Jones. Think of it. How would that look +on a poster?” + +“It would not be so impressive as the other.” + +“Of course not; and the public need to be impressed. I thank thee for +that word, Mr. de Gray. By the way, it’s rather a pity I didn’t give +you a Spanish or Italian name.” + +“But I can’t speak either language. It would be seen through at once.” + +“People wouldn’t think of asking. You’d be safe enough. They will +generally swallow all you choose to say.” + +They went down to dinner presently, and the professor—Philip could not +help thinking—ate as if he were half-starved. He explained afterward +that elocutionary effort taxes the strength severely, and makes hearty +eating a necessity. + +After dinner was over the professor said: + +“Are you content, Mr. de Gray, to leave me to make the necessary +arrangements?” + +“I should prefer that you would,” said Philip, and he spoke sincerely. +“Probably you understand much better than I what needs to be done.” + +“’Tis well! Your confidence is well placed,” said the professor, with a +wave of his hand. “Shall you remain in the hotel?” + +“No, I think I will walk about the town and see a little of it. I have +never been here before.” + +Philip took a walk through the principal streets, surveying with +curiosity the principal buildings, for, though there was nothing +particularly remarkable about them, he was a young traveler, to whom +everything was new. He could not help thinking of his late home, and in +particular of Frank Dunbar, his special friend, and he resolved during +the afternoon to write a letter to Frank, apprising him of his luck +thus far. He knew that Frank would feel anxious about him, and would be +delighted to hear of his success as a musician. + +He went into a book-store and bought a sheet of paper and an envelope. + +He had just completed his letter, when his partner entered the +reading-room of the hotel with a brisk step. + +“Mr. de Gray,” he said, “I have made all necessary arrangements. I have +hired the hall for to-morrow evening—five dollars—ordered some tickets +and posters at the printing-office, and secured a first-class notice in +to-morrow morning’s paper. Everybody in Wilkesville will know before +to-morrow night that they will have the opportunity of attending a +first-class performance at the Music Hall.” + +“It seems to me the necessary expenses are considerable,” said Philip +uneasily. + +“Of course they are; but what does that matter?” + +“What is to be the price of tickets?” + +“General admission, twenty-five cents; reserved seats, fifty cents, and +children under twelve, fifteen cents. How does that strike you!” + +“Will anyone be willing to pay fifty cents to hear us?” asked Philip. + +“Fifty cents! It will be richly worth a dollar!” said the professor +loftily. + +“I suppose he knows best,” thought Philip. “I hope all will come out +right. If it does we can try the combination in other places.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. +UNEXPECTED HONORS. + + +The next morning at breakfast, Professor Riccabocca handed Philip a +copy of the Wilkesville Daily Bulletin. Pointing to a paragraph on the +editorial page, he said, in a tone of pride and satisfaction: + +“Read that, Mr. de Gray.” + +It ran thus: + +“We congratulate the citizens of Wilkesville on the remarkable +entertainment which they will have an opportunity of enjoying this +evening at the Music Hall. Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca, whose fame as +an elocutionist and dramatic reader has made his name a household word +throughout Europe and America, will give some of his choice recitals +and personations, assisted by Philip de Gray, the wonderful +boy-musician, whose talent as a violin-player has been greeted with +rapturous applause in all parts of the United States. It is universally +acknowledged that no one of his age has ever equaled him. He, as well +as Professor Riccabocca, will give but a limited series of +entertainments in this country, having received flattering inducements +to cross the Atlantic, and appear professionally in London, Paris, and +the chief cities of the Continent. Fifty cents is the pitiful sum for +which our citizens will have it put in their power to hear this +wonderful combination of talent. This secures a reserved seat.” + +Philip read this notice with increasing amazement. + +“What do you think of that, Mr. de Gray?” asked the professor +gleefully. “Won’t that make Wilkesville open its eyes, eh?” + +“It has made me open my eyes, professor,” said Philip. + +“Ha, ha!” said the professor, appearing amused. + +“How soon are we to sail for Europe?” asked Philip, smiling. + +“When Queen Victoria sends our passage-money,” answered Riccabocca, +laughing. + +“I see that your name is a household word in Europe. Were you ever +there?” + +“Never.” + +“Then how can that be?” + +“Mr. de Gray, your performances have been greeted with applause in all +parts of the United States. How do you explain that?” + +“I don’t pretend to explain it. I wasn’t aware that my name had ever +been heard of a hundred miles from here.” + +“It has not, but it will be. I have only been predicting a little. The +paragraph isn’t true now, but it will be some time, if we live and +prosper.” + +“But I don’t like to be looked upon as a humbug, professor,” said +Philip uneasily. + +“You won’t be. You are really a fine player, or I wouldn’t consent to +appear with you. The name of Riccabocca, Mr. de Gray, I may truthfully +say, is well known. I have appeared in the leading cities of America. +They were particularly enthusiastic in Chicago,” he added pensively. “I +wish I could find a paragraph from one of their leading papers, +comparing my rendering of the soliloquy in ‘Hamlet’ to Edwin Booth’s, +rather to the disadvantage of that tragedian.” + +“I would like to read the notice,” said Philip, who had very strong +doubts as to whether such a paragraph had ever appeared in print. + +“You shall see it. It will turn up somewhere. I laid it aside +carefully, for I confess, Mr. de Gray, it gratified me much. I have +only one thing to regret: I should myself have gone on the stage, and +essayed leading tragic roles. It may not be too late now. What do you +think?” + +“I can tell better after I have heard you, professor,” answered Philip. + +“True, you can. Mr. de Gray,” continued the professor, lowering his +voice, “notice how much attention we are receiving from the guests at +the tables. They have doubtless read the notice of our evening +entertainment.” + +Philip looked round the room, which was of good size, and contained +some thirty or more guests, and he saw that the professor was right. + +He met several curious glances, some fair ladies expressing interest as +well as curiosity, and his face flushed. + +“Gratifying, isn’t it?” said the professor, smiling. + +“No, I don’t think it is,” answered our hero. + +“Why not?” demanded Professor Riccabocca, appearing amazed. + +“If all were true, it might be,” replied Philip. “As it is, I feel like +a humbug.” + +“Humbug pays in this world,” said the professor cheerfully. “By the +way, there’s another little paragraph to which I will call your +attention.” + +Philip read this additional item: + +“We understand that Professor Riecabocca and Mr. Philip de Gray have +received a cable despatch from the Prince of Wales, inviting them to +instruct his sons in elocution and music, at a very liberal salary. +They have this proposal under consideration, though they are naturally +rather reluctant to give up the plaudits of the public, even for so +honorable a position.” + +“Professor Riccabocca,” said Philip, considerably annoyed by this +audacious invention, “you ought to have consulted me before publishing +such a falsehood as this.” + +“Falsehood, Mr. de Gray? Really I’m shocked! Gentlemen don’t use such +words, or make such charges.” + +“You don’t mean to say it’s true that we have received any such +telegram?” + +“No; of course not.” + +“Then why didn’t I use the right word?” + +“It’s an innocent little fiction, my young friend—a fiction that will +do no one any harm, but will cause us to be regarded with extraordinary +interest.” + +Here the thought occurred to Philip that he, the future instructor of +British royalty, had only just escaped from a poorhouse, and it seemed +to him so droll that he burst out laughing. + +“Why do you laugh, Mr. de Gray?” asked the professor, a little +suspiciously. + +“I was thinking of something amusing,” said Philip. + +“Well, well! We shall have cause to laugh when we play this evening to +a crowded house.” + +“I hope so. But, professor, if we keep together, you mustn’t print any +more such paragraphs about me. Of course, I am not responsible for what +you say about yourself.” + +“Oh, it will be all right!” said Riccabocca. “What are you going to do +with yourself?” + +“I shall practice a little in my room, for I want to play well +to-night. When I get tired I shall take a walk.” + +“Very wise—very judicious. I don’t need to do it, being, as I may say, +a veteran reader. I wouldn’t rehearse if I were to play this evening +before the president and all the distinguished men of the nation.” + +“I don’t feel so confident of myself,” said Philip. + +“No, of course not. By the way, can you lend me fifty cents, Mr. de +Gray?” + +“Certainly.” + +“I don’t want to break a ten.” + +Professor Riccabocca didn’t mention that the only ten he had was a +ten-cent piece. + +Slipping Philip’s half-dollar into his vest pocket, he said carelessly: + +“We’ll take this into the account when we divide the proceeds of the +entertainment.” + +“Very well,” said Philip. + +He went up to his room and played for an hour or more, rehearsing the +different pieces he had selected for the evening, and then, feeling the +need of a little fresh air, he took a walk. + +In different parts of the town he saw posters, on which his name was +printed in large letters. + +“It seems almost like a joke!” he said to himself. + +Just then he heard his name called, and, looking up, he recognized a +young fellow, of sixteen or thereabouts, who had formerly lived in +Norton. It seemed pleasant to see a familiar face. + +“Why, Morris Lovett,” he exclaimed “I didn’t know you were here!” + +“Yes; I’m clerk in a store. Are you the one that is going to give an +entertainment tonight?” + +“Yes,” answered Philip, smiling. + +“I didn’t know you were such a great player,” said Morris, regarding +our hero with new respect. + +He had read the morning paper. + +“Nor I,” said Philip, laughing. + +“Are you going to Europe soon?” + +“It isn’t decided yet!” Philip answered, laughing. + +“I wish I had your chance.” + +“Come and hear me this evening, at any rate,” said Philip. “Call at the +hotel, at six o’clock, and I’ll give you a ticket.” + +“I’ll be sure to come,” said Morris, well pleased. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. +A TRIUMPHANT SUCCESS. + + +Philip took another walk in the afternoon, and was rather amused to see +how much attention he received. When he drew near the hotel he was +stared at by several gaping youngsters, who apparently were stationed +there for no other purpose. He overheard their whispers: + +“That’s him! That’s Philip de Gray, the wonderful fiddler!” + +“I never suspected, when I lived at Norton, that I was so much of a +curiosity,” he said to himself. “I wish I knew what they’ll say about +me to-morrow.” + +At six o’clock Morris Lovett called and received his ticket. + +“You’ll have a big house to-night, Philip,” he said. “I know a lot of +fellows that are going.” + +“I am glad to hear it,” said Philip, well pleased, for he concluded +that if such were the case his purse would be considerably heavier the +next day. + +“It’s strange how quick you’ve come up;” said Morris. “I never expected +you’d be so famous.” + +“Nor I,” said Philip, laughing. + +“I’d give anything if I could have my name posted round like yours.” + +“Perhaps you will have, some time.” + +“Oh, no! I couldn’t play more’n a pig,” said Morris decidedly. “I’ll +have to be a clerk, and stick to business.” + +“You’ll make more money in the end that way, Morris, even if your name +isn’t printed in capitals.” + +They retired into a small room adjoining the stage, to prepare for +their appearance. + +The professor rubbed his hands in glee. + +“Did you see what a house we have, Mr. de Gray?” + +“Yes, professor.” + +“I think there’ll be a hundred dollars over and above expenses.” + +“That will be splendid!” said Philip, naturally elated. + +“The firm of Riccabocca and De Gray is starting swimmingly.” + +“So it is. I hope it will continue so.” + +“Here is the program, Mr. de Gray. You will observe that I appear +first, in my famous soliloquy. You will follow, with the ‘Carnival of +Venice.’ Do you feel agitated?” + +“Oh, no. I am so used to playing that I shall not feel at all bashful.” + +“That is well.” + +“I would like to be on the stage, professor, to hear you.” + +“Certainly. I have anticipated your desire, and provided an extra +chair.” + +The time came, and Professor Riccabocca stepped upon the stage, his +manner full of dignity, and advanced to the desk. Philip took a chair a +little to the rear. + +Their entrance was greeted by hearty applause. The professor made a +stately bow, and a brief introductory speech, in which he said several +things about Philip and himself which rather astonished our hero. Then +he began to recite the soliloquy. + +Probably it was never before so amazingly recited. Professor +Riccabocca’s gestures, facial contortions, and inflections were very +remarkable. Philip almost suspected that he was essaying a burlesque +role. + +The mature portion of the audience were evidently puzzled, but the +small boys were delighted, and with some of the young men, stamped +vigorously at the close. + +Professor Riccabocea bowed modestly, and said: + +“Gentlemen and ladies, you will now have the pleasure of listening to +the young and talented Philip de Gray, the wonderful boy-musician, in +his unrivaled rendition of the ‘Carnival of Venice.’” + +Philip rose, coloring a little with shame at this high-flown +introduction, and came forward. + +All applauded heartily, for sympathy is always felt for a young +performer, especially when he has a manly bearing and an attractive +face, such as our hero possessed. + +Philip was determined to do his best. Indeed, after being advertised +and announced as a boy wonder, he felt that he could not do otherwise. + +He commenced, and soon lost himself in the music he loved so well, so +that before he had half finished he had quite forgotten his audience, +and half started at the boisterous applause which followed. He bowed +his acknowledgments, but found this would not do. + +He was forced to play it a second time, greatly to the apparent +satisfaction of the audience. It was clear that, whatever might be +thought of Professor Riccabocea’s recitation, the young violinist had +not disappointed his audience. + +Philip could see, in a seat near the stage, the beaming face of his +friend Morris Lovett, who was delighted at the success of his old +acquaintance, and anticipated the reflected glory which he received, +from its being known that he was a friend of the wonderful young +musician. + +Professor Riccabocca came forward again, and recited a poem called “The +Maniac,” each stanza ending with the line: “I am not mad, but soon +shall be.” + +He stamped, raved, tore his hair, and made altogether a very grotesque +appearance. + +Philip could hardly forbear laughing, and some of the boys in the front +seats didn’t restrain themselves. Some of the older people wondered how +such a man should be selected by the Prince of Wales to instruct his +sons in elocution—not suspecting that the newspaper paragraph making +mention of this was only a daring invention of the eminent professor. + +Next came another musical selection by Philip, which was as cordially +received as the first. + +I do not propose to weary the reader by a recital of the program and a +detailed account of each performance. It is enough to say that +Professor Riccabocca excited some amusement, but was only tolerated for +the sake of Philip’s playing. + +Naturally, our hero was better received on account of his youth, but +had he been twice as old his playing would have given satisfaction and +pleasure. + +So passed an hour and a half, and the musical entertainment was over. +Philip felt that he had reason to be satisfied. Highly as he had been +heralded, no one appeared to feel disappointed by his part of the +performance. + +“Mr. de Gray,” said the professor, when they reached the hotel, “you +did splendidly. We have made a complete success.” + +“It is very gratifying,” said Philip. + +“I felt sure that the public would appreciate us. I think I managed +everything shrewdly.” + +“How much was paid in at the door?” asked Philip, who naturally felt +interested in this phase of success. + +“One hundred and forty-five dollars and a half!” answered the +professor. + +Philip’s eyes sparkled. + +“And how much will that be over and above expenses?” he asked. + +“My dear Mr. de Gray, we will settle all bills, and make a fair and +equitable division, in the morning. I think there will be a little more +than fifty dollars to come to each of us.” + +“Fifty dollars for one evening’s work!” repeated Philip, his eyes +sparkling. + +“Oh, I have done much better than that,” said the professor. “I +remember once at St. Louis I made for myself alone one hundred and +eighty dollars net, and in Chicago a little more.” + +“I didn’t think it was such a money-making business,” said Philip, +elated. + +“Yes, Mr. de Gray, the American people are willing to recognize talent, +when it is genuine. You are on the threshold of a great career, my dear +young friend.” + +“And only a week since I was in the Norton Poorhouse,” thought Philip. +“It is certainly a case of romance in real life.” + +The two went to bed soon, being fatigued by their exertions. The +apartment was large, and contained two beds, a larger and smaller one. +The latter was occupied by our hero. + +When he awoke in the morning, the sun was shining brightly into the +room. Philip looked toward the opposite bed. It was empty. + +“Professor Riccabocca must have got up early,” he thought. “Probably he +did not wish to wake me.” + +He dressed and went downstairs. + +“Where is the professor?” he asked of the clerk. + +“He started away two hours since—said he was going to take a walk. Went +away without his breakfast, too. He must be fond of walking.” + +Philip turned pale. He was disturbed by a terrible suspicion. Had the +professor gone off for good, carrying all the money with him? + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. +BESET BY CREDITORS. + + +Philip was still a boy, and though he had discovered that the professor +was something of a humbug, and a good deal of a braggart, it had not +for a moment occurred to him that he would prove dishonest. Even now he +did not want to believe it, though he was nervously apprehensive that +it might prove true. + +“I will take my breakfast,” he said, as coolly as was possible, “and +the professor will probably join me before I am through.” + +The clerk and the landlord thought otherwise. They were pretty well +convinced that Riccabocca was dishonest, and quietly sent for those to +whom the “combination” was indebted: namely, the printer and publisher +of the Daily Bulletin, the agent of the music-hall, and the +bill-sticker who had posted notices of the entertainment. These parties +arrived while Philip was at breakfast. + +“Gentlemen,” said the landlord, “the boy is at breakfast. I think he is +all right, but I don’t know. The professor, I fear, is a swindle.” + +“The boy is liable for our debts,” said the agent. “He belongs to the +combination.” + +“I am afraid he is a victim as well as you,” said the landlord. “He +seemed surprised to hear that the professor had gone out.” + +“It may all be put on. Perhaps he is in the plot, and is to meet the +old fraud at some place fixed upon, and divide the booty,” suggested +the agent. + +“The boy looks honest,” said the landlord. “I like his appearance. We +will see what he has to say.” + +So when Philip had finished his breakfast he was summoned to the +parlor, where he met the creditors of the combination. + +“These gentlemen,” said the landlord, “have bills against you and the +professor. It makes no difference whether they receive pay from you or +him.” + +Poor Philip’s heart sank within him. + +“I was hoping Professor Riccabocca had settled your bills,” he said. +“Please show them to me.” + +This was done with alacrity. + +Philip found that they owed five dollars for the hall, five dollars for +advertising and printing, and one dollar for bill-posting—eleven +dollars in all. + +“Mr. Gates,” said our hero uneasily, to the landlord, “did Professor +Riccabocca say anything about coming back when he went out this +morning?” + +“He told my clerk he would be back to breakfast,” said the landlord; +adding, with a shrug of the shoulders: “That was two hours and a half +ago. He can’t be very hungry.” + +“He didn’t pay his bill, I suppose?” + +“No, of course not. He had not given up his room.” + +Philip became more and more uneasy. + +“Didn’t you know anything about his going out?” asked the landlord. + +“No, sir. I was fast asleep.” + +“Is the professor in the habit of taking long morning walks?” + +“I don’t know.” + +“That is strange, since you travel together,” remarked the publisher. + +“I never saw him till day before yesterday,” said Philip. + +The creditors looked at each other significantly. They began to suspect +that Philip also was a victim. + +“Do you know how much money was received for tickets last evening?” + +“About a hundred and fifty dollars.” + +“How much of this were you to receive?” + +“Half of what was left after the bills were paid.” + +“Have you received it?” asked the agent. + +“Not a cent,” answered Philip. + +“What do you think about the situation?” + +“I think that Professor Riccabocca has swindled us all,” answered +Philip promptly. + +“Our bills ought to be paid,” said the agent, who was rather a hard man +in his dealings. + +“I agree with you,” said Philip. “I wish I were able to pay them, but I +have only six dollars in my possession.” + +“That will pay me, and leave a dollar over,” suggested the agent. + +“If it comes to that,” said the printer, “I claim that I ought to be +paid first.” + +“I am a poor man,” said the bill-sticker. “I need my money.” + +Poor Philip was very much disconcerted. It was a new thing for him to +owe money which he could not repay. + +“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have myself been cheated out of fifty dollars, +at least—my share of the profits. I wish I could pay you all. I cannot +do so now. Whenever I can I will certainly do it.” + +“You can pay us a part with the money you have,” said the agent. + +“I owe Mr. Gates for nearly two days’ board,” he said. “That is my own +affair, and I must pay him first.” + +“I don’t see why he should be preferred to me,” grumbled the agent; +then, with a sudden, happy thought, as he termed it, he said: “I will +tell you how you can pay us all.” + +“How?” asked Philip. + +“You have a violin. You can sell that for enough to pay our bills.” + +Poor Philip! His violin was his dependence. Besides the natural +attachment he felt for it, he relied upon it to secure him a living, +and the thought of parting with it was bitter. + +“Gentlemen,” he said, “if you take my violin, I have no way of making a +living. If you will consider that I, too, am a victim of this man, I +think you will not wish to inflict such an injury upon me.” + +“I do not, for one,” said the publisher. “I am not a rich man, and I +need all the money that is due me, but I wouldn’t deprive the boy of +his violin.” + +“Nor I,” said the bill-sticker. + +“That’s all very fine,” said the agent; “but I am not so soft as you +two. Who knows but the boy is in league with the professor?” + +“I know it!” said the landlord stoutly. “The boy is all right, or I am +no judge of human nature.” + +“Thank you, Mr. Gates,” said Philip, extending his hand to his generous +defender. + +“Do you expect we will let you off without paying anything?” demanded +the agent harshly. + +“If I live, sir, you shall lose nothing by me,” said Philip. + +“That won’t do!” said the man coarsely. “I insist upon the fiddle being +sold. I’ll give five dollars for it, and call it square.” + +“Mr. Gunn,” said the landlord, in a tone of disgust, “since you are +disposed to persecute this boy, I will myself pay your bill, and trust +to him to repay me when he can.” + +“But, Mr. Gates—” said Philip. + +“I accept!” said the agent, with alacrity. + +“Receipt your bill,” said the landlord. + +Mr. Gunn did so, and received a five-dollar bill in return. + +“Now sir,” said the landlord coldly, “if you have no further business +here, we can dispense with your company.” + +“It strikes me you are rather hard on a man because he wants to be paid +his honest dues!” whined Gunn, rather uncomfortably. + +“We understand you, sir,” said the landlord. “We have not forgotten how +you turned a poor family into the street, in the dead of winter, +because they could not pay their rent.” + +“Could I afford to give them house-room?” inquired Gunn. + +“Perhaps not. At any rate, I don’t feel inclined to give you house-room +any longer.” + +Mr. Gunn slunk out of the room, under the impression that his company +was no longer desired. + +“Mr. Gray,” said the publisher, “I hope you don’t class me with the man +who has just gone out. I would sooner never be paid than deprive you of +your violin. Let the account stand, and if you are ever able to pay me +half of my bill—your share—I shall be glad to receive it.” + +“Thank you, sir!” said Philip, “You shall not repent your confidence in +me.” + +“I say ditto to my friend, the publisher,” said the bill-poster. + +“Wait a moment, gentlemen,” said Philip. “There is a bare possibility +that I can do something for you.” + +For the first time since he left Norton he thought of the letter which +he was not to open till he was fifty miles from Norton. + +“Mr. Gates,” he said, “can you tell me how far Norton is from here?” + +“About sixty miles,” answered the landlord in surprise. + +“Then it’s all right.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. +A TIMELY GIFT. + + +The reader has not forgotten that Farmer Lovett, when Philip refused to +accept any compensation for assisting to frustrate the attempt at +burglary, handed him a sealed envelope, which he requested him not to +open till he was fifty miles away from Norton. + +Philip had carried this about in his pocket ever since. He had thought +of it as likely to contain some good advice at the time; but it had +since occurred to him that the farmer had not had time to write down +anything in that line. + +He was disposed to think that the mysterious envelope might contain a +five-dollar bill, as a slight acknowledgment of his services. + +Though Philip had declined receiving any payment, it did seem to him +now that this amount of money would relieve him from considerable +embarrassment. He therefore drew a penknife from his pocket and cut +open the envelope. + +What was his amazement when he drew out three bills—two twenties and a +ten—fifty dollars in all! There was a slip of paper, on which was +written, in pencil: + +“Don’t hesitate to use this money, if you need it, as you doubtless +will. I can spare it as well as not, and shall be glad if it proves of +use to one who has done me a great service. JOHN LOVETT.” + +“What’s that!” asked the landlord, regarding Philip with interest. + +“Some money which I did not know I possessed,” answered Philip. + +“How much is there?” + +“Fifty dollars.” + +“And you didn’t know you had it?” asked the publisher—rather +incredulously, it must be owned. + +“No, sir; I was told not to open this envelope till I was fifty miles +away from where it was given me. Of course, Mr. Gates, I am now able to +pay all my bills, and to repay you for what you handed Mr. Gunn.” + +“I am pleased with your good fortune,” said the landlord cordially. + +“Thank you, sir.” + +“But I am sorry your knavish partner has cheated you out of so much +money.” + +“I shall make him pay it if I can,” said Philip resolutely. + +“I approve your pluck, and I wish you success.” + +“He owes you money, too, Mr. Gates. Give me the bill, and I will do my +best to collect it.” + +“If you collect it, you may have it,” said Gates. “I don’t care much +for the money, but I should like to have the scamp compelled to fork it +over.” + +“I wish I knew where he was likely to be,” said Philip. + +“He may go to Knoxville,” suggested the publisher. + +“How far is that?” + +“Ten miles.” + +“What makes you think he will go to Knoxville?” asked the landlord. + +“He may think of giving a performance there. It is a pretty large +place.” + +“But wouldn’t he be afraid to do it, after the pranks he has played +here?” + +“Perhaps so. At any rate, he is very likely to go there.” + +“I will go there and risk it,” said Philip. “He needn’t think he is +going to get off so easily, even if it is only a boy he has cheated.” + +“That’s the talk, Mr. Gray!” said the landlord. “How are you going?” he +asked, a minute later. + +“I can walk ten miles well enough,” answered Philip. + +He had considerable money now, but he reflected that he should probably +need it all, especially if he did not succeed in making the professor +refund, and decided that it would be well to continue to practice +economy. + +“I have no doubt you can,” said the landlord, “but it will be better +not to let the professor get too much the start of you. I will myself +have a horse harnessed, and take you most of the distance in my buggy.” + +“But, Mr. Gates, won’t it be putting you to a great deal of trouble?” + +“Not at all. I shall enjoy a ride this morning, and the road to +Knoxville is a very pleasant one.” + +“Let me pay something for the ride, then.” + +“Not a cent. You will need all your money, and I can carry you just as +well as not,” said the landlord heartily. + +“I am very fortunate in such a kind friend,” said Philip gratefully. + +“Oh, it isn’t worth talking about! Here, Jim, go out and harness the +horse directly.” + +When the horse was brought round, Philip was all ready, and jumped in. + +“Would you like to drive, Mr. Gray?” asked the landlord. + +“Yes,” answered Philip, with alacrity. + +“Take the lines, then,” said the landlord. + +Most boys of Philip’s age are fond of driving, and our hero was no +exception to the rule, as the landlord supposed. + +“You’ll promise not to upset me,” said Mr. Gates, smiling. “I am +getting stout, and the consequences might be serious.” + +“Oh, I am used to driving,” said Philip, “and I will take care not to +tip over.” + +The horse was a good one, and to Philip’s satisfaction, went over the +road in good style. + +Philip enjoyed driving, but, of course, his mind could not help +dwelling on the special object of his journey. + +“I hope we are on the right track,” he said. “I shouldn’t like to miss +the professor.” + +“You will soon know, at any rate,” said Gates. “It seems to me,” he +continued, “that Riccabocca made a great mistake in running off with +that money.” + +“He thought it would be safe to cheat a boy.” + +“Yes; but admitting all that, you two were likely to make money. In +Wilkesville your profits were a hundred dollars in one evening. Half of +that belonged to the professor, at any rate. He has lost his partner, +and gained only fifty dollars, which would not begin to pay him for +your loss.” + +“Perhaps he thought he would draw as well alone.” + +“Then he is very much mistaken. To tell the plain truth, our people +thought very little of his share of the performance. I saw some of them +laughing when he was ranting away. It was you they enjoyed hearing.” + +“I am glad of that,” said Philip, gratified. + +“There’s no humbug about your playing. You understand it. It was you +that saved the credit of the evening, and sent people away well +satisfied.” + +“I am glad of that, at any rate, even if I didn’t get a cent for my +playing,” said Philip, well pleased. + +“The money’s the practical part of it,” said the landlord. “Of course, +I am glad when travelers like my hotel, but if they should run off +without paying, like the professor, I shouldn’t enjoy it so much.” + +“No, I suppose not,” said Philip, with a laugh. + +They had ridden some seven miles, and were, therefore, only three miles +from Knoxville, without the slightest intimation as to whether or not +they were on the right track. + +To be sure, they had not expected to obtain any clue so soon, but it +would have been very satisfactory, of course, to obtain one. + +A little farther on they saw approaching a buggy similar to their own, +driven by a man of middle age. It turned out to be an acquaintance of +the landlord’s, and the two stopped to speak. + +“Going to Knoxville on business, Mr. Gates?” asked the newcomer. + +“Well, not exactly. I am driving this young man over. By the way, have +you seen anything of a tall man, with long, black hair, dressed in +black?” + +“Yes. Do you want to see him?” + +“This young man has some business with him. Where did you see him?” + +“He arrived at our hotel about an hour since, I calculate.” + +Philip’s heart bounded with satisfaction at this important news. + +“Did he put up there?” + +“Yes. I believe he is going to give a reading this evening.” + +“Thank you!” + +“The professor must be a fool!” said the landlord, as they drove away. + +“I begin to think so myself,” replied Philip. + +“That’s all in our favor, however. We shall get back that money yet.” + +The horse was put to his speed, and in fifteen minutes they reached +Knoxville. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. +THE PROFESSOR’S FLIGHT. + + +Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca was not a wise man. It would have been +much more to his interest to deal honestly with Philip, paying his +share of the profits of the first performance, and retaining his +services as associate and partner. + +But the professor was dazzled by the money, and unwilling to give it +up. Moreover, he had the vanity to think that he would draw nearly as +well alone, thus retaining in his own hands the entire proceeds of any +entertainments he might give. + +When he met Philip on the road he was well-nigh penniless. Now, +including the sum of which he had defrauded our hero and his creditors +in Wilkesville, he had one hundred and fifty dollars. + +When the professor went to bed, he had not formed the plan of deserting +Philip; but, on awaking in the morning, it flashed upon him as an +excellent step which would put money in his pocket. + +He accordingly rose, dressed himself quietly, and, with one cautious +look at Philip—who was fast asleep—descended the stairs to the office. + +Only the bookkeeper was in the office. + +“You are stirring early, professor,” he said. + +“Yes,” answered Riccabocca, “I generally take a morning walk, to get an +appetite for breakfast.” + +“My appetite comes without the walk,” said the bookkeeper, smiling. + +“If Mr. de Gray comes downstairs, please tell him I will be back soon,” +said Riccabocca. + +The bookkeeper readily promised to do this, not having the slightest +suspicion that the distinguished professor was about to take French +leave. + +When Professor Riccabocca had walked half a mile he began to feel +faint. His appetite had come. + +“I wish I had stopped to breakfast,” he reflected. “I don’t believe De +Gray will be down for an hour or two.” + +It was too late to go back and repair his mistake. That would spoil +all. He saw across the street a baker’s shop, just opening for the day, +and this gave him an idea. + +He entered, bought some rolls, and obtained a glass of milk, and, +fortified with these, he resumed his journey. + +He had walked three miles, when he was over-taken by a farm wagon, +which was going his way. + +He hailed the driver—a young man of nineteen or thereabouts—ascertained +that he was driving to Knoxville, and, for a small sum, secured passage +there. + +This brings us to the point of time when Philip and Mr. Gates drove up +to the hotel at Knoxville. + +“I can see the professor,” said Philip, in eager excitement, when they +had come within a few rods of the inn. + +“Where is he?” + +“He is in the office, sitting with his back to the front window. I +wonder what he will have to say for himself?” + +“So do I,” said the landlord curiously. + +“Shall we go in together?” questioned Philip. + +“No; let us surprise him a little. I will drive around to the sheds +back of the hotel, and fasten my horse. Then we will go round to the +front, and you can go in, while I stand outside, ready to appear a +little later.” + +Philip thought this a good plan. He enjoyed the prospect of confronting +the rogue who had taken advantage of his inexperience, and attempted +such a bold scheme of fraud. He didn’t feel in the least nervous, or +afraid to encounter the professor, though Riccabocca was a man and he +but a boy. When all was ready, Philip entered through the front door, +which was open, and, turning into the office, stood before the +astonished professor. + +The latter started in dismay at the sight of our hero. He thought he +might be quietly eating breakfast ten miles away, unsuspiciously +waiting for his return. Was his brilliant scheme to fail? He quickly +took his resolution—a foolish one. He would pretend not to know Philip. + +“Well, Professor Riccabocca,” Philip said, in a sarcastic tone, “you +took rather a long walk this morning.” + +The professor looked at him vacantly. + +“Were you addressing me?” he inquired. + +“Yes, sir,” answered Philip, justly provoked. + +“I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance, young man.” + +“I wish I hadn’t the pleasure of yours,” retorted Philip. + +“Do you come here to insult me?” demanded Riccabocca, frowning. + +“I came here to demand my share of the money received for the +entertainment last evening, as well as the money paid for the hall, the +printer, and bill-poster.” + +“You must be crazy!” said Riccabocca, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t +know you. I don’t owe you any money.” + +“Do you mean to say we didn’t give an entertainment together last +evening at Wilkesville?” asked Philip, rather taken aback by the man’s +sublime impudence. + +“My young friend, you have been dreaming. Prove what you say and I will +admit your claim.” + +Up to this point those present, deceived by the professor’s coolness, +really supposed him to be in the right. That was what Riccabocca +anticipated, and hoped to get off before the discovery of the truth +could be made. But he did not know that Philip had a competent witness +at hand. + +“Mr. Gates!” called Philip. + +The portly landlord of the Wilkesville Hotel entered the room, and +Riccabocca saw that the game was up. + +“Mr. Gates, will you be kind enough to convince this gentleman that he +owes me money?” asked Philip. + +“I think he won’t deny it now,” said Gates significantly. “He walked +off from my hotel this morning, leaving his bill unpaid. Professor +Riccabocca, it strikes me you had better settle with us, unless you +wish to pass the night in the lockup.” + +Professor Riccabocca gave a forced laugh. + +“Why, Mr. de Gray,” he said, “you ought to have known that I was only +playing a trick on you.” + +“I supposed you were,” said Philip. + +“No, I don’t mean that. I was only pretending I didn’t know you, to see +if I could act naturally enough, to deceive you.” + +“Why did you desert me?” asked Philip suspiciously. + +“I started to take a walk—didn’t the bookkeeper tell you?—and finding a +chance to ride over here, thought I would do so, and make arrangements +for our appearance here. Of course, I intended to come back, and pay +our good friend, the landlord, and give you your share of the common +fund.” + +Neither Gates nor Philip believed a word of this. It seemed to them +quite too transparent. + +“You may as well pay us now, Professor Riccabocca,” said the landlord +dryly. + +“I hope you don’t suspect my honor or integrity,” said Riccabocca, +appearing to be wounded at the thought. + +“Never mind about that,” said Mr. Gates shortly. “Actions speak louder +than words.” + +“I am quite ready to settle—quite,” said the professor. “The money is +in my room. I will go up and get it.” + +There seemed to be no objection to this, and our two friends saw him +ascend the staircase to the second story. Philip felt pleased to think +that he had succeeded in his quest, for his share of the concert money +would be nearly seventy dollars. That, with the balance of the money; +received from Farmer Lovett, would make over a hundred dollars. + +They waited five minutes, and the professor did not come down. + +“What can keep him?” said Philip. + +Just then one of the hostlers entered and caught what our hero had +said. + +“A man has just run out of the back door,” he said, “and is cutting +across the fields at a great rate.” + +“He must have gone down the back stairs,” said the clerk. + +“In what direction would he go?” asked Philip hastily. + +“To the railroad station. There is a train leaves in fifteen minutes.” + +“What shall we do, Mr. Gates?” asked Philip, in dismay. + +“Jump into my buggy. We’ll get to the depot before the train starts. We +must intercept the rascal.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. +THE RACE ACROSS FIELDS. + + +It so happened that Professor Riccabocca had once before visited +Knoxville, and remembered the location of the railroad station. +Moreover, at the hotel, before the arrival of Philip, he had consulted +a schedule of trains posted up in the office, and knew that one would +leave precisely at ten o’clock. + +The impulse to leave town by this train was sudden. He had in his +pocket the wallet containing the hundred and fifty dollars, of which a +large part belonged to Philip, and could have settled at once, without +the trouble of going upstairs to his room. + +He only asked leave to go up there in order to gain time for thought. +At the head of the staircase he saw another narrower flight of stairs +descending to the back of the house. That gave him the idea of eluding +his two creditors by flight. + +I have said before that Professor Riccabocca was not a wise man, or he +would have reflected that he was only postponing the inevitable +reckoning. Moreover, it would destroy the last chance of making an +arrangement with Philip to continue the combination, which thus far had +proved so profitable. + +The professor did not take this into consideration, but dashed down the +back stairs, and opened the back door into the yard. + +“Do you want anything, sir?” asked a maidservant, eyeing the professor +suspiciously. + +“Nothing at all, my good girl,” returned the professor. + +“You seem to be in a hurry,” she continued, with renewed suspicion. + +“So I am. I am in a great hurry to meet an engagement.” + +“Why didn’t you go out the front door?” asked the girl. + +“Oh, bother! What business is it of yours?” demanded the professor +impatiently. + +And, not stopping for further inquiries, he vaulted over a fence and +took his way across the fields to the station. + +“Here, Sam,” called the girl, her suspicions confirmed that something +was wrong, “go after that man as fast as you can!” + +This was addressed to a boy who was employed at the hotel to go on +errands and do odd jobs. + +“What’s he done?” asked Sam. + +“I don’t know; but he’s either run off without paying his bill, or he’s +stolen something.” + +“What good’ll it do me to chase him?” asked Sam. + +“If he’s cheated master, he’ll pay you for catching the man.” + +“That’s so,” thought Sam. “Besides, I’ll be a detective, just like that +boy I read about in the paper. I’m off!” + +Fired by youthful ambition, Sam also vaulted the fence, and ran along +the foot-path in pursuit of the professor. + +Lorenzo Riccabocca did not know he was pursued. He felt himself so safe +from this, on account of the secrecy of his departure, that he never +took the trouble to look behind him. He knew the way well enough, for +the fields he was crossing were level, and half a mile away, perhaps a +little more, he could see the roof of the brown-painted depot, which +was his destination. Once there, he would buy a ticket, get on the +train, and get started away from Knoxville before the troublesome +acquaintances who were waiting for him to come down-stairs had any idea +where he was gone. + +The professor ran at a steady, even pace, looking straight before him. +His eyes were fixed on the haven of his hopes, and he did not notice a +stone, of considerable size, which lay in his path. The result was that +he stumbled over it, and fell forward with considerable force. He rose, +jarred and sore, but there was no time to take account of his physical +damages. He must wait till he got on the train. + +The force with which he was thrown forward was such that the wallet was +thrown from his pocket, and fell in the grass beside the path. The +professor went on his way, quite unconscious of his loss, but there +were other eyes that did not overlook it. + +Sam, who was thirty rods behind, noticed Professor Riccabocca’s fall, +and he likewise noticed the wallet when he reached the spot of the +catastrophe. + +“My eyes!” he exclaimed, opening those organs wide in delight; “here’s +luck! The old gentleman has dropped his pocketbook. Most likely it’s +stolen. I’ll carry it back and give it to Mr. Perry.” + +Sam very sensibly decided that it wasn’t worth while to continue the +pursuit, now that the thief, as he supposed Riccabocca to be, had +dropped his booty. + +Sam was led by curiosity to open the wallet. When he saw the thick roll +of bills, he was filled with amazement and delight. + +“Oh, what a rascal he was!” ejaculated the boy. “I guess he’s been +robbing a safe. I wonder how much is here?” + +He was tempted to sit down on the grass and count the bills, but he was +prevented by the thought that the professor might discover his loss, +and returning upon his track, question him as to whether he had found +it. Sam determined that he wouldn’t give it up, at any rate. + +“I guess I could wrastle with him,” he thought. “He looks rather +spindlin’, but then he’s bigger than I am, and he might lick me, after +all.” + +I desire to say emphatically that Sam was strictly honest, and never +for a moment thought of appropriating any of the money to his own use. +He felt that as a detective he had been successful, and this made him +feel proud and happy. + +“I may as well go home,” he said. “If he’s stolen this money from Mr. +Perry, I’ll come in for a reward.” + +Sam did not hurry, however. He was not now in pursuit of any one, and +could afford to loiter and recover his breath. + +Meanwhile, Professor Riccabocca, in happy unconsciousness of his loss, +continued his run to the station. He arrived there breathless, and +hurried to the ticket-office. + +“Give me a ticket to Chambersburg,” he said. + +“All right, sir. Ninety cents.” + +If Riccabocca had been compelled to take out his wallet, he would at +once have discovered his loss, and the ticket would not have been +bought. But he had a two-dollar bill in his vest, and it was out of +this that he paid for the ticket to Chambersburg. Armed with the +ticket, he waited anxiously for the train. He had five minutes to +wait—five anxious moments in which his flight might be discovered. He +paced the platform, looking out anxiously for the train. + +At length he heard the welcome sound of the approaching locomotive. The +train came to a stop, and among the first to enter it was the eminent +elocutionist. He took a seat beside the window looking out toward the +village. What did he see that brought such an anxious look in his face? + +A buggy was approaching the depot at breakneck speed. It contained Mr. +Gates, the landlord, and the young musician. Mr. Gates was lashing the +horse, and evidently was exceedingly anxious to arrive at the depot +before the train started. + +Beads of perspiration stood on the anxious brow of the professor. His +heart was filled with panic terror. + +“The girl must have told them of my flight,” he said to himself. “Oh, +why didn’t I think to give her a quarter to keep her lips closed? Why +doesn’t the train start?” + +The buggy was only about ten rods away. It looked as if Philip and his +companion would be able to intercept the fugitive. + +Just then the scream of the locomotive was heard. The train began to +move. Professor Riccabocca gave a sigh of relief. + +“I shall escape them after all,” he said triumphantly, to himself. + +He opened the window, and, with laughing face, nodded to his pursuers. + +“We’ve lost him!” said Philip, in a tone of disappointment. “What can +we do?” + +“Find out where he is going, and telegraph to have him stopped,” said +Mr. Gates. “That will put a spoke in his wheel.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. +THE LOST WALLET. + + +Mr. Gates was acquainted with the depot-master, and lost no time in +seeking him. + +“Too late for the train?” asked the latter, who observed in the +landlord evidences of haste. + +“Not for the train, but for one of the passengers by the train,” +responded the landlord. “Did you take notice of a man dressed in a +shabby suit of black, wearing a soft hat and having very long black +hair?” + +“Yes.” + +“Where is he going?” asked Mr. Gates eagerly. + +“He bought a ticket for Chambersburg.” + +“Ha! Well, I want you to telegraph for me to Chambersburg.” + +The station-master was also the telegraph-operator, as it chanced. + +“Certainly. Just write out your message and I will send it at once.” + +Mr. Gates telegraphed to a deputy sheriff at Chambersburg to be at the +depot on arrival of the train, and to arrest and detain the professor +till he could communicate further with him. + +“Now,” said he, turning to Philip, “I think we shall be able to stop +the flight of your friend.” + +“Don’t call him my friend,” said Philip. “He is anything but a friend.” + +“You are right there. Well, I will amend and call him your partner. +Now, Mr. de Gray—” + +“My name is Gray—not de Gray. The professor put in the ‘de’ because he +thought it would sound foreign.” + +“I presume you have as much right to the name as he has to the title of +professor,” said Gates. + +“I don’t doubt it,” returned Philip, smiling. + +“Well, as I was about to say, we may as well go back to the hotel, and +await the course of events. I think there is some chance of your +getting your money back.” + +When they reached the hotel, they found a surprise in store for them. + +Sam had carried the professor’s wallet to Mr. Perry, and been told by +them to wait and hand it in person to Philip and his friend, Mr. Gates, +who were then at the depot. + +When they arrived, Sam was waiting on the stoop, wallet in hand. + +“What have you got there, Sam?” asked Mr. Gates, who often came to +Knoxville, and knew the boy. “It’s the wallet of that man you were +after,” said Sam. + +“How did you get it?” asked Philip eagerly. + +“I chased him ’cross lots,” said Sam. + +“You didn’t knock him over and take the wallet from him, did you, Sam?” +asked Mr. Gates. + +“Not so bad as that,” answered Sam, grinning. “You see, he tripped over +a big rock, and came down on his hands and knees. The wallet jumped out +of his pocket, but he didn’t see it. I picked it up and brought it +home.” + +“Didn’t he know you were chasing him?” + +“I guess not. He never looked back.” + +“What made you think of running after him?” + +“One of the girls told me to. The way he ran out of the back door made +her think there was something wrong.” + +“Suppose he had turned round?” + +“I guess I could have wrastled with him,” said Sam, to the amusement of +those who heard him. + +“It is well you were not obliged to.” + +“Who shall I give the wallet to?” asked Sam. + +“Mr. Gray, here, is the professor’s partner, and half the money belongs +to him. You can give it to him.” + +“Have I a right to take it?” asked Philip, who did not wish to do +anything unlawful. + +He was assured that, as the business partner of the professor, he had +as much right as Riccabocca to the custody of the common fund. + +“But half of it belongs to the professor.” + +“He’ll come back for it, in the custody of the sheriff. I didn’t think +I was doing the man a good turn when I telegraphed to have him +stopped.” + +The first thing Philip did was to take from his own funds a five-dollar +bill, which he tendered to Sam. + +“Is it all for me?” asked the boy, his eyes sparkling his joy. + +“Yes; but for you I should probably have lost a good deal more. Thank +you, besides.” + +And Philip offered his hand to Sam, who grasped it fervently. + +“I say, you’re a tip-top chap,” said Sam. “You ain’t like a man that +lost a pocketbook last summer, with a hundred dollars in it, and gave +me five cents for finding it.” + +“No; I hope I’m not as mean as that,” said Philip, smiling. + +He opened the wallet and found a memorandum containing an exact +statement of the proceeds of the concert. This was of great service to +him, as it enabled him to calculate his own share of the profits. + +The aggregate receipts were one hundred and fifty dollars and fifty +cents. Deducting bills paid, viz.: + +Rent of hall........................ $5.00 + +Printing, etc........................ 5.00 + +Bill-poster......................... 1.00 + +Total...........................$11.00 + +there was a balance of $138.50, of which Philip was entitled to +one-half, namely, $69.25. This he took, together with the eleven +dollars which he had himself paid to the creditors of the combination, +and handed the wallet, with the remainder of the money, to Mr. Perry, +landlord of the Knoxville Hotel, with a request that he would keep it +till called for by Professor Riccabocca. + +“You may hand me three dollars and a half, Mr. Perry,” said Mr. Gates. +“That is the amount the professor owes me for a day and three-quarters +at my hotel. If he makes a fuss, you can tell him he is quite at +liberty to go to law about it.” + +Meanwhile, where was the professor, and when did he discover his loss? + +After the train was a mile or two on its way he felt in his pocket for +the wallet, meaning to regale himself with a sight of its contents—now, +as he considered, all his own. + +Thrusting his hand into his pocket, it met—vacancy. + +Pale with excitement, he continued his search, extending it to all his +other pockets. But the treasure had disappeared! + +Professor Riccabocca was panic-stricken. He could hardly suppress a +groan. + +A good woman sitting opposite, judging from his pallor that he was ill, +leaned over and asked, in a tone of sympathy: + +“Are you took sick?” + +“No, ma’am,” answered the professor sharply. + +“You look as if you was goin’ to have a fit,” continued the +sympathizing woman. “Jest take some chamomile tea the first chance you +get. It’s the sovereignest thing I know of—” + +“Will chamomile tea bring back a lost pocket-book?” demanded the +professor sharply. + +“Oh, Lor’! you don’t say you lost your money?” + +“Yes, I do!” said Riccabocca, glaring at her. + +“Oh, dear! do you think there’s pickpockets in the car?” asked the old +lady nervously. + +“Very likely,” answered the professor tragically. + +The good woman kept her hand in her pocket all the rest of the way, +eyeing all her fellow passengers sharply. + +But the professor guessed the truth. He had lost his wallet when he +stumbled in the field. He was in a fever of impatience to return and +hunt for it. Instead of going on to Chambersburg, he got out at the +next station—five miles from Knoxville—and walked back on the +railroad-track. So it happened that the telegram did no good. + +The professor walked back to the hotel across the fields, hunting +diligently, but saw nothing of the lost wallet. He entered the hotel, +footsore, weary, and despondent. The first person he saw was Philip, +sitting tranquilly in the office. + +“Did you just come down from your room?” asked our hero coolly. + +“I am a most unfortunate man!” sighed Riccabocca, sinking into a seat. + +“What’s the matter?” + +“I’ve lost all our money.” + +“I am glad you say ‘our money.’ I began to think you considered it all +yours. Didn’t I see you on the train?” + +“I had a bad headache,” stammered the professor, “and I didn’t know +what I was doing.” + +“Does riding in the cars benefit your head?” + +Professor Riccabocca looked confused. + +“The wallet was found,” said Philip, not wishing to keep him any longer +in suspense. + +“Where is it?” asked the professor eagerly. + +“Mr. Perry will give it to you. I have taken out my share of the money, +and Mr. Gates has received the amount of his bill. It would have been +better for you to attend to these matters yourself like an honest man.” + +Professor Riccabocca was so overjoyed to have back his own money that +he made no fuss about Philip’s proceedings. Indeed, his own intended +dishonesty was so apparent that it would have required even more +assurance than he possessed to make a protest. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. +A NEW BUSINESS PROPOSAL. + + +Professor Riccabocca put the wallet in his pocket with a sigh of +satisfaction. There were still sixty dollars or more in it, and it was +long since he had been so rich. + +He began to think now that it might be well to revive the combination. +There was some doubt, however, as to how Philip would receive the +proposal. + +He looked at his young partner and was not much encouraged. He felt +that he must conciliate him. + +“Mr. de Gray,” he began. + +“Call me Gray. My name is not de Gray.” + +“Well, Mr. Gray, then. I hope you don’t have any hard feelings.” + +“About what?” inquired Philip, surveying the professor curiously. + +“About—the past,” stammered the professor. + +“You mean about your running off with my money?” returned Philip +plainly. + +Professor Riccabocca winced. He did not quite like this form of +statement. “I am afraid you misjudge me,” he said, rather confused. + +“I shall be glad to listen to any explanation you have to offer,” said +our hero. + +“I will explain it all to you, in time,” said the professor, recovering +his old assurance. “In the meantime, I have a proposition to make to +you.” + +“What is it?” + +“Suppose we give an entertainment in Knoxville—on the same terms as the +last.” + +“I shouldn’t think you would like to appear before an audience here, +Professor Riccabocca.” + +“Why not?” + +“Before night everybody will have heard of your running away with the +proceeds of the last concert.” + +“Public men are always misjudged. They must expect it,” said the +professor, with the air of a martyr. + +“I should think you would be more afraid of being justly judged.” + +“Mr. Gray,” said the professor, “I have done wrong, I admit; but it was +under the influence of neuralgia. When I have a neuralgic headache, I +am not myself. I do things which, in a normal condition, I should not +dream of. I am the victim of a terrible physical malady.” + +Philip did not believe a word of this, but he felt amused at the +professor’s singular excuse. + +“Come, Mr. Gray, what do you say?” + +“I think I must decline,” returned Philip. + +But here Professor Riccabocca received unexpected help. + +Mr. Perry, the landlord, who had listened to the colloquy, approached +the two speakers and said: + +“Gentlemen, I have a proposal to make to you both.” + +Both Philip and the professor looked up, with interest. + +“Some of the young men in the village,” said the landlord, “have formed +a literary club, meeting weekly. They have hired and furnished a room +over one of our stores, provided it with, games and subscribed for a +few periodicals. They find, however, that the outlay has been greater +than they anticipated and are in debt. I have been talking with the +secretary, and he thinks he would like to engage you to give an +entertainment, the proceeds, beyond a fixed sum, to go to the benefit +of the club. What do you say?” + +“When is it proposed to have the entertainment?” asked Philip. + +“I suppose we should have to name to-morrow evening, in order to +advertise it sufficiently.” + +“I am willing to make any engagement that will suit the club,” said +Philip. + +“And I, too,” said Professor Riccabocca. + +“The secretary authorizes me to offer you ten dollars each, and to pay +your hotel expenses in the meantime,” said Mr. Perry. + +“That is satisfactory,” said our hero. + +“I agree,” said the professor. + +“Then I will at once notify the secretary, and he will take steps to +advertise the entertainment.” + +Ten dollars was a small sum compared with what Philip had obtained for +his evening in Wilkesville, but a week since he would have regarded it +as very large for one week’s work. He felt that it was for his interest +to accept the proposal. + +He secretly resolved that if the entertainment should not prove as +successful as was anticipated, he would give up a part of the sum which +was promised him for his services. + +Professor Riccabocca assented the more readily to the proposal, because +he thought it might enable him again to form a business alliance with +our hero, from whom his conduct had estranged him. + +“Suppose we take a room together, Mr. de Gray,” he said, with an +ingratiating smile. + +“Gray, if you please, professor. I don’t like sailing under false +colors.” + +“Excuse me; the force of habit, you know. Well, do you agree?” + +“The professor has more assurance than any man I ever heard of,” +thought Philip. “You must excuse me, professor,” he said. “After what +has happened, I should feel safer in a room by myself.” + +“Why will you dwell upon the past, Mr. Gray?” said the professor +reproachfully. + +“Because I am prudent, and learn from experience,” answered Philip. + +“I assure you, you will have nothing to complain of,” said Riccabocca +earnestly. “If we are together, we can consult about the program.” + +“We shall have plenty of time to do that during the day, professor.” + +“Then you don’t care to room with me?” said Riccabocca, looking +disappointed. + +“No, I don’t.” + +“What are you afraid of?” + +“I am afraid you might have an attack of neuralgic headache during the +night,” said Philip, laughing. + +Professor Riccabocca saw that it would be of no use for him to press +the request, and allowed himself to be conducted to the same room which +he had so unceremoniously left a short time before. + +During the afternoon, Philip had a call from John Turner, the secretary +of the Young Men’s Club. He was a pleasant, straightforward young man, +of perhaps twenty. + +“We are very much obliged to you, Mr. Gray,” he said, “for kindly +consenting to play for our benefit.” + +“It is for my interest,” said Philip frankly. “I may as well remain +here and earn ten dollars as to be idle.” + +“But you made a great deal more, I understand, in Wilkesville?” + +“Yes; but I might not be as fortunate here. I had not intended to +appear here at all, and should not have done so unless you had invited +me. How many have you in your club?” + +“Only about twenty-five, so far, and some of us are not able to pay +much.” + +“How long has your club been formed?” asked Philip. + +“Only about three months. We wanted a place where we could meet +together socially in the evening, and have a good time. Before, we had +only the stores and barrooms to go to, and there we were tempted to +drink. Our club was started in the interests of temperance, and we can +see already that it is exerting a good influence.” + +“Then I am very glad to assist you,” said Philip cordially. + +“You must come round and see our room. Are you at leisure now?” + +“Yes, Mr. Turner.” + +Philip accompanied his new friend to the neatly furnished room leased +by the society. He was so well pleased with its appearance that he +thought he should himself like to belong to such an association, +whenever he found a permanent home. At present he was only a wanderer. + +“Our debt is thirty-four dollars,” said the secretary. “You may not +think it large, but it’s large for us.” + +“I hope our entertainment will enable you to clear it off.” + +“If it should it will give us new courage.” + +On the evening of the next day Philip and the professor entered the +hall engaged for the entertainment, and took seats on the platform. + +The hall was well filled, the scale of prices being the same as at +Wilkesville. + +“Mr. Gray,” whispered the secretary joyfully, “it is a great success! +After paying all bills the club will clear fifty dollars.” + +“I am delighted to hear it,” said Philip. + +The professor commenced the entertainment, and was followed by Philip. + +As Philip began to play his attention was drawn to three persons who +were entering the hall. + +These were a lady, a little girl, and a stout gentleman, in whom +Philip, almost petrified with amazement, recognized his old +acquaintance, Squire Pope, of Norton, who had shown himself so anxious +to provide him a home in the poor-house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. +SQUIRE POPE IS AMAZED. + + +Though Philip did not know it, it chanced that Squire Pope’s only +sister, Mrs. Cunningham, lived in Knoxville. She was a widow, fairly +well off, with a young daughter, Carrie—a girl of twelve. Squire Pope +had long thought of visiting his sister, and happening about this time +to have a little business in a town near-by, he decided to carry out +his long-deferred plan. He arrived by the afternoon train, in time for +supper. + +“I am glad you are here to-night, brother,” said Mrs. Cunningham. + +“Why particularly to-night, Sister Ellen?” asked the squire. + +“Because there is to be an entertainment for the benefit of the Young +Men’s Literary Club. It is expected to be very interesting.” + +“What sort of an entertainment, Ellen?” asked the squire. + +“The celebrated elocutionist, Professor Riccabocca, is to give some +readings—” + +“Riccabocca!” repeated the squire, in a musing tone. “I can’t say I +ever heard of him.” + +“Nor I; but I hear he’s very celebrated.” + +“Is there anything else?” + +“Yes, there’s a young musician going to play. He is said to be +wonderful. He plays on the violin.” + +“He’s a very handsome boy,” said Carrie enthusiastically. “He’s staying +at the hotel. I saw him this afternoon when I was passing.” + +“So he’s good-looking, is he, Carrie?” asked the squire, laughing. + +“He’s ever so good-looking,” answered Carrie emphatically. + +“Then we must certainly go, for Carrie’s sake,” said the squire. + +Squire Pope had not the slightest idea that the young musician, about +whom his niece spoke so enthusiastically, was the boy whom he had so +recently persecuted. + +If Carrie had mentioned his name, the secret would have been out, but +she had not yet heard it. + +In honor of her brother’s arrival, Mrs. Cunningham prepared a more +elaborate supper than usual, and to this it was owing that the three +entered the hall late, just as Philip was about to commence playing. + +The squire and his companions were obliged to take seats some distance +away from the platform, and as his eyesight was poor, he didn’t +immediately recognize as an old acquaintance the boy who was standing +before the audience with his violin in his hand. + +“That’s he! That’s the young violin-player!” whispered Carrie, in a +tone of delight. “Isn’t he handsome, uncle!” + +“Wait till I get my glasses on,” said the squire, fumbling in his +pocket for his spectacle-case. + +Adjusting his glasses, Squire Pope directed a glance at the stage. He +instantly recognized Philip, and his surprise was boundless. He gave a +sudden start. + +“By gracious, I couldn’t have believed it!” he ejaculated. + +“Couldn’t have believed what, brother?” asked Mrs. Cunningham. + +“I know that boy!” he said, in a tone of excitement. + +“You know him, uncle?” said Carrie, delighted. “Then you must introduce +me to him. I want to meet him ever so much. Where did you ever see +him?” + +“Where did I see him? I’m his guardian. He ran away from me a little +more than a week since, and I never knew where he went.” + +“You the guardian of the wonderful boy-player?” said Carrie, +astonished. “Isn’t it strange?” + +“His father died a short time since and left him in my care,” said the +squire, not scrupling to make a misstatement. “But I’ll tell you more +about it when the performance is over.” + +When Philip first saw Squire Pope entering the hall it disconcerted +him, but he reflected that the squire really had no authority over him, +and consequently he had nothing to fear from him. + +Should his pretended guardian make any effort to recover him, he was +resolved to make a desperate resistance, and even, if necessary, to +invoke the help of the law. + +Meanwhile, his pride stimulated him to play his best, and the hearty +applause of the audience when he had finished his piece encouraged him. + +As he was bowing his thanks he could not help directing a triumphant +glance at Squire Pope, who was carefully scrutinizing him through his +gold-bowed spectacles. + +He was glad that the squire had a chance to see for himself that he was +well able to make his own way, with the help of the violin of which the +Norton official had attempted to deprive him. + +In truth, Squire Pope, who knew little of Philip’s playing, except that +he did play, was amazed to find him so proficient. Instead, however, of +concluding that a boy so gifted was abundantly able to “paddle his own +canoe,” as the saying is, he was the more resolved to carry him back to +Norton, and to take into his own care any the boy might have earned. In +the middle of the entertainment was a recess of ten minutes, which most +of the audience spent in conversation. + +Miss Carrie began again to speak of Philip. + +“Oh,—uncle,” she said, “I’m so glad you know that lovely boy-player! He +is earning lots of money.” + +“Is he!” asked the squire, pricking up his ears. “Who told you so?” + +“One of the young men that belongs to the club told me they were to pay +him ten dollars for playing to-night.” + +“Ten dollars!” ejaculated the squire, in amazement. “I don’t believe +it! It’s ridiculous!” + +“Oh, yes, it is true!” said Mrs. Cunningham. “John Turner told Carrie; +and he is secretary, and ought to know.” + +“That isn’t all,” continued Carrie. “Mr. Turner says it is very kind of +Mr. Gray—” + +“Mr. Gray!” repeated the squire, amused. + +“Well, Philip, then. I suppose you call him Philip, as you are his +guardian.” + +“Well, what were you going to say?” + +“Mr. Turner says that it is very kind of Philip to play for so little, +for he made a good deal more money by his entertainment in +Wilkesville.” + +“Did he give a concert in Wilkesville?” asked the squire quickly. + +“Yes, he and the professor. He was liked very much there.” + +“And you heard that he made a good deal of money there?” + +“Yes; lots of it.” + +“Then,” thought the squire, “he must have considerable money with him. +As his guardian I ought to have the care of it. He’s a boy, and isn’t +fit to have the charge of money. It’s very lucky I came here just as I +did. It’s my duty, as his guardian, to look after him.” + +The squire determined to seek an interview with our hero as soon as the +entertainment was over. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. +THE PRETENDED GUARDIAN. + + +Philip played with excellent effect, and his efforts were received with +as much favor at Knoxville as at Wilkesville. He was twice encored, and +at the end of each of his selections he was greeted with applause. + +As for Professor Riccabocca, people hardly knew what to make of him. He +was as eccentric and extravagant as ever, and his recitations were +received with good-natured amusement. He didn’t lack for applause, +however. There were some boys on the front seats who applauded him, +just for the fun of it. Though the applause was ironical, the professor +persuaded himself that it was genuine, and posed before the audience at +each outburst, with his hand on his heart, and his head bent so far +over that he seemed likely to lose his balance. + +“We are making a grand success, Mr. Gray,” he said, during the interval +of ten minutes already referred to. “Did you notice how they applauded +me?” + +“Yes,” answered Philip, with a smile. + +“They evidently appreciate true genius. It reminds me of the ovation +they gave me at Cincinnati last winter.” + +“Does it?” asked Philip, still smiling. + +“Yes. I was a great favorite in that intellectual city. By the way, I +noticed that they seemed well pleased with your playing also.” + +This he said carelessly, as if Philip’s applause was not to be compared +to his. + +“Yes, they treat me very kindly,” answered Philip. + +“You are fortunate in having me to introduce you to the public,” said +the professor emphatically. “The name of Riccabocca is so well known, +that it is of great advantage to you.” + +The professor deluded himself with the idea that he was a great +elocutionist, and that the public rated him as highly as he did +himself. When anything occurred that did not seem to favor this view, +he closed his eyes to it, preferring to believe that he was a popular +favorite. + +“I hope I shall never be so deceived about myself,” thought Philip. + +When the entertainment was over, Mr. Caswell, president of the club, +came up to Philip and said cordially: + +“Mr. Gray, we are very much indebted to you. Thanks to you, we are out +of debt, and shall have a balance of from twelve to fifteen dollars in +the treasury.” + +“I am very glad of it,” said Philip. + +“So am I,” said the professor, pushing forward, jealous lest Philip +should get more than his share of credit. + +“And we are indebted to you also, Professor Riccabocca,” said the +president, taking the hint. + +“You are entirely welcome, sir,” said Riccabocca loftily. “My help has +often been asked in behalf of charitable organizations. I remember +once, in Philadelphia, I alone raised five hundred dollars for a—a—I +think it was a hospital.” + +This was an invention, but Professor Riccabocca had no scruple in +getting up little fictions which he thought likely to redound to his +credit and increase his reputation. + +“Doubtless you are often called upon also, Mr. Gray,” suggested Mr. +Caswell with a smile. + +“No,” answered Philip. “This is the first time that I have ever had the +opportunity.” + +“There’s no humbug about the boy,” thought Mr. Caswell. “As for the +professor, he is full of it.” + +“I have pleasure in handing you the price agreed upon,” said the +president, presenting each with a ten-dollar bill. + +“Thank you,” said Philip. + +Professor Riccabocca carelessly tucked the bill into his vest pocket, +as if it were a mere trifle. + +At this moment, Mr. Turner came up with all the other gentleman. “Mr. +Gray,” he said, “here is a gentleman who wishes to speak to you.” + +Philip looked up, and saw the well-known figure of Squire Pope. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. +HIS OWN MASTER. + + +“Ahem, Philip,” said the squire. “I should like a little conversation +with you.” + +“Good evening, Squire Pope,” said our hero, not pretending to be +cordial, but with suitable politeness. + +“I didn’t expect to see you here,” pursued the squire. + +“Nor I you, sir.” + +“I am visiting my sister, Mrs. Cunningham, who lives in Knoxville. Will +you come around with me, and make a call?” + +Now, considering the treatment which Philip had received from the +squire before he left Norton, the reader can hardly feel surprised that +our hero didn’t care to trust himself with his unscrupulous fellow +townsman. + +“Thank you, Squire Pope,” said Philip, “but it is rather late for me to +call at a private house. I am staying at the hotel, and if you will +take the trouble to go around there with me, we will have a chance to +converse.” + +“Very well,” said the squire, hesitating. Just then up came his niece, +Carrie, who was determined to get acquainted with Philip. + +“Uncle,” she said, “introduce me to Mr. Gray.” + +“This is my niece, Caroline Cunningham,” said the squire stiffly. + +“I am glad to meet Miss Cunningham,” said Philip, extending his hand, +with a smile. + +“What a lovely player you are, Mr. Gray!” she said impulsively. + +“I am afraid you are flattering me, Miss Cunningham.” + +“Don’t call me Miss Cunningham. My name is Carrie.” + +“Miss Carrie, then.” + +“I was ever so much surprised to hear that uncle was your guardian.” + +Philip looked quickly at the squire, but did not contradict it. He only +said: + +“We used to live in the same town.” + +During this conversation Squire Pope looked embarrassed and impatient. + +“It’s getting late, Carrie,” he said. “You had better go home.” + +“Aren’t you coming, too, uncle?” + +“I am going to the hotel to settle some business with Philip.” + +“What business, I wonder?” thought our hero. + +Arrived at the hotel, they went up-stairs to Philip’s chamber. “You +left Norton very abruptly, Philip,” commenced the squire. + +“There was good reason for it,” answered Philip significantly. + +“It appears to me you are acting as if you were your own master,” +observed the squire. + +“I am my own master,” replied Philip firmly. + +“You seem to forget that I am your guardian.” + +“I don’t forget it, for I never knew it,” said our hero. + +“It is generally understood that such is the case.” + +“I can’t help it. I don’t need a guardian, and shall get along without +one.” + +“Ahem! Perhaps that isn’t to be decided by you.” + +“If I am to have a guardian, Squire Pope,” said Philip bluntly, “I +sha’n’t select you. I shall select Mr. Dunbar.” + +“I have much more knowledge of business than Mr. Dunbar,” said the +squire, shifting his ground. + +“That may be, but there is one important objection.” + +“What is that?” + +“You are not my friend, and Mr. Dunbar is.” + +“Really this is very extraordinary!” ejaculated the squire. “I am not +your friend? How do you know that?” + +“You tried to make a pauper out of me, when, as you must perceive, I am +entirely able to earn my own living.” + +“Is it true that you were paid ten dollars for playing this evening?” +asked the squire curiously. + +“Yes, sir.” + +“It beats all!” said the squire, in amazement. + +“Yet you wanted to sell my violin for a good deal less than I have +earned in one evening,” said Philip, enjoying his enemy’s surprise. + +“You gave an entertainment at Wilkesville also, I hear?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Did you make as much there?” + +“I made between sixty and seventy dollars over and above expenses.” + +“You don’t expect me to believe that!” said the squire. + +“I don’t care whether you believe it or not; it’s true.” + +“Have you got the money with you?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then you’d better give it to me to keep for you.” + +“Thank you; I feel capable of taking care of it myself.” + +“But it’s improper for a boy of your age to carry round so much money,” +said the squire sharply. + +“If I need help to take care of it, I will ask Mr. Dunbar.” + +“Come, Philip,” said the squire, condescending to assume a persuasive +manner, “you must remember that I am your guardian.” + +“I dispute that,” said Philip. + +“I won’t insist upon your going back with me to Norton, as long as you +are able to support yourself.” + +“Then you wouldn’t advise me to go back to the poorhouse,” said Philip, +with some sarcasm in his voice. + +“I didn’t mean to have you stay there long,” said the squire, rather +confused. “You’d better give me most of your money, and I’ll take care +of it for you, and when you’re twenty-one you’ll have quite a little +sum.” + +“I am much obliged to you, sir, but I won’t put you to the trouble of +taking care of my money,” answered Philip coldly. + +Squire Pope continued to argue with Philip, but made no impression. At +length he was obliged to say good night. + +“I will call round in the morning,” he said, at parting. “Perhaps +you’ll listen to reason then.” + +When he called round in the morning he learned to his disappointment +that Philip was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. +AN OFFER DECLINED. + + +After his interview with Squire Pope, Philip came down to the office, +where he saw Professor Riccabocca, apparently waiting for him. + +“Well, Mr. Gray, where shall we go next?” asked the professor, with +suavity. + +“I haven’t decided where to go—have you?” asked Philip coolly. + +“I suppose we had better go to Raymond. That is a good-sized place. I +think we can get together a good audience there.” + +“You seem to be under the impression that we are in partnership,” said +Philip. + +“Of course,” answered Riccabocca. + +“I have made no agreement of that sort, professor.” + +“But, of course, it is understood,” said Riccabocca quickly, “as long +as we draw so well.” + +“You must excuse me, Professor Riccabocca. I must decline the +proposal.” + +“But why?” inquired the professor anxiously. + +“I hope you won’t press me for an explanation.” + +“But I do. I can’t understand why you should act so against your own +interest. You can’t expect people will come just to hear you play. You +need me to help you.” + +“It may be as you say, professor, but if you insist upon my speaking +plainly, I don’t care to travel with a man who has treated me as you +have.” + +“I don’t understand you,” said Riccabocca nervously; but it was +evident, from his expression, that he did. + +“Then you seem very forgetful,” said Philip. “You tried to deprive me +of my share of the proceeds of the entertainment at Wilkesville, and +would have succeeded but for a lucky accident.” + +“I told you that it was all owing to neuralgia,” said Professor +Riccabocca. “I had such an attack of neuralgic headache that it nearly +drove me wild.” + +“Then,” said Philip, “I would rather find a partner who is not troubled +with neuralgic headache. I think it would be safer.” + +“It won’t happen again, Mr. Gray, I assure you,” said the professor +apologetically. + +He endeavored to persuade Philip to renew the combination, but our hero +steadily refused. He admitted that it might be to his pecuniary +advantage, but he had lost all confidence in the eminent professor, and +he thought it better to part now than to give him another opportunity +of playing a similar trick upon him. + +The professor thereupon consulted the landlord as to whether it would +be advisable for him to give another entertainment unaided, and was +assured very emphatically that it would not pay expenses. + +“You make a great mistake, Mr. Gray,” said Riccabocca. “It would be a +great advantage for you to have my assistance at this stage of your +professional career.” + +“I don’t expect to have any professional career,” answered Philip. + +“Don’t you intend to become a professional musician?” asked the +professor, surprised. + +“Probably not. I have only been playing because I needed money, and my +violin helped me to a living.” + +“You can’t make as much money in any other way.” + +“Not at present; but I want to get a chance to enter upon some kind of +business. I am going to New York.” + +“You will some time have a chance to hear me there, in the Academy of +Music,” said Riccabocca pompously. + +“I will go and hear you,” said Philip, laughing, “if I can afford a +ticket.” + +“Say the word and we will appear there together, Mr. Gray.” + +“I think not, professor.” + +In fact, though Philip had found himself unexpectedly successful as a +musician, he knew very well that he was only a clever amateur, and that +years of study would be needed to make him distinguished. + +He was glad that he had the means of paying his expenses for a +considerable time, and had in his violin a trusty friend upon which he +could rely in case he got into financial trouble. Directly after +breakfast he set out on his journey. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. +AN AMBITIOUS WAYFARER. + + +The large sums which Philip had received for his playing might have +dazzled a less sensible boy. He was quite conscious that he played +unusually well for a boy, but when it came to selecting music as a +profession, he felt it would not be wise to come to too hasty a +decision. To be a commonplace performer did not seem to him very +desirable, and would not have satisfied his ambition. + +He had told Professor Riccabocca that he intended to go to New York. +This design had not been hastily formed. He had heard a great deal of +the great city in his home in the western part of the State of which it +was the metropolis, and he was desirous of seeing it. Perhaps there +might be some opening for him in its multitude of business houses. + +Philip had plenty of money, and could easily have bought a railroad +ticket, which would have landed him in New York inside of twenty-four +hours, for he was only about four hundred miles distant; but he was in +no hurry, and rather enjoyed traveling leisurely through the country +towns, with his violin in his hand. + +It reminded him of a biography he had read of the famous Doctor +Goldsmith, author of the “Vicar of Wakefield,” who made a tour on the +continent of Europe, paying his way with music evoked from a similar +instrument. + +Three days later, he found himself on the outskirts of a village, which +I will call Cranston. It was afternoon, and he had walked far enough to +be tired. + +He was looking about for a pleasant place to lounge, when his attention +was drawn to a boy of about his own age, who was sitting on the stone +wall under a large tree. + +He was rather a slender boy, and had originally been well dressed, but +his suit was travel-stained, and covered with dust. + +Now, boys have a natural attraction for each other, and Philip +determined to introduce himself to the stranger. This he did in +boy-fashion, by saying: + +“Hello!” + +“Hello!” said the stranger, looking up. + +But he spoke slowly and wearily, and to Philip he seemed out of +spirits. + +“Do you live in Cranston?” asked Philip, taking a seat beside the other +boy, upon the top of the stone wall. + +“No; do you?” + +“No.” + +“Where do you live?” + +“I don’t live anywhere just at present,” answered Philip, with a smile. +“I am traveling.” + +“So am I,” said the other boy. + +“I am traveling to New York,” Philip continued. + +“And I am traveling from there,” said his new acquaintance. + +Then both boys surveyed each other curiously. + +“What’s your name?” asked the stranger. + +“Philip Gray. What’s your’s?” + +“Mine is Henry Taylor. What have you got there?” + +“A violin.” + +“Do you play on it?” + +“Yes; a little.” + +“I should think you’d be tired lugging it round.” + +Philip smiled. + +“It is about all the property I have,” he said; “so it won’t do for me +to get tired of it.” + +“You’re richer than I am, then,” said Henry. + +“Are you poor, then?” asked Philip, in a tone of sympathy. + +“I haven’t got a cent in my pocket, and I haven’t had anything to eat +since breakfast.” + +“Then I’m glad I met you,” said Philip warmly. “I will see that you +have a good supper. How long is it since you left New York?” + +“About a week.” + +“What made you leave it?” + +Henry Taylor hesitated, and finally answered, in a confused tone: + +“I’ve run away from home. I wanted to go out West to kill Indians.” + +Philip stared at his new acquaintance in astonishment. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. +THE INDIAN HUNTER. + + +Philip had lived so long in a country village that he had never chanced +to read any of those absorbing romances in which one boy, of tender +years, proves himself a match for a dozen Indians, more or less, and, +therefore, he was very much amazed at Henry Taylor’s avowal that he was +going out West to kill Indians. + +“What do you want to kill Indians for?” he asked, after an astonished +pause. + +Now it was Henry’s turn to be astonished. + +“Every boy wants to kill Indians,” he answered, looking pityingly at +our hero. + +“What for? What good will it do?” asked Philip. + +“It shows he’s brave,” answered his new friend. “Didn’t you ever read +the story of ‘Bully Bill’; or, The Hero of the Plains’?” + +“I never heard of it,” said Philip. + +“You must have lived in the woods, then,” said Henry Taylor, rather +contemptuously. “It’s a tip-top story. Bully Bill was only fourteen, +and killed ever so many Indians—twenty or thirty, I guess—as well as a +lot of lions and bears. Oh, he must have had lots of fun!” + +“Why didn’t the Indians kill him?” asked Philip, desirous of being +enlightened. “They didn’t stand still and let him kill them, did they?” + +“No; of course not. They fought awful hard.” + +“How did one young boy manage to overcome so many Indians?” + +“Oh, you’ll have to read the story to find out! Bully Bill was a great +hero, and everybody admired him.” + +“So you wanted to imitate his example?” asked Philip. + +“To be sure I did.” + +“How did you happen to get out of money?” + +“Well,” said Henry, “you see me and another boy got awful excited after +reading the story, and both concluded nothing could make us so happy as +to go out West together, and do as Bill did. Of course, it was no use +to ask the old man—” + +“The old man?” queried Philip. + +“The gov’nor—father, of course! So we got hold of some money—” + +“You got hold of some money?” queried Philip. + +“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” rejoined Henry irritably. + +“Yes.” + +“Then what’s the use of repeating it?” + +Philip intended to ask where or how Henry got hold of the money, but he +saw pretty clearly that this would not be agreeable to his new +acquaintance. Though without much experience in the world, he suspected +that the money was not obtained honestly, and did not press the +question. + +“Well, me and Tom started about a week ago. First of all, we bought +some revolvers, as, of course, we should need them to shoot Indians. +They cost more than we expected, and then we found it cost more to +travel than we thought.” + +“How much money did you have?” + +“After paying for our revolvers, Tom and me had about thirty dollars,” +said Henry. + +“Only thirty dollars to go west with!” exclaimed Philip, in amazement. + +“Why, you see, the revolvers cost more than we expected. Then we +stopped at a hotel in Albany, where they charged us frightfully. That +is where Tom left me.” + +“Tom left you at Albany?” + +“Yes, he got homesick!” said Henry contemptuously. “He thought we +hadn’t money enough, and he said he didn’t know as he cared so much +about killing Indians.” + +“I agree with Tom,” said Philip. “I don’t think I should care very much +about killing Indians myself, and I should decidedly object to being +killed by an Indian. I shouldn’t like to be scalped. Would you?” + +“Oh, I’d take care of that,” said Henry. “I wouldn’t let them have the +chance.” + +“It seems to me the best way would be to stay at home,” said Philip, +smiling. + +“If I stayed at home I’d have to go to school and study. I don’t care +much about studying.” + +“I like it,” said Philip. “So Tom left you, did he?” + +“Yes; but I wasn’t going to give up so easy. He took half the money +that was left, though I thought he ought to have given it to me, as I +needed it more. I wasn’t going home just as I’d started.” + +“Then you’ve spent all your money now?” + +“Yes,” answered Henry gloomily. “Have you got much money?” he asked, +after a pause. + +“Yes, I have about a hundred dollars-say, ninety-five.” + +“You don’t mean it!” ejaculated Henry, hie eyes sparkling. + +“Yes, I do.” + +“How did you get it?” + +“I earned most of it by playing on the violin.” + +“I say,” exclaimed Henry, in excitement, “suppose you and me go into +partnership together, and go out West—” + +“To kill Indians?” asked Philip, smiling. + +“Yes! With all that money we’ll get along. Besides, if we get short, +you can earn some more.” + +“But what advantage am I to get out of it? I am to furnish all the +capital and pay all expenses, as far as I can understand. Generally, +both partners put in something.” + +“I put in my revolver,” said Henry. + +“One revolver won’t do for us both.” + +“Oh, well, you can buy one. Come, what do you say?” asked Henry +eagerly. + +“Let me ask you a few questions first. Where does your father live?” + +“In New York.” + +“What is his business?” + +“He is a broker in Wall Street.” + +“I suppose he is rich?” + +“Oh, he’s got plenty of money, I expect! We live in a nice house on +Madison Avenue. That’s one of the best streets, I suppose you know!” + +“I never was in New York. Is your mother living?” + +“No,” answered Henry. “She died three years ago.” + +If his mother had been living, probably the boy would never have made +such an escapade, but his father, being engrossed by business cares, +was able to give very little attention to his son, and this accounts in +part for the folly of which he had been guilty. + +“Have you got any brothers or sisters?” he asked. + +“I have one sister, about three years younger than I. Her name is +Jennie.” + +“I wish I were as well off as you,” said Philip. + +“How do you mean?” + +“I mean I wish I had a father and sister.” + +“Haven’t you?” + +“My father is dead,” said Philip gravely, “and I never had a sister.” + +“Oh, well, I don’t know as I’m so lucky,” said Henry. “Sisters are a +bother. They want you to go round with them, and the old man is always +finding fault.” + +Philip’s relations with his father had always been so affectionate that +he could not understand how Henry could talk in such a way of his. + +“I don’t know what makes you ask me such a lot of questions,” said +Henry, showing impatience. “Come, what do you say to my offer?” + +“About forming a partnership?” + +“Yes.” + +“I’d rather not—in that way.” + +“In what way?” + +“I mean for the purpose of going out West to kill Indians.” + +“You’ve no idea what fun it would be,” said Henry, disappointed. + +“No, I suppose not,” said Philip, smiling. + +“Then I suppose I shall have to give it up,” said Henry. + +“Now I have a proposal to make to you,” said Philip. + +“What is it?” + +“If you agree to go home, I’ll pay your expenses and go along with you. +I’ve never been to New York, and I’d like to have some one with me that +could show me round the city.” + +“I can do that,” said Henry. “I know the way all about.” + +“Then will you agree?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then come along, and we’ll stop at the first convenient place and get +some supper.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. +AN ADVENTURE IN THE WOODS. + + +“I shall do a good thing if I induce Henry to go home,” thought Philip. +“That is rather a queer idea of his about wanting to kill Indians. It +seems to me as much murder to kill an Indian as any one else.” + +He only thought this, but did not express it, as he did not care to get +into a discussion with his new acquaintance, lest the latter should +recall his consent to go home. + +“I say, Philip,” said Henry, who had now learned our hero’s name, “we +ain’t in any hurry to go to New York, are we?” + +“I thought we might take a train to-morrow morning, and go straight +through.” + +“But I’d rather take it easy, and travel through the country, and have +adventures.” + +“But you forget that your father will be anxious about you.” + +“Yes, I suppose he will.” + +“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you’ll write a letter to your father, +and let him know that you are safe with me, I’ll do as you say.” + +“All right,” said Henry, in a tone of satisfaction; “I’ll do it.” + +“Father’ll pay you all you have to spend for me,” Henry added, after a +moment’s pause. + +“Very well; then I will be your banker.” + +Philip was not foolish enough to protest that he did not care to be +repaid. All he had in the world was a little less than a hundred +dollars, and when that was gone he was not absolutely sure of making +any more at once, though he felt tolerably confident that he could. + +“Suppose you let me have ten dollars now,” suggested Henry. + +“I think I would rather keep the money and pay the bills,” said Philip +quietly. + +He was not sure but that Henry, if he had a supply of money in his +pockets, would reconsider his promise to go home and take French leave. + +Of course, it would be extremely foolish, but his present expedition +did not indicate the possession of much wisdom. + +“I don’t see what difference it makes,” said Henry, looking +dissatisfied. + +“I won’t argue the point,” answered Philip good-naturedly. + +“I wish I was in New York, near a good restaurant,” said Henry, after a +pause. + +“Oh. I forgot! You are hungry.” + +“Awfully. I don’t believe there’s a hotel within two or three miles. I +don’t think I can hold out to walk much farther.” + +A few rods farther on was a farmhouse standing back from the road, +old-fashioned-looking, but of comfortable aspect. + +A young girl appeared at the side door and rang a noisy bell with great +vigor. + +“They’re going to have supper,” said Henry wistfully. “I wish it was a +hotel!” + +Philip had lived in the country, and understood the hospitable ways of +country people. + +“Come along, Henry,” he said. “I’ll ask them to sell us some supper. I +am sure they will be willing.” + +Followed by his new acquaintance, he walked up to the side door and +knocked—for there was no bell. + +The young girl—probably about Philip’s age—opened the door and regarded +them with some surprise. + +Philip bowed. + +“Will you be kind enough to tell us if there is any hotel near-by?” he +asked. + +“There’s one about three miles and a half farther on.” + +Henry groaned inwardly. + +“I am going to ask you a favor,” said Philip. “My friend and I have +traveled a considerable distance, and stand in need of supper. We are +willing to pay as much as we should have to at a hotel, if you will let +us take supper here.” + +“I’ll ask mother,” said the young girl. + +And forthwith she disappeared. She came back in company with a stout, +motherly-looking woman. Philip repeated his request. + +“Why, to be sure,” she said heartily. “We always have enough, and to +spare. Come right in, and we’ll have supper as soon as the men-folks +come in.” + +They entered a neat kitchen, in the middle of which was set out a +table, with a savory supper upon it. Henry’s eyes sparkled, and his +mouth watered, for the poor boy was almost famished. + +“If you want to wash come right in here,” said the farmer’s wife, +leading the way into a small room adjoining. + +The two boys gladly availed themselves of the permission, though Henry +would not have minded sitting right down, dusty as he was. However, he +felt better after he had washed his face and bands and wiped them on +the long roll towel that hung beside the sink. + +They were scarcely through, when their places were taken by the farmer +and his son, the latter a tall, sun-burned young man, of about twenty, +who had just come in from a distant field. The farmer’s wife soon +explained the presence of the two young strangers. + +“Sho!” said the farmer. “You’re pretty young to be travelin’. You ain’t +in any business, be you?” + +Henry was rather ashamed to mention that his business was killing +Indians, though, as yet, he had not done anything in that line. He had +an idea that he might be laughed at. + +“I am a little of a musician,” said Philip modestly. + +“Sho! do you make it pay?” + +“Pretty well, so far; but I think when I get to New York I shall try +something else.” + +“Are you a musician as well as he?” asked the farmer of Henry. + +“No, sir.” + +“Come, father, you’d better sit down to supper, and do your talking +afterward,” said the farmer’s wife. + +So they sat down to the table, and all did full justice to the +wholesome fare, particularly Henry, who felt absolutely ravenous. + +Never at the luxurious home of his father, in Madison Avenue, had the +wandering city boy enjoyed his supper as much as at the plain table of +this country farmer. + +The good mistress of the household was delighted at the justice done to +her viands, considering it a tribute to her qualities as a cook. + +When Philip produced his purse to pay for their supper, the farmer +absolutely refused to receive anything. “But I would rather pay,” +persisted our hero. + +“Then I’ll tell you how you may pay. Give us one or two tunes on your +violin.” + +This Philip was quite willing to do, and it is needless to say that his +small audience was very much pleased. + +“I say,” said Henry, “you play well enough to give concerts.” + +“I have done it before now,” answered Philip, smiling. + +They were invited to spend the night, but desired to push on to the +hotel, being refreshed by their supper and feeling able to walk three +or four miles farther. + +About half-way their attention was drawn to what appeared a deserted +cabin in the edge of the woods, some twenty rods back from the road. + +“I say, Philip,” said Henry, “there’s an old hut that looks as if +nobody lived in it. Wouldn’t it be a lark for us to sleep there +to-night? It would save the expense of lodging at the hotel, and would +be an adventure. I haven’t had any adventures yet.” + +“I have no objection,” said Philip. “We’ll go, at any rate, and look at +it.” + +They crossed the field, which seemed to have been only partially +cleared, and soon reached the hut. + +It was very bare within, but on the floor, in one corner, was a blanket +spread out. There was a place for a window, but the sash had been +removed, and it was easy to step in. + +“I wonder how this blanket came here?” said Philip. + +“Oh, I guess the last people that lived here left it!” returned Henry. +“I say, Phil, I begin to feel tired. Suppose we lie down? I’m glad I +haven’t got to walk any farther.” + +Philip sympathized with his new friend; and so, without much parley, +the two boys threw themselves down on the blanket, and were soon fast +asleep. + +How long Philip slept he didn’t know, but he was awakened by a terrible +screech, and, opening his eyes, say Henry sitting bolt upright, with +trembling limbs and distended eyeballs, gazing fearfully at a tall, +muscular-looking Indian, who had just stepped into the cabin through +the open window. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. +AN INDIAN AT LAST. + + +“What’s the matter?” asked Philip, rubbing his eyes, for he was hardly +able—so suddenly had he been roused from sleep—to comprehend the +situation. + +Henry, as white as a sheet, could only point at the tall Indian, who, +standing motionless, was gazing as intently at the boys. + +He made one step forward, and Henry thought he was about to be killed +and scalped forthwith. + +“Oh, Mr. Indian Chief,” he exclaimed, in tremulous accents, “don’t kill +me! I—I ain’t ready to die!” + +The Indian looked amazed, and laughed gutturally, but did not speak. +His laugh increased Henry’s dismay. + +“I’ve got a revolver. I’ll give it to you if you won’t kill me,” +continued Henry. + +Then the Indian spoke. + +“Why should I kill white boy?” he asked in a mild tone, which ought to +have convinced Henry that he had nothing to fear. + +But the boy was so frenzied with terror, and so possessed of the +thought that the Indian was just like the savage warriors of the +plains, of whom he had read so much, that he still felt his life to be +in danger, and answered the question in a way not expected. + +“I suppose you want my scalp,” he said; “but I am only a boy, and I +don’t mean any harm. I hope you’ll spare my life.” + +Another fit of guttural laughter from the Indian, which perplexed +Henry, and after a pause he said: + +“Me no want white boy’s scalp! Me good Indian!” + +An immense burden seemed lifted from poor Henry’s breast. + +“Then you don’t want to kill me?” he said. + +“No!” + +“Then why do you come here?” + +“Me live here.” + +The secret was out—a secret which Philip had suspected from the first, +though Henry had not dreamed of it. + +They had lain down in the Indian’s cabin, appropriating his blanket, +and were simply intruders. + +Philip thought it was time for him to take part in the conversation, + +“I hope you’ll excuse us,” he said, “for coming here. We had no idea +any one lived here.” + +“No matter,” said the Indian civilly—that being one of the phrases +which his knowledge of English included. + +“Henry,” said Philip, “let us get up. We are sleeping in this—this +gentleman’s bed.” + +He felt a little at a loss how to designate the Indian, but felt that +it was best to be as polite as possible. + +The two boys started up, in order to yield to the master of the house +the bed which properly belonged to him. + +“No,” said the Indian, with a wave of his hand. “White boys stay there. +Indian sleep anywhere.” + +So saying, he lay down in one corner of the cabin, and settled himself +apparently to repose. + +“But,” said Philip, “we don’t want to take your bed.” + +“No matter!” said the Indian once more. + +“You are very kind,” said Philip. “Henry, we may as well lay down +again.” + +Henry obeyed directions, but he was not altogether free from alarm. He +had read that the Indians are very crafty. How did he know but their +copper-colored host might get up in the night, skillfully remove their +scalps, and leave them in a very uncomfortable plight? + +“Hadn’t we better get up, and run away as soon as he is asleep?” he +whispered to Philip. + +“No; he’s friendly,” answered Philip confidently. + +As Henry had read about friendly Indians—all he knew about Indians, by +the way, was derived from reading stories written by authors little +wiser than himself—he concluded that perhaps there was nothing to fear, +and after a while fell asleep again. + +When the boys awoke it was morning. They looked toward the corner where +the Indian had lain down, but it was vacant. + +“He’s gone.” said Henry, rather relieved. + +“You were pretty well frightened last night,” said Philip, smiling. + +“Who wouldn’t be!” asked Henry; “to wake up and see a big Indian in the +room?” + +“I dare say many boys would be frightened,” said Philip, “but I don’t +think a boy who left home to go out West to kill Indians ought to be +afraid of one.” + +“I guess I’ll give up going,” said Henry, rather abashed. + +“I think myself it would be as well,” observed Philip quietly. “You’d +find it rather serious business if you should meet any real Indian +warriors.” + +“I don’t know but I should,” Henry admitted, rather awkwardly. “I +didn’t think much about it when I left home.” + +“I suppose you thought you’d be a match for half a dozen Indian +warriors?” said Philip, laughing. + +“That was the way with ‘Bully Bill’; or, ‘The Hero of the Plains,’” +said Henry. “He always came off best when he fought with the Indians.” + +“I don’t think either you or I will ever prove a Bully Bill,” said +Philip. “I might enjoy going out West some time, but I shouldn’t expect +to kill many Indians. I think they would stand a good deal better +chance of shooting me.” + +Henry said nothing, but looked thoughtful. His romantic ideas seemed to +have received a sudden shock, and he was trying to adjust his ideas to +the new light he had received. + +The boys were preparing to go out, when their Indian host suddenly +reappeared. He carried in his hand a large-sized loaf of baker’s bread, +which he had procured at the village store. He was alive to the duties +of hospitality, and did not intend to let his guests go, uninvited +though they were, without a breakfast. + +Though his stock of English was limited, he made out to invite the boys +to breakfast with him. + +Henry would have preferred to go to the hotel, but Philip signed to him +to accept graciously the Indian’s hospitality. + +As the bread was fresh, they partook of it with relish, washing it down +with drafts of clear spring water. + +The Indian looked on, well pleased to see the justice done to his +hospitality. He explained to the boys that he made baskets, caught +fish, and sometimes engaged in hunting, managing, in one way and +another, to satisfy his simple wants. His name was Winuca, but his +white neighbors called him Tom. + +When the boys were ready to go, Philip drew from his pocket a +jack-knife, nearly new, of which he asked the Indian’s acceptance. + +Winuca seemed very much pleased, and shook hands heartily with his +young guests, wishing them good-by. + +The boys kept on to the hotel, where they spent a few hours, taking +dinner there. Their breakfast had been so simple that they had a very +good appetite for their midday meal. + +“While we are here, Henry, suppose you write to your father and relieve +his anxiety?” suggested Philip. + +“Why can’t you write?” asked Henry, who cherished the general boyish +distaste for letter-writing. + +“Because it will be more proper for you to write. I am a stranger to +him.” + +“You won’t be long, Philip? I shall want you to come and make me a +visit.” + +“Perhaps you’ll be tired of me before we get to New York,” suggested +Philip, with a smile. + +“There isn’t much chance of it. I like you better than any boy I know. +You’re awful brave, too. You didn’t seem to be at all scared last night +when the Indian came in.” + +“It was because I felt sure that any Indian to be found about here +would be harmless.” + +“I wish we could make a journey together some time. I’d like to go +West—” + +“To kill Indians?” + +“No. If they’ll let me alone, I’ll let them alone; but there must be a +lot of fun out on the prairies.” + +“Well, Henry, go and write your letter, and we can talk about that +afterward.” + +The letter was written and mailed, and arrived in New York several days +before the boys did. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. +A WELCOME LETTER. + + +Alexander Taylor, a Wall Street broker, sat at breakfast in his fine +house on Madison Avenue. His daughter, Jennie, about thirteen years +old, was the only other person at the table. + +“Papa, have you heard nothing of Henry?” asked the little girl +anxiously. + +“Only that the boy who got started with him on his foolish tramp got +back three days since.” + +“Is Tom Murray back, then?” + +“Yes; he showed himself more sensible than Henry.” + +“Oh, I’m afraid something’s happened to him, papa! Why don’t you +advertise for him, or send out a detective, or something?” + +“I will tell you, Jennie,” said Mr. Taylor, laying down the morning +paper. “I want your brother to stay away long enough to see his folly.” + +“But perhaps he may get out of money, and not be able to get anything +to eat. You wouldn’t want him to starve, papa?” + +“There isn’t much chance of it. If he is in danger of that, he will +have sense enough to ask for food, or to write to me for help. I rather +hope he will have a hard time.” + +“Oh, papa!” + +“It will do him good. If I sent for him and brought him back against +his will, he would probably start off again when he has a good chance.” + +Jennie could not quite follow her father in his reasoning, and was +inclined to think him hard and unfeeling. She missed her brother, who, +whatever his faults, treated her tolerably well, and was at any rate a +good deal of company, being the only other young person in the house. + +Just then the servant entered with three letters, which he laid down +beside his master’s plate. + +Mr. Taylor hastily scanned the addresses. + +“Here is a letter from Henry,” he said, in a tone of satisfaction. + +“Oh, read it quick, papa!” + +This was the letter which Mr. Taylor read aloud, almost too +deliberately for the impatience of his daughter: + +“Dear Father: I am alive and well, and hope to see you in a few days. I +guess I made a mistake in running away, though I didn’t think so at the +time, for I wanted to see life, and have adventures. I don’t know how I +should have got along if I hadn’t met Philip Gray. He’s a tip-top +fellow, and is paying my expenses. I told him you would pay him back. +He has got me off the idea of going West to kill Indians.” + +“Oh, papa!” exclaimed Jennie, opening her eyes wide. “I didn’t know +that was what Henry went for.” + +“I don’t think the Indians would have felt very much frightened if they +had heard of his intention. However, I will proceed: + +“I was all out of money when Philip met me, and I hadn’t had anything +to eat since morning, he bought me some supper, and is paying my +expenses. He is a poor boy, coming to New York to get a place, if he +can. He has got a violin, and he plays beautifully. He earned all the +money he has by giving concerts.” + +“I should like to see Philip,” said Jennie, with interest. + +“I asked him if he wouldn’t go out West with me, but he wouldn’t. He +told me he wouldn’t do anything for me unless I would agree to come +home.” + +“He is a sensible boy,” commented Mr. Taylor, in a tone of approval. + +“We thought at first of coming right home on the cars, but I wanted to +walk and see something of the country, and Philip said he didn’t mind. +He told me I must write and tell you, so that you needn’t feel anxious. + +“You will see us in a few days. I will bring Philip to the house. Your +son, HENRY TAYLOR.” + +“Is that all?” asked Jennie. + +“Yes; I consider it a very fair letter. It is evident Henry has made +the acquaintance of a sensible boy. I shall take care that he doesn’t +let it drop.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. +A FRESH START. + + +Five days later, just as Mr. Taylor was sitting down to dinner, at the +close of the day, the door-bell rang violently. + +There was a hurried step heard in the hall, and the door opening +quickly Henry Taylor rushed in, his face beaming with smiles. + +“Oh, I’m so glad to see you, Henry!” said Jennie, embracing him. “I +missed you awfully.” + +Henry looked at his father, a little doubtful of his reception. + +“Are you well, father?” he asked. + +“Quite well,” responded Mr. Taylor coolly. “Where did you leave your +scalps?” + +“What?” ejaculated Henry, bewildered. + +“I thought you left home to kill Indians.” + +“Oh!” said Henry, smiling faintly. “I didn’t meet any Indians—except +one—and he was friendly.” + +“Then your expedition was a failure?” + +“I guess I’ll leave the Indians alone,” said Henry sheepishly. + +“That strikes me as a sensible remark. Of course, a few Indian scalps +would be of great use to you. I fully expected a present of one, as a +trophy of my son’s valor; but still, in case the Indian objected to +being scalped, there might be a little risk in performing the +operation.” + +“I see you are laughing at me, father,” said Henry. + +“Not at all. You can see that I am very sober. If you think you can +make a good living hunting Indians—I don’t know myself how much their +scalps bring in the market—I might set you up in the business.” + +“I am not so foolish as I was. I prefer some other business. Philip +told me—” + +“Where is Philip?” asked Jennie eagerly. + +“I left him in the parlor. He said I had better come in first.” + +“Go and call him. Invite him, with my compliments, to stay to dinner.” + +Henry left the room, and reappeared almost immediately with Philip. + +Both boys were perfectly neat in appearance, for Philip had insisted on +going to a hotel and washing and dressing themselves. + +As he followed Henry into the room, with modest self-possession, his +cheeks glowing with a healthy color, both Jennie and Mr. Taylor were +instantly prepossessed in his favor. + +“I am glad to see you, Philip,” said the broker, “and beg to thank you, +not only for the material help you gave Henry, but also for the good +advice, which I consider of still greater importance and value.” + +“Thank you, sir. I don’t feel competent to give much advice, but I +thought his best course was to come home.” + +“You haven’t as high an idea of hunting Indians as Henry, I infer?” + +“No, sir,” answered Philip, smiling. “It seems to me they have as much +right to live as we, if they behave themselves.” + +“I think so, too,” said Henry, who was rather ashamed of what had once +been his great ambition. + +“You haven’t introduced me to Philip—I mean Mr. Gray,” said Jennie. + +“This is my sister Jennie, Phil,” said Henry, in an off-hand manner. + +“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Gray,” said Jennie, extending her hand. + +“I am hardly used to that name,” said Philip, smiling. + +“When I get well acquainted with you I shall call you Philip.” + +“I hope you will.” + +Within an hour Miss Jennie appeared to feel well acquainted with her +brother’s friend, for she dropped “Mr. Gray” altogether, and called him +Philip. + +At her solicitation he played on his violin. Both Mr. Taylor and Jennie +were surprised at the excellence of his execution. + +When Philip rose to go, Mr. Taylor said cordially: + +“I cannot permit you to leave us, Philip. You must remain here as our +guest.” + +“But, sir, I left my things at a hotel.” + +“Then Henry will go with you and get them.” + +So Philip found himself established in a fine house on Madison Avenue +as a favored guest. + +The next morning, when Mr. Taylor went to his office, he asked Philip +to go with him. Arrived in Wall Street, he sent a boy to the bank with +a check. On his return, he selected five twenty-dollar bills, and +handed them to Philip. + +“You have expended some money for Henry,” he said. + +“Yes, sir; but not quarter as much as this.” + +“Then accept the rest as a gift. You will probably need some new +clothes. Henry will take you to our tailor. Don’t spare expense. The +bill will be sent to me.” + +“But, Mr. Taylor, I do not deserve such kindness.” + +“Let me be the judge of that. In a few days I shall have a proposal to +make to you.” + +This was the proposal, and the way it was made: + +“I find, Philip,” said Mr. Taylor, some days later, “that Henry is much +attached to you, and that your influence over him is excellent. He has +agreed to go to an academy in Connecticut, and study hard for a year, +provided you will go with him. I take it for granted you haven’t +completed your education?” + +“No, sir.” + +“I shall pay all the bills and provide for you in every way, exactly as +I do for Henry.” + +“But, Mr. Taylor, how can I ever repay you?” asked Philip. + +“By being Henry’s friend and adviser—perhaps, I may say, guardian—for, +although you are about the same age, you are far wiser and more +judicious.” + +“I will certainly do the best I can for him, sir.” + +During the next week the two boys left New York, and became pupils at +Doctor Shelley’s private academy, at Elmwood—a pleasant country town +not far from Long Island Sound—and there we bid them adieu. + +THE END. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG MUSICIAN *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Young Musician<br /> + or, Fighting His Way</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Horatio Alger</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 7, 2002 [eBook #5673]<br /> +[Most recently updated: May 29, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Carrie Fellman</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG MUSICIAN ***</div> + +<h1>The Young Musician<br /><br /> +or<br /> +Fighting His Way</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Horatio Alger</h2> + +<h3>Chicago</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0001">CHAPTER I. A CANDIDATE FOR THE POORHOUSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0002">CHAPTER II. PHILIP AT HOME</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0003">CHAPTER III. NICK HOLDEN’S CALL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0004">CHAPTER IV. THE AUCTION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0005">CHAPTER V. AN ALLIANCE AGAINST PHILIP</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0006">CHAPTER VI. FUSS ABOUT A FIDDLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0007">CHAPTER VII. MR. JOE TUCKER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0008">CHAPTER VIII. IN THE ENEMY’S HANDS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0009">CHAPTER IX. THE POORHOUSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0010">CHAPTER X. BAD TIDINGS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0011">CHAPTER XI. PHILIP’S NEW ROOM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0012">CHAPTER XII. A PAUPER’S MEAL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0013">CHAPTER XIII. A FRIENDLY MISSION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0014">CHAPTER XIV. PHILIP MAKES HIS ESCAPE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0015">CHAPTER XV. ESCAPE AND FLIGHT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0016">CHAPTER XVI. A NIGHT ADVENTURE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0017">CHAPTER XVII. A REFORMED BURGLAR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0018">CHAPTER XVIII. A PROFESSIONAL ENGAGEMENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0019">CHAPTER XIX. NEW ACQUAINTANCES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0020">CHAPTER XX. A LIVELY EVENING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0021">CHAPTER XXI. FORTUNE SMILES AGAIN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0022">CHAPTER XXII. RIVAL MUSICIANS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0023">CHAPTER XXIII. AN HOUR OF TRIUMPH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0024">CHAPTER XXIV. LORENZO RICCABOCCA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0025">CHAPTER XXV. A CHANGE OF NAME</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0026">CHAPTER XXVI. A PROMISING PLAN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0027">CHAPTER XXVII. UNEXPECTED HONORS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0028">CHAPTER XXVIII. A TRIUMPHANT SUCCESS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0029">CHAPTER XXIX. BESET BY CREDITORS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0030">CHAPTER XXX. A TIMELY GIFT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0031">CHAPTER XXXI. THE PROFESSOR’S FLIGHT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0032">CHAPTER XXXII. THE RACE ACROSS FIELDS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0033">CHAPTER XXXIII. THE LOST WALLET</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0034">CHAPTER XXXIV. A NEW BUSINESS PROPOSAL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0035">CHAPTER XXXV. SQUIRE POPE IS AMAZED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0036">CHAPTER XXXVI. THE PRETENDED GUARDIAN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0037">CHAPTER XXXVII. HIS OWN MASTER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0038">CHAPTER XXXVIII. AN OFFER DECLINED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0039">CHAPTER XXXIX. AN AMBITIOUS WAYFARER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0040">CHAPTER XL. THE INDIAN HUNTER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0041">CHAPTER XLI. AN ADVENTURE IN THE WOODS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0042">CHAPTER XLII. AN INDIAN AT LAST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0043">CHAPTER XLIII. A WELCOME LETTER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0044">CHAPTER XLIV. A FRESH START</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"></a> +CHAPTER I.<br/> +A CANDIDATE FOR THE POORHOUSE.</h2> + +<p> +“As for the boy,” said Squire Pope, with his usual autocratic air, +“I shall place him in the poorhouse.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Benjamin,” said gentle Mrs. Pope, who had a kindly and +sympathetic heart, “isn’t that a little hard?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hard, Almira?” said the squire, arching his eyebrows. “I +fail to comprehend your meaning.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know Philip has been tenderly reared, and has always had a +comfortable home—” +</p> + +<p> +“He will have a comfortable home now, Mrs. Pope. Probably you are not +aware that it cost the town two thousand dollars last year to maintain the +almshouse. I can show you the item in the town report.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t doubt it at all, husband,” said Mrs. Pope gently. +“Of course you know all about it, being a public man.” +</p> + +<p> +Squire Pope smiled complacently. It pleased him to be spoken of as a public +man. +</p> + +<p> +“Ahem! Well, yes, I believe I have no inconsiderable influence in town +affairs,” he responded. “I am on the board of selectmen, and am +chairman of the overseers of the poor, and in that capacity I shall convey +Philip Gray to the comfortable and well-ordered institution which the town has +set apart for the relief of paupers.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like to think of Philip as a pauper,” said Mrs. +Pope, in a deprecating tone. +</p> + +<p> +“What else is he?” urged her husband. “His father +hasn’t left a cent. He never was a good manager.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t the furniture sell for something, Benjamin?” +</p> + +<p> +“It will sell for about enough to pay the funeral expenses and +outstanding debts—that is all.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it seems so hard for a boy well brought up to go to the +poorhouse.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean well, Almira, but you let your feelings run away with you. You +may depend upon it, it is the best thing for the boy. But I must write a letter +in time for the mail.” +</p> + +<p> +Squire Pope rose from the breakfast-table and walked out of the room with his +usual air of importance. Not even in the privacy of the domestic circle did he +forget his social and official importance. +</p> + +<p> +Who was Squire Pope? +</p> + +<p> +We already know that he held two important offices in the town of Norton. He +was a portly man, and especially cultivated dignity of deportment. Being in +easy circumstances, and even rich for the resident of a village, he was +naturally looked up to and credited with a worldly sagacity far beyond what he +actually possessed. +</p> + +<p> +At any rate, he may be considered the magnate of Norton. Occasionally he +visited New York, and had been very much annoyed to find that his rural +importance did not avail him there, and that he was treated with no sort of +deference by those whom he had occasion to meet. Somehow, the citizens of the +commercial metropolis never suspected for a single moment that he was a great +man. +</p> + +<p> +When Squire Pope had finished his letter, he took his hat, and with measured +dignity, walked to the village post-office. +</p> + +<p> +He met several of his neighbors there, and greeted them with affable +condescension. He was polite to those of all rank, as that was essential to his +retaining the town offices, which he would have been unwilling to resign. +</p> + +<p> +From the post-office the squire, as he remembered the conversation which had +taken place at the breakfast-table, went to make an official call on the boy +whose fate he had so summarily decided. +</p> + +<p> +Before the call, it may be well to say a word about Philip Gray, our hero, and +the circumstances which had led to his present destitution. +</p> + +<p> +His father had once been engaged in mercantile business, but his health failed, +his business suffered, and he found it best—indeed, necessary—to +settle up his affairs altogether and live in quiet retirement in Norton. +</p> + +<p> +The expenses of living there were small, but his resources were small, also, +and he lived just long enough to exhaust them. +</p> + +<p> +It was this thought that gave him solicitude on his death-bed, for he left a +boy of fifteen wholly unprovided for. +</p> + +<p> +Let us go back a week and record what passed at the last interview between +Philip and his father before the latter passed into the state of +unconsciousness which preceded death. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in pain, father?” asked Philip, with earnest sympathy, as +his father lay outstretched on the bed, his face overspread by the deathly +pallor which was the harbinger of dissolution. +</p> + +<p> +“Not of the body, Philip,” said Mr. Gray. “That is spared me, +but I own that my mind is ill at ease.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mind telling me why, father!” +</p> + +<p> +“No; for it relates to you, my son, or, rather, to your future. When my +affairs are settled, I fear there will be nothing left for your support. I +shall leave you penniless.” +</p> + +<p> +“If that is all, father, don’t let that trouble you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid, Philip, you don’t realize what it is to be thrown +upon the cold charities of the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall work for my living,” said Philip confidently. +</p> + +<p> +“You will have to do that, I’m afraid, Philip.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I am not afraid to work, father. Didn’t you tell me one day +that many of our most successful men had to work their way up from early +poverty!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that is true; but a boy cannot always get the chance to earn his +living. Of one thing I am glad; you have a good education for a boy of your +age. That is always a help.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks to you, father.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; though an invalid, I have, at all events, been able to give private +attention to your education, and to do better for you than the village school +would have done. I wish I had some relative to whom I might consign you, but +you will be alone in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have I no relatives?” asked Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Your mother was an only child, and I had but one brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“What became of him, father?” +</p> + +<p> +“He got into trouble when he was a young man, and left the country. Where +he went to I have no idea. Probably he went first to Europe, and I heard a +rumor, at one time, that he had visited Australia. But that was twenty years +ago, and as I have heard nothing of him since, I think it probable that he is +dead. Even if he were living, and I knew where he was, I am not sure whether he +would make a safe guardian for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any advice to give me, father?” asked Philip, after a +pause. “Whatever your wishes may be, I will try to observe them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not doubt it, Philip. You have always been an obedient son, and +have been considerate of my weakness. I will think it over, and try to give you +some directions which may be of service to you. Perhaps I may be able to think +of some business friend to whom I can commend you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have talked enough, father,” said Philip, noticing his +father’s increasing pallor and the evident exertion with which he spoke. +“Rest now, and to-morrow we can talk again.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gray was evidently in need of rest. He closed his eyes and apparently +slept. But he never awoke to consciousness. The conversation above recorded was +the last he was able to hold with his son. For two days he remained in a kind +of stupor, and at the end of that time he died. +</p> + +<p> +Philip’s grief was not violent. He had so long anticipated his +father’s death that it gave him only a mild shock. +</p> + +<p> +Friends and neighbors made the necessary arrangements for the funeral, and the +last services were performed. Then, at length, Philip realized that he had lost +his best earthly friend, and that he was henceforth alone in the world. He did +not as yet know that Squire Pope had considerately provided him with a home in +the village poorhouse. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"></a> +CHAPTER II.<br/> +PHILIP AT HOME.</h2> + +<p> +When the funeral was over, Frank Dunbar, whom Philip regarded as his most +intimate friend, came up to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Philip,” he said, “my mother would like to have you spend a +few days with us while you are deciding what to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Frank!” answered Philip. “But until the auction I +shall remain at home. I shall soon enough be without a home.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it will be very lonely for you,” objected Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I shall have my thoughts for company. When I am alone I can think +best of my future plans.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you come to our house to meals, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Frank! I will do that.” +</p> + +<p> +“When is the auction to be?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-day is Monday. It is appointed for Thursday.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope there will be something left for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“There will be about enough left to pay my father’s small debts and +his funeral expenses. I would not like to have him indebted to others for +those. I don’t think there will be anything over.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank looked perplexed. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry for you, Phil,” he said. “I wish we were rich, +instead of having hard work to make both ends meet. You would not lack for +anything then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Frank,” said Philip earnestly, “I never doubted your +true friendship. But I am not afraid that I shall suffer. I am sure I can earn +my living.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why do you shut yourself up alone, Philip?” asked Frank, not +satisfied to leave his friend in what he considered the gloomy solitude of a +house just visited by death. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to look over my father’s papers. I may find out something +that I ought to know, and after the auction it will be too late. Father had +some directions to give me, but he did not live long enough to do it. For three +days I have the house to myself. After that I shall perhaps never visit it +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be downhearted, Philip,” said Frank, pressing his hand +with boyish sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mean to be, Frank. I am naturally cheerful and hopeful. I +shall miss my poor father sadly: but grieving will not bring him back. I must +work for my living, and as I have no money to depend upon, I cannot afford to +lose any time in forming my plans.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will come over to our house and take your meals!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Frank.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank Dunbar’s father was a small farmer, who, as Frank had said, found +it hard work to make both ends meet. Among all the village boys, he was the one +whom Philip liked best, though there were many others whose fathers were in +better circumstances. For this, however, Philip cared little. Rich or poor, +Frank suited him, and they had always been known as chums, to adopt the term +used by the boys in the village. +</p> + +<p> +It may be thought that as Philip’s circumstances were no better, such an +intimacy was natural enough. But Philip Gray possessed special gifts, which +made his company sought after. He was a fine singer, and played with +considerable skill on the violin—an accomplishment derived from his +father, who had acted as his teacher. Then he was of a cheerful temperament, +and this is a gift which usually renders the possessor popular, unless marred +by positive defects or bad qualities. There were two or three young snobs in +the village who looked down upon Philip on account of his father’s +poverty, but most were very glad to associate with our hero, and have him visit +their homes. He was courteous to all, but made no secret of his preference for +Frank Dunbar. +</p> + +<p> +When Philip parted from Frank, and entered the humble dwelling which had been +his own and his father’s home for years, there was a sense of loneliness +and desolation which came over him at first. +</p> + +<p> +His father was the only relative whom he knew, and his death, therefore, left +the boy peculiarly, alone in the world. Everything reminded him of his dead +father. But he did not allow himself to dwell upon thoughts that would depress +his spirits and unfit him for the work that lay before him. +</p> + +<p> +He opened his father’s desk and began to examine his papers. There was no +will, for there was nothing to leave, but in one compartment of the desk was a +thick wallet, which he opened. +</p> + +<p> +In it, among some receipted bills, was an envelope, on which was written, in +his father’s well-known hand: +</p> + +<p> +“The contents of this envelope are probably of no value, but it will be +as well to preserve the certificate of stock. There is a bare possibility that +it may some day be worth a trifle.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip opened the envelope and found a certificate for a hundred shares of the +Excelsior Gold Mine, which appeared to be located in California. He had once +heard his father speak of it in much the same terms as above. +</p> + +<p> +“I may as well keep it,” reflected Philip. “It will probably +amount to nothing, but there won’t be much trouble in carrying around the +envelope.” He also found a note of hand for a thousand dollars, signed by +Thomas Graham. +</p> + +<p> +Attached to it was a slip of paper, on which he read, also in his +father’s writing: +</p> + +<p> +“This note represents a sum of money lent to Thomas Graham, when I was +moderately prosperous. It is now outlawed, and payment could not be enforced, +even if Graham were alive and possessed the ability to pay. Five years since, +he left this part of the country for some foreign country, and is probably +dead, and I have heard nothing from him in all that time. It will do no harm, +and probably no good, to keep his note.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will keep it,” decided Philip. “It seems that this and the +mining shares are all that father had to leave me. They will probably never +yield me a cent, but I will keep them in remembrance of him.” +</p> + +<p> +Phillip found his father’s watch. It was an old-fashioned gold watch, but +of no great value even when new. Now, after twenty years’ use, it would +command a very small price at the coming sale. +</p> + +<p> +Ever since Philip had been old enough to notice anything, he remembered this +watch, which was so closely identified with his father that more than anything +else it called him to mind. Philip looked at it wistfully as it lay in his +hand. “I wish I could keep it,” he said to himself. “No one +else will value it much, but it would always speak to me of my father. I wonder +if I might keep it?” +</p> + +<p> +Philip had a mind to put it into his pocket, but the spirit of honesty forbade. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be sold,” he said, with a sigh. “Without it there +wouldn’t be enough to pay what we owe, and when I leave Norton, I +don’t want any one to say that my father died in his debt.” +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing else in the desk which called for particular notice or +appeared to be of any special value. After a careful examination, Philip closed +it and looked around at the familiar furniture of the few rooms which the house +contained. +</p> + +<p> +There was one object which he personally valued more than anything else. This +was his violin, on which he had learned all that he knew of playing. His father +had bought it for him four years before. It was not costly, but it was of good +tone, and Philip had passed many pleasant hours in practicing on it. +</p> + +<p> +“I can take this violin, at any rate,” said Philip to himself. +“It belongs to me, and no one else has a claim on it. I think I will take +it with me and leave it at Frank Dunbar’s, so that it needn’t get +into the sale.” +</p> + +<p> +He put back the violin into the case and laid it on one side. Then he sat down +in the arm-chair, which had been his father’s favorite seat, and tried to +fix his mind upon the unknown future which lay before him. +</p> + +<p> +He had sat there for half an hour, revolving in his mind various thoughts and +plans, when he heard a tap on the window, and looking up, saw through the pane +the coarse, red face of Nick Holden, a young fellow of eighteen, the son of the +village butcher. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me in!” said Nick; “I want to see you on +business.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"></a> +CHAPTER III.<br/> +NICK HOLDEN’S CALL.</h2> + +<p> +Philip had never liked Nick Holden. He was a coarse, rough-looking boy, his +reddish face one mass of freckles, and about as unattractive as a person could +be, without absolute deformity. This, however, was not the ground for +Philip’s dislike. +</p> + +<p> +With all his unattractiveness, Nick might have possessed qualities which would +have rightly made him popular. So far from this, however, he was naturally +mean, selfish, and a bully, with very slight regard for truth. +</p> + +<p> +Will it be believed that, in spite of his homely face, Nick really thought +himself good-looking and aspired to be a beau? For this reason he had often +wished that he possessed Philip’s accomplishment of being able to play +upon the violin. +</p> + +<p> +His conversational powers were rather limited, and he felt at a loss when he +undertook to make himself fascinating to the young ladies in the village. If he +could only play on the violin like Philip he thought he would be irresistible. +</p> + +<p> +He had therefore conceived the design of buying Philip’s instrument for a +trifle, judging that our hero would feel compelled to sell it. +</p> + +<p> +The reader will now understand the object which led to Nick’s call so +soon after the funeral of Mr. Gray. He was afraid some one else might forestall +him in gaining possession of the coveted instrument. +</p> + +<p> +When Philip saw who his visitor was, he was not overjoyed. It was with +reluctance that he rose and gave admission to Nick. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I would call around and see you, Phil,” said Nick, as he +sat down in the most comfortable chair in the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” responded Phil coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“The old man went off mighty sudden,” continued Nicholas, with +characteristic delicacy. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean my father?” inquired Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I do. There ain’t any one else dead, is there!” +</p> + +<p> +“I had been expecting my poor father’s death for some time,” +said Philip gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so! He wa’n’t very rugged. We’ve all got to come +to it sooner or later. I expect dad’ll die of apoplexy some +time—he’s so awful fat,” remarked Nicholas cheerfully. +“If he does, it’s lucky he’s got me to run the business. +I’m only eighteen, but I can get along as well as anybody. I’m +kinder smart in business.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you are smart in anything,” thought Philip; for he knew +that Nick was a hopeless dunce in school duties. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope your father’ll live a good while,” he said politely. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, of course,” said Nick lightly. “I’d be sorry to +have the old man pop off; but then you never can tell about such a thing as +that.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip did not relish the light way in which Nick referred to such a loss as he +was suffering from, and, by way of changing the subject, said: +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you said you came on business, Nicholas?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; that’s what I wanted to come at. It’s about your +fiddle.” +</p> + +<p> +“My violin!” said Philip, rather surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, fiddle or violin! what’s the odds? I want to buy +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” +</p> + +<p> +“To play on, of course! What did you think I wanted it for?” +</p> + +<p> +“But you can’t play, can you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet; but I expect you could show me some—now, couldn’t +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“What put it into your head to want to play on the violin?” asked +Philip, with some curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you see, the girls like it. It would be kind of nice when I go to a +party, or marm has company, to scrape off a tune or two—just like you do. +It makes a feller kinder pop’lar with the girls, don’t you +see?” said Nick, with a knowing grin. +</p> + +<p> +“And you want to be popular with the young ladies!” said Philip, +smiling, in spite of his bereavement, at the idea being entertained by such a +clumsy-looking caliban as Nick Holden. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I do!” answered Nick, with another grin. “You see +I’m gettin’ along—I’ll be nineteen next month, and I +might want to get married by the time I’m twenty-one, especially if the +old man should drop off sudden.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand all that, Nicholas—” +</p> + +<p> +“Call me Nick. I ain’t stuck up if I am most a man. Call me pet +names, dearest.” +</p> + +<p> +And Nicholas laughed loudly at his witty quotation. +</p> + +<p> +“Just as you prefer. Nick, then, I understand your object. But what made +you think I wanted to sell the violin?” +</p> + +<p> +It was Nick’s turn to be surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t there goin’ to be an auction of your father’s +things?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but the violin is mine, and I am not going to sell it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have to,” said Nick. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean by that, Nicholas Holden?” said Philip quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Because you’ll have to sell everything to pay your father’s +debt. My father said so this very morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I know my own business best,” said Philip coldly. “I +shall keep the violin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe it ain’t for you to say,” returned Nick, apparently +not aware of his insolence. “Come, now, I’ll tell you what +I’ll do. My father’s got a bill against yours for a dollar and +sixty-four cents. I told father I had a use for the fiddle, and he says if +you’ll give it to me, he’ll call it square. There, what do you say +to that?” +</p> + +<p> +Nicholas leaned back in his chair and looked at Philip through his small, fishy +eyes, as if he had made an uncommonly liberal offer. As for Philip, he hardly +knew whether to be angry or amused. +</p> + +<p> +“You offer me a dollar and sixty-four cents for my violin?” he +repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. It’s second-hand, to be sure, but I guess it’s in +pretty fair condition. Besides, you might help me a little about learnin’ +how to play.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much do you suppose the violin cost?” inquired Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t say.” +</p> + +<p> +“It cost my father twenty-five dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come, now, that’s too thin! You don’t expect a feller to +believe such a story as that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I expect to be believed, for I never tell anything but the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, I don’t expect you do, generally, but when it comes to +tradin’, most everybody lies,” observed Nick candidly. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no object in misrepresenting, for I don’t want to sell the +violin.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t afford to keep it! The town won’t let you!” +</p> + +<p> +“The town won’t let me?” echoed Philip, now thoroughly +mystified. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course they won’t. The idea of a pauper bein’ allowed a +fiddle to play on! Why, it’s ridiculous!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” demanded Philip, who now began to comprehend +the meaning of this thick-witted visitor. “What have I got to do with the +town, or with paupers?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you’re goin’ to the poorhouse, ain’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not!” answered Philip, with flashing eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess you’re mistaken,” said Nick coolly. “Squire +Pope was over to our shop this mornin’, and he told dad that the +seleckmen were goin’ to send you there after the auction.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip’s eyes flashed angrily. He felt insulted and outraged. Never for a +moment had he conceived the idea that any one would regard him as a candidate +for the poorhouse. +</p> + +<p> +He had an honorable pride in maintaining himself, and would rather get along on +one meal a day, earned by himself in honest independence, than be indebted to +public charity even for a luxurious support. +</p> + +<p> +“Squire Pope doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” +retorted Philip, who had to exercise some self-restraint not to express himself +more forcibly “and you can tell him so when you see him. I am no more +likely to go to the poorhouse than you are!” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, that’s a good one,” chuckled Nick. “Talk of me +goin’ to the poorhouse, when my father pays one of the biggest taxes in +town! Of course, it’s different with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have to excuse me now,” said Philip, determined to +get rid of his disagreeable companion. “I have something to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you won’t sell me the fiddle, Phil?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I won’t,” answered our hero, with scant ceremony. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll have to bid it off at the auction. Maybe I’ll get +it cheaper.” +</p> + +<p> +And Mr. Nicholas Holden at length relieved Philip of his company. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"></a> +CHAPTER IV.<br/> +THE AUCTION.</h2> + +<p> +It so happened that Nick Holden met Squire Pope on the village street, and, +being rather disappointed at the result of his negotiations with Philip, +thought it might be a good idea to broach the subject to the squire, who, as he +knew, had taken it upon himself to superintend the sale of Mr. Gray’s +goods. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, squire, I’ve just been over to see Phil Gray.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ahem! Well, how does he seem to feel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Kinder stuck up, I reckon. He said he wouldn’t go to the +poorhouse, and I might tell you so.” +</p> + +<p> +“I apprehend,” said the squire, in his stately way, “he will +be under the necessity of going, whether he likes it or not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so; that’s what I told him!” interjected Nick. +</p> + +<p> +“And he should be grateful for so comfortable a home,” continued +the public man. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I dunno,” said Nick. “They do say that old Tucker most +starves the paupers. Why his bills with dad are awful small.” +</p> + +<p> +“The town cannot afford to pamper the appetites of its +beneficiaries,” said the squire. “Where is Philip now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess he’s at home. I offered to buy his fiddle, but he said he +was going to keep it. I offered him a dollar and sixty-four cents—the +same as dad’s bill against his father, but he wouldn’t take +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Nicholas, your offer was very irregular—extremely +irregular. It should have been made to me, as the administrator of the late Mr. +Gray, and not to a boy like Philip.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you sell me the fiddle for dad’s bill, squire?” asked +Nicholas eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“You are premature, Nicholas—” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean you must wait till the auction. Then you will have a chance to +bid on the instrument, if you want to secure it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Phil says it’s his, and won’t be for sale at the +auction.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then Philip is mistaken. He is only a boy. The estate will be settled by +those who are older and wiser than he.” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess you’ll find him hard to manage, squire,” said Nick, +laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall see—we shall see,” returned the squire. +</p> + +<p> +And, with a dignified wave of the hand, he continued on his walk. +</p> + +<p> +After the visit of Nicholas, Philip thought it most prudent to convey the +violin which he prized so much to the house of his friend, Frank Dunbar, where +he had been invited to take his meals. +</p> + +<p> +He was willing to have the furniture sold to defray his father’s small +debts, but the violin was his own. It had not even been given him by his +father. Though the latter purchased it, the money which it cost had been given +to Philip by a friend of the family. He rightly thought that he had no call to +sell it now. +</p> + +<p> +“Frank,” said he to his boy-friend, “I want you to put away +my violin safely, and keep it until after the auction.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I will, Phil; but won’t you want to play on it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at present. I’ll tell you why I want it put away.” +</p> + +<p> +And Philip told his friend about Nick’s application to purchase it, and +the liberal offer he had made. +</p> + +<p> +“Nick’s generosity never will hurt him much,” said Frank, +laughing. “What in the world did he want of your violin?” +</p> + +<p> +“He wants to make himself popular with the girls.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll never do that, even if he learns to play like an +angel!” said Frank. “You ought to hear the girls talk about him. He +couldn’t get a single one of them to go home with from singing-school +last winter. He teased my sister to go, but she told him every time she was +engaged to some one else.” +</p> + +<p> +The two days that intervened between the funeral and the auction passed, and +the last scene connecting Philip with the little cottage which had been his +home was to take place. +</p> + +<p> +In a country town, an auction—however inconsiderable—draws together +an interested company of friends and neighbors; and, though no articles of +value were to be sold, this was the case at the present sale. +</p> + +<p> +Philip didn’t at first mean to be present. He thought it would only give +him pain; but at the last moment he came, having been requested to do so by +Squire Pope, as information might be required which he could give. +</p> + +<p> +The bulk of the furniture was soon disposed of, at low prices, to be sure, but +sufficiently high to make it clear that enough would be realized to pay the +small bills outstanding. +</p> + +<p> +Philip’s lip quivered when his father’s watch was put up. He would +have liked to buy it, but this was impossible; for he had only about a dollar +of his own. +</p> + +<p> +Nick Holden’s eyes sparkled when he saw the watch. He had forgotten about +that, but as soon as he saw it he coveted it. He had a cheap silver watch of +his own, which he had bought secondhand about three years before. He had +thought that he might some day possess a gold watch, but he was not willing to +lay out the necessary sum of money. +</p> + +<p> +By dint of actual meanness, he had laid up two hundred dollars, which he now +had in the savings-bank in the next village, and he could therefore have bought +one if he had chosen; but, like Gilpin, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Although he was on pleasure bent, he had a frugal mind.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, however, there seemed a chance of getting a gold watch at a low price. +Nick reasoned rightly that at an auction it would go much below its value, and +it would be a good thing for him to buy it—even as an investment—as +he would probably have chances enough to trade it off at a handsome profit. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wonder if I could double my money on it,” he +reflected. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, when the watch was put up, Nick eagerly bid two dollars. +</p> + +<p> +Philip’s lip curled when he heard this generous bid, and he heartily +hoped that this treasured possession of his dead father might not fall into +such hands. +</p> + +<p> +Nick rather hoped that no one would bid against him, but in this he was +destined to be disappointed. +</p> + +<p> +“Five dollars!” was next heard. +</p> + +<p> +And this bid came from Mr. Dunbar, the father of his friend Frank. +Philip’s eyes brightened up, for there was no one he would sooner see the +possessor of the watch than his kind friend. +</p> + +<p> +Nick looked chopfallen when he heard this large increase on his original bid, +and hesitated to continue, but finally mustered up courage to say, in a rather +feeble tone: +</p> + +<p> +“Five and a quarter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Five dollars and a quarter bid!” said the auctioneer. “Do I +hear more?” +</p> + +<p> +“Six dollars,” said Mr. Dunbar quietly. +</p> + +<p> +The bid was repeated, and the auctioneer waited for a higher one, but Nick +retired ignominiously from the contest. +</p> + +<p> +He wasn’t sure whether he could get much over six dollars for it himself, +and he foresaw that Mr. Dunbar intended to have it, even if it cost +considerable more. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s kinder hard on a feller,” he complained to the man +standing next him. “What does Mr. Dunbar want of the watch? He’s +got one already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps he thinks it is a good bargain at the price.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s what I’ve been wantin’ all along,” said +Nick. “He might have let me have it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you bid more?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to get it cheap.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the auctioneer wants to get as much as he can for the articles, and +so do Philip’s friends,” This was a consideration which, of course, +had no weight with Nicholas. However, he had one comfort. He would bid on the +violin, and probably no one else would bid against it. He did not see it, to be +sure, but concluded, of course, that it would be bid off. When the sale drew +near the end, he went to Philip, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Whereabouts is the fiddle, Phil?” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t here,” answered our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t it goin’ to be sold?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not! It’s mine. I told you that once already.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll see!” said Nicholas angrily. +</p> + +<p> +And going up to Squire Pope, he held a brief conversation with that gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +The squire nodded vigorously, and walked over to Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Philip,” said he, “go and bring your violin.” +</p> + +<p> +“What will I do that for!” asked our hero quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“So that it may be sold.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not to be sold,” returned Philip quietly. “It belongs +to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing belongs to you except your clothes!” said the squire +angrily. “I require you to go and fetch the instrument.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I decline to do it,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know who I am,” demanded the squire, with ruffled dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“I know you perfectly well,” answered Philip “but I am the +owner of the violin, and I don’t mean to have it sold.” +</p> + +<p> +“YOU will repent this!” said Squire Pope, who felt that his lawful +authority and official dignity were set at naught. +</p> + +<p> +Philip bowed and left the house. He did not know what steps the squire might +take, but he was resolved not to give up his cherished violin. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"></a> +CHAPTER V.<br/> +AN ALLIANCE AGAINST PHILIP.</h2> + +<p> +Squire Pope was not a bad man, nor was he by nature a tyrant, but he was so +fully convinced of his own superior judgment that he was in all things +obstinately bent on having his own way. He had persuaded himself that our young +hero, Philip, would be better off in the poorhouse than in a place where he +could earn his own living, and no one could convince him to the contrary. +</p> + +<p> +As to the boy’s feelings on the subject, he considered those of no +importance. He had good reason to know that Philip would object to being an +inmate of the almshouse, but he was determined that he should go there. +</p> + +<p> +In like manner, before the auction was over, he saw clearly that it would +realize a sum more than sufficient to pay the funeral expenses of the late Mr. +Gray and the few small bills outstanding against his estate, and that there was +no necessity that Philip’s violin should be sold, but none the less he +resolved that it should be sold. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I allow a young lad to dictate to me?” Squire Pope asked +himself, in irritation. “Certainly not! I know better what is right than +he. It is ridiculous that a town pauper should own a violin. Why, the next +thing, we shall have to buy pianos for our almshouses, for the use of the +gentlemen and ladies who occupy them. A violin, indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +This Squire Pope regarded as irresistible logic and withering sarcasm combined. +</p> + +<p> +He saw Philip go out of the cottage, but, as the sale was not over, he was +unable to follow him. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, I’ll fix him as soon as I have time,” he said to +himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Back so soon? Is the auction over!” asked his friend, Frank +Dunbar, who was engaged in splitting wood in the rear of the house. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Frank, not quite; but it’s almost over..Who do you think bid +on father’s gold watch?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nick Holden.” +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t get it, did he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to say not. Your father bought it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he! Why, he’s got one watch already.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad he’s got it. I couldn’t bear to think of Nick +Holden carrying my father’s watch. He was disappointed about one thing +besides.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was that?” +</p> + +<p> +“The violin. He went to Squire Pope, and complained that it was not in +the sale.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just like his impudence. What did the squire say?” +</p> + +<p> +“He came to me and ordered me to get it, so that it might be sold.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I get it for you, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not much!” answered Philip emphatically. “It is mine, as I +have already told you. If the auction doesn’t bring in enough to settle +up everything, I may agree to sell it for a fair price; but I am sure, from the +prices, that it won’t be necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Squire Pope’s a dreadful obstinate man,” said Frank +doubtfully. “He may insist upon your selling the violin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let him do it!” said Philip contemptuously. “I should like +to see him get it. Where have you put it, Frank?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where Squire Pope won’t be apt to find it—in an old chest up +in the garret. It’s full of old clothes, belonging to my grandfather, and +hasn’t been looked into by any one except me for years. I put it away +under all the clothes at the bottom. No one knows where it is except you and +me, not even mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s good. I guess we can defy the squire, then.” +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later, Mr. Dunbar came home from the auction. +</p> + +<p> +Philip went to meet him. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you for buying father’s watch,” he said. “But +for you, Nick Holden would have had it, and I should have been sorry for +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was badly disappointed,” said Mr. Dunbar smiling. “But I +didn’t buy the watch for myself, Philip.” +</p> + +<p> +“For whom, then?” asked Philip, in some surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“For the one that has the best right to it—for you,” and the +farmer took the watch from his pocket, and handed it to Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“But I haven’t the money to pay for it, Mr. Dunbar,” said our +hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I give it to you as a present,” said Mr. Dunbar. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very grateful,” said Philip; “but I ought not to accept +it. You are too kind to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me be the judge of that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Besides, it wouldn’t be safe for me to take it. Squire Pope will +try to get my violin away from me in order to sell it, and he would be sure to +try to do the same by the watch if he found that I had it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Philip, I don’t need the watch myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, Mr. Dunbar, will you be kind enough to keep it for me, and when I +can afford to pay for it, and there is no danger of its being taken from me, I +will ask you for it. I shall be very glad, indeed, when I am older, to carry my +father’s watch, for I have seen it in his hands so often that it will +constantly remind me of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps that will be the best arrangement,” said Mr. Dunbar. +“You might have it stolen from you, if you carried it yourself just at +present. As you request, I will keep it, subject to your order; but I would +rather let it be a gift from me, and not require you to pay for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“We won’t talk about that now,” said Philip, smiling. +“At any rate, you must let me thank you for your great kindness to +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t speak of that, Phil,” said the farmer kindly. “I +had a great respect and liking for your father, and I verily believe my Frank +loves you as well as if you were his own brother. So, come what may, you have a +friend in our family.” +</p> + +<p> +“I indorse all that father says,” Frank said. +</p> + +<p> +And he extended his hand to Philip, who grasped it heartily. +</p> + +<p> +It warmed his heart to think that he had such good friends, though he was an +orphan and alone in the world. +</p> + +<p> +After supper, Mr. Dunbar went to the village store, while Frank and Philip +remained at home. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly Frank said: +</p> + +<p> +“Philip, you are going to have a visitor, I guess.” +</p> + +<p> +“A visitor!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I saw Squire Pope stumping along the road, nourishing his +gold-headed cane. He is headed this way, and it’s likely he is going to +honor you with a call. He’s got somebody with him, too. Who is it!” +</p> + +<p> +Philip shaded his eyes with his hand, for the Sun was near its setting, and +shining with dazzling brightness from the quarter toward which he was looking. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Nick Holden!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“So it is! What can he want?” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand very well. He wants my violin. He couldn’t get it at +the sale, so he has come here to see if he can’t make me give it to +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to know me better than to ask, Frank,” said Philip +firmly. “Nick might as well have stayed away, for he won’t +accomplish anything.” +</p> + +<p> +Nick, however, held a different opinion. After Philip left the cottage, he had +gone to Squire Pope, and cunningly asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to let Philip keep his fiddle in spite of you, +squire?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean, Nicholas?” demanded the squire, in a stately +way. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, seems to me he’s kinder settin’ up his will agin yours. +You say the fiddle shall be sold, and he says it shan’t. He told me he +didn’t care what you said, he should keep it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he say that, Nicholas?” asked the squire, who felt that his +dignity was outraged by such insolence. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sartain he did. He’s pretty big feelin’, Phil is. +He always wants to have his own way.” +</p> + +<p> +“He will find that he can’t defy me with impunity,” said the +squire stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so. Then you’ll sell me the fiddle?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will!” said the squire emphatically. +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t ask too much, will you?” asked Nick anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +Now Squire Pope, who knew nothing of the price of violins, and had a very +inadequate idea of their value, after some haggling on the part of Nick, agreed +to sell him the instrument for two dollars and a half, and to see that it was +delivered that evening. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know where it is, Nicholas?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Phil is staying over at Frank Dunbar’s, and I guess +he’s got it there somewhere. I guess we’d better go over there and +get it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Nicholas. After supper, if you will come to my house, I will +go over there, and see that you have the instrument.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, squire!” said Nick gleefully, “Phil will find +that he can’t have his own way this time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I apprehend he will,” said the squire complacently. +</p> + +<p> +Now the reader understands how it happened that Squire Pope and Nick Holden +made a call on Philip. As to what passed at the interview, we must refer him to +the next chapter. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"></a> +CHAPTER VI.<br/> +FUSS ABOUT A FIDDLE.</h2> + +<p> +“Ahem! Good evening!” said Squire Pope to Frank Dunbar, taking no +notice of Philip’s cold but polite salutation. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening! Will you go into the house?” said Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe not. I have not time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry father isn’t home. He just started for the +village.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ahem! it was not to see your father that I called,” answered +Squire Pope. “I wish to have a few words with this young man,” +indicating Philip stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +“I am at your service, Squire Pope,” said Philip, with ceremonious +politeness. +</p> + +<p> +“We came about the fiddle,” interrupted Nick Holden, who always +wanted to have a share in the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +Squire Pope frowned, for he did not relish Nick’s interference. +</p> + +<p> +“Nicholas,” he said severely, “I apprehend I am competent to +manage the business we have come upon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t get riled, squire,” said Nick, by no means abashed by +this rebuke. “I thought you were kinder slow about comin’ to the +point.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your interruption was very indecorous. I do not require any assistance +or any suggestions.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, squire!” +</p> + +<p> +Squire Pope now turned to our hero, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“As I was about to say, when interrupted by Nicholas, I have come to +require you to give up the Violin which, without authority and against my +express command, you withheld from the auction.” +</p> + +<p> +“The violin is mine, Squire Pope,” said Philip firmly, “and I +mean to keep it!” +</p> + +<p> +“You talk like an ignorant boy. As a minor, you had no claim to the +possession of any article except your clothing. I judged it best that the +violin should be sold at the auction, and it is presumptuous for you to set up +your judgment against mine!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t take that view of it,” said Philip, and then he +stopped. +</p> + +<p> +He knew it was of no use to argue against the squire, who was obstinate to the +verge of pig-headedness, if I may be allowed to use the expression. He felt +that it would be only wasting his breath. +</p> + +<p> +“It is quite immaterial how you view the subject,” said the squire +pompously. “My mind is made up, and my resolution is not likely to be +shaken by a boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, sir,” answered Philip, in a respectful tone but with a +slight smile, “it is hardly worth while for me to say any more.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you have arrived at so sensible a conclusion,” said +Squire Pope. “I take it that you have the violin here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then bring it out and give it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Now came the critical point, when Philip must array himself in determined +opposition to Squire Pope. He felt that he was entirely in the right; still he +regretted the necessity of the antagonism. +</p> + +<p> +Philip had one thing in his favor: He had plenty of self-control, and, although +he was very indignant at the course of the squire, which he regarded as +unjustifiable, he made up his mind to be as respectful as circumstances would +permit. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think you understand me, Squire Pope,” he said. +“I refuse to give up the violin!” +</p> + +<p> +“You refuse to give up the violin!” repeated Squire Pope, scarcely +believing the testimony of his ears. “Do I hear you aright?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never saw such impudence!” ejaculated Nick Holden, wishing to +egg on the squire. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to defy me to my face?” demanded Squire Pope, growing +very red. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t wish to defy you or anybody else,” returned Philip; +“but I shall stand up for my rights.” +</p> + +<p> +“Misguided boy!” said the squire severely; “you will yet rue +this rash and heedless course. Frank,” he continued, turning to Frank +Dunbar, “do you know where Philip’s violin is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do me the favor to bring it out and place it in my hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must excuse me, Squire Pope,” answered Frank. “It +belongs to Philip, and I have no right to meddle with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“If Philip has told you this, he has misrepresented,” said the +squire, rather discouraged by this second rebuff. “The violin does not +belong to Philip. It belongs to this young man.” +</p> + +<p> +And, with a wave of his hand, he designated Nick Holden. +</p> + +<p> +It was not polite, but Frank Dunbar was so surprised by this announcement that +he whistled. +</p> + +<p> +As for Philip, he regarded Nick calmly; but there didn’t seem to be any +sign of yielding in his look. +</p> + +<p> +“It belongs to Nicholas, because I have sold it to him,” continued +Squire Pope doggedly. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so!” corroborated Nick complacently. “The +squire sold me the fiddle for two-fifty. It’s mine now, and you’d +better fetch it along out, or there’ll be trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip turned to Squire Pope, and said quietly: +</p> + +<p> +“As you had no right to sell it, the sale amounts to nothing. If you had +a right, I should say you were not very shrewd to sell an instrument that cost +twenty-five dollars—and was considered a bargain at the price—for +two dollars and fifty cents.” +</p> + +<p> +“The violin cost twenty-five dollars!” ejaculated the squire, in +genuine surprise. +</p> + +<p> +For, as it has already been stated, he had no idea whatever of the usual price +for a violin. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you believe him, squire,” said Nicholas, afraid that +he would lose what he knew to be a good bargain. “No fiddle that was ever +made cost twenty-five dollars. It’s ridiculous!” +</p> + +<p> +“It does seem a large price,” said the squire guardedly. +</p> + +<p> +Squire Pope would doubtless have been surprised to learn that certain violins +of celebrated make—such as the Cremonas—have sold for thousands of +dollars. Probably he would have disbelieved it. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, he began to think that he had been too precipitate in accepting +Nick Holden’s offer. +</p> + +<p> +If he should sacrifice, or sell at an utterly inadequate price, any article +belonging to the boy whom he considered his ward, he knew that he would be +blamed, and he began to consider how he could recede from the bargain. +</p> + +<p> +“Nicholas,” he said, “I didn’t exactly sell the violin +to you. I will ascertain what is a fair price for it, and then I will consider +your proposal.” +</p> + +<p> +“You sold it right out, squire,” said Nick, “and I can prove +it. Didn’t you just say it was mine. There, now!” +</p> + +<p> +Nick turned triumphantly to Frank and Phil, but, for very good reasons, they +did not care to side with him. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, you haven’t treated me right,” persisted Nick, who +had no particular respect nor veneration for the squire, and was not to be +deterred from speaking as he felt. “I offered you two-fifty, and you said +I should have it, and you got me to call at your house to come here for +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot sacrifice the property of my ward,” said Squire Pope. +“I must ascertain how much the violin is worth.” +</p> + +<p> +“A bargain is a bargain, every time!” said Nick, irritated. +</p> + +<p> +“I will let you have it as cheap as anybody,” said the squire, who +thought it possible that Nick might be the only one who desired to purchase it. +“That ought to satisfy you. Philip, go and bring me the violin, and I +will carry it home and dispose of it to the best advantage.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must excuse me, Squire Pope. I shall not let it leave my +possession.” Just then Squire Pope espied Mr. Dunbar returning from the +village, and hailed him as a probable ally. He laid the matter before him, and +requested him to compel Philip to get the violin. +</p> + +<p> +“You must excuse me, squire,” said Mr. Dunbar coldly. “Philip +is my guest, and he shall be protected in his rights as long as he remains +here.” +</p> + +<p> +Without a word, Squire Pope walked off, in angry discomfiture, in one +direction, while Nick, equally dissatisfied, walked off in another. +</p> + +<p> +“They don’t seem happy!” said Frank slyly. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I knew where it was going to end,” returned Philip gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me,” said Frank, “the squire is making a great +fuss about a fiddle, for a man of his dignity.” +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t care about the violin. He wants to have his own +way,” said Philip, thus hitting the nail on the head. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"></a> +CHAPTER VII.<br/> +MR. JOE TUCKER</h2> + +<p> +Before going further, I will introduce to the reader, a citizen of Norton, who +filled a position for which he was utterly unfitted. This man was Joe Tucker, +in charge of the almshouse. +</p> + +<p> +He had not been selected by the town authorities on the ground of fitness, but +simply because he was willing to work cheap. He received a certain low weekly +sum for each one of his inmates, and the free use of apartments for himself and +family, with the right to cultivate the ten acres of land connected with the +establishment, and known as the Town Farm. +</p> + +<p> +His family consisted of three persons—himself, his wife, and a son, +Ezekiel, familiarly known as Zeke, now sixteen years old. The leading family +trait was meanness. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tucker supplied a mean table even for a poorhouse, and some of the hapless +inmates complained bitterly. One had even had the boldness to present a +complaint to the selectmen, and that body, rather reluctantly, undertook to +investigate the justness of the complaint. They deputed Squire Pope to visit +the poorhouse and inquire into the matter. +</p> + +<p> +Now, though Squire Pope thought himself unusually sharp, it was the easiest +thing in the world for a cunning person like Joe Tucker to satisfy him that all +was right. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Tucker,” said Squire Pope pompously, “I am deputed by +the selectmen, and I may add by the overseers of the poor, to investigate a +complaint made by one of the paupers in relation to the fare you offer +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it!” inquired Mr. Tucker. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Ann Carter. She says you don’t allow her sugar in her tea, +and only allow one slice of bread at supper, and that the meat is so bad she +can’t eat it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just like the old woman!” exclaimed Mr. Tucker indignantly. +“Oh, she’s a high-strung pauper, she is! Expects all the delicacies +of the season for seventy-five cents a week. She’d ought to go to the +Fifth Avenoo Hotel in New York, and then I’ll bet a cent she +wouldn’t be satisfied.” +</p> + +<p> +It is observable that even in his imaginary bets Mr. Tucker maintained his +economical habits, and seldom bet more than a cent. Once, when very much +excited, he had bet five cents, but this must be attributed to his excited +state of mind. +</p> + +<p> +“So you regard her complaints as unreasonable, do you, Mr. Tucker?” +observed the investigating committee. +</p> + +<p> +“Unreasonable? I should think they was. I allow, Squire Pope, we +don’t live like a first-class hotel”—Mr. Tucker’s +language was rather mixed—“but we live as well as we can afford to. +As to sugar, we don’t allow the paupers to put it in for themselves, or +they’d ruin us by their extravagance. Mrs. Tucker puts sugar in the +teapot before she pours it out. I s’pose Ann Carter would put as much in +one cup of tea as Mrs. T. uses for the whole teapotful, if she had her +way.” +</p> + +<p> +This was very probably true, as the frugal Mrs. Tucker only allowed one +teaspoonful for the entire supply. +</p> + +<p> +“That looks reasonable, Mr. Tucker,” said the squire approvingly. +“Now about the bread and the meat?” +</p> + +<p> +“The paupers has plenty of bread,” said Mr. Tucker. “Our +bread bill is actually enormous.” +</p> + +<p> +“And as to the meat?” +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t give ’em roast turkey every day, and we don’t +buy tenderloin steaks to pamper their appetites,” said Mr. Tucker, +“though we’re perfectly willing to do it if the town’ll pay +us so we can afford it. Do you think the town’ll agree to pay me +twenty-five cents more a week for each one, squire?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not. It can’t be thought of,” said the squire +hastily, knowing that if the selectmen advocated such a measure they would +probably lose their reelection. +</p> + +<p> +“If it would, we might live a little better, so that Ann Carter +wouldn’t have to complain, though, bless your soul! that woman is always +complainin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ahem! Mr. Tucker, you present the matter to me in a new light. I really +feel that Ann Carter is very unreasonable in her complaints.” +</p> + +<p> +“I knowed you’d do me justice, squire,” said Mr. Tucker +effusively. “You’re a sharp man. You ain’t a-goin’ to +be taken in by any of them paupers’ rigmarole. I always said, Squire +Pope, that you was the right man in the right place, and that the town was +lucky to have so intelligent and public-spirited a citizen fillin’ her +most important offices.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Tucker,” said the squire, “you gratify me. It has ever +been my aim to discharge with conscientious fidelity the important trusts which +the town has committed to my charge—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll bear witness to that, squire.” +</p> + +<p> +“And your sincere tribute gives me great satisfaction.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you’ll report things right to the board, Squire +Pope?” said Mr. Joe Tucker insinuatingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Be assured I will, Mr. Tucker. I consider you a zealous and trustworthy +official, striving hard to do your duty in the place the town has assigned +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do, indeed, squire,” said Mr. Tucker, pulling on a red +handkerchief and mopping some imaginary tears. “Excuse my emotions, sir, +but your generous confidence quite unmans me. I—I—trust now that I +shall be able to bear meekly the sneers and complaints of Ann Carter and her +fellow paupers.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will stand by you, Mr. Tucker,” said Squire Pope cordially, for +the man’s flattery, coarse as it was, had been like incense to his +vanity. “I will stand by you, and uphold you by my testimony.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, squire. With such an impartial advocate I will continue to do +my duty and fear nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +As Squire Pope left the almshouse, Mr. Tucker winked at himself in the glass, +and said quizzically: +</p> + +<p> +“I guess I’m all right now. The vain old fool thinks he’s a +second Solomon, and thinks I regard him as such. Oh, it takes me to get round +him!” +</p> + +<p> +Squire Pope wrote an elaborate report, in which he stated that, after searching +investigation, he had ascertained that the complaints of Ann Carter were +absolutely groundless, and gave it as his conviction that Mr. Tucker’s +treatment of her and her associate paupers was characterized by remarkable +consideration and humanity. +</p> + +<p> +Such officials as he have much to answer for, and yet there are plenty just as +false to their responsibilities as he. +</p> + +<p> +It was two days after Squire Pope’s ineffectual attempt to possess +himself of Philip’s violin, that our hero was walking along a country +road, on his return from an errand which, he had undertaken for his +friend’s father, when his attention was drawn to the yelping of a small +dog, that seemed in fear or pain. +</p> + +<p> +Looking over the stone wall, Philip saw Zeke Tucker amusing himself by +thrusting the dog’s head into a pool of dirty water, and holding it there +till the animal was nearly strangled. The dog’s suffering appeared to +yield the most exquisite amusement to the boy, who burst into peal after peal +of rude laughter as he watched the struggles of his victim. +</p> + +<p> +Philip, like every decent boy, had a horror of cruelty, and the sight stirred +him to immediate anger and disgust. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing there, Zeke Tucker?” he demanded sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“None of your business!” answered Zeke, frowning. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better answer my question,” said Philip, who had by +this time jumped over the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I will. I’m havin’ a little fun. What have you got to +say about it?” retorted Zeke. +</p> + +<p> +And once more he plunged the head of the poor dog into the filthy pool. +</p> + +<p> +The next moment he found himself floundering on his back, while the dog, +slipping from his grasp, was running across the meadows. “What did you do +that for!” demanded Zeke, springing up, his face flaming with rage. +</p> + +<p> +“I rather think you understand well enough,” answered Philip +contemptuously. +</p> + +<p> +“What business have you to touch me? I can have you arrested, you low +pauper!” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that? What did you call me?” demanded Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“I called you a pauper.” +</p> + +<p> +“By what right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Squire Pope told my father he was going to bring you over to the +poorhouse to live. You just see if my father doesn’t give it to you +then!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Phil contemptuously; “but I don’t +propose to board at your establishment, not even to obtain the pleasure of your +society.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe you can’t help yourself,” said Zeke gleefully. +</p> + +<p> +For he saw what had escaped the notice of Philip, whose back was +turned—namely, a four-seated carryall, containing his father and Squire +Pope, which had just halted in the road, hard by. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Tucker,” said Squire Pope, in a low tone, “now will be +the best opportunity to capture the boy and carry him to the almshouse.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right—I’m ready,” said Tucker readily. +</p> + +<p> +For another boarder would bring him sixty cents a week more. +</p> + +<p> +They stopped the horses and prepared for business. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"></a> +CHAPTER VIII.<br/> +IN THE ENEMY’S HANDS</h2> + +<p> +Philip heard a step, and turned to see whose it was; but, when he recognized +Mr. Tucker, the latter’s hand was already on his collar. +</p> + +<p> +“What have you been doin’ to Zeke? Tell me that, you young +rascal,” said Mr. Tucker roughly. +</p> + +<p> +“He pitched into me savage, father,” answered Zeke, who had picked +himself up, and was now engaged in brushing the dust from his coat. +</p> + +<p> +“Pitched into ye, did he?” repeated Joe Tucker grimly. “I +reckon he didn’t know your father was ’round. What have you got to +say for yourself, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Philip regarded his captor contemptuously, and didn’t struggle to escape, +knowing that he was not a match for a man five inches taller than himself. But +contempt he could not help showing, for he knew very well that Zeke had +inherited his mean traits largely from his father. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll thank you to remove your hand from my collar, sir,” +said Philip. “When you have done that, I will explain why I pitched into +Zeke, as he calls it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you let go, father!” said Zeke hastily. +“He’ll run away, if you do.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I do, you can catch me between you,” returned Philip coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon that’s so,” said Mr. Tucker, withdrawing his hand, +but keeping wary watch of our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Now go ahead!” said he. +</p> + +<p> +Philip did so. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw Zeke torturing a small dog,” he explained, “and I +couldn’t stand by and let it go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was he doin’ to him?” inquired Mr. Tucker. +</p> + +<p> +“Putting the poor animal’s head into this dirty pool, and keeping +it there till it was nearly suffocated.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was you doin’ that, Zeke?” asked his father. +</p> + +<p> +“I was havin’ a little fun with him,” said Zeke candidly. +</p> + +<p> +“It might have been fun to you, but it wasn’t to him,” said +Phil. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you ask Zeke to stop, and not fly at him like a +tiger?” demanded Mr. Tucker. +</p> + +<p> +“I did remonstrate with him, but he only laughed, and did it +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“He hadn’t no right to order me,” said Zeke. “It +wa’n’t no business of his if I was havin’ a little fun with +the dog.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I had a little fun with, you,” returned +Philip—“You couldn’t have complained if I had dipped your +head in the water also.” +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t a dog!” said Zeke. +</p> + +<p> +“I should respect you more if you were,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you goin’ to let him talk to me like that!” asked Zeke, +appealing to his father. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I ain’t,” said Mr. Tucker angrily. “You’ve +committed an assault and battery on my son, you rascal, and you’ll find +there ain’t no fun in it for you. I could have you arrested and put in +jail, couldn’t I, squire?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ahem! Well, you could have him fined; but, as he is to be under your +care, Mr. Tucker, you will have a chance of making him conduct himself +properly.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean by that, Squire Pope?” asked Philip quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Young man, I do not choose to be catechized,” said Squire Pope, in +a dignified manner; “but I have no objections to tell you that I have +made arrangements with Mr. Tucker to take you into the poorhouse.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve heard that before, but I couldn’t believe it,” +said Philip proudly. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess you’ll have to believe it pretty soon, he, he!” +laughed Zeke, with a grin which indicated his high delight. “I guess +dad’ll make you stand round when he gits you into the poor-house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you consider me capable of earning my own living, Squire +Pope?” asked Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Ahem! Yes, you will be one of these days. You won’t have to stay +in the almshouse all your life.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have a chance to earn your livin’ with me.” +said Mr. Tucker. “I shall give you something to do, you may +depend.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can make him saw and split wood, father, and do the chores and milk +the cow,” suggested Zeke. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no objection to doing any of those things for a farmer,” +said Philip, “but I am not willing to do it where I shall be considered a +pauper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Kinder uppish!” suggested Mr. Tucker, turning to Squire Pope. +“Most all of them paupers is proud; but it’s pride in the wrong +place, I reckon.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it is pride to want to earn an independent living, and not live on +charity, then I am proud,” continued Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, squire, how is it to be,” asked Mr. Tucker. +</p> + +<p> +“Philip,” said Squire Pope pompously, “you are very young, +and you don’t know what is best for you. We do, and you must submit. Mr. +Tucker, take him and put him in the wagon, and we’ll drive over to the +poorhouse.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! now?” asked Philip, in dismay. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so,” answered Joe Tucker. “When you’ve got your +bird, don’t let him go, that’s what I say.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the talk, dad!” said Zeke gladfully. +“We’ll take down his pride, I guess, when we’ve got him +home.” +</p> + +<p> +Joe Tucker approached Philip, and was about to lay hold of him, when our hero +started back. +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t lay hold of me, Mr. Tucker,” he said. “I +will get into the wagon if Squire Pope insists upon it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you’re gettin’ sensible,” said the +squire, congratulating himself on finding Philip more tractable than he +expected. +</p> + +<p> +“And you will go to the poorhouse peaceful, and without making a +fuss?” asked Joe. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I will go there; but I won’t stay there.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t stay there!” ejaculated the squire. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir! In treating me as a dependent on charity, you are doing what +neither you nor any other man has a right to do,” said Philip firmly. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t appear to remember that I am a selectman and overseer of +the poor,” said the Squire. +</p> + +<p> +“I am aware that you hold those offices; but if so, you ought to save +money to the town, and not compel them to pay for my support, when I am willing +and able to support myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Squire Pope looked a little puzzled. This was putting the matter in a new +light, and he could not help admitting to himself that Philip was correct, and +that perhaps his fellow citizens might take the same view. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, the squire was fond of having his own way, and he had now +gone so far that he could not recede without loss of dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” he answered stiffly, “that I understand my duty as +well as a boy of fifteen. I don’t mean to keep you here long, but it is +the best arrangement for the present.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it is,” said Zeke, well pleased with the humiliation of +his enemy. +</p> + +<p> +“Shut up, Zeke!” said his father, observing from the squire’s +expression that he did not fancy Zeke’s interference. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, dad,” said Zeke good-naturedly, seeing that things had +turned out as he desired. +</p> + +<p> +“Jump in!” said Mr. Tucker to Philip. +</p> + +<p> +Our hero, without a word, obeyed. He was firmly resolved that Squire Pope +should not have his way, but he did not choose to make himself ridiculous by an +ineffectual resistance which would only have ended in his discomfiture. +</p> + +<p> +Seated between Mr. Tucker and the squire, he was driven rapidly toward the +poorhouse. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"></a> +CHAPTER IX.<br/> +THE POORHOUSE.</h2> + +<p> +There was no room for Zeke to ride—that is, there was no seat for +him—but he managed to clamber into the back part of the wagon, where he +sat, or squatted, rather uncomfortably, but evidently in the best of +spirits—if any inference could be drawn from his expression. +</p> + +<p> +The poorhouse was not far away. It was a three-story frame house, which badly +needed painting, with a dilapidated barn, and shed near by. +</p> + +<p> +A three-story farmhouse is not common in the country, but this dwelling had +been erected by a Mr. Parmenter, in the expectation of making a fortune by +taking summer boarders. +</p> + +<p> +There was room enough for them, but they did not come. The situation was the +reverse of pleasant, the soil about was barren, and there were no shade or +fruit trees. It was a crazy idea, selecting such a spot for a summer +boarding-house, and failure naturally resulted. +</p> + +<p> +There had, indeed, been two boarders—a man and his wife—who paid +one week’s board, and managed to owe six before the unlucky landlord +decided that they were a pair of swindlers. He had spent more money than he +could afford on his house, and went steadily behind-hand year after year, till +the town—which was in want of a poorhouse—stepped in and purchased +the house and farm at a bargain. So it came to be a boarding-house, after all, +but in a sense not contemplated by the proprietor, and, at present, +accommodated eleven persons—mostly old and infirm—whom hard fortune +compelled to subsist on charity. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tucker had this advantage, that his boarders, had no recourse except to +stay with him, however poor his fare or harsh his treatment, unless they were +in a position to take care of themselves. +</p> + +<p> +When Philip came in sight of the almshouse—which he had often seen, and +always considered a very dreary-looking building—he was strengthened in +his determination not long to remain a tenant. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tucker drove up to the front door with a flourish. +</p> + +<p> +A hard-featured woman came out, and regarded the contents of the wagon with +curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Abigail, can you take another boarder!” asked Mr. Tucker, as +he descended from the wagon. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it ain’t likely to be Squire Pope!” said Joe +facetiously; “and Zeke and I are regular boarders on the free +list.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it that boy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; it’s Phil Gray.” +</p> + +<p> +“Humph! boys are a trial!” remarked Mrs. Tucker, whose experience +with Zeke had doubtless convinced her of this fact. +</p> + +<p> +“I sha’n’t trouble you long, Mrs. Tucker,” said Philip. +“I don’t intend to stay.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t, hey?” retorted Joe Tucker, with a wolfish grin +and an emphatic nod of the head. “We’ll see about +that—won’t we, Squire Pope?” +</p> + +<p> +“The boy is rather rebellious, Mrs. Tucker,” said the selectman. +“He appears to think he knows better what is good for him than we do. You +may look upon him as a permanent boarder. What he says is of no account.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip said nothing, but he looked full at the squire with an unflinching gaze. +If ever determination was written upon any face, it was on his. +</p> + +<p> +“Come down there!” said Mrs. Tucker, addressing our hero. +“You’re at home now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Dunbar won’t know what has become of me,” said Philip, +with a sudden thought. “They will be anxious. May I go back there and +tell them where I am?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think I am green enough for that?” Mr. Tucker, touching the +side of his nose waggishly. “We shouldn’t be likely to set eyes on +you again.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will promise to come back here this evening,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“And will you promise to stay?” asked Squire Pope doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” answered Philip boldly. “I won’t do that, +but I will engage to come back. Then Mr. Tucker will have to look out for me, +for I tell you and him frankly I don’t mean to stay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever hear such talk, squire!” asked Mr. Tucker, with a +gasp of incredulity. “He actually defies you, who are a selectman and an +overseer of the poor.” +</p> + +<p> +“So he does, Mr. Tucker. I’m shocked at his conduct.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we let him go?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, of course not.” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree with you, squire. I know’d you wouldn’t agree to it. +What shall I do about his wantin’ to run away?” +</p> + +<p> +“It will be best to confine him just at first, Mr. Tucker.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll shut him up in one of the attic rooms,” said Mr. +Tucker. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it will be the best thing to do, Mr. Tucker.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip took all this very coolly. As to the way in which they proposed to +dispose of him for the present he cared very little, as he did not intend stay +till morning if there was any possible chance of getting away. The only thing +that troubled him was the doubt and anxiety of his good friends, the Dunbars, +when he did not return to the house. +</p> + +<p> +“Squire Pope,” he said, turning to that official, “will you +do me a favor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ahem! Explain yourself,” said the squire suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you call at Mr. Dunbar’s and tell them where I am.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, for obvious reasons, the squire did not like to do this. He knew that the +Dunbars would manifest great indignation at the arbitrary step which he had +adopted, and he did not like to face their displeasure, especially as his +apology would perforce be a lame one. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I am called upon to do you a favor, seeing how +you’ve acted, Philip,” he said hesitatingly. “Besides, it +would be out of my way, and I ought to get home as soon as possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you refuse, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’d rather not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you get word to them, Mr. Tucker?” asked Philip, turning to +him. +</p> + +<p> +“I hain’t got time,” answered Mr. Tucker, who feared that the +Dunbars would come for Philip and release him in the course of the evening. +</p> + +<p> +Philip was nonplused. Always considerate of the feelings of others, he was +unwilling that his friends should suffer anxiety on his account. +</p> + +<p> +As Mr. Tucker and Squire Pope walked away together, our hero turned to Zeke. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it’s no use to ask you to do me a favor, Zeke?” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want me to tell Frank Dunbar where you are?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I wish you would.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a better fellow than I thought you were, Zeke,” said +Philip, surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I ain’t! Do you want to know why I’m willin’ to +go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know Frank Dunbar’ll feel bad, and I hate him.” +</p> + +<p> +“So that is your object, is it, Zeke?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve got it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, whatever your motive may be, I shall be much obliged to you if you +go. Here’s ten cents for you!” +</p> + +<p> +Zeke grasped at the coin with avidity, for his father was very parsimonious, +and his mother no less so, and he seldom got any ready money. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you!” said Zeke, with unusual politeness. “I’ll +go right off. But, I say, don’t you tell dad where I’ve gone, or he +might prevent me, and don’t you let on you’ve given me this dime, +or he’d try to get it away.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I won’t say anything about it,” answered Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“A curious family this is!” he thought, “There doesn’t +seem to be much confidence in each other.” +</p> + +<p> +Zeke sauntered away carelessly, to avert suspicion but when he had got round a +bend of the road he increased his speed, never looking back, lest he should see +his father signaling for him. +</p> + +<p> +Philip breathed a sigh of relief. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got a messenger at last,” he said. “Now my +friends will know what has become of me when I don’t come home to +supper.” +</p> + +<p> +He was a little curious to learn what they were going to do with him, but he +was not long kept in suspense. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"></a> +CHAPTER X.<br/> +BAD TIDINGS.</h2> + +<p> +Leaving Philip for a short time in the hands of his captor, we will follow Zeke +on his errand. He didn’t have to go as far as Mr. Dunbar’s house, +for he met Frank Dunbar about a quarter of a mile this side of it. +</p> + +<p> +Now, between Frank Dunbar and Zeke Tucker there was no love lost. There had +been a difficulty between them, originating at school, which need not be +particularly referred to. Enough that it led to Zeke’s cordially +disliking Frank, while the latter, who was a frank, straightforward boy, could +not see anything in Mr. Tucker’s promising son to enlist either his +respect or his liking. +</p> + +<p> +There was a small river running through Norton, which crossed the main +thoroughfare, and had to be bridged over. Frank Dunbar, fishing-line in hand, +was leaning over the parapet, engaged in luring the fish from their river home. +He looked up, when he saw Zeke approaching him. Not having any particular +desire to hold a conversation with him, he withdrew his eyes, and again watched +his line. Zeke, however, approached him with a grin of anticipated enjoyment, +and hailed him in the usual style: +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, Frank!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Frank Dunbar indifferently. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes it’s me. I suppose you thought it was somebody else,” +chuckled Zeke, though Frank could see no cause for merriment. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I see who it is now,” he responded. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Phil Gray?” inquired Zeke, chuckling again. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to see him?” asked Frank, rather surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no! I shall see him soon enough.” +</p> + +<p> +And again Zeke chuckled. +</p> + +<p> +Frank looked up. +</p> + +<p> +He was expecting Philip to join him, and was, in fact, waiting for him now. +Zeke’s mysterious merriment suggested that he might have met +Philip—possibly bore some message from him. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know anything about Phil?” asked Frank, looking fixedly at +his visitor. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon I do. I know all about him,” said Zeke, with evident +enjoyment. +</p> + +<p> +“Well. If you have any message from him, let me hear it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t guess where he is,” blurted out Zeke. +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t in any trouble, is he?” asked Frank quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“No; he’s safe enough. But you needn’t expect to see him +tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” demanded Frank, not yet guessing what was likely to +detain his friend. +</p> + +<p> +“Because he’s at our house,” chuckled Zeke. “Dad and +Squire Pope have carried him to the poorhouse, and he’s goin’ to +stay there for good.” +</p> + +<p> +This was a surprise. In his astonishment, Frank nearly let go his rod. He was +eager now to question Zeke further. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to say Phil has been carried to the poorhouse +against his will?” he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon he was anxious to go,” said Zeke. +</p> + +<p> +“Where was he when your father and Squire Pope committed this +outrage?” said Frank indignantly. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you’d be mad,” said Zeke, with the same unpleasant +chuckle. +</p> + +<p> +“Answer my question, or I’ll pitch you into the river,” said +Frank sternly. +</p> + +<p> +He did not mean what he said, but Zeke drew back in alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“Quit now! I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it,” said +Zeke hastily. “Me and him was over in Haywood’s pasture when dad +come along with the squire in his wagon. Well, they made Phil get in, and +that’s all of it, except I promised I’d come and tell your folks, +so you needn’t get scared or nothin’ when he didn’t come back +to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“He will come back to-night,” said Frank. “He won’t +stay in the poorhouse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he will. He can’t help himself. Dad’s goin’ to +lock him up in the attic. I guess he won’t jump out of the window. Where +you goin’! You ain’t got through fishin’, be you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’m through,” answered Frank, as he drew his line out +of the water. “Just tell Phil when you go home that he’s got +friends outside who won’t see him suffer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say, ain’t you goin’ to give me nothin’ for +comin’ to tell you!” asked Zeke, who was always intent on the main +chance. +</p> + +<p> +Frank flung a nickel in his direction, which Zeke picked up with avidity. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess it pays to run errands when you can get paid twice,” he +reflected complacently. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"></a> +CHAPTER XI.<br/> +PHILIP’S NEW ROOM.</h2> + +<p> +We return to Phil. +</p> + +<p> +“Foller me, boy!” said Mr. Tucker, as he entered the house, and +proceeded to ascend the front steps. +</p> + +<p> +Philip had formed his plans, and without a word of remonstrance, he obeyed. The +whole interior was dingy and dirty. Mrs. Tucker was not a neat woman, and +everything looked neglected and slipshod. +</p> + +<p> +In the common room, to the right, the door of which was partly open, Philip saw +some old men and women sitting motionless, in a sort of weary patience. They +were “paupers,” and dependent for comfort on the worthy couple, who +regarded them merely as human machines, good to them for sixty cents a week +each. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tucker did not stop at the first landing, but turned and began to ascend a +narrower and steeper staircase leading to the next story. +</p> + +<p> +This was, if anything, dirtier and more squalid than the first and second. +There were several small rooms on the third floor, into one of which Mr. Tucker +pushed his way. “Come in,” he said. “Now you’re at +home. This is goin’ to be your room.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip looked around him in disgust, which he did not even take the trouble to +conceal. +</p> + +<p> +There was a cot-bed in the corner, with an unsavory heap of bed-clothing upon +it, and a couple of chairs, both with wooden seats, and one with the back gone. +</p> + +<p> +That was about all the furniture. There was one window looking out upon the +front. +</p> + +<p> +“So this is to be my room, is it?” asked our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. How do you like it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see any wash-stand, or any chance to wash.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, that’s rich!” said Mr. Tucker, appearing to be very +much amused. “You didn’t think you was stoppin’ in the Fifth +Avenoo Hotel, did you?” +</p> + +<p> +“This don’t look like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“We ain’t used to fashionable boarders, and we don’t know how +to take care of ’em. You’ll have to go downstairs and wash in the +trough, like the rest of the paupers do.” +</p> + +<p> +“And wipe my face on the grass, I suppose?” said Philip coolly, +though his heart sank within him at the thought of staying even one night in a +place so squalid and filthy. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, that’s goin’ too far,” said Mr. Tucker, who felt +that the reputation of the boarding-house was endangered by such insinuations. +“We mean to live respectable. There’s two towels a week allowed, +and that I consider liberal.” +</p> + +<p> +“And do all your boarders use the same towel?” asked Phil, unable +to suppress an expression of disgust. +</p> + +<p> +“Sartain. You don’t think we allow ’em one apiece, do +you!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t,” said Philip decidedly. +</p> + +<p> +He had ceased to expect anything so civilized in Mr. Tucker’s +establishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Now you’re safe in your room, I reckon I’d better go +downstairs,” said Tucker. +</p> + +<p> +“I will go with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not much you won’t! We ain’t a-goin’ to give you a +chance of runnin’ away just yet!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to keep me a prisoner?” demanded Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just what we do, at present,” answered his genial +host. +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t be for long, Mr. Tucker.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that you say? I’m master here, I’d have you to +know!” +</p> + +<p> +Just then a shrill voice was heard from below: +</p> + +<p> +“Come down, Joe Tucker! Are you goin’ to stay upstairs all +day?” +</p> + +<p> +“Comin’, Abigail!” answered Mr. Tucker hastily, as he backed +out of the room, locking the door behind him. Philip heard the click of the key +as it turned in the lock, and he realized, for the first time in his life, that +he was a prisoner. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"></a> +CHAPTER XII.<br/> +A PAUPER’S MEAL</h2> + +<p> +Half an hour later Philip heard a pounding on the door of his room. +</p> + +<p> +He was unable to open it, but he called out, loud enough for the outsider to +hear: +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s me—Zeke,” was the answer that came back. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you tell the Dunbars where I was?” asked Philip eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t think you had time to go there and back,” said +Philip, fearing that Zeke had pocketed his money and then played him false. +But, as we know, he was mistaken in this. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t go there,” shouted Zeke. “I met Frank on the +bridge.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did he say?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was mad,” answered Zeke, laughing. “I thought he would +be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he send any message to me?” asked Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“No; he stopped fishin’ and went home.” Here the conversation +was interrupted. The loud tones in which Zeke had been speaking, in order to be +heard through the door, had attracted attention below. +</p> + +<p> +His father came to the foot of the attic stairs and demanded suspiciously: +</p> + +<p> +“What you doin’ there, Zeke?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tryin’ to cheer up Phil Gray,” answered Zeke jocosely. +</p> + +<p> +“He don’t need any cheerin’ up. He’s all right. I +reckon you’re up to some mischief.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I ain’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come along down.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, dad, if you say so. Lucky he didn’t hear what I was +sayin’ about seein’ Frank Dunbar,” thought Zeke. +“He’d be mad.” +</p> + +<p> +Presently there was another caller at Philip’s room, or, rather, prison. +This time it was Mr. Tucker himself. He turned the key in the lock and opened +the door. Philip looked up inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +“Supper’s ready,” announced Joe. “You can come down if +you want to.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip was provided with an appetite, but he did not relish the idea of going +downstairs and joining the rest of Mr. Tucker’s boarders. It would seem +like a tacit admission that he was one of their number. Of course, he +couldn’t do without eating, but he had a large apple in his pocket when +captured, and he thought that this would prevent his suffering from hunger for +that night, at least, and he did not mean to spend another at the Norton +poorhouse. The problem of to-morrow’s supply of food might be deferred +till then. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care for any supper,” answered Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you expect your meals will be brought up to you?” said Mr. +Tucker, with a sneer. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t thought about it particularly,” said Philip +coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“You may think you’re spitin’ me by not eatin’ +anything,” observed Mr. Tucker, who was rather alarmed lest Philip might +have made up his mind to starve himself. +</p> + +<p> +This would be embarrassing, for it would make an investigation necessary. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” answered Philip, smiling; “that never came into my +mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mind bringin’ you up your supper for once,” +said Tucker. “Of course, I can’t do it reg’lar, but this is +the first night.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I shall be better able to make my escape if I eat,” +thought Philip. “Probably the most sensible thing is to accept this +offer.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much are you to get for my board, Mr. Tucker?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Only sixty cents,” grumbled Tucker. “It ain’t enough, +but the town won’t pay any more. You’ve no idea what appetites them +paupers has.” +</p> + +<p> +“You made a mistake when you agreed to take me,” said Philip +gravely. “I’m very hearty, you’ll be sure to lose money on +me.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tucker looked uneasy. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you see I expect to have you earn part of your board by +doin’ chores,” he said, after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“That will give me a good chance to run away,” remarked Philip +calmly. “You’ll have to let me out of this room to work, you +know.” +</p> + +<p> +“You wouldn’t dare to run away!” said Tucker, trying to +frighten Philip by a blustering manner. +</p> + +<p> +“That shows you don’t know me, Mr. Tucker!” returned our +hero. “I give you fair warning that I shall run away the first chance I +get.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip’s tone was so calm and free from excitement that Mr. Tucker could +not help seeing that he was in earnest, and he looked perplexed. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t look at it in the right light,” he said, +condescending to conciliate his new boarder. “If you don’t make no +trouble, you’ll have a good time, and I’ll let you off, now +an’ then, to play with Zeke. He needs a boy to play with.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip smiled, for the offer did not attract him very much. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very kind,” he said, “but I don’t think that +even that will reconcile me to staying here with you. But, if you’ll +agree to let me pay you for the supper, you may bring me up some.” +</p> + +<p> +“The town will pay me,” said Tucker. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just what I don’t want the town to do,” said +Philip quickly. “I will make you an offer. At sixty cents a week the +meals for one day will not cost over ten cents. I’ll pay you ten cents +for supper and breakfast.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a cur’us boy,” said Tucker. “You want to +pay for your vittles in a free boardin’-house.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t free to me. At any rate, I don’t want it to be. +What do you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I ain’t no objections to take your money,” said Tucker, +laughing. “I didn’t know you was so rich.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not rich, but I think I can pay my board as long as I stay +here.” +</p> + +<p> +This Philip said because he had decided that his stay should be a very brief +one. +</p> + +<p> +“Just as you say!” chuckled Mr. Tucker. +</p> + +<p> +As he went downstairs he reflected: +</p> + +<p> +“I can take the boy’s money and charge his board to the town, too. +There’s nothin’ to hender, and it’ll be so much more in my +pocket. I wish the rest of the paupers would foller his example.” +</p> + +<p> +He went downstairs and explained to Mrs. Tucker that he wanted Philip’s +supper. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell him to come down to the table like the rest of the folks!” +retorted Mrs. Tucker. “He ain’t too lazy, is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; but it’s safer to keep him in his room for the first +twenty-four hours. He’s a desperate boy, but I reckon he’ll get +tamed after a while.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll desperate him!” said Mrs. Tucker scornfully. “I +don’t believe in humorin’ him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I, Abigail. He’d like to come down, but I won’t let him. +We can manage him between us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should smile if we couldn’t,” said Mrs. Tucker. “If +you want any supper for him, you can get it yourself. I’ve got too much +to do. No, Widder Jones, you can’t have another cup of tea, and you +needn’t beg for it. One cup’s plenty for you, and it’s all +we can afford.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only this once,” pleaded the poor old woman. “I’ve got +a headache.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then another cup of tea would only make it worse. If you’ve got +through your supper, go back to your seat and give more room for the +rest.” +</p> + +<p> +While Mrs. Tucker was badgering and domineering over her regular boarders, her +husband put two slices of dry bread on a plate, poured out a cup of tea, not +strong enough to keep the most delicate child awake, and surreptitiously +provided an extra luxury in the shape of a thin slice of cold meat. He felt +that, as he was to receive double price, he ought to deal generously by our +hero. +</p> + +<p> +He carried this luxurious supper to the third story, and set it down before +Philip. +</p> + +<p> +Philip promptly produced a dime, which Mr. Tucker pocketed with satisfaction. +He waited till his young guest had finished his repast, in order himself to +carry down the dishes. +</p> + +<p> +There was no butter for the bread, and the tea had been sweetened scantily. +However, Philip had the appetite of a healthy boy, and he ate and drank +everything that had been provided. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be up in the morning,” said Mr. Tucker. “We go to +bed early here. The paupers go to roost at seven, and me and my wife and Zeke +at eight. You’d better go to bed early, too.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"></a> +CHAPTER XIII.<br/> +A FRIENDLY MISSION.</h2> + +<p> +Philip was glad to hear that all in the almshouse went to bed so early. He had +not yet given up the hope of escaping that night, though he had as yet arranged +no definite plan of escape. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, he had an active friend outside. I refer, of course, to Frank +Dunbar. Frank had no sooner heard of his friend’s captivity than he +instantly determined, if it were a possible thing, to help him to escape. +</p> + +<p> +He would not even wait till the next day, but determined after it was dark to +visit the poor-house and reconnoiter. First, he informed his parents what had +befallen Phil. Their indignation was scarcely less than his. +</p> + +<p> +“Squire Pope is carrying matters with a high hand,” said the +farmer. “According to my idea, he has done no less than kidnap Philip, +without the shadow of a legal right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t he be prosecuted?” asked Frank eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not sure as to that,” answered his father, “but I am +confident that Philip will not be obliged to remain, unless he chooses, a +dependent upon the charity of the town.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is outrageous!” said Mrs. Dunbar, who was quite as friendly to +Philip as her husband and son. +</p> + +<p> +“In my opinion,” said Mr. Dunbar, “Squire Pope has done a +very unwise thing as regards his own interests. He desires to remain in office, +and the people will not be likely to reelect him if his policy is to make +paupers of those who wish to maintain themselves. Voters will be apt to think +that they are sufficiently taxed already for the support of those who are +actually unable to maintain themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I were a voter,” exclaimed Frank indignantly, “I +wouldn’t vote for Squire Pope, even for dog-catcher! The meanest part of +it is the underhanded way in which he has taken Phil. He must have known he was +acting illegally, or he would have come here in open day and required Phil to +go with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree with you, Frank. Squire Pope may be assured that he has lost my +vote from henceforth. Hitherto I have voted for him annually for selectman, +knowing that he wanted the office and considering him fairly faithful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” said Frank, after a thoughtful pause, “do you think +Philip would be justified in escaping from the poorhouse?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” answered Mr. Dunbar. “In this free country I hold +that no one ought to be made an object of charity against his will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Philip is strong enough and smart enough to earn his own living,” +said Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“That is true. I will myself give him his board and clothes if he will +stay with me and work on the farm.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish he would. He would be a splendid companion for me; but I think he +wants to leave Norton, and try his fortune in some larger place.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t blame him. If his father were living and he had a good +home, I should not think it wise; but, as matters stand, it may not be a bad +plan for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” said Frank, after supper, “I am going out and I may +not be back very early.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to see Philip?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but I want to see him alone. If possible, I will see him without +attracting the attention of Joe Tucker.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t get into any trouble, Frank?” said his mother +anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“No, mother; I don’t know what trouble I can get into.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may very likely fail to see Philip,” suggested his father. +“I hear that Tucker and his boarders go to bed very early.” +</p> + +<p> +“So much the better!” said Frank, in a tone of satisfaction. +“The only one I want to see is Philip, and he isn’t likely to go to +sleep very early.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Dunbar smiled to himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Frank has got some plan in his head,” he thought. “I +won’t inquire what it is, for he has good common sense, and won’t +do anything improper.” +</p> + +<p> +About eight o’clock, Frank, after certain preparations, which will +hereafter be referred to, set out for the poorhouse, which was about a mile +distant. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"></a> +CHAPTER XIV.<br/> +PHILIP MAKES HIS ESCAPE.</h2> + +<p> +It grew darker and darker in Philip’s chamber, but no one came to bring +him a light. It was assumed that he would go to bed before he required one. +</p> + +<p> +By seven o’clock the paupers had settled themselves for the night, and +when eight o’clock struck, Mr. and Mrs. Tucker sought their beds. It was +no particular trial for Joe Tucker to go to bed early, for he was naturally a +lazy man, and fond of rest; while his wife, who worked a great deal harder than +he, after being on her feet from four o’clock in the morning, found it a +welcome relief to lie down and court friendly sleep. Zeke wasn’t always +ready to go to bed. In fact, he would much rather have gone up to the village +now and then, but if he had done so he would have had to stay out all night. +There was one thing his parents were strict about, and that was retiring at +eight o’clock. +</p> + +<p> +Philip, however, did not retire at that hour. It was earlier than his usual +hour for bed. Besides, he was in hopes his friend Frank would make his +appearance, and help him, though he didn’t exactly understand how, to +make his escape. +</p> + +<p> +At half-past eight it was dark. The stars were out, and the moon was just +making its appearance. Philip had opened his window softly, and was looking +out, when all at once he saw a boyish figure approaching. +</p> + +<p> +Could it be Frank Dunbar? +</p> + +<p> +He hoped so, but in the indistinct light could not be quite certain. +</p> + +<p> +The boy, whoever it might be, approached cautiously, till he stood within fifty +feet of the house. +</p> + +<p> +Then Philip saw that it was indeed Frank, and his heart beat joyfully. It was +something to see a friend, even though they were separated by what seemed to +him to be an impassable gulf. +</p> + +<p> +About the same time, Frank recognized his friend, in the boyish figure at the +window. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that you, Phil?” he asked, in a guarded voice, yet loud enough +to be heard. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Frank; I have been expecting you. I knew you wouldn’t desert +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think not. I didn’t come before, because I didn’t +want to be seen by any of Tucker’s folks.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are all abed now, and I hope asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you come downstairs, and steal away?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; my chamber door is locked on the outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you help me in any way?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll see. Suppose you had a rope—could you swing out of the +window?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I could fasten it to the bedstead, and fix that just against the +window.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I think I can help you. Can you catch a ball?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but what good will that do?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll see. Make ready now, and don’t miss it.” +</p> + +<p> +He produced a ball of common size, and after taking aim, threw it lightly up +toward Philip’s window. The first time it didn’t come within reach. +The second Philip caught it skilfully, and by the moonlight saw that a stout +piece of twine was attached to it. At the end of the twine Frank had connected +it with a clothesline which he had borrowed from home. +</p> + +<p> +“Now pull away, Phil,” urged Frank. +</p> + +<p> +Philip did, and soon had the stout line in his possession. +</p> + +<p> +“It will hold; it’s new and strong,” said Frank. +“Father only bought it last week. I didn’t think, then, what use we +should have for it.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip, however, was not afraid. He was so anxious to escape that, even if +there had been any risk to run, he would readily have incurred it for the sake +of getting away from the poor-house, in which he was unwilling to spend a +single night. He fastened one end of the rope firmly to his bedstead, as he had +proposed, then cautiously got upon the window-sill and lowered himself, +descending hand over hand till he reached the ground. +</p> + +<p> +He breathed a sigh of relief as he detached himself from the rope and stood +beside Frank Dunbar. +</p> + +<p> +Just then the boys heard a second-story window open, and saw Mr. Tucker’s +head projecting from it. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"></a> +CHAPTER XV.<br/> +ESCAPE AND FLIGHT.</h2> + +<p> +Though the boys had made as little noise as possible, conversing in an +undertone, they had been heard by Mrs. Tucker. Her husband, as was his custom, +had gone to sleep; but Mrs. Tucker, who, during the day, had discovered the +loss of ten cents from her bureau drawer in which she kept her savings, had +been kept awake by mental trouble. Some of my readers may think so small a loss +scarcely worth keeping awake for, but Mrs. Joe Tucker was a strictly economical +and saving woman—some even called her penurious—and the loss of ten +cents troubled her. +</p> + +<p> +She would have laid it to one of “them paupers,” as she was wont +contemptuously to refer to them, except that she never allowed one of them to +enter the sacred precincts of her chamber. +</p> + +<p> +A horrible thought entered her mind. Could it be Zeke, the boy whom she thought +such a paragon, though no one else had been able to discover his virtues or +attractions? She did not like to think of it, but it did occur to her that +Zeke, the previous day, had asked her for ten cents, though he would not own +the purpose for which he wanted it. The boy might have been tempted to take the +money. At any rate, she would go and see. +</p> + +<p> +Zeke slept in a small room adjoining. When his mother entered, with a candle in +her hand, he was lying asleep, with his mouth wide open, and one arm dropped +over the side of the bed. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Tucker took a look at him, and saw that he was wrapped in slumber and +unable to notice what she proposed to do. His clothes were thrown down +carelessly on a chair near-by. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Tucker searched first in the pockets of his pants, and, though she +discovered a large variety of miscellaneous articles, “of no use to any +one except the owner,” she didn’t discover any traces of the +missing dime. She began to hope that he had not taken it, after all, although, +in that case, the loss would continue to be shrouded in obscurity. But, on +continuing her search, she discovered in one of the pockets of his vest a +silver ten-cent piece. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Tucker’s eyes flashed, partly with indignation at Zeke’s +dishonesty, partly with joy at the recovery of the missing coin. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve found you out, you bad boy!” she said, in a low voice, +shaking her fist at the sleeping boy. “I wouldn’t have believed +that my Zeke would have robbed his own mother. We must have a reckoning +to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +She was half-inclined to wake Zeke up and charge him with his crime, +confronting him with the evidence of it which she had just discovered; but on +second thoughts she decided that she might as well let him sleep, as the next +day would do just as well. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Zeke! he was not guilty, after all, though whether his honesty was strict +enough to resist a powerful temptation, I am not sure. +</p> + +<p> +The dime which Mrs. Tucker had discovered was the same one that Philip had +given to Zeke in return for his service in notifying Frank Dunbar of his +captivity. In another pocket was the five-cent piece given him by Frank, but +that had escaped his mother’s attention. +</p> + +<p> +The reader will understand now how it happened that Mrs. Tucker was kept awake +beyond her usual time. She was broad awake when Frank Dunbar arrived, and she +heard something through the partially open window of the conference between the +two boys. She heard the voices that is to say, but could not tell what was +said. +</p> + +<p> +With her mind dwelling upon Zeke’s supposed theft, however, she was more +easily frightened than usual, and immediately jumped to the conclusion that +there were burglars outside, trying to get in. +</p> + +<p> +The absurdity of burglars attempting to rob the town poorhouse did not occur to +her in panic. She sat up in bed, and proceeded to nudge her husband in no +gentle fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Tucker!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +Her husband responded by an inarticulate murmur, but did not wake. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Tucker!” she exclaimed, in a louder voice, giving him a still +more vigorous shake. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! What! What’s the matter?” said Tucker, opening his eyes +at last, and staring vacantly at his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter!” retorted his wife impatiently. +“The matter is that there’s burglars outside!” +</p> + +<p> +“Let ’em stay outside!” said Joe Tucker, in a sleepy tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Did any one ever hear such a fool?” exclaimed Mrs. Tucker, +exasperated. “They’re trying to get in. Do you hear that, Mr. +Tucker?” +</p> + +<p> +“Trying to get in! Is the door locked?” asked Joe, a little +alarmed. +</p> + +<p> +“You must get up and defend the house,” continued Mrs. Tucker. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Mr. Tucker was not a brave man. He had no fancy for having a hand-to-hand +conflict with burglars, who might be presumed to be desperate men. It occurred +to him that it would be decidedly better to stay where he was and run no risk. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, Abigail,” he said, soothingly. “The burglars +can’t do us any harm. They can’t do any more than carry off a +pauper or two, and I don’t, believe they’ll do that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t mind that, Mr. Tucker; but I’ve left the spoons +down-stairs!” answered his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“How many are there!” +</p> + +<p> +“Six. I want you to go down and get them and bring them up here, where +they will be safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“But suppose I should meet some of the burglars!” suggested Tucker, +trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must defend yourself like a man!” +</p> + +<p> +“You might find me in the morning weltering in my gore!” said Joe, +with an uneasy shudder. +</p> + +<p> +“Are we to have the spoons stolen, then!” demanded Mrs. Tucker +sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“If you care so much for the spoons, Abigail, you’d better go +down-stairs yourself and get ’em. I don’t value them as much as my +life.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know but I will, if you’ll look out of the window +and see whether you can see any of the burglars outside,” responded Mrs. +Tucker. “If they haven’t got in yet, I’ll take the +risk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you hear ’em, Abigail?” +</p> + +<p> +“Right outside. Open the window and look out, and you may see +’em.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tucker was not entirely willing to do this, but still he preferred it to +going down-stairs after the spoons, and accordingly he advanced, and, lifting +the window, put his head out, as described at the close of the last chapter. +</p> + +<p> +Philip and Frank were just ready to go when they heard the window rising, and +naturally looked up in some trepidation. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s old Tucker!” said Frank, in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +Philip looked up, and saw that his friend was right. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tucker had not yet discovered them, but the whisper caught his ear, and +looking down he caught sight of the two boys. +</p> + +<p> +In his alarm, and the obscurity of the night, he did not make out that they +were boys and not men, and was about to withdraw his head in alarm, when a +mischievous impulse seized Frank Dunbar. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me the ball, Philip!” he said quickly. +</p> + +<p> +Philip complied with his request, not understanding his intention. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Frank belonged to a baseball club, and had a capital aim. He threw up the +ball and struck Mr. Tucker fairly in the nose. The effect upon the terrified +Joe was startling. +</p> + +<p> +Full as his mind was of burglars, he fancied that it was something a great deal +more deadly that had struck him. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Abigail! I’m shot through the brain!” he moaned in +anguish, as he poked in his head and fell back upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean, Joe?” asked his wife, in alarm, as she hastened +to her prostrate husband, whose hand was pressed convulsively upon the injured +organ, which, naturally ached badly with the force of the blow. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a dead man!” moaned Mr. Tucker; “and it’s +all your fault. You made me go to the window.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe you’re shot at all! I didn’t hear any +report,” said Mrs. Tucker. “Let me see your face.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tucker withdrew his hand mournfully. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve only been struck with a rock or something,” said she, +after a careful examination. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s bleeding!” groaned Joe, seeing a dark stain on his +night-dress. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose it is—it won’t kill you. I’ll look out +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +But she saw nothing. Philip and Frank had immediately taken to flight, and +vanished in the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve run away!” announced Mrs. Tucker. “My spoons +are safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“But my nose isn’t,” groaned Mr. Tucker. +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t die this time,” said Mrs. Tucker, not very +sympathetically. “Soak your nose in the wash-basin, and you’ll be +all right in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +The two boys were destined to have another adventure that night. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"></a> +CHAPTER XVI.<br/> +A NIGHT ADVENTURE.</h2> + +<p> +“I didn’t mean to hit him,” said Frank, as he and Philip +hurried away from the poorhouse, “I only intended to give him a +fright.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you have. I wonder whether he recognized us!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe it. He had hardly got his head out of the window +before I let drive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he won’t imagine I have escaped.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are your plans, Phil? Suppose they try to take you back to the +poorhouse?” +</p> + +<p> +“They won’t get the chance. Before five o’clock to-morrow +morning I shall leave Norton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave town?” exclaimed Frank, in surprise. “And so +soon?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. There is nothing for me to do here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father would like to have you stay and assist him on the farm. He said +so to me. He wouldn’t be able to pay much, but I think we would have a +good time together.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip pressed his friend’s hand warmly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know we should, Frank,” he said, “but if I remained here, +it would only remind me of my poor father. I would rather go out into the world +and try my fortune.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it risky, Phil?” objected Frank doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it is; but I am willing to work, and I don’t expect +much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose you fall sick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, if I can, I will come back to you and your good father and mother, +and stay till I am well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Promise me that, Phil?” +</p> + +<p> +“I promise.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I could go with you, Phil,” said Frank, with a boyish +impulse. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it wouldn’t be wise for you. You have a good home, and you +will be better off there than among strangers.” +</p> + +<p> +“It might be your home, too, Phil.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you; but I shall be better away from Norton for a time.” +</p> + +<p> +A minute later, Frank said suddenly: +</p> + +<p> +“There’s Squire Pope coming. He will see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care. He won’t take me back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Get behind the stone wall, and I will wait and interview him.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip immediately followed the advice of his friend. He was curious to hear +what the squire would say. +</p> + +<p> +Squire Pope’s eyesight was not good, and it was only when he came near +that he recognized Frank Dunbar. He stopped short, for there was a subject on +which he wished to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Frank Dunbar!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you wish to speak to me, sir?” inquired Frank coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Where have you been?” +</p> + +<p> +“Out walking,” answered Frank shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been to the poorhouse?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see Philip?” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw him looking out of a third-story window.” +</p> + +<p> +Squire Pope chuckled, if, indeed, such a dignified man can be said to chuckle. +</p> + +<p> +“What did he say?” he condescended to inquire. +</p> + +<p> +“That he wouldn’t stay.” +</p> + +<p> +“He will have to,” responded Squire Pope complacently. “Mr. +Tucker will see to that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Probably Mr. Tucker will wake up some fine morning and find Phil’s +room empty,” said Frank quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll take the risk of it,” returned the squire serenely. +“But there’s a matter I want to speak to you about. You’ve +got Philip’s fiddle in your possession.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose I have.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you to bring it round to my house in the morning, and I’ll +give you something for your trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must excuse me, Squire Pope. If it were your property, I would bring +it to you and charge nothing for my trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young man,” said the squire sternly. “I am Philip’s +legal guardian, and I have a right to receive his violin. You will get into +trouble if you resist my authority.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you will give me Philip’s order for it, you shall have it, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Frank Dunbar, you are trifling with me. Philip is now a pauper, and has +no right to hold property of any kind. He cannot give a legal order.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are guardian to a pauper?” +</p> + +<p> +“In my capacity of overseer of the poor.” +</p> + +<p> +“In my capacity as Philip’s friend, I refuse to consider you his +guardian. You may call him a pauper, but that doesn’t make him +one.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is an inmate of the Norton Poorhouse.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to be disrespectful, Squire Pope,” he said; +“but I can’t help telling you that you undertook a bigger job than +you thought for, when you made up your mind to make a pauper of Philip +Gray.” +</p> + +<p> +Squire Pope was indignant at the coolness of Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall come to your house to-morrow morning,” he said, “and +convince you to the contrary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank Dunbar bowed, and the squire went his way. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a very impudent boy!” he soliloquized. “Just +like the Gray boy. It wouldn’t do him any harm to put him under Joe +Tucker’s care, too.” +</p> + +<p> +After the squire had passed on, Philip came out from behind the stone wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you hear what passed between your guardian and myself?” asked +Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I heard every word.” +</p> + +<p> +“He little thought that the bird had flown, Phil.” +</p> + +<p> +“He will make all the trouble he can. That is one more reason why I think +it best to leave town.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t let Squire Pope drive you out of town.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would stay and face the music if it suited me, but I want to go +away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we cut across this field. It will be a little nearer.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pathway through a pasture-lot, comprising some ten acres, poor +land, covered with puny bushes, and a few gnarled trees, producing +cider-apples. It belonged to an old bachelor farmer, who lived in solitary +fashion, doing his own cooking, and in general taking care of himself. He was +reputed to have money concealed about his premises, which was quite probable, +as he spent little, and was known to have received, four years before, a +considerable legacy from the estate of a brother who had died, a successful +merchant in the city of New York. +</p> + +<p> +The boys had to pass by the small and weather-stained house where he lived, as +the path ran very near it. +</p> + +<p> +When within a few rods of the house, the boys were startled by a sharp cry of +terror, which appeared to proceed from inside the house. +</p> + +<p> +Both simultaneously stood still. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that!” exclaimed both in concert. +</p> + +<p> +“Somebody must be trying to rob Mr. Lovett,” suggested Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t we do something!” said Phil quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“We can try.” +</p> + +<p> +There were two stout sticks or clubs lying on the ground at their feet. They +stooped, picked them up, and ran to the house. A glance showed that one of the +windows on the north side had been raised. +</p> + +<p> +The window sill was low. Pausing a moment before springing over it into the +room, they looked in and this was what they saw: +</p> + +<p> +The farmer lay half-prostrate on the floor, half supporting himself by a chair, +which he had mechanically grasped as he was forced downward. Over him stood a +ruffianly looking tramp, whom Phil remembered to have seen about the streets +during the day, with a stick uplifted. He had not heard the approach of the +boys. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me two hundred dollars, and I’ll go,” he said to the +man at his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot do it. I haven’t got as much here.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a lie!” said the other coarsely. “I heard all +about you to-day. You’re a miser, and you’ve got no end of money +stowed away here. Get it for me, quick, or I’ll dash your brains +out.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then the prostrate farmer saw what the tramp could not see, his back being +turned to the window, the faces of the two boys looking through the window. +Fresh courage came to him. Single-handed, and taken at advantage, he was no +match for the ruffian who had entered his house; but with these two young +auxiliaries he felt that all was not lost. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"></a> +CHAPTER XVII.<br/> +A REFORMED BURGLAR.</h2> + +<p> +“What do you say!” demanded the tramp impatiently. “Speak +quick! I can’t stay here all night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me up, and I’ll see if I can find the money for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I’d bring you to terms,” said the tramp, laughing +grimly. +</p> + +<p> +He allowed his victim to rise, as he certainly would not have done if he had +looked behind him and seen the two boys at the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Now’s our time,” answered Philip. +</p> + +<p> +He gave a light spring into the room, followed by Frank. +</p> + +<p> +Of course, the tramp heard them, and turned in sudden alarm. As he turned, the +farmer snatched the club from his hand, and he found himself unexpectedly +unarmed and confronted by three enemies. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my turn now,” said Lovett. “Do you +surrender?” +</p> + +<p> +The tramp saw that the game was up and made a dash for the open window, but +Philip skillfully inserted a stick between his legs, and tripped him up, and, +with the help of Mr. Lovett, held him, struggling desperately, till Frank +fetched a rope, with which he was securely bound. +</p> + +<p> +“Confound you!” he said, scowling at the two boys. “But for +you I would have succeeded and got away with my booty.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true!” said the farmer. “I owe my escape from +robbery, and, perhaps, bodily injury, to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad we were at hand,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“And now, my friend,” said the farmer, “I may as well say +that you were quite mistaken in supposing I kept a large amount of money in +this lonely house. I should be a fool to do it, and I am not such a fool as +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you keep your money, then?” growled the tramp. +</p> + +<p> +“In different savings-banks. I am ready to tell you, for it will do you +no good.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I’d known it sooner. I came here on a fool’s +errand.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you have found it out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, what are you going to do with me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Keep you here till I can deliver you into the hands of the law.” +</p> + +<p> +“That won’t do you any good.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will give you a home, where you cannot prey on the community.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mean to do so any more. I’m going to turn over a new +leaf and become an honest man—that is, if you’ll let me go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your conversion is rather sudden. I haven’t any faith in +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to me,” said the man, “and then decide. Do you think +I am a confirmed lawbreaker?” +</p> + +<p> +“You look like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do; but I am not. Never in my life have I been confined in any +prison or penitentiary. I have never been arrested on any charge. I see you +don’t believe me. Let me tell you how I came to be what I am: Two years +since I was a mechanic, tolerably well-to-do, owning a house with a small +mortgage upon it. It was burned to the ground one night. I built another, but +failed to insure it. Six months since, that, too, burned down, and left me +penniless and in debt. Under this last blow I lost all courage. I left the town +where I had long lived, and began a wandering life. In other words, I became a +tramp. Steadily I lost my self-respect till I was content to live on such help +as the charitable chose to bestow on me. It was not until to-day that I formed +the plan of stealing. I heard in the village that you kept a large sum of money +in your house, and an evil temptation assailed me. I had become tired of +wandering, and determined to raise a sum which would enable me to live at ease +for a time, I should have succeeded but for these two boys.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you are sorry you did not succeed?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was, five minutes since, but I feel differently now. I have been saved +from crime. Now, I have told you my story. Do with me as you will.” +</p> + +<p> +The man’s appearance was rough, but there was something in his tone which +led Mr. Lovett to think that he was speaking the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“Boys,” he said, “you have heard what this man says. What do +you think of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe him!” said Philip promptly. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, boy,” said the tramp. “I am glad some one has +confidence in me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you, too,” said Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“I have not deceived you. Your words have done me more good than you +think. It is my first attempt to steal, and it shall be my last.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you want to become an honest man, God forbid that I should do aught +to prevent you!” said the farmer. “I may be acting unwisely, but I +mean to cut this rope and let you go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you really do this?” said the tramp, his face lighting up +with mingled joy and surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“I will.” +</p> + +<p> +He knelt on the floor, and drawing from his pocket a large jack-knife, cut the +rope. +</p> + +<p> +The tramp sprang to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” he said, in a husky voice. “I believe you are a +good man. There are not many who would treat me as generously, considering what +I tried to do just now. You sha’n’t repent it. Will you give me +your hand!” +</p> + +<p> +“Gladly,” said the farmer; and he placed his hand in that of the +visitor, lately so unwelcome. “I wish you better luck.” +</p> + +<p> +“Boys, will you give me your hands, too?” asked tke tramp, turning +to Philip and Frank. +</p> + +<p> +Tke boys readily complied with his request, and repeated the good wishes of the +farmer. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger was about to leave the house, when Lovett said: +</p> + +<p> +“Stay, my friend, I wish to ask you a question.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a cent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then take this,” said the farmer, drawing from his vest pocket a +five-dollar bill. “I lend it to you. Some time you will be able to repay +it, if you keep to your resolution of leading an honest life. When that time +comes, lend it to some man who needs it as you do now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir. I will take it, for it will help me greatly at this +time. Good-by! If you ever see me again, you will see a different man.” +</p> + +<p> +He leaped through the window and was gone. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know if I have done a wise thing, but I will take the +risk,” said the farmer. “And now, boys, I want to make you some +return for your assistance to-night.” Both Frank and Philip earnestly +protested that they would receive nothing in the conversation that ensued. +Philip made known his intention to leave Norton the next morning. +</p> + +<p> +“What are your plans? Where do you mean to go?” asked the farmer. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, sir. I shall make up my mind as I go along. I think +I can make my living somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait here five minutes,” said Lovett, and he went into an +adjoining room. +</p> + +<p> +Within the time mentioned, he returned, holding in his hand a sealed letter. +</p> + +<p> +“Philip,” he said, “put this envelope in your pocket, and +don’t open it till you are fifty miles from here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, sir,” answered Philip, rather puzzled, but not so much +surprised as he might have been if he had not known the farmer’s +reputation for eccentricity. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it contains some good advice,” he thought. “Well, +good advice is what I need.” +</p> + +<p> +The two boys went home immediately upon leaving the farmhouse. Though so much +had happened, it was not late, being not quite half-past nine. +</p> + +<p> +Philip received a cordial welcome from Mr. and Mrs. Dunbar, who, however, +hardly expected to see him so soon. “Are you willing to receive a pauper +beneath your roof?” asked Philip, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“That you will never be while you have health and strength, I’ll be +bound,” said Mr. Dunbar. “I like your pride and independence, +Philip.” +</p> + +<p> +They tried to induce Philip to give up his resolution to leave Norton the next +morning, but did not succeed. +</p> + +<p> +“I will come back some time,” he said. “Now I feel better to +go.” +</p> + +<p> +At five o’clock the next morning, with a small bundle swung over his +shoulder, attached to a stick, Philip Gray, carrying his violin, left the +village, which, for some years, had been his home. Frank accompanied him for +the first mile of his journey. Then the two friends shook hands and +parted—not without sorrow, for who could tell when they would meet again? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"></a> +CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> +A PROFESSIONAL ENGAGEMENT.</h2> + +<p> +A depressing feeling of loneliness came to Phil after he had parted with Frank. +He was going out into the world with no one to lean upon, and no one to +sympathize with him or lend him a helping hand. No wonder he felt friendless +and alone. But this mood did not last long. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall find friends if I deserve them,” he reflected, “and +I don’t mean to do anything dishonorable or wrong. I am willing to work, +and I believe I can make a living.” +</p> + +<p> +Leaving him to proceed, we go back to the poor-house, where his absence was not +noticed till morning. +</p> + +<p> +Joe Tucker, in spite of the blow which his nasal organ had received, slept +pretty comfortably, and was awakened at an early hour by his vigilant spouse. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better go up and wake that boy and set him to work, Mr. +Tucker,” she said. “There are plenty of chores for him to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right, Abigail,” said Mr. Tucker, with approval. He +reflected that he could assign to Philip some of the work which generally fell +to himself, and the reflection was an agreeable one. He had tried to get work +out of Zeke, but he generally found that it was harder to keep him at work than +it was to do the job himself. +</p> + +<p> +After he had made his toilet—not a very elaborate one—Mr. Tucker +went up-stairs to arouse his young prisoner. He found the key in the outside of +the door. Everything seemed right. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder how he feels this morning?” chuckled Mr. Tucker. +“Wonder whether he’s tamed down a little?” +</p> + +<p> +He turned the key in the lock and threw open the door. He glanced at the bed, +started in amazement to find that it had not been slept in, and then his wonder +ceased, for the telltale rope explained how the boy had escaped. +</p> + +<p> +He ran down-stairs in anger and excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with you, Joe Tucker?” demanded his wife. +“Are you drunk or crazy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough to make me both, wife,” he answered. “The boy’s +gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Gone!” exclaimed Mrs. Tucker, stopping short, with a saucepan in +her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Gone!” ejaculated Zeke, his mouth wide open. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe it,” said Mrs. Tucker positively. “He +couldn’t go. He’d have to jump out of the third-story +window.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure enough!” said Zeke. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help it—he’s gone,” declared Mr. Tucker. +“He tied a clothesline to the bedstead and let himself down from the +window. Now, I want to know who left a clothesline in the room?” +</p> + +<p> +“There wasn’t any,” said Mrs. Tucker. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe he had one in his pocket,” suggested Zeke. +</p> + +<p> +But this suggestion was not considered worthy of notice by his parents. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I know who hit me in the nose!” exclaimed Mr. Tucker, light +flashing upon him. “There was two of ’em—the ones I took for +burglars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then the other one must have been Frank Dunbar,” said Mrs. Tucker. +</p> + +<p> +“Zeke,” said his father, “go right off and tell Squire Pope +that Philip Gray has escaped. Ask him if I can’t have him arrested for +assault and battery. It’s likely he’s at Frank Dunbar’s now. +We’ll have him back before the day is out, and then I’ll see he +don’t get out!” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, dad! As soon as I’ve had breakfast I’ll +go.” +</p> + +<p> +The result of Zeke’s message was that Squire Pope hurried over to the +poorhouse and held a conference with Mr. and Mrs. Tucker. +</p> + +<p> +The next step was that he and Joe rode over to Mr. Dunbar’s, to demand +the return of the fugitive. +</p> + +<p> +They found Frank splitting wood in the yard. To him they made known their +errand, requesting him to call Philip out. +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t here,” answered Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t here? I don’t believe it!” said the squire +hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry you doubt my word, Squire Pope, but it’s just as I +say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he, then?” demanded the squire suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“He has left town.” +</p> + +<p> +“Left town?” repeated the squire and Joe Tucker, in dismay. +“Where is he gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s probably ten miles away by this time,” answered Frank, +enjoying their perplexity. “I guess you’d better wait till he comes +back.” +</p> + +<p> +Joe and the squire conferred together, but no satisfactory result was arrived +at, except it wouldn’t pay to pursue Philip, for two reasons—one, +because they were quite uncertain in what direction he had gone; another, +because, even if overtaken, they would have no authority to apprehend him, +since he had been guilty of no crime. +</p> + +<p> +Finally a bright idea came to the squire. +</p> + +<p> +“Bring me out his fiddle,” he said to Frank. “I’m his +guardian, and I will take care of it for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He carried it away with him,” said Frank. The squire’s lower +jaw fell. He was defeated at all points. “I guess we can’t do +nothing, under the circumstances, squire,” said Joe Tucker, scratching +his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have to reflect upon it,” said Squire Pope, in a +crestfallen tone. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s as good as a circus,” thought Frank, as his roguish +glance followed the two baffled conspirators as they rode out of the yard. +“It’s a pity Phil was not here to enjoy it.” +</p> + +<p> +At the end of the second day, Philip was some forty miles distant from Norton. +He had not walked all the way, but had got a lift for a few miles from a +tin-peddler, with whom he had a social chat. +</p> + +<p> +It cannot be said that he was depressed, or that he regretted having left +Norton, but he certainly did feel uncomfortable, and his discomfort sprang from +a very homely cause. +</p> + +<p> +To tell the plain truth, he was hungry. He had not had anything to eat for six +hours except an apple, which he had picked up by the roadside, and during those +six hours he had walked not far from fifteen miles. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe I never was so hungry before,” thought Philip. +“The question is, where is my supper to come from?” +</p> + +<p> +Although he knew pretty well the state of his finances, he began to search his +pockets to see if he could not somewhere find a stray dime, or, better still, a +quarter, with which to purchase the meal of which he stood so much in need. But +his search was unproductive, or, rather, it only resulted in the discovery of a +battered cent. +</p> + +<p> +“So that penny constitutes my whole fortune,” thought Philip. +</p> + +<p> +There were two houses in sight, one on each side of the road. +</p> + +<p> +Probably they would have given Philip a supper at either, but our hero’s +honest pride revolted at the idea of begging for a meal, much as he stood in +need of it. He might as well be a pauper, as he justly reflected. So he pushed +on. +</p> + +<p> +Evidently he was drawing near a village, for houses began to appear at nearer +intervals. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, my boy! Where are you traveling!” asked a hearty voice. +</p> + +<p> +Philip turned round, and his glance rested on a stout young farmer, whose face, +though very much sunburned, was pleasant and good-natured. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” answered Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t know?” was repeated in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“I am in search of work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s it! Are you a musician?” asked the young man, +looking at the violin. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; a little of one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you looking for a job at fiddling?” asked the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, if I can find one,” answered Philip, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you play dancing-music?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I guess I can get you a job for this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you could,” said Philip hopefully, catching at a way out of +his troubles. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, there’s to be a little dance in School-house Hall +to-night,” said the farmer; “or there was to be one, but the +fiddler’s took sick, and we was afraid we’d have to give it up. +Now, if you’ll take his place, we can have it, after all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll do it,” said Philip promptly. +</p> + +<p> +“What’ll you charge?” +</p> + +<p> +“How much was the other one going to charge?” +</p> + +<p> +“Five dollars. You see, he would have to come six miles.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll come for three dollars and my supper and lodging,” said +Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“All right! You shall have supper and lodging at our house. There it is, +down that lane. Come right along, for supper must be on the table. After supper +I’ll go and tell the committee I’ve engaged you.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip’s spirits rose. Help had come from an unexpected quarter. He felt +that a new career was opening before him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"></a> +CHAPTER XIX.<br/> +NEW ACQUAINTANCES.</h2> + +<p> +On his way to the farmhouse, Philip ascertained that his companion’s name +was Abner Webb, and that he and his brother Jonas carried on a farm of about a +hundred acres. Abner appeared to be about twenty-five years old. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem pretty young to be a fiddler,” said the young man, +surveying Philip with a glance of curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“I am almost sixteen.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am twenty-five, and I can’t play at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t all in the age,” returned our hero. “Did you +ever try to learn?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I took one or two lessons, but I had to give it up for a bad job. I +couldn’t get into it somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t try very long,” said Philip, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon I’d never do much at it. How long have you been a +fiddler?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been playing three or four years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sho! You don’t say so! Do you like it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m glad you happened along. It would have been a pity to +have our dance spoiled.” +</p> + +<p> +By this time they had reached the farmhouse, and Abner went in, followed by our +hero. +</p> + +<p> +A young woman, his brother’s wife, looked at Philip in some surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, I’ve got a fiddler, after all,” said Abner +gleefully. “We won’t have to put off the dance.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, his brother Jonas came into the room, and the explanation was +repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s good,” said Jonas heartily. “You’d better +go down to the store after supper, Abner, and tell the boys, for they’ve +just heard that Paul Beck can’t come.” +</p> + +<p> +“You just save me some supper, and I’ll go now. The boy’ll +stay with us to-night. That’s the bargain I made with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s heartily welcome,” said Jonas Webb, a pleasant-faced +man, with sandy complexion, who was probably from two to three years older than +his brother. “You’ve happened along just at the right time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad of it,” said Philip; and there is no doubt he was +sincere, for we know how much he stood in need of employment, though he +naturally did not care to let his new friends know of his destitution. +</p> + +<p> +“My brother didn’t tell me your name,” said Jonas. +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Philip Gray,” answered our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you go round playing for dances?” inquired Jonas. +</p> + +<p> +“I have only just begun.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip didn’t think it necessary to say that the idea of making money in +this way had never occurred to him till this very day. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit right up to supper, Jonas, and you, too, Mr. Gray,” said Mrs. +Webb. +</p> + +<p> +Philip was by no means loath, for the dishes which he saw on the table had had +the effect of stimulating his appetite, already sharpened by his long walk and +long fast. +</p> + +<p> +Philip, as the guest, was first helped to a bountiful supply of cold meat, a +hot biscuit, and some golden butter, not to mention two kinds of preserves, for +the Webbs always lived well. He was not slow in doing justice to the good +supper spread before him. He was almost afraid to eat as much as he wanted, +lest his appetite should attract attention, and, therefore, was pleased to see +that Jonas quite kept pace with him. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, when he had already eaten as much as he dared, Mrs. Webb said, +hospitably: +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid, Mr. Gray, you won’t make out a supper.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think there is any danger of that,” said Philip, +smiling. “I have enjoyed my supper very much.” +</p> + +<p> +The young woman looked gratified by this tribute to her cooking, and just then +Abner came in. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see the boys, Abner?” asked Jonas. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I saw them all. They were awfully glad we could have the dance, +after all. You see, we’ve been lookin’ forward to it, and +didn’t like to be disappointed. And now I must hurry down my supper, for +I’ve got to slick up and go for Mary Ann Temple. Are you goin’, +Lucy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course she is,” answered Jonas. “I don’t have so +far to go for my girl as you do,” he added slyly. +</p> + +<p> +“You used to go farther once, Jonas—six miles, where I have only to +go two.” +</p> + +<p> +When supper was over, Philip inquired: +</p> + +<p> +“How early will the dance commence?” +</p> + +<p> +“About eight. We keep early hours in the country, and we like to get our +money’s worth.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you have no objection, I will go out to the barn and try my violin a +little to see if it is in good tune.” +</p> + +<p> +“Try it in the next room,” said the farmer’s wife. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, do!” said her husband. “We’d like to hear +you.” +</p> + +<p> +He was a little afraid, judging from Philip’s youth, that he could not +play very well, and this would give him an opportunity of deciding how +competent the boy was to take the place of Paul Beck, of Pomfret, who had quite +a reputation in the towns around. +</p> + +<p> +Philip went into the next room and began to prepare himself for his +evening’s task. Though his training had by no means been confined to +dancing-tunes, he was quite proficient in that department, having more than +once been called upon in Norton to officiate in a similar capacity. +</p> + +<p> +When Jonas had listened for five minutes to Philip, he turned to Abner with a +satisfied look. +</p> + +<p> +“He understands his business,” he said, nodding with emphasis. +“He ain’t no new beginner.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think he beats Paul Beck,” said Abner, delighted to find his +choice approved. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know but he does. I feel as if I wanted to start off +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see how he does it,” said Abner, with a puzzled +look. “I never could do anything at it, though I’m almost twice as +old.” +</p> + +<p> +He passed into the room where Philip was practising. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a tip-top player,” said he, to Philip admiringly. +“Why, you beat Paul Beck.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he the one you expected to have?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Paul’s got a big name for fiddlin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you like my playing,” said Philip, who was naturally +pleased to find that he was likely to give satisfaction in his new business. +</p> + +<p> +“The boys will be pleased, I can tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will do all I can to give them satisfaction,” said Philip +modestly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you will! there’s no doubt about that. How much did you pay +for your fiddle?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe it cost twenty-five dollars. My father gave it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sho! I didn’t think fiddles cost so much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Some cost a great deal more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Seems a good deal to lay out, but you’ll get your money back, if +you can get enough to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you must excuse me now. I’ve got to slick up, and go after +Mary Ann Temple. She’d have been awfully disappointed if we’d had +to give it up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she fond of dancing?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better believe she is. Why, that girl could dance for four +hours stiddy—without wiltin’!” +</p> + +<p> +“How late do you keep it up?” +</p> + +<p> +“Till eleven or twelve. You won’t be sleepy, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I am, I will get up later to-morrow morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right. You can get up jest as late as you like. Lucy +will save you some breakfast. We don’t allow no one to go hungry here. +But I must be off. You will go to the hall along with Jonas and Lucy. +They’ll introduce you round and see that you are taken care of.” +Philip congratulated himself on being so well provided for, at least for one +night. The future was uncertain, but with the money which he was to receive for +his services, he would be able to get along for two or three days, and he +might, perhaps, if successful, obtain another similar engagement. +</p> + +<p> +He had a new reason for being thankful that Squire Pope had not succeeded in +depriving him of his violin, for this was likely to prove a breadwinner. +</p> + +<p> +He continued to practice till it was time to go over to the hall. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"></a> +CHAPTER XX.<br/> +A LIVELY EVENING.</h2> + +<p> +Schoolhouse Hall, as may be inferred, was a large hall, occupying the second +story of the Center Schoolhouse, and though not originally intended for +dancing-parties, answered very well for that purpose. +</p> + +<p> +The hall was tolerably well filled when Philip entered in company with Jonas +Webb and his wife. +</p> + +<p> +Philip had effaced, as well as he could, the stains of travel, had arrayed +himself in a clean shirt and collar, brushed his hair neatly, and, being +naturally a very good-looking boy, appeared to very good advantage, though he +certainly did look young. +</p> + +<p> +As he walked through the hall, with his violin under his arm, he attracted the +attention of all, it having been already made known that in place of the +veteran Paul Beck—a man of fifty or more—an unknown boy would +furnish the music for the evening. +</p> + +<p> +Philip could not avoid hearing some of the remarks which his appearance +excited. “What! that little runt play the fiddle?” said one +countrified young man, in a short-waisted blue coat, and tow-colored hair, +plastered down on either side of his head with tallow. “I don’t +believe he can play any more than I can.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope he can,” retained his partner—a plump, red-cheeked, +young farmer’s daughter. “He’s very good-looking, +anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t anything to brag of,” said her partner jealously. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, how can you say so, Jedidiah? See what beautiful black hair and eyes +he’s got, and such a lovely color on his cheeks!” +</p> + +<p> +Now, Jedidiah, in appearance, was just the reverse of Philip. His hair, as +already stated, was tow-color, his face was tanned, and the color rather +resembled brick-dust than the deep red of our hero’s cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +His partner was a rustic flirt, and he was disposed to be jealous, not being +certain how far she favored him. He, therefore, took offense at his +partner’s admiration of the young fiddler. +</p> + +<p> +“He looks very common to me,” said Jedidiah pettishly. +“You’ve got a strange taste, Maria.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I have, and perhaps I haven’t,” retorted Maria, +tossing her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you’re in love with him?” continued Jedidiah, in a +tone meant to be sarcastic. +</p> + +<p> +“I should be if he was a little older,” said the young lady, rather +enjoying her lover’s displeasure. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe he can play at all,” growled Jedidiah. +“He’s fooled Abner Webb, like as not. It’s a pity we +couldn’t have Paul Beck.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely he can play better than Paul Beck,” said +Maria—not because she thought so, but because she knew it would tease her +partner. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be a fool, Maria,” said Jedidiah, scarcely conscious +of the impoliteness of his speech. +</p> + +<p> +The young lady, however, resented it at once. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure you are very polite, Mr. Jedidiah Burbank—so polite that +I think you had better find another partner!” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, Maria,” said Jedidiah hastily, alarmed at the prospect +of being left without a partner. “Of course, I didn’t mean +anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you didn’t mean it, what made you say it?” retorted +Maria, tossing her head. “I ain’t used to being called a fool. I +never knew a gentleman to make such a remark to a lady. I think you’d +better find some other partner.” +</p> + +<p> +“I take it all back,” said Jedidiah, in alarm. “I was only in +fun.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like that kind of fun,” said Maria, in a tone of +dignified coldness. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I won’t joke you again. I guess he can play well enough, if +Abner says so.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Maria Snodgrass allowed herself to be propitiated, more especially as she +herself might have been left without a partner, had she adhered to her +determination and sent Jedidiah adrift. +</p> + +<p> +He took his place in a quadrille, not exactly wishing Philip to fail, but +rather hoping that he would prove a poor performer, in order that he might have +a little triumph over Maria, who had the bad taste to prefer the young +musician’s appearance to his. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Philip, following Jonas Webb across the room, had been introduced to +Frank Ingalls, who acted as manager. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to see you, Mr. Gray,” said Ingalls. “I hope we +sha’n’t make you work too hard. We are very fond of dancing +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t get tired very easily,” answered Philip. “I +hope you will be satisfied with my playing.” +</p> + +<p> +“No fear of that, Mr. Ingalls, I’ve heerd him play at home, and I +tell you he can do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Mr. Webb,” said Philip, bowing his acknowledgment of +the compliment. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess we may as well commence, Mr. Gray,” said Mr. Ingalls. +“The boys seem to be getting impatient. Here’s the order of dances +for the evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Mr. Ingalls.” +</p> + +<p> +The manager raised his voice, and said, “Gentlemen and ladies, you +already know that Beck is sick, and cannot be with us this evening, as he +engaged to do. In his place we have engaged a young musician, who has already +gained a great reputation in his profession—” +</p> + +<p> +Philip was rather surprised to hear this, but it was not for him to gainsay it. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me introduce to you Mr. Philip Gray.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip bowed and smiled, and, putting his violin in position, immediately +commenced a lively air. +</p> + +<p> +In less than five minutes the manager felt perfectly at ease concerning the +young musician. It was clear that Philip understood his business. Philip +himself entered into the spirit of his performance. His cheek flushed, his eyes +sparkled, and he almost outdid himself. +</p> + +<p> +When the first dance was concluded, there was a murmur of approval throughout +the ballroom. The dancers were both surprised and pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a smart boy!” said more than one. “He plays as +well as Paul Beck, and Paul’s been play-in’ for more’n twenty +years.” +</p> + +<p> +“As well? I never heard Paul Beck play as well as that,” said +another. +</p> + +<p> +Among those who were most pleased was Miss Maria Snodgrass. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think now, Mr. Burbank?” she said, addressing her +partner. “Do you think the boy can play now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he can play most as well as Paul Beck,” admitted Jedidiah. +</p> + +<p> +“Most as well? Paul Beck can’t begin to play as well as him,” +returned Maria, who was not educated, and occasionally made slips in grammar. +</p> + +<p> +“Just as you say, Maria,” answered Jedidiah, submissively; +“only don’t call me Mr. Burbank.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why? Ain’t that your name?” asked the young lady demurely. +</p> + +<p> +“Not to you, Maria.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I won’t, if you’ll take me up and introduce me to Mr. +Gray.” +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” asked Jedidiah jealously. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I want to know him.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burbank was obliged to obey the request of his partner. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Gray, you play just lovely!” said Miss Snodgrass +rapturously. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you for the compliment,” said Philip, with a low bow. +</p> + +<p> +“I like your playing ever so much better than Paul Beck’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are too kind,” said Philip, with another bow. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t he just lovely, Jedidiah!” said Maria, as she walked +away with her lover. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe he is—I ain’t a judge!” said Mr. Burbank, not +very enthusiastically. +</p> + +<p> +So the evening passed. Philip continued to win the favorable opinion of the +merry party by his animated style of playing. +</p> + +<p> +When at half-past eleven the last dance was announced, he was glad, for after +his long walk, and the efforts of the evening, he felt tired. +</p> + +<p> +At the conclusion, Mr. Ingalls handed him three dollars, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s your money, Mr. Gray, and we are much obliged to you +besides.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you!” said our hero, carelessly slipping the money into his +vest pocket. +</p> + +<p> +The manager little imagined that it constituted his entire capital. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope we may have you here again some time, Mr. Gray,” continued +the manager. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps so,” said Philip; “but I am not sure when I shall +come this way again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, Mr. Gray,” said Miss Snodgrass effusively. “I +should be glad to have you call at our house.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip bowed his thanks. He did not notice the dark cloud on the brow of the +young lady’s escort. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"></a> +CHAPTER XXI.<br/> +FORTUNE SMILES AGAIN.</h2> + +<p> +Notwithstanding his exertions during the day and evening, Philip rose the next +day at his usual hour, and was in time for the family breakfast, at seven +o’clock. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you feel tired, Mr. Gray?” asked Mrs. Webb. +</p> + +<p> +“No, thank you. I slept well, and feel quite refreshed.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s used to it, Lucy,” remarked her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“They look upon me as a professional player,” thought Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you and I ought to be more tired, for we were dancing all the +evening,” continued the farmer. +</p> + +<p> +When they rose from the table, Philip looked for his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not going to leave us so soon, Mr. Gray?” said Mrs. +Webb hospitably. “We shall be glad to have you stay with us a day or two, +if you can content yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right, Lucy. I’m glad you thought to ask him,” +said her husband. +</p> + +<p> +Philip was tempted to accept this kind invitation. He would have free board, +and be at no expense, instead of spending the small sum he had earned the +evening previous; but he reflected that he would be no nearer solving the +problem of how he was to maintain himself, and while this was in uncertainty, +he was naturally anxious. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very much obliged to you both,” he said. “If I come +this way again, I shall be glad to call upon you, but now I think I must be +pushing on.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll always be welcome, Mr. Gray,” said Mrs. Webb. +</p> + +<p> +Philip thanked her, and soon after set out on his way. +</p> + +<p> +He was more cheerful and hopeful than the day before, for then he was well nigh +penniless, and now he had three dollars in his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +Three dollars was not a very large sum, to be sure, but to one who had been so +near destitution as Philip it seemed very important. +</p> + +<p> +Besides, he had discovered in his violin a source of income, whereas, hitherto, +he had looked upon it merely as a source of amusement. This made him feel more +independent and self-reliant. +</p> + +<p> +He had walked perhaps two miles, when he heard the rattle of wheels behind him. +He did not turn his head, for there was nothing strange in this sound upon a +frequented road. He did turn his head, however, when he heard a strong voice +calling “Hello!” +</p> + +<p> +Turning, he saw that a young man who was driving had slackened the speed of his +horse, and was looking toward him. +</p> + +<p> +Philip halted, and regarded the driver inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re the young chap that played for a dance last night, +ain’t you!” said the newcomer. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’re the one I want to see—jump in, and we’ll +talk as we are going along.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip had no objection to a ride, and he accepted the invitation with +alacrity. The driver, he noticed, was a young man, of pleasant manners, though +dressed in a coarse suit. +</p> + +<p> +“I drove over to Jonas Webb’s to see you, and they told me you had +just gone,” he continued. “I thought maybe you’d get up late, +but you was up on time. Are you engaged for this evening?” +</p> + +<p> +Philip began to prick up his ears and become interested. Was it possible that +his good luck was to continue, and that he was to have an opportunity of +earning some more money through his faithful friend, the violin? He +didn’t think it well to exhibit the satisfaction he felt, and answered, +in a matter-of-fact tone; +</p> + +<p> +“No, I have no engagement for this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad of it,” responded the young man, evidently well +pleased. “You see, we had arranged to have a dance over to our place, but +Mr. Beck, being sick, we thought we’d have to give it up. One of my +neighbors was over last evening and heard you play, and he thought maybe we +could secure you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be glad to play for you,” said Philip politely. +</p> + +<p> +“What are your terms?” asked his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Three dollars and board and lodging for the time I need to stay.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s satisfactory. I’ll engage you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it near here?” asked Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s in Conway—only four miles from here. I’ll take +you right over now, and you shall stay at my house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, I shall find that very agreeable,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Does Mr. Beck live near you?” asked our hero, a little later. +</p> + +<p> +“Bless you! he lives in our place.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose his services are in demand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he is sent for to all the towns around. Fact is, there isn’t +anybody but he that can play to suit; but I expect, from what I’ve heard, +that you can come up to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t expect to do that,” said Philip modestly. +“I am very young yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Folks do say you beat Paul. It seems wonderful, too, considering how +young you are. What might be your age, now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just sixteen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sho! you don’t say so? Why, Paul Beck’s over fifty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Beck won’t think I’m interfering with him, will +he?” asked Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, he can’t. We’d a had him if he was well. We +can’t be expected to put off the party because he’s sick. That +wouldn’t be reasonable, now, would it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think not.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then Philip became sensible that a light wagon was approaching, driven by +a young lady. +</p> + +<p> +He did not, however, suppose it was any one he knew till the carriage stopped, +and he heard a voice saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Mr. Gray!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he discovered that it was the same young lady who had asked for an +introduction to him the evening previous. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Miss Snodgrass!” he said politely, remembering, +fortunately, the young lady’s name. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Maria and Philip’s drivers had also exchanged salutations, for +they were acquainted. +</p> + +<p> +“And where are you carrying Mr. Gray, Mr. Blake?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m carrying him over to our place. He’s going to play for +us this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there going to be a dance in Conway this evening?” inquired +Miss Snodgrass, with sudden interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Won’t you come over?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will, if I can get Jedidiah to bring me,” answered Maria. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess there’s no doubt about that,” answered Andrew Blake, +who knew very well Jedidiah’s devotion to the young lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know!” answered Maria coquettishly. +“Perhaps he won’t care for my company.” +</p> + +<p> +“If he doesn’t, you won’t have any trouble in finding another +beau.” +</p> + +<p> +After a little more conversation, the young lady drove away; but not without +expressing to Philip her delight at having another chance to hear his beautiful +playing. +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll be there,” said Andrew Blake, as they drove away. +“She makes Jedidiah Burbank do just as she orders him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are they engaged?” asked our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I expect so; but there may be some chance of your cutting him out, +if you try. The young lady seems to admire you.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I am only a boy of sixteen,” he said. “I am too young to +think of such things. I won’t interfere with Mr. Burbank.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jedidiah’s apt to be jealous,” said Blake, “and Maria +likes to torment him. However, she’ll end by marrying him, I +guess.” +</p> + +<p> +In half an hour or thereabouts, Andrew Blake drew up at the gate of a small but +neat house on the main street in Conway. He was a carpenter, as Philip +afterward found, and had built the house himself. He was probably of about the +same age as Jonas Webb, and like him was married to a young wife. +</p> + +<p> +During the afternoon, Philip, being left pretty much to his own devices, took a +walk in and about the village, ascending a hill at one side, which afforded him +a fine view of that and neighboring villages. +</p> + +<p> +He was pleasantly received and hospitably entertained at the house of Mr. +Blake, and about quarter of eight started out for the hall, at which he was to +play, in company with his host and hostess. +</p> + +<p> +As they approached the hall, a young man approached them with a perplexed face. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think, Andrew?” he said. “Paul Beck’s in +the hall, as mad as a hatter, and he vows he’ll play himself. He says he +was engaged, and no one shall take his place.” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew Blake looked disturbed, and Philip shared in his feeling. Was he to lose +his engagement, after all? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"></a> +CHAPTER XXII.<br/> +RIVAL MUSICIANS.</h2> + +<p> +They entered the hall, which was already well filled, for the young people of +both sexes liked to have as long a time for enjoyment as possible. +</p> + +<p> +At the head of the hall, in the center of a group, stood a tall, thin man, +dressed in solemn black, with a violin under his arm. His face, which looked +like that of a sick man, was marked by an angry expression, and this, indeed, +was his feeling. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose that’s Mr. Beck?” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it is,” answered Andrew Blake, in evident discomposure. +“What on earth brings him here from a sick-bed, I can’t understand. +I heard that he had a fever.” +</p> + +<p> +The fact was that Paul Beck was jealous of his reputation as a musician. It was +satisfactory to him to think that he was so indispensable that no one could +take his place. He had sent word to the committee that he should be unable to +play for them, supposing, of course, that they would be compelled to give up +the party. When intelligence was brought to him during the afternoon that it +would come off, and that another musician had been engaged in his place, he was +not only disturbed, but angry, though, of course, the latter feeling was wholly +unreasonable. He determined that he would be present, at any rate, no matter +how unfit his sickness rendered him for the evening’s work. He resolved +to have no rival, and to permit no one to take his place in his own town. +</p> + +<p> +It did not seem to occur to Mr. Beck that, having formally declined the +engagement on account of sickness, he had no claim whatever on the committee, +and was, in fact, an interloper. It was in vain that his sister protested +against his imprudence. (He was an old bachelor and his sister kept house for +him.) He insisted on dressing himself and making his way to the hall, where, as +was to be expected, his arrival produced considerable embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +Paul Beck stood in sullen impatience awaiting the arrival of his rival. +</p> + +<p> +It so happened that no one had thought to mention to him that it was a boy. He +was prepared to see a full-grown man. +</p> + +<p> +Philip followed Andrew Blake up to the central group. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it, I say,” Mr. Beck was inquiring, “that engaged +another musician to take my place?” +</p> + +<p> +“No one, sir,” answered Andrew Blake firmly, for Mr. Beck’s +unreasonableness provoked him. “I engaged a musician to play this +evening, but it was not in your place, for you had sent us word that you could +not appear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he, I say?” continued Paul Beck sourly. +</p> + +<p> +“Here he is,” replied Blake, drawing toward our hero, who felt that +he was placed in an awkward position. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, he’s only a baby!” said Beck, surveying our hero +contemptuously. +</p> + +<p> +Philip’s cheek flushed, and he, too, began to feel angry. +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t as old as you are, Mr. Beck,” said Andrew Blake +manfully, “but you’ll find he understands his business.” +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly didn’t expect you to get a child in my place,” +said Paul Beck scornfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose a musician may know how to play, if he isn’t +sixty-five,” said Miss Maria Snod-grass, who had listened indignantly to +Mr. Beck’s contemptuous remarks about our hero, whose cause she so +enthusiastically championed. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Mr. Beck! He was sensitive about his age, and nothing could have cut him +more cruelly than this exaggeration of it. He was really fifty-five, and looked +at least sixty, but he fondly flattered himself that he looked under fifty. +“Sixty-five!” he repeated furiously. “Who says I am +sixty-five?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you look about that age,” said Maria, with malicious +pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have to live a good many years before I am sixty,” said +Paul Beck angrily. “But that’s either here nor there. You engaged +me to play to-night, and I am ready to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew Blake felt the difficulty of his position, but he did not mean to desert +the boy-musician whom he had engaged. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Beck,” said he, “we shall be glad to have you serve us +on another occasion, but to-night Mr. Gray, here, is engaged. You gave up the +engagement of your own accord, and that ended the matter, so far as you are +concerned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you refuse to let me play?” demanded Paul Beck, his pale cheek +glowing with anger and mortification. +</p> + +<p> +“You understand why,” answered Blake. “This young man is +engaged, and we have no right to break the engagement.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip, who had felt the embarrassment of his position, had meanwhile made up +his mind what to do. The three dollars he expected to earn were important to +him, but he didn’t care to make trouble. He did not doubt that his +lodging and meals would be given him, and that would be something. Accordingly, +he spoke: +</p> + +<p> +“I have been engaged, it is true,” he said, “but if Mr. Beck +wants to play I will resign my engagement and stay and hear him.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” exclaimed several—Mr. Blake and Miss Snodgrass +being among them. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gray, you were regularly engaged,” said one of the committee. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true,” answered Philip, “and,” he +couldn’t help adding, “I should be justified in insisting upon +playing; but since Mr. Beck seems to feel so bad about it, I will give way to +him.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke manfully, and there was no sign of weakness or submission about him. +He asserted his rights, while he expressed his willingness to surrender them. +</p> + +<p> +There was a little consultation among the committee. They were all disgusted +with the conduct of Paul Beck, and were unwilling that he should triumph. At +the same time, as they might need his services at some future time, they did +not wish wholly to alienate him. +</p> + +<p> +Finally, they announced their decision through Andrew Blake. +</p> + +<p> +“We are not willing to accept Mr. Gray’s resignation wholly,” +he said, “but we propose that he and Mr. Beck shall divide the +evening’s work between them—each to receive half the usual +compensation.” +</p> + +<p> +There was considerable applause, for it seemed to be a suitable compromise, and +would enable the company to compare the merits of the rival musicians. +</p> + +<p> +“I agree,” said Philip promptly. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you say, Mr. Beck?” asked Andrew Blake. +</p> + +<p> +Now, while Paul Beck did not like to give up half the honor, he felt thoroughly +convinced that Philip was only a beginner, and that he, as an experienced +player, could easily eclipse him, and thus gain a triumph which would be very +gratifying to his pride. +</p> + +<p> +As for the compensation, to do him justice, he did not much care for that, +being a man of very good means. He played more for glory than for +pay—though he, of course, had no objection to receiving compensation. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no objections,” he said. “If you want to give the boy +a chance to practice a little, I am willing.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip understood the sneer, and he secretly determined to do his best. +</p> + +<p> +The committee was much pleased at the satisfactory conclusion of what had +threatened to be a very troublesome dispute, and it was arranged, Philip +consenting, that Mr. Beck should play first. +</p> + +<p> +The old musician played, in a confident manner, a familiar dancing-tune, +accompanying his playing with various contortions of the face and twistings of +his figure, supposed to express feeling. It was a fair performance, but +mechanical, and did not indicate anything but very ordinary talent. His time +was good, and dancers always found his playing satisfactory. +</p> + +<p> +When Paul Beck had completed his task, he looked about him complacently, as if +to say, “Let the boy beat that if he can,” and sat down. +</p> + +<p> +Philip had listened to Mr. Beck with attention. He was anxious to learn how +powerful a rival he had to compete with. What he heard did not alarm him, but +rather gave him confidence. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"></a> +CHAPTER XXIII.<br/> +AN HOUR OF TRIUMPH.</h2> + +<p> +When Paul rose and stood before this audience, violin in hand, he certainly +presented quite a strong contrast to his rival. +</p> + +<p> +Paul Beck, as we have already said, was a tall, thin, lantern-jawed man, clad +in solemn black, his face of a sickly, sallow hue. +</p> + +<p> +Philip was of fair height, for his age, with a bright, expressive face, his +hair of a chestnut shade, and looking the very picture of boyish health. His +very appearance made a pleasant impression upon those present. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a nice-looking boy,” thought more than one, “but +he looks too young to know much about the violin.” +</p> + +<p> +But when Philip began to play, there was general surprise. In a dancing-tune +there was not much chance for the exhibition of talent, but his delicate touch +and evident perfect mastery of his instrument were immediately apparent. In +comparison, the playing of Paul Beck seemed wooden and mechanical. +</p> + +<p> +There was a murmur of approbation, and when Philip had finished his first part +of the program, he was saluted by hearty applause, which he acknowledged by a +modest and graceful bow. +</p> + +<p> +Paul Beck’s face, as his young rival proceeded in his playing, was an +interesting study. He was very disagreeably surprised. He had made up his mind +that Philip could not play at all, or, at any rate, would prove to be a mere +tyro and bungler, and he could hardly believe his ears when he heard the sounds +which Philip evoked from his violin. +</p> + +<p> +In spite of his self-conceit, he secretly acknowledged that Philip even now was +his superior, and in time would leave him so far behind that there could be no +comparison between them. +</p> + +<p> +It was not a pleasant discovery for a man who had prided himself for many years +on his superiority as a musician. If it had been a man of established fame it +would have been different, but to be compelled to yield the palm to an unknown +boy, was certainly mortifying. +</p> + +<p> +When he heard the applause that followed Philip’s performance, and +remembered that none had been called forth by his own, he determined that he +would not play again that evening. He did not like to risk the comparison which +he was sure would be made between himself and Philip. So, when Andrew Blake +came up to him and asked him to play for the next dance, he shook his head. +“I don’t feel well enough,” he said “I thought I was +stronger than I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want the boy to play all the rest of the evening?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; he plays very fairly,” said Beck, in a patronizing manner, +which implied his own superiority. +</p> + +<p> +“There can be no doubt about that,” said Andrew Blake, with +emphasis, for he understood Mr. Beck’s meaning, and resented it as one of +the warmest admirers of the boy-musician whom he had engaged. +</p> + +<p> +But Paul Beck would not for the world have revealed his real opinion of +Philip’s merits. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he continued, “he plays better than I expected. I +guess you can get along with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“How shall we arrange about the compensation, Mr. Beck?” asked +Blake. “We ought in that case to give him more than half.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you can give him the whole,” answered Beck carelessly. +“If I felt well enough to play, I would do my part, but I think it will +be better for me to go home and go to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +His decision was communicated to Philip, who felt impelled by politeness to +express his regrets to Mr. Beck. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry you don’t feel able to play, Mr. Beck,” he said +politely. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s of no consequence, as they’ve got some one to take +my place,” returned Beck coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“I should be glad to hear you play again,” continued Philip. +</p> + +<p> +Paul Beck nodded slightly, but he felt too much mortified to reciprocate +Philip’s friendly advances. Half an hour later he left the hall. +</p> + +<p> +The dancers by no means regretted the change of arrangement. They evidently +preferred the young musician to his elderly rival. The only one to express +regret was Miss Maria Snodgrass. +</p> + +<p> +“I declare it’s a shame Mr. Beck has given up,” she said. +“I wanted you to dance with me, Mr. Gray. I am sure if you can dance as +well as you can play, you would get along perfectly lovely. Now you’ve +got to play, and can’t dance at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t leap-year, Maria,” said Jedidiah Burbank, in a +jealous tone. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Snodgrass turned upon him angrily: +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t put in your oar, Jedidiah Burbank!” she said. +“I guess I know what I’m about. If it was leap-year fifty times +over, I wouldn’t offer myself to you!” +</p> + +<p> +And the young lady tossed her head in a very decided manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Now don’t get mad, Maria!” implored Jedidiah, feeling that +at the prompting of jealousy; he had put his foot in it. “I didn’t +mean nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’d better say nothing next time,” retorted the young +lady. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Philip acknowledged the young lady’s politeness by a smile and +a bow, assuring her that if it had been possible, it would have given him great +pleasure to dance with her. +</p> + +<p> +“If Mr. Burbank will play for me,” he said with a glance at the +young man, “I shall be glad to dance.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Snodgrass burst out laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Jedidiah couldn’t play well enough for an old cow to dance +by,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“There ain’t any old cows here,” said Jedidiah, vexed at +being ridiculed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there are some calves, anyway,” retorted Maria, laughing +heartily. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Jedidiah! It is to be feared that he will have a hard time when he becomes +the husband of the fair Maria. She will undoubtedly be the head of the new +matrimonial firm. +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing further to mar the harmony of the evening. It had begun with +indications of a storm, but the clouds had vanished, and when Mr. Beck left the +hall, there was nothing left to disturb the enjoyment of those present. +</p> + +<p> +The favorable opinions expressed when Philip commenced playing were repeated +again and again, as the evening slipped away. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you, he’s a regular genius!” one enthusiastic admirer +said to his companion. “Paul Beck can’t hold a candle to +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so. He’s smart, and no mistake.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor Mr. Beck! It was fortunate he was unable to hear these comparisons made. +He could not brook a rival near the throne, and had gone home in low spirits, +feeling that he could never again hold his head as high as he had done. +</p> + +<p> +When the dancing was over, there was a brief conference of the committee of +management, the subject of which was soon made known. +</p> + +<p> +Andrew Blake approached Philip and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gray, some of us would like to hear you play something else, if you +are not tired—not a dancing-tune.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be very happy to comply with your request,” answered +Philip. +</p> + +<p> +He spoke sincerely, for he saw that all were pleased with him, and it is +gratifying to be appreciated. +</p> + +<p> +He paused a moment in thought, and then began to play the “Carnival of +Venice,” with variations. It had been taught him by his father, and he +had played it so often that his execution was all that could be desired. The +variations were of a showy and popular character, and very well adapted to +impress an audience like that to which he was playing. +</p> + +<p> +“Beautiful! Beautiful!” exclaimed the young ladies, while their +partners pronounced it “tip-top” and “first-rate,” by +which they probably meant very much the same thing. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Gray!” exclaimed Miss Snodgrass fervently. “You play +like a seraphim!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you!” said Philip, smiling. “I never heard a seraphim +play on the violin, but I am sure your remark is very complimentary.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you could play like that, Jedidiah,” said Maria. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll learn to play, if you want me to,” said Mr. Burbank. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you! You’re very obliging,” said Maria; “but I +won’t trouble you. You haven’t got a genius for it, like Mr. +Gray.” +</p> + +<p> +The evening was over at length, and again Philip was made the happy recipient +of three dollars. His first week had certainly been unexpectedly prosperous. +</p> + +<p> +“This is better than staying in the Norton Poorhouse!” he said to +himself. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"></a> +CHAPTER XXIV.<br/> +LORENZO RICCABOCCA.</h2> + +<p> +Philip’s reputation as a musician was materially increased by his second +night’s performance. To adopt a military term, he had crossed swords with +the veteran fiddler, Paul Beck, and, in the opinion of all who heard both, had +far surpassed him. +</p> + +<p> +This was said openly to Philip by more than one; but he was modest, and had too +much tact and good taste to openly agree with them. This modesty raised him +higher in the opinion of his admirers. +</p> + +<p> +He was invited by the Blakes to prolong his visit, but preferred to continue on +his journey—though his plans were, necessarily, not clearly defined. +</p> + +<p> +Andrew Blake carried him five miles on his way, and from that point our hero +used the means of locomotion with which nature had supplied him. +</p> + +<p> +Some six miles farther on there was a manufacturing town of considerable size, +named Wilkesville, and it occurred to him that this would be a good place at +which to pass the night. +</p> + +<p> +Something might turn up for him there. He hardly knew what, but the two +unexpected strokes of luck which he had had thus far encouraged him to think +that a third might come to him. +</p> + +<p> +Philip continued on his way—his small pack of clothing in one hand and +his violin under his arm. Being in no especial hurry—for it was only the +middle of the forenoon—he bethought himself to sit down and rest at the +first convenient and inviting place. +</p> + +<p> +He soon came to a large elm tree, which, with its spreading branches, offered a +pleasant and grateful shade. +</p> + +<p> +He threw himself down and lay back on the greensward, in pleasant +contemplation, when he heard a gentle cough—as of one who wished to +attract attention. Looking up he observed close at hand, a tall man, dressed in +black, with long hair, which fell over his shirt collar and shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +He wore a broad collar and black satin necktie, and his hair was parted in the +middle. His appearance was certainly peculiar, and excited our hero’s +curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“My young friend,” he said, “you have chosen a pleasant +resting-place beneath this umbrageous monarch of the grove.” “Yes, +sir,” answered Philip, wondering whether the stranger was a poet. +</p> + +<p> +“May I also recline beneath it?” asked the newcomer. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, sir. It is large enough to shelter us both.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite true; but I did not wish to intrude upon your meditations.” +</p> + +<p> +“My meditations are not of much account,” answered Philip, +laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“I see you are modest. Am I right in supposing that yonder case contains +a violin?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are a musician?” +</p> + +<p> +“A little of one,” replied Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“May I ask—excuse my curiosity—if you play +professionally?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps he may help me to an engagement,” thought our hero, and he +said readily, “I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” said the stranger, appearing pleased. “What style +of music do you play?” +</p> + +<p> +“For each of the last two evenings I have played for +dancing-parties.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do not confine yourself to dancing-music?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no! I prefer other kinds; but dancing-tunes seem most in demand, and +I have my living to make.” The stranger seemed still more gratified. +</p> + +<p> +“I am delighted to have met you, Mr.—— Ahem!” he +paused, and looked inquiringly at Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Gray.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gray, I believe Providence has brought us together. I see you are +surprised.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip certainly did look puzzled, as he well might. +</p> + +<p> +“I must explain myself more clearly. I am Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca, +the famous elocutionist and dramatic reader.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless you have heard of me?” said the professor inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +“I have never lived in large places,” answered Philip, in some +embarrassment, “or no doubt your name would be familiar to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure, that must make a difference. For years,” said the +professor, “I have given dramatic readings to crowded houses, and +everywhere my merits have been conceded by the educated and refined.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip could not help wondering how it happened in that case that the professor +should look so seedy. A genius appreciated so highly ought to have brought in +more gold and silver. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps Professor Riccabocca understood Philip’s expressive look, for he +went to to say: +</p> + +<p> +“The public has repaid me richly for the exercise of my talent; but, +alas, my young friend, I must confess that I have no head for business. I +invested my savings unwisely, and ascertained a month since that I had lost +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was a great pity!” said Philip sympathizingly. +</p> + +<p> +“It was, indeed! It quite unmanned me!” said the professor, wiping +away a tear. “I felt that all ambition was quite gone, and I was mad and +sick. Indeed, only a week since I rose from a sick-bed. But Lorenzo is himself +again!” he exclaimed, striking his breast energetically. “I will +not succumb to Fate. I will again court the favor of the public, and this time +I will take care of the ducats my admirers bestow upon me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think that was a good plan,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“I will begin at once. Nearby is a town devoted to the mammon of trade, +yet among its busy thousands there must be many that will appreciate the genius +of Lorenzo Riccabocca.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so,” answered Philip politely. +</p> + +<p> +He could not help thinking that the professor was rather self-conceited, and he +hardly thought it in good taste for him to refer so boastfully to his genius. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you, Mr. Gray, to assist me in my project,” continued the +professor. +</p> + +<p> +“How can I do so, sir?” inquired Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me tell you. I propose that we enter into a professional +partnership, that we give an entertainment partly musical, partly dramatic. I +will draw up a program, including some of my most humorous recitations and +impersonations, while interspersed among them will be musical selections +contributed by yourself. Do you comprehend?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Philip, nodding. +</p> + +<p> +“And what do you think of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think well of it,” replied the boy-musician. +</p> + +<p> +He did think well of it. It might not draw a large audience, this mixed +entertainment, but it would surely pay something; and it would interfere with +no plans of his own, for, in truth, he had none. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you will cooperate with me?” said the professor. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, professor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give me your hand!” exclaimed Riccabocca dramatically. “Mr. +Gray, it is a perfect bonanza of an idea. I may tell you, in confidence, I was +always a genius for ideas. Might I ask a favor of you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give me a touch of your quality. Let me hear you play.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip drew his violin from its case and played for his new professional +partner “The Carnival of Venice,” with variations—the same +which had been received with so much favor the evening previous. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Riccabocca listened attentively, and was evidently agreeably +surprised. He was not a musician, but he saw that Philip was a much better +player than he had anticipated, and this, of course, was likely to improve +their chances of pecuniary success. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a splendid performer,” he said enthusiastically. +“You shall come out under my auspices and win fame. I predict for you a +professional triumph.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Philip, gratified by this tribute from a man of +worldly experience. “I hope you will prove a true prophet.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now, Mr. Gray, let us proceed on our way. We must get lodgings in +Wilkesville, and make arrangements for our entertainment. I feel new courage, +now that I have obtained so able a partner. Wilkesville little knows what is in +store for her. We shall go, see, and conquer!” +</p> + +<p> +An hour later Philip and his new partner entered Wilkesville. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"></a> +CHAPTER XXV.<br/> +A CHANGE OF NAME.</h2> + +<p> +Wilkesville was an inland city, of from fifteen to twenty thousand inhabitants. +</p> + +<p> +As Philip and the professor passed along the principal street, they saw various +stores of different kinds, with here and there a large, high, plain-looking +structure, which they were told was used for the manufacture of shoes. +</p> + +<p> +“Wilkesville will give us a large audience,” he said, in a tone of +satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so,” said our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Hope so? I know so!” said the professor confidently. “The +town is full of young men, employed in shoe-making. They are fond of amusement, +and they will gladly seize an opportunity of patronizing a first-class +entertainment like ours.” +</p> + +<p> +The professor’s reasoning seemed good, but logic sometimes fails, and +Philip was not quite so sanguine. He said nothing, however, to dampen the ardor +of his partner. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see,” said the professor, pausing, “yonder stands the +Wilkesville Hotel. We had better put up there.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a brick structure of considerable size, and seemed to have some +pretensions to fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know how much they charge?” asked Philip prudently. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I neither know nor care,” answered Professor Riccabocca +loftily. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” said Philip, “I haven’t much money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I,” admitted Riccabocca. “But it is absolutely necessary +for us to stop at a first-class place. We must not let the citizens suppose +that we are tramps or vagabonds. They will judge us by our surroundings.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is something in that,” said Philip. “But suppose we +don’t succeed!” +</p> + +<p> +“Succeed? We must succeed!” said the professor, striking an +attitude. “In the vocabulary of youth, there’s no such word as +‘fail’! Away with timid caution! Our watchword be success!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, you have much more experience than I,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I have! We must keep up appearances. Be guided by me, and all +will come right.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip reflected that they could not very well make less than their expenses, +and accordingly he acceded to the professor’s plans. They entered the +hotel, and Professor Riccabocca, assuming a dignified, important step, walked +up to the office. “Sir,” said he, to the clerk, “my companion +and myself would like an apartment, one eligibly located, and of ample +size.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can be accommodated, sir,” answered the young man politely. +“Will you enter your names?” +</p> + +<p> +Opening the hotel register, the elocutionist, with various flourishes, entered, +this name: “Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca, Elocutionist and Dramatic +Reader.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I enter your name?” he asked of Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“If you please.” +</p> + +<p> +This was the way Professor Riccabocca complied with his request: “Philip +de Gray, the Wonderful Boy-musician.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned the book, so that the clerk could see the entries. +</p> + +<p> +“We propose to give an entertainment in Wilkesville,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to hear it,” said the clerk politely. +</p> + +<p> +“After dinner I will consult you as to what steps to take. Is there +anything in the way of amusement going on in town this evening?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, there is a concert, chiefly of home-talent, in Music Hall. There is +nothing announced for to-morrow evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we will fix upon to-morrow evening. It will give us more time to +get out hand-bills, etc. Is there a printing-office in town?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, sir. We have a daily paper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the office near at hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. It is on the corner of the next street.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will do for the present. We will go up to our apartment. Will +dinner be ready soon?” +</p> + +<p> +“In half an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +Here the servant made his appearance, and the professor, with a wave of his +hand, said: +</p> + +<p> +“Lead on, Mr. de Gray! I will follow.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"></a> +CHAPTER XXVI.<br/> +A PROMISING PLAN.</h2> + +<p> +They were shown into a front room, of good size, containing two beds. The +servant handed them the key, and left them. +</p> + +<p> +“This looks very comfortable, Mr. de Gray,” said the professor, +rubbing his hands with satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you call me Mr. de Gray?” asked Philip, thinking he had +been misunderstood. “It is plain Gray, without any de.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am only using your professional name,” answered the professor. +“Don’t you know people will think a great deal more of you if they +suppose you to be a foreigner?” +</p> + +<p> +Philip laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Lorenzo Riccabocca your true or professional name, professor?” +he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Professional, of course. My real name—I impart it to you in the +strictest confidence—is Lemuel Jones. Think of it. How would that look on +a poster?” +</p> + +<p> +“It would not be so impressive as the other.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not; and the public need to be impressed. I thank thee for +that word, Mr. de Gray. By the way, it’s rather a pity I didn’t +give you a Spanish or Italian name.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I can’t speak either language. It would be seen through at +once.” +</p> + +<p> +“People wouldn’t think of asking. You’d be safe enough. They +will generally swallow all you choose to say.” +</p> + +<p> +They went down to dinner presently, and the professor—Philip could not +help thinking—ate as if he were half-starved. He explained afterward that +elocutionary effort taxes the strength severely, and makes hearty eating a +necessity. +</p> + +<p> +After dinner was over the professor said: +</p> + +<p> +“Are you content, Mr. de Gray, to leave me to make the necessary +arrangements?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should prefer that you would,” said Philip, and he spoke +sincerely. “Probably you understand much better than I what needs to be +done.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis well! Your confidence is well placed,” said the +professor, with a wave of his hand. “Shall you remain in the +hotel?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I think I will walk about the town and see a little of it. I have +never been here before.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip took a walk through the principal streets, surveying with curiosity the +principal buildings, for, though there was nothing particularly remarkable +about them, he was a young traveler, to whom everything was new. He could not +help thinking of his late home, and in particular of Frank Dunbar, his special +friend, and he resolved during the afternoon to write a letter to Frank, +apprising him of his luck thus far. He knew that Frank would feel anxious about +him, and would be delighted to hear of his success as a musician. +</p> + +<p> +He went into a book-store and bought a sheet of paper and an envelope. +</p> + +<p> +He had just completed his letter, when his partner entered the reading-room of +the hotel with a brisk step. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. de Gray,” he said, “I have made all necessary +arrangements. I have hired the hall for to-morrow evening—five +dollars—ordered some tickets and posters at the printing-office, and +secured a first-class notice in to-morrow morning’s paper. Everybody in +Wilkesville will know before to-morrow night that they will have the +opportunity of attending a first-class performance at the Music Hall.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me the necessary expenses are considerable,” said +Philip uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course they are; but what does that matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“What is to be the price of tickets?” +</p> + +<p> +“General admission, twenty-five cents; reserved seats, fifty cents, and +children under twelve, fifteen cents. How does that strike you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Will anyone be willing to pay fifty cents to hear us?” asked +Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Fifty cents! It will be richly worth a dollar!” said the professor +loftily. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose he knows best,” thought Philip. “I hope all will +come out right. If it does we can try the combination in other places.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"></a> +CHAPTER XXVII.<br/> +UNEXPECTED HONORS.</h2> + +<p> +The next morning at breakfast, Professor Riccabocca handed Philip a copy of the +Wilkesville Daily Bulletin. Pointing to a paragraph on the editorial page, he +said, in a tone of pride and satisfaction: +</p> + +<p> +“Read that, Mr. de Gray.” +</p> + +<p> +It ran thus: +</p> + +<p> +“We congratulate the citizens of Wilkesville on the remarkable +entertainment which they will have an opportunity of enjoying this evening at +the Music Hall. Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca, whose fame as an elocutionist and +dramatic reader has made his name a household word throughout Europe and +America, will give some of his choice recitals and personations, assisted by +Philip de Gray, the wonderful boy-musician, whose talent as a violin-player has +been greeted with rapturous applause in all parts of the United States. It is +universally acknowledged that no one of his age has ever equaled him. He, as +well as Professor Riccabocca, will give but a limited series of entertainments +in this country, having received flattering inducements to cross the Atlantic, +and appear professionally in London, Paris, and the chief cities of the +Continent. Fifty cents is the pitiful sum for which our citizens will have it +put in their power to hear this wonderful combination of talent. This secures a +reserved seat.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip read this notice with increasing amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think of that, Mr. de Gray?” asked the professor +gleefully. “Won’t that make Wilkesville open its eyes, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“It has made me open my eyes, professor,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, ha!” said the professor, appearing amused. +</p> + +<p> +“How soon are we to sail for Europe?” asked Philip, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“When Queen Victoria sends our passage-money,” answered Riccabocca, +laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“I see that your name is a household word in Europe. Were you ever +there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then how can that be?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. de Gray, your performances have been greeted with applause in all +parts of the United States. How do you explain that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t pretend to explain it. I wasn’t aware that my name +had ever been heard of a hundred miles from here.” +</p> + +<p> +“It has not, but it will be. I have only been predicting a little. The +paragraph isn’t true now, but it will be some time, if we live and +prosper.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t like to be looked upon as a humbug, professor,” +said Philip uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t be. You are really a fine player, or I wouldn’t +consent to appear with you. The name of Riccabocca, Mr. de Gray, I may +truthfully say, is well known. I have appeared in the leading cities of +America. They were particularly enthusiastic in Chicago,” he added +pensively. “I wish I could find a paragraph from one of their leading +papers, comparing my rendering of the soliloquy in ‘Hamlet’ to +Edwin Booth’s, rather to the disadvantage of that tragedian.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would like to read the notice,” said Philip, who had very strong +doubts as to whether such a paragraph had ever appeared in print. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall see it. It will turn up somewhere. I laid it aside carefully, +for I confess, Mr. de Gray, it gratified me much. I have only one thing to +regret: I should myself have gone on the stage, and essayed leading tragic +roles. It may not be too late now. What do you think?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can tell better after I have heard you, professor,” answered +Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“True, you can. Mr. de Gray,” continued the professor, lowering his +voice, “notice how much attention we are receiving from the guests at the +tables. They have doubtless read the notice of our evening +entertainment.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip looked round the room, which was of good size, and contained some thirty +or more guests, and he saw that the professor was right. +</p> + +<p> +He met several curious glances, some fair ladies expressing interest as well as +curiosity, and his face flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“Gratifying, isn’t it?” said the professor, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t think it is,” answered our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” demanded Professor Riccabocca, appearing amazed. +</p> + +<p> +“If all were true, it might be,” replied Philip. “As it is, I +feel like a humbug.” +</p> + +<p> +“Humbug pays in this world,” said the professor cheerfully. +“By the way, there’s another little paragraph to which I will call +your attention.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip read this additional item: +</p> + +<p> +“We understand that Professor Riecabocca and Mr. Philip de Gray have +received a cable despatch from the Prince of Wales, inviting them to instruct +his sons in elocution and music, at a very liberal salary. They have this +proposal under consideration, though they are naturally rather reluctant to +give up the plaudits of the public, even for so honorable a position.” +</p> + +<p> +“Professor Riccabocca,” said Philip, considerably annoyed by this +audacious invention, “you ought to have consulted me before publishing +such a falsehood as this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Falsehood, Mr. de Gray? Really I’m shocked! Gentlemen don’t +use such words, or make such charges.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to say it’s true that we have received any +such telegram?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; of course not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why didn’t I use the right word?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s an innocent little fiction, my young friend—a fiction +that will do no one any harm, but will cause us to be regarded with +extraordinary interest.” +</p> + +<p> +Here the thought occurred to Philip that he, the future instructor of British +royalty, had only just escaped from a poorhouse, and it seemed to him so droll +that he burst out laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you laugh, Mr. de Gray?” asked the professor, a little +suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinking of something amusing,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well! We shall have cause to laugh when we play this evening to a +crowded house.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so. But, professor, if we keep together, you mustn’t print +any more such paragraphs about me. Of course, I am not responsible for what you +say about yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it will be all right!” said Riccabocca. “What are you +going to do with yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall practice a little in my room, for I want to play well to-night. +When I get tired I shall take a walk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very wise—very judicious. I don’t need to do it, being, as I +may say, a veteran reader. I wouldn’t rehearse if I were to play this +evening before the president and all the distinguished men of the +nation.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t feel so confident of myself,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“No, of course not. By the way, can you lend me fifty cents, Mr. de +Gray?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to break a ten.” +</p> + +<p> +Professor Riccabocca didn’t mention that the only ten he had was a +ten-cent piece. +</p> + +<p> +Slipping Philip’s half-dollar into his vest pocket, he said carelessly: +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll take this into the account when we divide the proceeds of +the entertainment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +He went up to his room and played for an hour or more, rehearsing the different +pieces he had selected for the evening, and then, feeling the need of a little +fresh air, he took a walk. +</p> + +<p> +In different parts of the town he saw posters, on which his name was printed in +large letters. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems almost like a joke!” he said to himself. +</p> + +<p> +Just then he heard his name called, and, looking up, he recognized a young +fellow, of sixteen or thereabouts, who had formerly lived in Norton. It seemed +pleasant to see a familiar face. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Morris Lovett,” he exclaimed “I didn’t know you +were here!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I’m clerk in a store. Are you the one that is going to give +an entertainment tonight?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Philip, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know you were such a great player,” said Morris, +regarding our hero with new respect. +</p> + +<p> +He had read the morning paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I,” said Philip, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to Europe soon?” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t decided yet!” Philip answered, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I had your chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come and hear me this evening, at any rate,” said Philip. +“Call at the hotel, at six o’clock, and I’ll give you a +ticket.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be sure to come,” said Morris, well pleased. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"></a> +CHAPTER XXVIII.<br/> +A TRIUMPHANT SUCCESS.</h2> + +<p> +Philip took another walk in the afternoon, and was rather amused to see how +much attention he received. When he drew near the hotel he was stared at by +several gaping youngsters, who apparently were stationed there for no other +purpose. He overheard their whispers: +</p> + +<p> +“That’s him! That’s Philip de Gray, the wonderful +fiddler!” +</p> + +<p> +“I never suspected, when I lived at Norton, that I was so much of a +curiosity,” he said to himself. “I wish I knew what they’ll +say about me to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +At six o’clock Morris Lovett called and received his ticket. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have a big house to-night, Philip,” he said. “I +know a lot of fellows that are going.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to hear it,” said Philip, well pleased, for he concluded +that if such were the case his purse would be considerably heavier the next +day. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s strange how quick you’ve come up;” said Morris. +“I never expected you’d be so famous.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I,” said Philip, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d give anything if I could have my name posted round like +yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you will have, some time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no! I couldn’t play more’n a pig,” said Morris +decidedly. “I’ll have to be a clerk, and stick to business.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll make more money in the end that way, Morris, even if your +name isn’t printed in capitals.” +</p> + +<p> +They retired into a small room adjoining the stage, to prepare for their +appearance. +</p> + +<p> +The professor rubbed his hands in glee. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see what a house we have, Mr. de Gray?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, professor.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think there’ll be a hundred dollars over and above +expenses.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will be splendid!” said Philip, naturally elated. +</p> + +<p> +“The firm of Riccabocca and De Gray is starting swimmingly.” +</p> + +<p> +“So it is. I hope it will continue so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here is the program, Mr. de Gray. You will observe that I appear first, +in my famous soliloquy. You will follow, with the ‘Carnival of +Venice.’ Do you feel agitated?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no. I am so used to playing that I shall not feel at all +bashful.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is well.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would like to be on the stage, professor, to hear you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. I have anticipated your desire, and provided an extra +chair.” +</p> + +<p> +The time came, and Professor Riccabocca stepped upon the stage, his manner full +of dignity, and advanced to the desk. Philip took a chair a little to the rear. +</p> + +<p> +Their entrance was greeted by hearty applause. The professor made a stately +bow, and a brief introductory speech, in which he said several things about +Philip and himself which rather astonished our hero. Then he began to recite +the soliloquy. +</p> + +<p> +Probably it was never before so amazingly recited. Professor Riccabocca’s +gestures, facial contortions, and inflections were very remarkable. Philip +almost suspected that he was essaying a burlesque role. +</p> + +<p> +The mature portion of the audience were evidently puzzled, but the small boys +were delighted, and with some of the young men, stamped vigorously at the +close. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Riccabocea bowed modestly, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen and ladies, you will now have the pleasure of listening to the +young and talented Philip de Gray, the wonderful boy-musician, in his unrivaled +rendition of the ‘Carnival of Venice.’” +</p> + +<p> +Philip rose, coloring a little with shame at this high-flown introduction, and +came forward. +</p> + +<p> +All applauded heartily, for sympathy is always felt for a young performer, +especially when he has a manly bearing and an attractive face, such as our hero +possessed. +</p> + +<p> +Philip was determined to do his best. Indeed, after being advertised and +announced as a boy wonder, he felt that he could not do otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +He commenced, and soon lost himself in the music he loved so well, so that +before he had half finished he had quite forgotten his audience, and half +started at the boisterous applause which followed. He bowed his +acknowledgments, but found this would not do. +</p> + +<p> +He was forced to play it a second time, greatly to the apparent satisfaction of +the audience. It was clear that, whatever might be thought of Professor +Riccabocea’s recitation, the young violinist had not disappointed his +audience. +</p> + +<p> +Philip could see, in a seat near the stage, the beaming face of his friend +Morris Lovett, who was delighted at the success of his old acquaintance, and +anticipated the reflected glory which he received, from its being known that he +was a friend of the wonderful young musician. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Riccabocca came forward again, and recited a poem called “The +Maniac,” each stanza ending with the line: “I am not mad, but soon +shall be.” +</p> + +<p> +He stamped, raved, tore his hair, and made altogether a very grotesque +appearance. +</p> + +<p> +Philip could hardly forbear laughing, and some of the boys in the front seats +didn’t restrain themselves. Some of the older people wondered how such a +man should be selected by the Prince of Wales to instruct his sons in +elocution—not suspecting that the newspaper paragraph making mention of +this was only a daring invention of the eminent professor. +</p> + +<p> +Next came another musical selection by Philip, which was as cordially received +as the first. +</p> + +<p> +I do not propose to weary the reader by a recital of the program and a detailed +account of each performance. It is enough to say that Professor Riccabocca +excited some amusement, but was only tolerated for the sake of Philip’s +playing. +</p> + +<p> +Naturally, our hero was better received on account of his youth, but had he +been twice as old his playing would have given satisfaction and pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +So passed an hour and a half, and the musical entertainment was over. Philip +felt that he had reason to be satisfied. Highly as he had been heralded, no one +appeared to feel disappointed by his part of the performance. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. de Gray,” said the professor, when they reached the hotel, +“you did splendidly. We have made a complete success.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is very gratifying,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“I felt sure that the public would appreciate us. I think I managed +everything shrewdly.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much was paid in at the door?” asked Philip, who naturally +felt interested in this phase of success. +</p> + +<p> +“One hundred and forty-five dollars and a half!” answered the +professor. +</p> + +<p> +Philip’s eyes sparkled. +</p> + +<p> +“And how much will that be over and above expenses?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Mr. de Gray, we will settle all bills, and make a fair and +equitable division, in the morning. I think there will be a little more than +fifty dollars to come to each of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fifty dollars for one evening’s work!” repeated Philip, his +eyes sparkling. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I have done much better than that,” said the professor. +“I remember once at St. Louis I made for myself alone one hundred and +eighty dollars net, and in Chicago a little more.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think it was such a money-making business,” said +Philip, elated. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Mr. de Gray, the American people are willing to recognize talent, +when it is genuine. You are on the threshold of a great career, my dear young +friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“And only a week since I was in the Norton Poorhouse,” thought +Philip. “It is certainly a case of romance in real life.” +</p> + +<p> +The two went to bed soon, being fatigued by their exertions. The apartment was +large, and contained two beds, a larger and smaller one. The latter was +occupied by our hero. +</p> + +<p> +When he awoke in the morning, the sun was shining brightly into the room. +Philip looked toward the opposite bed. It was empty. +</p> + +<p> +“Professor Riccabocca must have got up early,” he thought. +“Probably he did not wish to wake me.” +</p> + +<p> +He dressed and went downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the professor?” he asked of the clerk. +</p> + +<p> +“He started away two hours since—said he was going to take a walk. +Went away without his breakfast, too. He must be fond of walking.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip turned pale. He was disturbed by a terrible suspicion. Had the professor +gone off for good, carrying all the money with him? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"></a> +CHAPTER XXIX.<br/> +BESET BY CREDITORS.</h2> + +<p> +Philip was still a boy, and though he had discovered that the professor was +something of a humbug, and a good deal of a braggart, it had not for a moment +occurred to him that he would prove dishonest. Even now he did not want to +believe it, though he was nervously apprehensive that it might prove true. +</p> + +<p> +“I will take my breakfast,” he said, as coolly as was possible, +“and the professor will probably join me before I am through.” +</p> + +<p> +The clerk and the landlord thought otherwise. They were pretty well convinced +that Riccabocca was dishonest, and quietly sent for those to whom the +“combination” was indebted: namely, the printer and publisher of +the Daily Bulletin, the agent of the music-hall, and the bill-sticker who had +posted notices of the entertainment. These parties arrived while Philip was at +breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said the landlord, “the boy is at breakfast. I +think he is all right, but I don’t know. The professor, I fear, is a +swindle.” +</p> + +<p> +“The boy is liable for our debts,” said the agent. “He +belongs to the combination.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid he is a victim as well as you,” said the landlord. +“He seemed surprised to hear that the professor had gone out.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may all be put on. Perhaps he is in the plot, and is to meet the old +fraud at some place fixed upon, and divide the booty,” suggested the +agent. +</p> + +<p> +“The boy looks honest,” said the landlord. “I like his +appearance. We will see what he has to say.” +</p> + +<p> +So when Philip had finished his breakfast he was summoned to the parlor, where +he met the creditors of the combination. +</p> + +<p> +“These gentlemen,” said the landlord, “have bills against you +and the professor. It makes no difference whether they receive pay from you or +him.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor Philip’s heart sank within him. +</p> + +<p> +“I was hoping Professor Riccabocca had settled your bills,” he +said. “Please show them to me.” +</p> + +<p> +This was done with alacrity. +</p> + +<p> +Philip found that they owed five dollars for the hall, five dollars for +advertising and printing, and one dollar for bill-posting—eleven dollars +in all. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gates,” said our hero uneasily, to the landlord, “did +Professor Riccabocca say anything about coming back when he went out this +morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“He told my clerk he would be back to breakfast,” said the +landlord; adding, with a shrug of the shoulders: “That was two hours and +a half ago. He can’t be very hungry.” +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t pay his bill, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, of course not. He had not given up his room.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip became more and more uneasy. +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t you know anything about his going out?” asked the +landlord. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. I was fast asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the professor in the habit of taking long morning walks?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is strange, since you travel together,” remarked the +publisher. +</p> + +<p> +“I never saw him till day before yesterday,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +The creditors looked at each other significantly. They began to suspect that +Philip also was a victim. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know how much money was received for tickets last evening?” +</p> + +<p> +“About a hundred and fifty dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much of this were you to receive?” +</p> + +<p> +“Half of what was left after the bills were paid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you received it?” asked the agent. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a cent,” answered Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think about the situation?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think that Professor Riccabocca has swindled us all,” answered +Philip promptly. +</p> + +<p> +“Our bills ought to be paid,” said the agent, who was rather a hard +man in his dealings. +</p> + +<p> +“I agree with you,” said Philip. “I wish I were able to pay +them, but I have only six dollars in my possession.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will pay me, and leave a dollar over,” suggested the agent. +</p> + +<p> +“If it comes to that,” said the printer, “I claim that I +ought to be paid first.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am a poor man,” said the bill-sticker. “I need my +money.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor Philip was very much disconcerted. It was a new thing for him to owe money +which he could not repay. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have myself been cheated out of +fifty dollars, at least—my share of the profits. I wish I could pay you +all. I cannot do so now. Whenever I can I will certainly do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can pay us a part with the money you have,” said the agent. +</p> + +<p> +“I owe Mr. Gates for nearly two days’ board,” he said. +“That is my own affair, and I must pay him first.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see why he should be preferred to me,” grumbled the +agent; then, with a sudden, happy thought, as he termed it, he said: “I +will tell you how you can pay us all.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” asked Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“You have a violin. You can sell that for enough to pay our bills.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor Philip! His violin was his dependence. Besides the natural attachment he +felt for it, he relied upon it to secure him a living, and the thought of +parting with it was bitter. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he said, “if you take my violin, I have no way +of making a living. If you will consider that I, too, am a victim of this man, +I think you will not wish to inflict such an injury upon me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not, for one,” said the publisher. “I am not a rich +man, and I need all the money that is due me, but I wouldn’t deprive the +boy of his violin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I,” said the bill-sticker. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all very fine,” said the agent; “but I am not +so soft as you two. Who knows but the boy is in league with the +professor?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it!” said the landlord stoutly. “The boy is all +right, or I am no judge of human nature.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Mr. Gates,” said Philip, extending his hand to his +generous defender. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you expect we will let you off without paying anything?” +demanded the agent harshly. +</p> + +<p> +“If I live, sir, you shall lose nothing by me,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“That won’t do!” said the man coarsely. “I insist upon +the fiddle being sold. I’ll give five dollars for it, and call it +square.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gunn,” said the landlord, in a tone of disgust, “since +you are disposed to persecute this boy, I will myself pay your bill, and trust +to him to repay me when he can.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Mr. Gates—” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“I accept!” said the agent, with alacrity. +</p> + +<p> +“Receipt your bill,” said the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gunn did so, and received a five-dollar bill in return. +</p> + +<p> +“Now sir,” said the landlord coldly, “if you have no further +business here, we can dispense with your company.” +</p> + +<p> +“It strikes me you are rather hard on a man because he wants to be paid +his honest dues!” whined Gunn, rather uncomfortably. +</p> + +<p> +“We understand you, sir,” said the landlord. “We have not +forgotten how you turned a poor family into the street, in the dead of winter, +because they could not pay their rent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Could I afford to give them house-room?” inquired Gunn. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not. At any rate, I don’t feel inclined to give you +house-room any longer.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gunn slunk out of the room, under the impression that his company was no +longer desired. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gray,” said the publisher, “I hope you don’t class +me with the man who has just gone out. I would sooner never be paid than +deprive you of your violin. Let the account stand, and if you are ever able to +pay me half of my bill—your share—I shall be glad to receive +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir!” said Philip, “You shall not repent your +confidence in me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say ditto to my friend, the publisher,” said the bill-poster. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a moment, gentlemen,” said Philip. “There is a bare +possibility that I can do something for you.” +</p> + +<p> +For the first time since he left Norton he thought of the letter which he was +not to open till he was fifty miles from Norton. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gates,” he said, “can you tell me how far Norton is from +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“About sixty miles,” answered the landlord in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s all right.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"></a> +CHAPTER XXX.<br/> +A TIMELY GIFT.</h2> + +<p> +The reader has not forgotten that Farmer Lovett, when Philip refused to accept +any compensation for assisting to frustrate the attempt at burglary, handed him +a sealed envelope, which he requested him not to open till he was fifty miles +away from Norton. +</p> + +<p> +Philip had carried this about in his pocket ever since. He had thought of it as +likely to contain some good advice at the time; but it had since occurred to +him that the farmer had not had time to write down anything in that line. +</p> + +<p> +He was disposed to think that the mysterious envelope might contain a +five-dollar bill, as a slight acknowledgment of his services. +</p> + +<p> +Though Philip had declined receiving any payment, it did seem to him now that +this amount of money would relieve him from considerable embarrassment. He +therefore drew a penknife from his pocket and cut open the envelope. +</p> + +<p> +What was his amazement when he drew out three bills—two twenties and a +ten—fifty dollars in all! There was a slip of paper, on which was +written, in pencil: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t hesitate to use this money, if you need it, as you doubtless +will. I can spare it as well as not, and shall be glad if it proves of use to +one who has done me a great service. JOHN LOVETT.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that!” asked the landlord, regarding Philip with +interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Some money which I did not know I possessed,” answered Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“How much is there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fifty dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you didn’t know you had it?” asked the +publisher—rather incredulously, it must be owned. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir; I was told not to open this envelope till I was fifty miles +away from where it was given me. Of course, Mr. Gates, I am now able to pay all +my bills, and to repay you for what you handed Mr. Gunn.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am pleased with your good fortune,” said the landlord cordially. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I am sorry your knavish partner has cheated you out of so much +money.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall make him pay it if I can,” said Philip resolutely. +</p> + +<p> +“I approve your pluck, and I wish you success.” +</p> + +<p> +“He owes you money, too, Mr. Gates. Give me the bill, and I will do my +best to collect it.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you collect it, you may have it,” said Gates. “I +don’t care much for the money, but I should like to have the scamp +compelled to fork it over.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I knew where he was likely to be,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“He may go to Knoxville,” suggested the publisher. +</p> + +<p> +“How far is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ten miles.” +</p> + +<p> +“What makes you think he will go to Knoxville?” asked the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +“He may think of giving a performance there. It is a pretty large +place.” +</p> + +<p> +“But wouldn’t he be afraid to do it, after the pranks he has played +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps so. At any rate, he is very likely to go there.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will go there and risk it,” said Philip. “He needn’t +think he is going to get off so easily, even if it is only a boy he has +cheated.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the talk, Mr. Gray!” said the landlord. “How +are you going?” he asked, a minute later. +</p> + +<p> +“I can walk ten miles well enough,” answered Philip. +</p> + +<p> +He had considerable money now, but he reflected that he should probably need it +all, especially if he did not succeed in making the professor refund, and +decided that it would be well to continue to practice economy. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no doubt you can,” said the landlord, “but it will be +better not to let the professor get too much the start of you. I will myself +have a horse harnessed, and take you most of the distance in my buggy.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Mr. Gates, won’t it be putting you to a great deal of +trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all. I shall enjoy a ride this morning, and the road to Knoxville +is a very pleasant one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me pay something for the ride, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a cent. You will need all your money, and I can carry you just as +well as not,” said the landlord heartily. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very fortunate in such a kind friend,” said Philip +gratefully. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it isn’t worth talking about! Here, Jim, go out and harness +the horse directly.” +</p> + +<p> +When the horse was brought round, Philip was all ready, and jumped in. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like to drive, Mr. Gray?” asked the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Philip, with alacrity. +</p> + +<p> +“Take the lines, then,” said the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +Most boys of Philip’s age are fond of driving, and our hero was no +exception to the rule, as the landlord supposed. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll promise not to upset me,” said Mr. Gates, smiling. +“I am getting stout, and the consequences might be serious.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I am used to driving,” said Philip, “and I will take +care not to tip over.” +</p> + +<p> +The horse was a good one, and to Philip’s satisfaction, went over the +road in good style. +</p> + +<p> +Philip enjoyed driving, but, of course, his mind could not help dwelling on the +special object of his journey. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope we are on the right track,” he said. “I +shouldn’t like to miss the professor.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will soon know, at any rate,” said Gates. “It seems to +me,” he continued, “that Riccabocca made a great mistake in running +off with that money.” +</p> + +<p> +“He thought it would be safe to cheat a boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but admitting all that, you two were likely to make money. In +Wilkesville your profits were a hundred dollars in one evening. Half of that +belonged to the professor, at any rate. He has lost his partner, and gained +only fifty dollars, which would not begin to pay him for your loss.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps he thought he would draw as well alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he is very much mistaken. To tell the plain truth, our people +thought very little of his share of the performance. I saw some of them +laughing when he was ranting away. It was you they enjoyed hearing.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad of that,” said Philip, gratified. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no humbug about your playing. You understand it. It was +you that saved the credit of the evening, and sent people away well +satisfied.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad of that, at any rate, even if I didn’t get a cent for my +playing,” said Philip, well pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“The money’s the practical part of it,” said the landlord. +“Of course, I am glad when travelers like my hotel, but if they should +run off without paying, like the professor, I shouldn’t enjoy it so +much.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I suppose not,” said Philip, with a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +They had ridden some seven miles, and were, therefore, only three miles from +Knoxville, without the slightest intimation as to whether or not they were on +the right track. +</p> + +<p> +To be sure, they had not expected to obtain any clue so soon, but it would have +been very satisfactory, of course, to obtain one. +</p> + +<p> +A little farther on they saw approaching a buggy similar to their own, driven +by a man of middle age. It turned out to be an acquaintance of the +landlord’s, and the two stopped to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Going to Knoxville on business, Mr. Gates?” asked the newcomer. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, not exactly. I am driving this young man over. By the way, have +you seen anything of a tall man, with long, black hair, dressed in +black?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Do you want to see him?” +</p> + +<p> +“This young man has some business with him. Where did you see him?” +</p> + +<p> +“He arrived at our hotel about an hour since, I calculate.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip’s heart bounded with satisfaction at this important news. +</p> + +<p> +“Did he put up there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I believe he is going to give a reading this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you!” +</p> + +<p> +“The professor must be a fool!” said the landlord, as they drove +away. +</p> + +<p> +“I begin to think so myself,” replied Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all in our favor, however. We shall get back that money +yet.” +</p> + +<p> +The horse was put to his speed, and in fifteen minutes they reached Knoxville. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"></a> +CHAPTER XXXI.<br/> +THE PROFESSOR’S FLIGHT.</h2> + +<p> +Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca was not a wise man. It would have been much more +to his interest to deal honestly with Philip, paying his share of the profits +of the first performance, and retaining his services as associate and partner. +</p> + +<p> +But the professor was dazzled by the money, and unwilling to give it up. +Moreover, he had the vanity to think that he would draw nearly as well alone, +thus retaining in his own hands the entire proceeds of any entertainments he +might give. +</p> + +<p> +When he met Philip on the road he was well-nigh penniless. Now, including the +sum of which he had defrauded our hero and his creditors in Wilkesville, he had +one hundred and fifty dollars. +</p> + +<p> +When the professor went to bed, he had not formed the plan of deserting Philip; +but, on awaking in the morning, it flashed upon him as an excellent step which +would put money in his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +He accordingly rose, dressed himself quietly, and, with one cautious look at +Philip—who was fast asleep—descended the stairs to the office. +</p> + +<p> +Only the bookkeeper was in the office. +</p> + +<p> +“You are stirring early, professor,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Riccabocca, “I generally take a morning walk, +to get an appetite for breakfast.” +</p> + +<p> +“My appetite comes without the walk,” said the bookkeeper, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“If Mr. de Gray comes downstairs, please tell him I will be back +soon,” said Riccabocca. +</p> + +<p> +The bookkeeper readily promised to do this, not having the slightest suspicion +that the distinguished professor was about to take French leave. +</p> + +<p> +When Professor Riccabocca had walked half a mile he began to feel faint. His +appetite had come. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I had stopped to breakfast,” he reflected. “I +don’t believe De Gray will be down for an hour or two.” +</p> + +<p> +It was too late to go back and repair his mistake. That would spoil all. He saw +across the street a baker’s shop, just opening for the day, and this gave +him an idea. +</p> + +<p> +He entered, bought some rolls, and obtained a glass of milk, and, fortified +with these, he resumed his journey. +</p> + +<p> +He had walked three miles, when he was over-taken by a farm wagon, which was +going his way. +</p> + +<p> +He hailed the driver—a young man of nineteen or +thereabouts—ascertained that he was driving to Knoxville, and, for a +small sum, secured passage there. +</p> + +<p> +This brings us to the point of time when Philip and Mr. Gates drove up to the +hotel at Knoxville. +</p> + +<p> +“I can see the professor,” said Philip, in eager excitement, when +they had come within a few rods of the inn. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is in the office, sitting with his back to the front window. I wonder +what he will have to say for himself?” +</p> + +<p> +“So do I,” said the landlord curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we go in together?” questioned Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“No; let us surprise him a little. I will drive around to the sheds back +of the hotel, and fasten my horse. Then we will go round to the front, and you +can go in, while I stand outside, ready to appear a little later.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip thought this a good plan. He enjoyed the prospect of confronting the +rogue who had taken advantage of his inexperience, and attempted such a bold +scheme of fraud. He didn’t feel in the least nervous, or afraid to +encounter the professor, though Riccabocca was a man and he but a boy. When all +was ready, Philip entered through the front door, which was open, and, turning +into the office, stood before the astonished professor. +</p> + +<p> +The latter started in dismay at the sight of our hero. He thought he might be +quietly eating breakfast ten miles away, unsuspiciously waiting for his return. +Was his brilliant scheme to fail? He quickly took his resolution—a +foolish one. He would pretend not to know Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Professor Riccabocca,” Philip said, in a sarcastic tone, +“you took rather a long walk this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +The professor looked at him vacantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Were you addressing me?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” answered Philip, justly provoked. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance, young man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I hadn’t the pleasure of yours,” retorted Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you come here to insult me?” demanded Riccabocca, frowning. +</p> + +<p> +“I came here to demand my share of the money received for the +entertainment last evening, as well as the money paid for the hall, the +printer, and bill-poster.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must be crazy!” said Riccabocca, shrugging his shoulders. +“I don’t know you. I don’t owe you any money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say we didn’t give an entertainment together last +evening at Wilkesville?” asked Philip, rather taken aback by the +man’s sublime impudence. +</p> + +<p> +“My young friend, you have been dreaming. Prove what you say and I will +admit your claim.” +</p> + +<p> +Up to this point those present, deceived by the professor’s coolness, +really supposed him to be in the right. That was what Riccabocca anticipated, +and hoped to get off before the discovery of the truth could be made. But he +did not know that Philip had a competent witness at hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gates!” called Philip. +</p> + +<p> +The portly landlord of the Wilkesville Hotel entered the room, and Riccabocca +saw that the game was up. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gates, will you be kind enough to convince this gentleman that he +owes me money?” asked Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“I think he won’t deny it now,” said Gates significantly. +“He walked off from my hotel this morning, leaving his bill unpaid. +Professor Riccabocca, it strikes me you had better settle with us, unless you +wish to pass the night in the lockup.” +</p> + +<p> +Professor Riccabocca gave a forced laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Mr. de Gray,” he said, “you ought to have known that I +was only playing a trick on you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I supposed you were,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t mean that. I was only pretending I didn’t know +you, to see if I could act naturally enough, to deceive you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you desert me?” asked Philip suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“I started to take a walk—didn’t the bookkeeper tell +you?—and finding a chance to ride over here, thought I would do so, and +make arrangements for our appearance here. Of course, I intended to come back, +and pay our good friend, the landlord, and give you your share of the common +fund.” +</p> + +<p> +Neither Gates nor Philip believed a word of this. It seemed to them quite too +transparent. +</p> + +<p> +“You may as well pay us now, Professor Riccabocca,” said the +landlord dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you don’t suspect my honor or integrity,” said +Riccabocca, appearing to be wounded at the thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind about that,” said Mr. Gates shortly. “Actions +speak louder than words.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am quite ready to settle—quite,” said the professor. +“The money is in my room. I will go up and get it.” +</p> + +<p> +There seemed to be no objection to this, and our two friends saw him ascend the +staircase to the second story. Philip felt pleased to think that he had +succeeded in his quest, for his share of the concert money would be nearly +seventy dollars. That, with the balance of the money; received from Farmer +Lovett, would make over a hundred dollars. +</p> + +<p> +They waited five minutes, and the professor did not come down. +</p> + +<p> +“What can keep him?” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +Just then one of the hostlers entered and caught what our hero had said. +</p> + +<p> +“A man has just run out of the back door,” he said, “and is +cutting across the fields at a great rate.” +</p> + +<p> +“He must have gone down the back stairs,” said the clerk. +</p> + +<p> +“In what direction would he go?” asked Philip hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“To the railroad station. There is a train leaves in fifteen +minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“What shall we do, Mr. Gates?” asked Philip, in dismay. +</p> + +<p> +“Jump into my buggy. We’ll get to the depot before the train +starts. We must intercept the rascal.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"></a> +CHAPTER XXXII.<br/> +THE RACE ACROSS FIELDS.</h2> + +<p> +It so happened that Professor Riccabocca had once before visited Knoxville, and +remembered the location of the railroad station. Moreover, at the hotel, before +the arrival of Philip, he had consulted a schedule of trains posted up in the +office, and knew that one would leave precisely at ten o’clock. +</p> + +<p> +The impulse to leave town by this train was sudden. He had in his pocket the +wallet containing the hundred and fifty dollars, of which a large part belonged +to Philip, and could have settled at once, without the trouble of going +upstairs to his room. +</p> + +<p> +He only asked leave to go up there in order to gain time for thought. At the +head of the staircase he saw another narrower flight of stairs descending to +the back of the house. That gave him the idea of eluding his two creditors by +flight. +</p> + +<p> +I have said before that Professor Riccabocca was not a wise man, or he would +have reflected that he was only postponing the inevitable reckoning. Moreover, +it would destroy the last chance of making an arrangement with Philip to +continue the combination, which thus far had proved so profitable. +</p> + +<p> +The professor did not take this into consideration, but dashed down the back +stairs, and opened the back door into the yard. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want anything, sir?” asked a maidservant, eyeing the +professor suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing at all, my good girl,” returned the professor. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to be in a hurry,” she continued, with renewed suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +“So I am. I am in a great hurry to meet an engagement.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you go out the front door?” asked the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, bother! What business is it of yours?” demanded the professor +impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +And, not stopping for further inquiries, he vaulted over a fence and took his +way across the fields to the station. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, Sam,” called the girl, her suspicions confirmed that +something was wrong, “go after that man as fast as you can!” +</p> + +<p> +This was addressed to a boy who was employed at the hotel to go on errands and +do odd jobs. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s he done?” asked Sam. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know; but he’s either run off without paying his +bill, or he’s stolen something.” +</p> + +<p> +“What good’ll it do me to chase him?” asked Sam. +</p> + +<p> +“If he’s cheated master, he’ll pay you for catching the +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” thought Sam. “Besides, I’ll be a +detective, just like that boy I read about in the paper. I’m off!” +</p> + +<p> +Fired by youthful ambition, Sam also vaulted the fence, and ran along the +foot-path in pursuit of the professor. +</p> + +<p> +Lorenzo Riccabocca did not know he was pursued. He felt himself so safe from +this, on account of the secrecy of his departure, that he never took the +trouble to look behind him. He knew the way well enough, for the fields he was +crossing were level, and half a mile away, perhaps a little more, he could see +the roof of the brown-painted depot, which was his destination. Once there, he +would buy a ticket, get on the train, and get started away from Knoxville +before the troublesome acquaintances who were waiting for him to come +down-stairs had any idea where he was gone. +</p> + +<p> +The professor ran at a steady, even pace, looking straight before him. His eyes +were fixed on the haven of his hopes, and he did not notice a stone, of +considerable size, which lay in his path. The result was that he stumbled over +it, and fell forward with considerable force. He rose, jarred and sore, but +there was no time to take account of his physical damages. He must wait till he +got on the train. +</p> + +<p> +The force with which he was thrown forward was such that the wallet was thrown +from his pocket, and fell in the grass beside the path. The professor went on +his way, quite unconscious of his loss, but there were other eyes that did not +overlook it. +</p> + +<p> +Sam, who was thirty rods behind, noticed Professor Riccabocca’s fall, and +he likewise noticed the wallet when he reached the spot of the catastrophe. +</p> + +<p> +“My eyes!” he exclaimed, opening those organs wide in delight; +“here’s luck! The old gentleman has dropped his pocketbook. Most +likely it’s stolen. I’ll carry it back and give it to Mr. +Perry.” +</p> + +<p> +Sam very sensibly decided that it wasn’t worth while to continue the +pursuit, now that the thief, as he supposed Riccabocca to be, had dropped his +booty. +</p> + +<p> +Sam was led by curiosity to open the wallet. When he saw the thick roll of +bills, he was filled with amazement and delight. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what a rascal he was!” ejaculated the boy. “I guess +he’s been robbing a safe. I wonder how much is here?” +</p> + +<p> +He was tempted to sit down on the grass and count the bills, but he was +prevented by the thought that the professor might discover his loss, and +returning upon his track, question him as to whether he had found it. Sam +determined that he wouldn’t give it up, at any rate. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess I could wrastle with him,” he thought. “He looks +rather spindlin’, but then he’s bigger than I am, and he might lick +me, after all.” +</p> + +<p> +I desire to say emphatically that Sam was strictly honest, and never for a +moment thought of appropriating any of the money to his own use. He felt that +as a detective he had been successful, and this made him feel proud and happy. +</p> + +<p> +“I may as well go home,” he said. “If he’s stolen this +money from Mr. Perry, I’ll come in for a reward.” +</p> + +<p> +Sam did not hurry, however. He was not now in pursuit of any one, and could +afford to loiter and recover his breath. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Professor Riccabocca, in happy unconsciousness of his loss, +continued his run to the station. He arrived there breathless, and hurried to +the ticket-office. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me a ticket to Chambersburg,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, sir. Ninety cents.” +</p> + +<p> +If Riccabocca had been compelled to take out his wallet, he would at once have +discovered his loss, and the ticket would not have been bought. But he had a +two-dollar bill in his vest, and it was out of this that he paid for the ticket +to Chambersburg. Armed with the ticket, he waited anxiously for the train. He +had five minutes to wait—five anxious moments in which his flight might +be discovered. He paced the platform, looking out anxiously for the train. +</p> + +<p> +At length he heard the welcome sound of the approaching locomotive. The train +came to a stop, and among the first to enter it was the eminent elocutionist. +He took a seat beside the window looking out toward the village. What did he +see that brought such an anxious look in his face? +</p> + +<p> +A buggy was approaching the depot at breakneck speed. It contained Mr. Gates, +the landlord, and the young musician. Mr. Gates was lashing the horse, and +evidently was exceedingly anxious to arrive at the depot before the train +started. +</p> + +<p> +Beads of perspiration stood on the anxious brow of the professor. His heart was +filled with panic terror. +</p> + +<p> +“The girl must have told them of my flight,” he said to himself. +“Oh, why didn’t I think to give her a quarter to keep her lips +closed? Why doesn’t the train start?” +</p> + +<p> +The buggy was only about ten rods away. It looked as if Philip and his +companion would be able to intercept the fugitive. +</p> + +<p> +Just then the scream of the locomotive was heard. The train began to move. +Professor Riccabocca gave a sigh of relief. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall escape them after all,” he said triumphantly, to himself. +</p> + +<p> +He opened the window, and, with laughing face, nodded to his pursuers. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve lost him!” said Philip, in a tone of disappointment. +“What can we do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Find out where he is going, and telegraph to have him stopped,” +said Mr. Gates. “That will put a spoke in his wheel.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIII.<br/> +THE LOST WALLET.</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Gates was acquainted with the depot-master, and lost no time in seeking +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Too late for the train?” asked the latter, who observed in the +landlord evidences of haste. +</p> + +<p> +“Not for the train, but for one of the passengers by the train,” +responded the landlord. “Did you take notice of a man dressed in a shabby +suit of black, wearing a soft hat and having very long black hair?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he going?” asked Mr. Gates eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“He bought a ticket for Chambersburg.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! Well, I want you to telegraph for me to Chambersburg.” +</p> + +<p> +The station-master was also the telegraph-operator, as it chanced. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. Just write out your message and I will send it at +once.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gates telegraphed to a deputy sheriff at Chambersburg to be at the depot on +arrival of the train, and to arrest and detain the professor till he could +communicate further with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said he, turning to Philip, “I think we shall be able +to stop the flight of your friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t call him my friend,” said Philip. “He is +anything but a friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right there. Well, I will amend and call him your partner. Now, +Mr. de Gray—” +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Gray—not de Gray. The professor put in the +‘de’ because he thought it would sound foreign.” +</p> + +<p> +“I presume you have as much right to the name as he has to the title of +professor,” said Gates. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t doubt it,” returned Philip, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as I was about to say, we may as well go back to the hotel, and +await the course of events. I think there is some chance of your getting your +money back.” +</p> + +<p> +When they reached the hotel, they found a surprise in store for them. +</p> + +<p> +Sam had carried the professor’s wallet to Mr. Perry, and been told by +them to wait and hand it in person to Philip and his friend, Mr. Gates, who +were then at the depot. +</p> + +<p> +When they arrived, Sam was waiting on the stoop, wallet in hand. +</p> + +<p> +“What have you got there, Sam?” asked Mr. Gates, who often came to +Knoxville, and knew the boy. “It’s the wallet of that man you were +after,” said Sam. +</p> + +<p> +“How did you get it?” asked Philip eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“I chased him ’cross lots,” said Sam. +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t knock him over and take the wallet from him, did you, +Sam?” asked Mr. Gates. +</p> + +<p> +“Not so bad as that,” answered Sam, grinning. “You see, he +tripped over a big rock, and came down on his hands and knees. The wallet +jumped out of his pocket, but he didn’t see it. I picked it up and +brought it home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t he know you were chasing him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess not. He never looked back.” +</p> + +<p> +“What made you think of running after him?” +</p> + +<p> +“One of the girls told me to. The way he ran out of the back door made +her think there was something wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose he had turned round?” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess I could have wrastled with him,” said Sam, to the +amusement of those who heard him. +</p> + +<p> +“It is well you were not obliged to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who shall I give the wallet to?” asked Sam. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gray, here, is the professor’s partner, and half the money +belongs to him. You can give it to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have I a right to take it?” asked Philip, who did not wish to do +anything unlawful. +</p> + +<p> +He was assured that, as the business partner of the professor, he had as much +right as Riccabocca to the custody of the common fund. +</p> + +<p> +“But half of it belongs to the professor.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll come back for it, in the custody of the sheriff. I +didn’t think I was doing the man a good turn when I telegraphed to have +him stopped.” +</p> + +<p> +The first thing Philip did was to take from his own funds a five-dollar bill, +which he tendered to Sam. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it all for me?” asked the boy, his eyes sparkling his joy. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but for you I should probably have lost a good deal more. Thank +you, besides.” +</p> + +<p> +And Philip offered his hand to Sam, who grasped it fervently. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, you’re a tip-top chap,” said Sam. “You +ain’t like a man that lost a pocketbook last summer, with a hundred +dollars in it, and gave me five cents for finding it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I hope I’m not as mean as that,” said Philip, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +He opened the wallet and found a memorandum containing an exact statement of +the proceeds of the concert. This was of great service to him, as it enabled +him to calculate his own share of the profits. +</p> + +<p> +The aggregate receipts were one hundred and fifty dollars and fifty cents. +Deducting bills paid, viz.: +</p> + +<p> +Rent of hall........................ $5.00 +</p> + +<p> +Printing, etc........................ 5.00 +</p> + +<p> +Bill-poster......................... 1.00 +</p> + +<p> +Total...........................$11.00 +</p> + +<p> +there was a balance of $138.50, of which Philip was entitled to one-half, +namely, $69.25. This he took, together with the eleven dollars which he had +himself paid to the creditors of the combination, and handed the wallet, with +the remainder of the money, to Mr. Perry, landlord of the Knoxville Hotel, with +a request that he would keep it till called for by Professor Riccabocca. +</p> + +<p> +“You may hand me three dollars and a half, Mr. Perry,” said Mr. +Gates. “That is the amount the professor owes me for a day and +three-quarters at my hotel. If he makes a fuss, you can tell him he is quite at +liberty to go to law about it.” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, where was the professor, and when did he discover his loss? +</p> + +<p> +After the train was a mile or two on its way he felt in his pocket for the +wallet, meaning to regale himself with a sight of its contents—now, as he +considered, all his own. +</p> + +<p> +Thrusting his hand into his pocket, it met—vacancy. +</p> + +<p> +Pale with excitement, he continued his search, extending it to all his other +pockets. But the treasure had disappeared! +</p> + +<p> +Professor Riccabocca was panic-stricken. He could hardly suppress a groan. +</p> + +<p> +A good woman sitting opposite, judging from his pallor that he was ill, leaned +over and asked, in a tone of sympathy: +</p> + +<p> +“Are you took sick?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, ma’am,” answered the professor sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“You look as if you was goin’ to have a fit,” continued the +sympathizing woman. “Jest take some chamomile tea the first chance you +get. It’s the sovereignest thing I know of—” +</p> + +<p> +“Will chamomile tea bring back a lost pocket-book?” demanded the +professor sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lor’! you don’t say you lost your money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do!” said Riccabocca, glaring at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear! do you think there’s pickpockets in the car?” +asked the old lady nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely,” answered the professor tragically. +</p> + +<p> +The good woman kept her hand in her pocket all the rest of the way, eyeing all +her fellow passengers sharply. +</p> + +<p> +But the professor guessed the truth. He had lost his wallet when he stumbled in +the field. He was in a fever of impatience to return and hunt for it. Instead +of going on to Chambersburg, he got out at the next station—five miles +from Knoxville—and walked back on the railroad-track. So it happened that +the telegram did no good. +</p> + +<p> +The professor walked back to the hotel across the fields, hunting diligently, +but saw nothing of the lost wallet. He entered the hotel, footsore, weary, and +despondent. The first person he saw was Philip, sitting tranquilly in the +office. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you just come down from your room?” asked our hero coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a most unfortunate man!” sighed Riccabocca, sinking into a +seat. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve lost all our money.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you say ‘our money.’ I began to think you +considered it all yours. Didn’t I see you on the train?” +</p> + +<p> +“I had a bad headache,” stammered the professor, “and I +didn’t know what I was doing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does riding in the cars benefit your head?” +</p> + +<p> +Professor Riccabocca looked confused. +</p> + +<p> +“The wallet was found,” said Philip, not wishing to keep him any +longer in suspense. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is it?” asked the professor eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Perry will give it to you. I have taken out my share of the money, +and Mr. Gates has received the amount of his bill. It would have been better +for you to attend to these matters yourself like an honest man.” +</p> + +<p> +Professor Riccabocca was so overjoyed to have back his own money that he made +no fuss about Philip’s proceedings. Indeed, his own intended dishonesty +was so apparent that it would have required even more assurance than he +possessed to make a protest. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIV.<br/> +A NEW BUSINESS PROPOSAL.</h2> + +<p> +Professor Riccabocca put the wallet in his pocket with a sigh of satisfaction. +There were still sixty dollars or more in it, and it was long since he had been +so rich. +</p> + +<p> +He began to think now that it might be well to revive the combination. There +was some doubt, however, as to how Philip would receive the proposal. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at his young partner and was not much encouraged. He felt that he +must conciliate him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. de Gray,” he began. +</p> + +<p> +“Call me Gray. My name is not de Gray.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Gray, then. I hope you don’t have any hard +feelings.” +</p> + +<p> +“About what?” inquired Philip, surveying the professor curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“About—the past,” stammered the professor. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean about your running off with my money?” returned Philip +plainly. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Riccabocca winced. He did not quite like this form of statement. +“I am afraid you misjudge me,” he said, rather confused. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be glad to listen to any explanation you have to offer,” +said our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“I will explain it all to you, in time,” said the professor, +recovering his old assurance. “In the meantime, I have a proposition to +make to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we give an entertainment in Knoxville—on the same terms as +the last.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t think you would like to appear before an audience +here, Professor Riccabocca.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Before night everybody will have heard of your running away with the +proceeds of the last concert.” +</p> + +<p> +“Public men are always misjudged. They must expect it,” said the +professor, with the air of a martyr. +</p> + +<p> +“I should think you would be more afraid of being justly judged.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gray,” said the professor, “I have done wrong, I admit; +but it was under the influence of neuralgia. When I have a neuralgic headache, +I am not myself. I do things which, in a normal condition, I should not dream +of. I am the victim of a terrible physical malady.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip did not believe a word of this, but he felt amused at the +professor’s singular excuse. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Mr. Gray, what do you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I must decline,” returned Philip. +</p> + +<p> +But here Professor Riccabocca received unexpected help. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Perry, the landlord, who had listened to the colloquy, approached the two +speakers and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen, I have a proposal to make to you both.” +</p> + +<p> +Both Philip and the professor looked up, with interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Some of the young men in the village,” said the landlord, +“have formed a literary club, meeting weekly. They have hired and +furnished a room over one of our stores, provided it with, games and subscribed +for a few periodicals. They find, however, that the outlay has been greater +than they anticipated and are in debt. I have been talking with the secretary, +and he thinks he would like to engage you to give an entertainment, the +proceeds, beyond a fixed sum, to go to the benefit of the club. What do you +say?” +</p> + +<p> +“When is it proposed to have the entertainment?” asked Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose we should have to name to-morrow evening, in order to +advertise it sufficiently.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am willing to make any engagement that will suit the club,” said +Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“And I, too,” said Professor Riccabocca. +</p> + +<p> +“The secretary authorizes me to offer you ten dollars each, and to pay +your hotel expenses in the meantime,” said Mr. Perry. +</p> + +<p> +“That is satisfactory,” said our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“I agree,” said the professor. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I will at once notify the secretary, and he will take steps to +advertise the entertainment.” +</p> + +<p> +Ten dollars was a small sum compared with what Philip had obtained for his +evening in Wilkesville, but a week since he would have regarded it as very +large for one week’s work. He felt that it was for his interest to accept +the proposal. +</p> + +<p> +He secretly resolved that if the entertainment should not prove as successful +as was anticipated, he would give up a part of the sum which was promised him +for his services. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Riccabocca assented the more readily to the proposal, because he +thought it might enable him again to form a business alliance with our hero, +from whom his conduct had estranged him. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we take a room together, Mr. de Gray,” he said, with an +ingratiating smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Gray, if you please, professor. I don’t like sailing under false +colors.” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me; the force of habit, you know. Well, do you agree?” +</p> + +<p> +“The professor has more assurance than any man I ever heard of,” +thought Philip. “You must excuse me, professor,” he said. +“After what has happened, I should feel safer in a room by myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why will you dwell upon the past, Mr. Gray?” said the professor +reproachfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I am prudent, and learn from experience,” answered Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“I assure you, you will have nothing to complain of,” said +Riccabocca earnestly. “If we are together, we can consult about the +program.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall have plenty of time to do that during the day, +professor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you don’t care to room with me?” said Riccabocca, +looking disappointed. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you afraid of?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid you might have an attack of neuralgic headache during the +night,” said Philip, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Riccabocca saw that it would be of no use for him to press the +request, and allowed himself to be conducted to the same room which he had so +unceremoniously left a short time before. +</p> + +<p> +During the afternoon, Philip had a call from John Turner, the secretary of the +Young Men’s Club. He was a pleasant, straightforward young man, of +perhaps twenty. +</p> + +<p> +“We are very much obliged to you, Mr. Gray,” he said, “for +kindly consenting to play for our benefit.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is for my interest,” said Philip frankly. “I may as well +remain here and earn ten dollars as to be idle.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you made a great deal more, I understand, in Wilkesville?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but I might not be as fortunate here. I had not intended to appear +here at all, and should not have done so unless you had invited me. How many +have you in your club?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only about twenty-five, so far, and some of us are not able to pay +much.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long has your club been formed?” asked Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Only about three months. We wanted a place where we could meet together +socially in the evening, and have a good time. Before, we had only the stores +and barrooms to go to, and there we were tempted to drink. Our club was started +in the interests of temperance, and we can see already that it is exerting a +good influence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I am very glad to assist you,” said Philip cordially. +</p> + +<p> +“You must come round and see our room. Are you at leisure now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Turner.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip accompanied his new friend to the neatly furnished room leased by the +society. He was so well pleased with its appearance that he thought he should +himself like to belong to such an association, whenever he found a permanent +home. At present he was only a wanderer. +</p> + +<p> +“Our debt is thirty-four dollars,” said the secretary. “You +may not think it large, but it’s large for us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope our entertainment will enable you to clear it off.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it should it will give us new courage.” +</p> + +<p> +On the evening of the next day Philip and the professor entered the hall +engaged for the entertainment, and took seats on the platform. +</p> + +<p> +The hall was well filled, the scale of prices being the same as at Wilkesville. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gray,” whispered the secretary joyfully, “it is a great +success! After paying all bills the club will clear fifty dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am delighted to hear it,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +The professor commenced the entertainment, and was followed by Philip. +</p> + +<p> +As Philip began to play his attention was drawn to three persons who were +entering the hall. +</p> + +<p> +These were a lady, a little girl, and a stout gentleman, in whom Philip, almost +petrified with amazement, recognized his old acquaintance, Squire Pope, of +Norton, who had shown himself so anxious to provide him a home in the +poor-house. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"></a> +CHAPTER XXXV.<br/> +SQUIRE POPE IS AMAZED.</h2> + +<p> +Though Philip did not know it, it chanced that Squire Pope’s only sister, +Mrs. Cunningham, lived in Knoxville. She was a widow, fairly well off, with a +young daughter, Carrie—a girl of twelve. Squire Pope had long thought of +visiting his sister, and happening about this time to have a little business in +a town near-by, he decided to carry out his long-deferred plan. He arrived by +the afternoon train, in time for supper. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you are here to-night, brother,” said Mrs. Cunningham. +</p> + +<p> +“Why particularly to-night, Sister Ellen?” asked the squire. +</p> + +<p> +“Because there is to be an entertainment for the benefit of the Young +Men’s Literary Club. It is expected to be very interesting.” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of an entertainment, Ellen?” asked the squire. +</p> + +<p> +“The celebrated elocutionist, Professor Riccabocca, is to give some +readings—” +</p> + +<p> +“Riccabocca!” repeated the squire, in a musing tone. “I +can’t say I ever heard of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I; but I hear he’s very celebrated.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there anything else?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, there’s a young musician going to play. He is said to be +wonderful. He plays on the violin.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a very handsome boy,” said Carrie enthusiastically. +“He’s staying at the hotel. I saw him this afternoon when I was +passing.” +</p> + +<p> +“So he’s good-looking, is he, Carrie?” asked the squire, +laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s ever so good-looking,” answered Carrie emphatically. +</p> + +<p> +“Then we must certainly go, for Carrie’s sake,” said the +squire. +</p> + +<p> +Squire Pope had not the slightest idea that the young musician, about whom his +niece spoke so enthusiastically, was the boy whom he had so recently +persecuted. +</p> + +<p> +If Carrie had mentioned his name, the secret would have been out, but she had +not yet heard it. +</p> + +<p> +In honor of her brother’s arrival, Mrs. Cunningham prepared a more +elaborate supper than usual, and to this it was owing that the three entered +the hall late, just as Philip was about to commence playing. +</p> + +<p> +The squire and his companions were obliged to take seats some distance away +from the platform, and as his eyesight was poor, he didn’t immediately +recognize as an old acquaintance the boy who was standing before the audience +with his violin in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s he! That’s the young violin-player!” whispered +Carrie, in a tone of delight. “Isn’t he handsome, uncle!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait till I get my glasses on,” said the squire, fumbling in his +pocket for his spectacle-case. +</p> + +<p> +Adjusting his glasses, Squire Pope directed a glance at the stage. He instantly +recognized Philip, and his surprise was boundless. He gave a sudden start. +</p> + +<p> +“By gracious, I couldn’t have believed it!” he ejaculated. +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t have believed what, brother?” asked Mrs. +Cunningham. +</p> + +<p> +“I know that boy!” he said, in a tone of excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“You know him, uncle?” said Carrie, delighted. “Then you must +introduce me to him. I want to meet him ever so much. Where did you ever see +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did I see him? I’m his guardian. He ran away from me a +little more than a week since, and I never knew where he went.” +</p> + +<p> +“You the guardian of the wonderful boy-player?” said Carrie, +astonished. “Isn’t it strange?” +</p> + +<p> +“His father died a short time since and left him in my care,” said +the squire, not scrupling to make a misstatement. “But I’ll tell +you more about it when the performance is over.” +</p> + +<p> +When Philip first saw Squire Pope entering the hall it disconcerted him, but he +reflected that the squire really had no authority over him, and consequently he +had nothing to fear from him. +</p> + +<p> +Should his pretended guardian make any effort to recover him, he was resolved +to make a desperate resistance, and even, if necessary, to invoke the help of +the law. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, his pride stimulated him to play his best, and the hearty applause +of the audience when he had finished his piece encouraged him. +</p> + +<p> +As he was bowing his thanks he could not help directing a triumphant glance at +Squire Pope, who was carefully scrutinizing him through his gold-bowed +spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +He was glad that the squire had a chance to see for himself that he was well +able to make his own way, with the help of the violin of which the Norton +official had attempted to deprive him. +</p> + +<p> +In truth, Squire Pope, who knew little of Philip’s playing, except that +he did play, was amazed to find him so proficient. Instead, however, of +concluding that a boy so gifted was abundantly able to “paddle his own +canoe,” as the saying is, he was the more resolved to carry him back to +Norton, and to take into his own care any the boy might have earned. In the +middle of the entertainment was a recess of ten minutes, which most of the +audience spent in conversation. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrie began again to speak of Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,—uncle,” she said, “I’m so glad you know that +lovely boy-player! He is earning lots of money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he!” asked the squire, pricking up his ears. “Who told +you so?” +</p> + +<p> +“One of the young men that belongs to the club told me they were to pay +him ten dollars for playing to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ten dollars!” ejaculated the squire, in amazement. “I +don’t believe it! It’s ridiculous!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, it is true!” said Mrs. Cunningham. “John Turner +told Carrie; and he is secretary, and ought to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“That isn’t all,” continued Carrie. “Mr. Turner says it +is very kind of Mr. Gray—” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gray!” repeated the squire, amused. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Philip, then. I suppose you call him Philip, as you are his +guardian.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what were you going to say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Turner says that it is very kind of Philip to play for so little, +for he made a good deal more money by his entertainment in Wilkesville.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he give a concert in Wilkesville?” asked the squire quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he and the professor. He was liked very much there.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you heard that he made a good deal of money there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; lots of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” thought the squire, “he must have considerable money +with him. As his guardian I ought to have the care of it. He’s a boy, and +isn’t fit to have the charge of money. It’s very lucky I came here +just as I did. It’s my duty, as his guardian, to look after him.” +</p> + +<p> +The squire determined to seek an interview with our hero as soon as the +entertainment was over. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"></a> +CHAPTER XXXVI.<br/> +THE PRETENDED GUARDIAN.</h2> + +<p> +Philip played with excellent effect, and his efforts were received with as much +favor at Knoxville as at Wilkesville. He was twice encored, and at the end of +each of his selections he was greeted with applause. +</p> + +<p> +As for Professor Riccabocca, people hardly knew what to make of him. He was as +eccentric and extravagant as ever, and his recitations were received with +good-natured amusement. He didn’t lack for applause, however. There were +some boys on the front seats who applauded him, just for the fun of it. Though +the applause was ironical, the professor persuaded himself that it was genuine, +and posed before the audience at each outburst, with his hand on his heart, and +his head bent so far over that he seemed likely to lose his balance. +</p> + +<p> +“We are making a grand success, Mr. Gray,” he said, during the +interval of ten minutes already referred to. “Did you notice how they +applauded me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Philip, with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“They evidently appreciate true genius. It reminds me of the ovation they +gave me at Cincinnati last winter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does it?” asked Philip, still smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I was a great favorite in that intellectual city. By the way, I +noticed that they seemed well pleased with your playing also.” +</p> + +<p> +This he said carelessly, as if Philip’s applause was not to be compared +to his. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, they treat me very kindly,” answered Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“You are fortunate in having me to introduce you to the public,” +said the professor emphatically. “The name of Riccabocca is so well +known, that it is of great advantage to you.” +</p> + +<p> +The professor deluded himself with the idea that he was a great elocutionist, +and that the public rated him as highly as he did himself. When anything +occurred that did not seem to favor this view, he closed his eyes to it, +preferring to believe that he was a popular favorite. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope I shall never be so deceived about myself,” thought Philip. +</p> + +<p> +When the entertainment was over, Mr. Caswell, president of the club, came up to +Philip and said cordially: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gray, we are very much indebted to you. Thanks to you, we are out of +debt, and shall have a balance of from twelve to fifteen dollars in the +treasury.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very glad of it,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” said the professor, pushing forward, jealous lest Philip +should get more than his share of credit. +</p> + +<p> +“And we are indebted to you also, Professor Riccabocca,” said the +president, taking the hint. +</p> + +<p> +“You are entirely welcome, sir,” said Riccabocca loftily. “My +help has often been asked in behalf of charitable organizations. I remember +once, in Philadelphia, I alone raised five hundred dollars for +a—a—I think it was a hospital.” +</p> + +<p> +This was an invention, but Professor Riccabocca had no scruple in getting up +little fictions which he thought likely to redound to his credit and increase +his reputation. +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless you are often called upon also, Mr. Gray,” suggested Mr. +Caswell with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Philip. “This is the first time that I have +ever had the opportunity.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no humbug about the boy,” thought Mr. Caswell. +“As for the professor, he is full of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have pleasure in handing you the price agreed upon,” said the +president, presenting each with a ten-dollar bill. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Riccabocca carelessly tucked the bill into his vest pocket, as if it +were a mere trifle. +</p> + +<p> +At this moment, Mr. Turner came up with all the other gentleman. “Mr. +Gray,” he said, “here is a gentleman who wishes to speak to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip looked up, and saw the well-known figure of Squire Pope. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"></a> +CHAPTER XXXVII.<br/> +HIS OWN MASTER.</h2> + +<p> +“Ahem, Philip,” said the squire. “I should like a little +conversation with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening, Squire Pope,” said our hero, not pretending to be +cordial, but with suitable politeness. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t expect to see you here,” pursued the squire. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am visiting my sister, Mrs. Cunningham, who lives in Knoxville. Will +you come around with me, and make a call?” +</p> + +<p> +Now, considering the treatment which Philip had received from the squire before +he left Norton, the reader can hardly feel surprised that our hero didn’t +care to trust himself with his unscrupulous fellow townsman. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Squire Pope,” said Philip, “but it is rather late +for me to call at a private house. I am staying at the hotel, and if you will +take the trouble to go around there with me, we will have a chance to +converse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said the squire, hesitating. Just then up came his +niece, Carrie, who was determined to get acquainted with Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle,” she said, “introduce me to Mr. Gray.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is my niece, Caroline Cunningham,” said the squire stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to meet Miss Cunningham,” said Philip, extending his +hand, with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“What a lovely player you are, Mr. Gray!” she said impulsively. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid you are flattering me, Miss Cunningham.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t call me Miss Cunningham. My name is Carrie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Carrie, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was ever so much surprised to hear that uncle was your +guardian.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip looked quickly at the squire, but did not contradict it. He only said: +</p> + +<p> +“We used to live in the same town.” +</p> + +<p> +During this conversation Squire Pope looked embarrassed and impatient. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s getting late, Carrie,” he said. “You had better +go home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you coming, too, uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to the hotel to settle some business with Philip.” +</p> + +<p> +“What business, I wonder?” thought our hero. +</p> + +<p> +Arrived at the hotel, they went up-stairs to Philip’s chamber. “You +left Norton very abruptly, Philip,” commenced the squire. +</p> + +<p> +“There was good reason for it,” answered Philip significantly. +</p> + +<p> +“It appears to me you are acting as if you were your own master,” +observed the squire. +</p> + +<p> +“I am my own master,” replied Philip firmly. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to forget that I am your guardian.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t forget it, for I never knew it,” said our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“It is generally understood that such is the case.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help it. I don’t need a guardian, and shall get +along without one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ahem! Perhaps that isn’t to be decided by you.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I am to have a guardian, Squire Pope,” said Philip bluntly, +“I sha’n’t select you. I shall select Mr. Dunbar.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have much more knowledge of business than Mr. Dunbar,” said the +squire, shifting his ground. +</p> + +<p> +“That may be, but there is one important objection.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not my friend, and Mr. Dunbar is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really this is very extraordinary!” ejaculated the squire. +“I am not your friend? How do you know that?” +</p> + +<p> +“You tried to make a pauper out of me, when, as you must perceive, I am +entirely able to earn my own living.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it true that you were paid ten dollars for playing this +evening?” asked the squire curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“It beats all!” said the squire, in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet you wanted to sell my violin for a good deal less than I have earned +in one evening,” said Philip, enjoying his enemy’s surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“You gave an entertainment at Wilkesville also, I hear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you make as much there?” +</p> + +<p> +“I made between sixty and seventy dollars over and above expenses.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t expect me to believe that!” said the squire. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care whether you believe it or not; it’s +true.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you got the money with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’d better give it to me to keep for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you; I feel capable of taking care of it myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s improper for a boy of your age to carry round so much +money,” said the squire sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“If I need help to take care of it, I will ask Mr. Dunbar.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Philip,” said the squire, condescending to assume a +persuasive manner, “you must remember that I am your guardian.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dispute that,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t insist upon your going back with me to Norton, as long as +you are able to support yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you wouldn’t advise me to go back to the poorhouse,” +said Philip, with some sarcasm in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t mean to have you stay there long,” said the squire, +rather confused. “You’d better give me most of your money, and +I’ll take care of it for you, and when you’re twenty-one +you’ll have quite a little sum.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am much obliged to you, sir, but I won’t put you to the trouble +of taking care of my money,” answered Philip coldly. +</p> + +<p> +Squire Pope continued to argue with Philip, but made no impression. At length +he was obliged to say good night. +</p> + +<p> +“I will call round in the morning,” he said, at parting. +“Perhaps you’ll listen to reason then.” +</p> + +<p> +When he called round in the morning he learned to his disappointment that +Philip was gone. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"></a> +CHAPTER XXXVIII.<br/> +AN OFFER DECLINED.</h2> + +<p> +After his interview with Squire Pope, Philip came down to the office, where he +saw Professor Riccabocca, apparently waiting for him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Gray, where shall we go next?” asked the professor, with +suavity. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t decided where to go—have you?” asked Philip +coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose we had better go to Raymond. That is a good-sized place. I +think we can get together a good audience there.” +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to be under the impression that we are in partnership,” +said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” answered Riccabocca. +</p> + +<p> +“I have made no agreement of that sort, professor.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, of course, it is understood,” said Riccabocca quickly, +“as long as we draw so well.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must excuse me, Professor Riccabocca. I must decline the +proposal.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why?” inquired the professor anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you won’t press me for an explanation.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I do. I can’t understand why you should act so against your +own interest. You can’t expect people will come just to hear you play. +You need me to help you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be as you say, professor, but if you insist upon my speaking +plainly, I don’t care to travel with a man who has treated me as you +have.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand you,” said Riccabocca nervously; but it +was evident, from his expression, that he did. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you seem very forgetful,” said Philip. “You tried to +deprive me of my share of the proceeds of the entertainment at Wilkesville, and +would have succeeded but for a lucky accident.” +</p> + +<p> +“I told you that it was all owing to neuralgia,” said Professor +Riccabocca. “I had such an attack of neuralgic headache that it nearly +drove me wild.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said Philip, “I would rather find a partner who is +not troubled with neuralgic headache. I think it would be safer.” +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t happen again, Mr. Gray, I assure you,” said the +professor apologetically. +</p> + +<p> +He endeavored to persuade Philip to renew the combination, but our hero +steadily refused. He admitted that it might be to his pecuniary advantage, but +he had lost all confidence in the eminent professor, and he thought it better +to part now than to give him another opportunity of playing a similar trick +upon him. +</p> + +<p> +The professor thereupon consulted the landlord as to whether it would be +advisable for him to give another entertainment unaided, and was assured very +emphatically that it would not pay expenses. +</p> + +<p> +“You make a great mistake, Mr. Gray,” said Riccabocca. “It +would be a great advantage for you to have my assistance at this stage of your +professional career.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t expect to have any professional career,” answered +Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you intend to become a professional musician?” asked +the professor, surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“Probably not. I have only been playing because I needed money, and my +violin helped me to a living.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t make as much money in any other way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at present; but I want to get a chance to enter upon some kind of +business. I am going to New York.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will some time have a chance to hear me there, in the Academy of +Music,” said Riccabocca pompously. +</p> + +<p> +“I will go and hear you,” said Philip, laughing, “if I can +afford a ticket.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say the word and we will appear there together, Mr. Gray.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think not, professor.” +</p> + +<p> +In fact, though Philip had found himself unexpectedly successful as a musician, +he knew very well that he was only a clever amateur, and that years of study +would be needed to make him distinguished. +</p> + +<p> +He was glad that he had the means of paying his expenses for a considerable +time, and had in his violin a trusty friend upon which he could rely in case he +got into financial trouble. Directly after breakfast he set out on his journey. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIX.<br/> +AN AMBITIOUS WAYFARER.</h2> + +<p> +The large sums which Philip had received for his playing might have dazzled a +less sensible boy. He was quite conscious that he played unusually well for a +boy, but when it came to selecting music as a profession, he felt it would not +be wise to come to too hasty a decision. To be a commonplace performer did not +seem to him very desirable, and would not have satisfied his ambition. +</p> + +<p> +He had told Professor Riccabocca that he intended to go to New York. This +design had not been hastily formed. He had heard a great deal of the great city +in his home in the western part of the State of which it was the metropolis, +and he was desirous of seeing it. Perhaps there might be some opening for him +in its multitude of business houses. +</p> + +<p> +Philip had plenty of money, and could easily have bought a railroad ticket, +which would have landed him in New York inside of twenty-four hours, for he was +only about four hundred miles distant; but he was in no hurry, and rather +enjoyed traveling leisurely through the country towns, with his violin in his +hand. +</p> + +<p> +It reminded him of a biography he had read of the famous Doctor Goldsmith, +author of the “Vicar of Wakefield,” who made a tour on the +continent of Europe, paying his way with music evoked from a similar +instrument. +</p> + +<p> +Three days later, he found himself on the outskirts of a village, which I will +call Cranston. It was afternoon, and he had walked far enough to be tired. +</p> + +<p> +He was looking about for a pleasant place to lounge, when his attention was +drawn to a boy of about his own age, who was sitting on the stone wall under a +large tree. +</p> + +<p> +He was rather a slender boy, and had originally been well dressed, but his suit +was travel-stained, and covered with dust. +</p> + +<p> +Now, boys have a natural attraction for each other, and Philip determined to +introduce himself to the stranger. This he did in boy-fashion, by saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” said the stranger, looking up. +</p> + +<p> +But he spoke slowly and wearily, and to Philip he seemed out of spirits. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you live in Cranston?” asked Philip, taking a seat beside the +other boy, upon the top of the stone wall. +</p> + +<p> +“No; do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you live?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t live anywhere just at present,” answered Philip, +with a smile. “I am traveling.” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” said the other boy. +</p> + +<p> +“I am traveling to New York,” Philip continued. +</p> + +<p> +“And I am traveling from there,” said his new acquaintance. +</p> + +<p> +Then both boys surveyed each other curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s your name?” asked the stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“Philip Gray. What’s your’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mine is Henry Taylor. What have you got there?” +</p> + +<p> +“A violin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you play on it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; a little.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think you’d be tired lugging it round.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“It is about all the property I have,” he said; “so it +won’t do for me to get tired of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re richer than I am, then,” said Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you poor, then?” asked Philip, in a tone of sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got a cent in my pocket, and I haven’t had +anything to eat since breakfast.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’m glad I met you,” said Philip warmly. “I will +see that you have a good supper. How long is it since you left New York?” +</p> + +<p> +“About a week.” +</p> + +<p> +“What made you leave it?” +</p> + +<p> +Henry Taylor hesitated, and finally answered, in a confused tone: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve run away from home. I wanted to go out West to kill +Indians.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip stared at his new acquaintance in astonishment. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"></a> +CHAPTER XL.<br/> +THE INDIAN HUNTER.</h2> + +<p> +Philip had lived so long in a country village that he had never chanced to read +any of those absorbing romances in which one boy, of tender years, proves +himself a match for a dozen Indians, more or less, and, therefore, he was very +much amazed at Henry Taylor’s avowal that he was going out West to kill +Indians. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want to kill Indians for?” he asked, after an +astonished pause. +</p> + +<p> +Now it was Henry’s turn to be astonished. +</p> + +<p> +“Every boy wants to kill Indians,” he answered, looking pityingly +at our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“What for? What good will it do?” asked Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“It shows he’s brave,” answered his new friend. +“Didn’t you ever read the story of ‘Bully Bill’; or, +The Hero of the Plains’?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never heard of it,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“You must have lived in the woods, then,” said Henry Taylor, rather +contemptuously. “It’s a tip-top story. Bully Bill was only +fourteen, and killed ever so many Indians—twenty or thirty, I +guess—as well as a lot of lions and bears. Oh, he must have had lots of +fun!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t the Indians kill him?” asked Philip, desirous of +being enlightened. “They didn’t stand still and let him kill them, +did they?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; of course not. They fought awful hard.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did one young boy manage to overcome so many Indians?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you’ll have to read the story to find out! Bully Bill was a +great hero, and everybody admired him.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you wanted to imitate his example?” asked Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you happen to get out of money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Henry, “you see me and another boy got awful +excited after reading the story, and both concluded nothing could make us so +happy as to go out West together, and do as Bill did. Of course, it was no use +to ask the old man—” +</p> + +<p> +“The old man?” queried Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“The gov’nor—father, of course! So we got hold of some +money—” +</p> + +<p> +“You got hold of some money?” queried Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” rejoined Henry +irritably. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what’s the use of repeating it?” +</p> + +<p> +Philip intended to ask where or how Henry got hold of the money, but he saw +pretty clearly that this would not be agreeable to his new acquaintance. Though +without much experience in the world, he suspected that the money was not +obtained honestly, and did not press the question. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, me and Tom started about a week ago. First of all, we bought some +revolvers, as, of course, we should need them to shoot Indians. They cost more +than we expected, and then we found it cost more to travel than we +thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much money did you have?” +</p> + +<p> +“After paying for our revolvers, Tom and me had about thirty +dollars,” said Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“Only thirty dollars to go west with!” exclaimed Philip, in +amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you see, the revolvers cost more than we expected. Then we stopped +at a hotel in Albany, where they charged us frightfully. That is where Tom left +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tom left you at Albany?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he got homesick!” said Henry contemptuously. “He +thought we hadn’t money enough, and he said he didn’t know as he +cared so much about killing Indians.” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree with Tom,” said Philip. “I don’t think I +should care very much about killing Indians myself, and I should decidedly +object to being killed by an Indian. I shouldn’t like to be scalped. +Would you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’d take care of that,” said Henry. “I +wouldn’t let them have the chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me the best way would be to stay at home,” said +Philip, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“If I stayed at home I’d have to go to school and study. I +don’t care much about studying.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like it,” said Philip. “So Tom left you, did he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but I wasn’t going to give up so easy. He took half the money +that was left, though I thought he ought to have given it to me, as I needed it +more. I wasn’t going home just as I’d started.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ve spent all your money now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Henry gloomily. “Have you got much +money?” he asked, after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have about a hundred dollars-say, ninety-five.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean it!” ejaculated Henry, hie eyes sparkling. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you get it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I earned most of it by playing on the violin.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” exclaimed Henry, in excitement, “suppose you and me +go into partnership together, and go out West—” +</p> + +<p> +“To kill Indians?” asked Philip, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes! With all that money we’ll get along. Besides, if we get +short, you can earn some more.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what advantage am I to get out of it? I am to furnish all the +capital and pay all expenses, as far as I can understand. Generally, both +partners put in something.” +</p> + +<p> +“I put in my revolver,” said Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“One revolver won’t do for us both.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, you can buy one. Come, what do you say?” asked Henry +eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me ask you a few questions first. Where does your father +live?” +</p> + +<p> +“In New York.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is his business?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a broker in Wall Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose he is rich?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he’s got plenty of money, I expect! We live in a nice house on +Madison Avenue. That’s one of the best streets, I suppose you +know!” +</p> + +<p> +“I never was in New York. Is your mother living?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Henry. “She died three years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +If his mother had been living, probably the boy would never have made such an +escapade, but his father, being engrossed by business cares, was able to give +very little attention to his son, and this accounts in part for the folly of +which he had been guilty. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you got any brothers or sisters?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I have one sister, about three years younger than I. Her name is +Jennie.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I were as well off as you,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean I wish I had a father and sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“My father is dead,” said Philip gravely, “and I never had a +sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, I don’t know as I’m so lucky,” said Henry. +“Sisters are a bother. They want you to go round with them, and the old +man is always finding fault.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip’s relations with his father had always been so affectionate that +he could not understand how Henry could talk in such a way of his. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what makes you ask me such a lot of questions,” +said Henry, showing impatience. “Come, what do you say to my +offer?” +</p> + +<p> +“About forming a partnership?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather not—in that way.” +</p> + +<p> +“In what way?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean for the purpose of going out West to kill Indians.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve no idea what fun it would be,” said Henry, +disappointed. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I suppose not,” said Philip, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I suppose I shall have to give it up,” said Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I have a proposal to make to you,” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you agree to go home, I’ll pay your expenses and go along with +you. I’ve never been to New York, and I’d like to have some one +with me that could show me round the city.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can do that,” said Henry. “I know the way all +about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then will you agree?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then come along, and we’ll stop at the first convenient place and +get some supper.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"></a> +CHAPTER XLI.<br/> +AN ADVENTURE IN THE WOODS.</h2> + +<p> +“I shall do a good thing if I induce Henry to go home,” thought +Philip. “That is rather a queer idea of his about wanting to kill +Indians. It seems to me as much murder to kill an Indian as any one +else.” +</p> + +<p> +He only thought this, but did not express it, as he did not care to get into a +discussion with his new acquaintance, lest the latter should recall his consent +to go home. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Philip,” said Henry, who had now learned our hero’s +name, “we ain’t in any hurry to go to New York, are we?” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought we might take a train to-morrow morning, and go straight +through.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I’d rather take it easy, and travel through the country, and +have adventures.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you forget that your father will be anxious about you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I suppose he will.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you’ll write a letter +to your father, and let him know that you are safe with me, I’ll do as +you say.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Henry, in a tone of satisfaction; +“I’ll do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father’ll pay you all you have to spend for me,” Henry +added, after a moment’s pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well; then I will be your banker.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip was not foolish enough to protest that he did not care to be repaid. All +he had in the world was a little less than a hundred dollars, and when that was +gone he was not absolutely sure of making any more at once, though he felt +tolerably confident that he could. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose you let me have ten dollars now,” suggested Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I would rather keep the money and pay the bills,” said +Philip quietly. +</p> + +<p> +He was not sure but that Henry, if he had a supply of money in his pockets, +would reconsider his promise to go home and take French leave. +</p> + +<p> +Of course, it would be extremely foolish, but his present expedition did not +indicate the possession of much wisdom. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see what difference it makes,” said Henry, looking +dissatisfied. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t argue the point,” answered Philip good-naturedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I was in New York, near a good restaurant,” said Henry, +after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh. I forgot! You are hungry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Awfully. I don’t believe there’s a hotel within two or three +miles. I don’t think I can hold out to walk much farther.” +</p> + +<p> +A few rods farther on was a farmhouse standing back from the road, +old-fashioned-looking, but of comfortable aspect. +</p> + +<p> +A young girl appeared at the side door and rang a noisy bell with great vigor. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re going to have supper,” said Henry wistfully. +“I wish it was a hotel!” +</p> + +<p> +Philip had lived in the country, and understood the hospitable ways of country +people. +</p> + +<p> +“Come along, Henry,” he said. “I’ll ask them to sell us +some supper. I am sure they will be willing.” +</p> + +<p> +Followed by his new acquaintance, he walked up to the side door and +knocked—for there was no bell. +</p> + +<p> +The young girl—probably about Philip’s age—opened the door +and regarded them with some surprise. +</p> + +<p> +Philip bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you be kind enough to tell us if there is any hotel near-by?” +he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s one about three miles and a half farther on.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry groaned inwardly. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to ask you a favor,” said Philip. “My friend and +I have traveled a considerable distance, and stand in need of supper. We are +willing to pay as much as we should have to at a hotel, if you will let us take +supper here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll ask mother,” said the young girl. +</p> + +<p> +And forthwith she disappeared. She came back in company with a stout, +motherly-looking woman. Philip repeated his request. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, to be sure,” she said heartily. “We always have enough, +and to spare. Come right in, and we’ll have supper as soon as the +men-folks come in.” +</p> + +<p> +They entered a neat kitchen, in the middle of which was set out a table, with a +savory supper upon it. Henry’s eyes sparkled, and his mouth watered, for +the poor boy was almost famished. +</p> + +<p> +“If you want to wash come right in here,” said the farmer’s +wife, leading the way into a small room adjoining. +</p> + +<p> +The two boys gladly availed themselves of the permission, though Henry would +not have minded sitting right down, dusty as he was. However, he felt better +after he had washed his face and bands and wiped them on the long roll towel +that hung beside the sink. +</p> + +<p> +They were scarcely through, when their places were taken by the farmer and his +son, the latter a tall, sun-burned young man, of about twenty, who had just +come in from a distant field. The farmer’s wife soon explained the +presence of the two young strangers. +</p> + +<p> +“Sho!” said the farmer. “You’re pretty young to be +travelin’. You ain’t in any business, be you?” +</p> + +<p> +Henry was rather ashamed to mention that his business was killing Indians, +though, as yet, he had not done anything in that line. He had an idea that he +might be laughed at. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a little of a musician,” said Philip modestly. +</p> + +<p> +“Sho! do you make it pay?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty well, so far; but I think when I get to New York I shall try +something else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you a musician as well as he?” asked the farmer of Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, father, you’d better sit down to supper, and do your talking +afterward,” said the farmer’s wife. +</p> + +<p> +So they sat down to the table, and all did full justice to the wholesome fare, +particularly Henry, who felt absolutely ravenous. +</p> + +<p> +Never at the luxurious home of his father, in Madison Avenue, had the wandering +city boy enjoyed his supper as much as at the plain table of this country +farmer. +</p> + +<p> +The good mistress of the household was delighted at the justice done to her +viands, considering it a tribute to her qualities as a cook. +</p> + +<p> +When Philip produced his purse to pay for their supper, the farmer absolutely +refused to receive anything. “But I would rather pay,” persisted +our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll tell you how you may pay. Give us one or two tunes on +your violin.” +</p> + +<p> +This Philip was quite willing to do, and it is needless to say that his small +audience was very much pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” said Henry, “you play well enough to give +concerts.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have done it before now,” answered Philip, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +They were invited to spend the night, but desired to push on to the hotel, +being refreshed by their supper and feeling able to walk three or four miles +farther. +</p> + +<p> +About half-way their attention was drawn to what appeared a deserted cabin in +the edge of the woods, some twenty rods back from the road. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Philip,” said Henry, “there’s an old hut that +looks as if nobody lived in it. Wouldn’t it be a lark for us to sleep +there to-night? It would save the expense of lodging at the hotel, and would be +an adventure. I haven’t had any adventures yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no objection,” said Philip. “We’ll go, at any +rate, and look at it.” +</p> + +<p> +They crossed the field, which seemed to have been only partially cleared, and +soon reached the hut. +</p> + +<p> +It was very bare within, but on the floor, in one corner, was a blanket spread +out. There was a place for a window, but the sash had been removed, and it was +easy to step in. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder how this blanket came here?” said Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I guess the last people that lived here left it!” returned +Henry. “I say, Phil, I begin to feel tired. Suppose we lie down? +I’m glad I haven’t got to walk any farther.” +</p> + +<p> +Philip sympathized with his new friend; and so, without much parley, the two +boys threw themselves down on the blanket, and were soon fast asleep. +</p> + +<p> +How long Philip slept he didn’t know, but he was awakened by a terrible +screech, and, opening his eyes, say Henry sitting bolt upright, with trembling +limbs and distended eyeballs, gazing fearfully at a tall, muscular-looking +Indian, who had just stepped into the cabin through the open window. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"></a> +CHAPTER XLII.<br/> +AN INDIAN AT LAST.</h2> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” asked Philip, rubbing his eyes, for he +was hardly able—so suddenly had he been roused from sleep—to +comprehend the situation. +</p> + +<p> +Henry, as white as a sheet, could only point at the tall Indian, who, standing +motionless, was gazing as intently at the boys. +</p> + +<p> +He made one step forward, and Henry thought he was about to be killed and +scalped forthwith. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Indian Chief,” he exclaimed, in tremulous accents, +“don’t kill me! I—I ain’t ready to die!” +</p> + +<p> +The Indian looked amazed, and laughed gutturally, but did not speak. His laugh +increased Henry’s dismay. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got a revolver. I’ll give it to you if you won’t +kill me,” continued Henry. +</p> + +<p> +Then the Indian spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should I kill white boy?” he asked in a mild tone, which ought +to have convinced Henry that he had nothing to fear. +</p> + +<p> +But the boy was so frenzied with terror, and so possessed of the thought that +the Indian was just like the savage warriors of the plains, of whom he had read +so much, that he still felt his life to be in danger, and answered the question +in a way not expected. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you want my scalp,” he said; “but I am only a boy, +and I don’t mean any harm. I hope you’ll spare my life.” +</p> + +<p> +Another fit of guttural laughter from the Indian, which perplexed Henry, and +after a pause he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Me no want white boy’s scalp! Me good Indian!” +</p> + +<p> +An immense burden seemed lifted from poor Henry’s breast. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you don’t want to kill me?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why do you come here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Me live here.” +</p> + +<p> +The secret was out—a secret which Philip had suspected from the first, +though Henry had not dreamed of it. +</p> + +<p> +They had lain down in the Indian’s cabin, appropriating his blanket, and +were simply intruders. +</p> + +<p> +Philip thought it was time for him to take part in the conversation, +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you’ll excuse us,” he said, “for coming here. +We had no idea any one lived here.” +</p> + +<p> +“No matter,” said the Indian civilly—that being one of the +phrases which his knowledge of English included. +</p> + +<p> +“Henry,” said Philip, “let us get up. We are sleeping in +this—this gentleman’s bed.” +</p> + +<p> +He felt a little at a loss how to designate the Indian, but felt that it was +best to be as polite as possible. +</p> + +<p> +The two boys started up, in order to yield to the master of the house the bed +which properly belonged to him. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the Indian, with a wave of his hand. “White boys +stay there. Indian sleep anywhere.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he lay down in one corner of the cabin, and settled himself +apparently to repose. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” said Philip, “we don’t want to take your +bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“No matter!” said the Indian once more. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very kind,” said Philip. “Henry, we may as well lay +down again.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry obeyed directions, but he was not altogether free from alarm. He had read +that the Indians are very crafty. How did he know but their copper-colored host +might get up in the night, skillfully remove their scalps, and leave them in a +very uncomfortable plight? +</p> + +<p> +“Hadn’t we better get up, and run away as soon as he is +asleep?” he whispered to Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“No; he’s friendly,” answered Philip confidently. +</p> + +<p> +As Henry had read about friendly Indians—all he knew about Indians, by +the way, was derived from reading stories written by authors little wiser than +himself—he concluded that perhaps there was nothing to fear, and after a +while fell asleep again. +</p> + +<p> +When the boys awoke it was morning. They looked toward the corner where the +Indian had lain down, but it was vacant. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s gone.” said Henry, rather relieved. +</p> + +<p> +“You were pretty well frightened last night,” said Philip, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Who wouldn’t be!” asked Henry; “to wake up and see a +big Indian in the room?” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say many boys would be frightened,” said Philip, “but +I don’t think a boy who left home to go out West to kill Indians ought to +be afraid of one.” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess I’ll give up going,” said Henry, rather abashed. +</p> + +<p> +“I think myself it would be as well,” observed Philip quietly. +“You’d find it rather serious business if you should meet any real +Indian warriors.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know but I should,” Henry admitted, rather +awkwardly. “I didn’t think much about it when I left home.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you thought you’d be a match for half a dozen Indian +warriors?” said Philip, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“That was the way with ‘Bully Bill’; or, ‘The Hero of +the Plains,’” said Henry. “He always came off best when he +fought with the Indians.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think either you or I will ever prove a Bully Bill,” +said Philip. “I might enjoy going out West some time, but I +shouldn’t expect to kill many Indians. I think they would stand a good +deal better chance of shooting me.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry said nothing, but looked thoughtful. His romantic ideas seemed to have +received a sudden shock, and he was trying to adjust his ideas to the new light +he had received. +</p> + +<p> +The boys were preparing to go out, when their Indian host suddenly reappeared. +He carried in his hand a large-sized loaf of baker’s bread, which he had +procured at the village store. He was alive to the duties of hospitality, and +did not intend to let his guests go, uninvited though they were, without a +breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +Though his stock of English was limited, he made out to invite the boys to +breakfast with him. +</p> + +<p> +Henry would have preferred to go to the hotel, but Philip signed to him to +accept graciously the Indian’s hospitality. +</p> + +<p> +As the bread was fresh, they partook of it with relish, washing it down with +drafts of clear spring water. +</p> + +<p> +The Indian looked on, well pleased to see the justice done to his hospitality. +He explained to the boys that he made baskets, caught fish, and sometimes +engaged in hunting, managing, in one way and another, to satisfy his simple +wants. His name was Winuca, but his white neighbors called him Tom. +</p> + +<p> +When the boys were ready to go, Philip drew from his pocket a jack-knife, +nearly new, of which he asked the Indian’s acceptance. +</p> + +<p> +Winuca seemed very much pleased, and shook hands heartily with his young +guests, wishing them good-by. +</p> + +<p> +The boys kept on to the hotel, where they spent a few hours, taking dinner +there. Their breakfast had been so simple that they had a very good appetite +for their midday meal. +</p> + +<p> +“While we are here, Henry, suppose you write to your father and relieve +his anxiety?” suggested Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“Why can’t you write?” asked Henry, who cherished the general +boyish distaste for letter-writing. +</p> + +<p> +“Because it will be more proper for you to write. I am a stranger to +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t be long, Philip? I shall want you to come and make me a +visit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you’ll be tired of me before we get to New York,” +suggested Philip, with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“There isn’t much chance of it. I like you better than any boy I +know. You’re awful brave, too. You didn’t seem to be at all scared +last night when the Indian came in.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was because I felt sure that any Indian to be found about here would +be harmless.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish we could make a journey together some time. I’d like to go +West—” +</p> + +<p> +“To kill Indians?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. If they’ll let me alone, I’ll let them alone; but there +must be a lot of fun out on the prairies.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Henry, go and write your letter, and we can talk about that +afterward.” +</p> + +<p> +The letter was written and mailed, and arrived in New York several days before +the boys did. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"></a> +CHAPTER XLIII.<br/> +A WELCOME LETTER.</h2> + +<p> +Alexander Taylor, a Wall Street broker, sat at breakfast in his fine house on +Madison Avenue. His daughter, Jennie, about thirteen years old, was the only +other person at the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Papa, have you heard nothing of Henry?” asked the little girl +anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Only that the boy who got started with him on his foolish tramp got back +three days since.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is Tom Murray back, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; he showed himself more sensible than Henry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m afraid something’s happened to him, papa! Why +don’t you advertise for him, or send out a detective, or +something?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you, Jennie,” said Mr. Taylor, laying down the morning +paper. “I want your brother to stay away long enough to see his +folly.” +</p> + +<p> +“But perhaps he may get out of money, and not be able to get anything to +eat. You wouldn’t want him to starve, papa?” +</p> + +<p> +“There isn’t much chance of it. If he is in danger of that, he will +have sense enough to ask for food, or to write to me for help. I rather hope he +will have a hard time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, papa!” +</p> + +<p> +“It will do him good. If I sent for him and brought him back against his +will, he would probably start off again when he has a good chance.” +</p> + +<p> +Jennie could not quite follow her father in his reasoning, and was inclined to +think him hard and unfeeling. She missed her brother, who, whatever his faults, +treated her tolerably well, and was at any rate a good deal of company, being +the only other young person in the house. +</p> + +<p> +Just then the servant entered with three letters, which he laid down beside his +master’s plate. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Taylor hastily scanned the addresses. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is a letter from Henry,” he said, in a tone of satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, read it quick, papa!” +</p> + +<p> +This was the letter which Mr. Taylor read aloud, almost too deliberately for +the impatience of his daughter: +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Father: I am alive and well, and hope to see you in a few days. I +guess I made a mistake in running away, though I didn’t think so at the +time, for I wanted to see life, and have adventures. I don’t know how I +should have got along if I hadn’t met Philip Gray. He’s a tip-top +fellow, and is paying my expenses. I told him you would pay him back. He has +got me off the idea of going West to kill Indians.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, papa!” exclaimed Jennie, opening her eyes wide. “I +didn’t know that was what Henry went for.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think the Indians would have felt very much frightened if +they had heard of his intention. However, I will proceed: +</p> + +<p> +“I was all out of money when Philip met me, and I hadn’t had +anything to eat since morning, he bought me some supper, and is paying my +expenses. He is a poor boy, coming to New York to get a place, if he can. He +has got a violin, and he plays beautifully. He earned all the money he has by +giving concerts.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to see Philip,” said Jennie, with interest. +</p> + +<p> +“I asked him if he wouldn’t go out West with me, but he +wouldn’t. He told me he wouldn’t do anything for me unless I would +agree to come home.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a sensible boy,” commented Mr. Taylor, in a tone of +approval. +</p> + +<p> +“We thought at first of coming right home on the cars, but I wanted to +walk and see something of the country, and Philip said he didn’t mind. He +told me I must write and tell you, so that you needn’t feel anxious. +</p> + +<p> +“You will see us in a few days. I will bring Philip to the house. Your +son, HENRY TAYLOR.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that all?” asked Jennie. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I consider it a very fair letter. It is evident Henry has made the +acquaintance of a sensible boy. I shall take care that he doesn’t let it +drop.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"></a> +CHAPTER XLIV.<br/> +A FRESH START.</h2> + +<p> +Five days later, just as Mr. Taylor was sitting down to dinner, at the close of +the day, the door-bell rang violently. +</p> + +<p> +There was a hurried step heard in the hall, and the door opening quickly Henry +Taylor rushed in, his face beaming with smiles. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m so glad to see you, Henry!” said Jennie, embracing +him. “I missed you awfully.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry looked at his father, a little doubtful of his reception. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you well, father?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite well,” responded Mr. Taylor coolly. “Where did you +leave your scalps?” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” ejaculated Henry, bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you left home to kill Indians.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Henry, smiling faintly. “I didn’t meet any +Indians—except one—and he was friendly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then your expedition was a failure?” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess I’ll leave the Indians alone,” said Henry +sheepishly. +</p> + +<p> +“That strikes me as a sensible remark. Of course, a few Indian scalps +would be of great use to you. I fully expected a present of one, as a trophy of +my son’s valor; but still, in case the Indian objected to being scalped, +there might be a little risk in performing the operation.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see you are laughing at me, father,” said Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all. You can see that I am very sober. If you think you can make +a good living hunting Indians—I don’t know myself how much their +scalps bring in the market—I might set you up in the business.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not so foolish as I was. I prefer some other business. Philip told +me—” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Philip?” asked Jennie eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“I left him in the parlor. He said I had better come in first.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go and call him. Invite him, with my compliments, to stay to +dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry left the room, and reappeared almost immediately with Philip. +</p> + +<p> +Both boys were perfectly neat in appearance, for Philip had insisted on going +to a hotel and washing and dressing themselves. +</p> + +<p> +As he followed Henry into the room, with modest self-possession, his cheeks +glowing with a healthy color, both Jennie and Mr. Taylor were instantly +prepossessed in his favor. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to see you, Philip,” said the broker, “and beg to +thank you, not only for the material help you gave Henry, but also for the good +advice, which I consider of still greater importance and value.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir. I don’t feel competent to give much advice, but I +thought his best course was to come home.” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t as high an idea of hunting Indians as Henry, I +infer?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” answered Philip, smiling. “It seems to me they +have as much right to live as we, if they behave themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so, too,” said Henry, who was rather ashamed of what had +once been his great ambition. +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t introduced me to Philip—I mean Mr. Gray,” +said Jennie. +</p> + +<p> +“This is my sister Jennie, Phil,” said Henry, in an off-hand +manner. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Gray,” said Jennie, extending her +hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I am hardly used to that name,” said Philip, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“When I get well acquainted with you I shall call you Philip.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you will.” +</p> + +<p> +Within an hour Miss Jennie appeared to feel well acquainted with her +brother’s friend, for she dropped “Mr. Gray” altogether, and +called him Philip. +</p> + +<p> +At her solicitation he played on his violin. Both Mr. Taylor and Jennie were +surprised at the excellence of his execution. +</p> + +<p> +When Philip rose to go, Mr. Taylor said cordially: +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot permit you to leave us, Philip. You must remain here as our +guest.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, sir, I left my things at a hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then Henry will go with you and get them.” +</p> + +<p> +So Philip found himself established in a fine house on Madison Avenue as a +favored guest. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning, when Mr. Taylor went to his office, he asked Philip to go +with him. Arrived in Wall Street, he sent a boy to the bank with a check. On +his return, he selected five twenty-dollar bills, and handed them to Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“You have expended some money for Henry,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir; but not quarter as much as this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then accept the rest as a gift. You will probably need some new clothes. +Henry will take you to our tailor. Don’t spare expense. The bill will be +sent to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Mr. Taylor, I do not deserve such kindness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me be the judge of that. In a few days I shall have a proposal to +make to you.” +</p> + +<p> +This was the proposal, and the way it was made: +</p> + +<p> +“I find, Philip,” said Mr. Taylor, some days later, “that +Henry is much attached to you, and that your influence over him is excellent. +He has agreed to go to an academy in Connecticut, and study hard for a year, +provided you will go with him. I take it for granted you haven’t +completed your education?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall pay all the bills and provide for you in every way, exactly as I +do for Henry.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Mr. Taylor, how can I ever repay you?” asked Philip. +</p> + +<p> +“By being Henry’s friend and adviser—perhaps, I may say, +guardian—for, although you are about the same age, you are far wiser and +more judicious.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will certainly do the best I can for him, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +During the next week the two boys left New York, and became pupils at Doctor +Shelley’s private academy, at Elmwood—a pleasant country town not +far from Long Island Sound—and there we bid them adieu. +</p> + +<p> +THE END. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG MUSICIAN ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c9fb45 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #5673 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5673) diff --git a/old/5673.txt b/old/5673.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f7f1643 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/5673.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8409 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Young Musician, by Horatio Alger + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Young Musician + or, Fighting His Way + +Author: Horatio Alger + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5673] +Posting Date: June 5, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG MUSICIAN *** + + + + +Produced by Carrie Fellman + + + + + + + + +THE YOUNG MUSICIAN + +or + +FIGHTING HIS WAY + + +By Horatio Alger + + +Chicago + + + +CONTENTS + + + I. A Candidate for the Poorhouse + + II. Philip at Home + + III. Nick Holden's Call + + IV. The Auction + + V. An Alliance Against Philip + + VI. "A Fuss About a Fiddle" + + VII. Mr. Joe Tucker + + VIII. In the Enemy's Hands + + IX. The Poorhouse + + X. Bad Tidings + + XI. Philip's New Room + + XII. A Pauper's Meal + + XIII. A Friendly Mission + + XIV. Philip Makes His Escape + + XV. Escape and Flight + + XVI. A Night Adventure + + XVII. A Reformed Burglar + + XVIII. A Professional Engagement + + XIX. New Acquaintances + + XX. A Lively Evening + + XXI. Fortune Smiles Again + + XXII. Rival Musicians + + XXIII. An Hour of Triumph + + XXIV. Lorenzo Riccabocca + + XXV. A Change of Name + + XXVI. A Promising Plan + + XXVII. Unexpected Honors + + XXVIII. A Triumphant Success + + XXIX. Beset by Creditors + + XXX. A Timely Gift + + XXXI. The Professor's Flight + + XXXII. The Race Across Fields + + XXXIII. The Lost Wallet + + XXXIV. A New Business Proposal + + XXXV. Squire Pope Is Amazed + + XXXVI. The Pretended Guardian + + XXXVII. His Own Master + + XXXVIII. An Offer Declined + + XXXIX. An Ambitious Wayfarer + + XL. The Indian Hunter + + XXI. An Adventure in the Woods + + XLII. An Indian at Last + + XLIII. A Welcome Letter + + XLIV. A Fresh Start + + + + +CHAPTER I. A CANDIDATE FOR THE POORHOUSE. + + +"As for the boy," said Squire Pope, with his usual autocratic air, "I +shall place him in the poorhouse." + +"But, Benjamin," said gentle Mrs. Pope, who had a kindly and sympathetic +heart, "isn't that a little hard?" + +"Hard, Almira?" said the squire, arching his eyebrows. "I fail to +comprehend your meaning." + +"You know Philip has been tenderly reared, and has always had a +comfortable home--" + +"He will have a comfortable home now, Mrs. Pope. Probably you are not +aware that it cost the town two thousand dollars last year to maintain +the almshouse. I can show you the item in the town report." + +"I don't doubt it at all, husband," said Mrs. Pope gently. "Of course +you know all about it, being a public man." + +Squire Pope smiled complacently. It pleased him to be spoken of as a +public man. + +"Ahem! Well, yes, I believe I have no inconsiderable influence in town +affairs," he responded. "I am on the board of selectmen, and am chairman +of the overseers of the poor, and in that capacity I shall convey Philip +Gray to the comfortable and well-ordered institution which the town has +set apart for the relief of paupers." + +"I don't like to think of Philip as a pauper," said Mrs. Pope, in a +deprecating tone. + +"What else is he?" urged her husband. "His father hasn't left a cent. He +never was a good manager." + +"Won't the furniture sell for something, Benjamin?" + +"It will sell for about enough to pay the funeral expenses and +outstanding debts-that is all." + +"But it seems so hard for a boy well brought up to go to the poorhouse." + +"You mean well, Almira, but you let your feelings run away with you. You +may depend upon it, it is the best thing for the boy. But I must write a +letter in time for the mail." + +Squire Pope rose from the breakfast-table and walked out of the room +with his usual air of importance. Not even in the privacy of the +domestic circle did he forget his social and official importance. + +Who was Squire Pope? + +We already know that he held two important offices in the town of +Norton. He was a portly man, and especially cultivated dignity of +deportment. Being in easy circumstances, and even rich for the resident +of a village, he was naturally looked up to and credited with a worldly +sagacity far beyond what he actually possessed. + +At any rate, he may be considered the magnate of Norton. Occasionally he +visited New York, and had been very much annoyed to find that his rural +importance did not avail him there, and that he was treated with no +sort of deference by those whom he had occasion to meet. Somehow, the +citizens of the commercial metropolis never suspected for a single +moment that he was a great man. + +When Squire Pope had finished his letter, he took his hat, and with +measured dignity, walked to the village post-office. + +He met several of his neighbors there, and greeted them with affable +condescension. He was polite to those of all rank, as that was essential +to his retaining the town offices, which he would have been unwilling to +resign. + +From the post-office the squire, as he remembered the conversation which +had taken place at the breakfast-table, went to make an official call on +the boy whose fate he had so summarily decided. + +Before the call, it may be well to say a word about Philip Gray, our +hero, and the circumstances which had led to his present destitution. + +His father had once been engaged in mercantile business, but his +health failed, his business suffered, and he found it best-indeed, +necessary--to settle up his affairs altogether and live in quiet +retirement in Norton. + +The expenses of living there were small, but his resources were small, +also, and he lived just long enough to exhaust them. + +It was this thought that gave him solicitude on his death-bed, for he +left a boy of fifteen wholly unprovided for. + +Let us go back a week and record what passed at the last interview +between Philip and his father before the latter passed into the state of +unconsciousness which preceded death. + +"Are you in pain, father?" asked Philip, with earnest sympathy, as his +father lay outstretched on the bed, his face overspread by the deathly +pallor which was the harbinger of dissolution. + +"Not of the body, Philip," said Mr. Gray. "That is spared me, but I own +that my mind is ill at ease." + +"Do you mind telling me why, father!" + +"No; for it relates to you, my son, or, rather, to your future. When my +affairs are settled, I fear there will be nothing left for your support. +I shall leave you penniless." + +"If that is all, father, don't let that trouble you." + +"I am afraid, Philip, you don't realize what it is to be thrown upon the +cold charities of the world." + +"I shall work for my living," said Philip confidently. + +"You will have to do that, I'm afraid, Philip." + +"But I am not afraid to work, father. Didn't you tell me one day that +many of our most successful men had to work their way up from early +poverty!" + +"Yes, that is true; but a boy cannot always get the chance to earn his +living. Of one thing I am glad; you have a good education for a boy of +your age. That is always a help." + +"Thanks to you, father." + +"Yes; though an invalid, I have, at all events, been able to give +private attention to your education, and to do better for you than the +village school would have done. I wish I had some relative to whom I +might consign you, but you will be alone in the world." + +"Have I no relatives?" asked Philip. + +"Your mother was an only child, and I had but one brother." + +"What became of him, father?" + +"He got into trouble when he was a young man, and left the country. +Where he went to I have no idea. Probably he went first to Europe, and I +heard a rumor, at one time, that he had visited Australia. But that was +twenty years ago, and as I have heard nothing of him since, I think it +probable that he is dead. Even if he were living, and I knew where he +was, I am not sure whether he would make a safe guardian for you." + +"Have you any advice to give me, father?" asked Philip, after a pause. +"Whatever your wishes may be, I will try to observe them." + +"I do not doubt it, Philip. You have always been an obedient son, and +have been considerate of my weakness. I will think it over, and try to +give you some directions which may be of service to you. Perhaps I may +be able to think of some business friend to whom I can commend you." + +"You have talked enough, father," said Philip, noticing his father's +increasing pallor and the evident exertion with which he spoke. "Rest +now, and to-morrow we can talk again." + +Mr. Gray was evidently in need of rest. He closed his eyes and +apparently slept. But he never awoke to consciousness. The conversation +above recorded was the last he was able to hold with his son. For two +days he remained in a kind of stupor, and at the end of that time he +died. + +Philip's grief was not violent. He had so long anticipated his father's +death that it gave him only a mild shock. + +Friends and neighbors made the necessary arrangements for the funeral, +and the last services were performed. Then, at length, Philip realized +that he had lost his best earthly friend, and that he was henceforth +alone in the world. He did not as yet know that Squire Pope had +considerately provided him with a home in the village poorhouse. + + + + +CHAPTER II. PHILIP AT HOME. + + + +When the funeral was over, Frank Dunbar, whom Philip regarded as his +most intimate friend, came up to him. + +"Philip," he said, "my mother would like to have you spend a few days +with us while you are deciding what to do." + +"Thank you, Frank!" answered Philip. "But until the auction I shall +remain at home. I shall soon enough be without a home." + +"But it will be very lonely for you," objected Frank. + +"No; I shall have my thoughts for company. When I am alone I can think +best of my future plans." + +"Won't you come to our house to meals, then?" + +"Thank you, Frank! I will do that." + +"When is the auction to be?" + +"To-day is Monday. It is appointed for Thursday." + +"I hope there will be something left for you." + +"There will be about enough left to pay my father's small debts and his +funeral expenses. I would not like to have him indebted to others for +those. I don't think there will be anything over." + +Frank looked perplexed. + +"I am sorry for you, Phil," he said. "I wish we were rich, instead of +having hard work to make both ends meet. You would not lack for anything +then." + +"Dear Frank," said Philip earnestly, "I never doubted your true +friendship. But I am not afraid that I shall suffer. I am sure I can +earn my living." + +"But why do you shut yourself up alone, Philip?" asked Frank, not +satisfied to leave his friend in what he considered the gloomy solitude +of a house just visited by death. + +"I want to look over my father's papers. I may find out something that +I ought to know, and after the auction it will be too late. Father had +some directions to give me, but he did not live long enough to do it. +For three days I have the house to myself. After that I shall perhaps +never visit it again." + +"Don't be downhearted, Philip," said Frank, pressing his hand with +boyish sympathy. + +"I don't mean to be, Frank. I am naturally cheerful and hopeful. I shall +miss my poor father sadly: but grieving will not bring him back. I must +work for my living, and as I have no money to depend upon, I cannot +afford to lose any time in forming my plans." + +"You will come over to our house and take your meals!" + +"Yes, Frank." + +Frank Dunbar's father was a small farmer, who, as Frank had said, found +it hard work to make both ends meet. Among all the village boys, he +was the one whom Philip liked best, though there were many others whose +fathers were in hotter circumstances. For this, however, Philip cared +little. Rich or poor, Frank suited him, and they had always been known +as chums, to adopt the term used by the boys in the village. + +It may be thought that as Philip's circumstances were no better, such +an intimacy was natural enough. But Philip Gray possessed special gifts, +which made his company sought after. He was a fine singer, and played +with considerable skill on the violin--an accomplishment derived from +his father, who had acted as his teacher. Then he was of a cheerful +temperament, and this is a gift which usually renders the possessor +popular, unless marred by positive defects or bad qualities. There were +two or three young snobs in the village who looked down upon Philip on +account of his father's poverty, but most were very glad to associate +with our hero, and have him visit their homes. He was courteous to all, +but made--no secret of his preference for Frank Dunbar. + +When Philip parted from Frank, and entered the humble dwelling which +had been his own and his father's home for years, there was a sense of +loneliness and desolation which came over him at first. + +His father was the only relative whom he knew, and his death, therefore, +left the boy peculiarly, alone in the world. Everything reminded him +of his dead father. But he did not allow himself to dwell upon thoughts +that would depress his spirits and unfit him for the work that lay +before him. + +He opened his father's desk and began to examine his papers. There was +no will, for there was nothing to leave, but in one compartment of the +desk was a thick wallet, which he opened. + +In it, among some receipted bills, was an envelope, on which was +written, in his father's well-known hand: + +"The contents of this envelope are probably of no value, but it will +be as well to preserve the certificate of stock. There is a bare +possibility that it may some day be worth a trifle." + +Philip opened the envelope and found a certificate for a hundred shares +of the Excelsior Gold Mine, which appeared to be located in California. +He had once heard his father speak of it in much the same terms as +above. + +"I may as well keep it," reflected Philip. "It will probably amount +to nothing, but there won't be much trouble in carrying around the +envelope." He also found a note of hand for a thousand dollars, signed +by Thomas Graham. + +Attached to it was a slip of paper, on which he read, also in his +father's writing: + +"This note represents a sum of money lent to Thomas Graham, when I was +moderately prosperous. It is now outlawed, and payment could not be +enforced, even if Graham were alive and possessed the ability to pay. +Five years since, he left this part of the country for some foreign +country, and is probably dead, and I have heard nothing from him in all +that time. It will do no harm, and probably no good, to keep his note." + +"I will keep it," decided Philip. "It seems that this and the mining +shares are all that father had to leave me. They will probably never +yield me a cent, but I will keep them in remembrance of him." + +Phillip found his father's watch. It was an old-fashioned gold watch, +but of no great value even when new. Now, after twenty years' use, it +would command a very small price at the coming sale. + +Ever since Philip had been old enough to notice anything, he remembered +this watch, which was so closely identified with his father that more +than anything else it called him to mind. Philip looked at it wistfully +as it lay in his hand. "I wish I could keep it," he said to himself. +"No one else will value it much, but it would always speak to me of my +father. I wonder if I might keep it?" + +Philip had a mind to put it into his pocket, but the spirit of honesty +forbade. + +"It must be sold," he said, with a sigh. "Without it there wouldn't be +enough to pay what we owe, and when I leave Norton, I don't want any one +to say that my father died in his debt." + +There was nothing else in the desk which called for particular notice or +appeared to be of any special value. After a careful examination, Philip +closed it and looked around at the familiar furniture of the few rooms +which the house contained. + +There was one object which he personally valued more than anything +else. This was his violin, on which he had learned all that he knew of +playing. His father had bought it for him four years before. It was not +costly, but it was of good tone, and Philip had passed many pleasant +hours in practicing on it. + +"I can take this violin, at any rate," said Philip to himself. "It +belongs to me, and no one else has a claim on it. I think I will take it +with me and leave it at Frank Dunbar's, so that it needn't get into the +sale." + +He put back the violin into the case and laid it on one side. Then he +sat down in the arm-chair, which had been his father's favorite seat, +and tried to fix his mind upon the unknown future which lay before him. + +He had sat there for half an hour, revolving in his mind various +thoughts and plans, when he heard a tap on the window, and looking up, +saw through the pane the coarse, red face of Nick Holden, a young fellow +of eighteen, the son of the village butcher. + +"Let me in!" said Nick; "I want to see you on business." + + + +CHAPTER III. NICK HOLDEN'S CALL. + + + +Philip had never liked Nick Holden. He was a coarse, rough-looking boy, +his reddish face one mass of freckles, and about as unattractive as a +person could be, without absolute deformity. This, however, was not the +ground for Philip's dislike. + +With all his unattractiveness, Nick might have possessed qualities which +would have rightly made him popular. So far from this, however, he was +naturally mean, selfish, and a bully, with very slight regard for truth. + +Will it be believed that, in spite of his homely face, Nick really +thought himself good-looking and aspired to be a beau? For this reason +he had often wished that he possessed Philip's accomplishment of being +able to play upon the violin. + +His conversational powers were rather limited, and he felt at a loss +when he undertook to make himself fascinating to the young ladies in the +village. If he could only play on the violin like Philip he thought he +would be irresistible. + +He had therefore conceived the design of buying Philip's instrument for +a trifle, judging that our hero would feel compelled to sell it. + +The reader will now understand the object which led to Nick's call so +soon after the funeral of Mr. Gray. He was afraid some one else might +forestall him in gaining possession of the coveted instrument. + +When Philip saw who his visitor was, he was not overjoyed. It was with +reluctance that he rose and gave admission to Nick. + +"I thought I would call around and see you, Phil," said Nick, as he sat +down in the most comfortable chair in the room. + +"Thank you," responded Phil coldly. + +"The old man went off mighty sudden," continued Nicholas, with +characteristic delicacy. + +"Do you mean my father?" inquired Philip. + +"Of course I do. There ain't any one else dead, is there!" + +"I had been expecting my poor father's death for some time," said Philip +gravely. + +"Just so! He wa'n't very rugged. We've all got to come to it sooner or +later. I expect dad'll die of apoplexy some time-he's so awful fat," +remarked Nicholas cheerfully. "If he does, it's lucky he's got me to run +the business. I'm only eighteen, but I can get along as well as anybody. +I'm kinder smart in business." + +"I am glad you are smart in anything," thought Philip; for he knew that +Nick was a hopeless dunce in school duties. + +"I hope your father'll live a good while," he said politely. + +"Yes, of course," said Nick lightly. "I'd be sorry to have the old man +pop off; but then you never can tell about such a thing as that." + +Philip did not relish the light way in which Nick referred to such a +loss as he was suffering from, and, by way of changing the subject, +said: + +"I believe you said you came on business, Nicholas?" + +"Yes; that's what I wanted to come at. It's about your fiddle." + +"My violin!" said Philip, rather surprised. + +"Oh, well, fiddle or violin! what's the odds? I want to buy it." + +"What for?" + +"To play on, of course! What did you think I wanted it for?" + +"But you can't play, can you?" + +"Not yet; but I expect you could show me some--now, couldn't you?" + +"What put it into your head to want to play on the violin?" asked +Philip, with some curiosity. + +"Why, you see, the girls like it. It would be kind of nice when I go to +a party, or marm has company, to scrape off a tune or two-just like you +do. It makes a feller kinder pop'lar with the girls, don't you see?" +said Nick, with a knowing grin. + +"And you want to be popular with the young ladies!" said Philip, +smiling, in spite of his bereavement, at the idea being entertained by +such a clumsy-looking caliban as Nick Holden. + +"Of course I do!" answered Nick, with another grin. "You see I'm gettin' +along-I'll be nineteen next month, and I might want to get married +by the time I'm twenty-one, especially if the old man should drop off +sudden." + +"I understand all that, Nicholas--" + +"Call me Nick. I ain't stuck up if I am most a man. Call me pet names, +dearest." + +And Nicholas laughed loudly at his witty quotation. + +"Just as you prefer. Nick, then, I understand your object. But what made +you think I wanted to sell the violin?" + +It was Nick's turn to be surprised. + +"Ain't there goin' to be an auction of your father's things?" he said. + +"Yes; but the violin is mine, and I am not going to sell it." + +"You'll have to," said Nick. + +"What do you mean by that, Nicholas Holden?" said Philip quickly. + +"Because you'll have to sell everything to pay your father's debt. My +father said so this very morning." + +"I think I know my own business best," said Philip coldly. "I shall keep +the violin." + +"Maybe it ain't for you to say," returned Nick, apparently not aware of +his insolence. "Come, now, I'll tell you what I'll do. My father's got +a bill against yours for a dollar and sixty-four cents. I told father +I had a use for the fiddle, and he says if you'll give it to me, he'll +call it square. There, what do you say to that?" + +Nicholas leaned back in his chair and looked at Philip through his +small, fishy eyes, as if he had made an uncommonly liberal offer. As for +Philip, he hardly knew whether to be angry or amused. + +"You offer me a dollar and sixty-four cents for my violin?" he repeated. + +"Yes. It's second-hand, to be sure, but I guess it's in pretty fair +condition. Besides, you might help me a little about learnin' how to +play." + +"How much do you suppose the violin cost?" inquired Philip. + +"Couldn't say." + +"It cost my father twenty-five dollars." + +"Oh, come, now, that's too thin! You don't expect a feller to believe +such a story as that?" + +"I expect to be believed, for I never tell anything but the truth." + +"Oh, well, I don't expect you do, generally, but when it comes to +tradin', most everybody lies," observed Nick candidly. + +"I have no object in misrepresenting, for I don't want to sell the +violin." + +"You can't afford to keep it! The town won't let you!" + +"The town won't let me?" echoed Philip, now thoroughly mystified. + +"Of course they won't. The idea of a pauper bein' allowed a fiddle to +play on! Why, it's ridiculous!" + +"What do you mean?" demanded Philip, who now began to comprehend the +meaning of this thick-witted visitor. "What have I got to do with the +town, or with paupers?" + +"Why, you're goin' to the poorhouse, ain't you?" + +"Certainly not!" answered Philip, with flashing eyes. + +"I guess you're mistaken," said Nick coolly. "Squire Pope was over to +our shop this mornin', and he told dad that the seleckmen were goin' to +send you there after the auction." + +Philip's eyes flashed angrily. He felt insulted and outraged. Never for +a moment had he conceived the idea that any one would regard him as a +candidate for the poorhouse. + +He had an honorable pride in maintaining himself, and would rather get +along on one meal a day, earned by himself in honest independence, than +be indebted to public charity even for a luxurious support. + +"Squire Pope doesn't know what he's talking about," retorted Philip, who +had to exercise some self-restraint not to express himself more forcibly +"and you can tell him so when you see him. I am no more likely to go to +the poorhouse than you are!" + +"Come, that's a good one," chuckled Nick. "Talk of me goin' to the +poorhouse, when my father pays one of the biggest taxes in town! Of +course, it's different with you." + +"You'll have to excuse me now," said Philip, determined to get rid of +his disagreeable companion. "I have something to do." + +"Then you won't sell me the fiddle, Phil?" + +"No, I won't," answered our hero, with scant ceremony. + +"Then I'll have to bid it off at the auction. Maybe I'll get it +cheaper." + +And Mr. Nicholas Holden at length relieved Philip of his company. + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE AUCTION. + + + +It so happened that Nick Holden met Squire Pope on the village street, +and, being rather disappointed at the result of his negotiations with +Philip, thought it might be a good idea to broach the subject to the +squire, who, as he knew, had taken it upon himself to superintend the +sale of Mr. Gray's goods. + +"I say, squire, I've just been over to see Phil Gray." + +"Ahem! Well, how does he seem to feel?" + +"Kinder stuck up, I reckon. He said he wouldn't go to the poorhouse, and +I might tell you so." + +"I apprehend," said the squire, in his stately way, "he will be under +the necessity of going, whether he likes it or not." + +"Just so; that's what I told him!" interjected Nick. + +"And he should be grateful for so comfortable a home," continued the +public man. + +"Well, I dunno," said Nick. "They do say that old Tucker most starves +the paupers. Why his bills with dad are awful small." + +"The town cannot afford to pamper the appetites of its beneficiaries," +said the squire. "Where is Philip now?" + +"I guess he's at home. I offered to buy his fiddle, but he said he was +going to keep it. I offered him a dollar and sixty-four cents--the same +as dad's bill against his father, but he wouldn't take it." + +"Really, Nicholas, your offer was very irregular--extremely irregular. +It should have been made to me, as the administrator of the late Mr. +Gray, and not to a boy like Philip." + +"Will you sell me the fiddle for dad's bill, squire?" asked Nicholas +eagerly. + +"You are premature, Nicholas--" + +"What's that?" + +"I mean you must wait till the auction. Then you will have a chance to +bid on the instrument, if you want to secure it." + +"Phil says it's his, and won't be for sale at the auction." + +"Then Philip is mistaken. He is only a boy. The estate will be settled +by those who are older and wiser than he." + +"I guess you'll find him hard to manage, squire," said Nick, laughing. + +"We shall see--we shall see," returned the squire. + +And, with a dignified wave of the hand, he continued on his walk. + +After the visit of Nicholas, Philip thought it most prudent to convey +the violin which he prized so much to the house of his friend, Frank +Dunbar, where he had been invited to take his meals. + +He was willing to have the furniture sold to defray his father's small +debts, but the violin was his own. It had not even been given him by his +father. Though the latter purchased it, the money which it cost had been +given to Philip by a friend of the family. He rightly thought that he +had no call to sell it now. + +"Frank," said he to his boy-friend, "I want you to put away my violin +safely, and keep it until after the auction." + +"Of course I will, Phil; but won't you want to play on it!" + +"Not at present. I'll tell you why I want it put away." + +And Philip told his friend about Nick's application to purchase it, and +the liberal offer he had made. + +"Nick's generosity never will hurt him much," said Frank, laughing. +"What in the world did he want of your violin?" + +"He wants to make himself popular with the girls." + +"He'll never do that, even if he learns to play like an angel!" said +Frank. "You ought to hear the girls talk about him. He couldn't get a +single one of them to go home with from singing-school last winter. He +teased my sister to go, but she told him every time she was engaged to +some one else." + +The two days that intervened between the funeral and the auction passed, +and the last scene connecting Philip with the little cottage which had +been his home was to take place. + +In a country town, an auction-however inconsiderable-draws together an +interested company of friends and neighbors; and, though no articles of +value were to be sold, this was the case at the present sale. + +Philip didn't at first mean to be present. He thought it would only give +him pain; but at the last moment he came, having been requested to do so +by Squire Pope, as information might be required which he could give. + +The bulk of the furniture was soon disposed of, at low prices, to +be sure, but sufficiently high to make it clear that enough would be +realized to pay the small bills outstanding. + +Philip's lip quivered when his father's watch was put up. He would have +liked to buy it, but this was impossible; for he had only about a dollar +of his own. + +Nick Holden's eyes sparkled when he saw the watch. He had forgotten +about that, but as soon as he saw it he coveted it. He had a cheap +silver watch of his own, which he had bought secondhand about three +years before. He had thought that he might some day possess a gold +watch, but he was not willing to lay out the necessary sum of money. + +By dint of actual meanness, he had laid up two hundred dollars, which he +now had in the savings-bank in the next village, and he could therefore +have bought one if he had chosen; but, like Gilpin, + + "Though on pleasure bent, he had a frugal mind." + +Now, however, there seemed a chance of getting a gold watch at a low +price. Nick reasoned rightly that at an auction it would go much below +its value, and it would be a good thing for him to buy it--even as an +investment--as he would probably have chances enough to trade it off at +a handsome profit. + +"I shouldn't wonder if I could double my money on it," he reflected. + +Accordingly, when the watch was put up, Nick eagerly bid two dollars. + +Philip's lip curled when he heard this generous bid, and he heartily +hoped that this treasured possession of his dead father might not fall +into such hands. + +Nick rather hoped that no one would bid against him, but in this he was +destined to be disappointed. + +"Five dollars!" was next heard. + +And this bid came from Mr. Dunbar, the father of his friend Frank. +Philip's eyes brightened up, for there was no one he would sooner see +the possessor of the watch than his kind friend. + +Nick looked chopfallen when he heard this large increase on his original +bid, and hesitated to continue, but finally mustered up courage to say, +in a rather feeble tone: + +"Five and a quarter." + +"Five dollars and a quarter bid!" said the auctioneer. "Do I hear more?" + +"Six dollars," said Mr. Dunbar quietly. + +The bid was repeated, and the auctioneer waited for a higher one, but +Nick retired ignominiously from the contest. + +He wasn't sure whether he could get much over six dollars for it +himself, and he foresaw that Mr. Dunbar intended to have it, even if it +cost considerable more. + +"It's kinder hard on a feller," he complained to the man standing next +him. "What does Mr. Dunbar want of the watch? He's got one already." + +"Perhaps he thinks it is a good bargain at the price." + +"It's what I've been wantin' all along," said Nick. "He might have let +me have it." + +"Why don't you bid more?" + +"I wanted to get it cheap." + +"And the auctioneer wants to get as much as he can for the articles, and +so do Philip's friends," This was a consideration which, of course, had +no weight with Nicholas. However, he had one comfort. He would bid on +the violin, and probably no one else would bid against it. He did not +see it, to be sure, but concluded, of course, that it would be bid off. +When the sale drew near the end, he went to Philip, and said: + +"Whereabouts is the fiddle, Phil?" + +"It isn't here," answered our hero. + +"Ain't it goin' to be sold?" + +"Of course not! It's mine. I told you that once already." + +"We'll see!" said Nicholas angrily. + +And going up to Squire Pope, he held a brief conversation with that +gentleman. + +The squire nodded vigorously, and walked over to Philip. + +"Philip," said he, "go and bring your violin." + +"What will I do that for!" asked our hero quietly. + +"So that it may be sold." + +"It is not to be sold," returned Philip quietly. "It belongs to me." + +"Nothing belongs to you except your clothes!" said the squire angrily. +"I require you to go and fetch the instrument." + +"And I decline to do it," said Philip. + +"Do you know who I am," demanded the squire, with ruffled dignity. + +"I know you perfectly well," answered Philip "but I am the owner of the +violin, and I don't mean to have it sold." + +"YOU will repent this!" said Squire Pope, who felt that his lawful +authority and official dignity were set at naught. + +Philip bowed and left the house. He did not know what steps the squire +might take, but he was resolved not to give up his cherished violin. + + + +CHAPTER V. AN ALLIANCE AGAINST PHILIP. + + + +Squire Pope was not a bad man, nor was he by nature a tyrant, but he +was so fully convinced of his own superior judgment that he was in all +things obstinately bent on having his own way. He had persuaded himself +that our young hero, Philip, would be better off in the poorhouse than +in a place where he could earn his own living, and no one could convince +him to the contrary. + +As to the boy's feelings on the subject, he considered those of no +importance. He had good reason to know that Philip would object to being +an inmate of the almshouse, but he was determined that he should go +there. + +In like manner, before the auction was over, he saw clearly that it +would realize a sum more than sufficient to pay the funeral expenses +of the late Mr. Gray and the few small bills outstanding against his +estate, and that there was no necessity that Philip's violin should be +sold, but none the less he resolved that it should be sold. + +"Shall I allow a young lad to dictate to me?" Squire Pope asked himself, +in irritation. "Certainly not! I know better what is right than he. +It is ridiculous that a town pauper should own a violin. Why, the next +thing, we shall have to buy pianos for our almshouses, for the use of +the gentlemen and ladies who occupy them. A violin, indeed!" + +This Squire Pope regarded as irresistible logic and withering sarcasm +combined. + +He saw Philip go out of the cottage, but, as the sale was not over, he +was unable to follow him. + +"Never mind, I'll fix him as soon as I have time," he said to himself. + +"Back so soon? Is the auction over!" asked his friend, Frank Dunbar, who +was engaged in splitting wood in the rear of the house. + +"No, Frank, not quite; but it's almost over..Who do you think bid on +father's gold watch?" + +"I don't know." + +"Nick Holden." + +"He didn't get it, did he?" + +"I am glad to say not. Your father bought it." + +"Did he! Why, he's got one watch already." + +"I am glad he's got it. I couldn't bear to think of Nick Holden carrying +my father's watch. He was disappointed about one thing besides." + +"What was that?" + +"The violin. He went to Squire Pope, and complained that it was not in +the sale." + +"That's just like his impudence. What did the squire say?" + +"He came to me and ordered me to get it, so that it might be sold." + +"Shall I get it for you, then?" + +"Not much!" answered Philip emphatically. "It is mine, as I have +already told you. If the auction doesn't bring in enough to settle up +everything, I may agree to sell it for a fair price; but I am sure, from +the prices, that it won't be necessary." + +"Squire Pope's a dreadful obstinate man," said Frank doubtfully. "He may +insist upon your selling the violin." + +"Let him do it!" said Philip contemptuously. "I should like to see him +get it. Where have you put it, Frank?" + +"Where Squire Pope won't be apt to find it--in an old chest up in the +garret. It's full of old clothes, belonging to my grandfather, and +hasn't been looked into by any one except me for years. I put it away +under all the clothes at the bottom. No one knows where it is except you +and me, not even mother." + +"That's good. I guess we can defy the squire, then." + +Half an hour later, Mr. Dunbar came home from the auction. + +Philip went to meet him. + +"Thank you for buying father's watch," he said. "But for you, Nick +Holden would have had it, and I should have been sorry for it." + +"He was badly disappointed," said Mr. Dunbar smiling. "But I didn't buy +the watch for myself, Philip." + +"For whom, then?" asked Philip, in some surprise. + +"For the one that has the best right to it--for you," and the farmer +took the watch from his pocket, and handed it to Philip. + +"But I haven't the money to pay for it, Mr. Dunbar," said our hero. + +"Then I give it to you as a present," said Mr. Dunbar. + +"I am very grateful," said Philip; "but I ought not to accept it. You +are too kind to me." + +"Let me be the judge of that." + +"Besides, it wouldn't be safe for me to take it. Squire Pope will try to +get my violin away from me in order to sell it, and he would be sure to +try to do the same by the watch if he found that I had it." + +"But, Philip, I don't need the watch myself." + +"Then, Mr. Dunbar, will you be kind enough to keep it for me, and when I +can afford to pay for it, and there is no danger of its being taken +from me, I will ask you for it. I shall be very glad, indeed, when I am +older, to carry my father's watch, for I have seen it in his hands so +often that it will constantly remind me of him." + +"Perhaps that will be the best arrangement," said Mr. Dunbar. "You might +have it stolen from you, if you carried it yourself just at present. As +you request, I will keep it, subject to your order; but I would rather +let it be a gift from me, and not require you to pay for it." + +"We won't talk about that now," said Philip, smiling. "At any rate, you +must let me thank you for your great kindness to me." + +"Don't speak of that, Phil," said the farmer kindly. "I had a great +respect and liking for your father, and I verily believe my Frank loves +you as well as if you were his own brother. So, come what may, you have +a friend in our family." + +"I indorse all that father says," Frank said. + +And he extended his hand to Philip, who grasped it heartily. + +It warmed his heart to think that he had such good friends, though he +was an orphan and alone in the world. + +After supper, Mr. Dunbar went to the village store, while Frank and +Philip remained at home. + +Suddenly Frank said: + +"Philip, you are going to have a visitor, I guess." + +"A visitor!" + +"Yes; I saw Squire Pope stumping along the road, nourishing his +gold-headed cane. He is headed this way, and it's likely he is going to +honor you with a call. He's got somebody with him, too. Who is it!" + +Philip shaded his eyes with his hand, for the Sun was near its setting, +and shining with dazzling brightness from the quarter toward which he +was looking. + +"It's Nick Holden!" he said. + +"So it is! What can he want?" + +"I understand very well. He wants my violin. He couldn't get it at the +sale, so he has come here to see if he can't make me give it to him." + +"And will you?" + +"You ought to know me better than to ask, Frank," said Philip firmly. +"Nick might as well have stayed away, for he won't accomplish anything." + +Nick, however, held a different opinion. After Philip left the cottage, +he had gone to Squire Pope, and cunningly asked: + +"Are you going to let Philip keep his fiddle in spite of you, squire?" + +"What do you mean, Nicholas?" demanded the squire, in a stately way. + +"Why, seems to me he's kinder settin' up his will agin yours. You say +the fiddle shall be sold, and he says it shan't. He told me he didn't +care what you said, he should keep it." + +"Did he say that, Nicholas?" asked the squire, who felt that his dignity +was outraged by such insolence. + +"I'm sartain he did. He's pretty big feelin', Phil is. He always wants +to have his own way." + +"He will find that he can't defy me with impunity," said the squire +stiffly. + +"Just so. Then you'll sell me the fiddle?" + +"I will!" said the squire emphatically. + +"You won't ask too much, will you?" asked Nick anxiously. + +Now Squire Pope, who knew nothing of the price of violins, and had a +very inadequate idea of their value, after some haggling on the part of +Nick, agreed to sell him the instrument for two dollars and a half, and +to see that it was delivered that evening. + +"Do you know where it is, Nicholas?" he asked. + +"Why, Phil is staying over at Frank Dunbar's, and I guess he's got it +there somewhere. I guess we'd better go over there and get it." + +"Very well, Nicholas. After supper, if you will come to my house, I will +go over there, and see that you have the instrument." + +"All right, squire!" said Nick gleefully, "Phil will find that he can't +have his own way this time." + +"I apprehend he will," said the squire complacently. + +Now the reader understands how it happened that Squire Pope and Nick +Holden made a call on Philip. As to what passed at the interview, we +must refer him to the next chapter. + + + +CHAPTER VI. FUSS ABOUT A FIDDLE. + + + +"Ahem! Good evening!" said Squire Pope to Frank Dunbar, taking no notice +of Philip's cold but polite salutation. + +"Good evening! Will you go into the house?" said Frank. + +"I believe not. I have not time." + +"I am sorry father isn't home. He just started for the village." + +"Ahem! it was not to see your father that I called," answered Squire +Pope. "I wish to have a few words with this young man," indicating +Philip stiffly. + +"I am at your service, Squire Pope," said Philip, with ceremonious +politeness. + +"We came about the fiddle," interrupted Nick Holden, who always wanted +to have a share in the conversation. + +Squire Pope frowned, for he did not relish Nick's interference. + +"Nicholas," he said severely, "I apprehend I am competent to manage the +business we have come upon." + +"Don't get riled, squire," said Nick, by no means abashed by this +rebuke. "I thought you were kinder slow about comin' to the point." + +"Your interruption was very indecorous. I do not require any assistance +or any suggestions." + +"All right, squire!" + +Squire Pope now turned to our hero, and said: + +"As I was about to say, when interrupted by Nicholas, I have come to +require you to give up--the Violin which, without authority and against +my express command, you withheld from the auction." + +"The violin is mine, Squire Pope," said Philip firmly, "and I mean to +keep it!" + +"You talk like an ignorant boy. As a minor, you had no claim to the +possession of any article except your clothing. I judged it best that +the violin should be sold at the auction, and it is presumptuous for you +to set up your judgment against mine!" + +"I don't take that view of it," said Philip, and then he stopped. + +He knew it was of no use to argue against the squire, who was obstinate +to the verge of pig-headedness, if I may be allowed to use the +expression. He felt that it would be only wasting his breath. + +"It is quite immaterial how you view the subject," said the squire +pompously. "My mind is made up, and my resolution is not likely to be +shaken by a boy." + +"Then, sir," answered Philip, in a respectful tone but with a slight +smile, "it is hardly worth while for me to say any more." + +"I am glad you have arrived at so sensible a conclusion," said Squire +Pope. "I take it that you have the violin here." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then bring it out and give it to me." + +Now came the critical point, when Philip must array himself in +determined opposition to Squire Pope. He felt that he was entirely in +the right; still he regretted the necessity of the antagonism. + +Philip had one thing in his favor: He had plenty of self-control, and, +although he was very indignant at the course of the squire, which he +regarded as unjustifiable, he made up his mind to be as respectful as +circumstances would permit. + +"I don't think you understand me, Squire Pope," he said. "I refuse to +give up the violin!" + +"You refuse to give up the violin!" repeated Squire Pope, scarcely +believing the testimony of his ears. "Do I hear you aright?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I never see such impudence!" ejaculated Nick Holden, wishing to egg on +the squire. + +"Do you mean to defy me to my face?" demoded Squire Pope, growing very +red. + +"I don't wish to defy you or anybody else," returned Philip; "but I +shall stand up for my rights." + +"Misguided boy!" said the squire severely; "you will yet rue this rash +and heedless course. Frank," he continued, turning to Frank Dunbar, "do +you know where Philip's violin is!" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Do me the favor to bring it out and place it in my hands." + +"You must excuse me, Squire Pope," answered Frank. "It belongs to +Philip, and I have no right to meddle with it." + +"If Philip has told you this, he has misrepresented," said the squire, +rather discouraged by this second rebuff. "The violin does not belong to +Philip. It belongs to this young man." + +And, with a wave of his hand, he designated Nick Holden. + +It was not polite, but Frank Dunbar was so surprised by this +announcement that he whistled. + +As for Philip, he regarded Nick calmly; but there didn't seem to be any +sign of yielding in his look. + +"It belongs to Nicholas, because I have sold it to him," continued +Squire Pope doggedly. + +"That's so!" corroborated Nick complacently. "The squire sold me the +fiddle for two-fifty. It's mine now, and you'd better fetch it along +out, or there'll be trouble." + +Philip turned to Squire Pope, and said quietly: + +"As you had no right to sell it, the sale amounts to nothing. If you +had a right, I should say you were not very shrewd to sell an instrument +that cost twenty-five dollars--and was considered a bargain at the +price--for two dollars and fifty cents." + +"The violin cost twenty-five dollars!" ejaculated the squire, in genuine +surprise. + +For, as it has already been stated, he had no idea whatever of the usual +price for a violin. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Don't you believe him, squire," said Nicholas, afraid that he would +lose what he knew to be a good bargain. "No fiddle that was ever made +cost twenty-five dollars. It's ridiculous!" + +"It does seem a large price," said the squire guardedly. + +Squire Pope would doubtless have been surprised to learn that certain +violins of celebrated make--such as the Cremonas--have sold for +thousands of dollars. Probably he would have disbelieved it. + +Nevertheless, he began to think that he had been too precipitate in +accepting Nick Holden's offer. + +If he should sacrifice, or sell at an utterly inadequate price, any +article belonging to the boy whom he considered his ward, he knew that +he would be blamed, and he began to consider how he could recede from +the bargain. + +"Nicholas," he said, "I didn't exactly sell the violin to you. I will +ascertain what is a fair price for it, and then I will consider your +proposal." + +"You sold it right out, squire," said Nick, "and I can prove it. Didn't +you just say it was mine. There, now!" + +Nick turned triumphantly to Frank and Phil, but, for very good reasons, +they did not care to side with him. + +"I say, you haven't treated me right," persisted Nick, who had no +particular respect nor veneration for the squire, and was not to be +deterred from speaking as he felt. "I offered you two-fifty, and you +said I should have it, and you got me to call at your house to come here +for it." + +"I cannot sacrifice the property of my ward," said Squire Pope. "I must +ascertain how much the violin is worth." + +"A bargain is a bargain, every time!" said Nick, irritated. + +"I will let you have it as cheap as anybody," said the squire, who +thought it possible that Nick might be the only one who desired to +purchase it. "That ought to satisfy you. Philip, go and bring me +the violin, and I will carry it home and dispose of it to the best +advantage." + +"You must excuse me, Squire Pope. I shall not let it leave my +possession." Just then Squire Pope espied Mr. Dunbar returning from the +village, and hailed him as a probable ally. He laid the matter before +him, and requested him to compel Philip to get the violin. + +"You must excuse me, squire," said Mr. Dunbar coldly. "Philip is my +guest, and he shall be protected in his rights as long as he remains +here." + +Without a word, Squire Pope walked off, in angry discomfiture, in one +direction, while Nick, equally dissatisfied, walked off in another. + +"They don't seem happy!" said Frank slyly. + +"I wish I knew where it was going to end," returned Philip gravely. + +"It seems to me," said Frank, "the squire is making a great fuss about a +fiddle, for a man of his dignity." + +"He doesn't care about the violin. He wants to have his own way," said +Philip, thus hitting the nail on the head. + + + +CHAPTER VII. MR. JOE TUCKER + + + +Before going further, I will introduce to the reader, a citizen of +Norton, who filled a position for which he was utterly unfitted. This +man was Joe Tucker, in charge of the almshouse. + +He had not been selected by the town authorities on the ground of +fitness, but simply because he was willing to work cheap. He received a +certain low weekly sum for each one of his inmates, and the free use of +apartments for himself and family, with the right to cultivate the ten +acres of land connected with the establishment, and known as the Town +Farm. + +His family consisted of three persons--himself, his wife, and a son, +Ezekiel, familiarly known as Zeke, now sixteen years old. The leading +family trait was meanness. + +Mr. Tucker supplied a mean table even for a poorhouse, and some of the +hapless inmates complained bitterly. One had even had the boldness to +present a complaint to the selectmen, and that body, rather reluctantly, +undertook to investigate the justness of the complaint. They deputed +Squire Pope to visit the poorhouse and inquire into the matter. + +Now, though Squire Pope thought himself unusually sharp, it was the +easiest thing in the world for a cunning person like Joe Tucker to +satisfy him that all was right. + +"Mr. Tucker," said Squire Pope pompously, "I am deputed by the +selectmen, and I may add by the overseers of the poor, to investigate a +complaint made by one of the paupers in relation to the fare you offer +them." + +"Who is it!" inquired Mr. Tucker. + +"It is Ann Carter. She says you don't allow her sugar in her tea, and +only allow one slice of bread at supper, and that the meat is so bad she +can't eat it." + +"Just like the old woman!" exclaimed Mr. Tucker indignantly. "Oh, she's +a high-strung pauper, she is! Expects all the delicacies of the season +for seventy-five cents a week. She'd ought to go to the Fifth Avenoo +Hotel in New York, and then I'll bet a cent she wouldn't be satisfied." + +It is observable that even in his imaginary bets Mr. Tucker maintained +his economical habits, and seldom bet more than a cent. Once, when very +much excited, he had bet five cents, but this must be attributed to his +excited state of mind. + +"So you regard her complaints as unreasonable, do you, Mr. Tucker?" +observed the investigating committee. + +"Unreasonable? I should think they was. I allow, Squire Pope, we +don't live like a first-class hotel"--Mr. Tucker's language was rather +mixed--"but we live as well as we can afford to. As to sugar, we don't +allow the paupers to put it in for themselves, or they'd ruin us by +their extravagance. Mrs. Tucker puts sugar in the teapot before she +pours it out. I s'pose Ann Carter would put as much in one cup of tea as +Mrs. T. uses for the whole teapotful, if she had her way." + +This was very probably true, as the frugal Mrs. Tucker only allowed one +teaspoonful for the entire supply. + +"That looks reasonable, Mr. Tucker," said the squire approvingly. "Now +about the bread and the meat?" + +"The paupers has plenty of bread," said Mr. Tucker. "Our bread bill is +actually enormous." + +"And as to the meat?" + +"We don't give 'em roast turkey every day, and we don't buy tenderloin +steaks to pamper their appetites," said Mr. Tucker, "though we're +perfectly willing to do it if the town'll pay us so we can afford it. Do +you think the town'll agree to pay me twenty-five cents more a week for +each one, squire?" + +"Certainly not. It can't be thought of," said the squire hastily, +knowing that if the selectmen advocated such a measure they would +probably lose their reelection. + +"If it would, we might live a little better, so that Ann Carter +wouldn't have to complain, though, bless your soul! that woman is always +complainin'." + +"Ahem! Mr. Tucker, you present the matter to me in a new light. I really +feel that Ann Carter is very unreasonable in her complaints." + +"I knowed you'd do me justice, squire," said Mr. Tucker effusively. +"You're a sharp man. You ain't a-goin' to be taken in by any of them +paupers' rigmarole. I always said, Squire Pope, that you was the +right man in the right place, and that the town was lucky to have so +intelligent and public-spirited a citizen fillin' her most important +offices." + +"Mr. Tucker," said the squire, "you gratify me. It has ever been my aim +to discharge with conscientious fidelity the important trusts which the +town has committed to my charge--" + +"I'll bear witness to that, squire." + +"And your sincere tribute gives me great satisfaction." + +"I hope you'll report things right to the board, Squire Pope?" said Mr. +Joe Tucker insinuatingly. + +"Be assured I will, Mr. Tucker. I consider you a zealous and trustworthy +official, striving hard to do your duty in the place the town has +assigned you." + +"I do, indeed, squire," said Mr. Tucker, pulling on a red handkerchief +and mopping some imaginary tears. "Excuse my emotions, sir, but your +generous confidence quite unmans me. I--I--trust now that I shall be +able to bear meekly the sneers and complaints of Ann Carter and her +fellow paupers." + +"I will stand by you, Mr. Tucker," said Squire Pope cordially, for the +man's flattery, coarse as it was, had been like incense to his vanity. +"I will stand by you, and uphold you by my testimony." + +"Thank you, squire. With such an impartial advocate I will continue to +do my duty and fear nothing." + +As Squire Pope left the almshouse, Mr. Tucker winked at himself in the +glass, and said quizzically: + +"I guess I'm all right now. The vain old fool thinks he's a second +Solomon, and thinks I regard him as such. Oh, it takes me to get round +him!" + +Squire Pope wrote an elaborate report, in which he stated that, after +searching investigation, he had ascertained that the complaints of Ann +Carter were absolutely groundless, and gave it as his conviction +that Mr. Tucker's treatment of her and her associate paupers was +characterized by remarkable consideration and humanity. + +Such officials as he have much to answer for, and yet there are plenty +just as false to their responsibilities as he. + +It was two days after Squire Pope's ineffectual attempt to possess +himself of Philip's violin, that our hero was walking along a country +road, on his return from an errand which, he had undertaken for his +friend's father, when his attention was drawn to the yelping of a small +dog, that seemed in fear or pain. + +Looking over the stone wall, Philip saw Zeke Tucker amusing himself +by thrusting the dog's head into a pool of dirty water, and holding it +there till the animal was nearly strangled. The dog's suffering appeared +to yield the most exquisite amusement to the boy, who burst into peal +after peal of rude laughter as he watched the struggles of his victim. + +Philip, like every decent boy, had a horror of cruelty, and the sight +stirred him to immediate anger and disgust. + +"What are you doing there, Zeke Tucker?" he demanded sternly. + +"None of your business!" answered Zeke, frowning. + +"You'd better answer my question," said Philip, who had by this time +jumped over the wall. + +"Then I will. I'm havin' a little fun. What have you got to say about +it?" retorted Zeke. + +And once more he plunged the head of the poor dog into the filthy pool. + +The next moment he found himself floundering on his back, while the dog, +slipping from his grasp, was running across the meadows. "What did you +do that for!" demanded Zeke, springing up, his face flaming with rage. + +"I rather think you understand well enough," answered Philip +contemptuously. + +"What business have you to touch me? I can have you arrested, you low +pauper!" + +"What's that? What did you call me?" demanded Philip. + +"I called you a pauper." + +"By what right?" + +"Squire Pope told my father he was going to bring you over to the +poorhouse to live. You just see if my father doesn't give it to you +then!" + +"Thank you," said Phil contemptuously; "but I don't propose to board at +your establishment, not even to obtain the pleasure of your society." + +"Maybe you can't help yourself," said Zeke gleefully. + +For he saw what had escaped the notice of Philip, whose back was +turned--namely, a four-seated carryall, containing his father and Squire +Pope, which had just halted in the road, hard by. + +"Mr. Tucker," said Squire Pope, in a low tone, "now will be the best +opportunity to capture the boy and carry him to the almshouse." + +"All right--I'm ready," said Tucker readily. + +For another boarder would bring him sixty cents a week more. + +They stopped the horses and prepared for business. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. IN THE ENEMY'S HANDS + + + +Philip heard a step, and turned to see whose it was; but, when he +recognized Mr. Tucker, the latter's hand was already on his collar. + +"What have you been doin' to Zeke? Tell me that, you young rascal," said +Mr. Tucker roughly. + +"He pitched into me savage, father," answered Zeke, who had picked +himself up, and was now engaged in brushing the dust from his coat. + +"Pitched into ye, did he?" repeated Joe Tucker grimly. "I reckon +he didn't know your father was 'round. What have you got to say for +yourself, eh?" + +Philip regarded his captor contemptuously, and didn't struggle to +escape, knowing that he was not a match for a man five inches taller +than himself. But contempt he could not help showing, for he knew very +well that Zeke had inherited his mean traits largely from his father. + +"I'll thank you to remove your hand from my collar, sir," said Philip. +"When you have done that, I will explain why I pitched into Zeke, as he +calls it." + +"Don't you let go, father!" said Zeke hastily. "He'll run away, if you +do." + +"If I do, you can catch me between you," returned Philip coolly. + +"I reckon that's so," said Mr. Tucker, withdrawing his hand, but keeping +wary watch of our hero. + +"Now go ahead!" said he. + +Philip did so. + +"I saw Zeke torturing a small dog," he explained, "and I couldn't stand +by and let it go on." + +"What was he doin' to him?" inquired Mr. Tucker. + +"Putting the poor animal's head into this dirty pool, and keeping it +there till it was nearly suffocated." + +"Was you doin' that, Zeke?" asked his father. + +"I was havin' a little fun with him," said Zeke candidly. + +"It might have been fun to you, but it wasn't to him," said Phil. + +"Why didn't you ask Zeke to stop, and not fly at him like a tiger?" +demanded Mr. Tucker. + +"I did remonstrate with him, but he only laughed, and did it again." + +"He hadn't no right to order me," said Zeke. "It wa'n't no business of +his if I was havin' a little fun with the dog." + +"And I had a little fun with, you," returned Philip--"You couldn't have +complained if I had dipped your head in the water also." + +"I ain't a dog!" said Zeke. + +"I should respect you more if you were," said Philip. + +"Are you goin' to let him talk to me like that!" asked Zeke, appealing +to his father. + +"No, I ain't," said Mr. Tucker angrily. "You've committed an assault and +battery on my son, you rascal, and you'll find there ain't no fun in it +for you. I could have you arrested and put in jail, couldn't I, squire?" + +"Ahem! Well, you could have him fined; but, as he is to be under your +care, Mr. Tucker, you will have a chance of making him conduct himself +properly." + +"What do you mean by that, Squire Pope?" asked Philip quickly. + +"Young man, I do not choose to be catechized," said Squire Pope, in a +dignified manner; "but I have no objections to tell you that I have made +arrangements with Mr. Tucker to take you into the poorhouse." + +"I've heard that before, but I couldn't believe it," said Philip +proudly. + +"I guess you'll have to believe it pretty soon, he, he!" laughed Zeke, +with a grin which indicated his high delight. "I guess dad'll make you +stand round when he gits you into the poor-house." + +"Don't you consider me capable of earning my own living, Squire Pope?" +asked Philip. + +"Ahem! Yes, you will be one of these days. You won't have to stay in the +almshouse all your life." + +"You'll have a chance to earn your livin' with me." said Mr. Tucker. "I +shall give you something to do, you may depend." + +"You can make him saw and split wood, father, and do the chores and milk +the cow," suggested Zeke. + +"I have no objection to doing any of those things for a farmer," said +Philip, "but I am not willing to do it where I shall be considered a +pauper." + +"Kinder uppish!" suggested Mr. Tucker, turning to Squire Pope. "Most all +of them paupers is proud; but it's pride in the wrong place, I reckon." + +"If it is pride to want to earn an independent living, and not live on +charity, then I am proud," continued Philip. + +"Well, squire, how is it to be," asked Mr. Tucker. + +"Philip," said Squire Pope pompously, "you are very young, and you don't +know what is best for you. We do, and you must submit. Mr. Tucker, take +him and put him in the wagon, and we'll drive over to the poorhouse." + +"What! now?" asked Philip, in dismay. + +"Just so," answered Joe Tucker. "When you've got your bird, don't let +him go, that's what I say." + +"That's the talk, dad!" said Zeke gladfully. "We'll take down his pride, +I guess, when we've got him home." + +Joe Tucker approached Philip, and was about to lay hold of him, when our +hero started back. + +"You needn't lay hold of me, Mr. Tucker," he said. "I will get into the +wagon if Squire Pope insists upon it." + +"I'm glad you're gettin' sensible," said the squire, congratulating +himself on finding Philip more tractable than he expected. + +"And you will go to the poorhouse peaceful, and without making a fuss?" +asked Joe. + +"Yes, I will go there; but I won't stay there." + +"You won't stay there!" ejaculated the squire. + +"No, sir! In treating me as a dependent on charity, you are doing what +neither you nor any other man has a right to do," said Philip firmly. + +"You don't appear to remember that I am a selectman and overseer of the +poor," said the Squire. + +"I am aware that you hold those offices; but if so, you ought to save +money to the town, and not compel them to pay for my support, when I am +willing and able to support myself." + +Squire Pope looked a little puzzled. This was putting the matter in a +new light, and he could not help admitting to himself that Philip was +correct, and that perhaps his fellow citizens might take the same view. + +On the other hand, the squire was fond of having his own way, and he had +now gone so far that he could not recede without loss of dignity. + +"I think," he answered stiffly, "that I understand my duty as well as a +boy of fifteen. I don't mean to keep you here long, but it is the best +arrangement for the present." + +"Of course it is," said Zeke, well pleased with the humiliation of his +enemy. + +"Shut up, Zeke!" said his father, observing from the squire's expression +that he did not fancy Zeke's interference. + +"All right, dad," said Zeke good-naturedly, seeing that things had +turned out as he desired. + +"Jump in!" said Mr. Tucker to Philip. + +Our hero, without a word, obeyed. He was firmly resolved that Squire +Pope should not have his way, but he did not choose to make himself +ridiculous by an ineffectual resistance which would only have ended in +his discomfiture. + +Seated between Mr. Tucker and the squire, he was driven rapidly toward +the poorhouse. + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE POORHOUSE. + + + +There was no room for Zeke to ride--that is, there was no seat for +him--but he managed to clamber into the back part of the wagon, where +he sat, or squatted, rather uncomfortably, but evidently in the best of +spirits--if any inference could be drawn from his expression. + +The poorhouse was not far away. It was a three-story frame house, which +badly needed painting, with a dilapidated barn, and shed near by. + +A three-story farmhouse is not common in the country, but this dwelling +had been erected by a Mr. Parmenter, in the expectation of making a +fortune by taking summer boarders. + +There was room enough for them, but they did not come. The situation was +the reverse of pleasant, the soil about was barren, and there were no +shade or fruit trees. It was a crazy idea, selecting such a spot for a +summer boarding-house, and failure naturally resulted. + +There had, indeed, been two boarders--a man and his wife--who paid one +week's board, and managed to owe six before the unlucky landlord decided +that they were a pair of swindlers. He had spent more money than he +could afford on his house, and went steadily behind-hand year after +year, till the town--which was in want of a poorhouse--stepped in +and purchased the house and farm at a bargain. So it came to be a +boarding-house, after all, but in a sense not contemplated by the +proprietor, and, at present, accommodated eleven persons--mostly old and +infirm--whom hard fortune compelled to subsist on charity. + +Mr. Tucker had this advantage, that his boarders, had no recourse except +to stay with him, however poor his fare or harsh his treatment, unless +they were in a position to take care of themselves. + +When Philip came in sight of the almshouse--which he had often seen, and +always considered a very dreary-looking building--he was strengthened in +his determination not long to remain a tenant. + +Mr. Tucker drove up to the front door with a flourish. + +A hard-featured woman came out, and regarded the contents of the wagon +with curiosity. + +"Well, Abigail, can you take another boarder!" asked Mr. Tucker, as he +descended from the wagon. + +"Who is it?" + +"Well, it ain't likely to be Squire Pope!" said Joe facetiously; "and +Zeke and I are regular boarders on the free list." + +"Is it that boy?" + +"Yes; it's Phil Gray." + +"Humph! boys are a trial!" remarked Mrs. Tucker, whose experience with +Zeke had doubtless convinced her of this fact. + +"I sha'n't trouble you long, Mrs. Tucker," said Philip. "I don't intend +to stay." + +"You don't, hey?" retorted Joe Tucker, with a wolfish grin and an +emphatic nod of the head. "We'll see about that--won't we, Squire Pope?" + +"The boy is rather rebellious, Mrs. Tucker," said the selectman. "He +appears to think he knows better what is good for him than we do. +You may look upon him as a permanent boarder. What he says is of no +account." + +Philip said nothing, but he looked full at the squire with an +unflinching gaze. If ever determination was written upon any face, it +was on his. + +"Come down there!" said Mrs. Tucker, addressing our hero. "You're at +home now." + +"Mr. Dunbar won't know what has become of me," said Philip, with a +sudden thought. "They will be anxious. May I go back there and tell them +where I am?" + +"Do you think I am green enough for that?" Mr. Tucker, touching the +side of his nose waggishly. "We shouldn't be likely to set eyes on you +again." + +"I will promise to come back here this evening," said Philip. + +"And will you promise to stay?" asked Squire Pope doubtfully. + +"No, sir," answered Philip boldly. "I won't do that, but I will engage +to come back. Then Mr. Tucker will have to look out for me, for I tell +you and him frankly I don't mean to stay." + +"Did you ever hear such talk, squire!" asked Mr. Tucker, with a gasp +of incredulity. "He actually defies you, who are a selectman and an +overseer of the poor." + +"So he does, Mr. Tucker. I'm shocked at his conduct." + +"Shall we let him go?" + +"No, of course not." + +"I agree with you, squire. I know'd you wouldn't agree to it. What shall +I do about his wantin' to run away?" + +"It will be best to confine him just at first, Mr. Tucker." + +"I'll shut him up in one of the attic rooms," said Mr. Tucker. + +"I think it will be the best thing to do, Mr. Tucker." + +Philip took all this very coolly. As to the way in which they proposed +to dispose of him for the present he cared very little, as he did not +intend stay till morning if there was any possible chance of getting +away. The only thing that troubled him was the doubt and anxiety of his +good friends, the Dunbars, when he did not return to the house. + +"Squire Pope," he said, turning to that official, "will you do me a +favor?" + +"Ahem! Explain yourself," said the squire suspiciously. + +"Will you call at Mr. Dunbar's and tell them where I am." + +Now, for obvious reasons, the squire did not like to do this. He knew +that the Dunbars would manifest great indignation at the arbitrary step +which he had adopted, and he did not like to face their displeasure, +especially as his apology would perforce be a lame one. + +"I don't think I am called upon to do you a favor, seeing how you've +acted, Philip," he said hesitatingly. "Besides, it would be out of my +way, and I ought to get home as soon as possible." + +"Then you refuse, sir?" + +"Well, I'd rather not." + +"Will you get word to them, Mr. Tucker?" asked Philip, turning to him. + +"I hain't got time," answered Mr. Tucker, who feared that the Dunbars +would come for Philip and release him in the course of the evening. + +Philip was nonplused. Always considerate of the feelings of others, he +was unwilling that his friends should suffer anxiety on his account. + +As Mr. Tucker and Squire Pope walked away together, our hero turned to +Zeke. + +"I suppose it's no use to ask you to do me a favor, Zeke?" he said. + +"Do you want me to tell Frank Dunbar where you are?" + +"Yes, I wish you would." + +"Then I'll do it." + +"You're a better fellow than I thought you were, Zeke," said Philip, +surprised. + +"No, I ain't! Do you want to know why I'm willin' to go?" + +"Why?" + +"I know Frank Dunbar'll feel bad, and I hate him." + +"So that is your object, is it, Zeke?" + +"You've got it." + +"Well, whatever your motive may be, I shall be much obliged to you if +you go. Here's ten cents for you!" + +Zeke grasped at the coin with avidity, for his father was very +parsimonious, and his mother no less so, and he seldom got any ready +money. + +"Thank you!" said Zeke, with unusual politeness. "I'll go right off. +But, I say, don't you tell dad where I've gone, or he might prevent me, +and don't you let on you've given me this dime, or he'd try to get it +away." + +"No, I won't say anything about it," answered Philip. + +"A curious family this is!" he thought, "There doesn't seem to be much +confidence in each other." + +Zeke sauntered away carelessly, to avert suspicion but when he had got +round a bend of the road he increased his speed, never looking back, +lest he should see his father signaling for him. + +Philip breathed a sigh of relief. + +"I've got a messenger at last," he said. "Now my friends will know what +has become of me when I don't come home to supper." + +He was a little curious to learn what they were going to do with him, +but he was not long kept in suspense. + + + +CHAPTER X. BAD TIDINGS. + + + +Leaving Philip for a short time in the hands of his captor, we will +follow Zeke on his errand. He didn't have to go as far as Mr. Dunbar's +house, for he met Frank Dunbar about a quarter of a mile this side of +it. + +Now, between Frank Dunbar and Zeke Tucker there was no love lost. There +had been a difficulty between them, originating at school, which need +not be particularly referred to. Enough that it led to Zeke's cordially +disliking Frank, while the latter, who was a frank, straightforward boy, +could not see anything in Mr. Tucker's promising son to enlist either +his respect or his liking. + +There was a small river running through Norton, which crossed the main +thoroughfare, and had to be bridged over. Frank Dunbar, fishing-line +in hand, was leaning over the parapet, engaged in luring the fish from +their river home. He looked up, when he saw Zeke approaching him. +Not having any particular desire to hold a conversation with him, he +withdrew his eyes, and again watched his line. Zeke, however, approached +him with a grin of anticipated enjoyment, and hailed him in the usual +style: + +"Hello, Frank!" + +"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Frank Dunbar indifferently. + +"Yes it's me. I suppose you thought it was somebody else," chuckled +Zeke, though Frank could see no cause for merriment. + +"Well, I see who it is now," he responded. + +"Where is Phil Gray?" inquired Zeke, chuckling again. + +"Do you want to see him?" asked Frank, rather surprised. + +"Oh, no! I shall see him soon enough." + +And again Zeke chuckled. + +Frank looked up. + +He was expecting Philip to join him, and was, in fact, waiting for +him now. Zeke's mysterious merriment suggested that he might have met +Philip--possibly bore some message from him. + +"Do you know anything about Phil?" asked Frank, looking fixedly at his +visitor. + +"I reckon I do. I know all about him," said Zeke, with evident +enjoyment. + +"Well. If you have any message from him, let me hear it." + +"You can't guess where he is," blurted out Zeke. + +"He isn't in any trouble, is he?" asked Frank quickly. + +"No; he's safe enough. But you needn't expect to see him tonight." + +"Why not?" demanded Frank, not yet guessing what was likely to detain +his friend. + +"Because he's at our house," chuckled Zeke. "Dad and Squire Pope have +carried him to the poorhouse, and he's goin' to stay there for good." + +This was a surprise. In his astonishment, Frank nearly let go his rod. +He was eager now to question Zeke further. + +"You don't mean to say Phil has been carried to the poorhouse against +his will?" he exclaimed. + +"I reckon he was anxious to go," said Zeke. + +"Where was he when your father and Squire Pope committed this outrage?" +said Frank indignantly. + +"I thought you'd be mad," said Zeke, with the same unpleasant chuckle. + +"Answer my question, or I'll pitch you into the river," said Frank +sternly. + +He did not mean what he said, but Zeke drew back in alarm. + +"Quit now! I didn't have nothin' to do with it," said Zeke hastily. +"Me and him was over in Haywood's pasture when dad come along with the +squire in his wagon. Well, they made Phil get in, and that's all of +it, except I promised I'd come and tell your folks, so you needn't get +scared or nothin' when he didn't come back to-night." + +"He will come back to-night," said Frank. "He won't stay in the +poorhouse." + +"Yes, he will. He can't help himself. Dad's goin' to lock him up in the +attic. I guess he won't jump out of the window. Where you go-in'! You +ain't got through fishin', be you?" + +"Yes, I'm through," answered Frank, as he drew his line out of the +water. "Just tell Phil when you go home that he's got friends outside +who won't see him suffer." + +"Say, ain't you goin' to give me nothin' for comin' to tell you!" asked +Zeke, who was always intent on the main chance. + +Frank flung a nickel in his direction, which Zeke picked up with +avidity. + +"I guess it pays to run errands when you can get paid twice," he +reflected complacently. + + + +CHAPTER XI. PHILIP'S NEW ROOM. + + + +We return to Phil. + +"Foller me, boy!" said Mr. Tucker, as he entered the house, and +proceeded to ascend the front steps. + +Philip had formed his plans, and without a word of remonstrance, he +obeyed. The whole interior was dingy and dirty. Mrs. Tucker was not a +neat woman, and everything looked neglected and slipshod. + +In the common room, to the right, the door of which was partly open, +Philip saw some old men and women sitting motionless, in a sort of weary +patience. They were "paupers," and dependent for comfort on the worthy +couple, who regarded them merely as human machines, good to them for +sixty cents a week each. + +Mr. Tucker did not stop at the first landing, but turned and began to +ascend a narrower and steeper staircase leading to the next story. + +This was, if anything, dirtier and more squalid than the first and +second. There were several small rooms on the third floor, into one +of which Mr. Tucker pushed his way. "Come in," he said. "Now you're at +home. This is goin' to be your room." + +Philip looked around him in disgust, which he did not even take the +trouble to conceal. + +There was a cot-bed in the corner, with an unsavory heap of bed-clothing +upon it, and a couple of chairs, both with wooden seats, and one with +the back gone. + +That was about all the furniture. There was one window looking out upon +the front. + +"So this is to be my room, is it?" asked our hero. + +"Yes. How do you like it?" + +"I don't see any wash-stand, or any chance to wash." + +"Come, that's rich!" said Mr. Tucker, appearing to be very much amused. +"You didn't think you was stoppin' in the Fifth Avenoo Hotel, did you?" + +"This don't look like it." + +"We ain't used to fashionable boarders, and we don't know how to take +care of 'em. You'll have to go downstairs and wash in the trough, like +the rest of the paupers do." + +"And wipe my face on the grass, I suppose?" said Philip coolly, though +his heart sank within him at the thought of staying even one night in a +place so squalid and filthy. + +"Come, that's goin' too far," said Mr. Tucker, who felt that the +reputation of the boarding-house was endangered by such insinuations. +"We mean to live respectable. There's two towels a week allowed, and +that I consider liberal." + +"And do all your boarders use the same towel?" asked Phil, unable to +suppress an expression of disgust. + +"Sartain. You don't think we allow 'em one apiece, do you!" + +"No, I don't," said Philip decidedly. + +He had ceased to expect anything so civilized in Mr. Tucker's +establishment. + +"Now you're safe in your room, I reckon I'd better go downstairs," said +Tucker. + +"I will go with you." + +"Not much you won't! We ain't a-goin' to give you a chance of runnin' +away just yet!" + +"Do you mean to keep me a prisoner?" demanded Philip. + +"That's just what we do, at present," answered his genial host. + +"It won't be for long, Mr. Tucker." + +"What's that you say? I'm master here, I'd have you to know!" + +Just then a shrill voice was heard from below: + +"Come down, Joe Tucker! Are you goin' to stay upstairs all day?" + +"Comin', Abigail!" answered Mr. Tucker hastily, as he backed out of the +room, locking the door behind him. Philip heard the click of the key as +it turned in the lock, and he realized, for the first time in his life, +that he was a prisoner. + + + +CHAPTER XII. A PAUPER'S MEAL + + + +Half an hour later Philip heard a pounding on the door of his room. + +He was unable to open it, but he called out, loud enough for the +outsider to hear: + +"Who is it?" + +"It's me--Zeke," was the answer that came back. + +"Did you tell the Dunbars where I was?" asked Philip eagerly. + +"Yes." + +"I shouldn't think you had time to go there and back," said Philip, +fearing that Zeke had pocketed his money and then played him false. But, +as we know, he was mistaken in this. + +"I didn't go there," shouted Zeke. "I met Frank on the bridge." + +"What did he say?" + +"He was mad," answered Zeke, laughing. "I thought he would be." + +"Did he send any message to me?" asked Philip. + +"No; he stopped fishin' and went home." Here the conversation was +interrupted. The loud tones in which Zeke had been speaking, in order to +be heard through the door, had attracted attention below. + +His father came to the foot of the attic stairs and demanded +suspiciously: + +"What you doin' there, Zeke?" + +"Tryin' to cheer up Phil Gray," answered Zeke jocosely. + +"He don't need any cheerin' up. He's all right. I reckon you're up to +some mischief." + +"No, I ain't." + +"Come along down." + +"All right, dad, if you say so. Lucky he didn't hear what I was sayin' +about seein' Frank Dunbar," thought Zeke. "He'd be mad." + +Presently there was another caller at Philip's room, or, rather, prison. +This time it was Mr. Tucker himself. He turned the key in the lock and +opened the door. Philip looked up inquiringly. + +"Supper's ready," announced Joe. "You can come down if you want to." + +Philip was provided with an appetite, but he did not relish the idea of +going downstairs and joining the rest of Mr. Tucker's boarders. It would +seem like a tacit admission that he was one of their number. Of course, +he couldn't do without eating, but he had a large apple in his pocket +when captured, and he thought that this would prevent his suffering from +hunger for that night, at least, and he did not mean to spend another at +the Norton poorhouse. The problem of to-morrow's supply of food might be +deferred till then. + +"I don't care for any supper," answered Philip. + +"Perhaps you expect your meals will be brought up to you?" said Mr. +Tucker, with a sneer. + +"I haven't thought about it particularly," said Philip coolly. + +"You may think you're spitin' me by not eatin' anything," observed Mr. +Tucker, who was rather alarmed lest Philip might have made up his mind +to starve himself. + +This would be embarrassing, for it would make an investigation +necessary. + +"Oh, no," answered Philip, smiling; "that never came into my mind." + +"I don't mind bringin' you up your supper for once," said Tucker. "Of +course, I can't do it reg'lar, but this is the first night." + +"I suppose I shall be better able to make my escape if I eat," thought +Philip. "Probably the most sensible thing is to accept this offer." + +"How much are you to get for my board, Mr. Tucker?" he asked. + +"Only sixty cents," grumbled Tucker. "It ain't enough, but the town +won't pay any more. You've no idea what appetites them paupers has." + +"You made a mistake when you agreed to take me," said Philip gravely. +"I'm very hearty, you'll be sure to lose money on me." + +Mr. Tucker looked uneasy. + +"Well, you see I expect to have you earn part of your board by doin' +chores," he said, after a pause. + +"That will give me a good chance to run away," remarked Philip calmly. +"You'll have to let me out of this room to work, you know." + +"You wouldn't dare to run away!" said Tucker, trying to frighten Philip +by a blustering manner. + +"That shows you don't know me, Mr. Tucker!" returned our hero. "I give +you fair warning that I shall run away the first chance I get." + +Philip's tone was so calm and free from excitement that Mr. Tucker could +not help seeing that he was in earnest, and he looked perplexed. + +"You don't look at it in the right light," he said, condescending to +conciliate his new boarder. "If you don't make no trouble, you'll have +a good time, and I'll let you off, now an' then, to play with Zeke. He +needs a boy to play with." + +Philip smiled, for the offer did not attract him very much. + +"You are very kind," he said, "but I don't think that even that will +reconcile me to staying here with you. But, if you'll agree to let me +pay you for the supper, you may bring me up some." + +"The town will pay me," said Tucker. + +"That's just what I don't want the town to do," said Philip quickly. "I +will make you an offer. At sixty cents a week the meals for one day +will not cost over ten cents. I'll pay you ten cents for supper and +breakfast." + +"You're a cur'us boy," said Tucker. "You want to pay for your vittles in +a free boardin'-house." + +"It isn't free to me. At any rate, I don't want it to be. What do you +say?" + +"Oh, I ain't no objections to take your money," said Tucker, laughing. +"I didn't know you was so rich." + +"I am not rich, but I think I can pay my board as long as I stay here." + +This Philip said because he had decided that his stay should be a very +brief one. + +"Just as you say!" chuckled Mr. Tucker. + +As he went downstairs he reflected: + +"I can take the boy's money and charge his board to the town, too. +There's nothin' to hen-der, and it'll be so much more in my pocket. I +wish the rest of the paupers would foller his example." + +He went downstairs and explained to Mrs. Tucker that he wanted Philip's +supper. + +"Tell him to come down to the table like the rest of the folks!" +retorted Mrs. Tucker. "He ain't too lazy, is he?" + +"No; but it's safer to keep him in his room for the first twenty-four +hours. He's a desperate boy, but I reckon he'll get tamed after a +while." + +"I'll desperate him!" said Mrs. Tucker scornfully. "I don't believe in +humorin' him." + +"Nor I, Abigail. He'd like to come down, but I won't let him. We can +manage him between us." + +"I should smile if we couldn't," said Mrs. Tucker. "If you want any +supper for him, you can get it yourself. I've got too much to do. No, +Widder Jones, you can't have another cup of tea, and you needn't beg for +it. One clip's plenty for you, and it's all we can afford." + +"Only this once," pleaded the poor old woman. "I've got a headache." + +"Then another cup of tea would only make it worse. If you've got through +your supper, go back to your seat and give more room for the rest." + +While Mrs. Tucker was badgering and domineering over her regular +boarders, her husband put two slices of dry bread on a plate, poured out +a cup of tea, not strong enough to keep the most delicate child awake, +and surreptitiously provided an extra luxury in the shape of a thin +slice of cold meat. He felt that, as he was to receive double price, he +ought to deal generously by our hero. + +He carried this luxurious supper to the third story, and set it down +before Philip. + +Philip promptly produced a dime, which Mr. Tucker pocketed with +satisfaction. He waited till his young guest had finished his repast, in +order himself to carry down the dishes. + +There was no butter for the bread, and the tea had been sweetened +scantily. However, Philip had the appetite of a healthy boy, and he ate +and drank everything that had been provided. + +"I'll be up in the morning," said Mr. Tucker. "We go to bed early here. +The paupers go to roost at seven, and me and my wife and Zeke at eight. +You'd better go to bed early, too." + + + +CHAPTER XIII. A FRIENDLY MISSION. + + + +Philip was glad to hear that all in the almshouse went to bed so early. +He had not yet given up the hope of escaping that night, though he had +as yet arranged no definite plan of escape. + +Meanwhile, he had an active friend outside. I refer, of course, to Frank +Dunbar. Frank had no sooner heard of his friend's captivity than he +instantly determined, if it were a possible thing, to help him to +escape. + +He would not even wait till the next day, but determined after it was +dark to visit the poor-house and reconnoiter. First, he informed his +parents what had befallen Phil. Their indignation was scarcely less than +his. + +"Squire Pope is carrying matters with a high hand," said the farmer. +"According to my idea, he has done no less than kidnap Philip, without +the shadow of a legal right." + +"Can't he be prosecuted?" asked Frank eagerly. + +"I am not sure as to that," answered his father, "but I am confident +that Philip will not be obliged to remain, unless he chooses, a +dependent upon the charity of the town." + +"It is outrageous!" said Mrs. Dunbar, who was quite as friendly to +Philip as her husband and son. + +"In my opinion," said Mr. Dunbar, "Squire Pope has done a very unwise +thing as regards his own interests. He desires to remain in office, and +the people will not be likely to reelect him if his policy is to make +paupers of those who wish to maintain themselves. Voters will be apt to +think that they are sufficiently taxed already for the support of those +who are actually unable to maintain themselves." + +"If I were a voter," exclaimed Frank indignantly, "I wouldn't vote +for Squire Pope, even for dog-catcher! The meanest part of it is the +underhanded way in which he has taken Phil. He must have known he was +acting illegally, or he would have come here in open day and required +Phil to go with him." + +"I agree with you, Frank. Squire Pope may be assured that he has lost +my vote from henceforth. Hitherto I have voted for him annually for +selectman, knowing that he wanted the office and considering him fairly +faithful." + +"Father," said Frank, after a thoughtful pause, "do you think Philip +would be justified in escaping from the poorhouse?" + +"I do," answered Mr. Dunbar. "In this free country I hold that no one +ought to be made an object of charity against his will." + +"Philip is strong enough and smart enough to earn his own living," said +Frank. + +"That is true. I will myself give him his board and clothes if he will +stay with me and work on the farm." + +"I wish he would. He would be a splendid companion for me; but I think +he wants to leave Norton, and try his fortune in some larger place." + +"I can't blame him. If his father were living and he had a good home, +I should not think it wise; but, as matters stand, it may not be a bad +plan for him." + +"Father," said Frank, after supper, "I am going out and I may not be +back very early." + +"Are you going to see Philip?" + +"Yes; but I want to see him alone. If possible, I will see him without +attracting the attention of Joe Tucker." + +"You won't get into any trouble, Frank?" said his mother anxiously. + +"No, mother; I don't know what trouble I can get into." + +"You may very likely fail to see Philip," suggested his father. "I hear +that Tucker and his boarders go to bed very early." + +"So much the better!" said Frank, in a tone of satisfaction. "The only +one I want to see is Philip, and he isn't likely to go to sleep very +early." + +Mr. Dunbar smiled to himself. + +"Frank has got some plan in his head," he thought. "I won't inquire what +it is, for he has good common sense, and won't do anything improper." + +About eight o'clock, Frank, after certain preparations, which will +hereafter be referred to, set out for the poorhouse, which was about a +mile distant. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. PHILIP MAKES HIS ESCAPE. + + + +It grew darker and darker in Philip's chamber, but no one came to bring +him a light. It was assumed that he would go to bed before he required +one. + +By seven o'clock the paupers had settled themselves for the night, and +when eight o'clock struck, Mr. and Mrs. Tucker sought their beds. It +was no particular trial for Joe Tucker to go to bed early, for he was +naturally a lazy man, and fond of rest; while his wife, who worked a +great deal harder than he, after being on her feet from four o'clock in +the morning, found it a welcome relief to lie down and court friendly +sleep. Zeke wasn't always ready to go to bed. In fact, he would much +rather have gone up to the village now and then, but if he had done so +he would have had to stay out all night. There was one thing his parents +were strict about, and that was retiring at eight o'clock. + +Philip, however, did not retire at that hour. It was earlier than his +usual hour for bed. Besides, he was in hopes his friend Frank would make +his appearance, and help him, though he didn't exactly understand how, +to make his escape. + +At half-past eight it was dark. The stars were out, and the moon was +just making its appearance. Philip had opened his window softly, and was +looking out, when all at once he saw a boyish figure approaching. + +Couldn't be Frank Dunbar. + +He hoped so, but in the indistinct light could not be quite certain. + +The boy, whoever it might be, approached cautiously, till he stood +within fifty feet of the house. + +Then Philip saw that it was indeed Frank, and his heart beat joyfully. +It was something to see a friend, even though they were separated by +what seemed to him to be an impassable gulf. + +About the same time, Frank recognized his friend, in the boyish figure +at the window. + +"Is that you, Phil?" he asked, in a guarded voice, yet loud enough to be +heard. + +"Yes, Frank; I have been expecting you. I knew you wouldn't desert me." + +"I should think not. I didn't come before, because I didn't want to be +seen by any of Tucker's folks." + +"They are all abed now, and I hope asleep." + +"Can't you come downstairs, and steal away?" + +"No; my chamber door is locked on the outside." + +"That's what I thought." + +"Can't you help me in any way?" + +"I'll see. Suppose you had a rope--could you swing out of the window?" + +"Yes; I could fasten it to the bedstead, and fix that just against the +window." + +"Then I think I can help you. Can you catch a ball?" + +"Yes; but what good will that do?" + +"You'll see. Make ready now, and don't miss it." + +He produced a ball of common size, and after taking aim, threw it +lightly up toward Philip's window. The first time it didn't come within +reach. The second Philip caught it skilfully, and by the moonlight saw +that a stout piece of twine was attached to it. At the end of the twine +Frank had connected it with a clothesline which he had borrowed from +home. + +"Now pull away, Phil," urged Frank. + +Philip did, and soon had the stout line in his possession. + +"It will hold; it's new and strong," said Frank. "Father only bought it +last week. I didn't think, then, what use we should have for it." + +Philip, however, was not afraid. He was so anxious to escape that, even +if there had been any risk to run, he would readily have incurred it for +the sake of getting away from the poor-house, in which he was unwilling +to spend a single night. He fastened one end of the rope firmly to his +bedstead, as he had proposed, then cautiously got upon the window-sill +and lowered himself, descending hand over hand till he reached the +ground. + +He breathed a sigh of relief as he detached himself from the rope and +stood beside Frank Dunbar. + +Just then the boys heard a second-story window open, and saw Mr. +Tucker's head projecting from it. + + + +CHAPTER XV. ESCAPE AND FLIGHT. + + + +Though the boys had made as little noise as possible, conversing in an +undertone, they had been heard by Mrs. Tucker. Her husband, as was his +custom, had gone to sleep; but Mrs. Tucker, who, during the day, had +discovered the loss of ten cents from her bureau drawer in which she +kept her savings, had been kept awake by mental trouble. Some of my +readers may think so small a loss scarcely worth keeping awake for, but +Mrs. Joe Tucker was a strictly economical and saving woman--some even +called her penurious--and the loss of ten cents troubled her. + +She would have laid it to one of "them paupers," as she was wont +contemptuously to refer to them, except that she never allowed one of +them to enter the sacred precincts of her chamber. + +A horrible thought entered her mind. Could it be Zeke, the boy whom she +thought such a paragon, though no one else had been able to discover +his virtues or attractions! She did not like to think of it, but it did +occur to her that Zeke, the previous day, had asked her for ten cents, +though he would not own the purpose for which he wanted it. The boy +might have been tempted to take the money. At any rate, she would go and +see. + +Zeke slept in a small room adjoining. When his mother entered, with a +candle in her hand, he was lying asleep, with his mouth wide open, and +one arm dropped over the side of the bed. + +Mrs. Tucker took a look at him, and saw that he was wrapped in slumber +and unable to notice what she proposed to do. His clothes were thrown +down carelessly on a chair near-by. + +Mrs. Tucker searched first in the pockets of his pants, and, though she +discovered a large variety of miscellaneous articles, "of no use to any +one except the owner," she didn't discover any traces of the missing +dime. She began to hope that he had not taken it, after all, although, +in that case, the loss would continue to be shrouded in obscurity. But, +on continuing her search, she discovered in one of the pockets of his +vest a silver ten-cent piece. + +Mrs. Tucker's eyes flashed, partly with indignation at Zeke's +dishonesty, partly with joy at the recovery of the missing coin. + +"I've found you out, you bad boy!" she said, in a low voice, shaking her +fist at the sleeping boy. "I wouldn't have believed that my Zeke would +have robbed his own mother. We must have a reckoning to-morrow." + +She was half-inclined to wake Zeke up and charge him with his crime, +confronting him with the evidence of it which she had just discovered; +but on second thoughts she decided that she might as well let him sleep, +as the next day would do just as well. + +Poor Zeke! he was not guilty, after all, though whether his honesty was +strict enough to resist a powerful temptation, I am not sure. + +The dime which Mrs. Tucker had discovered was the same one that Philip +had given to Zeke in return for his service in notifying Frank Dunbar +of his captivity. In another pocket was the five-cent piece given him by +Frank, but that had escaped his mother's attention. + +The reader will understand now how it happened that Mrs. Tucker was +kept awake beyond her usual time. She was broad awake when Frank Dunbar +arrived, and she heard something through the partially open window of +the conference between the two boys. She heard the voices that is to +say, but could not tell what was said. + +With her mind dwelling upon Zeke's supposed theft, however, she was more +easily frightened than usual, and immediately jumped to the conclusion +that there were burglars outside, trying to get in. + +The absurdity of burglars attempting to rob the town poorhouse did not +occur to her in panic. She sat up in bed, and proceeded to nudge her +husband in no gentle fashion. + +"Mr. Tucker!" she exclaimed. + +Her husband responded by an inarticulate murmur, but did not wake. + +"Mr. Tucker!" she exclaimed, in a louder voice, giving him a still more +vigorous shake. + +"Eh! What! What's the matter?" said Tucker, opening his eyes at last, +and staring vacantly at his wife. + +"What's the matter!" retorted his wife impatiently. "The matter is that +there's burglars outside!" + +"Let 'em stay outside!" said Joe Tucker, in a sleepy tone. + +"Did any one ever hear such a fool?" exclaimed Mrs. Tucker, exasperated. +"They're trying to get in. Do you hear that, Mr. Tucker?" + +"Trying to get in! Is the door locked?" asked Joe, a little alarmed. + +"You must get up and defend the house," continued Mrs. Tucker. + +Now, Mr. Tucker was not a brave man. He had no fancy for having a +hand-to-hand conflict with burglars, who might be presumed to be +desperate men. It occurred to him that it would be decidedly better to +stay where he was and ran no risk. + +"Never mind, Abigail," he said, soothingly. "The burglars can't do us +any harm. They can't do any more than carry off a pauper or two, and I +don't, believe they'll do that." + +"I wouldn't mind that, Mr. Tucker; but I've left the spoons +down-stairs!" answered his wife. + +"How many are there!" + +"Six. I want you to go down and get them and bring them up here, where +they will be safe." + +"But suppose I should meet some of the burglars!" suggested Tucker, +trembling. + +"Then you must defend yourself like a man!" + +"You might find me in the morning weltering in my gore!" said Joe, with +an uneasy shudder. + +"Are we to have the spoons stolen, then!" demanded Mrs. Tucker sharply. + +"If you care so much for the spoons, Abigail, you'd better go +down-stairs yourself and get 'em. I don't value them as much as my +life." + +"I don't know but I will, if you'll look out of the window and see +whether you can see any of the burglars outside," responded Mrs. Tucker. +"If they haven't got in yet, I'll take the risk." + +"Where did you hear 'em, Abigail?" + +"Eight outside. Open the window and look out, and you may see 'em." + +Mr. Tucker was not entirely willing to do this, but still he preferred +it to going down-stairs after the spoons, and accordingly he advanced, +and, lifting the window, put his head out, as described at the close of +the last chapter. + +Philip and Frank were just ready to go when they heard the window +rising, and naturally looked up in some trepidation. + +"It's old Tucker!" said Frank, in a low voice. + +Philip looked up, and saw that his friend was right. + +Mr. Tucker had not yet discovered them, but the whisper caught his ear, +and looking down he caught sight of the two boys. + +In his alarm, and the obscurity of the night, he did not make out that +they were boys and not men, and was about to withdraw his head in alarm, +when a mischievous impulse seized Frank Dunbar. + +"Give me the ball, Philip!" he said quickly. + +Philip complied with his request, not understanding his intention. + +Now, Frank belonged to a baseball club, and had a capital aim. He threw +up the ball and struck Mr. Tucker fairly in the nose. The effect upon +the terrified Joe was startling. + +Full as his mind was of burglars, he fancied that it was something a +great deal more deadly that had struck him. + +"Oh, Abigail! I'm shot through the brain!" he moaned in anguish, as he +poked in his head and fell back upon the floor. + +"What do you mean, Joe?" asked his wife, in alarm, as she hastened to +her prostrate husband, whose hand was pressed convulsively upon the +injured organ, which, naturally ached badly with the force of the blow. + +"I'm a dead man!" moaned Mr. Tucker; "and it's all your fault. You made +me go to the window." + +"I don't believe you're shot at all! I didn't hear any report," said +Mrs. Tucker. "Let me see your face." + +Mr. Tucker withdrew his hand mournfully. + +"You've only been struck with a rock or something," said she, after a +careful examination. + +"It's bleeding!" groaned Joe, seeing a dark stain on his night-dress. + +"Suppose it is--it won't kill you. I'll look out myself." + +But she saw nothing. Philip and Frank had immediately taken to flight, +and vanished in the darkness. + +"They've run away!" announced Mrs. Tucker. "My spoons are safe." + +"But my nose isn't," groaned Mr. Tucker. + +"You won't die this time," said Mrs. Tucker, not very sympathetically. +"Soak your nose in the wash-basin, and you'll be all right in the +morning." + +The two boys were destined to have another adventure that night. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. A NIGHT ADVENTURE. + + + +"I didn't mean to hit him," said Frank, as he and Philip hurried away +from the poorhouse, "I only intended to give him a fright." + +"I think you have. I wonder whether he recognized us!" + +"I don't believe it. He had hardly got his head out of the window before +I let drive." + +"Then he won't imagine I have escaped." + +"What are your plans, Phil? Suppose they try to take you back to the +poorhouse?" + +"They won't get the chance. Before five o'clock to-morrow morning I +shall leave Norton." + +"Leave town?" exclaimed Frank, in surprise. "And so soon?" + +"Yes. There is nothing for me to do here." + +"Father would like to have you stay and assist him on the farm. He said +so to me. He wouldn't be able to pay much, but I think we would have a +good time together." + +Philip pressed his friend's hand warmly. + +"I know we should, Frank," he said, "but if I remained here, it would +only remind me of my poor father. I would rather go out into the world +and try my fortune." + +"Isn't it risky, Phil?" objected Frank doubtfully. + +"I suppose it is; but I am willing to work, and I don't expect much." + +"Suppose you fall sick?" + +"Then, if I can, I will come back to you and your good father and +mother, and stay till I am well." + +"Promise me that, Phil?" + +"I promise." + +"I wish I could go with you, Phil," said Frank, with a boyish impulse. + +"No, it wouldn't be wise for you. You have a good home, and you will be +better off there than among strangers." + +"It might be your home, too, Phil." + +"Thank you; but I shall be better away from Norton for a time." + +A minute later, Frank said suddenly: + +"There's Squire Pope coming. He will see you." + +"I don't care. He won't take me back." + +"Get behind the stone wall, and I will wait and interview him." + +Philip immediately followed the advice of his friend. He was curious to +hear what the squire would say. + +Squire Pope's eyesight was not good, and it was only when he came near +that he recognized Frank Dunbar. He stopped short, for there was a +subject on which he wished to speak. + +"Frank Dunbar!" he said. + +"Do you wish to speak to me, sir?" inquired Frank coldly. + +"Yes. Where have you been?" + +"Out walking," answered Frank shortly. + +"Have you been to the poorhouse?" + +"I have." + +"Did you see Philip?" + +"I saw him looking out of a third-story window." + +Squire Pope chuckled, if, indeed, such a dignified man can be said to +chuckle. + +"What did he say?" he condescended to inquire. + +"That he wouldn't stay." + +"He will have to," responded Squire Pope complacently. "Mr. Tucker will +see to that." + +"Probably Mr. Tucker will wake up some fine morning and find Phil's room +empty," said Frank quietly. + +"I'll take the risk of it," returned the squire serenely. "But there's a +matter I want to speak to you about. You've got Philip's fiddle in your +possession." + +"Suppose I have." + +"I wish you to bring it round to my house in the morning, and I'll give +you something for your trouble." + +"You must excuse me, Squire Pope. If it were your property, I would +bring it to you and charge nothing for my trouble." + +"Young man," said the squire sternly. "I am Philip's legal guardian, and +I have a right to receive his violin. You will get into trouble if you +resist my authority." + +"If you will give me Philip's order for it, you shall have it, sir." + +"Frank Dunbar, you are trifling with me. Philip is now a pauper, and has +no right to hold property of any kind. He cannot give a legal order." + +"Then you are guardian to a pauper?" + +"In my capacity of overseer of the poor." + +"In my capacity as Philip's friend, I refuse to consider you his +guardian. You may call him a pauper, but that doesn't make him one." + +"He is an inmate of the Norton Poorhouse." + +Frank laughed. + +"I don't want to be disrespectful, Squire Pope," he said; "but I can't +help telling you that you undertook a bigger job than you thought for, +when you made up your mind to make a pauper of Philip Gray." + +Squire Pope was indignant at the coolness of Frank. + +"I shall come to your house to-morrow morning," he said, "and convince +you to the contrary." + +"Very well, sir." + +Frank Dunbar bowed, and the squire went his way. + +"That's a very impudent boy!" he soliloquized. "Just like the Gray boy. +It wouldn't do him any harm to put him under Joe Tucker's care, too." + +After the squire had passed on, Philip came out from behind the stone +wall. + +"Did you hear what passed between your guardian and myself?" asked +Frank. + +"Yes, I heard every word." + +"He little thought that the bird had flown, Phil." + +"He will make all the trouble he can. That is one more reason why I +think it best to leave town." + +"I wouldn't let Squire Pope drive you out of town." + +"I would stay and face the music if it suited me, but I want to go +away." + +"Suppose we cut across this field. It will be a little nearer." + +"All right." + +There was a pathway through a pasture-lot, comprising some ten acres, +poor land, covered with puny bushes, and a few gnarled trees, producing +cider-apples. It belonged to an old bachelor farmer, who lived in +solitary fashion, doing his own cooking, and in general taking care +of himself. He was reputed to have money concealed about his premises, +which was quite probable, as he spent little, and was known to have +received, four years before, a considerable legacy from the estate of a +brother who had died, a successful merchant in the city of New York. + +The boys had to pass by the small and weather-stained house where he +lived, as the path ran very near it. + +When within a few rods of the house, the boys were startled by a sharp +cry of terror, which appeared to proceed from inside the house. + +Both simultaneously stood still. + +"What's that!" exclaimed both in concert. + +"Somebody must be trying to rob Mr. Lovett," suggested Frank. + +"Can't we do something!" said Phil quickly. + +"We can try." + +There were two stout sticks or clubs lying on the ground at their feet. +They stooped, picked them up, and ran to the house. A glance showed that +one of the windows on the north side had been raised. + +The window sill was low. Pausing a moment before springing over it into +the room, they looked in and this was what they saw: + +The farmer lay half-prostrate on the floor, half supporting himself by a +chair, which he had mechanically grasped as he was forced downward. Over +him stood a ruffianly looking tramp, whom Phil remembered to have seen +about the streets during the day, with a stick uplifted. He had not +heard the approach of the boys. + +"Give me two hundred dollars, and I'll go," he said to the man at his +feet. + +"I cannot do it. I haven't got as much here." + +"That's a lie!" said the other coarsely. "I heard all about you to-day. +You're a miser, and you've got no end of money stowed away here. Get it +for me, quick, or I'll dash your brains out." + +Just then the prostrate farmer saw what the tramp could not see, his +back being turned to the window, the faces of the two boys looking +through the window. Fresh courage came to him. Single-handed, and taken +at advantage, he was no match for the ruffian who had entered his house; +but with these two young auxiliaries he felt that all was not lost. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. A REFORMED BURGLAR. + + + +"What do you say!" demanded the tramp impatiently. "Speak quick! I can't +stay here all night." + +"Let me up, and I'll see if I can find the money for you." + +"I thought I'd bring you to terms," said the tramp, laughing grimly. + +He allowed his victim to rise, as he certainly would not have done if he +had looked behind him and seen the two boys at the window. + +"Now's our time," answered Philip. + +He gave a light spring into the room, followed by Frank. + +Of course, the tramp heard them, and turned in sudden alarm. As he +turned, the farmer snatched the club from his hand, and he found himself +unexpectedly unarmed and confronted by three enemies. + +"It's my turn now," said Lovett. "Do you surrender?" + +The tramp saw that the game was up and made a dash for the open window, +but Philip skillfully inserted a stick between his legs, and tripped him +up, and, with the help of Mr. Lovett, held him, struggling desperately, +till Frank fetched a rope, with which he was securely bound. + +"Confound you!" he said, scowling at the two boys. "But for you I would +have succeeded and got away with my booty." + +"That's true!" said the farmer. "I owe my escape from robbery, and, +perhaps, bodily injury, to you." + +"I am glad we were at hand," said Philip. + +"And now, my friend," said the farmer, "I may as well say that you +were quite mistaken in supposing I kept a large amount of money in this +lonely house. I should be a fool to do it, and I am not such a fool as +that." + +"Where do you keep your money, then?" growled the tramp. + +"In different savings-banks. I am ready to tell you, for it will do you +no good." + +"I wish I'd known it sooner. I came here on a fool's errand." + +"I am glad you have found it out." + +"Now, what are you going to do with me!" + +"Keep you here till I can deliver you into the hands of the law." + +"That won't do you any good." + +"It will give you a home, where you cannot prey on the community." + +"I don't mean to do so any more. I'm going to turn over a new leaf and +become an honest man--that is, if you'll let me go." + +"Your conversion is rather sudden. I haven't any faith in it." + +"Listen to me," said the man, "and then decide. Do you think I am a +confirmed lawbreaker?" + +"You look like it." + +"Yes, I do; but I am not. Never in my life have I been confined in any +prison or penitentiary. I have never been arrested on any charge. I see +you don't believe me. Let me tell you how I came to be what I am: Two +years since I was a mechanic, tolerably well-to-do, owning a house with +a small mortgage upon it. It was burned to the ground one night. I built +another, but failed to insure it. Six months since, that, too, burned +down, and left me penniless and in debt. Under this last blow I lost all +courage. I left the town where I had long lived, and began a wandering +life. In other words, I became a tramp. Steadily I lost my self-respect +till I was content to live on such help as the charitable chose +to bestow on me. It was not until to-day that I formed the plan of +stealing. I heard in the village that you kept a large sum of money in +your house, and an evil temptation assailed me. I had become tired of +wandering, and determined to raise a sum which would enable me to live +at ease for a time, I should have succeeded but for these two boys." + +"And you are sorry you did not succeed?" + +"I was, five minutes since, but I feel differently now. I have been +saved from crime. Now, I have told you my story. Do with me as you +will." + +The man's appearance was rough, but there was something in his tone +which led Mr. Lovett to think that he was speaking the truth. + +"Boys," he said, "you have heard what this man says. What do you think +of it?" + +"I believe him!" said Philip promptly. + +"Thank you, boy," said the tramp. "I am glad some one has confidence in +me." + +"I believe you, too," said Frank. + +"I have not deceived you. Your words have done me more good than you +think. It is my first attempt to steal, and it shall be my last." + +"If you want to become an honest man, God forbid that I should do aught +to prevent you!" said the farmer. "I may be acting unwisely, but I mean +to cut this rope and let you go." + +"Will you really do this?" said the tramp, his face lighting up with +mingled joy and surprise. + +"I will." + +He knelt on the floor, and drawing from his pocket a large jack-knife, +cut the rope. + +The tramp sprang to his feet. + +"Thank you," he said, in a husky voice. "I believe you are a good man. +There are not many who would treat me as generously, considering what +I tried to do just now. You sha'n't repent it. Will you give me your +hand!" + +"Gladly," said the farmer; and he placed his hand in that of the +visitor, lately so unwelcome. "I wish you better luck." + +"Boys, will you give me your hands, too?" asked tke tramp, turning to +Philip and Frank. + +Tke boys readily complied with his request, and repeated the good wishes +of the farmer. + +The stranger was about to leave the house, when Lovett said: + +"Stay, my friend, I wish to ask you a question." + +"Very well, sir." + +"Have you any money?" + +"Not a cent." + +"Then take this," said the farmer, drawing from his vest pocket a +five-dollar bill. "I lend it to you. Some time you will be able to repay +it, if you keep to your resolution of leading an honest life. When that +time comes, lend it to some man who needs it as you do now." + +"Thank you, sir. I will take it, for it will help me greatly at this +time. Good-by! If you ever see me again, you will see a different man." + +He leaped through the window and was gone. + +"I don't know if I have done a wise thing, but I will take the risk," +said the farmer. "And now, boys, I want to make you some return for your +assistance to-night." Both Frank and Philip earnestly protested that +they would receive nothing in the conversation that ensued. Philip made +known his intention to leave Norton the next morning. + +"What are your plans? Where do you mean to go?" asked the farmer. + +"I don't know, sir. I shall make up my mind as I go along. I think I can +make my living somehow." + +"Wait here five minutes," said Lovett, and he went into an adjoining +room. + +Within the time mentioned, he returned, holding in his hand a sealed +letter. + +"Philip," he said, "put this envelope in your pocket, and don't open it +till you are fifty miles from here." + +"Very well, sir," answered Philip, rather puzzled, but not so much +surprised as he might have been if he had not known the farmer's +reputation for eccentricity. + +"I suppose it contains some good advice," he thought. "Well, good advice +is what I need." + +The two boys went home immediately upon leaving the farmhouse. Though so +much had happened, it was not late, being not quite half-past nine. + +Philip received a cordial welcome from Mr. and Mrs. Dunbar, who, +however, hardly expected to see him so soon. "Are you willing to receive +a pauper beneath your roof?" asked Philip, smiling. + +"That you will never be while you have health and strength, I'll be +bound," said Mr. Dunbar. "I like your pride and independence, Philip." + +They tried to induce Philip to give up his resolution to leave Norton +the next morning, but did not succeed. + +"I will come back some time," he said. "Now I feel better to go." + +At five o'clock the next morning, with a small bundle swung over his +shoulder, attached to a stick, Philip Gray, carrying his violin, left +the village, which, for some years, had been his home. Frank accompanied +him for the first mile of his journey. Then the two friends shook hands +and parted--not without sorrow, for who could tell when they would meet +again? + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. A PROFESSIONAL ENGAGEMENT. + + + +A depressing feeling of loneliness came to Phil after he had parted with +Frank. He was going out into the world with no one to lean upon, and no +one to sympathize with him or lend him a helping hand. No wonder he felt +friendless and alone. But this mood did not last long. + +"I shall find friends if I deserve them," he reflected, "and I don't +mean to do anything dishonorable or wrong. I am willing to work, and I +believe I can make a living." + +Leaving him to proceed, we go back to the poor-house, where his absence +was not noticed till morning. + +Joe Tucker, in spite of the blow which his nasal organ had received, +slept pretty comfortably, and was awakened at an early hour by his +vigilant spouse. + +"You'd better go up and wake that boy and set him to work, Mr. Tucker," +she said. "There are plenty of chores for him to do." + +"You are right, Abigail," said Mr. Tucker, with approval. He reflected +that he could assign to Philip some of the work which generally fell to +himself, and the reflection was an agreeable one. He had tried to get +work out of Zeke, but he generally found that it was harder to keep him +at work than it was to do the job himself. + +After he had made his toilet--not a very elaborate one--Mr. Tucker went +up-stairs to arouse his young prisoner. He found the key in the outside +of the door. Everything seemed right. + +"I wonder how he feels this morning?" chuckled Mr. Tucker. "Wonder +whether he's tamed down a little?" + +He turned the key in the lock and threw open the door. He glanced at +the bed, started in amazement to find that it had not been slept in, and +then his wonder ceased, for the telltale rope explained how the boy had +escaped. + +He ran down-stairs in anger and excitement. + +"What's the matter with you, Joe Tucker?" demanded his wife. "Are you +drunk or crazy?" + +"Enough to make me both, wife," he answered. "The boy's gone!" + +"Gone!" exclaimed Mrs. Tucker, stopping short, with a saucepan in her +hand. + +"Gone!" ejaculated Zeke, his mouth wide open. + +"I don't believe it," said Mrs. Tucker positively. "He couldn't go. He'd +have to jump out of the third-story window." + +"Sure enough!" said Zeke. + +"I can't help it--he's gone," declared Mr. Tucker. "He tied a +clothesline to the bedstead and let himself down from the window. Now, I +want to know who left a clothesline in the room?" + +"There wasn't any," said Mrs. Tucker. + +"Maybe he had one in his pocket," suggested Zeke. + +But this suggestion was not considered worthy of notice by his parents. + +"Now I know who hit me in the nose!" exclaimed Mr. Tucker, light +flashing upon him. "There was two of 'em--the ones I took for burglars." + +"Then the other one must have been Frank Dunbar," said Mrs. Tucker. + +"Zeke," said his father, "go right off and tell Squire Pope that Philip +Gray has escaped. Ask him if I can't have him arrested for assault and +battery. It's likely he's at Frank Dunbar's now. We'll have him back +before the day is out, and then I'll see he don't get out!" + +"All right, dad! As soon as I've had breakfast I'll go." + +The result of Zeke's message was that Squire Pope hurried over to the +poorhouse and held a conference with Mr. and Mrs. Tucker. + +The next step was that he and Joe rode over to Mr. Dunbar's, to demand +the return of the fugitive. + +They found Frank splitting wood in the yard. To him they made known +their errand, requesting him to call Philip out. + +"He isn't here," answered Frank. + +"Isn't here? I don't believe it!" said the squire hastily. + +"Sorry you doubt my word, Squire Pope, but it's just as I say." + +"Where is he, then?" demanded the squire suspiciously. + +"He has left town." + +"Left town?" repeated the squire and Joe Tucker, in dismay. "Where is he +gone!" + +"He's probably ten miles away by this time," answered Frank, enjoying +their perplexity. "I guess you'd better wait till he comes back." + +Joe and the squire conferred together, but no satisfactory result +was arrived at, except it wouldn't pay to pursue Philip, for two +reasons--one, because they were quite uncertain in what direction he had +gone; another, because, even if overtaken, they would have no authority +to apprehend him, since he had been guilty of no crime. + +Finally a bright idea came to the squire. + +"Bring me out his fiddle," he said to Frank. "I'm his guardian, and I +will take care of it for him." + +"He carried it away with him," said Frank. The squire's lower jaw fell. +He was defeated at all points. "I guess we can't do nothing, under the +circumstances, squire," said Joe Tucker, scratching his head. + +"I shall have to reflect upon it," said Squire Pope, in a crestfallen +tone. + +"That's as good as a circus," thought Frank, as his roguish glance +followed the two baffled conspirators as they rode out of the yard. +"It's a pity Phil was not here to enjoy it." + +At the end of the second day, Philip was some forty miles distant from +Norton. He had not walked all the way, but had got a lift for a few +miles from a tin-peddler, with whom he had a social chat. + +It cannot be said that he was depressed, or that he regretted having +left Norton, but he certainly did feel uncomfortable, and his discomfort +sprang from a very homely cause. + +To tell the plain truth, he was hungry. He had not had anything to eat +for six hours except an apple, which he had picked up by the roadside, +and during those six hours he had walked not far from fifteen miles. + +"I believe I never was so hungry before," thought Philip. "The question +is, where is my supper to come from?" + +Although he knew pretty well the state of his finances, he began to +search his pockets to see if he could not somewhere find a stray dime, +or, better still, a quarter, with which to purchase the meal of which he +stood so much in need. But his search was unproductive, or, rather, it +only resulted in the discovery of a battered cent. + +"So that penny constitutes my whole fortune," thought Philip. + +There were two houses in sight, one on each side of the road. + +Probably they would have given Philip a supper at either, but our hero's +honest pride revolted at the idea of begging for a meal, much as +he stood in need of it. He might as well be a pauper, as he justly +reflected. So he pushed on. + +Evidently he was drawing near a village, for houses began to appear at +nearer intervals. + +"Hello, my boy! Where are you traveling!" asked a hearty voice. + +Philip turned round, and his glance rested on a stout young farmer, +whose face, though very much sunburned, was pleasant and good-natured. + +"I don't know," answered Philip. + +"Don't know?" was repeated in surprise. + +"I am in search of work." + +"Oh, that's it! Are you a musician?" asked the young man, looking at the +violin. + +"Yes; a little of one." + +"Are you looking for a job at fiddling?" asked the young man. + +"Yes, if I can find one," answered Philip, smiling. + +"Can you play dancing-music?" + +"Yes." + +"Then I guess I can get you a job for this evening." + +"I wish you could," said Philip hopefully, catching at a way out of his +troubles. + +"You see, there's to be a little dance in School-house Hall to-night," +said the farmer; "or there was to be one, but the fiddler's took sick, +and we was afraid we'd have to give it up. Now, if you'll take his +place, we can have it, after all." + +"I'll do it," said Philip promptly. + +"What'll you charge?" + +"How much was the other one going to charge?" + +"Five dollars. You see, he would have to come six miles." + +"I'll come for three dollars and my supper and lodging," said Philip. + +"All right! You shall have supper and lodging at our house. There it is, +down that lane. Come right along, for supper must be on the table. After +supper I'll go and tell the committee I've engaged you." + +Philip's spirits rose. Help had come from an unexpected quarter. He felt +that a new career was opening before him. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. NEW ACQUAINTANCES. + + + +On his way to the farmhouse, Philip ascertained that his companion's +name was Abner Webb, and that he and his brother Jonas carried on a farm +of about a hundred acres. Abner appeared to be about twenty-five years +old. + +"You seem pretty young to be a fiddler," said the young man, surveying +Philip with a glance of curiosity. + +"I am almost sixteen." + +"I am twenty-five, and I can't play at all." + +"It isn't all in the age," returned our hero. "Did you ever try to +learn?" + +"Yes, I took one or two lessons, but I had to give it up for a bad job. +I couldn't get into it somehow." + +"You didn't try very long," said Philip, smiling. + +"I reckon I'd never do much at it. How long have you been a fiddler?" + +"I've been playing three or four years." + +"Sho! You don't say so! Do you like it?" + +"Yes; very much." + +"Well, I'm glad you happened along. It would have been a pity to have +our dance spoiled." + +By this time they had reached the farmhouse, and Abner went in, followed +by our hero. + +A young woman, his brother's wife, looked at Philip in some surprise. + +"You see, I've got a fiddler, after all," said Abner gleefully. "We +won't have to put off the dance." + +As he spoke, his brother Jonas came into the room, and the explanation +was repeated. + +"That's good," said Jonas heartily. "You'd better go down to the store +after supper, Abner, and tell the boys, for they've just heard that Paul +Beck can't come." + +"You just save me some supper, and I'll go now. The boy'll stay with us +to-night. That's the bargain I made with him." + +"He's heartily welcome," said Jonas Webb, a pleasant-faced man, with +sandy complexion, who was probably from two to three years older than +his brother. "You've happened along just at the right time." + +"I am glad of it," said Philip; and there is no doubt he was sincere, +for we know how much he stood in need of employment, though he naturally +did not care to let his new friends know of his destitution. + +"My brother didn't tell me your name," said Jonas. + +"My name is Philip Gray," answered our hero. + +"Do you go round playing for dances?" inquired Jonas. + +"I have only just begun." + +Philip didn't think it necessary to say that the idea of making money in +this way had never occurred to him till this very day. + +"Sit right up to supper, Jonas, and you, too, Mr. Gray," said Mrs. Webb. + +Philip was by no means loath, for the dishes which he saw on the table +had had the effect of stimulating his appetite, already sharpened by his +long walk and long fast. + +Philip, as the guest, was first helped to a bountiful supply of cold +meat, a hot biscuit, and some golden butter, not to mention two kinds +of preserves, for the Webbs always lived well. He was not slow in doing +justice to the good supper spread before him. He was almost afraid to +eat as much as he wanted, lest his appetite should attract attention, +and, therefore, was pleased to see that Jonas quite kept pace with him. + +Indeed, when he had already eaten as much as he dared, Mrs. Webb said, +hospitably: + +"I am afraid, Mr. Gray, you won't make out a supper." + +"I don't think there is any danger of that," said Philip, smiling. "I +have enjoyed my supper very much." + +The young woman looked gratified by this tribute to her cooking, and +just then Abner came in. + +"Did you see the boys, Abner?" asked Jonas. + +"Yes, I saw them all. They were awfully glad we could have the dance, +after all. You see, we've been lookin' forward to it, and didn't like +to be disappointed. And now I must hurry down my supper, for I've got to +slick up and go for Mary Ann Temple. Are you goin', Lucy?" + +"Of course she is," answered Jonas. "I don't have so far to go for my +girl as you do," he added slyly. + +"You used to go farther once, Jonas--six miles, where I have only to go +two." + +When supper was over, Philip inquired: + +"How early will the dance commence?" + +"About eight. We keep early hours in the country, and we like to get our +money's worth." + +"If you have no objection, I will go out to the barn and try my violin a +little to see if it is in good tune." + +"Try it in the next room," said the farmer's wife. + +"Yes, do!" said her husband. "We'd like to hear you." + +He was a little afraid, judging from Philip's youth, that he could not +play very well, and this would give him an opportunity of deciding how +competent the boy was to take the place of Paul Beck, of Pomfret, who +had quite a reputation in the towns around. + +Philip went into the next room and began to prepare himself for his +evening's task. Though lus training had by no means been confined to +dancing-tunes, he was quite proficient in that department, having more +than once been called upon in Norton to officiate in a similar capacity. + +When Jonas had listened for five minutes to Philip, he turned to Abner +with a satisfied look. + +"He understands his business," he said, nodding with emphasis. "He ain't +no new beginner." + +"I think he beats Paul Beck," said Abner, delighted to find his choice +approved. + +"I don't know but he does. I feel as if I wanted to start off now." + +"I don't see how he does it," said Abner, with a puzzled look. "I never +could do anything at it, though I'm almost twice as old." + +He passed into the room where Philip was practising. + +"You're a tip-top player," said he, to Philip admiringly. "Why, you beat +Paul Beck." + +"Is he the one you expected to have?" + +"Yes. Paul's got a big name for fiddlin'." + +"I am glad you like my playing," said Philip, who was naturally pleased +to find that he was likely to give satisfaction in his new business. + +"The boys will be pleased, I can tell you." + +"I will do all I can to give them satisfaction," said Philip modestly. + +"Oh, you will! there's no doubt about that. How much did you pay for +your fiddle?" + +"I believe it cost twenty-five dollars. My father gave it to me." + +"Sho! I didn't think fiddles cost so much." + +"Some cost a great deal more." + +"Seems a good deal to lay out, but you'll get your money back, if you +can get enough to do." + +"I hope so." + +"Well, you must excuse me now. I've got to slick up, and go after Mary +Ann Temple. She'd have been awfully disappointed if we'd had to give it +up." + +"Is she fond of dancing?" + +"You'd better believe she is. Why, that girl could dance for four hours +stiddy--without wiltin'!" + +"How late do you keep it up?" + +"Till eleven or twelve. You won't be sleepy, will you?" + +"If I am, I will get up later to-morrow morning." + +"That's all right. You can get up jest as late as you like. Lucy will +save you some breakfast. We don't allow no one to go hungry here. But I +must be off. You will go to the hall along with Jonas and Lucy. +They'll introduce you round and see that you are taken care of." Philip +congratulated himself on being so well provided for, at least for one +night. The future was uncertain, but with the money which he was to +receive for his services, he would be able to get along for two or +three days, and he might, perhaps, if successful, obtain another similar +engagement. + +He had a new reason for being thankful that Squire Pope had not +succeeded in depriving him of his violin, for this was likely to prove a +breadwinner. + +He continued to practice till it was time to go over to the hall. + + + +CHAPTER XX. A LIVELY EVENING. + + + +Schoolhouse Hall, as may be inferred, was a large hall, occupying +the second story of the Center Schoolhouse, and though not originally +intended for dancing-parties, answered very well for that purpose. + +The hall was tolerably well filled when Philip entered in company with +Jonas Webb and his wife. + +Philip had effaced, as well as he could, the stains of travel, had +arrayed himself in a clean shirt and collar, brushed his hair neatly, +and, being naturally a very good-looking boy, appeared to very good +advantage, though he certainly did look young. + +As he walked through the hall, with his violin under his arm, he +attracted the attention of all, it having been already made known that +in place of the veteran Paul Beck--a man of fifty or more--an unknown +boy would furnish the music for the evening. + +Philip could not avoid hearing some of the remarks which his appearance +excited. "What! that little runt play the fiddle?" said one countrified +young man, in a short-waisted blue coat, and tow-colored hair, plastered +down on either side of his head with tallow. "I don't believe he can +play any more than I can." + +"I hope he can," retained his partner--a plump, red-cheeked, young +farmer's daughter. "He's very good-looking, anyhow." + +"He isn't anything to brag of," said her partner jealously. + +"Oh, how can you say so, Jedidiah. I See what beautiful black hair and +eyes he's got, and such a lovely color on his cheeks!" + +Now, Jedidiah, in appearance, was just the reverse of Philip. His hair, +as already stated, was tow-color, his face was tanned, and the color +rather resembled brick-dust than the deep red of our hero's cheeks. + +His partner was a rustic flirt, and he was disposed to be jealous, not +being certain how far she favored him. He, therefore, took offense at +his partner's admiration of the young fiddler. + +"He looks very common to me," said Jedidiah pettishly. "You've got a +strange taste, Maria." + +"Perhaps I have, and perhaps I haven't," retorted Maria, tossing her +head. + +"Perhaps you're in love with him?" continued Jedidiah, in a tone meant +to be sarcastic. + +"I should be if he was a little older," said the young lady, rather +enjoying her lover's displeasure. + +"I don't believe he can play at all," growled Jedidiah. "He's fooled +Abner Webb, like as not. It's a pity we couldn't have Paul Beck." + +"Very likely he can play better than Paul Beck," said Maria--not because +she thought so, but because she knew it would tease her partner. + +"Don't be a fool, Maria," said Jedidiah, scarcely conscious of the +impoliteness of his speech. + +The young lady, however, resented it at once. + +"I am sure you are very polite, Mr. Jedidiah Burbank--so polite that I +think you had better find another partner!" + +"Excuse me, Maria," said Jedidiah hastily, alarmed at the prospect of +being left without a partner. "Of course, I didn't mean anything." + +"If you didn't mean it, what made you say it?" retorted Maria, tossing +her head. "I ain't used to being called a fool. I never knew a gentleman +to make such a remark to a lady. I think you'd better find some other +partner." + +"I take it all back," said Jedidiah, in alarm. "I was only in fun." + +"I don't like that kind of fun," said Maria, in a tone of dignified +coldness. + +"Then I won't joke you again. I guess he can play well enough, if Abner +says so." + +Miss Maria Snodgrass allowed herself to be propitiated, more especially +as she herself might have been left without a partner, had she adhered +to her determination and sent Jedidiah adrift. + +He took his place in a quadrille, not exactly wishing Philip to fail, +but rather hoping that he would prove a poor performer, in order that he +might have a little triumph over Maria, who had the bad taste to prefer +the young musician's appearance to his. + +Meanwhile Philip, following Jonas Webb across the room, had been +introduced to Frank Ingalls, who acted as manager. + +"I am glad to see you, Mr. Gray," said Ingalls. "I hope we sha'n't make +you work too hard. We are very fond of dancing here." + +"I don't get tired very easily," answered Philip. "I hope you will be +satisfied with my playing." + +"No fear of that, Mr. Ingalls, I've heerd him play at home, and I tell +you he can do it." + +"Thank you, Mr. Webb," said Philip, bowing his acknowledgment of the +compliment. + +"I guess we may as well commence, Mr. Gray," said Mr. Ingalls. "The +boys seem to be getting impatient. Here's the order of dances for the +evening." + +"Very well, Mr. Ingalls." + +The manager raised his voice, and said, "Gentlemen and ladies, you +already know that Beck is sick, and cannot be with us this evening, as +he engaged to do. In his place we have engaged a young musician, who has +already gained a great reputation in his profession--" + +Philip was rather surprised to hear this, but it was not for him to +gainsay it. + +"Let me introduce to you Mr. Philip Gray." + +Philip bowed and smiled, and, putting his violin in position, +immediately commenced a lively air. + +In less than five minutes the manager felt perfectly at ease concerning +the young musician. It was clear that Philip understood his business. +Philip himself entered into the spirit of his performance. His cheek +flushed, his eyes sparkled, and he almost outdid himself. + +When the first dance was concluded, there was a murmur of approval +throughout the ballroom. The dancers were both surprised and pleased. + +"He's a smart boy!" said more than one. "He plays as well as Paul Beck, +and Paul's been play-in' for more'n twenty years." + +"As well? I never heard Paul Beck play as well as that," said another. + +Among those who were most pleased was Miss Maria Snodgrass. + +"What do you think now, Mr. Burbank?" she said, addressing her partner. +"Do you think the boy can play now?" + +"Yes, he can play most as well as Paul Beck," admitted Jedidiah. + +"Most as well? Paul Beck can't begin to play as well as him," returned +Maria, who was not educated, and occasionally made slips in grammar. + +"Just as you say, Maria," answered Jedidiah, submissively; "only don't +call me Mr. Burbank." + +"Why? Ain't that your name?" asked the young lady demurely. + +"Not to you, Maria." + +"Well, I won't, if you'll take me up and introduce me to Mr. Gray." + +"What for?" asked Jedidiah jealously. + +"Because I want to know him." + +Mr. Burbank was obliged to obey the request of his partner. + +"Oh, Mr. Gray, you play just lovely!" said Miss Snodgrass rapturously. + +"Thank you for the compliment," said Philip, with a low bow. + +"I like your playing ever so much better than Paul Beck's." + +"You are too kind," said Philip, with another bow. + +"Isn't he just lovely, Jedidiah!" said Maria, as she walked away with +her lover. + +"Maybe he is--I ain't a judge!" said Mr. Burbank, not very +enthusiastically. + +So the evening passed. Philip continued to win the favorable opinion of +the merry party by his animated style of playing. + +When at half-past eleven the last dance was announced, he was glad, for +after his long walk, and the efforts of the evening, he felt tired. + +At the conclusion, Mr. Ingalls handed him three dollars, saying: + +"Here's your money, Mr. Gray, and we are much obliged to you besides." + +"Thank you!" said our hero, carelessly slipping the money into his vest +pocket. + +The manager little imagined that it constituted his entire capital. + +"I hope we may have you here again some time, Mr. Gray," continued the +manager. + +"Perhaps so," said Philip; "but I am not sure when I shall come this way +again." + +"Good night, Mr. Gray," said Miss Snodgrass effusively. "I should be +glad to have you call at our house." + +Philip bowed his thanks. He did not notice the dark cloud on the brow of +the young lady's escort. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. FORTUNE SMILES AGAIN. + + + +Notwithstanding his exertions during the day and evening, Philip +rose the next day at his usual hour, and was in time for the family +breakfast, at seven o'clock. + +"Don't you feel tired, Mr. Gray?" asked Mrs. Webb. + +"No, thank you. I slept well, and feel quite refreshed." + +"He's used to it, Lucy," remarked her husband. + +"They look upon me as a professional player," thought Philip. + +"I think you and I ought to be more tired, for we were dancing all the +evening," continued the farmer. + +When they rose from the table, Philip looked for his hat. + +"You're not going to leave us so soon, Mr. Gray?" said Mrs. Webb +hospitably. "We shall be glad to have you stay with us a day or two, if +you can content yourself." + +"That's right, Lucy. I'm glad you thought to ask him," said her husband. + +Philip was tempted to accept this kind invitation. He would have free +board, and be at no expense, instead of spending the small sum he had +earned the evening previous; but he reflected that he would be no nearer +solving the problem of how he was to maintain himself, and while this +was in uncertainty, he was naturally anxious. + +"I am very much obliged to you both," he said. "If I come this way +again, I shall be glad to call upon you, but now I think I must be +pushing on." + +"You'll always be welcome, Mr. Gray," said Mrs. Webb. + +Philip thanked her, and soon after set out on his way. + +He was more cheerful and hopeful than the day before, for then he was +well nigh penniless, and now he had three dollars in his pocket. + +Three dollars was not a very large sum, to be sure, but to one who had +been so near destitution as Philip it seemed very important. + +Besides, he had discovered in his violin a source of income, whereas, +hitherto, he had looked upon it merely as a source of amusement. This +made him feel more independent and self-reliant. + +He had walked perhaps two miles, when he heard the rattle of wheels +behind him. He did not turn his head, for there was nothing strange in +this sound upon a frequented road. He did turn his head, however, when +he heard a strong voice calling "Hello!" + +Turning, he saw that a young man who was driving had slackened the speed +of his horse, and was looking toward him. + +Philip halted, and regarded the driver inquiringly. + +"You're the young chap that played for a dance last night, ain't you!" +said the newcomer. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then you're the one I want to see--jump in, and we'll talk as we are +going along." + +Philip had no objection to a ride, and he accepted the invitation with +alacrity. The driver, he noticed, was a young man, of pleasant manners, +though dressed in a coarse suit. + +"I drove over to Jonas Webb's to see you, and they told me you had just +gone," he continued. "I thought maybe you'd get up late, but you was up +on time. Are you engaged for this evening?" + +Philip began to prick up his ears and become interested. Was it +possible that his good luck was to continue, and that he was to have an +opportunity of earning some more money through his faithful friend, the +violin? He didn't think it well to exhibit the satisfaction he felt, and +answered, in a matter-of-fact tone; + +"No, I have no engagement for this evening." + +"I'm glad of it," responded the young man, evidently well pleased. "You +see, we had arranged to have a dance over to our place, but Mr. Beck, +being sick, we thought we'd have to give it up. One of my neighbors +was over last evening and heard you play, and he thought maybe we could +secure you." + +"I shall be glad to play for you," said Philip politely. + +"What are your terms?" asked his companion. + +"Three dollars and board and lodging for the time I need to stay." + +"That's satisfactory. I'll engage you." + +"Is it near here?" asked Philip. + +"It's in Conway--only four miles from here. I'll take you right over +now, and you shall stay at my house." + +"Thank you, I shall find that very agreeable," said Philip. + +"Does Mr. Beck live near you?" asked our hero, a little later. + +"Bless you! he lives in our place." + +"I suppose his services are in demand?" + +"Yes, he is sent for to all the towns around. Fact is, there isn't +anybody but he that can play to suit; but I expect, from what I've +heard, that you can come up to him." + +"I couldn't expect to do that," said Philip modestly. "I am very young +yet." + +"Folks do say you beat Paul. It seems wonderful, too, considering how +young you are. What might be your age, now?" + +"Just sixteen." + +"Sho! you don't say so? Why, Paul Beck's over fifty." + +"Mr. Beck won't think I'm interfering with him, will he?" asked Philip. + +"Of course, he can't. We'd a had him if he was well. We can't be +expected to put off the party because he's sick. That wouldn't be +reasonable, now, would it?" + +"I should think not." + +Just then Philip became sensible that a light wagon was approaching, +driven by a young lady. + +He did not, however, suppose it was any one he knew till the carriage +stopped, and he heard a voice saying: + +"Good morning, Mr. Gray!" + +Then he discovered that it was the same young lady who had asked for an +introduction to him the evening previous. + +"Good morning, Miss Snodgrass!" he said politely, remembering, +fortunately, the young lady's name. + +Meanwhile, Maria and Philip's drivers had also exchanged salutations, +for they were acquainted. + +"And where are you carrying Mr. Gray, Mr. Blake?" she asked. + +"I'm carrying him over to our place. He's going to play for us this +evening." + +"Is there going to be a dance in Conway this evening?" inquired Miss +Snodgrass, with sudden interest. + +"Yes. Won't you come over?" + +"I will, if I can get Jedidiah to bring me," answered Maria. + +"I guess there's no doubt about that," answered Andrew Blake, who knew +very well Jedidiah's devotion to the young lady. + +"Oh, I don't know!" answered Maria coquettishly. "Perhaps he won't care +for my company." + +"If he doesn't, you won't have any trouble in finding another beau." + +After a little more conversation, the young lady drove away; but not +without expressing to Philip her delight at having another chance to +hear his beautiful playing. + +"She'll be there," said Andrew Blake, as they drove away. "She makes +Jedidiah Burbank do just as she orders him." + +"Are they engaged?" asked our hero. + +"Yes, I expect so; but there may be some chance of your cutting him out, +if you try. The young lady seems to admire you." + +Philip smiled. + +"I am only a boy of sixteen," he said. "I am too young to think of such +things. I won't interfere with Mr. Burbank." + +"Jedidiah's apt to be jealous," said Blake, "and Maria likes to torment +him. However, she'll end by marrying him, I guess." + +In half an hour or thereabouts, Andrew Blake drew up at the gate of a +small but neat house on the main street in Conway. He was a carpenter, +as Philip afterward found, and had built the house himself. He was +probably of about the same age as Jonas Webb, and like him was married +to a young wife. + +During the afternoon, Philip, being left pretty much to his own devices, +took a walk in and about the village, ascending a hill at one side, +which afforded him a fine view of that and neighboring villages. + +He was pleasantly received and hospitably entertained at the house of +Mr. Blake, and about quarter of eight started out for the hall, at which +he was to play, in company with his host and hostess. + +As they approached the hall, a young man approached them with a +perplexed face. + +"What do you think, Andrew?" he said. "Paul Beck's in the hall, as mad +as a hatter, and he vows he'll play himself. He says he was engaged, and +no one shall take his place." + +Andrew Blake looked disturbed, and Philip shared in his feeling. Was he +to lose his engagement, after all? + + + +CHAPTER XXII. RIVAL MUSICIANS. + + + +They entered the hall, which was already well filled, for the young +people of both sexes liked to have as long a time for enjoyment as +possible. + +At the head of the hall, in the center of a group, stood a tall, thin +man, dressed in solemn black, with a violin under his arm. His face, +which looked like that of a sick man, was marked by an angry expression, +and this, indeed, was his feeling. + +"I suppose that's Mr. Beck?" said Philip. + +"Yes, it is," answered Andrew Blake, in evident discomposure. "What on +earth brings him here from a sick-bed, I can't understand. I heard that +he had a fever." + +The fact was that Paul Beck was jealous of his reputation as a musician. +It was satisfactory to him to think that he was so indispensable that +no one could take his place. He had sent word to the committee that he +should be unable to play for them, supposing, of course, that they would +be compelled to give up the party. When intelligence was brought to him +during the afternoon that it would come off, and that another musician +had been engaged in his place, he was not only disturbed, but angry, +though, of course, the latter feeling was wholly unreasonable. He +determined that he would be present, at any rate, no matter how unfit +his sickness rendered him for the evening's work. He resolved to have no +rival, and to permit no one to take his place in his own town. + +It did not seem to occur to Mr. Beck that, having formally declined +the engagement on account of sickness, he had no claim whatever on the +committee, and was, in fact, an interloper. It was in vain that his +sister protested against his imprudence. (He was an old bachelor and his +sister kept house for him.) He insisted on dressing himself and making +his way to the hall, where, as was to be expected, his arrival produced +considerable embarrassment. + +Paul Beck stood in sullen impatience awaiting the arrival of his rival. + +It so happened that no one had thought to mention to him that it was a +boy. He was prepared to see a full-grown man. + +Philip followed Andrew Blake up to the central group. + +"Who is it, I say," Mr. Beck was inquiring, "that engaged another +musician to take my place?" + +"No one, sir," answered Andrew Blake firmly, for Mr. Beck's +unreasonableness provoked him. "I engaged a musician to play this +evening, but it was not in your place, for you had sent us word that you +could not appear." + +"Where is he, I say?" continued Paul Beck sourly. + +"Here he is," replied Blake, drawing toward our hero, who felt that he +was placed in an awkward position. + +"Why, he's only a baby!" said Beck, surveying our hero contemptuously. + +Philip's cheek flushed, and he, too, began to feel angry. + +"He isn't as old as you are, Mr. Beck," said Andrew Blake manfully, "but +you'll find he understands his business." + +"I certainly didn't expect you to get a child in my place," said Paul +Beck scornfully. + +"I suppose a musician may know how to play, if he isn't sixty-five," +said Miss Maria Snod-grass, who had listened indignantly to Mr. Beck's +contemptuous remarks about our hero, whose cause she so enthusiastically +championed. + +Poor Mr. Beck! He was sensitive about his age, and nothing could +have cut him more cruelly than this exaggeration of it. He was really +fifty-five, and looked at least sixty, but he fondly flattered himself +that he looked under fifty. "Sixty-five!" he repeated furiously. "Who +says I am sixty-five?" + +"Well, you look about that age," said Maria, with malicious pleasure. + +"I shall have to live a good many years before I am sixty," said Paul +Beck angrily. "But that's either here nor there. You engaged me to play +to-night, and I am ready to do it." + +Andrew Blake felt the difficulty of his position, but he did not mean to +desert the boy-musician whom he had engaged. + +"Mr. Beck," said he, "we shall be glad to have you serve us on another +occasion, but to-night Mr. Gray, here, is engaged. You gave up the +engagement of your own accord, and that ended the matter, so far as you +are concerned." + +"Do you refuse to let me play?" demanded Paul Beck, his pale cheek +glowing with anger and mortification. + +"You understand why," answered Blake. "This young man is engaged, and we +have no right to break the engagement." + +Philip, who had felt the embarrassment of his position, had meanwhile +made up his mind what to do. The three dollars he expected to earn were +important to him, but he didn't care to make trouble. He did not +doubt that his lodging and meals would be given him, and that would be +something. Accordingly, he spoke: + +"I have been engaged, it is true," he said, "but if Mr. Beck wants to +play I will resign my engagement and stay and hear him." + +"No, no!" exclaimed several--Mr. Blake and Miss Snodgrass being among +them. + +"Mr. Gray, you were regularly engaged," said one of the committee. + +"That's true," answered Philip, "and," he couldn't help adding, "I +should be justified in insisting upon playing; but since Mr. Beck seems +to feel so bad about it, I will give way to him." + +He spoke manfully, and there was no sign of weakness or submission +about him. He asserted his rights, while he expressed his willingness to +surrender them. + +There was a little consultation among the committee. They were all +disgusted with the conduct of Paul Beck, and were unwilling that he +should triumph. At the same time, as they might need his services at +some future time, they did not wish wholly to alienate him. + +Finally, they announced their decision through Andrew Blake. + +"We are not willing to accept Mr. Gray's resignation wholly," he said, +"but we propose that he and Mr. Beck shall divide the evening's work +between them--each to receive half the usual compensation." + +There was considerable applause, for it seemed to be a suitable +compromise, and would enable the company to compare the merits of the +rival musicians. + +"I agree," said Philip promptly. + +"What do you say, Mr. Beck?" asked Andrew Blake. + +Now, while Paul Beck did not like to give up half the honor, he felt +thoroughly convinced that Philip was only a beginner, and that he, as +an experienced player, could easily eclipse him, and thus gain a triumph +which would be very gratifying to his pride. + +As for the compensation, to do him justice, he did not much care for +that, being a man of very good means. He played more for glory than for +pay--though he, of course, had no objection to receiving compensation. + +"I have no objections," he said. "If you want to give the boy a chance +to practice a little, I am willing." + +Philip understood the sneer, and he secretly determined to do his best. + +The committee was much pleased at the satisfactory conclusion of what +had threatened to be a very troublesome dispute, and it was arranged, +Philip consenting, that Mr. Beck should play first. + +The old musician played, in a confident manner, a familiar dancing-tune, +accompanying his playing with various contortions of the face and +twistings of his figure, supposed to express feeling. It was a fair +performance, but mechanical, and did not indicate anything but very +ordinary talent. His time was good, and dancers always found his playing +satisfactory. + +When Paul Beck had completed his task, he looked about him complacently, +as if to say, "Let the boy beat that if he can," and sat down. + +Philip had listened to Mr. Beck with attention. He was anxious to learn +how powerful a rival he had to compete with. What he heard did not alarm +him, but rather gave him confidence. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. AN HOUR OF TRIUMPH. + + + +When Paul rose and stood before this audience, violin in hand, he +certainly presented quite a strong contrast to his rival. + +Paul Beck, as we have already said, was a tall, thin, lantern-jawed man, +clad in solemn black, his face of a sickly, sallow hue. + +Philip was of fair height, for his age, with a bright, expressive face, +his hair of a chestnut shade, and looking the very picture of boyish +health. His very appearance made a pleasant impression upon those +present. + +"He's a nice-looking boy," thought more than one, "but he looks too +young to know much about the violin." + +But when Philip began to play, there was general surprise. In a +dancing-tune there was not much chance for the exhibition of talent, but +his delicate touch and evident perfect mastery of his instrument were +immediately apparent. In comparison, the playing of Paul Beck seemed +wooden and mechanical. + +There was a murmur of approbation, and when Philip had finished his +first part of the program, he was saluted by hearty applause, which he +acknowledged by a modest and graceful bow. + +Paul Beck's face, as his young rival proceeded in his playing, was an +interesting study. He was very disagreeably surprised. He had made up +his mind that Philip could not play at all, or, at any rate, would prove +to be a mere tyro and bungler, and he could hardly believe his ears when +he heard the sounds which Philip evoked from his violin. + +In spite of his self-conceit, he secretly acknowledged that Philip even +now was his superior, and in time would leave him so far behind that +there could be no comparison between them. + +It was not a pleasant discovery for a man who had prided himself for +many years on his superiority as a musician. If it had been a man of +established fame it would have been different, but to be compelled to +yield the palm to an unknown boy, was certainly mortifying. + +When he heard the applause that followed Philip's performance, and +remembered that none had been called forth by his own, he determined +that he would not play again that evening. He did not like to risk the +comparison which he was sure would be made between himself and Philip. +So, when Andrew Blake came up to him and asked him to play for the next +dance, he shook his head. "I don't feel well enough," he said "I thought +I was stronger than I am." + +"Do you want the boy to play all the rest of the evening?" + +"Yes; he plays very fairly," said Beck, in a patronizing manner, which +implied his own superiority. + +"There can be no doubt about that," said Andrew Blake, with emphasis, +for he understood Mr. Beck's meaning, and resented it as one of the +warmest admirers of the boy-musician whom he had engaged. + +But Paul Beck would not for the world have revealed his real opinion of +Philip's merits. + +"Yes," he continued, "he plays better than I expected. I guess you can +get along with him." + +"How shall we arrange about the compensation, Mr. Beck?" asked Blake. +"We ought in that case to give him more than half." + +"Oh, you can give him the whole," answered Beck carelessly. "If I felt +well enough to play, I would do my part, but I think it will be better +for me to go home and go to bed." + +His decision was communicated to Philip, who felt impelled by politeness +to express his regrets to Mr. Beck. + +"I am sorry you don't feel able to play, Mr. Beck," he said politely. + +"Oh, it's of no consequence, as they've got some one to take my place," +returned Beck coldly. + +"I should be glad to hear you play again," continued Philip. + +Paul Beck nodded slightly, but he felt too much mortified to reciprocate +Philip's friendly advances. Half an hour later he left the hall. + +The dancers by no means regretted the change of arrangement. They +evidently preferred the young musician to his elderly rival. The only +one to express regret was Miss Maria Snodgrass. + +"I declare it's a shame Mr. Beck has given up," she said. "I wanted you +to dance with me, Mr. Gray. I am sure if you can dance as well as you +can play, you would get along perfectly lovely. Now you've got to play, +and can't dance at all." + +"It isn't leap-year, Maria," said Jedidiah Burbank, in a jealous tone. + +Miss Snodgrass turned upon him angrily: + +"You needn't put in your oar, Jedidiah Burbank!" she said. "I guess I +know what I'm about. If it was leap-year fifty times over, I wouldn't +offer myself to you!" + +And the young lady tossed her head in a very decided manner. + +"Now don't get mad, Maria!" implored Jedidiah, feeling that at the +prompting of jealousy; he had put his foot in it. "I didn't mean +nothing." + +"Then you'd better say nothing next time," retorted the young lady. + +Meanwhile, Philip acknowledged the young lady's politeness by a smile +and a bow, assuring her that if it had been possible, it would have +given him great pleasure to dance with her. + +"If Mr. Burbank will play for me," he said with a glance at the young +man, "I shall be glad to dance." + +Miss Snodgrass burst out laughing. + +"Jedidiah couldn't play well enough for an old cow to dance by," she +said. + +"There ain't any old cows here," said Jedidiah, vexed at being +ridiculed. + +"Well, there are some calves, anyway," retorted Maria, laughing +heartily. + +Poor Jedidiah! It is to be feared that he will have a hard time when he +becomes the husband of the fair Maria. She will undoubtedly be the head +of the new matrimonial firm. + +There was nothing further to mar the harmony of the evening. It had +begun with indications of a storm, but the clouds had vanished, and when +Mr. Beck left the hall, there was nothing left to disturb the enjoyment +of those present. + +The favorable opinions expressed when Philip commenced playing were +repeated again and again, as the evening slipped away. + +"I tell you, he's a regular genius!" one enthusiastic admirer said to +his companion. "Paul Beck can't hold a candle to him." + +"That's so. He's smart, and no mistake." + +Poor Mr. Beck! It was fortunate he was unable to hear these comparisons +made. He could not brook a rival near the throne, and had gone home in +low spirits, feeling that he could never again hold his head as high as +he had done. + +When the dancing was over, there was a brief conference of the committee +of management, the subject of which was soon made known. + +Andrew Blake approached Philip and said: + +"Mr. Gray, some of us would like to hear you play something else, if you +are not tired--not a dancing-tune." + +"I shall be very happy to comply with your request," answered Philip. + +He spoke sincerely, for he saw that all were pleased with him, and it is +gratifying to be appreciated. + +He paused a moment in thought, and then began to play the "Carnival of +Venice," with variations. It had been taught him by his father, and he +had played it so often that his execution was all that could be desired. +The variations were of a showy and popular character, and very well +adapted to impress an audience like that to which he was playing. + +"Beautiful! Beautiful!" exclaimed the young ladies, while their partners +pronounced it "tip-top" and "first-rate," by which they probably meant +very much the same thing. + +"Oh, Mr. Gray!" exclaimed Miss Snodgrass fervently. "You play like a +seraphim!" + +"Thank you!" said Philip, smiling. "I never heard a seraphim play on the +violin, but I am sure your remark is very complimentary." + +"I wish you could play like that, Jedidiah," said Maria. + +"I'll learn to play, if you want me to," said Mr. Burbank. + +"Thank you! You're very obliging," said Maria; "but I won't trouble you. +You haven't got a genius for it, like Mr. Gray." + +The evening was over at length, and again Philip was made the +happy recipient of three dollars. His first week had certainly been +unexpectedly prosperous. + +"This is better than staying in the Norton Poorhouse!" he said to +himself. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. LORENZO RICCABOCCA. + + + +Philip's reputation as a musician was materially increased by his second +night's performance. To adopt a military term, he had crossed swords +with the veteran fiddler, Paul Beck, and, in the opinion of all who +heard both, had far surpassed him. + +This was said openly to Philip by more than one; but he was modest, and +had too much tact and good taste to openly agree with them. This modesty +raised him higher in the opinion of his admirers. + +He was invited by the Blakes to prolong his visit, but preferred to +continue on his journey--though his plans were, necessarily, not clearly +defined. + +Andrew Blake carried him five miles on his way, and from that point our +hero used the means of locomotion with which nature had supplied him. + +Some six miles farther on there was a manufacturing town of considerable +size, named Wilkesville, and it occurred to him that this would be a +good place at which to pass the night. + +Something might turn up for him there. He hardly knew what, but the two +unexpected strokes of luck which he had had thus far encouraged him to +think that a third might come to him. + +Philip continued on his way--his small pack of clothing in one hand and +his violin under his arm. Being in no especial hurry--for it was only +the middle of the forenoon--he bethought himself to sit down and rest at +the first convenient and inviting place. + +He soon came to a large elm tree, which, with its spreading branches, +offered a pleasant and grateful shade. + +He threw himself down and lay back on the greensward, in pleasant +contemplation, when he heard a gentle cough--as of one who wished to +attract attention. Looking up he observed close at hand, a tall man, +dressed in black, with long hair, which fell over his shirt collar and +shoulders. + +He wore a broad collar and black satin necktie, and his hair was parted +in the middle. His appearance was certainly peculiar, and excited our +hero's curiosity. + +"My young friend," he said, "you have chosen a pleasant resting-place +beneath this umbrageous monarch of the grove." "Yes, sir," answered +Philip, wondering whether the stranger was a poet. + +"May I also recline beneath it?" asked the newcomer. + +"Certainly, sir. It is large enough to shelter us both." + +"Quite true; but I did not wish to intrude upon your meditations." + +"My meditations are not of much account," answered Philip, laughing. + +"I see you are modest. Am I right in supposing that yonder case contains +a violin?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then you are a musician?" + +"A little of one," replied Philip. + +"May I ask--excuse my curiosity--if you play professionally?" + +"Perhaps he may help me to an engagement," thought our hero, and he said +readily, "I do." + +"Indeed!" said the stranger, appearing pleased. "What style of music do +you play?" + +"For each of the last two evenings I have played for dancing-parties." + +"Alone?" + +"Yes." + +"You do not confine yourself to dancing-music?" + +"Oh, no! I prefer other kinds; but dancing-tunes seem most in demand, +and I have my living to make." The stranger seemed still more gratified. + +"I am delighted to have met you, Mr.---- Ahem!" he paused, and looked +inquiringly at Philip. + +"Gray." + +"Mr. Gray, I believe Providence has brought us together. I see you are +surprised." + +Philip certainly did look puzzled, as he well might. + +"I must explain myself more clearly. I am Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca, +the famous elocutionist and dramatic reader." + +Philip bowed. + +"Doubtless you have heard of me?" said the professor inquiringly. + +"I have never lived in large places," answered Philip, in some +embarrassment, "or no doubt your name would be familiar to me." + +"To be sure, that must make a difference. For years," said the +professor, "I have given dramatic readings to crowded houses, and +everywhere my merits have been conceded by the educated and refined." + +Philip could not help wondering how it happened in that case that the +professor should look so seedy. A genius appreciated so highly ought to +have brought in more gold and silver. + +Perhaps Professor Riccabocca understood Philip's expressive look, for he +went to to say: + +"The public has repaid me richly for the exercise of my talent; but, +alas, my young friend, I must confess that I have no head for business. +I invested my savings unwisely, and ascertained a month since that I had +lost all." + +"That was a great pity!" said Philip sympathizingly. + +"It was, indeed! It quite unmanned me!" said the professor, wiping away +a tear. "I felt that all ambition was quite gone, and I was mad and +sick. Indeed, only a week since I rose from a sick-bed. But Lorenzo is +himself again!" he exclaimed, striking his breast energetically. "I will +not succumb to Fate. I will again court the favor of the public, and +this time I will take care of the ducats my admirers bestow upon me." + +"I should think that was a good plan," said Philip. + +"I will begin at once. Nearby is a town devoted to the mammon of trade, +yet among its busy thousands there must be many that will appreciate the +genius of Lorenzo Riccabocca." + +"I hope so," answered Philip politely. + +He could not help thinking that the professor was rather self-conceited, +and he hardly thought it in good taste for him to refer so boastfully to +his genius. + +"I wish you, Mr. Gray, to assist me in my project," continued the +professor. + +"How can I do so, sir?" inquired Philip. + +"Let me tell you. I propose that we enter into a professional +partnership, that we give an entertainment partly musical, partly +dramatic. I will draw up a program, including some of my most humorous +recitations and impersonations, while interspersed among them will be +musical selections contributed by yourself. Do you comprehend?" + +"Yes," answered Philip, nodding. + +"And what do you think of it?" + +"I think well of it," replied the boy-musician. + +He did think well of it. It might not draw a large audience, this mixed +entertainment, but it would surely pay something; and it would interfere +with no plans of his own, for, in truth, he had none. + +"Then you will cooperate with me?" said the professor. + +"Yes, professor." + +"Give me your hand!" exclaimed Riccabocca dramatically. "Mr. Gray, it +is a perfect bonanza of an idea. I may tell you, in confidence, I was +always a genius for ideas. Might I ask a favor of you?" + +"Certainly, sir." + +"Give me a touch of your quality. Let me hear you play." + +Philip drew his violin from its case and played for his new professional +partner "The Carnival of Venice," with variations--the same which had +been received with so much favor the evening previous. + +Professor Riccabocca listened attentively, and was evidently agreeably +surprised. He was not a musician, but he saw that Philip was a much +better player than he had anticipated, and this, of course, was likely +to improve their chances of pecuniary success. + +"You are a splendid performer," he said enthusiastically. "You +shall come out under my auspices and win fame. I predict for you a +professional triumph." + +"Thank you," said Philip, gratified by this tribute from a man of +worldly experience. "I hope you will prove a true prophet." + +"And now, Mr. Gray, let us proceed on our way. We must get lodgings in +Wilkesville, and make arrangements for our entertainment. I feel new +courage, now that I have obtained so able a partner. Wilkesville little +knows what is in store for her. We shall go, see, and conquer!" + +An hour later Philip and his new partner entered Wilkesville. + + + +CHAPTER XXV. A CHANGE OF NAME. + + + +Wilkesville was an inland city, of from fifteen to twenty thousand +inhabitants. + +As Philip and the professor passed along the principal street, they saw +various stores of different kinds, with here and there a large, +high, plain-looking structure, which they were told was used for the +manufacture of shoes. + +"Wilkesville will give us a large audience," he said, in a tone of +satisfaction. + +"I hope so," said our hero. + +"Hope so? I know so!" said the professor confidently. "The town is full +of young men, employed in shoe-making. They are fond of amusement, +and they will gladly seize an opportunity of patronizing a first-class +entertainment like ours." + +The professor's reasoning seemed good, but logic sometimes fails, and +Philip was not quite so sanguine. He said nothing, however, to dampen +the ardor of his partner. + +"Let me see," said the professor, pausing, "yonder stands the +Wilkesville Hotel. We had better put up there." + +It was a brick structure of considerable size, and seemed to have some +pretensions to fashion. + +"Do you know how much they charge?" asked Philip prudently. + +"No; I neither know nor care," answered Professor Riccabocca loftily. + +"But," said Philip, "I haven't much money." + +"Nor I," admitted Riccabocca. "But it is absolutely necessary for us to +stop at a first-class place. We must not let the citizens suppose that +we are tramps or vagabonds. They will judge us by our surroundings." + +"There is something in that," said Philip. "But suppose we don't +succeed!" + +"Succeed? We must succeed!" said the professor, striking an attitude. +"In the vocabulary of youth, there's no such word as 'fail'! Away with +timid caution! Our watchword be success!" + +"Of course, you have much more experience than I," said Philip. + +"Certainly I have! We must keep up appearances. Be guided by me, and all +will come right." + +Philip reflected that they could not very well make less than their +expenses, and accordingly he acceded to the professor's plans. They +entered the hotel, and Professor Riccabocca, assuming a dignified, +important step, walked up to the office. "Sir," said he, to the clerk, +"my companion and myself would like an apartment, one eligibly located, +and of ample size." + +"You can be accommodated, sir," answered the young man politely. "Will +you enter your names?" + +Opening the hotel register, the elocutionist, with various flourishes, +entered, this name: "Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca, Elocutionist and +Dramatic Reader." + +"Shall I enter your name?" he asked of Philip. + +"If you please." + +This was the way Professor Riccabocca complied with his request: "Philip +de Gray, the Wonderful Boy-musician." + +He turned the book, so that the clerk could see the entries. + +"We propose to give an entertainment in Wilkesville," he said. + +"I am glad to hear it," said the clerk politely. + +"After dinner I will consult you as to what steps to take. Is there +anything in the way of amusement going on in town this evening?" + +"Yes, there is a concert, chiefly of home-talent, in Music Hall. There +is nothing announced for to-morrow evening." + +"Then we will fix upon to-morrow evening. It will give us more time to +get out hand-bills, etc. Is there a printing-office in town?" + +"Oh, yes, sir. We have a daily paper." + +"Is the office near at hand?" + +"Yes, sir. It is on the corner of the next street." + +"That will do for the present. We will go up to our apartment. Will +dinner be ready soon?" + +"In half an hour." + +Here the servant made his appearance, and the professor, with a wave of +his hand, said: + +"Lead on, Mr. de Gray! I will follow." + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. A PROMISING PLAN. + + + +They were shown into a front room, of good size, containing two beds. +The servant handed them the key, and left them. + +"This looks very comfortable, Mr. de Gray," said the professor, rubbing +his hands with satisfaction. + +"Why do you call me Mr. de Gray?" asked Philip, thinking he had been +misunderstood. "It is plain Gray, without any de." + +"I am only using your professional name," answered the professor. "Don't +you know people will think a great deal more of you if they suppose you +to be a foreigner?" + +Philip laughed. + +"Is Lorenzo Riccabocca your true or professional name, professor?" he +asked. + +"Professional, of course. My real name--I impart it to you in the +strictest confidence--is Lemuel Jones. Think of it. How would that look +on a poster?" + +"It would not be so impressive as the other." + +"Of course not; and the public need to be impressed. I thank thee for +that word, Mr. de Gray. By the way, it's rather a pity I didn't give you +a Spanish or Italian name." + +"But I can't speak either language. It would be seen through at once." + +"People wouldn't think of asking. You'd be safe enough. They will +generally swallow all you choose to say." + +They went down to dinner presently, and the professor--Philip could not +help thinking--ate as if he were half-starved. He explained afterward +that elocutionary effort taxes the strength severely, and makes hearty +eating a necessity. + +After dinner was over the professor said: + +"Are you content, Mr. de Gray, to leave me to make the necessary +arrangements?" + +"I should prefer that you would," said Philip, and he spoke sincerely. +"Probably you understand much better than I what needs to be done." + +"'Tis well! Your confidence is well placed," said the professor, with a +wave of his hand. "Shall you remain in the hotel?" + +"No, I think I will walk about the town and see a little of it. I have +never been here before." + +Philip took a walk through the principal streets, surveying with +curiosity the principal building's, for, though there was nothing +particularly remarkable about them, he was a young traveler, to whom +everything was new. He could not help thinking of his late home, and in +particular of Frank Dunbar, his special friend, and he resolved during +the afternoon to write a letter to Frank, apprising him of his luck +thus far. He knew that Frank would feel anxious about him, and would be +delighted to hear of his success as a musician. + +He went into a book-store and bought a sheet of paper and an envelope. + +He had just completed his letter, when his partner entered the +reading-room of the hotel with a brisk step. + +"Mr. de Gray," he said, "I have made all necessary arrangements. I have +hired the hall for to-morrow evening--five dollars--ordered some tickets +and posters at the printing-office, and secured a first-class notice +in to-morrow morning's paper. Everybody in Wilkesville will know before +to-morrow night that they will have the opportunity of attending a +first-class performance at the Music Hall." + +"It seems to me the necessary expenses are considerable," said Philip +uneasily. + +"Of course they are; but what does that matter?" + +"What is to be the price of tickets?" + +"General admission, twenty-five cents; reserved seats, fifty cents, and +children under twelve, fifteen cents. How does that strike you!" + +"Will anyone be willing to pay fifty cents to hear us?" asked Philip. + +"Fifty cents! It will be richly worth a dollar!" said the professor +loftily. + +"I suppose he knows best," thought Philip. "I hope all will come out +right. If it does we can try the combination in other places." + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. UNEXPECTED HONORS. + + + +The next morning at breakfast, Professor Riccabocca handed Philip a +copy of the Wilkesville Daily Bulletin. Pointing to a paragraph on the +editorial page, he said, in a tone of pride and satisfaction: + +"Read that, Mr. de Gray." + +It ran thus: + +"We congratulate the citizens of Wilkesville on the remarkable +entertainment which they will have an opportunity of enjoying this +evening at the Music Hall. Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca, whose fame as +an elocutionist and dramatic reader has made his name a household word +throughout Europe and America, will give some of his choice recitals and +personations, assisted by Philip de Gray, the wonderful boy-musician, +whose talent as a violin-player has been greeted with rapturous applause +in all parts of the United States. It is universally acknowledged +that no one of his age has ever equaled him. He, as well as Professor +Riccabocca, will give but a limited series of entertainments in this +country, having received flattering inducements to cross the Atlantic, +and appear professionally in London, Paris, and the chief cities of the +Continent. Fifty cents is the pitiful sum for which our citizens will +have it put in their power to hear this wonderful combination of talent. +This secures a reserved seat." + +Philip read this notice with increasing amazement. + +"What do you think of that, Mr. de Gray?" asked the professor gleefully. +"Won't that make Wilkesville open its eyes, eh?" + +"It has made me open my eyes, professor," said Philip. + +"Ha, ha!" said the professor, appearing amused. + +"How soon are we to sail for Europe?" asked Philip, smiling. + +"When Queen Victoria sends our passage-money," answered Riccabocca, +laughing. + +"I see that your name is a household word in Europe. Were you ever +there?" + +"Never." + +"Then how can that be?" + +"Mr. de Gray, your performances have been greeted with applause in all +parts of the United States. How do you explain that?" + +"I don't pretend to explain it. I wasn't aware that my name had ever +been heard of a hundred miles from here." + +"It has not, but it will be. I have only been predicting a little. +The paragraph isn't true now, but it will be some time, if we live and +prosper." + +"But I don't like to be looked upon as a humbug, professor," said Philip +uneasily. + +"You won't be. You are really a fine player, or I wouldn't consent to +appear with you. The name of Riccabocca, Mr. de Gray, I may truthfully +say, is well known. I have appeared in the leading cities of America. +They were particularly enthusiastic in Chicago," he added pensively. +"I wish I could find a paragraph from one of their leading papers, +comparing my rendering of the soliloquy in 'Hamlet' to Edwin Booth's, +rather to the disadvantage of that tragedian." + +"I would like to read the notice," said Philip, who had very strong +doubts as to whether such a paragraph had ever appeared in print. + +"You shall see it. It will turn up somewhere. I laid it aside carefully, +for I confess, Mr. de Gray, it gratified me much. I have only one thing +to regret: I should myself have gone on the stage, and essayed leading +tragic roles. It may not be too late now. What do you think?" + +"I can tell better after I have heard you, professor," answered Philip. + +"True, you can. Mr. de Gray," continued the professor, lowering his +voice, "notice how much attention we are receiving from the guests +at the tables. They have doubtless read the notice of our evening +entertainment." + +Philip looked round the room, which was of good size, and contained some +thirty or more guests, and he saw that the professor was right. + +He met several curious glances, some fair ladies expressing interest as +well as curiosity, and his face flushed. + +"Gratifying, isn't it?" said the professor, smiling. + +"No, I don't think it is," answered our hero. + +"Why not?" demanded Professor Riccabocca, appearing amazed. + +"If all were true, it might be," replied Philip. "As it is, I feel like +a humbug." + +"Humbug pays in this world," said the professor cheerfully. "By the way, +there's another little paragraph to which I will call your attention." + +Philip read this additional item: + +"We understand that Professor Riecabocca and Mr. Philip de Gray have +received a cable despatch from the Prince of Wales, inviting them to +instruct his sons in elocution and music, at a very liberal salary. They +have this proposal under consideration, though they are naturally rather +reluctant to give up the plaudits of the public, even for so honorable a +position." + +"Professor Riccabocca," said Philip, considerably annoyed by this +audacious invention, "you ought to have consulted me before publishing +such a falsehood as this." + +"Falsehood, Mr. de Gray? Really I'm shocked! Gentlemen don't use such +words, or make such charges." + +"You don't mean to say it's true that we have received any such +telegram?" + +"No; of course not." + +"Then why didn't I use the right word?" + +"It's an innocent little fiction, my young friend--a fiction that will +do no one any harm, but will cause us to be regarded with extraordinary +interest." + +Here the thought occurred to Philip that he, the future instructor of +British royalty, had only just escaped from a poorhouse, and it seemed +to him so droll that he burst out laughing. + +"Why do you laugh, Mr. de Gray?" asked the professor, a little +suspiciously. + +"I was thinking of something amusing," said Philip. + +"Well, well! We shall have cause to laugh when we play this evening to a +crowded house." + +"I hope so. But, professor, if we keep together, you mustn't print any +more such paragraphs about me. Of course, I am not responsible for what +you say about yourself." + +"Oh, it will be all right!" said Riccabocca. "What are you going to do +with yourself?" + +"I shall practice a little in my room, for I want to play well to-night. +When I get tired I shall take a walk." + +"Very wise--very judicious. I don't need to do it, being, as I may say, +a veteran reader. I wouldn't rehearse if I were to play this evening +before the president and all the distinguished men of the nation." + +"I don't feel so confident of myself," said Philip. + +"No, of course not. By the way, can you lend me fifty cents, Mr. de +Gray?" + +"Certainly." + +"I don't want to break a ten." + +Professor Riccabocca didn't mention that the only ten he had was a +ten-cent piece. + +Slipping Philip's half-dollar into his vest pocket, he said carelessly: + +"We'll take this into the account when we divide the proceeds of the +entertainment." + +"Very well," said Philip. + +He went up to his room and played for an hour or more, rehearsing the +different pieces he had selected for the evening, and then, feeling the +need of a little fresh air, he took a walk. + +In different parts of the town he saw posters, on which his name was +printed in large letters. + +"It seems almost like a joke!" he said to himself. + +Just then he heard his name called, and, looking up, he recognized +a young fellow, of sixteen or thereabouts, who had formerly lived in +Norton. It seemed pleasant to see a familiar face. + +"Why, Morris Lovett," he exclaimed "I didn't know you were here!" + +"Yes; I'm clerk in a store. Are you the one that is going to give an +entertainment tonight?" + +"Yes," answered Philip, smiling. + +"I didn't know you were such a great player," said Morris, regarding our +hero with new respect. + +He had read the morning paper. + +"Nor I," said Philip, laughing. + +"Are you going to Europe soon?" + +"It isn't decided yet!" Philip answered, laughing. + +"I wish I had your chance." + +"Come and hear me this evening, at any rate," said Philip. "Call at the +hotel, at six o'clock, and I'll give you a ticket." + +"I'll be sure to come," said Morris, well pleased. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. A TRIUMPHANT SUCCESS. + + + +Philip took another walk in the afternoon, and was rather amused to +see how much attention he received. When he drew near the hotel he was +stared at by several gaping youngsters, who apparently were stationed +there for no other purpose. He overheard their whispers: + +"That's him! That's Philip de Gray, the wonderful fiddler!" + +"I never suspected, when I lived at Norton, that I was so much of a +curiosity," he said to himself. "I wish I knew what they'll say about me +to-morrow." + +At six o'clock Morris Lovett called and received his ticket. + +"You'll have a big house to-night, Philip," he said. "I know a lot of +fellows that are going." + +"I am glad to hear it," said Philip, well pleased, for he concluded that +if such were the case his purse would be considerably heavier the next +day. + +"It's strange how quick you've come up;" said Morris. "I never expected +you'd be so famous." + +"Nor I," said Philip, laughing. + +"I'd give anything if I could have my name posted round like yours." + +"Perhaps you will have, some time." + +"Oh, no! I couldn't play more'n a pig," said Morris decidedly. "I'll +have to be a clerk, and stick to business." + +"You'll make more money in the end that way, Morris, even if your name +isn't printed in capitals." + +They retired into a small room adjoining the stage, to prepare for their +appearance. + +The professor rubbed his hands in glee. + +"Did you see what a house we have, Mr. de Gray?" + +"Yes, professor." + +"I think there'll be a hundred dollars over and above expenses." + +"That will be splendid!" said Philip, naturally elated. + +"The firm of Riccaboeca and De Gray is starting swimmingly." + +"So it is. I hope it will continue so." + +"Here is the program, Mr. de Gray. You will observe that I appear first, +in my famous soliloquy. You will follow, with the 'Carnival of Venice.' +Do you feel agitated?" + +"Oh, no. I am so used to playing that I shall not feel at all bashful." + +"That is well." + +"I would like to be on the stage, professor, to hear you." + +"Certainly. I have anticipated your desire, and provided an extra +chair." + +The time came, and Professor Riccabocca stepped upon the stage, his +manner full of dignity, and advanced to the desk. Philip took a chair a +little to the rear. + +Their entrance was greeted by hearty applause. The professor made a +stately bow, and a brief introductory speech, in which he said several +things about Philip and himself which rather astonished our hero. Then +he began to recite the soliloquy. + +Probably it was never before so amazingly recited. Professor +Riccabocca's gestures, facial contortions, and inflections were very +remarkable. Philip almost suspected that he was essaying a burlesque +role. + +The mature portion of the audience were evidently puzzled, but the small +boys were delighted, and with some of the young men, stamped vigorously +at the close. + +Professor Riccabocea bowed modestly, and said: + +"Gentlemen and ladies, you will now have the pleasure of listening to +the young and talented Philip de Gray, the wonderful boy-musician, in +his unrivaled rendition of the 'Carnival of Venice.'" + +Philip rose, coloring a little with shame a I this high-flown +introduction, and came forward. + +All applauded heartily, for sympathy is always felt for a young +performer, especially when he has a manly bearing and an attractive +face, such as our hero possessed. + +Philip was determined to do his best. Indeed, after being advertised and +announced as a boy wonder, he felt that he could not do otherwise. + +He commenced, and soon lost himself in the music he loved so well, so +that before he had half finished he had quite forgotten his audience, +and half started at the boisterous applause which followed. He bowed his +acknowledgments, but found this would not do. + +He was forced to play it a second time, greatly to the apparent +satisfaction of the audience. It was clear that, whatever might be +thought of Professor Riccabocea's recitation, the young violinist had +not disappointed his audience. + +Philip could see, in a seat near the stage, the beaming face of his +friend Morris Lovett, who was delighted at the success of his old +acquaintance, and anticipated the reflected glory which he received, +from its being known that he was a friend of the wonderful young +musician. + +Professor Riccabocca came forward again, and recited a poem called "The +Maniac," each stanza ending with the line: "I am not mad, but soon shall +be." + +He stamped, raved, tore his hair, and made altogether a very grotesque +appearance. + +Philip could hardly forbear laughing, and some of the boys in the front +seats didn't restrain themselves, Some of the older people wondered how +such a man should be selected by the Prince of Wales to instruct his +sons in elocution--not suspecting that the newspaper paragraph making +mention of this was only a daring invention of the eminent professor. + +Next came another musical selection by Philip, which was as cordially +received as the first. + +I do not propose to weary the reader by a recital of the program and a +detailed account of each performance. It is enough to say that Professor +Riccabocca excited some amusement, but was only tolerated for the sake +of Philip's playing. + +Naturally, our hero was better received on account of his youth, but +had he been twice as old his playing would have given satisfaction and +pleasure. + +So passed an hour and a half, and the musical entertainment was over. +Philip felt that he had reason to be satisfied. Highly as he had been +heralded, no one appeared to feel disappointed by his part of the +performance. + +"Mr. de Gray," said the professor, when they reached the hotel, "you did +splendidly. We have made a complete success." + +"It is very gratifying," said Philip. + +"I felt sure that the public would appreciate us. I think I managed +everything shrewdly." + +"How much was paid in at the door?" asked Philip, who naturally felt +interested in this phase of success. + +"One hundred and forty-five dollars and a half!" answered the professor. + +Philip's eyes sparkled. + +"And how much will that be over and above expenses?" he asked. + +"My dear Mr. de Gray, we will settle all bills, and make a fair and +equitable division, in the morning. I think there will be a little more +than fifty dollars to come to each of us." + +"Fifty dollars for one evening's work!" repeated Philip, his eyes +sparkling. + +"Oh, I have done much better than that," said the professor. "I remember +once at St. Louis I made for myself alone one hundred and eighty dollars +net, and in Chicago a little more." + +"I didn't think it was such a money-making business," said Philip, +elated. + +"Yes, Mr. de Gray, the American people are willing to recognize talent, +when it is genuine. You are on the threshold of a great career, my dear +young friend." + +"And only a week since I was in the Norton Poorhouse," thought Philip. +"It is certainly a case of romance in real life." + +The two went to bed soon, being fatigued by their exertions. The +apartment was large, and contained two beds, a larger and smaller one. +The latter was occupied by our hero. + +When he awoke in the morning, the sun was shining brightly into the +room. Philip looked toward the opposite bed. It was empty. + +"Professor Riccabocca must have got up early," he thought. "Probably he +did not wish to wake me." + +He dressed and went downstairs. + +"Where is the professor?" he asked of the clerk. + +"He started away two hours since--said he was going to take a walk. Went +away without his breakfast, too. He must be fond of walking." + +Philip turned pale. He was disturbed by a terrible suspicion. Had the +professor gone off for good, carrying all the money with him? + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. BESET BY CREDITORS. + + + +Philip was still a boy, and though he had discovered that the professor +was something of a humbug, and a good deal of a braggart, it had not for +a moment occurred to him that he would prove dishonest. Even now he did +not want to believe it, though he was nervously apprehensive that it +might prove true. + +"I will take my breakfast," he said, as coolly as was possible, "and the +professor will probably join me before I am through." + +The clerk and the landlord thought otherwise. They were pretty well +convinced that Riccabocca was dishonest, and quietly sent for those to +whom the "combination" was indebted: namely, the printer and publisher +of the Daily Bulletin, the agent of the music-hall, and the bill-sticker +who had posted notices of the entertainment. These parties arrived while +Philip was at breakfast. + +"Gentlemen," said the landlord, "the boy is at breakfast. I think he is +all right, but I don't know. The professor, I fear, is a swindle." + +"The boy is liable for our debts," said the agent. "He belongs to the +combination." + +"I am afraid he is a victim as well as you," said the landlord. "He +seemed surprised to hear that the professor had gone out." + +"It may all be put on. Perhaps he is in the plot, and is to meet the +old fraud at some place fixed upon, and divide the booty," suggested the +agent. + +"The boy looks honest," said the landlord. "I like his appearance. We +will see what he has to say." + +So when Philip had finished his breakfast he was summoned to the parlor, +where he met the creditors of the combination. + +"These gentlemen," said the landlord, "have bills against you and the +professor. It makes no difference whether they receive pay from you or +him." + +Poor Philip's heart sank within him. + +"I was hoping Professor Riccabocca had settled your bills," he said. +"Please show them to me." + +This was done with alacrity. + +Philip found that they owed five dollars for the hall, five dollars +for advertising and printing, and one dollar for bill-posting--eleven +dollars in all. + +"Mr. Gates," said our hero uneasily, to the landlord, "did Professor +Riccabocca say anything about coming back when he went out this +morning?" + +"He told my clerk he would be back to breakfast," said the landlord; +adding, with a shrug of the shoulders: "That was two hours and a half +ago. He can't be very hungry." + +"He didn't pay his bill, I suppose?" + +"No, of course not. He had not given up his room." + +Philip became more and more uneasy. + +"Didn't you know anything about his going out?" asked the landlord. + +"No, sir. I was fast asleep." + +"Is the professor in the habit of taking long morning walks?" + +"I don't know." + +"That is strange, since you travel together," remarked the publisher. + +"I never saw him till day before yesterday," said Philip. + +The creditors looked at each other significantly. They began to suspect +that Philip also was a victim. + +"Do you know how much money was received for tickets last evening?" + +"About a hundred and fifty dollars." + +"How much of this were you to receive?" + +"Half of what was left after the bills were paid." + +"Have you received it?" asked the agent. + +"Not a cent," answered Philip. + +"What do you think about the situation?" + +"I think that Professor Riccabocca has swindled us all," answered Philip +promptly. + +"Our bills ought to be paid," said the agent, who was rather a hard man +in his dealings. + +"I agree with you," said Philip. "I wish I were able to pay them, but I +have only six dollars in my possession." + +"That will pay me, and leave a dollar over," suggested the agent. + +"If it comes to that," said the printer, "I claim that I ought to be +paid first." + +"I am a poor man," said the bill-sticker. "I need my money." + +Poor Philip was very much disconcerted. It was a new thing for him to +owe money which he could not repay. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "I have myself been cheated out of fifty dollars, +at least--my share of the profits. I wish I could pay you all. I cannot +do so now. Whenever I can I will certainly do it." + +"You can pay us a part with the money you have," said the agent. + +"I owe Mr. Gates for nearly two days' board," he said. "That is my own +affair, and I must pay him first." + +"I don't see why he should be preferred to me," grumbled the agent; +then, with a sudden, happy thought, as he termed it, he said: "I will +tell you how you can pay us all." + +"How?" asked Philip. + +"You have a violin. You can sell that for enough to pay our bills." + +Poor Philip! His violin was his dependence. Besides the natural +attachment he felt for it, he relied upon it to secure him a living, and +the thought of parting with it was bitter. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "if you take my violin, I have no way of making +a living. If you will consider that I, too, am a victim of this man, I +think you will not wish to inflict such an injury upon me." + +"I do not, for one," said the publisher. "I am not a rich man, and I +need all the money that is due me, but I wouldn't deprive the boy of his +violin." + +"Nor I," said the bill-sticker. + +"That's all very fine," said the agent; "but I am not so soft as you +two. Who knows but the boy is in league with the professor?" + +"I know it!" said the landlord stoutly. "The boy is all right, or I am +no judge of human nature." + +"Thank you, Mr. Gates," said Philip, extending his hand to his generous +defender. + +"Do you expect we will let you off without paying anything?" demanded +the agent harshly. + +"If I live, sir, you shall lose nothing by me," said Philip. + +"That won't do!" said the man coarsely. "I insist upon the fiddle being +sold. I'll give five dollars for it, and call it square." + +"Mr. Gunn," said the landlord, in a tone of disgust, "since you are +disposed to persecute this boy, I will myself pay your bill, and trust +to him to repay me when he can." + +"But, Mr. Gates--" said Philip. + +"I accept!" said the agent, with alacrity. + +"Receipt your bill," said the landlord. + +Mr. Gunn did so, and received a five-dollar bill in return. + +"Now sir," said the landlord coldly, "if you have no further business +here, we can dispense with your company." + +"It strikes me you are rather hard on a man because he wants to be paid +his honest dues!" whined Gunn, rather uncomfortably. + +"We understand you, sir," said the landlord. "We have not forgotten how +you turned a poor family into the street, in the dead of winter, because +they could not pay their rent." + +"Could I afford to give them house-room?" inquired Gunn. + +"Perhaps not. At any rate, I don't feel inclined to give you house-room +any longer." + +Mr. Gunn slunk out of the room, under the impression that his company +was no longer desired. + +"Mr. Gray," said the publisher, "I hope you don't class me with the man +who has just gone out. I would sooner never be paid than deprive you of +your violin. Let the account stand, and if you are ever able to pay me +half of my bill--your share--I shall be glad to receive it." + +"Thank you, sir!" said Philip, "You shall not repent your confidence in +me." + +"I say ditto to my friend, the publisher," said the bill-poster. + +"Wait a moment, gentlemen," said Philip. "There is a bare possibility +that I can do something for you." + +For the first time since he left Norton he thought of the letter which +he was not to open till he was fifty miles from Norton. + +"Mr. Gates," he said, "can you tell me how far Norton is from here?" + +"About sixty miles," answered the landlord in surprise. + +"Then it's all right." + + + +CHAPTER XXX. A TIMELY GIFT. + + + +The reader has not forgotten that Farmer Lovett, when Philip refused +to accept any compensation for assisting to frustrate the attempt at +burglary, handed him a sealed envelope, which he requested him not to +open till he was fifty miles away from Norton. + +Philip had carried this about in his pocket ever since. He had thought +of it as likely to contain some good advice at the time; but it had +since occurred to him that the farmer had not had time to write down +anything in that line. + +He was disposed to think that the mysterious envelope might contain a +five-dollar bill, as a slight acknowledgment of his services. + +Though Philip had declined receiving any payment, it did seem to him +now that this amount of money would relieve him from considerable +embarrassment. He therefore drew a penknife from his pocket and cut open +the envelope. + +What was his amazement when he drew out three bills--two twenties and +a ten--fifty dollars in all! There was a slip of paper, on which was +written, in pencil: + +"Don't hesitate to use this money, if you need it, as you doubtless +will. I can spare it as well as not, and shall be glad if it proves of +use to one who has done me a great service. JOHN LOVETT." + +"What's that!" asked the landlord, regarding Philip with interest. + +"Some money which I did not know I possessed," answered Philip. + +"How much is there?" + +"Fifty dollars." + +"And you didn't know you had it?" asked the publisher--rather +incredulously, it must be owned. + +"No, sir; I was told not to open this envelope till I was fifty miles +away from where it was given me. Of course, Mr. Gates, I am now able to +pay all my bills, and to repay you for what you handed Mr. Gunn." + +"I am pleased with your good fortune," said the landlord cordially. + +"Thank you, sir." + +"But I am sorry your knavish partner has cheated you out of so much +money." + +"I shall make him pay it if I can," said Philip resolutely. + +"I approve your pluck, and I wish you success." + +"He owes you money, too, Mr. Gates. Give me the bill, and I will do my +best to collect it." + +"If you collect it, you may have it," said Gates. "I don't care much +for the money, but I should like to have the scamp compelled to fork it +over." + +"I wish I knew where he was likely to be," said Philip. + +"He may go to Knoxville," suggested the publisher. + +"How far is that?" + +"Ten miles." + +"What makes you think he will go to Knoxville?" asked the landlord. + +"He may think of giving a performance there. It is a pretty large +place." + +"But wouldn't he be afraid to do it, after the pranks he has played +here?" + +"Perhaps so. At any rate, he is very likely to go there." + +"I will go there and risk it," said Philip. "He needn't think he is +going to get off so easily, even if it is only a boy he has cheated." + +"That's the talk, Mr. Gray!" said the landlord. "How are you going?" he +asked, a minute later. + +"I can walk ten miles well enough," answered Philip. + +He had considerable money now, but he reflected that he should probably +need it all, especially if he did not succeed in making the professor +refund, and decided that it would be well to continue to practice +economy. + +"I have no doubt you can," said the landlord, "but it will be better not +to let the professor get too much the start of you. I will myself have a +horse harnessed, and take you most of the distance in my buggy." + +"But, Mr. Gates, won't it be putting you to a great deal of trouble?" + +"Not at all. I shall enjoy a ride this morning, and the road to +Knoxville is a very pleasant one." + +"Let me pay something for the ride, then." + +"Not a cent. You will need all your money, and I can carry you just as +well as not," said the landlord heartily. + +"I am very fortunate in such a kind friend," said Philip gratefully. + +"Oh, it isn't worth talking about! Here, Jim, go out and harness the +horse directly." + +When the horse was brought round, Philip was all ready, and jumped in. + +"Would you like to drive, Mr. Gray?" asked the landlord. + +"Yes," answered Philip, with alacrity. + +"Take the lines, then," said the landlord. + +Most boys of Philip's age are fond of driving, and our hero was no +exception to the rule, as the landlord supposed. + +"You'll promise not to upset me," said Mr. Gates, smiling. "I am getting +stout, and the consequences might be serious." + +"Oh, I am used to driving," said Philip, "and I will take care not to +tip over." + +The horse was a good one, and to Philip's satisfaction, went over the +road in good style. + +Philip enjoyed driving, but, of course, his mind could not help dwelling +on the special object of his journey. + +"I hope we are on the right track," he said. "I shouldn't like to miss +the professor." + +"You will soon know, at any rate," said Gates. "It seems to me," he +continued, "that Riccabocca made a great mistake in running off with +that money." + +"He thought it would be safe to cheat a boy." + +"Yes; but admitting all that, you two were likely to make money. In +Wilkesville your profits were a hundred dollars in one evening. Half of +that belonged to the professor, at any rate. He has lost his partner, +and gained only fifty dollars, which would not begin to pay him for your +loss." + +"Perhaps he thought he would draw as well alone." + +"Then he is very much mistaken. To tell the plain truth, our people +thought very little of his share of the performance. I saw some of them +laughing when he was ranting away. It was you they enjoyed hearing." + +"I am glad of that," said Philip, gratified. + +"There's no humbug about your playing. You understand it. It was +you that saved the credit of the evening, and sent people away well +satisfied." + +"I am glad of that, at any rate, even if I didn't get a cent for my +playing," said Philip, well pleased. + +"The money's the practical part of it," said the landlord. "Of course, I +am glad when travelers like my hotel, but if they should run off without +paying, like the professor, I shouldn't enjoy it so much." + +"No, I suppose not," said Philip, with a laugh. + +They had ridden some seven miles, and were, therefore, only three miles +from Knoxville, without the slightest intimation as to whether or not +they were on the right track. + +To be sure, they had not expected to obtain any clue so soon, but it +would have been very satisfactory, of course, to obtain one. + +A little farther on they saw approaching a buggy similar to their own, +driven by a man of middle age. It turned out to be an acquaintance of +the landlord's, and the two stopped to speak. + +"Going to Knoxville on business, Mr. Gates?" asked the newcomer. + +"Well, not exactly. I am driving this young man over. By the way, have +you seen anything of a tall man, with long, black hair, dressed in +black?" + +"Yes. Do you want to see him?" + +"This young man has some business with him. Where did you see him?" + +"He arrived at our hotel about an hour since, I calculate." + +Philip's heart bounded with satisfaction at this important news. + +"Did he put up there?" + +"Yes. I believe he is going to give a reading this evening." + +"Thank you!" + +"The professor must be a fool!" said the landlord, as they drove away. + +"I begin to think so myself," replied Philip. + +"That's all in our favor, however. We shall get back that money yet." + +The horse was put to his speed, and in fifteen minutes they reached +Knoxville. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. THE PROFESSOR'S FLIGHT. + + + +Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca was not a wise man. It would have been much +more to his interest to deal honestly with Philip, paying his share +of the profits of the first performance, and retaining his services as +associate and partner. + +But the professor was dazzled by the money, and unwilling to give it up. +Moreover, he had the vanity to think that he would draw nearly as +well alone, thus retaining in his own hands the entire proceeds of any +entertainments he might give. + +When he met Philip on the road he was well-nigh penniless. Now, +including the sum of which he had defrauded our hero and his creditors +in Wilkesville, he had one hundred and fifty dollars. + +When the professor went to bed, he had not formed the plan of deserting +Philip; but, on awaking in the morning, it flashed upon him as an +excellent step which would put money in his pocket. + +He accordingly rose, dressed himself quietly, and, with one cautious +look at Philip--who was fast asleep--descended the stairs to the office. + +Only the bookkeeper was in the office. + +"You are stirring early, professor," he said. + +"Yes," answered Riccabocca, "I generally take a morning walk, to get an +appetite for breakfast." + +"My appetite comes without the walk," said the bookkeeper, smiling. + +"If Mr. de Gray comes downstairs, please tell him I will be back soon," +said Riccabocca. + +The bookkeeper readily promised to do this, not having the slightest +suspicion that the distinguished professor was about to take French +leave. + +When Professor Riccabocca had walked half a mile he began to feel faint. +His appetite had come. + +"I wish I had stopped to breakfast," he reflected. "I don't believe De +Gray will be down for an hour or two." + +It was too late to go back and repair his mistake. That would spoil all. +He saw across the street a baker's shop, just opening for the day, and +this gave him an idea. + +He entered, bought some rolls, and obtained a glass of milk, and, +fortified with these, he resumed his journey. + +He had walked three miles, when he was over-taken by a farm wagon, which +was going his way. + +He hailed the driver--a young man of nineteen or +thereabouts--ascertained that he was driving to Knoxville, and, for a +small sum, secured passage there. + +This brings us to the point of time when Philip and Mr. Gates drove up +to the hotel at Knoxville. + +"I can see the professor," said Philip, in eager excitement, when they +had come within a few rods of the inn. + +"Where is he?" + +"He is in the office, sitting with his back to the front window. I +wonder what he will have to say for himself?" + +"So do I," said the landlord curiously. + +"Shall we go in together?" questioned Philip. + +"No; let us surprise him a little. I will drive around to the sheds back +of the hotel, and fasten my horse. Then we will go round to the front, +and you can go in, while I stand outside, ready to appear a little +later." + +Philip thought this a good plan. He enjoyed the prospect of confronting +the rogue who had taken advantage of his inexperience, and attempted +such a bold scheme of fraud. He didn't feel in the least nervous, or +afraid to encounter the professor, though Riccabocca was a man and he +but a boy. When all was ready, Philip entered through the front +door, which was open, and, turning into the office, stood before the +astonished professor. + +The latter started in dismay at the sight of our hero. He thought he +might be quietly eating breakfast ten miles away, unsuspiciously waiting +for his return. Was his brilliant scheme to fail? He quickly took his +resolution--a foolish one. He would pretend not to know Philip. + +"Well, Professor Riccabocca," Philip said, in a sarcastic tone, "you +took rather a long walk this morning." + +The professor looked at him vacantly. + +"Were you addressing me?" he inquired. + +"Yes, sir," answered Philip, justly provoked. + +"I haven't the pleasure of your acquaintance, young man." + +"I wish I hadn't the pleasure of yours," retorted Philip. + +"Do you come here to insult me?" demanded Riccabocca, frowning. + +"I came here to demand my share of the money received for the +entertainment last evening, as well as the money paid for the hall, the +printer, and bill-poster." + +"You must be crazy!" said Riccabocca, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't +know you. I don't owe you any money." + +"Do you mean to say we didn't give an entertainment together last +evening at Wilkesville?" asked Philip, rather taken aback by the man's +sublime impudence. + +"My young friend, you have been dreaming. Prove what you say and I will +admit your claim." + +Up to this point those present, deceived by the professor's coolness, +really supposed him to be in the right. That was what Riccabocca +anticipated, and hoped to get off before the discovery of the truth +could be made. But he did not know that Philip had a competent witness +at hand. + +"Mr. Gates!" called Philip. + +The portly landlord of the Wilkesville Hotel entered the room, and +Riccaboeca saw that the game was up. + +"Mr. Gates, will you be kind enough to convince this gentleman that he +owes me money?" asked Philip. + +"I think he won't deny it now," said Gates significantly. "He walked +off from my hotel this morning, leaving his bill unpaid. Professor +Riccabocca, it strikes me you had better settle with us, unless you wish +to pass the night in the lockup." + +Professor Riccabocca gave a forced laugh. + +"Why, Mr. de Gray," he said, "you ought to have known that I was only +playing a trick on you." + +"I supposed you were," said Philip. + +"No, I don't mean that. I was only pretending I didn't know you, to see +if I could act naturally enough, to deceive you." + +"Why did you desert me?" asked Philip suspiciously. + +"I started to take a walk--didn't the bookkeeper tell you?--and finding +a chance to ride over here, thought I would do so, and make arrangements +for our appearance here. Of course, I intended to come back, and pay our +good friend, the landlord, and give you your share of the common fund." + +Neither Gates nor Philip believed a word of this. It seemed to them +quite too transparent. + +"You may as well pay us now, Professor Riccabocca," said the landlord +dryly. + +"I hope you don't suspect my honor or integrity," said Riccabocca, +appearing to be wounded at the thought. + +"Never mind about that," said Mr. Gates shortly. "Actions speak louder +than words." + +"I am quite ready to settle--quite," said the professor. "The money is +in my room. I will go up and get it." + +There seemed to be no objection to this, and our two friends saw him +ascend the staircase to the second story. Philip felt pleased to think +that he had succeeded in his quest, for his share of the concert money +would be nearly seventy dollars. That, with the balance of the money; +received from Farmer Lovett, would make over a hundred dollars. + +They waited five minutes, and the professor did not come down. + +"What can keep him?" said Philip. + +Just then one of the hostlers entered and caught what our hero had said. + +"A man has just run out of the back door," he said, "and is cutting +across the fields at a great rate." + +"He must have gone down the back stairs," said the clerk. + +"In what direction would he go?" asked Philip hastily. + +"To the railroad station. There is a train leaves in fifteen minutes." + +"What shall we do, Mr. Gates?" asked Philip, in dismay. + +"Jump into my buggy. We'll get to the depot before the train starts. We +must intercept the rascal." + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. THE RACE ACROSS FIELDS. + + + +It so happened that Professor Riccabocca had once before visited +Knoxville, and remembered the location of the railroad station. +Moreover, at the hotel, before the arrival of Philip, he had consulted +a schedule of trains posted up in the office, and knew that one would +leave precisely at ten o'clock. + +The impulse to leave town by this train was sudden. He had in his pocket +the wallet containing the hundred and fifty dollars, of which a large +part belonged to Philip, and could have settled at once, without the +trouble of going upstairs to his room. + +He only asked leave to go up there in order to gain time for thought. +At the head of the staircase he saw another narrower flight of stairs +descending to the back of the house. That gave him the idea of eluding +his two creditors by flight. + +I have said before that Professor Riccabocca was not a wise man, or +he would have reflected that he was only postponing the inevitable +reckoning. Moreover, it would destroy the last chance of making an +arrangement with Philip to continue the combination, which thus far had +proved so profitable. + +The professor did not take this into consideration, but dashed down the +back stairs, and opened the back door into the yard. + +"Do you want anything, sir?" asked a maidservant, eyeing the professor +suspiciously. + +"Nothing at all, my good girl," returned the professor. + +"You seem to be in a hurry," she continued, with renewed suspicion. + +"So I am. I am in a great hurry to meet an engagement." + +"Why didn't you go out the front door?" asked the girl. + +"Oh, bother! What business is it of yours?" demanded the professor +impatiently. + +And, not stopping for further inquiries, he vaulted over a fence and +took his way across the fields to the station. + +"Here, Sam," called the girl, her suspicions confirmed that something +was wrong, "go after that man as fast as you can!" + +This was addressed to a boy who was employed at the hotel to go on +errands and do odd jobs. + +"What's he done?" asked Sam. + +"I don't know; but he's either run off without paying his bill, or he's +stolen something." + +"What good'll it do me to chase him?" asked Sam. + +"If he's cheated master, he'll pay you for catching the man." + +"That's so," thought Sam. "Besides, I'll be a detective, just like that +boy I read about in the paper. I'm off!" + +Fired by youthful ambition, Sam also vaulted the fence, and ran along +the foot-path in pursuit of the professor. + +Lorenzo Riccabocca did not know he was pursued. He felt himself so safe +from this, on account of the secrecy of his departure, that he never +took the trouble to look behind him. He knew the way well enough, for +the fields he was crossing were level, and half a mile away, perhaps a +little more, he could see the roof of the brown-painted depot, which was +his destination. Once there, he would buy a ticket, get on the train, +and get started away from Knoxville before the troublesome acquaintances +who were waiting for him to come down-stairs had any idea where he was +gone. + +The professor ran at a steady, even pace, looking straight before him. +His eyes were fixed on the haven of his hopes, and he did not notice a +stone, of considerable size, which lay in his path. The result was that +he stumbled over it, and fell forward with considerable force. He rose, +jarred and sore, but there was no time to take account of his physical +damages. He must wait till he got on the train. + +The force with which he was thrown forward was such that the wallet +was thrown from his pocket, and fell in the grass beside the path. The +professor went on his way, quite unconscious of his loss, but there were +other eyes that did not overlook it. + +Sam, who was thirty rods behind, noticed Professor Riccabocca's fall, +and he likewise noticed the wallet when he reached the spot of the +catastrophe. + +"My eyes!" he exclaimed, opening those organs wide in delight; "here's +luck! The old gentleman has dropped his pocketbook. Most likely it's +stolen. I'll carry it back and give it to Mr. Perry." + +Sam very sensibly decided that it wasn't worth while to continue the +pursuit, now that the thief, as he supposed Riccabocca to be, had +dropped his booty. + +Sam was led by curiosity to open the wallet. When he saw the thick roll +of bills, he was filled with amazement and delight. + +"Oh, what a rascal he was!" ejaculated the boy. "I guess he's been +robbing a safe. I wonder how much is here?" + +He was tempted to sit down on the grass and count the bills, but he was +prevented by the thought that the professor might discover his loss, and +returning upon his track, question him as to whether he had found it. +Sam determined that he wouldn't give it up, at any rate. + +"I guess I could wrastle with him," he thought. "He looks rather +spindlin', but then he's bigger than I am, and he might lick me, after +all." + +I desire to say emphatically that Sam was strictly honest, and never for +a moment thought of appropriating any of the money to his own use. He +felt that as a detective he had been successful, and this made him feel +proud and happy. + +"I may as well go home," he said. "If he's stolen this money from Mr. +Perry, I'll come in for a reward." + +Sam did not hurry, however. He was not now in pursuit of any one, and +could afford to loiter and recover his breath. + +Meanwhile, Professor Riccabocca, in happy unconsciousness of his loss, +continued his run to the station. He arrived there breathless, and +hurried to the ticket-office. + +"Give me a ticket to Chambersburg," he said. + +"All right, sir. Ninety cents." + +If Riccabocca had been compelled to take out his wallet, he would +at once have discovered his loss, and the ticket would not have been +bought. But he had a two-dollar bill in his vest, and it was out of this +that he paid for the ticket to Chambersburg. Armed with the ticket, +he waited anxiously for the train. He had five minutes to wait--five +anxious moments in which his flight might be discovered. He paced the +platform, looking out anxiously for the train. + +At length he heard the welcome sound of the approaching locomotive. The +train came to a stop, and among the first to enter it was the eminent +elocutionist. He took a seat beside the window looking out toward the +village. What did he see that brought such an anxious look in his face? + +A buggy was approaching the depot at breakneck speed. It contained Mr. +Gates, the landlord, and the young musician. Mr. Gates was lashing the +horse, and evidently was exceedingly anxious to arrive at the depot +before the train started. + +Beads of perspiration stood on the anxious brow of the professor. His +heart was filled with panic terror. + +"The girl must have told them of my flight," he said to himself. "Oh, +why didn't I think to give her a quarter to keep her lips closed? Why +doesn't the train start?" + +The buggy was only about ten rods away. It looked as if Philip and his +companion would be able to intercept the fugitive. + +Just then the scream of the locomotive was heard. The train began to +move. Professor Riccabocca gave a sigh of relief. + +"I shall escape them after all," he said triumphantly, to himself. + +He opened the window, and, with laughing face, nodded to his pursuers. + +"We've lost him!" said Philip, in a tone of disappointment. "What can we +do?" + +"Find out where he is going, and telegraph to have him stopped," said +Mr. Gates. "That will put a spoke in his wheel." + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. THE LOST WALLET. + + + +Mr. Gates was acquainted with the depot-master, and lost no time in +seeking him. + +"Too late for the train?" asked the latter, who observed in the landlord +evidences of haste. + +"Not for the train, but for one of the passengers by the train," +responded the landlord. "Did you take notice of a man dressed in a +shabby suit of black, wearing a soft hat and having very long black +hair?" + +"Yes." + +"Where is he going?" asked Mr. Gates eagerly. + +"He bought a ticket for Chambersburg." + +"Ha! Well, I want you to telegraph for me to Chambersburg." + +The station-master was also the telegraph-operator, as it chanced. + +"Certainly. Just write out your message and I will send it at once." + +Mr. Gates telegraphed to a deputy sheriff at Chambersburg to be at the +depot on arrival of the train, and to arrest and detain the professor +till he could communicate further with him. + +"Now," said he, turning to Philip, "I think we shall be able to stop the +flight of your friend." + +"Don't call him my friend," said Philip. "He is anything but a friend." + +"You are right there. Well, I will amend and call him your partner. Now, +Mr. de Gray--" + +"My name is Gray--not de Gray. The professor put in the 'de' because he +thought it would sound foreign." + +"I presume you have as much right to the name as he has to the title of +professor," said Gates. + +"I don't doubt it," returned Philip, smiling. + +"Well, as I was about to say, we may as well go back to the hotel, and +await the course of events. I think there is some chance of your getting +your money back." + +When they reached the hotel, they found a surprise in store for them. + +Sam had carried the professor's wallet to Mr. Perry, and been told by +them to wait and hand it in person to Philip and his friend, Mr. Gates, +who were then at the depot. + +When they arrived, Sam was waiting on the stoop, wallet in hand. + +"What have you got there, Sam?" asked Mr. Gates, who often came to +Knoxville, and knew the boy. "It's the wallet of that man you were +after," said Sam. + +"How did you get it?" asked Philip eagerly. + +"I chased him 'cross lots," said Sam. + +"You didn't knock him over and take the wallet from him, did you, Sam?" +asked Mr. Gates. + +"Not so bad as that," answered Sam, grinning. "You see, he tripped over +a big rock, and came down on his hands and knees. The wallet jumped +out of his pocket, but he didn't see it. I picked it up and brought it +home." + +"Didn't he know you were chasing him?" + +"I guess not. He never looked back." + +"What made you think of running after him?" + +"One of the girls told me to. The way he ran out of the back door made +her think there was something wrong." + +"Suppose he had turned round?" + +"I guess I could have wrastled with him," said Sam, to the amusement of +those who heard him. + +"It is well you were not obliged to." + +"Who shall I give the wallet to?" asked Sam. + +"Mr. Gray, here, is the professor's partner, and half the money belongs +to him. You can give it to him." + +"Have I a right to take it?" asked Philip, who did not wish to do +anything unlawful. + +He was assured that, as the business partner of the professor, he had as +much right as Riccabocca to the custody of the common fund. + +"But half of it belongs to the professor." + +"He'll come back for it, in the custody of the sheriff. I didn't think I +was doing the man a good turn when I telegraphed to have him stopped." + +The first thing Philip did was to take from his own funds a five-dollar +bill, which he tendered to Sam. + +"Is it all for me?" asked the boy, his eyes sparkling his joy. + +"Yes; but for you I should probably have lost a good deal more. Thank +you, besides." + +And Philip offered his hand to Sam, who grasped it fervently. + +"I say, you're a tip-top chap," said Sam. "You ain't like a man that +lost a pocketbook last summer, with a hundred dollars in it, and gave me +five cents for finding it." + +"No; I hope I'm not as mean as that," said Philip, smiling. + +He opened the wallet and found a memorandum containing an exact +statement of the proceeds of the concert. This was of great service to +him, as it enabled him to calculate his own share of the profits. + +The aggregate receipts were one hundred and fifty dollars and fifty +cents. Deducting bills paid, viz.: + +Rent of hall........................ $5.00 + +Printing, etc........................ 5.00 + +Bill-poster......................... 1.00 + +Total...........................$11.00 + +there was a balance of $138.50, of which Philip was entitled to +one-half, namely, $69.25. This he took, together with the eleven dollars +which he had himself paid to the creditors of the combination, and +handed the wallet, with the remainder of the money, to Mr. Perry, +landlord of the Knoxville Hotel, with a request that he would keep it +till called for by Professor Riccabocca. + +"You may hand me three dollars and a half, Mr. Perry," said Mr. Gates. +"That is the amount the professor owes me for a day and three-quarters +at my hotel. If he makes a fuss, you can tell him he is quite at liberty +to go to law about it." + +Meanwhile, where was the professor, and when did he discover his loss? + +After the train was a mile or two on its way he felt in his pocket for +the wallet, meaning to regale himself with a sight of its contents--now, +as he considered, all his own. + +Thrusting his hand into his pocket, it met--vacancy. + +Pale with excitement, he continued his search, extending it to all his +other pockets. But the treasure had disappeared! + +Professor Riccabocca was panic-stricken. He could hardly suppress a +groan. + +A good woman sitting opposite, judging from his pallor that he was ill, +leaned over and asked, in a tone of sympathy: + +"Are you took sick?" + +"No, ma'am," answered the professor sharply. + +"You look as if you was goin' to have a fit," continued the sympathizing +woman. "Jest take some chamomile tea the first chance you get. It's the +sovereignest thing I know of--" + +"Will chamomile tea bring back a lost pocket-book?" demanded the +professor sharply. + +"Oh, Lor'! you don't say you lost your money?" + +"Yes, I do!" said Riccabocca, glaring at her. + +"Oh, dear! do you think there's pickpockets in the car?" asked the old +lady nervously. + +"Very likely," answered the professor tragically. + +The good woman kept her hand in her pocket all the rest of the way, +eyeing all her fellow passengers sharply. + +But the professor guessed the truth. He had lost his wallet when he +stumbled in the field. He was in a fever of impatience to return and +hunt for it. Instead of going on to Chambersburg, he got out at the +next station--five miles from Knoxville--and walked back on the +railroad-track. So it happened that the telegram did no good. + +The professor walked back to the hotel across the fields, hunting +diligently, but saw nothing of the lost wallet. He entered the hotel, +footsore, weary, and despondent. The first person he saw was Philip, +sitting tranquilly in the office. + +"Did you just come down from your room?" asked our hero coolly. + +"I am a most unfortunate man!" sighed Riccabocca, sinking into a seat. + +"What's the matter?" + +"I've lost all our money." + +"I am glad you say 'our money.' I began to think you considered it all +yours. Didn't I see you on the train?" + +"I had a bad headache," stammered the professor, "and I didn't know what +I was doing." + +"Does riding in the cars benefit your head?" + +Professor Riccabocca looked confused. + +"The wallet was found," said Philip, not wishing to keep him any longer +in suspense. + +"Where is it?" asked the professor eagerly. + +"Mr. Perry will give it to you. I have taken out my share of the money, +and Mr. Gates has received the amount of his bill. It would have been +better for you to attend to these matters yourself like an honest man." + +Professor Riccabocca was so overjoyed to have back his own money that +he made no fuss about Philip's proceedings. Indeed, his own intended +dishonesty was so apparent that it would have required even more +assurance than he possessed to make a protest. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. A NEW BUSINESS PROPOSAL. + + + +Professor Riccabocca put the wallet in his pocket with a sigh of +satisfaction. There were still sixty dollars or more in it, and it was +long since he had been so rich. + +He began to think now that it might be well to revive the combination. +There was some doubt, however, as to how Philip would receive the +proposal. + +He looked at his young partner and was not much encouraged. He felt that +he must conciliate him. + +"Mr. de Gray," he began. + +"Call me Gray. My name is not de Gray." + +"Well, Mr. Gray, then. I hope you don't have any hard feelings." + +"About what?" inquired Philip, surveying the professor curiously. + +"About--the past," stammered the professor. + +"You mean about your running off with my money?" returned Philip +plainly. + +Professor Riccabocca winced. He did not quite like this form of +statement. "I am afraid you misjudge me," he said, rather confused. + +"I shall be glad to listen to any explanation you have to offer," said +our hero. + +"I will explain it all to you, in time," said the professor, recovering +his old assurance. "In the meantime, I have a proposition to make to +you." + +"What is it?" + +"Suppose we give an entertainment in Knoxville--on the same terms as the +last." + +"I shouldn't think you would like to appear before an audience here, +Professor Riccabocca." + +"Why not?" + +"Before night everybody will have heard of your running away with the +proceeds of the last concert." + +"Public men are always misjudged. They must expect it," said the +professor, with the air of a martyr. + +"I should think you would be more afraid of being justly judged." + +"Mr. Gray," said the professor, "I have done wrong, I admit; but it was +under the influence of neuralgia. When I have a neuralgic headache, I am +not myself. I do things which, in a normal condition, I should not dream +of. I am the victim of a terrible physical malady." + +Philip did not believe a word of this, but he felt amused at the +professor's singular excuse. + +"Come, Mr. Gray, what do you say?" + +"I think I must decline," returned Philip. + +But here Professor Riccabocca received unexpected help. + +Mr. Perry, the landlord, who had listened to the colloquy, approached +the two speakers and said: + +"Gentlemen, I have a proposal to make to you both." + +Both Philip and the professor looked up, with interest. + +"Some of the young men in the village," said the landlord, "have formed +a literary club, meeting weekly. They have hired and furnished a room +over one of our stores, provided it with, games and subscribed for a few +periodicals. They find, however, that the outlay has been greater +than they anticipated and are in debt. I have been talking with +the secretary, and he thinks he would like to engage you to give an +entertainment, the proceeds, beyond a fixed sum, to go to the benefit of +the club. What do you say?" + +"When is it proposed to have the entertainment?" asked Philip. + +"I suppose we should have to name to-morrow evening, in order to +advertise it sufficiently." + +"I am willing to make any engagement that will suit the club," said +Philip. + +"And I, too," said Professor Riccabocca. + +"The secretary authorizes me to offer you ten dollars each, and to pay +your hotel expenses in the meantime," said Mr. Perry. + +"That is satisfactory," said our hero. + +"I agree," said the professor. + +"Then I will at once notify the secretary, and he will take steps to +advertise the entertainment." + +Ten dollars was a small sum compared with what Philip had obtained for +his evening in Wilkesville, but a week since he would have regarded it +as very large for one week's work. He felt that it was for his interest +to accept the proposal. + +He secretly resolved that if the entertainment should not prove as +successful as was anticipated, he would give up a part of the sum which +was promised him for his services. + +Professor Riccabocca assented the more readily to the proposal, because +he thought it might enable him again to form a business alliance with +our hero, from whom his conduct had estranged him. + +"Suppose we take a room together, Mr. de Gray," he said, with an +ingratiating smile. + +"Gray, if you please, professor. I don't like sailing under false +colors." + +"Excuse me; the force of habit, you know. Well, do you agree?" + +"The professor has more assurance than any man I ever heard of," thought +Philip. "You must excuse me, professor," he said. "After what has +happened, I should feel safer in a room by myself." + +"Why will you dwell upon the past, Mr. Gray?" said the professor +reproachfully. + +"Because I am prudent, and learn from experience," answered Philip. + +"I assure you, you will have nothing to complain of," said Riccabocca +earnestly. "If we are together, we can consult about the program." + +"We shall have plenty of time to do that during the day, professor." + +"Then you don't care to room with me?" said Riccabocca, looking +disappointed. + +"No, I don't." + +"What are you afraid of?" + +"I am afraid you might have an attack of neuralgic headache during the +night," said Philip, laughing. + +Professor Riccabocca saw that it would be of no use for him to press the +request, and allowed himself to be conducted to the same room which he +had so unceremoniously left a short time before. + +During the afternoon, Philip had a call from John Turner, the secretary +of the Young Men's Club. He was a pleasant, straightforward young man, +of perhaps twenty. + +"We are very much obliged to you, Mr. Gray," he said, "for kindly +consenting to play for our benefit." + +"It is for my interest," said Philip frankly. "I may as well remain here +and earn ten dollars as to be idle." + +"But you made a great deal more, I understand, in Wilkesville?" + +"Yes; but I might not be as fortunate here. I had not intended to appear +here at all, and should not have done so unless you had invited me. How +many have you in your club?" + +"Only about twenty-five, so far, and some of us are not able to pay +much." + +"How long has your club been formed?" asked Philip. + +"Only about three months. We wanted a place where we could meet together +socially in the evening, and have a good time. Before, we had only the +stores and barrooms to go to, and there we were tempted to drink. Our +club was started in the interests of temperance, and we can see already +that it is exerting a good influence." + +"Then I am very glad to assist you," said Philip cordially. + +"You must come round and see our room. Are you at leisure now?" + +"Yes, Mr. Turner." + +Philip accompanied his new friend to the neatly furnished room leased by +the society. He was so well pleased with its appearance that he thought +he should himself like to belong to such an association, whenever he +found a permanent home. At present he was only a wanderer. + +"Our debt is thirty-four dollars," said the secretary. "You may not +think it large, but it's large for us." + +"I hope our entertainment will enable you to clear it off." + +"If it should it will give us new courage." + +On the evening of the next day Philip and the professor entered the hall +engaged for the entertainment, and took seats on the platform. + +The hall was well filled, the scale of prices being the same as at +Wilkesville. + +"Mr. Gray," whispered the secretary joyfully, "it is a great success! +After paying all bills the club will clear fifty dollars." + +"I am delighted to hear it," said Philip. + +The professor commenced the entertainment, and was followed by Philip. + +As Philip began to play his attention was drawn to three persons who +were entering the hall. + +These were a lady, a little girl, and a stout gentleman, in whom Philip, +almost petrified with amazement, recognized his old acquaintance, Squire +Pope, of Norton, who had shown himself so anxious to provide him a home +in the poor-house. + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. SQUIRE POPE IS AMAZED. + + + +Though Philip did not know it, it chanced that Squire Pope's only +sister, Mrs. Cunningham, lived in Knoxville. She was a widow, fairly +well off, with a young daughter, Carrie--a girl of twelve. Squire Pope +had long thought of visiting his sister, and happening about this time +to have a little business in a town near-by, he decided to carry out +his long-deferred plan. He arrived by the afternoon train, in time for +supper. + +"I am glad you are here to-night, brother," said Mrs. Cunningham. + +"Why particularly to-night, Sister Ellen?" asked the squire. + +"Because there is to be an entertainment for the benefit of the Young +Men's Literary Club. It is expected to be very interesting." + +"What sort of an entertainment, Ellen?" asked the squire. + +"The celebrated elocutionist, Professor Riccabocca, is to give some +readings--" + +"Riccabocca!" repeated the squire, in a musing tone. "I can't say I ever +heard of him." + +"Nor I; but I hear he's very celebrated." + +"Is there anything else?" + +"Yes, there's a young musician going to play. He is said to be +wonderful. He plays on the violin." + +"He's a very handsome boy," said Carrie enthusiastically. "He's staying +at the hotel. I saw him this afternoon when I was passing." + +"So he's good-looking, is he, Carrie?" asked the squire, laughing. + +"He's ever so good-looking," answered Carrie emphatically. + +"Then we must certainly go, for Carrie's sake," said the squire. + +Squire Pope had not the slightest idea that the young musician, about +whom his niece spoke so enthusiastically, was the boy whom he had so +recently persecuted. + +If Carrie had mentioned his name, the secret would have been out, but +she had not yet heard it. + +In honor of her brother's arrival, Mrs. Cunningham prepared a more +elaborate supper than usual, and to this it was owing that the three +entered the hall late, just as Philip was about to commence playing. + +The squire and his companions were obliged to take seats some distance +away from the platform, and as his eyesight was poor, he didn't +immediately recognize as an old acquaintance the boy who was standing +before the audience with his violin in his hand. + +"That's he! That's the young violin-player!" whispered Carrie, in a tone +of delight. "Isn't he handsome, uncle!" + +"Wait till I get my glasses on," said the squire, fumbling in his pocket +for his spectacle-case. + +Adjusting his glasses, Squire Pope directed a glance at the stage. He +instantly recognized Philip, and his surprise was boundless. He gave a +sudden start. + +"By gracious, I couldn't have believed it!" he ejaculated. + +"Couldn't have believed what, brother?" asked Mrs. Cunningham. + +"I know that boy!" he said, in a tone of excitement. + +"You know him, uncle?" said Carrie, delighted. "Then you must introduce +me to him. I want to meet him ever so much. Where did you ever see him?" + +"Where did I see him? I'm his guardian. He ran away from me a little +more than a week since, and I never knew where he went." + +"You the guardian of the wonderful boy-player?" said Carrie, astonished. +"Isn't it strange?" + +"His father died a short time since and left him in my care," said the +squire, not scrupling to make a misstatement. "But I'll tell you more +about it when the performance is over." + +When Philip first saw Squire Pope entering the hall it disconcerted him, +but he reflected that the squire really had no authority over him, and +consequently he had nothing to fear from him. + +Should his pretended guardian make any effort to recover him, he was +resolved to make a desperate resistance, and even, if necessary, to +invoke the help of the law. + +Meanwhile, his pride stimulated him to play his best, and the hearty +applause of the audience when he had finished his piece encouraged him. + +As he was bowing his thanks he could not help directing a triumphant +glance at Squire Pope, who was carefully scrutinizing him through his +gold-bowed spectacles. + +He was glad that the squire had a chance to see for himself that he was +well able to make his own way, with the help of the violin of which the +Norton official had attempted to deprive him. + +In truth, Squire Pope, who knew little of Philip's playing, except that +he did play, was amazed to find him so proficient. Instead, however, of +concluding that a boy so gifted was abundantly able to "paddle his own +canoe," as the saying is, he was the more resolved to carry him back to +Norton, and to take into his own care any the boy might have earned. In +the middle of the entertainment was a recess of ten minutes, which most +of the audience spent in conversation. + +Miss Carrie began again to speak of Philip. + +"Oh,--uncle," she said, "I'm so glad you know that lovely boy-player! He +is earning lots of money." + +"Is he!" asked the squire, pricking up his ears. "Who told you so?" + +"One of the young men that belongs to the club told me they were to pay +him ten dollars for playing to-night." + +"Ten dollars!" ejaculated the squire, in amazement. "I don't believe it! +It's ridiculous!" + +"Oh, yes, it is true!" said Mrs. Cunningham. "John Turner told Carrie; +and he is secretary, and ought to know." + +"That isn't all," continued Carrie. "Mr. Turner says it is very kind of +Mr. Gray--" + +"Mr. Gray!" repeated the squire, amused. + +"Well, Philip, then. I suppose you call him Philip, as you are his +guardian." + +"Well, what were you going to say?" + +"Mr. Turner says that it is very kind of Philip to play for so little, +for he made a good deal more money by his entertainment in Wilkesville." + +"Did he give a concert in Wilkesville?" asked the squire quickly. + +"Yes, he and the professor. He was liked very much there." + +"And you heard that he made a good deal of money there?" + +"Yes; lots of it." + +"Then," thought the squire, "he must have considerable money with him. +As his guardian I ought to have the care of it. He's a boy, and isn't +fit to have the charge of money. It's very lucky I came here just as I +did. It's my duty, as his guardian, to look after him." + +The squire determined to seek an interview with our hero as soon as the +entertainment was over. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. THE PRETENDED GUARDIAN. + + + +Philip played with excellent effect, and his efforts were received with +as much favor at Knoxville as at Wilkesville. He was twice encored, and +at the end of each of his selections he was greeted with applause. + +As for Professor Riccabocca, people hardly knew what to make of him. +He was as eccentric and extravagant as ever, and his recitations were +received with good-natured amusement. He didn't lack for applause, +however. There were some boys on the front seats who applauded him, +just for the fun of it. Though the applause was ironical, the professor +persuaded himself that it was genuine, and posed before the audience at +each outburst, with his hand on his heart, and his head bent so far over +that he seemed likely to lose his balance. + +"We are making a grand success, Mr. Gray," he said, during the interval +of ten minutes already referred to. "Did you notice how they applauded +me?" + +"Yes," answered Philip, with a smile. + +"They evidently appreciate true genius. It reminds me of the ovation +they gave me at Cincinnati last winter." + +"Does it?" asked Philip, still smiling. + +"Yes. I was a great favorite in that intellectual city. By the way, I +noticed that they seemed well pleased with your playing also." + +This he said carelessly, as if Philip's applause was not to be compared +to his. + +"Yes, they treat me very kindly," answered Philip. + +"You are fortunate in having me to introduce you to the public," said +the professor emphatically. "The name of Riccabocca is so well known, +that it is of great advantage to you." + +The professor deluded himself with the idea that he was a great +elocutionist, and that the public rated him as highly as he did himself. +When anything occurred that did not seem to favor this view, he closed +his eyes to it, preferring to believe that he was a popular favorite. + +"I hope I shall never be so deceived about myself," thought Philip. + +When the entertainment was over, Mr. Caswell, president of the club, +came up to Philip and said cordially: + +"Mr. Gray, we are very much indebted to you. Thanks to you, we are out +of debt, and shall have a balance of from twelve to fifteen dollars in +the treasury." + +"I am very glad of it," said Philip. + +"So am I," said the professor, pushing forward, jealous lest Philip +should get more than his share of credit. + +"And we are indebted to you also, Professor Riccabocca," said the +president, taking the hint. + +"You are entirely welcome, sir," said Riccabocca loftily. "My help has +often been asked in behalf of charitable organizations. I remember once, +in Philadelphia, I alone raised five hundred dollars for a--a--I think +it was a hospital." + +This was an invention, but Professor Riccabocca had no scruple in +getting up little fictions which he thought likely to redound to his +credit and increase his reputation. + +"Doubtless you are often called upon also, Mr. Gray," suggested Mr. +Caswell with a smile. + +"No," answered Philip. "This is the first time that I have ever had the +opportunity." + +"There's no humbug about the boy," thought Mr. Caswell. "As for the +professor, he is full of it." + +"I have pleasure in handing you the price agreed upon," said the +president, presenting each with a ten-dollar bill. + +"Thank you," said Philip. + +Professor Riccabocca carelessly tucked the bill into his vest pocket, as +if it were a mere trifle. + +At this moment, Mr. Turner came up with all the other gentleman. "Mr. +Gray," he said, "here is a gentleman who wishes to speak to you." + +Philip looked up, and saw the well-known figure of Squire Pope. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. HIS OWN MASTER. + + + +"Ahem, Philip," said the squire. "I should like a little conversation +with you." + +"Good evening, Squire Pope," said our hero, not pretending to be +cordial, but with suitable politeness. + +"I didn't expect to see you here," pursued the squire. + +"Nor I you, sir." + +"I am visiting my sister, Mrs. Cunningham, who lives in Knoxville. Will +you come around with me, and make a call?" + +Now, considering the treatment which Philip had received from the squire +before he left Norton, the reader can hardly feel surprised that our +hero didn't care to trust himself with his unscrupulous fellow townsman. + +"Thank you, Squire Pope," said Philip, "but it is rather late for me to +call at a private house. I am staying at the hotel, and if you will +take the trouble to go around there with me, we will have a chance to +converse." + +"Very well," said the squire, hesitating. Just then up came his niece, +Carrie, who was determined to get acquainted with Philip. + +"Uncle," she said, "introduce me to Mr. Gray." + +"This is my niece, Caroline Cunningham," said the squire stiffly. + +"I am glad to meet Miss Cunningham," said Philip, extending his hand, +with a smile. + +"What a lovely player you are, Mr. Gray!" she said impulsively. + +"I am afraid you are flattering me, Miss Cunningham." + +"Don't call me Miss Cunningham. My name is Carrie." + +"Miss Carrie, then." + +"I was ever so much surprised to hear that uncle was your guardian." + +Philip looked quickly at the squire, but did not contradict it. He only +said: + +"We used to live in the same town." + +During this conversation Squire Pope looked embarrassed and impatient. + +"It's getting late, Carrie," he said. "You had better go home." + +"Aren't you coming, too, uncle?" + +"I am going to the hotel to settle some business with Philip." + +"What business, I wonder?" thought our hero. + +Arrived at the hotel, they went up-stairs to Philip's chamber. "You left +Norton very abruptly, Philip," commenced the squire. + +"There was good reason for it," answered Philip significantly. + +"It appears to me you are acting as if you were your own master," +observed the squire. + +"I am my own master," replied Philip firmly. + +"You seem to forget that I am your guardian." + +"I don't forget it, for I never knew it," said our hero. + +"It is generally understood that such is the case." + +"I can't help it. I don't need a guardian, and shall get along without +one." + +"Ahem! Perhaps that isn't to be decided by you." + +"If I am to have a guardian, Squire Pope," said Philip bluntly, "I +sha'n't select you. I shall select Mr. Dunbar." + +"I have much more knowledge of business than Mr. Dunbar," said the +squire, shifting his ground. + +"That may be, but there is one important objection." + +"What is that?" + +"You are not my friend, and Mr. Dunbar is." + +"Really this is very extraordinary!" ejaculated the squire. "I am not +your friend? How do you know that?" + +"You tried to make a pauper out of me, when, as you must perceive, I am +entirely able to earn my own living." + +"Is it true that you were paid ten dollars for playing this evening?" +asked the squire curiously. + +"Yes, sir." + +"It beats all!" said the squire, in amazement. + +"Yet you wanted to sell my violin for a good deal less than I have +earned in one evening," said Philip, enjoying his enemy's surprise. + +"You gave an entertainment at Wilkesville also, I hear?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Did you make as much there?" + +"I made between sixty and seventy dollars over and above expenses." + +"You don't expect me to believe that!" said the squire. + +"I don't care whether you believe it or not; it's true." + +"Have you got the money with you?" + +"Yes." + +"Then you'd better give it to me to keep for you." + +"Thank you; I feel capable of taking care of it myself." + +"But it's improper for a boy of your age to carry round so much money," +said the squire sharply. + +"If I need help to take care of it, I will ask Mr. Dunbar." + +"Come, Philip," said the squire, condescending to assume a persuasive +manner, "you must remember that I am your guardian." + +"I dispute that," said Philip. + +"I won't insist upon your going back with me to Norton, as long as you +are able to support yourself." + +"Then you wouldn't advise me to go back to the poorhouse," said Philip, +with some sarcasm in his voice. + +"I didn't mean to have you stay there long," said the squire, rather +confused. "You'd better give me most of your money, and I'll take care +of it for you, and when you're twenty-one you'll have quite a little +sum." + +"I am much obliged to you, sir, but I won't put you to the trouble of +taking care of my money," answered Philip coldly. + +Squire Pope continued to argue with Philip, but made no impression. At +length he was obliged to say good night. + +"I will call round in the morning," he said, at parting. "Perhaps you'll +listen to reason then." + +When he called round in the morning he learned to his disappointment +that Philip was gone. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. AN OFFER DECLINED. + + + +After his interview with Squire Pope, Philip came down to the office, +where he saw Professor Riccabocca, apparently waiting for him. + +"Well, Mr. Gray, where shall we go next?" asked the professor, with +suavity. + +"I haven't decided where to go--have you?" asked Philip coolly. + +"I suppose we had better go to Raymond. That is a good-sized place. I +think we can get together a good audience there." + +"You seem to be under the impression that we are in partnership," said +Philip. + +"Of course," answered Riccabocca. + +"I have made no agreement of that sort, professor." + +"But, of course, it is understood," said Riccabocca quickly, "as long as +we draw so well." + +"You must excuse me, Professor Riccabocca. I must decline the proposal." + +"But why?" inquired the professor anxiously. + +"I hope you won't press me for an explanation." + +"But I do. I can't understand why you should act so against your own +interest. You can't expect people will come just to hear you play. You +need me to help you." + +"It may be as you say, professor, but if you insist upon my speaking +plainly, I don't care to travel with a man who has treated me as you +have." + +"I don't understand you," said Riccabocca nervously; but it was evident, +from his expression, that he did. + +"Then you seem very forgetful," said Philip. "You tried to deprive me of +my share of the proceeds of the entertainment at Wilkesville, and would +have succeeded but for a lucky accident." + +"I told you that it was all owing to neuralgia," said Professor +Riccabocca. "I had such an attack of neuralgic headache that it nearly +drove me wild." + +"Then," said Philip, "I would rather find a partner who is not troubled +with neuralgic headache. I think it would be safer." + +"It won't happen again, Mr. Gray, I assure you," said the professor +apologetically. + +He endeavored to persuade Philip to renew the combination, but our +hero steadily refused. He admitted that it might be to his pecuniary +advantage, but he had lost all confidence in the eminent professor, and +he thought it better to part now than to give him another opportunity of +playing a similar trick upon him. + +The professor thereupon consulted the landlord as to whether it would be +advisable for him to give another entertainment unaided, and was assured +very emphatically that it would not pay expenses. + +"You make a great mistake, Mr. Gray," said Riccabocca. "It would be +a great advantage for you to have my assistance at this stage of your +professional career." + +"I don't expect to have any professional career," answered Philip. + +"Don't you intend to become a professional musician?" asked the +professor, surprised. + +"Probably not. I have only been playing because I needed money, and my +violin helped me to a living." + +"You can't make as much money in any other way." + +"Not at present; but I want to get a chance to enter upon some kind of +business. I am going to New York." + +"You will some time have a chance to hear me there, in the Academy of +Music," said Riccabocca pompously. + +"I will go and hear you," said Philip, laughing, "if I can afford a +ticket." + +"Say the word and we will appear there together, Mr. Gray." + +"I think not, professor." + +In fact, though Philip had found himself unexpectedly successful as a +musician, he knew very well that he was only a clever amateur, and that +years of study would be needed to make him distinguished. + +He was glad that he had the means of paying his expenses for a +considerable time, and had in his violin a trusty friend upon which +he could rely in case he got into financial trouble. Directly after +breakfast he set out on his journey. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. AN AMBITIOUS WAYFARER. + + + +The large sums which Philip had received for his playing might have +dazzled a less sensible boy. He was quite conscious that he played +unusually well for a boy, but when it came to selecting music as +a profession, he felt it would not be wise to come to too hasty a +decision. To be a commonplace performer did not seem to him very +desirable, and would not have satisfied his ambition. + +He had told Professor Riccabocca that he intended to go to New York. +This design had not been hastily formed. He had heard a great deal of +the great city in his home in the western part of the State of which +it was the metropolis, and he was desirous of seeing it. Perhaps there +might be some opening for him in its multitude of business houses. + +Philip had plenty of money, and could easily have bought a railroad +ticket, which would have landed him in New York inside of twenty-four +hours, for he was only about four hundred miles distant; but he was in +no hurry, and rather enjoyed traveling leisurely through the country +towns, with his violin in his hand. + +It reminded him of a biography he had read of the famous Doctor +Goldsmith, author of the "Vicar of Wakefield," who made a tour on the +continent of Europe, paying his way with music evoked from a similar +instrument. + +Three days later, he found himself on the outskirts of a village, which +I will call Cranston. It was afternoon, and he had walked far enough to +be tired. + +He was looking about for a pleasant place to lounge, when his attention +was drawn to a boy of about his own age, who was sitting on the stone +wall under a large tree. + +He was rather a slender boy, and had originally been well dressed, but +his suit was travel-stained, and covered with dust. + +Now, boys have a natural attraction for each other, and Philip +determined to introduce himself to the stranger. This he did in +boy-fashion, by saying: + +"Hello!" + +"Hello!" said the stranger, looking up. + +But he spoke slowly and wearily, and to Philip he seemed out of spirits. + +"Do you live in Cranston?" asked Philip, taking a seat beside the other +boy, upon the top of the stone wall. + +"No; do you?" + +"No." + +"Where do you live?" + +"I don't live anywhere just at present," answered Philip, with a smile. +"I am traveling." + +"So am I," said the other boy. + +"I am traveling to New York," Philip continued. + +"And I am traveling from there," said his new acquaintance. + +Then both boys surveyed each other curiously. + +"What's your name?" asked the stranger. + +"Philip Gray. What's your's?" + +"Mine is Henry Taylor. What have you got there?" + +"A violin." + +"Do you play on it?" + +"Yes; a little." + +"I should think you'd be tired lugging it round." + +Philip smiled. + +"It is about all the property I have," he said; "so it won't do for me +to get tired of it." + +"You're richer than I am, then," said Henry. + +"Are you poor, then?" asked Philip, in a tone of sympathy. + +"I haven't got a cent in my pocket, and I haven't had anything to eat +since breakfast." + +"Then I'm glad I met you," said Philip warmly. "I will see that you have +a good supper. How long is it since you left New York?" + +"About a week." + +"What made you leave it?" + +Henry Taylor hesitated, and finally answered, in a confused tone: + +"I've run away from home. I wanted to go out West to kill Indians." + +Philip stared at his new acquaintance in astonishment. + + + +CHAPTER XL. THE INDIAN HUNTER. + + + +Philip had lived so long in a country village that he had never chanced +to read any of those absorbing romances in which one boy, of tender +years, proves himself a match for a dozen Indians, more or less, and, +therefore, he was very much amazed at Henry Taylor's avowal that he was +going out West to kill Indians. + +"What do you want to kill Indians for?" he asked, after an astonished +pause. + +Now it was Henry's turn to be astonished. + +"Every boy wants to kill Indians," he answered, looking pityingly at our +hero. + +"What for? What good will it do?" asked Philip. + +"It shows he's brave," answered his new friend. "Didn't you ever read +the story of 'Bully Bill'; or, The Hero of the Plains'?" + +"I never heard of it," said Philip. + +"You must have lived in the woods, then," said Henry Taylor, rather +contemptuously. "It's a tip-top story. Bully Bill was only fourteen, and +killed ever so many Indians--twenty or thirty, I guess--as well as a lot +of lions and bears. Oh, he must have had lots of fun!" + +"Why didn't the Indians kill him?" asked Philip, desirous of being +enlightened. "They didn't stand still and let him kill them, did they?" + +"No; of course not. They fought awful hard." + +"How did one young boy manage to overcome so many Indians?" + +"Oh, you'll have to read the story to find out! Bully Bill was a great +hero, and everybody admired him." + +"So you wanted to imitate his example?" asked Philip. + +"To be sure I did." + +"How did you happen to get out of money?" + +"Well," said Henry, "you see me and another boy got awful excited after +reading the story, and both concluded nothing could make us so happy as +to go out West together, and do as Bill did. Of course, it was no use to +ask the old man--" + +"The old man?" queried Philip. + +"The gov'nor--father, of course! So we got hold of some money--" + +"You got hold of some money?" queried Philip. + +"That's what I said, didn't I?" rejoined Henry irritably. + +"Yes." + +"Then what's the use of repeating it?" + +Philip intended to ask where or how Henry got hold of the money, but +he saw pretty clearly that this would not be agreeable to his new +acquaintance. Though without much experience in the world, he suspected +that the money was not obtained honestly, and did not press the +question. + +"Well, me and Tom started about a week ago. First of all, we bought some +revolvers, as, of course, we should need them to shoot Indians. They +cost more than we expected, and then we found it cost more to travel +than we thought." + +"How much money did you have?" + +"After paying for our revolvers, Tom and me had about thirty dollars," +said Henry. + +"Only thirty dollars to go west with!" exclaimed Philip, in amazement. + +"Why, you see, the revolvers cost more than we expected. Then we stopped +at a hotel in Albany, where they charged us frightfully. That is where +Tom left me." + +"Tom left you at Albany?" + +"Yes, he got homesick!" said Henry contemptuously. "He thought we hadn't +money enough, and he said he didn't know as he cared so much about +killing Indians." + +"I agree with Tom," said Philip. "I don't think I should care very much +about killing Indians myself, and I should decidedly object to being +killed by an Indian. I shouldn't like to be scalped. Would you?" + +"Oh, I'd take care of that," said Henry. "I wouldn't let them have the +chance." + +"It seems to me the best way would be to stay at home," said Philip, +smiling. + +"If I stayed at home I'd have to go to school and study. I don't care +much about studying." + +"I like it," said Philip. "So Tom left you, did he?" + +"Yes; but I wasn't going to give up so easy. He took half the money that +was left, though I thought he ought to have given it to me, as I needed +it more. I wasn't going home just as I'd started." + +"Then you've spent all your money now?" + +"Yes," answered Henry gloomily. "Have you got much money?" he asked, +after a pause. + +"Yes, I have about a hundred dollars-say, ninety-five." + +"You don't mean it!" ejaculated Henry, hie eyes sparkling. + +"Yes, I do." + +"How did you get it?" + +"I earned most of it by playing on the violin." + +"I say," exclaimed Henry, in excitement, "suppose you and me go into +partnership together, and go out West--" + +"To kill Indians?" asked Philip, smiling. + +"Yes! With all that money we'll get along. Besides, if we get short, you +can earn some more." + +"But what advantage am I to get out of it? I am to furnish all the +capital and pay all expenses, as far as I can understand. Generally, +both partners put in something." + +"I put in my revolver," said Henry. + +"One revolver won't do for us both." + +"Oh, well, you can buy one. Come, what do you say?" asked Henry eagerly. + +"Let me ask you a few questions first. Where does your father live?" + +"In New York." + +"What is his business?" + +"He is a broker in Wall Street." + +"I suppose he is rich?" + +"Oh, he's got plenty of money, I expect! We live in a nice house on +Madison Avenue. That's one of the best streets, I suppose you know!" + +"I never was in New York. Is your mother living?" + +"No," answered Henry. "She died three years ago." + +If his mother had been living, probably the boy would never have made +such an escapade, but his father, being engrossed by business cares, was +able to give very little attention to his son, and this accounts in part +for the folly of which he had been guilty. + +"Have you got any brothers or sisters?" he asked. + +"I have one sister, about three years younger than I. Her name is +Jennie." + +"I wish I were as well off as you," said Philip. + +"How do you mean?" + +"I mean I wish I had a father and sister." + +"Haven't you?" + +"My father is dead," said Philip gravely, "and I never had a sister." + +"Oh, well, I don't know as I'm so lucky," said Henry. "Sisters are a +bother. They want you to go round with them, and the old man is always +finding fault." + +Philip's relations with his father had always been so affectionate that +he could not understand how Henry could talk in such a way of his. + +"I don't know what makes you ask me such a lot of questions," said +Henry, showing impatience. "Come, what do you say to my offer?" + +"About forming a partnership?" + +"Yes." + +"I'd rather not--in that way." + +"In what way?" + +"I mean for the purpose of going out West to kill Indians." + +"You've no idea what fun it would be," said Henry, disappointed. + +"No, I suppose not," said Philip, smiling. + +"Then I suppose I shall have to give it up," said Henry. + +"Now I have a proposal to make to you," said Philip. + +"What is it?" + +"If you agree to go home, I'll pay your expenses and go along with you. +I've never been to New York, and I'd like to have some one with me that +could show me round the city." + +"I can do that," said Henry. "I know the way all about." + +"Then will you agree?" + +"Yes." + +"Then come along, and we'll stop at the first convenient place and get +some supper." + + + +CHAPTER XLI. AN ADVENTURE IN THE WOODS. + + + +"I shall do a good thing if I induce Henry to go home," thought Philip. +"That is rather a queer idea of his about wanting to kill Indians. It +seems to me as much murder to kill an Indian as any one else." + +He only thought this, but did not express it, as he did not care to +get into a discussion with his new acquaintance, lest the latter should +recall his consent to go home. + +"I say, Philip," said Henry, who had now learned our hero's name, "we +ain't in any hurry to go to New York, are we?" + +"I thought we might take a train to-morrow morning, and go straight +through." + +"But I'd rather take it easy, and travel through the country, and have +adventures." + +"But you forget that your father will be anxious about you." + +"Yes, I suppose he will." + +"I'll tell you what I'll do. If you'll write a letter to your father, +and let him know that you are safe with me, I'll do as you say." + +"All right," said Henry, in a tone of satisfaction; "I'll do it." + +"Father'll pay you all you have to spend for me," Henry added, after a +moment's pause. + +"Very well; then I will be your banker." + +Philip was not foolish enough to protest that he did not care to +be repaid. All he had in the world was a little less than a hundred +dollars, and when that was gone he was not absolutely sure of making any +more at once, though he felt tolerably confident that he could. + +"Suppose you let me have ten dollars now," suggested Henry. + +"I think I would rather keep the money and pay the bills," said Philip +quietly. + +He was not sure but that Henry, if he had a supply of money in his +pockets, would reconsider his promise to go home and take French leave. + +Of course, it would be extremely foolish, but his present expedition did +not indicate the possession of much wisdom. + +"I don't see what difference it makes," said Henry, looking +dissatisfied. + +"I won't argue the point," answered Philip good-naturedly. + +"I wish I was in New York, near a good restaurant," said Henry, after a +pause. + +"Oh. I forgot! You are hungry." + +"Awfully. I don't believe there's a hotel within two or three miles. I +don't think I can hold out to walk much farther." + +A few rods farther on was a farmhouse standing back from the road, +old-fashioned-looking, but of comfortable aspect. + +A young girl appeared at the side door and rang a noisy bell with great +vigor. + +"They're going to have supper," said Henry wistfully. "I wish it was a +hotel!" + +Philip had lived in the country, and understood the hospitable ways of +country people. + +"Come along, Henry," he said. "I'll ask them to sell us some supper. I +am sure they will be willing." + +Followed by his new acquaintance, he walked up to the side door and +knocked--for there was no bell. + +The young girl--probably about Philip's age--opened the door and +regarded them with some surprise. + +Philip bowed. + +"Will you be kind enough to tell us if there is any hotel near-by?" he +asked. + +"There's one about three miles and a half farther on." + +Henry groaned inwardly. + +"I am going to ask you a favor," said Philip. "My friend and I have +traveled a considerable distance, and stand in need of supper. We are +willing to pay as much as we should have to at a hotel, if you will let +us take supper here." + +"I'll ask mother," said the young girl. + +And forthwith she disappeared. She came back in company with a stout, +motherly-looking woman. Philip repeated his request. + +"Why, to be sure," she said heartily. "We always have enough, and to +spare. Come right in, and we'll have supper as soon as the men-folks +come in." + +They entered a neat kitchen, in the middle of which was set out a table, +with a savory supper upon it. Henry's eyes sparkled, and his mouth +watered, for the poor boy was almost famished. + +"If you want to wash come right in here," said the farmer's wife, +leading the way into a small room adjoining. + +The two boys gladly availed themselves of the permission, though Henry +would not have minded sitting right down, dusty as he was. However, he +felt better after he had washed his face and bands and wiped them on the +long roll towel that hung beside the sink. + +They were scarcely through, when their places were taken by the farmer +and his son, the latter a tall, sun-burned young man, of about twenty, +who had just come in from a distant field. The farmer's wife soon +explained the presence of the two young strangers. + +"Sho!" said the farmer. "You're pretty young to be travelin'. You ain't +in any business, be you?" + +Henry was rather ashamed to mention that his business was killing +Indians, though, as yet, he had not done anything in that line. He had +an idea that he might be laughed at. + +"I am a little of a musician," said Philip modestly. + +"Sho! do you make it pay?" + +"Pretty well, so far; but I think when I get to New York I shall try +something else." + +"Are you a musician as well as he?" asked the farmer of Henry. + +"No, sir." + +"Come, father, you'd better sit down to supper, and do your talking +afterward," said the farmer's wife. + +So they sat down to the table, and all did full justice to the wholesome +fare, particularly Henry, who felt absolutely ravenous. + +Never at the luxurious home of his father, in Madison Avenue, had the +wandering city boy enjoyed his supper as much as at the plain table of +this country farmer. + +The good mistress of the household was delighted at the justice done to +her viands, considering it a tribute to her qualities as a cook. + +When Philip produced his purse to pay for their supper, the farmer +absolutely refused to receive anything. "But I would rather pay," +persisted our hero. + +"Then I'll tell you how you may pay. Give us one or two tunes on your +violin." + +This Philip was quite willing to do, and it is needless to say that his +small audience was very much pleased. + +"I say," said Henry, "you play well enough to give concerts." + +"I have done it before now," answered Philip, smiling. + +They were invited to spend the night, but desired to push on to the +hotel, being refreshed by their supper and feeling able to walk three or +four miles farther. + +About half-way their attention was drawn to what appeared a deserted +cabin in the edge of the woods, some twenty rods back from the road. + +"I say, Philip," said Henry, "there's an old hut that looks as if nobody +lived in it. Wouldn't it be a lark for us to sleep there to-night? +It would save the expense of lodging at the hotel, and would be an +adventure. I haven't had any adventures yet." + +"I have no objection," said Philip. "We'll go, at any rate, and look at +it." + +They crossed the field, which seemed to have been only partially +cleared, and soon reached the hut. + +It was very bare within, but on the floor, in one corner, was a blanket +spread out. There was a place for a window, but the sash had been +removed, and it was easy to step in. + +"I wonder how this blanket came here?" said Philip. + +"Oh, I guess the last people that lived here left it!" returned Henry. +"I say, Phil, I begin to feel tired. Suppose we lie down? I'm glad I +haven't got to walk any farther." + +Philip sympathized with his new friend; and so, without much parley, +the two boys threw themselves down on the blanket, and were soon fast +asleep. + +How long Philip slept he didn't know, but he was awakened by a terrible +screech, and, opening his eyes, say Henry sitting bolt upright, with +trembling limbs and distended eyeballs, gazing fearfully at a tall, +muscular-looking Indian, who had just stepped into the cabin through the +open window. + + + +CHAPTER XLII. AN INDIAN AT LAST. + + + +"What's the matter?" asked Philip, rubbing his eyes, for he was hardly +able--so suddenly had he been roused from sleep--to comprehend the +situation. + +Henry, as white as a sheet, could only point at the tall Indian, who, +standing motionless, was gazing as intently at the boys. + +He made one step forward, and Henry thought he was about to be killed +and scalped forthwith. + +"Oh, Mr. Indian Chief," he exclaimed, in tremulous accents, "don't kill +me! I--I ain't ready to die!" + +The Indian looked amazed, and laughed gutturally, but did not speak. His +laugh increased Henry's dismay. + +"I've got a revolver. I'll give it to you if you won't kill me," +continued Henry. + +Then the Indian spoke. + +"Why should I kill white boy?" he asked in a mild tone, which ought to +have convinced Henry that he had nothing to fear. + +But the boy was so frenzied with terror, and so possessed of the thought +that the Indian was just like the savage warriors of the plains, of whom +he had read so much, that he still felt his life to be in danger, and +answered the question in a way not expected. + +"I suppose you want my scalp," he said; "but I am only a boy, and I +don't mean any harm. I hope you'll spare my life." + +Another fit of guttural laughter from the Indian, which perplexed Henry, +and after a pause he said: + +"Me no want white boy's scalp! Me good Indian!" + +An immense burden seemed lifted from poor Henry's breast. + +"Then you don't want to kill me?" he said. + +"No!" + +"Then why do you come here?" + +"Me live here." + +The secret was out--a secret which Philip had suspected from the first, +though Henry had not dreamed of it. + +They had lain down in the Indian's cabin, appropriating his blanket, and +were simply intruders. + +Philip thought it was time for him to take part in the conversation, + +"I hope you'll excuse us," he said, "for coming here. We had no idea any +one lived here." + +"No matter," said the Indian civilly--that being one of the phrases +which his knowledge of English included. + +"Henry," said Philip, "let us get up. We are sleeping in this--this +gentleman's bed." + +He felt a little at a loss how to designate the Indian, but felt that it +was best to be as polite as possible. + +The two boys started up, in order to yield to the master of the house +the bed which properly belonged to him. + +"No," said the Indian, with a wave of his hand. "White boys stay there. +Indian sleep anywhere." + +So saying, he lay down in one corner of the cabin, and settled himself +apparently to repose. + +"But," said Philip, "we don't want to take your bed." + +"No matter!" said the Indian once more. + +"You are very kind," said Philip. "Henry, we may as well lay down +again." + +Henry obeyed directions, but he was not altogether free from alarm. He +had read that the Indians are very crafty. How did he know but their +copper-colored host might get up in the night, skillfully remove their +scalps, and leave them in a very uncomfortable plight? + +"Hadn't we better get up, and run away as soon as he is asleep?" he +whispered to Philip. + +"No; he's friendly," answered Philip confidently. + +As Henry had read about friendly Indians--all he knew about Indians, +by the way, was derived from reading stories written by authors little +wiser than himself--he concluded that perhaps there was nothing to fear, +and after a while fell asleep again. + +When the boys awoke it was morning. They looked toward the corner where +the Indian had lain down, but it was vacant. + +"He's gone." said Henry, rather relieved. + +"You were pretty well frightened last night," said Philip, smiling. + +"Who wouldn't be!" asked Henry; "to wake up and see a big Indian in the +room?" + +"I dare say many boys would be frightened," said Philip, "but I don't +think a boy who left home to go out West to kill Indians ought to be +afraid of one." + +"I guess I'll give up going," said Henry, rather abashed. + +"I think myself it would be as well," observed Philip quietly. "You'd +find it rather serious business if you should meet any real Indian +warriors." + +"I don't know but I should," Henry admitted, rather awkwardly. "I didn't +think much about it when I left home." + +"I suppose you thought you'd be a match for half a dozen Indian +warriors?" said Philip, laughing. + +"That was the way with 'Bully Bill'; or, 'The Hero of the Plains,'" said +Henry. "He always came off best when he fought with the Indians." + +"I don't think either you or I will ever prove a Bully Bill," said +Philip. "I might enjoy going out West some time, but I shouldn't expect +to kill many Indians. I think they would stand a good deal better chance +of shooting me." + +Henry said nothing, but looked thoughtful. His romantic ideas seemed to +have received a sudden shock, and he was trying to adjust his ideas to +the new light he had received. + +The boys were preparing to go out, when their Indian host suddenly +reappeared. He carried in his hand a large-sized loaf of baker's bread, +which he had procured at the village store. He was alive to the duties +of hospitality, and did not intend to let his guests go, uninvited +though they were, without a breakfast. + +Though his stock of English was limited, he made out to invite the boys +to breakfast with him. + +Henry would have preferred to go to the hotel, but Philip signed to him +to accept graciously the Indian's hospitality. + +As the bread was fresh, they partook of it with relish, washing it down +with drafts of clear spring water. + +The Indian looked on, well pleased to see the justice done to his +hospitality. He explained to the boys that he made baskets, caught fish, +and sometimes engaged in hunting, managing, in one way and another, to +satisfy his simple wants. His name was Winuca, but his white neighbors +called him Tom. + +When the boys were ready to go, Philip drew from his pocket a +jack-knife, nearly new, of which he asked the Indian's acceptance. + +Winuca seemed very much pleased, and shook hands heartily with his young +guests, wishing them good-by. + +The boys kept on to the hotel, where they spent a few hours, taking +dinner there. Their breakfast had been so simple that they had a very +good appetite for their midday meal. + +"While we are here, Henry, suppose you write to your father and relieve +his anxiety?" suggested Philip. + +"Why can't you write?" asked Henry, who cherished the general boyish +distaste for letter-writing. + +"Because it will be more proper for you to write. I am a stranger to +him." + +"You won't be long, Philip? I shall want you to come and make me a +visit." + +"Perhaps you'll be tired of me before we get to New York," suggested +Philip, with a smile. + +"There isn't much chance of it. I like you better than any boy I know. +You're awful brave, too. You didn't seem to be at all scared last night +when the Indian came in." + +"It was because I felt sure that any Indian to be found about here would +be harmless." + +"I wish we could make a journey together some time. I'd like to go +West--" + +"To kill Indians?" + +"No. If they'll let me alone, I'll let them alone; but there must be a +lot of fun out on the prairies." + +"Well, Henry, go and write your letter, and we can talk about that +afterward." + +The letter was written and mailed, and arrived in New York several days +before the boys did. + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. A WELCOME LETTER. + + + +Alexander Taylor, a Wall Street broker, sat at breakfast in his fine +house on Madison Avenue. His daughter, Jennie, about thirteen years old, +was the only other person at the table. + +"Papa, have you heard nothing of Henry?" asked the little girl +anxiously. + +"Only that the boy who got started with him on his foolish tramp got +back three days since." + +"Is Tom Murray back, then?" + +"Yes; he showed himself more sensible than Henry." + +"Oh, I'm afraid something's happened to him, papa! Why don't you +advertise for him, or send out a detective, or something?" + +"I will tell you, Jennie," said Mr. Taylor, laying down the morning +paper. "I want your brother to stay away long enough to see his folly." + +"But perhaps he may get out of money, and not be able to get anything to +eat. You wouldn't want him to starve, papa?" + +"There isn't much chance of it. If he is in danger of that, he will have +sense enough to ask for food, or to write to me for help. I rather hope +he will have a hard time." + +"Oh, papa!" + +"It will do him good. If I sent for him and brought him back against his +will, he would probably start off again when he has a good chance." + +Jennie could not quite follow her father in his reasoning, and was +inclined to think him hard and unfeeling. She missed her brother, who, +whatever his faults, treated her tolerably well, and was at any rate a +good deal of company, being the only other young person in the house. + +Just then the servant entered with three letters, which he laid down +beside his master's plate. + +Mr. Taylor hastily scanned the addresses. + +"Here is a letter from Henry," he said, in a tone of satisfaction. + +"Oh, read it quick, papa!" + +This was the letter which Mr. Taylor read aloud, almost too deliberately +for the impatience of his daughter: + +"Dear Father: I am alive and well, and hope to see you in a few days. I +guess I made a mistake in running away, though I didn't think so at the +time, for I wanted to see life, and have adventures. I don't know how +I should have got along if I hadn't met Philip Gray. He's a tip-top +fellow, and is paying my expenses. I told him you would pay him back. He +has got me off the idea of going West to kill Indians." + +"Oh, papa!" exclaimed Jennie, opening her eyes wide. "I didn't know that +was what Henry went for." + +"I don't think the Indians would have felt very much frightened if they +had heard of his intention. However, I will proceed: + +"I was all out of money when Philip met me, and I hadn't had anything to +eat since morning, he bought me some supper, and is paying my expenses. +He is a poor boy, coming to New York to get a place, if he can. He has +got a violin, and he plays beautifully. He earned all the money he has +by giving concerts." + +"I should like to see Philip," said Jennie, with interest. + +"I asked him if he wouldn't go out West with me, but he wouldn't. He +told me he wouldn't do anything for me unless I would agree to come +home." + +"He is a sensible boy," commented Mr. Taylor, in a tone of approval. + +"We thought at first of coming right home on the cars, but I wanted to +walk and see something of the country, and Philip said he didn't mind. +He told me I must write and tell you, so that you needn't feel anxious. + +"You will see us in a few days. I will bring Philip to the house. Your +son, HENRY TAYLOR." + +"Is that all?" asked Jennie. + +"Yes; I consider it a very fair letter. It is evident Henry has made the +acquaintance of a sensible boy. I shall take care that he doesn't let it +drop." + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. A FRESH START. + + + +Five days later, just as Mr. Taylor was sitting down to dinner, at the +close of the day, the door-bell rang violently. + +There was a hurried step heard in the hall, and the door opening quickly +Henry Taylor rushed in, his face beaming with smiles. + +"Oh, I'm so glad to see you, Henry!" said Jennie, embracing him. "I +missed you awfully." + +Henry looked at his father, a little doubtful of his reception. + +"Are you well, father?" he asked. + +"Quite well," responded Mr. Taylor coolly. "Where did you leave your +scalps?" + +"What?" ejaculated Henry, bewildered. + +"I thought you left home to kill Indians." + +"Oh!" said Henry, smiling faintly. "I didn't meet any Indians--except +one--and he was friendly." + +"Then your expedition was a failure?" + +"I guess I'll leave the Indians alone," said Henry sheepishly. + +"That strikes me as a sensible remark. Of course, a few Indian scalps +would be of great use to you. I fully expected a present of one, as +a trophy of my son's valor; but still, in case the Indian objected +to being scalped, there might be a little risk in performing the +operation." + +"I see you are laughing at me, father," said Henry. + +"Not at all. You can see that I am very sober. If you think you can make +a good living hunting Indians--I don't know myself how much their scalps +bring in the market--I might set you up in the business." + +"I am not so foolish as I was. I prefer some other business. Philip told +me--" + +"Where is Philip?" asked Jennie eagerly. + +"I left him in the parlor. He said I had better come in first." + +"Go and call him. Invite him, with my compliments, to stay to dinner." + +Henry left the room, and reappeared almost immediately with Philip. + +Both boys were perfectly neat in appearance, for Philip had insisted on +going to a hotel and washing and dressing themselves. + +As he followed Henry into the room, with modest self-possession, his +cheeks glowing with a healthy color, both Jennie and Mr. Taylor were +instantly prepossessed in his favor. + +"I am glad to see you, Philip," said the broker, "and beg to thank you, +not only for the material help you gave Henry, but also for the good +advice, which I consider of still greater importance and value." + +"Thank you, sir. I don't feel competent to give much advice, but I +thought his best course was to come home." + +"You haven't as high an idea of hunting Indians as Henry, I infer?" + +"No, sir," answered Philip, smiling. "It seems to me they have as much +right to live as we, if they behave themselves." + +"I think so, too," said Henry, who was rather ashamed of what had once +been his great ambition. + +"You haven't introduced me to Philip--I mean Mr. Gray," said Jennie. + +"This is my sister Jennie, Phil," said Henry, in an off-hand manner. + +"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Gray," said Jennie, extending her hand. + +"I am hardly used to that name," said Philip, smiling. + +"When I get well acquainted with you I shall call you Philip." + +"I hope you will." + +Within an hour Miss Jennie appeared to feel well acquainted with her +brother's friend, for she dropped "Mr. Gray" altogether, and called him +Philip. + +At her solicitation he played on his violin. Both Mr. Taylor and Jennie +were surprised at the excellence of his execution. + +When Philip rose to go, Mr. Taylor said cordially: + +"I cannot permit you to leave us, Philip. You must remain here as our +guest." + +"But, sir, I left my things at a hotel." + +"Then Henry will go with you and get them." + +So Philip found himself established in a fine house on Madison Avenue as +a favored guest. + +The next morning, when Mr. Taylor went to his office, he asked Philip +to go with him. Arrived in Wall Street, he sent a boy to the bank with +a check. On his return, he selected five twenty-dollar bills, and handed +them to Philip. + +"You have expended some money for Henry," he said. + +"Yes, sir; but not quarter as much as this." + +"Then accept the rest as a gift. You will probably need some new +clothes. Henry will take you to our tailor. Don't spare expense. The +bill will be sent to me." + +"But, Mr. Taylor, I do not deserve such kindness." + +"Let me be the judge of that. In a few days I shall have a proposal to +make to you." + +This was the proposal, and the way it was made: + +"I find, Philip," said Mr. Taylor, some days later, "that Henry is much +attached to you, and that your influence over him is excellent. He has +agreed to go to an academy in Connecticut, and study hard for a year, +provided you will go with him. I take it for granted you haven't +completed your education?" + +"No, sir." + +"I shall pay all the bills and provide for you in every way, exactly as +I do for Henry." + +"But, Mr. Taylor, how can I ever repay you?" asked Philip. + +"By being Henry's friend and adviser--perhaps, I may say, guardian--for, +although you are about the same age, you are far wiser and more +judicious." + +"I will certainly do the best I can for him, sir." + +During the next week the two boys left New York, and became pupils at +Doctor Shelley's private academy, at Elmwood--a pleasant country town +not far from Long Island Sound--and there we bid them adieu. + +THE END. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Young Musician, by Horatio Alger + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG MUSICIAN *** + +***** This file should be named 5673.txt or 5673.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/7/5673/ + +Produced by Carrie Fellman + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Young Musician + or Fighting His Way + +Author: Horatio Alger + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5673] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on August 7, 2002] +[Date last updated: December 29, 2005] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG MUSICIAN *** + + + + +Produced by Carrie Fellman + + + + +The Young Musician + +OR + +Fighting His Way + +BY + +HORATIO ALGER + +CHICAGO + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + + + + +I. A Candidate for the Poorhouse + +II. Philip at Home + +III. Nick Holden's Call + +IV. The Auction + +V. An Alliance Against Philip + +VI. "A Fuss About a Fiddle" + +VII. Mr. Joe Tucker + +VIII. In the Enemy's Hands + +IX. The Poorhouse + +X. Bad Tidings + +XI. Philip's New Room + +XII. A Pauper's Meal + +XIII. A Friendly Mission + +XIV. Philip Makes His Escape + +XV. Escape and Flight + +XVI. A Night Adventure + +XVII. A Reformed Burglar + +XVIII. A Professional Engagement + +XIX. New Acquaintances + +XX. A Lively Evening + +XXI. Fortune Smiles Again + +XXII. Rival Musicians + +XXIII. An Hour of Triumph + +XXIV. Lorenzo Riccabocca + +XXV. A Change of Name + +XXVI. A Promising Plan + +XXVII. Unexpected Honors + +XXVIII. A Triumphant Success + +XXIX. Beset by Creditors + +XXX. A Timely Gift + +XXXI. The Professor's Flight + +XXXII. The Race Across Fields + +XXXIII. The Lost Wallet + +XXXIV. A New Business Proposal + +XXXV. Squire Pope Is Amazed + +XXXVI. The Pretended Guardian + +XXXVII. His Own Master + +XXXVIII. An Offer Declined + +XXXIX. An Ambitious Wayfarer + +XL. The Indian Hunter + +XXI. An Adventure in the Woods + +XLII. An Indian at Last + +XLIII. A Welcome Letter + +XLIV. A Fresh Start + + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A CANDIDATE FOR THE POORHOUSE. + + + + + +"As for the boy," said Squire Pope, with his usual autocratic air, +"I shall place him in the poorhouse." + +"But, Benjamin," said gentle Mrs. Pope, who had a kindly and +sympathetic heart, "isn't that a little hard?" + +"Hard, Almira?" said the squire, arching his eyebrows. "I fail to +comprehend your meaning." + +"You know Philip has been tenderly reared, and has always had a +comfortable home--" + +"He will have a comfortable home now, Mrs. Pope. Probably you are +not aware that it cost the town two thousand dollars last year to +maintain the almshouse. I can show you the item in the town report." + +"I don't doubt it at all, husband," said Mrs. Pope gently. "Of +course you know all about it, being a public man." + +Squire Pope smiled complacently. It pleased him to be spoken of as a +public man. + +"Ahem! Well, yes, I believe I have no inconsiderable influence in +town affairs," he responded. "I am on the board of selectmen, and am +chairman of the overseers of the poor, and in that capacity I shall +convey Philip Gray to the comfortable and well-ordered institution +which the town has set apart for the relief of paupers." + +"I don't like to think of Philip as a pauper," said Mrs. Pope, in a +deprecating tone. + +"What else is he?" urged her husband. "His father hasn't left a +cent. He never was a good manager." + +"Won't the furniture sell for something, Benjamin?" + +"It will sell for about enough to pay the funeral expenses and +outstanding debts-that is all." + +"But it seems so hard for a boy well brought up to go to the +poorhouse." + +"You mean well, Almira, but you let your feelings run away with you. +You may depend upon it, it is the best thing for the boy. But I must +write a letter in time for the mail." + +Squire Pope rose from the breakfast-table and walked out of the room +with his usual air of importance. Not even in the privacy of the +domestic circle did he forget his social and official importance. + +Who was Squire Pope? + +We already know that he held two important offices in the town of +Norton. He was a portly man, and especially cultivated dignity of +deportment. Being in easy circumstances, and even rich for the +resident of a village, he was naturally looked up to and credited +with a worldly sagacity far beyond what he actually possessed. + +At any rate, he may be considered the magnate of Norton. +Occasionally he visited New York, and had been very much annoyed to +find that his rural importance did not avail him there, and that he +was treated with no sort of deference by those whom he had occasion +to meet. Somehow, the citizens of the commercial metropolis never +suspected for a single moment that he was a great man. + +When Squire Pope had finished his letter, he took his hat, and with +measured dignity, walked to the village post-office. + +He met several of his neighbors there, and greeted them with affable +condescension. He was polite to those of all rank, as that was +essential to his retaining the town offices, which he would have +been unwilling to resign. + +From the post-office the squire, as he remembered the conversation +which had taken place at the breakfast-table, went to make an +official call on the boy whose fate he had so summarily decided. + +Before the call, it may be well to say a word about Philip Gray, our +hero, and the circumstances which had led to his present +destitution. + +His father had once been engaged in mercantile business, but his +health failed, his business suffered, and he found it best-indeed, +necessary--to settle up his affairs altogether and live in quiet +retirement in Norton. + +The expenses of living there were small, but his resources were +small, also, and he lived just long enough to exhaust them. + +It was this thought that gave him solicitude on his death-bed, for +he left a boy of fifteen wholly unprovided for. + +Let us go back a week and record what passed at the last interview +between Philip and his father before the latter passed into the +state of unconsciousness which preceded death. + +"Are you in pain, father?" asked Philip, with earnest sympathy, as +his father lay outstretched on the bed, his face overspread by the +deathly pallor which was the harbinger of dissolution. + +"Not of the body, Philip," said Mr. Gray. "That is spared me, but I +own that my mind is ill at ease." + +"Do you mind telling me why, father!" + +"No; for it relates to you, my son, or, rather, to your future. When +my affairs are settled, I fear there will be nothing left for your +support. I shall leave you penniless." + +"If that is all, father, don't let that trouble you." + +"I am afraid, Philip, you don't realize what it is to be thrown upon +the cold charities of the world." + +"I shall work for my living," said Philip confidently. + +"You will have to do that, I'm afraid, Philip." + +"But I am not afraid to work, father. Didn't you tell me one day +that many of our most successful men had to work their way up from +early poverty!" + +"Yes, that is true; but a boy cannot always get the chance to earn +his living. Of one thing I am glad; you have a good education for a +boy of your age. That is always a help." + +"Thanks to you, father." + +"Yes; though an invalid, I have, at all events, been able to give +private attention to your education, and to do better for you than +the village school would have done. I wish I had some relative to +whom I might consign you, but you will be alone in the world." + +"Have I no relatives?" asked Philip. + +"Your mother was an only child, and I had but one brother." + +"What became of him, father?" + +"He got into trouble when he was a young man, and left the country. +Where he went to I have no idea. Probably he went first to Europe, +and I heard a rumor, at one time, that he had visited Australia. But +that was twenty years ago, and as I have heard nothing of him since, +I think it probable that he is dead. Even if he were living, and I +knew where he was, I am not sure whether he would make a safe +guardian for you." + +"Have you any advice to give me, father?" asked Philip, after a +pause. "Whatever your wishes may be, I will try to observe them." + +"I do not doubt it, Philip. You have always been an obedient son, +and have been considerate of my weakness. I will think it over, and +try to give you some directions which may be of service to you. +Perhaps I may be able to think of some business friend to whom I can +commend you." + +"You have talked enough, father," said Philip, noticing his father's +increasing pallor and the evident exertion with which he spoke. +"Rest now, and to-morrow we can talk again." + +Mr. Gray was evidently in need of rest. He closed his eyes and +apparently slept. But he never awoke to consciousness. The +conversation above recorded was the last he was able to hold with +his son. For two days he remained in a kind of stupor, and at the +end of that time he died. + +Philip's grief was not violent. He had so long anticipated his +father's death that it gave him only a mild shock. + +Friends and neighbors made the necessary arrangements for the +funeral, and the last services were performed. Then, at length, +Philip realized that he had lost his best earthly friend, and that +he was henceforth alone in the world. He did not as yet know that +Squire Pope had considerately provided him with a home in the +village poorhouse. + + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +PHILIP AT HOME. + + + + + +When the funeral was over, Frank Dunbar, whom Philip regarded as +his most intimate friend, came up to him. + +"Philip," he said, "my mother would like to have you spend a few +days with us while you are deciding what to do." + +"Thank you, Frank!" answered Philip. "But until the auction I shall +remain at home. I shall soon enough be without a home." + +"But it will be very lonely for you," objected Frank. + +"No; I shall have my thoughts for company. When I am alone I can +think best of my future plans." + +"Won't you come to our house to meals, then?" + +"Thank you, Frank! I will do that." + +"When is the auction to be?" + +"To-day is Monday. It is appointed for Thursday." + +"I hope there will be something left for you." + +"There will be about enough left to pay my father's small debts and +his funeral expenses. I would not like to have him indebted to +others for those. I don't think there will be anything over." + +Frank looked perplexed. + +"I am sorry for you, Phil," he said. "I wish we were rich, instead +of having hard work to make both ends meet. You would not lack for +anything then." + +"Dear Frank," said Philip earnestly, "I never doubted your true +friendship. But I am not afraid that I shall suffer. I am sure I can +earn my living." + +"But why do you shut yourself up alone, Philip?" asked Frank, not +satisfied to leave his friend in what he considered the gloomy +solitude of a house just visited by death. + +"I want to look over my father's papers. I may find out something +that I ought to know, and after the auction it will be too late. +Father had some directions to give me, but he did not live long +enough to do it. For three days I have the house to myself. After +that I shall perhaps never visit it again." + +"Don't be downhearted, Philip," said Frank, pressing his hand with +boyish sympathy. + +"I don't mean to be, Frank. I am naturally cheerful and hopeful. I +shall miss my poor father sadly: but grieving will not bring him +back. I must work for my living, and as I have no money to depend +upon, I cannot afford to lose any time in forming my plans." + +"You will come over to our house and take your meals!" + +"Yes, Frank." + +Frank Dunbar's father was a small farmer, who, as Frank had said, +found it hard work to make both ends meet. Among all the village +boys, he was the one whom Philip liked best, though there were many +others whose fathers were in hotter circumstances. For this, +however, Philip cared little. Rich or poor, Frank suited him, and +they had always been known as chums, to adopt the term used by the +boys in the village. + +It may be thought that as Philip's circumstances were no better, +such an intimacy was natural enough. But Philip Gray possessed +special gifts, which made his company sought after. He was a fine +singer, and played with considerable skill on the violin--an +accomplishment derived from his father, who had acted as his +teacher. Then he was of a cheerful temperament, and this is a gift +which usually renders the possessor popular, unless marred by +positive defects or bad qualities. There were two or three young +snobs in the village who looked down upon Philip on account of his +father's poverty, but most were very glad to associate with our +hero, and have him visit their homes. He was courteous to all, but +made--no secret of his preference for Frank Dunbar. + +When Philip parted from Frank, and entered the humble dwelling which +had been his own and his father's home for years, there was a sense +of loneliness and desolation which came over him at first. + +His father was the only relative whom he knew, and his death, +therefore, left the boy peculiarly, alone in the world. Everything +reminded him of his dead father. But he did not allow himself to +dwell upon thoughts that would depress his spirits and unfit him for +the work that lay before him. + +He opened his father's desk and began to examine his papers. There +was no will, for there was nothing to leave, but in one compartment +of the desk was a thick wallet, which he opened. + +In it, among some receipted bills, was an envelope, on which was +written, in his father's well-known hand: + +"The contents of this envelope are probably of no value, but it will +be as well to preserve the certificate of stock. There is a bare +possibility that it may some day be worth a trifle." + +Philip opened the envelope and found a certificate for a hundred +shares of the Excelsior Gold Mine, which appeared to be located in +California. He had once heard his father speak of it in much the +same terms as above. + +"I may as well keep it," reflected Philip. "It will probably amount +to nothing, but there won't be much trouble in carrying around the +envelope." He also found a note of hand for a thousand dollars, +signed by Thomas Graham. + +Attached to it was a slip of paper, on which he read, also in his +father's writing: + +"This note represents a sum of money lent to Thomas Graham, when I +was moderately prosperous. It is now outlawed, and payment could not +be enforced, even if Graham were alive and possessed the ability to +pay. Five years since, he left this part of the country for some +foreign country, and is probably dead, and I have heard nothing from +him in all that time. It will do no harm, and probably no good, to +keep his note." + +"I will keep it," decided Philip. "It seems that this and the mining +shares are all that father had to leave me. They will probably never +yield me a cent, but I will keep them in remembrance of him." + +Phillip found his father's watch. It was an old-fashioned gold +watch, but of no great value even when new. Now, after twenty years' +use, it would command a very small price at the coming sale. + +Ever since Philip had been old enough to notice anything, he +remembered this watch, which was so closely identified with his +father that more than anything else it called him to mind. Philip +looked at it wistfully as it lay in his hand. "I wish I could keep +it," he said to himself. "No one else will value it much, but it +would always speak to me of my father. I wonder if I might keep it?" + +Philip had a mind to put it into his pocket, but the spirit of +honesty forbade. + +"It must be sold," he said, with a sigh. "Without it there wouldn't +be enough to pay what we owe, and when I leave Norton, I don't want +any one to say that my father died in his debt." + +There was nothing else in the desk which called for particular +notice or appeared to be of any special value. After a careful +examination, Philip closed it and looked around at the familiar +furniture of the few rooms which the house contained. + +There was one object which he personally valued more than anything +else. This was his violin, on which he had learned all that he knew +of playing. His father had bought it for him four years before. It +was not costly, but it was of good tone, and Philip had passed many +pleasant hours in practicing on it. + +"I can take this violin, at any rate," said Philip to himself. "It +belongs to me, and no one else has a claim on it. I think I will +take it with me and leave it at Frank Dunbar's, so that it needn't +get into the sale." + +He put back the violin into the case and laid it on one side. Then +he sat down in the arm-chair, which had been his father's favorite +seat, and tried to fix his mind upon the unknown future which lay +before him. + +He had sat there for half an hour, revolving in his mind various +thoughts and plans, when he heard a tap on the window, and looking +up, saw through the pane the coarse, red face of Nick Holden, a +young fellow of eighteen, the son of the village butcher. + +"Let me in!" said Nick; "I want to see you on business." + + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +NICK HOLDEN'S CALL. + + + + + +Philip had never liked Nick Holden. He was a coarse, rough-looking +boy, his reddish face one mass of freckles, and about as +unattractive as a person could be, without absolute deformity. This, +however, was not the ground for Philip's dislike. + +With all his unattractiveness, Nick might have possessed qualities +which would have rightly made him popular. So far from this, +however, he was naturally mean, selfish, and a bully, with very +slight regard for truth. + +Will it be believed that, in spite of his homely face, Nick really +thought himself good-looking and aspired to be a beau? For this +reason he had often wished that he possessed Philip's accomplishment +of being able to play upon the violin. + +His conversational powers were rather limited, and he felt at a loss +when he undertook to make himself fascinating to the young ladies in +the village. If he could only play on the violin like Philip he +thought he would be irresistible. + +He had therefore conceived the design of buying Philip's instrument +for a trifle, judging that our hero would feel compelled to sell it. + +The reader will now understand the object which led to Nick's call +so soon after the funeral of Mr. Gray. He was afraid some one else +might forestall him in gaining possession of the coveted instrument. + +When Philip saw who his visitor was, he was not overjoyed. It was +with reluctance that he rose and gave admission to Nick. + +"I thought I would call around and see you, Phil," said Nick, as he +sat down in the most comfortable chair in the room. + +"Thank you," responded Phil coldly. + +"The old man went off mighty sudden," continued Nicholas, with +characteristic delicacy. + +"Do you mean my father?" inquired Philip. + +"Of course I do. There ain't any one else dead, is there!" + +"I had been expecting my poor father's death for some time," said +Philip gravely. + +"Just so! He wa'n't very rugged. We've all got to come to it sooner +or later. I expect dad'll die of apoplexy some time-he's so awful +fat," remarked Nicholas cheerfully. "If he does, it's lucky he's got +me to run the business. I'm only eighteen, but I can get along as +well as anybody. I'm kinder smart in business." + +"I am glad you are smart in anything," thought Philip; for he knew +that Nick was a hopeless dunce in school duties. + +"I hope your father'll live a good while," he said politely. + +"Yes, of course," said Nick lightly. "I'd be sorry to have the old +man pop off; but then you never can tell about such a thing as +that." + +Philip did not relish the light way in which Nick referred to such a +loss as he was suffering from, and, by way of changing the subject, +said: + +"I believe you said you came on business, Nicholas?" + +"Yes; that's what I wanted to come at. It's about your fiddle." + +"My violin!" said Philip, rather surprised. + +"Oh, well, fiddle or violin! what's the odds? I want to buy it." + +"What for?" + +"To play on, of course! What did you think I wanted it for?" + +"But you can't play, can you?" + +"Not yet; but I expect you could show me some--now, couldn't you?" + +"What put it into your head to want to play on the violin?" asked +Philip, with some curiosity. + +"Why, you see, the girls like it. It would be kind of nice when I go +to a party, or marm has company, to scrape off a tune or two-just +like you do. It makes a feller kinder pop'lar with the girls, don't +you see?" said Nick, with a knowing grin. + +"And you want to be popular with the young ladies!" said Philip, +smiling, in spite of his bereavement, at the idea being entertained +by such a clumsy-looking caliban as Nick Holden. + +"Of course I do!" answered Nick, with another grin. "You see I'm +gettin' along-I'll be nineteen next month, and I might want to get +married by the time I'm twenty-one, especially if the old man should +drop off sudden." + +"I understand all that, Nicholas--" + +"Call me Nick. I ain't stuck up if I am most a man. Call me pet +names, dearest." + +And Nicholas laughed loudly at his witty quotation. + +"Just as you prefer. Nick, then, I understand your object. But what +made you think I wanted to sell the violin?" + +It was Nick's turn to be surprised. + +"Ain't there goin' to be an auction of your father's things?" he +said. + +"Yes; but the violin is mine, and I am not going to sell it." + +"You'll have to," said Nick. + +"What do you mean by that, Nicholas Holden?" said Philip quickly. + +"Because you'll have to sell everything to pay your father's debt. +My father said so this very morning." + +"I think I know my own business best," said Philip coldly. "I shall +keep the violin." + +"Maybe it ain't for you to say," returned Nick, apparently not aware +of his insolence. "Come, now, I'll tell you what I'll do. My +father's got a bill against yours for a dollar and sixty-four cents. +I told father I had a use for the fiddle, and he says if you'll give +it to me, he'll call it square. There, what do you say to that?" + +Nicholas leaned back in his chair and looked at Philip through his +small, fishy eyes, as if he had made an uncommonly liberal offer. As +for Philip, he hardly knew whether to be angry or amused. + +"You offer me a dollar and sixty-four cents for my violin?" he +repeated. + +"Yes. It's second-hand, to be sure, but I guess it's in pretty fair +condition. Besides, you might help me a little about learnin' how to +play." + +"How much do you suppose the violin cost?" inquired Philip. + +"Couldn't say." + +"It cost my father twenty-five dollars." + +"Oh, come, now, that's too thin! You don't expect a feller to +believe such a story as that?" + +"I expect to be believed, for I never tell anything but the truth." + +"Oh, well, I don't expect you do, generally, but when it comes to +tradin', most everybody lies," observed Nick candidly. + +"I have no object in misrepresenting, for I don't want to sell the +violin." + +"You can't afford to keep it! The town won't let you!" + +"The town won't let me?" echoed Philip, now thoroughly mystified. + +"Of course they won't. The idea of a pauper bein' allowed a fiddle +to play on! Why, it's ridiculous!" + +"What do you mean?" demanded Philip, who now began to comprehend the +meaning of this thick-witted visitor. "What have I got to do with +the town, or with paupers?" + +"Why, you're goin' to the poorhouse, ain't you?" + +"Certainly not!" answered Philip, with flashing eyes. + +"I guess you're mistaken," said Nick coolly. "Squire Pope was over +to our shop this mornin', and he told dad that the seleckmen were +goin' to send you there after the auction." + +Philip's eyes flashed angrily. He felt insulted and outraged. Never +for a moment had he conceived the idea that any one would regard him +as a candidate for the poorhouse. + +He had an honorable pride in maintaining himself, and would rather +get along on one meal a day, earned by himself in honest +independence, than be indebted to public charity even for a +luxurious support. + +"Squire Pope doesn't know what he's talking about," retorted Philip, +who had to exercise some self-restraint not to express himself more +forcibly "and you can tell him so when you see him. I am no more +likely to go to the poorhouse than you are!" + +"Come, that's a good one," chuckled Nick. "Talk of me goin' to the +poorhouse, when my father pays one of the biggest taxes in town! Of +course, it's different with you." + +"You'll have to excuse me now," said Philip, determined to get rid +of his disagreeable companion. "I have something to do." + +"Then you won't sell me the fiddle, Phil?" + +"No, I won't," answered our hero, with scant ceremony. + +"Then I'll have to bid it off at the auction. Maybe I'll get it +cheaper." + +And Mr. Nicholas Holden at length relieved Philip of his company. + + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE AUCTION. + + + + + +It so happened that Nick Holden met Squire Pope on the village +street, and, being rather disappointed at the result of his +negotiations with Philip, thought it might be a good idea to broach +the subject to the squire, who, as he knew, had taken it upon +himself to superintend the sale of Mr. Gray's goods. + +"I say, squire, I've just been over to see Phil Gray." + +"Ahem! Well, how does he seem to feel?" + +"Kinder stuck up, I reckon. He said he wouldn't go to the poorhouse, +and I might tell you so." + +"I apprehend," said the squire, in his stately way, "he will be +under the necessity of going, whether he likes it or not." + +"Just so; that's what I told him!" interjected Nick. + +"And he should be grateful for so comfortable a home," continued the +public man. + +"Well, I dunno," said Nick. "They do say that old Tucker most +starves the paupers. Why his bills with dad are awful small." + +"The town cannot afford to pamper the appetites of its +beneficiaries," said the squire. "Where is Philip now?" + +"I guess he's at home. I offered to buy his fiddle, but he said he +was going to keep it. I offered him a dollar and sixty-four +cents--the same as dad's bill against his father, but he wouldn't +take it." + +"Really, Nicholas, your offer was very irregular--extremely +irregular. It should have been made to me, as the administrator of +the late Mr. Gray, and not to a boy like Philip." + +"Will you sell me the fiddle for dad's bill, squire?" asked Nicholas +eagerly. + +"You are premature, Nicholas--" + +"What's that?" + +"I mean you must wait till the auction. Then you will have a chance +to bid on the instrument, if you want to secure it." + +"Phil says it's his, and won't be for sale at the auction." + +"Then Philip is mistaken. He is only a boy. The estate will be +settled by those who are older and wiser than he." + +"I guess you'll find him hard to manage, squire," said Nick, +laughing. + +"We shall see--we shall see," returned the squire. + +And, with a dignified wave of the hand, he continued on his walk. + +After the visit of Nicholas, Philip thought it most prudent to +convey the violin which he prized so much to the house of his +friend, Frank Dunbar, where he had been invited to take his meals. + +He was willing to have the furniture sold to defray his father's +small debts, but the violin was his own. It had not even been given +him by his father. Though the latter purchased it, the money which +it cost had been given to Philip by a friend of the family. He +rightly thought that he had no call to sell it now. + +"Frank," said he to his boy-friend, "I want you to put away my violin +safely, and keep it until after the auction." + +"Of course I will, Phil; but won't you want to play on it!" + +"Not at present. I'll tell you why I want it put away." + +And Philip told his friend about Nick's application to purchase it, +and the liberal offer he had made. + +"Nick's generosity never will hurt him much," said Frank, laughing. +"What in the world did he want of your violin?" + +"He wants to make himself popular with the girls." + +"He'll never do that, even if he learns to play like an angel!" said +Frank. "You ought to hear the girls talk about him. He couldn't get +a single one of them to go home with from singing-school last +winter. He teased my sister to go, but she told him every time she +was engaged to some one else." + +The two days that intervened between the funeral and the auction +passed, and the last scene connecting Philip with the little cottage +which had been his home was to take place. + +In a country town, an auction-however inconsiderable-draws together +an interested company of friends and neighbors; and, though no +articles of value were to be sold, this was the case at the present +sale. + +Philip didn't at first mean to be present. He thought it would only +give him pain; but at the last moment he came, having been requested +to do so by Squire Pope, as information might be required which he +could give. + +The bulk of the furniture was soon disposed of, at low prices, to be +sure, but sufficiently high to make it clear that enough would be +realized to pay the small bills outstanding. + +Philip's lip quivered when his father's watch was put up. He would +have liked to buy it, but this was impossible; for he had only about +a dollar of his own. + +Nick Holden's eyes sparkled when he saw the watch. He had forgotten +about that, but as soon as he saw it he coveted it. He had a cheap +silver watch of his own, which he had bought secondhand about three +years before. He had thought that he might some day possess a gold +watch, but he was not willing to lay out the necessary sum of money. + +By dint of actual meanness, he had laid up two hundred dollars, +which he now had in the savings-bank in the next village, and he +could therefore have bought one if he had chosen; but, like Gilpin, + + "Though on pleasure bent, he had a frugal mind." + +Now, however, there seemed a chance of getting a gold watch at a low +price. Nick reasoned rightly that at an auction it would go much +below its value, and it would be a good thing for him to buy it--even +as an investment--as he would probably have chances enough to trade +it off at a handsome profit. + +"I shouldn't wonder if I could double my money on it," he reflected. + +Accordingly, when the watch was put up, Nick eagerly bid two +dollars. + +Philip's lip curled when he heard this generous bid, and he heartily +hoped that this treasured possession of his dead father might not +fall into such hands. + +Nick rather hoped that no one would bid against him, but in this he +was destined to be disappointed. + +"Five dollars!" was next heard. + +And this bid came from Mr. Dunbar, the father of his friend Frank. +Philip's eyes brightened up, for there was no one he would sooner +see the possessor of the watch than his kind friend. + +Nick looked chopfallen when he heard this large increase on his +original bid, and hesitated to continue, but finally mustered up +courage to say, in a rather feeble tone: + +"Five and a quarter." + +"Five dollars and a quarter bid!" said the auctioneer. "Do I hear +more?" + +"Six dollars," said Mr. Dunbar quietly. + +The bid was repeated, and the auctioneer waited for a higher one, +but Nick retired ignominiously from the contest. + +He wasn't sure whether he could get much over six dollars for it +himself, and he foresaw that Mr. Dunbar intended to have it, even if +it cost considerable more. + +"It's kinder hard on a feller," he complained to the man standing +next him. "What does Mr. Dunbar want of the watch? He's got one +already." + +"Perhaps he thinks it is a good bargain at the price." + +"It's what I've been wantin' all along," said Nick. "He might have let +me have it." + +"Why don't you bid more?" + +"I wanted to get it cheap." + +"And the auctioneer wants to get as much as he can for the articles, +and so do Philip's friends," This was a consideration which, of +course, had no weight with Nicholas. However, he had one comfort. He +would bid on the violin, and probably no one else would bid against +it. He did not see it, to be sure, but concluded, of course, that it +would be bid off. When the sale drew near the end, he went to +Philip, and said: + +"Whereabouts is the fiddle, Phil?" + +"It isn't here," answered our hero. + +"Ain't it goin' to be sold?" + +"Of course not! It's mine. I told you that once already." + +"We'll see!" said Nicholas angrily. + +And going up to Squire Pope, he held a brief conversation with that +gentleman. + +The squire nodded vigorously, and walked over to Philip. + +"Philip," said he, "go and bring your violin." + +"What will I do that for!" asked our hero quietly. + +"So that it may be sold." + +"It is not to be sold," returned Philip quietly. "It belongs to me." + +"Nothing belongs to you except your clothes!" said the squire +angrily. "I require you to go and fetch the instrument." + +"And I decline to do it," said Philip. + +"Do you know who I am," demanded the squire, with ruffled dignity. + +"I know you perfectly well," answered Philip "but I am the owner of +the violin, and I don't mean to have it sold." + +"YOU will repent this!" said Squire Pope, who felt that his lawful +authority and official dignity were set at naught. + +Philip bowed and left the house. He did not know what steps the +squire might take, but he was resolved not to give up his cherished +violin. + + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +AN ALLIANCE AGAINST PHILIP. + + + + + +Squire Pope was not a bad man, nor was he by nature a tyrant, but he +was so fully convinced of his own superior judgment that he was in +all things obstinately bent on having his own way. He had persuaded +himself that our young hero, Philip, would be better off in the +poorhouse than in a place where he could earn his own living, and no +one could convince him to the contrary. + +As to the boy's feelings on the subject, he considered those of no +importance. He had good reason to know that Philip would object to +being an inmate of the almshouse, but he was determined that he +should go there. + +In like manner, before the auction was over, he saw clearly that it +would realize a sum more than sufficient to pay the funeral expenses +of the late Mr. Gray and the few small bills outstanding against his +estate, and that there was no necessity that Philip's violin should +be sold, but none the less he resolved that it should be sold. + +"Shall I allow a young lad to dictate to me?" Squire Pope asked +himself, in irritation. "Certainly not! I know better what is right +than he. It is ridiculous that a town pauper should own a violin. +Why, the next thing, we shall have to buy pianos for our almshouses, +for the use of the gentlemen and ladies who occupy them. A violin, +indeed!" + +This Squire Pope regarded as irresistible logic and withering +sarcasm combined. + +He saw Philip go out of the cottage, but, as the sale was not over, +he was unable to follow him. + +"Never mind, I'll fix him as soon as I have time," he said to +himself. + +"Back so soon? Is the auction over!" asked his friend, Frank Dunbar, +who was engaged in splitting wood in the rear of the house. + +"No, Frank, not quite; but it's almost over..Who do you think bid on +father's gold watch?" + +"I don't know." + +"Nick Holden." + +"He didn't get it, did he?" + +"I am glad to say not. Your father bought it." + +"Did he! Why, he's got one watch already." + +"I am glad he's got it. I couldn't bear to think of Nick Holden +carrying my father's watch. He was disappointed about one thing +besides." + +"What was that?" + +"The violin. He went to Squire Pope, and complained that it was not +in the sale." + +"That's just like his impudence. What did the squire say?" + +"He came to me and ordered me to get it, so that it might be sold." + +"Shall I get it for you, then?" + +"Not much!" answered Philip emphatically. "It is mine, as I have +already told you. If the auction doesn't bring in enough to settle +up everything, I may agree to sell it for a fair price; but I am +sure, from the prices, that it won't be necessary." + +"Squire Pope's a dreadful obstinate man," said Frank doubtfully. "He +may insist upon your selling the violin." + +"Let him do it!" said Philip contemptuously. "I should like to see +him get it. Where have you put it, Frank?" + +"Where Squire Pope won't be apt to find it--in an old chest up in +the garret. It's full of old clothes, belonging to my grandfather, +and hasn't been looked into by any one except me for years. I put it +away under all the clothes at the bottom. No one knows where it is +except you and me, not even mother." + +"That's good. I guess we can defy the squire, then." + +Half an hour later, Mr. Dunbar came home from the auction. + +Philip went to meet him. + +"Thank you for buying father's watch," he said. "But for you, Nick +Holden would have had it, and I should have been sorry for it." + +"He was badly disappointed," said Mr. Dunbar smiling. "But I didn't +buy the watch for myself, Philip." + +"For whom, then?" asked Philip, in some surprise. + +"For the one that has the best right to it--for you," and the farmer +took the watch from his pocket, and handed it to Philip. + +"But I haven't the money to pay for it, Mr. Dunbar," said our hero. + +"Then I give it to you as a present," said Mr. Dunbar. + +"I am very grateful," said Philip; "but I ought not to accept it. +You are too kind to me." + +"Let me be the judge of that." + +"Besides, it wouldn't be safe for me to take it. Squire Pope will +try to get my violin away from me in order to sell it, and he would +be sure to try to do the same by the watch if he found that I had +it." + +"But, Philip, I don't need the watch myself." + +"Then, Mr. Dunbar, will you be kind enough to keep it for me, and +when I can afford to pay for it, and there is no danger of its being +taken from me, I will ask you for it. I shall be very glad, indeed, +when I am older, to carry my father's watch, for I have seen it in +his hands so often that it will constantly remind me of him." + +"Perhaps that will be the best arrangement," said Mr. Dunbar. "You +might have it stolen from you, if you carried it yourself just at +present. As you request, I will keep it, subject to your order; but +I would rather let it be a gift from me, and not require you to pay +for it." + +"We won't talk about that now," said Philip, smiling. "At any rate, +you must let me thank you for your great kindness to me." + +"Don't speak of that, Phil," said the farmer kindly. "I had a great +respect and liking for your father, and I verily believe my Frank +loves you as well as if you were his own brother. So, come what may, +you have a friend in our family." + +"I indorse all that father says," Frank said. + +And he extended his hand to Philip, who grasped it heartily. + +It warmed his heart to think that he had such good friends, though +he was an orphan and alone in the world. + +After supper, Mr. Dunbar went to the village store, while Frank and +Philip remained at home. + +Suddenly Frank said: + +"Philip, you are going to have a visitor, I guess." + +"A visitor!" + +"Yes; I saw Squire Pope stumping along the road, nourishing his +gold-headed cane. He is headed this way, and it's likely he is going +to honor you with a call. He's got somebody with him, too. Who is +it!" + +Philip shaded his eyes with his hand, for the Sun was near its +setting, and shining with dazzling brightness from the quarter +toward which he was looking. + +"It's Nick Holden!" he said. + +"So it is! What can he want?" + +"I understand very well. He wants my violin. He couldn't get it at +the sale, so he has come here to see if he can't make me give it to +him." + +"And will you?" + +"You ought to know me better than to ask, Frank," said Philip +firmly. "Nick might as well have stayed away, for he won't +accomplish anything." + +Nick, however, held a different opinion. After Philip left the +cottage, he had gone to Squire Pope, and cunningly asked: + +"Are you going to let Philip keep his fiddle in spite of you, +squire?" + +"What do you mean, Nicholas?" demanded the squire, in a stately way. + +"Why, seems to me he's kinder settin' up his will agin yours. You +say the fiddle shall be sold, and he says it shan't. He told me he +didn't care what you said, he should keep it." + +"Did he say that, Nicholas?" asked the squire, who felt that his +dignity was outraged by such insolence. + +"I'm sartain he did. He's pretty big feelin', Phil is. He always +wants to have his own way." + +"He will find that he can't defy me with impunity," said the squire +stiffly. + +"Just so. Then you'll sell me the fiddle?" + +"I will!" said the squire emphatically. + +"You won't ask too much, will you?" asked Nick anxiously. + +Now Squire Pope, who knew nothing of the price of violins, and had a +very inadequate idea of their value, after some haggling on the part +of Nick, agreed to sell him the instrument for two dollars and a +half, and to see that it was delivered that evening. + +"Do you know where it is, Nicholas?" he asked. + +"Why, Phil is staying over at Frank Dunbar's, and I guess he's got +it there somewhere. I guess we'd better go over there and get it." + +"Very well, Nicholas. After supper, if you will come to my house, I +will go over there, and see that you have the instrument." + +"All right, squire!" said Nick gleefully, "Phil will find that he +can't have his own way this time." + +"I apprehend he will," said the squire complacently. + +Now the reader understands how it happened that Squire Pope and Nick +Holden made a call on Philip. As to what passed at the interview, we +must refer him to the next chapter. + + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +FUSS ABOUT A FIDDLE. + + + + + +"Ahem! Good evening!" said Squire Pope to Frank Dunbar, taking no +notice of Philip's cold but polite salutation. + +"Good evening! Will you go into the house?" said Frank. + +"I believe not. I have not time." + +"I am sorry father isn't home. He just started for the village." + +"Ahem! it was not to see your father that I called," answered Squire +Pope. "I wish to have a few words with this young man," indicating +Philip stiffly. + +"I am at your service, Squire Pope," said Philip, with ceremonious +politeness. + +"We came about the fiddle," interrupted Nick Holden, who always +wanted to have a share in the conversation. + +Squire Pope frowned, for he did not relish Nick's interference. + +"Nicholas," he said severely, "I apprehend I am competent to manage +the business we have come upon." + +"Don't get riled, squire," said Nick, by no means abashed by this +rebuke. "I thought you were kinder slow about comin' to the point." + +"Your interruption was very indecorous. I do not require any +assistance or any suggestions." + +"All right, squire!" + +Squire Pope now turned to our hero, and said: + +"As I was about to say, when interrupted by Nicholas, I have come to +require you to give up--the Violin which, without authority and +against my express command, you withheld from the auction." + +"The violin is mine, Squire Pope," said Philip firmly, "and I mean +to keep it!" + +"You talk like an ignorant boy. As a minor, you had no claim to the +possession of any article except your clothing. I judged it best +that the violin should be sold at the auction, and it is +presumptuous for you to set up your judgment against mine!" + +"I don't take that view of it," said Philip, and then he stopped. + +He knew it was of no use to argue against the squire, who was +obstinate to the verge of pig-headedness, if I may be allowed to use +the expression. He felt that it would be only wasting his breath. + +"It is quite immaterial how you view the subject," said the squire +pompously. "My mind is made up, and my resolution is not likely to +be shaken by a boy." + +"Then, sir," answered Philip, in a respectful tone but with a slight +smile, "it is hardly worth while for me to say any more." + +"I am glad you have arrived at so sensible a conclusion," said +Squire Pope. "I take it that you have the violin here." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then bring it out and give it to me." + +Now came the critical point, when Philip must array himself in +determined opposition to Squire Pope. He felt that he was entirely +in the right; still he regretted the necessity of the antagonism. + +Philip had one thing in his favor: He had plenty of self-control, +and, although he was very indignant at the course of the squire, +which he regarded as unjustifiable, he made up his mind to be as +respectful as circumstances would permit. + +"I don't think you understand me, Squire Pope," he said. "I refuse +to give up the violin!" + +"You refuse to give up the violin!" repeated Squire Pope, scarcely +believing the testimony of his ears. "Do I hear you aright?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I never see such impudence!" ejaculated Nick Holden, wishing to egg +on the squire. + +"Do you mean to defy me to my face?" demoded Squire Pope, growing +very red. + +"I don't wish to defy you or anybody else," returned Philip; "but I +shall stand up for my rights." + +"Misguided boy!" said the squire severely; "you will yet rue this +rash and heedless course. Frank," he continued, turning to Frank +Dunbar, "do you know where Philip's violin is!" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Do me the favor to bring it out and place it in my hands." + +"You must excuse me, Squire Pope," answered Frank. "It belongs to +Philip, and I have no right to meddle with it." + +"If Philip has told you this, he has misrepresented," said the +squire, rather discouraged by this second rebuff. "The violin does +not belong to Philip. It belongs to this young man." + +And, with a wave of his hand, he designated Nick Holden. + +It was not polite, but Frank Dunbar was so surprised by this +announcement that he whistled. + +As for Philip, he regarded Nick calmly; but there didn't seem to be +any sign of yielding in his look. + +"It belongs to Nicholas, because I have sold it to him," continued +Squire Pope doggedly. + +"That's so!" corroborated Nick complacently. "The squire sold me the +fiddle for two-fifty. It's mine now, and you'd better fetch it along +out, or there'll be trouble." + +Philip turned to Squire Pope, and said quietly: + +"As you had no right to sell it, the sale amounts to nothing. If you +had a right, I should say you were not very shrewd to sell an +instrument that cost twenty-five dollars--and was considered a +bargain at the price--for two dollars and fifty cents." + +"The violin cost twenty-five dollars!" ejaculated the squire, in +genuine surprise. + +For, as it has already been stated, he had no idea whatever of the +usual price for a violin. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Don't you believe him, squire," said Nicholas, afraid that he would +lose what he knew to be a good bargain. "No fiddle that was ever made +cost twenty-five dollars. It's ridiculous!" + +"It does seem a large price," said the squire guardedly. + +Squire Pope would doubtless have been surprised to learn that +certain violins of celebrated make--such as the Cremonas--have sold +for thousands of dollars. Probably he would have disbelieved it. + +Nevertheless, he began to think that he had been too precipitate in +accepting Nick Holden's offer. + +If he should sacrifice, or sell at an utterly inadequate price, any +article belonging to the boy whom he considered his ward, he knew +that he would be blamed, and he began to consider how he could +recede from the bargain. + +"Nicholas," he said, "I didn't exactly sell the violin to you. I +will ascertain what is a fair price for it, and then I will consider +your proposal." + +"You sold it right out, squire," said Nick, "and I can prove it. +Didn't you just say it was mine. There, now!" + +Nick turned triumphantly to Frank and Phil, but, for very good +reasons, they did not care to side with him. + +"I say, you haven't treated me right," persisted Nick, who had no +particular respect nor veneration for the squire, and was not to be +deterred from speaking as he felt. "I offered you two-fifty, and you +said I should have it, and you got me to call at your house to come +here for it." + +"I cannot sacrifice the property of my ward," said Squire Pope. "I +must ascertain how much the violin is worth." + +"A bargain is a bargain, every time!" said Nick, irritated. + +"I will let you have it as cheap as anybody," said the squire, who +thought it possible that Nick might be the only one who desired to +purchase it. "That ought to satisfy you. Philip, go and bring me the +violin, and I will carry it home and dispose of it to the best +advantage." + +"You must excuse me, Squire Pope. I shall not let it leave my +possession." Just then Squire Pope espied Mr. Dunbar returning from +the village, and hailed him as a probable ally. He laid the matter +before him, and requested him to compel Philip to get the violin. + +"You must excuse me, squire," said Mr. Dunbar coldly. "Philip is my +guest, and he shall be protected in his rights as long as he remains +here." + +Without a word, Squire Pope walked off, in angry discomfiture, in +one direction, while Nick, equally dissatisfied, walked off in +another. + +"They don't seem happy!" said Frank slyly. + +"I wish I knew where it was going to end," returned Philip gravely. + +"It seems to me," said Frank, "the squire is making a great fuss +about a fiddle, for a man of his dignity." + +"He doesn't care about the violin. He wants to have his own way," +said Philip, thus hitting the nail on the head. + + + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +MR. JOE TUCKER + + + + + +Before going further, I will introduce to the reader, a citizen of +Norton, who filled a position for which he was utterly unfitted. +This man was Joe Tucker, in charge of the almshouse. + +He had not been selected by the town authorities on the ground of +fitness, but simply because he was willing to work cheap. He +received a certain low weekly sum for each one of his inmates, and +the free use of apartments for himself and family, with the right to +cultivate the ten acres of land connected with the establishment, +and known as the Town Farm. + +His family consisted of three persons--himself, his wife, and a son, +Ezekiel, familiarly known as Zeke, now sixteen years old. The +leading family trait was meanness. + +Mr. Tucker supplied a mean table even for a poorhouse, and some of +the hapless inmates complained bitterly. One had even had the +boldness to present a complaint to the selectmen, and that body, +rather reluctantly, undertook to investigate the justness of the +complaint. They deputed Squire Pope to visit the poorhouse and +inquire into the matter. + +Now, though Squire Pope thought himself unusually sharp, it was the +easiest thing in the world for a cunning person like Joe Tucker to +satisfy him that all was right. + +"Mr. Tucker," said Squire Pope pompously, "I am deputed by the +selectmen, and I may add by the overseers of the poor, to +investigate a complaint made by one of the paupers in relation to +the fare you offer them." + +"Who is it!" inquired Mr. Tucker. + +"It is Ann Carter. She says you don't allow her sugar in her tea, +and only allow one slice of bread at supper, and that the meat is so +bad she can't eat it." + +"Just like the old woman!" exclaimed Mr. Tucker indignantly. "Oh, +she's a high-strung pauper, she is! Expects all the delicacies of +the season for seventy-five cents a week. She'd ought to go to the +Fifth Avenoo Hotel in New York, and then I'll bet a cent she +wouldn't be satisfied." + +It is observable that even in his imaginary bets Mr. Tucker +maintained his economical habits, and seldom bet more than a cent. +Once, when very much excited, he had bet five cents, but this must +be attributed to his excited state of mind. + +"So you regard her complaints as unreasonable, do you, Mr. Tucker?" +observed the investigating committee. + +"Unreasonable? I should think they was. I allow, Squire Pope, we +don't live like a first-class hotel"--Mr. Tucker's language was +rather mixed--"but we live as well as we can afford to. As to sugar, +we don't allow the paupers to put it in for themselves, or they'd +ruin us by their extravagance. Mrs. Tucker puts sugar in the teapot +before she pours it out. I s'pose Ann Carter would put as much in +one cup of tea as Mrs. T. uses for the whole teapotful, if she had +her way." + +This was very probably true, as the frugal Mrs. Tucker only allowed +one teaspoonful for the entire supply. + +"That looks reasonable, Mr. Tucker," said the squire approvingly. +"Now about the bread and the meat?" + +"The paupers has plenty of bread," said Mr. Tucker. "Our bread bill +is actually enormous." + +"And as to the meat?" + +"We don't give 'em roast turkey every day, and we don't buy +tenderloin steaks to pamper their appetites," said Mr. Tucker, +"though we're perfectly willing to do it if the town'll pay us so we +can afford it. Do you think the town'll agree to pay me twenty-five +cents more a week for each one, squire?" + +"Certainly not. It can't be thought of," said the squire hastily, +knowing that if the selectmen advocated such a measure they would +probably lose their reelection. + +"If it would, we might live a little better, so that Ann Carter +wouldn't have to complain, though, bless your soul! that woman is +always complainin'." + +"Ahem! Mr. Tucker, you present the matter to me in a new light. I +really feel that Ann Carter is very unreasonable in her complaints." + +"I knowed you'd do me justice, squire," said Mr. Tucker effusively. +"You're a sharp man. You ain't a-goin' to be taken in by any of them +paupers' rigmarole. I always said, Squire Pope, that you was the +right man in the right place, and that the town was lucky to have so +intelligent and public-spirited a citizen fillin' her most important +offices." + +"Mr. Tucker," said the squire, "you gratify me. It has ever been my +aim to discharge with conscientious fidelity the important trusts +which the town has committed to my charge--" + +"I'll bear witness to that, squire." + +"And your sincere tribute gives me great satisfaction." + +"I hope you'll report things right to the board, Squire Pope?" said +Mr. Joe Tucker insinuatingly. + +"Be assured I will, Mr. Tucker. I consider you a zealous and +trustworthy official, striving hard to do your duty in the place the +town has assigned you." + +"I do, indeed, squire," said Mr. Tucker, pulling on a red +handkerchief and mopping some imaginary tears. "Excuse my emotions, +sir, but your generous confidence quite unmans me. I--I--trust now +that I shall be able to bear meekly the sneers and complaints of Ann +Carter and her fellow paupers." + +"I will stand by you, Mr. Tucker," said Squire Pope cordially, for +the man's flattery, coarse as it was, had been like incense to his +vanity. "I will stand by you, and uphold you by my testimony." + +"Thank you, squire. With such an impartial advocate I will continue +to do my duty and fear nothing." + +As Squire Pope left the almshouse, Mr. Tucker winked at himself in +the glass, and said quizzically: + +"I guess I'm all right now. The vain old fool thinks he's a second +Solomon, and thinks I regard him as such. Oh, it takes me to get +round him!" + +Squire Pope wrote an elaborate report, in which he stated that, +after searching investigation, he had ascertained that the +complaints of Ann Carter were absolutely groundless, and gave it as +his conviction that Mr. Tucker's treatment of her and her associate +paupers was characterized by remarkable consideration and humanity. + +Such officials as he have much to answer for, and yet there are +plenty just as false to their responsibilities as he. + +It was two days after Squire Pope's ineffectual attempt to possess +himself of Philip's violin, that our hero was walking along a +country road, on his return from an errand which, he had undertaken +for his friend's father, when his attention was drawn to the yelping +of a small dog, that seemed in fear or pain. + +Looking over the stone wall, Philip saw Zeke Tucker amusing himself +by thrusting the dog's head into a pool of dirty water, and holding +it there till the animal was nearly strangled. The dog's suffering +appeared to yield the most exquisite amusement to the boy, who burst +into peal after peal of rude laughter as he watched the struggles of +his victim. + +Philip, like every decent boy, had a horror of cruelty, and the +sight stirred him to immediate anger and disgust. + +"What are you doing there, Zeke Tucker?" he demanded sternly. + +"None of your business!" answered Zeke, frowning. + +"You'd better answer my question," said Philip, who had by this time +jumped over the wall. + +"Then I will. I'm havin' a little fun. What have you got to say +about it?" retorted Zeke. + +And once more he plunged the head of the poor dog into the filthy +pool. + +The next moment he found himself floundering on his back, while the +dog, slipping from his grasp, was running across the meadows. "What +did you do that for!" demanded Zeke, springing up, his face flaming +with rage. + +"I rather think you understand well enough," answered Philip +contemptuously. + +"What business have you to touch me? I can have you arrested, you +low pauper!" + +"What's that? What did you call me?" demanded Philip. + +"I called you a pauper." + +"By what right?" + +"Squire Pope told my father he was going to bring you over to the +poorhouse to live. You just see if my father doesn't give it to you +then!" + +"Thank you," said Phil contemptuously; "but I don't propose to board +at your establishment, not even to obtain the pleasure of your +society." + +"Maybe you can't help yourself," said Zeke gleefully. + +For he saw what had escaped the notice of Philip, whose back was +turned--namely, a four-seated carryall, containing his father and +Squire Pope, which had just halted in the road, hard by. + +"Mr. Tucker," said Squire Pope, in a low tone, "now will be the best +opportunity to capture the boy and carry him to the almshouse." + +"All right--I'm ready," said Tucker readily. + +For another boarder would bring him sixty cents a week more. + +They stopped the horses and prepared for business. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +IN THE ENEMY'S HANDS + + + + + +Philip heard a step, and turned to see whose it was; but, when he +recognized Mr. Tucker, the latter's hand was already on his collar. + +"What have you been doin' to Zeke? Tell me that, you young rascal," +said Mr. Tucker roughly. + +"He pitched into me savage, father," answered Zeke, who had picked +himself up, and was now engaged in brushing the dust from his coat. + +"Pitched into ye, did he?" repeated Joe Tucker grimly. "I reckon he +didn't know your father was 'round. What have you got to say for +yourself, eh?" + +Philip regarded his captor contemptuously, and didn't struggle to +escape, knowing that he was not a match for a man five inches taller +than himself. But contempt he could not help showing, for he knew +very well that Zeke had inherited his mean traits largely from his +father. + +"I'll thank you to remove your hand from my collar, sir," said +Philip. "When you have done that, I will explain why I pitched into +Zeke, as he calls it." + +"Don't you let go, father!" said Zeke hastily. "He'll run away, if +you do." + +"If I do, you can catch me between you," returned Philip coolly. + +"I reckon that's so," said Mr. Tucker, withdrawing his hand, but +keeping wary watch of our hero. + +"Now go ahead!" said he. + +Philip did so. + +"I saw Zeke torturing a small dog," he explained, "and I couldn't +stand by and let it go on." + +"What was he doin' to him?" inquired Mr. Tucker. + +"Putting the poor animal's head into this dirty pool, and keeping it +there till it was nearly suffocated." + +"Was you doin' that, Zeke?" asked his father. + +"I was havin' a little fun with him," said Zeke candidly. + +"It might have been fun to you, but it wasn't to him," said Phil. + +"Why didn't you ask Zeke to stop, and not fly at him like a tiger?" +demanded Mr. Tucker. + +"I did remonstrate with him, but he only laughed, and did it again." + +"He hadn't no right to order me," said Zeke. "It wa'n't no business +of his if I was havin' a little fun with the dog." + +"And I had a little fun with, you," returned Philip--"You couldn't +have complained if I had dipped your head in the water also." + +"I ain't a dog!" said Zeke. + +"I should respect you more if you were," said Philip. + +"Are you goin' to let him talk to me like that!" asked Zeke, +appealing to his father. + +"No, I ain't," said Mr. Tucker angrily. "You've committed an assault +and battery on my son, you rascal, and you'll find there ain't no +fun in it for you. I could have you arrested and put in jail, +couldn't I, squire?" + +"Ahem! Well, you could have him fined; but, as he is to be under +your care, Mr. Tucker, you will have a chance of making him conduct +himself properly." + +"What do you mean by that, Squire Pope?" asked Philip quickly. + +"Young man, I do not choose to be catechized," said Squire Pope, in +a dignified manner; "but I have no objections to tell you that I +have made arrangements with Mr. Tucker to take you into the +poorhouse." + +"I've heard that before, but I couldn't believe it," said Philip +proudly. + +"I guess you'll have to believe it pretty soon, he, he!" laughed +Zeke, with a grin which indicated his high delight. "I guess dad'll +make you stand round when he gits you into the poor-house." + +"Don't you consider me capable of earning my own living, Squire +Pope?" asked Philip. + +"Ahem! Yes, you will be one of these days. You won't have to stay in +the almshouse all your life." + +"You'll have a chance to earn your livin' with me." said Mr. Tucker. +"I shall give you something to do, you may depend." + +"You can make him saw and split wood, father, and do the chores and +milk the cow," suggested Zeke. + +"I have no objection to doing any of those things for a farmer," +said Philip, "but I am not willing to do it where I shall be +considered a pauper." + +"Kinder uppish!" suggested Mr. Tucker, turning to Squire Pope. "Most +all of them paupers is proud; but it's pride in the wrong place, I +reckon." + +"If it is pride to want to earn an independent living, and not live +on charity, then I am proud," continued Philip. + +"Well, squire, how is it to be," asked Mr. Tucker. + +"Philip," said Squire Pope pompously, "you are very young, and you +don't know what is best for you. We do, and you must submit. +Mr. Tucker, take him and put him in the wagon, and we'll drive over +to the poorhouse." + +"What! now?" asked Philip, in dismay. + +"Just so," answered Joe Tucker. "When you've got your bird, don't +let him go, that's what I say." + +"That's the talk, dad!" said Zeke gladfully. "We'll take down his +pride, I guess, when we've got him home." + +Joe Tucker approached Philip, and was about to lay hold of him, when +our hero started back. + +"You needn't lay hold of me, Mr. Tucker," he said. "I will get into +the wagon if Squire Pope insists upon it." + +"I'm glad you're gettin' sensible," said the squire, congratulating +himself on finding Philip more tractable than he expected. + +"And you will go to the poorhouse peaceful, and without making a +fuss?" asked Joe. + +"Yes, I will go there; but I won't stay there." + +"You won't stay there!" ejaculated the squire. + +"No, sir! In treating me as a dependent on charity, you are doing +what neither you nor any other man has a right to do," said Philip +firmly. + +"You don't appear to remember that I am a selectman and overseer of +the poor," said the Squire. + +"I am aware that you hold those offices; but if so, you ought to +save money to the town, and not compel them to pay for my support, +when I am willing and able to support myself." + +Squire Pope looked a little puzzled. This was putting the matter in +a new light, and he could not help admitting to himself that Philip +was correct, and that perhaps his fellow citizens might take the +same view. + +On the other hand, the squire was fond of having his own way, and he +had now gone so far that he could not recede without loss of +dignity. + +"I think," he answered stiffly, "that I understand my duty as well +as a boy of fifteen. I don't mean to keep you here long, but it is +the best arrangement for the present." + +"Of course it is," said Zeke, well pleased with the humiliation of +his enemy. + +"Shut up, Zeke!" said his father, observing from the squire's +expression that he did not fancy Zeke's interference. + +"All right, dad," said Zeke good-naturedly, seeing that things had +turned out as he desired. + +"Jump in!" said Mr. Tucker to Philip. + +Our hero, without a word, obeyed. He was firmly resolved that Squire +Pope should not have his way, but he did not choose to make himself +ridiculous by an ineffectual resistance which would only have ended +in his discomfiture. + +Seated between Mr. Tucker and the squire, he was driven rapidly +toward the poorhouse. + + + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE POORHOUSE. + + + + + +There was no room for Zeke to ride--that is, there was no seat for +him--but he managed to clamber into the back part of the wagon, +where he sat, or squatted, rather uncomfortably, but evidently in +the best of spirits--if any inference could be drawn from his +expression. + +The poorhouse was not far away. It was a three-story frame house, +which badly needed painting, with a dilapidated barn, and shed near +by. + +A three-story farmhouse is not common in the country, but this +dwelling had been erected by a Mr. Parmenter, in the expectation of +making a fortune by taking summer boarders. + +There was room enough for them, but they did not come. The situation +was the reverse of pleasant, the soil about was barren, and there +were no shade or fruit trees. It was a crazy idea, selecting such a +spot for a summer boarding-house, and failure naturally resulted. + +There had, indeed, been two boarders--a man and his wife--who paid +one week's board, and managed to owe six before the unlucky landlord +decided that they were a pair of swindlers. He had spent more money +than he could afford on his house, and went steadily behind-hand +year after year, till the town--which was in want of a +poorhouse--stepped in and purchased the house and farm at a bargain. +So it came to be a boarding-house, after all, but in a sense not +contemplated by the proprietor, and, at present, accommodated eleven +persons--mostly old and infirm--whom hard fortune compelled to +subsist on charity. + +Mr. Tucker had this advantage, that his boarders, had no recourse +except to stay with him, however poor his fare or harsh his +treatment, unless they were in a position to take care of +themselves. + +When Philip came in sight of the almshouse--which he had often seen, +and always considered a very dreary-looking building--he was +strengthened in his determination not long to remain a tenant. + +Mr. Tucker drove up to the front door with a flourish. + +A hard-featured woman came out, and regarded the contents of the +wagon with curiosity. + +"Well, Abigail, can you take another boarder!" asked Mr. Tucker, as +he descended from the wagon. + +"Who is it?" + +"Well, it ain't likely to be Squire Pope!" said Joe facetiously; +"and Zeke and I are regular boarders on the free list." + +"Is it that boy?" + +"Yes; it's Phil Gray." + +"Humph! boys are a trial!" remarked Mrs. Tucker, whose experience +with Zeke had doubtless convinced her of this fact. + +"I sha'n't trouble you long, Mrs. Tucker," said Philip. "I don't +intend to stay." + +"You don't, hey?" retorted Joe Tucker, with a wolfish grin and an +emphatic nod of the head. "We'll see about that--won't we, Squire +Pope?" + +"The boy is rather rebellious, Mrs. Tucker," said the selectman. "He +appears to think he knows better what is good for him than we do. +You may look upon him as a permanent boarder. What he says is of no +account." + +Philip said nothing, but he looked full at the squire with an +unflinching gaze. If ever determination was written upon any face, +it was on his. + +"Come down there!" said Mrs. Tucker, addressing our hero. "You're at +home now." + +"Mr. Dunbar won't know what has become of me," said Philip, with a +sudden thought. "They will be anxious. May I go back there and tell +them where I am?" + +"Do you think I am green enough for that?" Mr. Tucker, touching the +side of his nose waggishly. "We shouldn't be likely to set eyes on +you again." + +"I will promise to come back here this evening," said Philip. + +"And will you promise to stay?" asked Squire Pope doubtfully. + +"No, sir," answered Philip boldly. "I won't do that, but I will +engage to come back. Then Mr. Tucker will have to look out for me, +for I tell you and him frankly I don't mean to stay." + +"Did you ever hear such talk, squire!" asked Mr. Tucker, with a gasp +of incredulity. "He actually defies you, who are a selectman and an +overseer of the poor." + +"So he does, Mr. Tucker. I'm shocked at his conduct." + +"Shall we let him go?" + +"No, of course not." + +"I agree with you, squire. I know'd you wouldn't agree to it. What +shall I do about his wantin' to run away?" + +"It will be best to confine him just at first, Mr. Tucker." + +"I'll shut him up in one of the attic rooms," said Mr. Tucker. + +"I think it will be the best thing to do, Mr. Tucker." + +Philip took all this very coolly. As to the way in which they +proposed to dispose of him for the present he cared very little, as +he did not intend stay till morning if there was any possible chance +of getting away. The only thing that troubled him was the doubt and +anxiety of his good friends, the Dunbars, when he did not return to +the house. + +"Squire Pope," he said, turning to that official, "will you do me a +favor?" + +"Ahem! Explain yourself," said the squire suspiciously. + +"Will you call at Mr. Dunbar's and tell them where I am." + +Now, for obvious reasons, the squire did not like to do this. He +knew that the Dunbars would manifest great indignation at the +arbitrary step which he had adopted, and he did not like to face +their displeasure, especially as his apology would perforce be a +lame one. + +"I don't think I am called upon to do you a favor, seeing how you've +acted, Philip," he said hesitatingly. "Besides, it would be out of +my way, and I ought to get home as soon as possible." + +"Then you refuse, sir?" + +"Well, I'd rather not." + +"Will you get word to them, Mr. Tucker?" asked Philip, turning to +him. + +"I hain't got time," answered Mr. Tucker, who feared that the +Dunbars would come for Philip and release him in the course of the +evening. + +Philip was nonplused. Always considerate of the feelings of others, +he was unwilling that his friends should suffer anxiety on his +account. + +As Mr. Tucker and Squire Pope walked away together, our hero turned +to Zeke. + +"I suppose it's no use to ask you to do me a favor, Zeke?" he said. + +"Do you want me to tell Frank Dunbar where you are?" + +"Yes, I wish you would." + +"Then I'll do it." + +"You're a better fellow than I thought you were, Zeke," said Philip, +surprised. + +"No, I ain't! Do you want to know why I'm willin' to go?" + +"Why?" + +"I know Frank Dunbar'll feel bad, and I hate him." + +"So that is your object, is it, Zeke?" + +"You've got it." + +"Well, whatever your motive may be, I shall be much obliged to you +if you go. Here's ten cents for you!" + +Zeke grasped at the coin with avidity, for his father was very +parsimonious, and his mother no less so, and he seldom got any ready +money. + +"Thank you!" said Zeke, with unusual politeness. "I'll go right off. +But, I say, don't you tell dad where I've gone, or he might prevent +me, and don't you let on you've given me this dime, or he'd try to +get it away." + +"No, I won't say anything about it," answered Philip. + +"A curious family this is!" he thought, "There doesn't seem to be +much confidence in each other." + +Zeke sauntered away carelessly, to avert suspicion but when he had +got round a bend of the road he increased his speed, never looking +back, lest he should see his father signaling for him. + +Philip breathed a sigh of relief. + +"I've got a messenger at last," he said. "Now my friends will know +what has become of me when I don't come home to supper." + +He was a little curious to learn what they were going to do with +him, but he was not long kept in suspense. + + + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +BAD TIDINGS. + + + + + +Leaving Philip for a short time in the hands of his captor, we will +follow Zeke on his errand. He didn't have to go as far as Mr. +Dunbar's house, for he met Frank Dunbar about a quarter of a mile +this side of it. + +Now, between Frank Dunbar and Zeke Tucker there was no love lost. +There had been a difficulty between them, originating at school, +which need not be particularly referred to. Enough that it led to +Zeke's cordially disliking Frank, while the latter, who was a frank, +straightforward boy, could not see anything in Mr. Tucker's +promising son to enlist either his respect or his liking. + +There was a small river running through Norton, which crossed the +main thoroughfare, and had to be bridged over. Frank Dunbar, +fishing-line in hand, was leaning over the parapet, engaged in +luring the fish from their river home. He looked up, when he saw +Zeke approaching him. Not having any particular desire to hold a +conversation with him, he withdrew his eyes, and again watched his +line. Zeke, however, approached him with a grin of anticipated +enjoyment, and hailed him in the usual style: + +"Hello, Frank!" + +"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Frank Dunbar indifferently. + +"Yes it's me. I suppose you thought it was somebody else," chuckled +Zeke, though Frank could see no cause for merriment. + +"Well, I see who it is now," he responded. + +"Where is Phil Gray?" inquired Zeke, chuckling again. + +"Do you want to see him?" asked Frank, rather surprised. + +"Oh, no! I shall see him soon enough." + +And again Zeke chuckled. + +Frank looked up. + +He was expecting Philip to join him, and was, in fact, waiting for +him now. Zeke's mysterious merriment suggested that he might have +met Philip--possibly bore some message from him. + +"Do you know anything about Phil?" asked Frank, looking fixedly at +his visitor. + +"I reckon I do. I know all about him," said Zeke, with evident +enjoyment. + +"Well. If you have any message from him, let me hear it." + +"You can't guess where he is," blurted out Zeke. + +"He isn't in any trouble, is he?" asked Frank quickly. + +"No; he's safe enough. But you needn't expect to see him tonight." + +"Why not?" demanded Frank, not yet guessing what was likely to +detain his friend. + +"Because he's at our house," chuckled Zeke. "Dad and Squire Pope +have carried him to the poorhouse, and he's goin' to stay there for +good." + +This was a surprise. In his astonishment, Frank nearly let go his +rod. He was eager now to question Zeke further. + +"You don't mean to say Phil has been carried to the poorhouse +against his will?" he exclaimed. + +"I reckon he was anxious to go," said Zeke. + +"Where was he when your father and Squire Pope committed this +outrage?" said Frank indignantly. + +"I thought you'd be mad," said Zeke, with the same unpleasant +chuckle. + +"Answer my question, or I'll pitch you into the river," said Frank +sternly. + +He did not mean what he said, but Zeke drew back in alarm. + +"Quit now! I didn't have nothin' to do with it," said Zeke hastily. +"Me and him was over in Haywood's pasture when dad come along with +the squire in his wagon. Well, they made Phil get in, and that's all +of it, except I promised I'd come and tell your folks, so you +needn't get scared or nothin' when he didn't come back to-night." + +"He will come back to-night," said Frank. "He won't stay in the +poorhouse." + +"Yes, he will. He can't help himself. Dad's goin' to lock him up in +the attic. I guess he won't jump out of the window. Where you +go-in'! You ain't got through fishin', be you?" + +"Yes, I'm through," answered Frank, as he drew his line out of the +water. "Just tell Phil when you go home that he's got friends +outside who won't see him suffer." + +"Say, ain't you goin' to give me nothin' for comin' to tell you!" +asked Zeke, who was always intent on the main chance. + +Frank flung a nickel in his direction, which Zeke picked up with +avidity. + +"I guess it pays to run errands when you can get paid twice," he +reflected complacently. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +PHILIP'S NEW ROOM. + + + + + +We return to Phil. + +"Foller me, boy!" said Mr. Tucker, as he entered the house, and +proceeded to ascend the front steps. + +Philip had formed his plans, and without a word of remonstrance, he +obeyed. The whole interior was dingy and dirty. Mrs. Tucker was not +a neat woman, and everything looked neglected and slipshod. + +In the common room, to the right, the door of which was partly open, +Philip saw some old men and women sitting motionless, in a sort of +weary patience. They were "paupers," and dependent for comfort on +the worthy couple, who regarded them merely as human machines, good +to them for sixty cents a week each. + +Mr. Tucker did not stop at the first landing, but turned and began +to ascend a narrower and steeper staircase leading to the next +story. + +This was, if anything, dirtier and more squalid than the first and +second. There were several small rooms on the third floor, into one +of which Mr. Tucker pushed his way. "Come in," he said. "Now you're +at home. This is goin' to be your room." + +Philip looked around him in disgust, which he did not even take the +trouble to conceal. + +There was a cot-bed in the corner, with an unsavory heap of +bed-clothing upon it, and a couple of chairs, both with wooden +seats, and one with the back gone. + +That was about all the furniture. There was one window looking out +upon the front. + +"So this is to be my room, is it?" asked our hero. + +"Yes. How do you like it?" + +"I don't see any wash-stand, or any chance to wash." + +"Come, that's rich!" said Mr. Tucker, appearing to be very much +amused. "You didn't think you was stoppin' in the Fifth Avenoo +Hotel, did you?" + +"This don't look like it." + +"We ain't used to fashionable boarders, and we don't know how to +take care of 'em. You'll have to go downstairs and wash in the +trough, like the rest of the paupers do." + +"And wipe my face on the grass, I suppose?" said Philip coolly, +though his heart sank within him at the thought of staying even one +night in a place so squalid and filthy. + +"Come, that's goin' too far," said Mr. Tucker, who felt that the +reputation of the boarding-house was endangered by such +insinuations. "We mean to live respectable. There's two towels a +week allowed, and that I consider liberal." + +"And do all your boarders use the same towel?" asked Phil, unable to +suppress an expression of disgust. + +"Sartain. You don't think we allow 'em one apiece, do you!" + +"No, I don't," said Philip decidedly. + +He had ceased to expect anything so civilized in Mr. Tucker's +establishment. + +"Now you're safe in your room, I reckon I'd better go downstairs," +said Tucker. + +"I will go with you." + +"Not much you won't! We ain't a-goin' to give you a chance of +runnin' away just yet!" + +"Do you mean to keep me a prisoner?" demanded Philip. + +"That's just what we do, at present," answered his genial host. + +"It won't be for long, Mr. Tucker." + +"What's that you say? I'm master here, I'd have you to know!" + +Just then a shrill voice was heard from below: + +"Come down, Joe Tucker! Are you goin' to stay upstairs all day?" + +"Comin', Abigail!" answered Mr. Tucker hastily, as he backed out of +the room, locking the door behind him. Philip heard the click of the +key as it turned in the lock, and he realized, for the first time in +his life, that he was a prisoner. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +A PAUPER'S MEAL + + + + + +Half an hour later Philip heard a pounding on the door of his room. + +He was unable to open it, but he called out, loud enough for the +outsider to hear: + +"Who is it?" + +"It's me--Zeke," was the answer that came back. + +"Did you tell the Dunbars where I was?" asked Philip eagerly. + +"Yes." + +"I shouldn't think you had time to go there and back," said Philip, +fearing that Zeke had pocketed his money and then played him false. +But, as we know, he was mistaken in this. + +"I didn't go there," shouted Zeke. "I met Frank on the bridge." + +"What did he say?" + +"He was mad," answered Zeke, laughing. "I thought he would be." + +"Did he send any message to me?" asked Philip. + +"No; he stopped fishin' and went home." Here the conversation was +interrupted. The loud tones in which Zeke had been speaking, in +order to be heard through the door, had attracted attention below. + +His father came to the foot of the attic stairs and demanded +suspiciously: + +"What you doin' there, Zeke?" + +"Tryin' to cheer up Phil Gray," answered Zeke jocosely. + +"He don't need any cheerin' up. He's all right. I reckon you're up +to some mischief." + +"No, I ain't." + +"Come along down." + +"All right, dad, if you say so. Lucky he didn't hear what I was +sayin' about seein' Frank Dunbar," thought Zeke. "He'd be mad." + +Presently there was another caller at Philip's room, or, rather, +prison. This time it was Mr. Tucker himself. He turned the key in +the lock and opened the door. Philip looked up inquiringly. + +"Supper's ready," announced Joe. "You can come down if you want to." + +Philip was provided with an appetite, but he did not relish the idea +of going downstairs and joining the rest of Mr. Tucker's boarders. +It would seem like a tacit admission that he was one of their +number. Of course, he couldn't do without eating, but he had a large +apple in his pocket when captured, and he thought that this would +prevent his suffering from hunger for that night, at least, and he +did not mean to spend another at the Norton poorhouse. The problem +of to-morrow's supply of food might be deferred till then. + +"I don't care for any supper," answered Philip. + +"Perhaps you expect your meals will be brought up to you?" said Mr. +Tucker, with a sneer. + +"I haven't thought about it particularly," said Philip coolly. + +"You may think you're spitin' me by not eatin' anything," observed +Mr. Tucker, who was rather alarmed lest Philip might have made up +his mind to starve himself. + +This would be embarrassing, for it would make an investigation +necessary. + +"Oh, no," answered Philip, smiling; "that never came into my mind." + +"I don't mind bringin' you up your supper for once," said Tucker. +"Of course, I can't do it reg'lar, but this is the first night." + +"I suppose I shall be better able to make my escape if I eat," +thought Philip. "Probably the most sensible thing is to accept this +offer." + +"How much are you to get for my board, Mr. Tucker?" he asked. + +"Only sixty cents," grumbled Tucker. "It ain't enough, but the town +won't pay any more. You've no idea what appetites them paupers has." + +"You made a mistake when you agreed to take me," said Philip +gravely. "I'm very hearty, you'll be sure to lose money on me." + +Mr. Tucker looked uneasy. + +"Well, you see I expect to have you earn part of your board by doin' +chores," he said, after a pause. + +"That will give me a good chance to run away," remarked Philip +calmly. "You'll have to let me out of this room to work, you know." + +"You wouldn't dare to run away!" said Tucker, trying to frighten +Philip by a blustering manner. + +"That shows you don't know me, Mr. Tucker!" returned our hero. "I +give you fair warning that I shall run away the first chance I get." + +Philip's tone was so calm and free from excitement that Mr. Tucker +could not help seeing that he was in earnest, and he looked +perplexed. + +"You don't look at it in the right light," he said, condescending to +conciliate his new boarder. "If you don't make no trouble, you'll +have a good time, and I'll let you off, now an' then, to play with +Zeke. He needs a boy to play with." + +Philip smiled, for the offer did not attract him very much. + +"You are very kind," he said, "but I don't think that even that will +reconcile me to staying here with you. But, if you'll agree to let +me pay you for the supper, you may bring me up some." + +"The town will pay me," said Tucker. + +"That's just what I don't want the town to do," said Philip quickly. +"I will make you an offer. At sixty cents a week the meals for one +day will not cost over ten cents. I'll pay you ten cents for supper +and breakfast." + +"You're a cur'us boy," said Tucker. "You want to pay for your +vittles in a free boardin'-house." + +"It isn't free to me. At any rate, I don't want it to be. What do +you say?" + +"Oh, I ain't no objections to take your money," said Tucker, +laughing. "I didn't know you was so rich." + +"I am not rich, but I think I can pay my board as long as I stay +here." + +This Philip said because he had decided that his stay should be a +very brief one. + +"Just as you say!" chuckled Mr. Tucker. + +As he went downstairs he reflected: + +"I can take the boy's money and charge his board to the town, too. +There's nothin' to hen-der, and it'll be so much more in my pocket. +I wish the rest of the paupers would foller his example." + +He went downstairs and explained to Mrs. Tucker that he wanted +Philip's supper. + +"Tell him to come down to the table like the rest of the +folks!" retorted Mrs. Tucker. "He ain't too lazy, is he?" + +"No; but it's safer to keep him in his room for the first +twenty-four hours. He's a desperate boy, but I reckon he'll get +tamed after a while." + +"I'll desperate him!" said Mrs. Tucker scornfully. "I don't believe +in humorin' him." + +"Nor I, Abigail. He'd like to come down, but I won't let him. We can +manage him between us." + +"I should smile if we couldn't," said Mrs. Tucker. "If you want any +supper for him, you can get it yourself. I've got too much to do. +No, Widder Jones, you can't have another cup of tea, and you needn't +beg for it. One clip's plenty for you, and it's all we can afford." + +"Only this once," pleaded the poor old woman. "I've got a headache." + +"Then another cup of tea would only make it worse. If you've got +through your supper, go back to your seat and give more room for the +rest." + +While Mrs. Tucker was badgering and domineering over her regular +boarders, her husband put two slices of dry bread on a plate, poured +out a cup of tea, not strong enough to keep the most delicate child +awake, and surreptitiously provided an extra luxury in the shape of +a thin slice of cold meat. He felt that, as he was to receive double +price, he ought to deal generously by our hero. + +He carried this luxurious supper to the third story, and set it down +before Philip. + +Philip promptly produced a dime, which Mr. Tucker pocketed with +satisfaction. He waited till his young guest had finished his +repast, in order himself to carry down the dishes. + +There was no butter for the bread, and the tea had been sweetened +scantily. However, Philip had the appetite of a healthy boy, and he +ate and drank everything that had been provided. + +"I'll be up in the morning," said Mr. Tucker. "We go to bed early +here. The paupers go to roost at seven, and me and my wife and Zeke +at eight. You'd better go to bed early, too." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +A FRIENDLY MISSION. + + + + + +Philip was glad to hear that all in the almshouse went to bed so +early. He had not yet given up the hope of escaping that night, +though he had as yet arranged no definite plan of escape. + +Meanwhile, he had an active friend outside. I refer, of course, to +Frank Dunbar. Frank had no sooner heard of his friend's captivity +than he instantly determined, if it were a possible thing, to help +him to escape. + +He would not even wait till the next day, but determined after it +was dark to visit the poor-house and reconnoiter. First, he informed +his parents what had befallen Phil. Their indignation was scarcely +less than his. + +"Squire Pope is carrying matters with a high hand," said the farmer. +"According to my idea, he has done no less than kidnap Philip, +without the shadow of a legal right." + +"Can't he be prosecuted?" asked Frank eagerly. + +"I am not sure as to that," answered his father, "but I am confident +that Philip will not be obliged to remain, unless he chooses, a +dependent upon the charity of the town." + +"It is outrageous!" said Mrs. Dunbar, who was quite as friendly to +Philip as her husband and son. + +"In my opinion," said Mr. Dunbar, "Squire Pope has done a very +unwise thing as regards his own interests. He desires to remain in +office, and the people will not be likely to reelect him if his +policy is to make paupers of those who wish to maintain themselves. +Voters will be apt to think that they are sufficiently taxed already +for the support of those who are actually unable to maintain +themselves." + +"If I were a voter," exclaimed Frank indignantly, "I wouldn't vote +for Squire Pope, even for dog-catcher! The meanest part of it is the +underhanded way in which he has taken Phil. He must have known he +was acting illegally, or he would have come here in open day and +required Phil to go with him." + +"I agree with you, Frank. Squire Pope may be assured that he has +lost my vote from henceforth. Hitherto I have voted for him annually +for selectman, knowing that he wanted the office and considering him +fairly faithful." + +"Father," said Frank, after a thoughtful pause, "do you think Philip +would be justified in escaping from the poorhouse?" + +"I do," answered Mr. Dunbar. "In this free country I hold that no +one ought to be made an object of charity against his will." + +"Philip is strong enough and smart enough to earn his own living," +said Frank. + +"That is true. I will myself give him his board and clothes if he +will stay with me and work on the farm." + +"I wish he would. He would be a splendid companion for me; but I +think he wants to leave Norton, and try his fortune in some larger +place." + +"I can't blame him. If his father were living and he had a good +home, I should not think it wise; but, as matters stand, it may not +be a bad plan for him." + +"Father," said Frank, after supper, "I am going out and I may not be +back very early." + +"Are you going to see Philip?" + +"Yes; but I want to see him alone. If possible, I will see him +without attracting the attention of Joe Tucker." + +"You won't get into any trouble, Frank?" said his mother anxiously. + +"No, mother; I don't know what trouble I can get into." + +"You may very likely fail to see Philip," suggested his father. "I +hear that Tucker and his boarders go to bed very early." + +"So much the better!" said Frank, in a tone of satisfaction. "The +only one I want to see is Philip, and he isn't likely to go to sleep +very early." + +Mr. Dunbar smiled to himself. + +"Frank has got some plan in his head," he thought. "I won't inquire +what it is, for he has good common sense, and won't do anything +improper." + +About eight o'clock, Frank, after certain preparations, which will +hereafter be referred to, set out for the poorhouse, which was about +a mile distant. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +PHILIP MAKES HIS ESCAPE. + + + + + +It grew darker and darker in Philip's chamber, but no one came to +bring him a light. It was assumed that he would go to bed before he +required one. + +By seven o'clock the paupers had settled themselves for the night, +and when eight o'clock struck, Mr. and Mrs. Tucker sought their +beds. It was no particular trial for Joe Tucker to go to bed early, +for he was naturally a lazy man, and fond of rest; while his wife, +who worked a great deal harder than he, after being on her feet from +four o'clock in the morning, found it a welcome relief to lie down +and court friendly sleep. Zeke wasn't always ready to go to bed. In +fact, he would much rather have gone up to the village now and then, +but if he had done so he would have had to stay out all night. There +was one thing his parents were strict about, and that was retiring +at eight o'clock. + +Philip, however, did not retire at that hour. It was earlier than +his usual hour for bed. Besides, he was in hopes his friend Frank +would make his appearance, and help him, though he didn't exactly +understand how, to make his escape. + +At half-past eight it was dark. The stars were out, and the moon was +just making its appearance. Philip had opened his window softly, and +was looking out, when all at once he saw a boyish figure +approaching. + +Couldn't be Frank Dunbar. + +He hoped so, but in the indistinct light could not be quite certain. + +The boy, whoever it might be, approached cautiously, till he stood +within fifty feet of the house. + +Then Philip saw that it was indeed Frank, and his heart beat +joyfully. It was something to see a friend, even though they were +separated by what seemed to him to be an impassable gulf. + +About the same time, Frank recognized his friend, in the boyish +figure at the window. + +"Is that you, Phil?" he asked, in a guarded voice, yet loud enough +to be heard. + +"Yes, Frank; I have been expecting you. I knew you wouldn't desert +me." + +"I should think not. I didn't come before, because I didn't want to +be seen by any of Tucker's folks." + +"They are all abed now, and I hope asleep." + +"Can't you come downstairs, and steal away?" + +"No; my chamber door is locked on the outside." + +"That's what I thought." + +"Can't you help me in any way?" + +"I'll see. Suppose you had a rope--could you swing out of the +window?" + +"Yes; I could fasten it to the bedstead, and fix that just against +the window." + +"Then I think I can help you. Can you catch a ball?" + +"Yes; but what good will that do?" + +"You'll see. Make ready now, and don't miss it." + +He produced a ball of common size, and after taking aim, threw it +lightly up toward Philip's window. The first time it didn't come +within reach. The second Philip caught it skilfully, and by the +moonlight saw that a stout piece of twine was attached to it. At the +end of the twine Frank had connected it with a clothesline which he +had borrowed from home. + +"Now pull away, Phil," urged Frank. + +Philip did, and soon had the stout line in his possession. + +"It will hold; it's new and strong," said Frank. "Father only bought +it last week. I didn't think, then, what use we should have for it." + +Philip, however, was not afraid. He was so anxious to escape that, +even if there had been any risk to run, he would readily have +incurred it for the sake of getting away from the poor-house, in +which he was unwilling to spend a single night. He fastened one end +of the rope firmly to his bedstead, as he had proposed, then +cautiously got upon the window-sill and lowered himself, descending +hand over hand till he reached the ground. + +He breathed a sigh of relief as he detached himself from the rope +and stood beside Frank Dunbar. + +Just then the boys heard a second-story window open, and saw Mr. +Tucker's head projecting from it. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +ESCAPE AND FLIGHT. + + + + + +Though the boys had made as little noise as possible, conversing in +an undertone, they had been heard by Mrs. Tucker. Her husband, as +was his custom, had gone to sleep; but Mrs. Tucker, who, during the +day, had discovered the loss of ten cents from her bureau drawer in +which she kept her savings, had been kept awake by mental trouble. +Some of my readers may think so small a loss scarcely worth keeping +awake for, but Mrs. Joe Tucker was a strictly economical and saving +woman--some even called her penurious--and the loss of ten cents +troubled her. + +She would have laid it to one of "them paupers," as she was wont +contemptuously to refer to them, except that she never allowed one +of them to enter the sacred precincts of her chamber. + +A horrible thought entered her mind. Could it be Zeke, the boy whom +she thought such a paragon, though no one else had been able to +discover his virtues or attractions! She did not like to think of +it, but it did occur to her that Zeke, the previous day, had asked +her for ten cents, though he would not own the purpose for which he +wanted it. The boy might have been tempted to take the money. At any +rate, she would go and see. + +Zeke slept in a small room adjoining. When his mother entered, with +a candle in her hand, he was lying asleep, with his mouth wide open, +and one arm dropped over the side of the bed. + +Mrs. Tucker took a look at him, and saw that he was wrapped in +slumber and unable to notice what she proposed to do. His clothes +were thrown down carelessly on a chair near-by. + +Mrs. Tucker searched first in the pockets of his pants, and, though +she discovered a large variety of miscellaneous articles, "of no use +to any one except the owner," she didn't discover any traces of the +missing dime. She began to hope that he had not taken it, after all, +although, in that case, the loss would continue to be shrouded in +obscurity. But, on continuing her search, she discovered in one of +the pockets of his vest a silver ten-cent piece. + +Mrs. Tucker's eyes flashed, partly with indignation at Zeke's +dishonesty, partly with joy at the recovery of the missing coin. + +"I've found you out, you bad boy!" she said, in a low voice, shaking +her fist at the sleeping boy. "I wouldn't have believed that my Zeke +would have robbed his own mother. We must have a reckoning +to-morrow." + +She was half-inclined to wake Zeke up and charge him with his crime, +confronting him with the evidence of it which she had just +discovered; but on second thoughts she decided that she might as +well let him sleep, as the next day would do just as well. + +Poor Zeke! he was not guilty, after all, though whether his honesty +was strict enough to resist a powerful temptation, I am not sure. + +The dime which Mrs. Tucker had discovered was the same one that +Philip had given to Zeke in return for his service in notifying +Frank Dunbar of his captivity. In another pocket was the five-cent +piece given him by Frank, but that had escaped his mother's +attention. + +The reader will understand now how it happened that Mrs. Tucker was +kept awake beyond her usual time. She was broad awake when Frank +Dunbar arrived, and she heard something through the partially open +window of the conference between the two boys. She heard the voices +that is to say, but could not tell what was said. + +With her mind dwelling upon Zeke's supposed theft, however, she was +more easily frightened than usual, and immediately jumped to the +conclusion that there were burglars outside, trying to get in. + +The absurdity of burglars attempting to rob the town poorhouse did +not occur to her in panic. She sat up in bed, and proceeded to nudge +her husband in no gentle fashion. + +"Mr. Tucker!" she exclaimed. + +Her husband responded by an inarticulate murmur, but did not wake. + +"Mr. Tucker!" she exclaimed, in a louder voice, giving him a still +more vigorous shake. + +"Eh! What! What's the matter?" said Tucker, opening his eyes at +last, and staring vacantly at his wife. + +"What's the matter!" retorted his wife impatiently. "The matter is +that there's burglars outside!" + +"Let 'em stay outside!" said Joe Tucker, in a sleepy tone. + +"Did any one ever hear such a fool?" exclaimed Mrs. Tucker, +exasperated. "They're trying to get in. Do you hear that, Mr. +Tucker?" + +"Trying to get in! Is the door locked?" asked Joe, a little alarmed. + +"You must get up and defend the house," continued Mrs. Tucker. + +Now, Mr. Tucker was not a brave man. He had no fancy for having a +hand-to-hand conflict with burglars, who might be presumed to be +desperate men. It occurred to him that it would be decidedly better +to stay where he was and ran no risk. + +"Never mind, Abigail," he said, soothingly. "The burglars can't do +us any harm. They ean't do any more than carry off a pauper or two, +and I don't, believe they'll do that." + +"I wouldn't mind that, Mr. Tucker; but I've left the spoons +down-stairs!" answered his wife. + +"How many are there!" + +"Six. I want you to go down and get them and bring them up here, +where they will be safe." + +"But suppose I should meet some of the burglars!" suggested Tucker, +trembling. + +"Then you must defend yourself like a man!" + +"You might find me in the morning weltering in my gore!" said Joe, +with an uneasy shudder. + +"Are we to have the spoons stolen, then!" demanded Mrs. Tucker +sharply. + +"If you care so much for the spoons, Abigail, you'd better go +down-stairs yourself and get 'em. I don't value them as much as my +life." + +"I don't know but I will, if you'll look out of the window and see +whether you can see any of the burglars outside," responded Mrs. +Tucker. "If they haven't got in yet, I'll take the risk." + +"Where did you hear 'em, Abigail?" + +"Eight outside. Open the window and look out, and you may see 'em." + +Mr. Tucker was not entirely willing to do this, but still he +preferred it to going down-stairs after the spoons, and accordingly +he advanced, and, lifting the window, put his head out, as described +at the close of the last chapter. + +Philip and Frank were just ready to go when they heard the window +rising, and naturally looked up in some trepidation. + +"It's old Tucker!" said Frank, in a low voice. + +Philip looked up, and saw that his friend was right. + +Mr. Tucker had not yet discovered them, but the whisper caught his +ear, and looking down he caught sight of the two boys. + +In his alarm, and the obscurity of the night, he did not make out +that they were boys and not men, and was about to withdraw his head +in alarm, when a mischievous impulse seized Frank Dunbar. + +"Give me the ball, Philip!" he said quickly. + +Philip complied with his request, not understanding his intention. + +Now, Frank belonged to a baseball club, and had a capital aim. He +threw up the ball and struck Mr. Tucker fairly in the nose. The +effect upon the terrified Joe was startling. + +Full as his mind was of burglars, he fancied that it was something a +great deal more deadly that had struck him. + +"Oh, Abigail! I'm shot through the brain!" he moaned in anguish, as +he poked in his head and fell back upon the floor. + +"What do you mean, Joe?" asked his wife, in alarm, as she hastened +to her prostrate husband, whose hand was pressed convulsively upon +the injured organ, which, naturally ached badly with the force of +the blow. + +"I'm a dead man!" moaned Mr. Tucker; "and it's all your fault. You +made me go to the window." + +"I don't believe you're shot at all! I didn't hear any report," said +Mrs. Tucker. "Let me see your face." + +Mr. Tucker withdrew his hand mournfully. + +"You've only been struck with a rock or something," said she, after +a careful examination. + +"It's bleeding!" groaned Joe, seeing a dark stain on his +night-dress. + +"Suppose it is--it won't kill you. I'll look out myself." + +But she saw nothing. Philip and Frank had immediately taken to +flight, and vanished in the darkness. + +"They've run away!" announced Mrs. Tucker. "My spoons are safe." + +"But my nose isn't," groaned Mr. Tucker. + +"You won't die this time," said Mrs. Tucker, not very +sympathetically. "Soak your nose in the wash-basin, and you'll be +all right in the morning." + +The two boys were destined to have another adventure that night. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +A NIGHT ADVENTURE. + + + + + +"I didn't mean to hit him," said Frank, as he and Philip hurried away +from the poorhouse, "I only intended to give him a fright." + +"I think you have. I wonder whether he recognized us!" + +"I don't believe it. He had hardly got his head out of the window +before I let drive." + +"Then he won't imagine I have escaped." + +"What are your plans, Phil? Suppose they try to take you back to the +poorhouse?" + +"They won't get the chance. Before five o'clock to-morrow morning I +shall leave Norton." + +"Leave town?" exclaimed Frank, in surprise. "And so soon?" + +"Yes. There is nothing for me to do here." + +"Father would like to have you stay and assist him on the farm. He +said so to me. He wouldn't be able to pay much, but I think we would +have a good time together." + +Philip pressed his friend's hand warmly. + +"I know we should, Frank," he said, "but if I remained here, it +would only remind me of my poor father. I would rather go out into +the world and try my fortune." + +"Isn't it risky, Phil?" objected Frank doubtfully. + +"I suppose it is; but I am willing to work, and I don't expect +much." + +"Suppose you fall sick?" + +"Then, if I can, I will come back to you and your good father and +mother, and stay till I am well." + +"Promise me that, Phil?" + +"I promise." + +"I wish I could go with you, Phil," said Frank, with a boyish +impulse. + +"No, it wouldn't be wise for you. You have a good home, and you will +be better off there than among strangers." + +"It might be your home, too, Phil." + +"Thank you; but I shall be better away from Norton for a time." + +A minute later, Frank said suddenly: + +"There's Squire Pope coming. He will see you." + +"I don't care. He won't take me back." + +"Get behind the stone wall, and I will wait and interview him." + +Philip immediately followed the advice of his friend. He was curious +to hear what the squire would say. + +Squire Pope's eyesight was not good, and it was only when he came +near that he recognized Frank Dunbar. He stopped short, for there +was a subject on which he wished to speak. + +"Frank Dunbar!" he said. + +"Do you wish to speak to me, sir?" inquired Frank coldly. + +"Yes. Where have you been?" + +"Out walking," answered Frank shortly. + +"Have you been to the poorhouse?" + +"I have." + +"Did you see Philip?" + +"I saw him looking out of a third-story window." + +Squire Pope chuckled, if, indeed, such a dignified man can be said +to chuckle. + +"What did he say?" he condescended to inquire. + +"That he wouldn't stay." + +"He will have to," responded Squire Pope complacently. "Mr. Tucker +will see to that." + +"Probably Mr. Tucker will wake up some fine morning and find Phil's +room empty," said Frank quietly. + +"I'll take the risk of it," returned the squire serenely. "But +there's a matter I want to speak to you about. You've got Philip's +fiddle in your possession." + +"Suppose I have." + +"I wish you to bring it round to my house in the morning, and I'll +give you something for your trouble." + +"You must excuse me, Squire Pope. If it were your property, I would +bring it to you and charge nothing for my trouble." + +"Young man," said the squire sternly. "I am Philip's legal guardian, +and I have a right to receive his violin. You will get into trouble +if you resist my authority." + +"If you will give me Philip's order for it, you shall have it, sir." + +"Frank Dunbar, you are trifling with me. Philip is now a pauper, and +has no right to hold property of any kind. He cannot give a legal +order." + +"Then you are guardian to a pauper?" + +"In my capacity of overseer of the poor." + +"In my capacity as Philip's friend, I refuse to consider you his +guardian. You may call him a pauper, but that doesn't make him one." + +"He is an inmate of the Norton Poorhouse." + +Frank laughed. + +"I don't want to be disrespectful, Squire Pope," he said; "but I +can't help telling you that you undertook a bigger job than you +thought for, when you made up your mind to make a pauper of Philip +Gray." + +Squire Pope was indignant at the coolness of Frank. + +"I shall come to your house to-morrow morning," he said, "and +convince you to the contrary." + +"Very well, sir." + +Frank Dunbar bowed, and the squire went his way. + +"That's a very impudent boy!" he soliloquized. "Just like the Gray +boy. It wouldn't do him any harm to put him under Joe Tucker's care, +too." + +After the squire had passed on, Philip came out from behind the +stone wall. + +"Did you hear what passed between your guardian and myself?" asked +Frank. + +"Yes, I heard every word." + +"He little thought that the bird had flown, Phil." + +"He will make all the trouble he can. That is one more reason why I +think it best to leave town." + +"I wouldn't let Squire Pope drive you out of town." + +"I would stay and face the music if it suited me, but I want to go +away." + +"Suppose we cut across this field. It will be a little nearer." + +"All right." + +There was a pathway through a pasture-lot, comprising some ten +acres, poor land, covered with puny bushes, and a few gnarled trees, +producing cider-apples. It belonged to an old bachelor farmer, who +lived in solitary fashion, doing his own cooking, and in general +taking care of himself. He was reputed to have money concealed about +his premises, which was quite probable, as he spent little, and was +known to have received, four years before, a considerable legacy +from the estate of a brother who had died, a successful merchant in +the city of New York. + +The boys had to pass by the small and weather-stained house where he +lived, as the path ran very near it. + +When within a few rods of the house, the boys were startled by a +sharp cry of terror, which appeared to proceed from inside the +house. + +Both simultaneously stood still. + +"What's that!" exclaimed both in concert. + +"Somebody must be trying to rob Mr. Lovett," suggested Frank. + +"Can't we do something!" said Phil quickly. + +"We can try." + +There were two stout sticks or clubs lying on the ground at their +feet. They stooped, picked them up, and ran to the house. A glance +showed that one of the windows on the north side had been raised. + +The window sill was low. Pausing a moment before springing over it +into the room, they looked in and this was what they saw: + +The farmer lay half-prostrate on the floor, half supporting himself +by a chair, which he had mechanically grasped as he was forced +downward. Over him stood a ruffianly looking tramp, whom Phil +remembered to have seen about the streets during the day, with a +stick uplifted. He had not heard the approach of the boys. + +"Give me two hundred dollars, and I'll go," he said to the man at +his feet. + +"I cannot do it. I haven't got as much here." + +"That's a lie!" said the other coarsely. "I heard all about you +to-day. You're a miser, and you've got no end of money stowed away +here. Get it for me, quick, or I'll dash your brains out." + +Just then the prostrate farmer saw what the tramp could not see, his +back being turned to the window, the faces of the two boys looking +through the window. Fresh courage came to him. Single-handed, and +taken at advantage, he was no match for the ruffian who had entered +his house; but with these two young auxiliaries he felt that all was +not lost. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +A REFORMED BURGLAR. + + + + + +"What do you say!" demanded the tramp impatiently. "Speak quick! I +can't stay here all night." + +"Let me up, and I'll see if I can find the money for you." + +"I thought I'd bring you to terms," said the tramp, laughing grimly. + +He allowed his victim to rise, as he certainly would not have done +if he had looked behind him and seen the two boys at the window. + +"Now's our time," answered Philip. + +He gave a light spring into the room, followed by Frank. + +Of course, the tramp heard them, and turned in sudden alarm. As he +turned, the farmer snatched the club from his hand, and he found +himself unexpectedly unarmed and confronted by three enemies. + +"It's my turn now," said Lovett. "Do you surrender?" + +The tramp saw that the game was up and made a dash for the open +window, but Philip skillfully inserted a stick between his legs, and +tripped him up, and, with the help of Mr. Lovett, held him, +struggling desperately, till Frank fetched a rope, with which he was +securely bound. + +"Confound you!" he said, scowling at the two boys. "But for you I +would have succeeded and got away with my booty." + +"That's true!" said the farmer. "I owe my escape from robbery, and, +perhaps, bodily injury, to you." + +"I am glad we were at hand," said Philip. + +"And now, my friend," said the farmer, "I may as well say that you +were quite mistaken in supposing I kept a large amount of money in +this lonely house. I should be a fool to do it, and I am not such a +fool as that." + +"Where do you keep your money, then?" growled the tramp. + +"In different savings-banks. I am ready to tell you, for it will do +you no good." + +"I wish I'd known it sooner. I came here on a fool's errand." + +"I am glad you have found it out." + +"Now, what are you going to do with me!" + +"Keep you here till I can deliver you into the hands of the law." + +"That won't do you any good." + +"It will give you a home, where you cannot prey on the community." + +"I don't mean to do so any more. I'm going to turn over a new leaf +and become an honest man--that is, if you'll let me go." + +"Your conversion is rather sudden. I haven't any faith in it." + +"Listen to me," said the man, "and then decide. Do you think I am a +confirmed lawbreaker?" + +"You look like it." + +"Yes, I do; but I am not. Never in my life have I been confined in +any prison or penitentiary. I have never been arrested on any +charge. I see you don't believe me. Let me tell you how I came to be +what I am: Two years since I was a mechanic, tolerably well-to-do, +owning a house with a small mortgage upon it. It was burned to the +ground one night. I built another, but failed to insure it. Six +months since, that, too, burned down, and left me penniless and in +debt. Under this last blow I lost all courage. I left the town where +I had long lived, and began a wandering life. In other words, I +became a tramp. Steadily I lost my self-respect till I was content +to live on such help as the charitable chose to bestow on me. It was +not until to-day that I formed the plan of stealing. I heard in the +village that you kept a large sum of money in your house, and an +evil temptation assailed me. I had become tired of wandering, and +determined to raise a sum which would enable me to live at ease for +a time, I should have succeeded but for these two boys." + +"And you are sorry you did not succeed?" + +"I was, five minutes since, but I feel differently now. I have been +saved from crime. Now, I have told you my story. Do with me as you +will." + +The man's appearance was rough, but there was something in his tone +which led Mr. Lovett to think that he was speaking the truth. + +"Boys," he said, "you have heard what this man says. What do you +think of it?" + +"I believe him!" said Philip promptly. + +"Thank you, boy," said the tramp. "I am glad some one has confidence +in me." + +"I believe you, too," said Frank. + +"I have not deceived you. Your words have done me more good than you +think. It is my first attempt to steal, and it shall be my last." + +"If you want to become an honest man, God forbid that I should do +aught to prevent you!" said the farmer. "I may be acting unwisely, +but I mean to cut this rope and let you go." + +"Will you really do this?" said the tramp, his face lighting up with +mingled joy and surprise. + +"I will." + +He knelt on the floor, and drawing from his pocket a large +jack-knife, cut the rope. + +The tramp sprang to his feet. + +"Thank you," he said, in a husky voice. "I believe you are a good +man. There are not many who would treat me as generously, +considering what I tried to do just now. You sha'n't repent it. Will +you give me your hand!" + +"Gladly," said the farmer; and he placed his hand in that of the +visitor, lately so unwelcome. "I wish you better luck." + +"Boys, will you give me your hands, too?" asked tke tramp, turning +to Philip and Frank. + +Tke boys readily complied with his request, and repeated the good +wishes of the farmer. + +The stranger was about to leave the house, when Lovett said: + +"Stay, my friend, I wish to ask you a question." + +"Very well, sir." + +"Have you any money?" + +"Not a cent." + +"Then take this," said the farmer, drawing from his vest pocket a +five-dollar bill. "I lend it to you. Some time you will be able to +repay it, if you keep to your resolution of leading an honest life. +When that time comes, lend it to some man who needs it as you do +now." + +"Thank you, sir. I will take it, for it will help me greatly at this +time. Good-by! If you ever see me again, you will see a different +man." + +He leaped through the window and was gone. + +"I don't know if I have done a wise thing, but I will take the +risk," said the farmer. "And now, boys, I want to make you some +return for your assistance to-night." Both Frank and Philip +earnestly protested that they would receive nothing in the +conversation that ensued. Philip made known his intention to leave +Norton the next morning. + +"What are your plans? Where do you mean to go?" asked the farmer. + +"I don't know, sir. I shall make up my mind as I go along. I think I +can make my living somehow." + +"Wait here five minutes," said Lovett, and he went into an adjoining +room. + +Within the time mentioned, he returned, holding in his hand a sealed +letter. + +"Philip," he said, "put this envelope in your pocket, and don't open +it till you are fifty miles from here." + +"Very well, sir," answered Philip, rather puzzled, but not so much +surprised as he might have been if he had not known the farmer's +reputation for eccentricity. + +"I suppose it contains some good advice," he thought. "Well, good +advice is what I need." + +The two boys went home immediately upon leaving the farmhouse. +Though so much had happened, it was not late, being not quite +half-past nine. + +Philip received a cordial welcome from Mr. and Mrs. Dunbar, who, +however, hardly expected to see him so soon. "Are you willing to +receive a pauper beneath your roof?" asked Philip, smiling. + +"That you will never be while you have health and strength, I'll be +bound," said Mr. Dunbar. "I like your pride and independence, +Philip." + +They tried to induce Philip to give up his resolution to leave +Norton the next morning, but did not succeed. + +"I will come back some time," he said. "Now I feel better to go." + +At five o'clock the next morning, with a small bundle swung over his +shoulder, attached to a stick, Philip Gray, carrying his violin, +left the village, which, for some years, had been his home. Frank +accompanied him for the first mile of his journey. Then the two +friends shook hands and parted--not without sorrow, for who could +tell when they would meet again? + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +A PROFESSIONAL ENGAGEMENT. + + + + + +A depressing feeling of loneliness came to Phil after he had parted +with Frank. He was going out into the world with no one to lean +upon, and no one to sympathize with him or lend him a helping hand. +No wonder he felt friendless and alone. But this mood did not last +long. + +"I shall find friends if I deserve them," he reflected, "and I don't +mean to do anything dishonorable or wrong. I am willing to work, and +I believe I can make a living." + +Leaving him to proceed, we go back to the poor-house, where his +absence was not noticed till morning. + +Joe Tucker, in spite of the blow which his nasal organ had received, +slept pretty comfortably, and was awakened at an early hour by his +vigilant spouse. + +"You'd better go up and wake that boy and set him to work, Mr. +Tucker," she said. "There are plenty of chores for him to do." + +"You are right, Abigail," said Mr. Tucker, with approval. He +reflected that he could assign to Philip some of the work which +generally fell to himself, and the reflection was an agreeable one. +He had tried to get work out of Zeke, but he generally found that it +was harder to keep him at work than it was to do the job himself. + +After he had made his toilet--not a very elaborate one--Mr. Tucker +went up-stairs to arouse his young prisoner. He found the key in the +outside of the door. Everything seemed right. + +"I wonder how he feels this morning?" chuckled Mr. Tucker. "Wonder +whether he's tamed down a little?" + +He turned the key in the lock and threw open the door. He glanced at +the bed, started in amazement to find that it had not been slept in, +and then his wonder ceased, for the telltale rope explained how the +boy had escaped. + +He ran down-stairs in anger and excitement. + +"What's the matter with you, Joe Tucker?" demanded his wife. "Are +you drunk or crazy?" + +"Enough to make me both, wife," he answered. "The boy's gone!" + +"Gone!" exclaimed Mrs. Tucker, stopping short, with a saucepan in +her hand. + +"Gone!" ejaculated Zeke, his mouth wide open. + +"I don't believe it," said Mrs. Tucker positively. "He couldn't go. +He'd have to jump out of the third-story window." + +"Sure enough!" said Zeke. + +"I can't help it--he's gone," declared Mr. Tucker. "He tied a +clothesline to the bedstead and let himself down from the window. +Now, I want to know who left a clothesline in the room?" + +"There wasn't any," said Mrs. Tucker. + +"Maybe he had one in his pocket," suggested Zeke. + +But this suggestion was not considered worthy of notice by his +parents. + +"Now I know who hit me in the nose!" exclaimed Mr. Tucker, light +flashing upon him. "There was two of 'em--the ones I took for +burglars." + +"Then the other one must have been Frank Dunbar," said Mrs. Tucker. + +"Zeke," said his father, "go right off and tell Squire Pope that +Philip Gray has escaped. Ask him if I can't have him arrested for +assault and battery. It's likely he's at Frank Dunbar's now. We'll +have him back before the day is out, and then I'll see he don't get +out!" + +"All right, dad! As soon as I've had breakfast I'll go." + +The result of Zeke's message was that Squire Pope hurried over to +the poorhouse and held a conference with Mr. and Mrs. Tucker. + +The next step was that he and Joe rode over to Mr. Dunbar's, to +demand the return of the fugitive. + +They found Frank splitting wood in the yard. To him they made known +their errand, requesting him to call Philip out. + +"He isn't here," answered Frank. + +"Isn't here? I don't believe it!" said the squire hastily. + +"Sorry you doubt my word, Squire Pope, but it's just as I say." + +"Where is he, then?" demanded the squire suspiciously. + +"He has left town." + +"Left town?" repeated the squire and Joe Tucker, in dismay. "Where +is he gone!" + +"He's probably ten miles away by this time," answered Frank, +enjoying their perplexity. "I guess you'd better wait till he comes +back." + +Joe and the squire conferred together, but no satisfactory result +was arrived at, except it wouldn't pay to pursue Philip, for two +reasons--one, because they were quite uncertain in what direction he +had gone; another, because, even if overtaken, they would have no +authority to apprehend him, since he had been guilty of no crime. + +Finally a bright idea came to the squire. + +"Bring me out his fiddle," he said to Frank. "I'm his guardian, and +I will take care of it for him." + +"He carried it away with him," said Frank. The squire's lower jaw +fell. He was defeated at all points. "I guess we can't do nothing, +under the circumstances, squire," said Joe Tucker, scratching his +head. + +"I shall have to reflect upon it," said Squire Pope, in a +crestfallen tone. + +"That's as good as a circus," thought Frank, as his roguish glance +followed the two baffled conspirators as they rode out of the yard. +"It's a pity Phil was not here to enjoy it." + +At the end of the second day, Philip was some forty miles distant +from Norton. He had not walked all the way, but had got a lift for a +few miles from a tin-peddler, with whom he had a social chat. + +It cannot be said that he was depressed, or that he regretted having +left Norton, but he certainly did feel uncomfortable, and his +discomfort sprang from a very homely cause. + +To tell the plain truth, he was hungry. He had not had anything to +eat for six hours except an apple, which he had picked up by the +roadside, and during those six hours he had walked not far from +fifteen miles. + +"I believe I never was so hungry before," thought Philip. "The +question is, where is my supper to come from?" + +Although he knew pretty well the state of his finances, he began to +search his pockets to see if he could not somewhere find a stray +dime, or, better still, a quarter, with which to purchase the meal +of which he stood so much in need. But his search was unproductive, +or, rather, it only resulted in the discovery of a battered cent. + +"So that penny constitutes my whole fortune," thought Philip. + +There were two houses in sight, one on each side of the road. + +Probably they would have given Philip a supper at either, but our +hero's honest pride revolted at the idea of begging for a meal, much +as he stood in need of it. He might as well be a pauper, as he +justly reflected. So he pushed on. + +Evidently he was drawing near a village, for houses began to appear +at nearer intervals. + +"Hello, my boy! Where are you traveling!" asked a hearty voice. + +Philip turned round, and his glance rested on a stout young farmer, +whose face, though very much sunburned, was pleasant and +good-natured. + +"I don't know," answered Philip. + +"Don't know?" was repeated in surprise. + +"I am in search of work." + +"Oh, that's it! Are you a musician?" asked the young man, looking at +the violin. + +"Yes; a little of one." + +"Are you looking for a job at fiddling?" asked the young man. + +"Yes, if I can find one," answered Philip, smiling. + +"Can you play dancing-music?" + +"Yes." + +"Then I guess I can get you a job for this evening." + +"I wish you could," said Philip hopefully, catching at a way out of +his troubles. + +"You see, there's to be a little dance in School-house Hall +to-night," said the farmer; "or there was to be one, but the +fiddler's took sick, and we was afraid we'd have to give it up. Now, +if you'll take his place, we can have it, after all." + +"I'll do it," said Philip promptly. + +"What'll you charge?" + +"How much was the other one going to charge?" + +"Five dollars. You see, he would have to come six miles." + +"I'll come for three dollars and my supper and lodging," said +Philip. + +"All right! You shall have supper and lodging at our house. There it +is, down that lane. Come right along, for supper must be on the +table. After supper I'll go and tell the committee I've engaged +you." + +Philip's spirits rose. Help had come from an unexpected quarter. He +felt that a new career was opening before him. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +NEW ACQUAINTANCES. + + + + + +On his way to the farmhouse, Philip ascertained that his companion's +name was Abner Webb, and that he and his brother Jonas carried on a +farm of about a hundred acres. Abner appeared to be about +twenty-five years old. + +"You seem pretty young to be a fiddler," said the young man, +surveying Philip with a glance of curiosity. + +"I am almost sixteen." + +"I am twenty-five, and I can't play at all." + +"It isn't all in the age," returned our hero. "Did you ever try to +learn?" + +"Yes, I took one or two lessons, but I had to give it up for a bad +job. I couldn't get into it somehow." + +"You didn't try very long," said Philip, smiling. + +"I reckon I'd never do much at it. How long have you been a +fiddler?" + +"I've been playing three or four years." + +"Sho! You don't say so! Do you like it?" + +"Yes; very much." + +"Well, I'm glad you happened along. It would have been a pity to +have our dance spoiled." + +By this time they had reached the farmhouse, and Abner went in, +followed by our hero. + +A young woman, his brother's wife, looked at Philip in some +surprise. + +"You see, I've got a fiddler, after all," said Abner gleefully. "We +won't have to put off the dance." + +As he spoke, his brother Jonas came into the room, and the +explanation was repeated. + +"That's good," said Jonas heartily. "You'd better go down to the +store after supper, Abner, and tell the boys, for they've just heard +that Paul Beck can't come." + +"You just save me some supper, and I'll go now. The boy'll stay with +us to-night. That's the bargain I made with him." + +"He's heartily welcome," said Jonas Webb, a pleasant-faced man, with +sandy complexion, who was probably from two to three years older +than his brother. "You've happened along just at the right time." + +"I am glad of it," said Philip; and there is no doubt he was +sincere, for we know how much he stood in need of employment, though +he naturally did not care to let his new friends know of his +destitution. + +"My brother didn't tell me your name," said Jonas. + +"My name is Philip Gray," answered our hero. + +"Do you go round playing for dances?" inquired Jonas. + +"I have only just begun." + +Philip didn't think it necessary to say that the idea of making +money in this way had never occurred to him till this very day. + +"Sit right up to supper, Jonas, and you, too, Mr. Gray," said Mrs. +Webb. + +Philip was by no means loath, for the dishes which he saw on the +table had had the effect of stimulating his appetite, already +sharpened by his long walk and long fast. + +Philip, as the guest, was first helped to a bountiful supply of cold +meat, a hot biscuit, and some golden butter, not to mention two +kinds of preserves, for the Webbs always lived well. He was not slow +in doing justice to the good supper spread before him. He was almost +afraid to eat as much as he wanted, lest his appetite should attract +attention, and, therefore, was pleased to see that Jonas quite kept +pace with him. + +Indeed, when he had already eaten as much as he dared, Mrs. Webb +said, hospitably: + +"I am afraid, Mr. Gray, you won't make out a supper." + +"I don't think there is any danger of that," said Philip, smiling. +"I have enjoyed my supper very much." + +The young woman looked gratified by this tribute to her cooking, and +just then Abner came in. + +"Did you see the boys, Abner?" asked Jonas. + +"Yes, I saw them all. They were awfully glad we could have the +dance, after all. You see, we've been lookin' forward to it, and +didn't like to be disappointed. And now I must hurry down my supper, +for I've got to slick up and go for Mary Ann Temple. Are you goin', +Lucy?" + +"Of course she is," answered Jonas. "I don't have so far to go for +my girl as you do," he added slyly. + +"You used to go farther once, Jonas--six miles, where I have only to +go two." + +When supper was over, Philip inquired: + +"How early will the dance commence?" + +"About eight. We keep early hours in the country, and we like to get +our money's worth." + +"If you have no objection, I will go out to the barn and try my +violin a little to see if it is in good tune." + +"Try it in the next room," said the farmer's wife. + +"Yes, do!" said her husband. "We'd like to hear you." + +He was a little afraid, judging from Philip's youth, that he could +not play very well, and this would give him an opportunity of +deciding how competent the boy was to take the place of Paul Beck, +of Pomfret, who had quite a reputation in the towns around. + +Philip went into the next room and began to prepare himself for his +evening's task. Though lus training had by no means been confined to +dancing-tunes, he was quite proficient in that department, having +more than once been called upon in Norton to officiate in a similar +capacity. + +When Jonas had listened for five minutes to Philip, he turned to +Abner with a satisfied look. + +"He understands his business," he said, nodding with emphasis. "He +ain't no new beginner." + +"I think he beats Paul Beck," said Abner, delighted to find his +choice approved. + +"I don't know but he does. I feel as if I wanted to start off now." + +"I don't see how he does it," said Abner, with a puzzled look. "I +never could do anything at it, though I'm almost twice as old." + +He passed into the room where Philip was practising. + +"You're a tip-top player," said he, to Philip admiringly. "Why, you +beat Paul Beck." + +"Is he the one you expected to have?" + +"Yes. Paul's got a big name for fiddlin'." + +"I am glad you like my playing," said Philip, who was naturally +pleased to find that he was likely to give satisfaction in his new +business. + +"The boys will be pleased, I can tell you." + +"I will do all I can to give them satisfaction," said Philip +modestly. + +"Oh, you will! there's no doubt about that. How much did you pay for +your fiddle?" + +"I believe it cost twenty-five dollars. My father gave it to me." + +"Sho! I didn't think fiddles cost so much." + +"Some cost a great deal more." + +"Seems a good deal to lay out, but you'll get your money back, if +you can get enough to do." + +"I hope so." + +"Well, you must excuse me now. I've got to slick up, and go after +Mary Ann Temple. She'd have been awfully disappointed if we'd had to +give it up." + +"Is she fond of dancing?" + +"You'd better believe she is. Why, that girl could dance for four +hours stiddy--without wiltin'!" + +"How late do you keep it up?" + +"Till eleven or twelve. You won't be sleepy, will you?" + +"If I am, I will get up later to-morrow morning." + +"That's all right. You can get up jest as late as you like. Lucy +will save you some breakfast. We don't allow no one to go hungry +here. But I must be off. You will go to the hall along with Jonas +and Lucy. They'll introduce you round and see that you are taken +care of." Philip congratulated himself on being so well provided +for, at least for one night. The future was uncertain, but with the +money which he was to receive for his services, he would be able to +get along for two or three days, and he might, perhaps, if +successful, obtain another similar engagement. + +He had a new reason for being thankful that Squire Pope had not +succeeded in depriving him of his violin, for this was likely to +prove a breadwinner. + +He continued to practice till it was time to go over to the hall. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +A LIVELY EVENING. + + + + + +Schoolhouse Hall, as may be inferred, was a large hall, occupying +the second story of the Center Schoolhouse, and though not +originally intended for dancing-parties, answered very well for that +purpose. + +The hall was tolerably well filled when Philip entered in company +with Jonas Webb and his wife. + +Philip had effaced, as well as he could, the stains of travel, had +arrayed himself in a clean shirt and collar, brushed his hair +neatly, and, being naturally a very good-looking boy, appeared to +very good advantage, though he certainly did look young. + +As he walked through the hall, with his violin under his arm, he +attracted the attention of all, it having been already made known +that in place of the veteran Paul Beck--a man of fifty or more--an +unknown boy would furnish the music for the evening. + +Philip could not avoid hearing some of the remarks which his +appearance excited. "What! that little runt play the fiddle?" said +one countrified young man, in a short-waisted blue coat, and +tow-colored hair, plastered down on either side of his head with +tallow. "I don't believe he can play any more than I can." + +"I hope he can," retained his partner--a plump, red-cheeked, young +farmer's daughter. "He's very good-looking, anyhow." + +"He isn't anything to brag of," said her partner jealously. + +"Oh, how can you say so, Jedidiah. I See what beautiful black hair +and eyes he's got, and such a lovely color on his cheeks!" + +Now, Jedidiah, in appearance, was just the reverse of Philip. His +hair, as already stated, was tow-color, his face was tanned, and the +color rather resembled brick-dust than the deep red of our hero's +cheeks. + +His partner was a rustic flirt, and he was disposed to be jealous, +not being certain how far she favored him. He, therefore, took +offense at his partner's admiration of the young fiddler. + +"He looks very common to me," said Jedidiah pettishly. "You've got a +strange taste, Maria." + +"Perhaps I have, and perhaps I haven't," retorted Maria, tossing her +head. + +"Perhaps you're in love with him?" continued Jedidiah, in a tone +meant to be sarcastic. + +"I should be if he was a little older," said the young lady, rather +enjoying her lover's displeasure. + +"I don't believe he can play at all," growled Jedidiah. "He's fooled +Abner Webb, like as not. It's a pity we couldn't have Paul Beck." + +"Very likely he can play better than Paul Beck," said Maria--not +because she thought so, but because she knew it would tease her +partner. + +"Don't be a fool, Maria," said Jedidiah, scarcely conscious of the +impoliteness of his speech. + +The young lady, however, resented it at once. + +"I am sure you are very polite, Mr. Jedidiah Burbank--so polite that +I think you had better find another partner!" + +"Excuse me, Maria," said Jedidiah hastily, alarmed at the prospect +of being left without a partner. "Of course, I didn't mean +anything." + +"If you didn't mean it, what made you say it?" retorted Maria, +tossing her head. "I ain't used to being called a fool. I never knew +a gentleman to make such a remark to a lady. I think you'd better +find some other partner." + +"I take it all back," said Jedidiah, in alarm. "I was only in fun." + +"I don't like that kind of fun," said Maria, in a tone of dignified +coldness. + +"Then I won't joke you again. I guess he can play well enough, if +Abner says so." + +Miss Maria Snodgrass allowed herself to be propitiated, more +especially as she herself might have been left without a partner, +had she adhered to her determination and sent Jedidiah adrift. + +He took his place in a quadrille, not exactly wishing Philip to +fail, but rather hoping that he would prove a poor performer, in +order that he might have a little triumph over Maria, who had the +bad taste to prefer the young musician's appearance to his. + +Meanwhile Philip, following Jonas Webb across the room, had been +introduced to Frank Ingalls, who acted as manager. + +"I am glad to see you, Mr. Gray," said Ingalls. "I hope we sha'n't +make you work too hard. We are very fond of dancing here." + +"I don't get tired very easily," answered Philip. "I hope you will +be satisfied with my playing." + +"No fear of that, Mr. Ingalls, I've heerd him play at home, and I +tell you he can do it." + +"Thank you, Mr. Webb," said Philip, bowing his acknowledgment of the +compliment. + +"I guess we may as well commence, Mr. Gray," said Mr. Ingalls. "The +boys seem to be getting impatient. Here's the order of dances for +the evening." + +"Very well, Mr. Ingalls." + +The manager raised his voice, and said, "Gentlemen and ladies, you +already know that Beck is sick, and cannot be with us this evening, +as he engaged to do. In his place we have engaged a young musician, +who has already gained a great reputation in his profession--" + +Philip was rather surprised to hear this, but it was not for him to +gainsay it. + +"Let me introduce to you Mr. Philip Gray." + +Philip bowed and smiled, and, putting his violin in position, +immediately commenced a lively air. + +In less than five minutes the manager felt perfectly at ease +concerning the young musician. It was clear that Philip understood +his business. Philip himself entered into the spirit of his +performance. His cheek flushed, his eyes sparkled, and he almost +outdid himself. + +When the first dance was concluded, there was a murmur of approval +throughout the ballroom. The dancers were both surprised and +pleased. + +"He's a smart boy!" said more than one. "He plays as well as Paul +Beck, and Paul's been play-in' for more'n twenty years." + +"As well? I never heard Paul Beck play as well as that," said +another. + +Among those who were most pleased was Miss Maria Snodgrass. + +"What do you think now, Mr. Burbank?" she said, addressing her +partner. "Do you think the boy can play now?" + +"Yes, he can play most as well as Paul Beck," admitted Jedidiah. + +"Most as well? Paul Beck can't begin to play as well as him," +returned Maria, who was not educated, and occasionally made slips in +grammar. + +"Just as you say, Maria," answered Jedidiah, submissively; "only +don't call me Mr. Burbank." + +"Why? Ain't that your name?" asked the young lady demurely. + +"Not to you, Maria." + +"Well, I won't, if you'll take me up and introduce me to Mr. Gray." + +"What for?" asked Jedidiah jealously. + +"Because I want to know him." + +Mr. Burbank was obliged to obey the request of his partner. + +"Oh, Mr. Gray, you play just lovely!" said Miss Snodgrass +rapturously. + +"Thank you for the compliment," said Philip, with a low bow. + +"I like your playing ever so much better than Paul Beck's." + +"You are too kind," said Philip, with another bow. + +"Isn't he just lovely, Jedidiah!" said Maria, as she walked away +with her lover. + +"Maybe he is--I ain't a judge!" said Mr. Burbank, not very +enthusiastically. + +So the evening passed. Philip continued to win the favorable opinion +of the merry party by his animated style of playing. + +When at half-past eleven the last dance was announced, he was glad, +for after his long walk, and the efforts of the evening, he felt +tired. + +At the conclusion, Mr. Ingalls handed him three dollars, saying: + +"Here's your money, Mr. Gray, and we are much obliged to you +besides." + +"Thank you!" said our hero, carelessly slipping the money into his +vest pocket. + +The manager little imagined that it constituted his entire capital. + +"I hope we may have you here again some time, Mr. Gray," continued +the manager. + +"Perhaps so," said Philip; "but I am not sure when I shall come this +way again." + +"Good night, Mr. Gray," said Miss Snodgrass effusively. "I should be +glad to have you call at our house." + +Philip bowed his thanks. He did not notice the dark cloud on the +brow of the young lady's escort. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +FORTUNE SMILES AGAIN. + + + + + +Notwithstanding his exertions during the day and evening, Philip +rose the next day at his usual hour, and was in time for the family +breakfast, at seven o'clock. + +"Don't you feel tired, Mr. Gray?" asked Mrs. Webb. + +"No, thank you. I slept well, and feel quite refreshed." + +"He's used to it, Lucy," remarked her husband. + +"They look upon me as a professional player," thought Philip. + +"I think you and I ought to be more tired, for we were dancing all +the evening," continued the farmer. + +When they rose from the table, Philip looked for his hat. + +"You're not going to leave us so soon, Mr. Gray?" said Mrs. Webb +hospitably. "We shall be glad to have you stay with us a day or two, +if you can content yourself." + +"That's right, Lucy. I'm glad you thought to ask him," said her +husband. + +Philip was tempted to accept this kind invitation. He would have +free board, and be at no expense, instead of spending the small sum +he had earned the evening previous; but he reflected that he would +be no nearer solving the problem of how he was to maintain himself, +and while this was in uncertainty, he was naturally anxious. + +"I am very much obliged to you both," he said. "If I come this way +again, I shall be glad to call upon you, but now I think I must be +pushing on." + +"You'll always be welcome, Mr. Gray," said Mrs. Webb. + +Philip thanked her, and soon after set out on his way. + +He was more cheerful and hopeful than the day before, for then he +was well nigh penniless, and now he had three dollars in his pocket. + +Three dollars was not a very large sum, to be sure, but to one who +had been so near destitution as Philip it seemed very important. + +Besides, he had discovered in his violin a source of income, +whereas, hitherto, he had looked upon it merely as a source of +amusement. This made him feel more independent and self-reliant. + +He had walked perhaps two miles, when he heard the rattle of wheels +behind him. He did not turn his head, for there was nothing strange +in this sound upon a frequented road. He did turn his head, however, +when he heard a strong voice calling "Hello!" + +Turning, he saw that a young man who was driving had slackened the +speed of his horse, and was looking toward him. + +Philip halted, and regarded the driver inquiringly. + +"You're the young chap that played for a dance last night, ain't +you!" said the newcomer. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then you're the one I want to see--jump in, and we'll talk as we +are going along." + +Philip had no objection to a ride, and he accepted the invitation +with alacrity. The driver, he noticed, was a young man, of pleasant +manners, though dressed in a coarse suit. + +"I drove over to Jonas Webb's to see you, and they told me you had +just gone," he continued. "I thought maybe you'd get up late, but you +was up on time. Are you engaged for this evening?" + +Philip began to prick up his ears and become interested. Was it +possible that his good luck was to continue, and that he was to have +an opportunity of earning some more money through his faithful +friend, the violin? He didn't think it well to exhibit the +satisfaction he felt, and answered, in a matter-of-fact tone; + +"No, I have no engagement for this evening." + +"I'm glad of it," responded the young man, evidently well pleased. +"You see, we had arranged to have a dance over to our place, but Mr. +Beck, being sick, we thought we'd have to give it up. One of my +neighbors was over last evening and heard you play, and he thought +maybe we could secure you." + +"I shall be glad to play for you," said Philip politely. + +"What are your terms?" asked his companion. + +"Three dollars and board and lodging for the time I need to stay." + +"That's satisfactory. I'll engage you." + +"Is it near here?" asked Philip. + +"It's in Conway--only four miles from here. I'll take you right over +now, and you shall stay at my house." + +"Thank you, I shall find that very agreeable," said Philip. + +"Does Mr. Beck live near you?" asked our hero, a little later. + +"Bless you! he lives in our place." + +"I suppose his services are in demand?" + +"Yes, he is sent for to all the towns around. Fact is, there isn't +anybody but he that can play to suit; but I expect, from what I've +heard, that you can come up to him." + +"I couldn't expect to do that," said Philip modestly. "I am very +young yet." + +"Folks do say you beat Paul. It seems wonderful, too, considering +how young you are. What might be your age, now?" + +"Just sixteen." + +"Sho! you don't say so? Why, Paul Beck's over fifty." + +"Mr. Beck won't think I'm interfering with him, will he?" asked +Philip. + +"Of course, he can't. We'd a had him if he was well. We can't be +expected to put off the party because he's sick. That wouldn't be +reasonable, now, would it?" + +"I should think not." + +Just then Philip became sensible that a light wagon was approaching, +driven by a young lady. + +He did not, however, suppose it was any one he knew till the +carriage stopped, and he heard a voice saying: + +"Good morning, Mr. Gray!" + +Then he discovered that it was the same young lady who had asked for +an introduction to him the evening previous. + +"Good morning, Miss Snodgrass!" he said politely, remembering, +fortunately, the young lady's name. + +Meanwhile, Maria and Philip's drivers had also exchanged +salutations, for they were acquainted. + +"And where are you carrying Mr. Gray, Mr. Blake?" she asked. + +"I'm carrying him over to our place. He's going to play for us this +evening." + +"Is there going to be a dance in Conway this evening?" inquired Miss +Snodgrass, with sudden interest. + +"Yes. Won't you come over?" + +"I will, if I can get Jedidiah to bring me," answered Maria. + +"I guess there's no doubt about that," answered Andrew Blake, who +knew very well Jedidiah's devotion to the young lady. + +"Oh, I don't know!" answered Maria coquettishly. "Perhaps he won't +care for my company." + +"If he doesn't, you won't have any trouble in finding another beau." + +After a little more conversation, the young lady drove away; but not +without expressing to Philip her delight at having another chance to +hear his beautiful playing. + +"She'll be there," said Andrew Blake, as they drove away. "She makes +Jedidiah Burbank do just as she orders him." + +"Are they engaged?" asked our hero. + +"Yes, I expect so; but there may be some chance of your cutting him +out, if you try. The young lady seems to admire you." + +Philip smiled. + +"I am only a boy of sixteen," he said. "I am too young to think of +such things. I won't interfere with Mr. Burbank." + +"Jedidiah's apt to be jealous," said Blake, "and Maria likes to +torment him. However, she'll end by marrying him, I guess." + +In half an hour or thereabouts, Andrew Blake drew up at the gate of +a small but neat house on the main street in Conway. He was a +carpenter, as Philip afterward found, and had built the house +himself. He was probably of about the same age as Jonas Webb, and +like him was married to a young wife. + +During the afternoon, Philip, being left pretty much to his own +devices, took a walk in and about the village, ascending a hill at +one side, which afforded him a fine view of that and neighboring +villages. + +He was pleasantly received and hospitably entertained at the house +of Mr. Blake, and about quarter of eight started out for the hall, +at which he was to play, in company with his host and hostess. + +As they approached the hall, a young man approached them with a +perplexed face. + +"What do you think, Andrew?" he said. "Paul Beck's in the hall, as +mad as a hatter, and he vows he'll play himself. He says he was +engaged, and no one shall take his place." + +Andrew Blake looked disturbed, and Philip shared in his feeling. Was +he to lose his engagement, after all? + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +RIVAL MUSICIANS. + + + + + +They entered the hall, which was already well filled, for the young +people of both sexes liked to have as long a time for enjoyment as +possible. + +At the head of the hall, in the center of a group, stood a tall, +thin man, dressed in solemn black, with a violin under his arm. His +face, which looked like that of a sick man, was marked by an angry +expression, and this, indeed, was his feeling. + +"I suppose that's Mr. Beck?" said Philip. + +"Yes, it is," answered Andrew Blake, in evident discomposure. "What +on earth brings him here from a sick-bed, I can't understand. I +heard that he had a fever." + +The fact was that Paul Beck was jealous of his reputation as a +musician. It was satisfactory to him to think that he was so +indispensable that no one could take his place. He had sent word to +the committee that he should be unable to play for them, supposing, +of course, that they would be compelled to give up the party. When +intelligence was brought to him during the afternoon that it would +come off, and that another musician had been engaged in his place, +he was not only disturbed, but angry, though, of course, the latter +feeling was wholly unreasonable. He determined that he would be +present, at any rate, no matter how unfit his sickness rendered him +for the evening's work. He resolved to have no rival, and to permit +no one to take his place in his own town. + +It did not seem to occur to Mr. Beck that, having formally declined +the engagement on account of sickness, he had no claim whatever on +the committee, and was, in fact, an interloper. It was in vain that +his sister protested against his imprudence. (He was an old bachelor +and his sister kept house for him.) He insisted on dressing himself +and making his way to the hall, where, as was to be expected, his +arrival produced considerable embarrassment. + +Paul Beck stood in sullen impatience awaiting the arrival of his +rival. + +It so happened that no one had thought to mention to him that it was +a boy. He was prepared to see a full-grown man. + +Philip followed Andrew Blake up to the central group. + +"Who is it, I say," Mr. Beck was inquiring, "that engaged another +musician to take my place?" + +"No one, sir," answered Andrew Blake firmly, for Mr. Beck's +unreasonableness provoked him. "I engaged a musician to play this +evening, but it was not in your place, for you had sent us word that +you could not appear." + +"Where is he, I say?" continued Paul Beck sourly. + +"Here he is," replied Blake, drawing toward our hero, who felt that +he was placed in an awkward position. + +"Why, he's only a baby!" said Beck, surveying our hero +contemptuously. + +Philip's cheek flushed, and he, too, began to feel angry. + +"He isn't as old as you are, Mr. Beck," said Andrew Blake manfully, +"but you'll find he understands his business." + +"I certainly didn't expect you to get a child in my place," said +Paul Beck scornfully. + +"I suppose a musician may know how to play, if he isn't sixty-five," +said Miss Maria Snod-grass, who had listened indignantly to Mr. +Beck's contemptuous remarks about our hero, whose cause she so +enthusiastically championed. + +Poor Mr. Beck! He was sensitive about his age, and nothing could +have cut him more cruelly than this exaggeration of it. He was +really fifty-five, and looked at least sixty, but he fondly +flattered himself that he looked under fifty. "Sixty-five!" he +repeated furiously. "Who says I am sixty-five?" + +"Well, you look about that age," said Maria, with malicious +pleasure. + +"I shall have to live a good many years before I am sixty," said +Paul Beck angrily. "But that's either here nor there. You engaged me +to play to-night, and I am ready to do it." + +Andrew Blake felt the difficulty of his position, but he did not +mean to desert the boy-musician whom he had engaged. + +"Mr. Beck," said he, "we shall be glad to have you serve us on +another occasion, but to-night Mr. Gray, here, is engaged. You gave +up the engagement of your own accord, and that ended the matter, so +far as you are concerned." + +"Do you refuse to let me play?" demanded Paul Beck, his pale cheek +glowing with anger and mortification. + +"You understand why," answered Blake. "This young man is engaged, +and we have no right to break the engagement." + +Philip, who had felt the embarrassment of his position, had +meanwhile made up his mind what to do. The three dollars he expected +to earn were important to him, but he didn't care to make trouble. +He did not doubt that his lodging and meals would be given him, and +that would be something. Accordingly, he spoke: + +"I have been engaged, it is true," he said, "but if Mr. Beck wants +to play I will resign my engagement and stay and hear him." + +"No, no!" exclaimed several--Mr. Blake and Miss Snodgrass being +among them. + +"Mr. Gray, you were regularly engaged," said one of the committee. + +"That's true," answered Philip, "and," he couldn't help adding, "I +should be justified in insisting upon playing; but since Mr. Beck +seems to feel so bad about it, I will give way to him." + +He spoke manfully, and there was no sign of weakness or submission +about him. He asserted his rights, while he expressed his +willingness to surrender them. + +There was a little consultation among the committee. They were all +disgusted with the conduct of Paul Beck, and were unwilling that he +should triumph. At the same time, as they might need his services at +some future time, they did not wish wholly to alienate him. + +Finally, they announced their decision through Andrew Blake. + +"We are not willing to accept Mr. Gray's resignation wholly," he +said, "but we propose that he and Mr. Beck shall divide the +evening's work between them--each to receive half the usual +compensation." + +There was considerable applause, for it seemed to be a suitable +compromise, and would enable the company to compare the merits of +the rival musicians. + +"I agree," said Philip promptly. + +"What do you say, Mr. Beck?" asked Andrew Blake. + +Now, while Paul Beck did not like to give up half the honor, he felt +thoroughly convinced that Philip was only a beginner, and that he, +as an experienced player, could easily eclipse him, and thus gain a +triumph which would be very gratifying to his pride. + +As for the compensation, to do him justice, he did not much care for +that, being a man of very good means. He played more for glory than +for pay--though he, of course, had no objection to receiving +compensation. + +"I have no objections," he said. "If you want to give the boy a +chance to practice a little, I am willing." + +Philip understood the sneer, and he secretly determined to do his +best. + +The committee was much pleased at the satisfactory conclusion of +what had threatened to be a very troublesome dispute, and it was +arranged, Philip consenting, that Mr. Beck should play first. + +The old musician played, in a confident manner, a familiar +dancing-tune, accompanying his playing with various contortions of +the face and twistings of his figure, supposed to express feeling. +It was a fair performance, but mechanical, and did not indicate +anything but very ordinary talent. His time was good, and dancers +always found his playing satisfactory. + +When Paul Beck had completed his task, he looked about him +complacently, as if to say, "Let the boy beat that if he can," and +sat down. + +Philip had listened to Mr. Beck with attention. He was anxious to +learn how powerful a rival he had to compete with. What he heard did +not alarm him, but rather gave him confidence. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +AN HOUR OF TRIUMPH. + + + + + +When Paul rose and stood before this audience, violin in hand, he +certainly presented quite a strong contrast to his rival. + +Paul Beck, as we have already said, was a tall, thin, lantern-jawed +man, clad in solemn black, his face of a sickly, sallow hue. + +Philip was of fair height, for his age, with a bright, expressive +face, his hair of a chestnut shade, and looking the very picture of +boyish health. His very appearance made a pleasant impression upon +those present. + +"He's a nice-looking boy," thought more than one, "but he looks too +young to know much about the violin." + +But when Philip began to play, there was general surprise. In a +dancing-tune there was not much chance for the exhibition of talent, +but his delicate touch and evident perfect mastery of his instrument +were immediately apparent. In comparison, the playing of Paul Beck +seemed wooden and mechanical. + +There was a murmur of approbation, and when Philip had finished his +first part of the program, he was saluted by hearty applause, which +he acknowledged by a modest and graceful bow. + +Paul Beck's face, as his young rival proceeded in his playing, was +an interesting study. He was very disagreeably surprised. He had +made up his mind that Philip could not play at all, or, at any rate, +would prove to be a mere tyro and bungler, and he could hardly +believe his ears when he heard the sounds which Philip evoked from +his violin. + +In spite of his self-conceit, he secretly acknowledged that Philip +even now was his superior, and in time would leave him so far behind +that there could be no comparison between them. + +It was not a pleasant discovery for a man who had prided himself for +many years on his superiority as a musician. If it had been a man of +established fame it would have been different, but to be compelled +to yield the palm to an unknown boy, was certainly mortifying. + +When he heard the applause that followed Philip's performance, and +remembered that none had been called forth by his own, he determined +that he would not play again that evening. He did not like to risk +the comparison which he was sure would be made between himself and +Philip. So, when Andrew Blake came up to him and asked him to play +for the next dance, he shook his head. "I don't feel well enough," +he said "I thought I was stronger than I am." + +"Do you want the boy to play all the rest of the evening?" + +"Yes; he plays very fairly," said Beck, in a patronizing manner, +which implied his own superiority. + +"There can be no doubt about that," said Andrew Blake, with +emphasis, for he understood Mr. Beck's meaning, and resented it as +one of the warmest admirers of the boy-musician whom he had engaged. + +But Paul Beck would not for the world have revealed his real opinion +of Philip's merits. + +"Yes," he continued, "he plays better than I expected. I guess you +can get along with him." + +"How shall we arrange about the compensation, Mr. Beck?" asked +Blake. "We ought in that case to give him more than half." + +"Oh, you can give him the whole," answered Beck carelessly. "If I +felt well enough to play, I would do my part, but I think it will be +better for me to go home and go to bed." + +His decision was communicated to Philip, who felt impelled by +politeness to express his regrets to Mr. Beck. + +"I am sorry you don't feel able to play, Mr. Beck," he said +politely. + +"Oh, it's of no consequence, as they've got some one to take my +place," returned Beck coldly. + +"I should be glad to hear you play again," continued Philip. + +Paul Beck nodded slightly, but he felt too much mortified to +reciprocate Philip's friendly advances. Half an hour later he left +the hall. + +The dancers by no means regretted the change of arrangement. They +evidently preferred the young musician to his elderly rival. The +only one to express regret was Miss Maria Snodgrass. + +"I declare it's a shame Mr. Beck has given up," she said. "I wanted +you to dance with me, Mr. Gray. I am sure if you can dance as well +as you can play, you would get along perfectly lovely. Now you've +got to play, and can't dance at all." + +"It isn't leap-year, Maria," said Jedidiah Burbank, in a jealous +tone. + +Miss Snodgrass turned upon him angrily: + +"You needn't put in your oar, Jedidiah Burbank!" she said. "I guess +I know what I'm about. If it was leap-year fifty times over, I +wouldn't offer myself to you!" + +And the young lady tossed her head in a very decided manner. + +"Now don't get mad, Maria!" implored Jedidiah, feeling that at the +prompting of jealousy; he had put his foot in it. "I didn't mean +nothing." + +"Then you'd better say nothing next time," retorted the young lady. + +Meanwhile, Philip acknowledged the young lady's politeness by a +smile and a bow, assuring her that if it had been possible, it would +have given him great pleasure to dance with her. + +"If Mr. Burbank will play for me," he said with a glance at the +young man, "I shall be glad to dance." + +Miss Snodgrass burst out laughing. + +"Jedidiah couldn't play well enough for an old cow to dance by," she +said. + +"There ain't any old cows here," said Jedidiah, vexed at being +ridiculed. + +"Well, there are some calves, anyway," retorted Maria, laughing +heartily. + +Poor Jedidiah! It is to be feared that he will have a hard time when +he becomes the husband of the fair Maria. She will undoubtedly be +the head of the new matrimonial firm. + +There was nothing further to mar the harmony of the evening. It had +begun with indications of a storm, but the clouds had vanished, and +when Mr. Beck left the hall, there was nothing left to disturb the +enjoyment of those present. + +The favorable opinions expressed when Philip commenced playing were +repeated again and again, as the evening slipped away. + +"I tell you, he's a regular genius!" one enthusiastic admirer said +to his companion. "Paul Beck can't hold a candle to him." + +"That's so. He's smart, and no mistake." + +Poor Mr. Beck! It was fortunate he was unable to hear these +comparisons made. He could not brook a rival near the throne, and +had gone home in low spirits, feeling that he could never again hold +his head as high as he had done. + +When the dancing was over, there was a brief conference of the +committee of management, the subject of which was soon made known. + +Andrew Blake approached Philip and said: + +"Mr. Gray, some of us would like to hear you play something else, if +you are not tired--not a dancing-tune." + +"I shall be very happy to comply with your request," answered +Philip. + +He spoke sincerely, for he saw that all were pleased with him, and +it is gratifying to be appreciated. + +He paused a moment in thought, and then began to play the "Carnival +of Venice," with variations. It had been taught him by his father, +and he had played it so often that his execution was all that could +be desired. The variations were of a showy and popular character, +and very well adapted to impress an audience like that to which he +was playing. + +"Beautiful! Beautiful!" exclaimed the young ladies, while their +partners pronounced it "tip-top" and "first-rate," by which they +probably meant very much the same thing. + +"Oh, Mr. Gray!" exclaimed Miss Snodgrass fervently. "You play like a +seraphim!" + +"Thank you!" said Philip, smiling. "I never heard a seraphim play on +the violin, but I am sure your remark is very complimentary." + +"I wish you could play like that, Jedidiah," said Maria. + +"I'll learn to play, if you want me to," said Mr. Burbank. + +"Thank you! You're very obliging," said Maria; "but I won't trouble +you. You haven't got a genius for it, like Mr. Gray." + +The evening was over at length, and again Philip was made the happy +recipient of three dollars. His first week had certainly been +unexpectedly prosperous. + +"This is better than staying in the Norton Poorhouse!" he said to +himself. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +LORENZO RICCABOCCA. + + + + + +Philip's reputation as a musician was materially increased by his +second night's performance. To adopt a military term, he had crossed +swords with the veteran fiddler, Paul Beck, and, in the opinion of +all who heard both, had far surpassed him. + +This was said openly to Philip by more than one; but he was modest, +and had too much tact and good taste to openly agree with them. This +modesty raised him higher in the opinion of his admirers. + +He was invited by the Blakes to prolong his visit, but preferred to +continue on his journey--though his plans were, necessarily, not +clearly defined. + +Andrew Blake carried him five miles on his way, and from that point +our hero used the means of locomotion with which nature had supplied +him. + +Some six miles farther on there was a manufacturing town of +considerable size, named Wilkesville, and it occurred to him that +this would be a good place at which to pass the night. + +Something might turn up for him there. He hardly knew what, but the +two unexpected strokes of luck which he had had thus far encouraged +him to think that a third might come to him. + +Philip continued on his way--his small pack of clothing in one hand +and his violin under his arm. Being in no especial hurry--for it was +only the middle of the forenoon--he bethought himself to sit down +and rest at the first convenient and inviting place. + +He soon came to a large elm tree, which, with its spreading +branches, offered a pleasant and grateful shade. + +He threw himself down and lay back on the greensward, in pleasant +contemplation, when he heard a gentle cough--as of one who wished to +attract attention. Looking up he observed close at hand, a tall man, +dressed in black, with long hair, which fell over his shirt collar +and shoulders. + +He wore a broad collar and black satin necktie, and his hair was +parted in the middle. His appearance was certainly peculiar, and +excited our hero's curiosity. + +"My young friend," he said, "you have chosen a pleasant +resting-place beneath this umbrageous monarch of the grove." "Yes, +sir," answered Philip, wondering whether the stranger was a poet. + +"May I also recline beneath it?" asked the newcomer. + +"Certainly, sir. It is large enough to shelter us both." + +"Quite true; but I did not wish to intrude upon your meditations." + +"My meditations are not of much account," answered Philip, laughing. + +"I see you are modest. Am I right in supposing that yonder case +contains a violin?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then you are a musician?" + +"A little of one," replied Philip. + +"May I ask--excuse my curiosity--if you play professionally?" + +"Perhaps he may help me to an engagement," thought our hero, and he +said readily, "I do." + +"Indeed!" said the stranger, appearing pleased. "What style of music +do you play?" + +"For each of the last two evenings I have played for +dancing-parties." + +"Alone?" + +"Yes." + +"You do not confine yourself to dancing-music?" + +"Oh, no! I prefer other kinds; but dancing-tunes seem most in +demand, and I have my living to make." The stranger seemed still +more gratified. + +"I am delighted to have met you, Mr.--- Ahem!" he paused, and looked +inquiringly at Philip. + +"Gray." + +"Mr. Gray, I believe Providence has brought us together. I see you +are surprised." + +Philip certainly did look puzzled, as he well might. + +"I must explain myself more clearly. I am Professor Lorenzo +Riccabocca, the famous elocutionist and dramatic reader." + +Philip bowed. + +"Doubtless you have heard of me?" said the professor inquiringly. + +"I have never lived in large places," answered Philip, in some +embarrassment, "or no doubt your name would be familiar to me." + +"To be sure, that must make a difference. For years," said the +professor, "I have given dramatic readings to crowded houses, and +everywhere my merits have been conceded by the educated and +refined." + +Philip could not help wondering how it happened in that case that +the professor should look so seedy. A genius appreciated so highly +ought to have brought in more gold and silver. + +Perhaps Professor Riccabocca understood Philip's expressive look, +for he went to to say: + +"The public has repaid me richly for the exercise of my talent; but, +alas, my young friend, I must confess that I have no head for +business. I invested my savings unwisely, and ascertained a month +since that I had lost all." + +"That was a great pity!" said Philip sympathizingly. + +"It was, indeed! It quite unmanned me!" said the professor, wiping +away a tear. "I felt that all ambition was quite gone, and I was mad +and sick. Indeed, only a week since I rose from a sick-bed. But +Lorenzo is himself again!" he exclaimed, striking his breast +energetically. "I will not succumb to Fate. I will again court the +favor of the public, and this time I will take care of the ducats my +admirers bestow upon me." + +"I should think that was a good plan," said Philip. + +"I will begin at once. Nearby is a town devoted to the mammon of +trade, yet among its busy thousands there must be many that will +appreciate the genius of Lorenzo Riccabocca." + +"I hope so," answered Philip politely. + +He could not help thinking that the professor was rather +self-conceited, and he hardly thought it in good taste for him to +refer so boastfully to his genius. + +"I wish you, Mr. Gray, to assist me in my project," continued the +professor. + +"How can I do so, sir?" inquired Philip. + +"Let me tell you. I propose that we enter into a professional +partnership, that we give an entertainment partly musical, partly +dramatic. I will draw up a program, including some of my most +humorous recitations and impersonations, while interspersed among +them will be musical selections contributed by yourself. Do you +comprehend?" + +"Yes," answered Philip, nodding. + +"And what do you think of it?" + +"I think well of it," replied the boy-musician. + +He did think well of it. It might not draw a large audience, this +mixed entertainment, but it would surely pay something; and it would +interfere with no plans of his own, for, in truth, he had none. + +"Then you will cooperate with me?" said the professor. + +"Yes, professor." + +"Give me your hand!" exclaimed Riccabocca dramatically. "Mr. Gray, +it is a perfect bonanza of an idea. I may tell you, in confidence, I +was always a genius for ideas. Might I ask a favor of you?" + +"Certainly, sir." + +"Give me a touch of your quality. Let me hear you play." + +Philip drew his violin from its case and played for his new +professional partner "The Carnival of Venice," with variations--the +same which had been received with so much favor the evening +previous. + +Professor Riccabocca listened attentively, and was evidently +agreeably surprised. He was not a musician, but he saw that Philip +was a much better player than he had anticipated, and this, of +course, was likely to improve their chances of pecuniary success. + +"You are a splendid performer," he said enthusiastically. "You shall +come out under my auspices and win fame. I predict for you a +professional triumph." + +"Thank you," said Philip, gratified by this tribute from a man of +worldly experience. "I hope you will prove a true prophet." + +"And now, Mr. Gray, let us proceed on our way. We must get lodgings +in Wilkesville, and make arrangements for our entertainment. I feel +new courage, now that I have obtained so able a partner. Wilkesville +little knows what is in store for her. We shall go, see, and +conquer!" + +An hour later Philip and his new partner entered Wilkesville. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +A CHANGE OF NAME. + + + + + +Wilkesville was an inland city, of from fifteen to twenty thousand +inhabitants. + +As Philip and the professor passed along the principal street, they +saw various stores of different kinds, with here and there a large, +high, plain-looking structure, which they were told was used for the +manufacture of shoes. + +"Wilkesville will give us a large audience," he said, in a tone of +satisfaction. + +"I hope so," said our hero. + +"Hope so? I know so!" said the professor confidently. "The town is +full of young men, employed in shoe-making. They are fond of +amusement, and they will gladly seize an opportunity of patronizing +a first-class entertainment like ours." + +The professor's reasoning seemed good, but logic sometimes fails, +and Philip was not quite so sanguine. He said nothing, however, to +dampen the ardor of his partner. + +"Let me see," said the professor, pausing, "yonder stands the +Wilkesville Hotel. We had better put up there." + +It was a brick structure of considerable size, and seemed to have +some pretensions to fashion. + +"Do you know how much they charge?" asked Philip prudently. + +"No; I neither know nor care," answered Professor Riccabocca +loftily. + +"But," said Philip, "I haven't much money." + +"Nor I," admitted Riccabocca. "But it is absolutely necessary for us +to stop at a first-class place. We must not let the citizens suppose +that we are tramps or vagabonds. They will judge us by our +surroundings." + +"There is something in that," said Philip. "But suppose we don't +succeed!" + +"Succeed? We must succeed!" said the professor, striking an +attitude. "In the vocabulary of youth, there's no such word as +'fail'! Away with timid caution! Our watchword be success!" + +"Of course, you have much more experience than I," said Philip. + +"Certainly I have! We must keep up appearances. Be guided by me, and +all will come right." + +Philip reflected that they could not very well make less than their +expenses, and accordingly he acceded to the professor's plans. They +entered the hotel, and Professor Riccabocca, assuming a dignified, +important step, walked up to the office. "Sir," said he, to the +clerk, "my companion and myself would like an apartment, one +eligibly located, and of ample size." + +"You can be accommodated, sir," answered the young man politely. +"Will you enter your names?" + +Opening the hotel register, the elocutionist, with various +flourishes, entered, this name: "Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca, +Elocutionist and Dramatic Reader." + +"Shall I enter your name?" he asked of Philip. + +"If you please." + +This was the way Professor Riccabocca complied with his request: +"Philip de Gray, the Wonderful Boy-musician." + +He turned the book, so that the clerk could see the entries. + +"We propose to give an entertainment in Wilkesville," he said. + +"I am glad to hear it," said the clerk politely. + +"After dinner I will consult you as to what steps to take. Is there +anything in the way of amusement going on in town this evening?" + +"Yes, there is a concert, chiefly of home-talent, in Music Hall. +There is nothing announced for to-morrow evening." + +"Then we will fix upon to-morrow evening. It will give us more time +to get out hand-bills, etc. Is there a printing-office in town?" + +"Oh, yes, sir. We have a daily paper." + +"Is the office near at hand?" + +"Yes, sir. It is on the corner of the next street." + +"That will do for the present. We will go up to our apartment. Will +dinner be ready soon?" + +"In half an hour." + +Here the servant made his appearance, and the professor, with a wave +of his hand, said: + +"Lead on, Mr. de Gray! I will follow." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +A PROMISING PLAN. + + + + + +They were shown into a front room, of good size, containing two +beds. The servant handed them the key, and left them. + +"This looks very comfortable, Mr. de Gray," said the professor, +rubbing his hands with satisfaction. + +"Why do you call me Mr. de Gray?" asked Philip, thinking he had been +misunderstood. "It is plain Gray, without any de." + +"I am only using your professional name," answered the professor. +"Don't you know people will think a great deal more of you if they +suppose you to be a foreigner?" + +Philip laughed. + +"Is Lorenzo Riccabocca your true or professional name, professor?" +he asked. + +"Professional, of course. My real name--I impart it to you in the +strictest confidence--is Lemuel Jones. Think of it. How would that +look on a poster?" + +"It would not be so impressive as the other." + +"Of course not; and the public need to be impressed. I thank thee +for that word, Mr. de Gray. By the way, it's rather a pity I didn't +give you a Spanish or Italian name." + +"But I can't speak either language. It would be seen through at +once." + +"People wouldn't think of asking. You'd be safe enough. They will +generally swallow all you choose to say." + +They went down to dinner presently, and the professor--Philip could +not help thinking--ate as if he were half-starved. He explained +afterward that elocutionary effort taxes the strength severely, and +makes hearty eating a necessity. + +After dinner was over the professor said: + +"Are you content, Mr. de Gray, to leave me to make the necessary +arrangements?" + +"I should prefer that you would," said Philip, and he spoke +sincerely. "Probably you understand much better than I what needs to +be done." + +" 'Tis well! Your confidence is well placed," said the professor, +with a wave of his hand. "Shall you remain in the hotel?" + +"No, I think I will walk about the town and see a little of it. I +have never been here before." + +Philip took a walk through the principal streets, surveying with +curiosity the principal building's, for, though there was nothing +particularly remarkable about them, he was a young traveler, to whom +everything was new. He could not help thinking of his late home, and +in particular of Frank Dunbar, his special friend, and he resolved +during the afternoon to write a letter to Frank, apprising him of +his luck thus far. He knew that Frank would feel anxious about him, +and would be delighted to hear of his success as a musician. + +He went into a book-store and bought a sheet of paper and an +envelope. + +He had just completed his letter, when his partner entered the +reading-room of the hotel with a brisk step. + +"Mr. de Gray," he said, "I have made all necessary arrangements. I +have hired the hall for to-morrow evening--five dollars--ordered +some tickets and posters at the printing-office, and secured a +first-class notice in to-morrow morning's paper. Everybody +in Wilkesville will know before to-morrow night that they will have +the opportunity of attending a first-class performance at the Music +Hall." + +"It seems to me the necessary expenses are considerable," said +Philip uneasily. + +"Of course they are; but what does that matter?" + +"What is to be the price of tickets?" + +"General admission, twenty-five cents; reserved seats, fifty cents, +and children under twelve, fifteen cents. How does that strike you!" + +"Will anyone be willing to pay fifty cents to hear us?" asked +Philip. + +"Fifty cents! It will be richly worth a dollar!" said the professor +loftily. + +"I suppose he knows best," thought Philip. "I hope all will come out +right. If it does we can try the combination in other places." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +UNEXPECTED HONORS. + + + + + +The next morning at breakfast, Professor Riccabocca handed Philip a +copy of the Wilkesville Daily Bulletin. Pointing to a paragraph on +the editorial page, he said, in a tone of pride and satisfaction: + +"Read that, Mr. de Gray." + +It ran thus: + +"We congratulate the citizens of Wilkesville on the remarkable +entertainment which they will have an opportunity of enjoying this +evening at the Music Hall. Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca, whose fame +as an elocutionist and dramatic reader has made his name a household +word throughout Europe and America, will give some of his choice +recitals and personations, assisted by Philip de Gray, the wonderful +boy-musician, whose talent as a violin-player has been greeted with +rapturous applause in all parts of the United States. It is +universally acknowledged that no one of his age has ever equaled +him. He, as well as Professor Riccabocca, will give but a limited +series of entertainments in this country, having received flattering +inducements to cross the Atlantic, and appear professionally in +London, Paris, and the chief cities of the Continent. Fifty cents is +the pitiful sum for which our citizens will have it put in their +power to hear this wonderful combination of talent. This secures a +reserved seat." + +Philip read this notice with increasing amazement. + +"What do you think of that, Mr. de Gray?" asked the professor +gleefully. "Won't that make Wilkesville open its eyes, eh?" + +"It has made me open my eyes, professor," said Philip. + +"Ha, ha!" said the professor, appearing amused. + +"How soon are we to sail for Europe?" asked Philip, smiling. + +"When Queen Victoria sends our passage-money," answered Riccabocca, +laughing. + +"I see that your name is a household word in Europe. Were you ever +there?" + +"Never." + +"Then how can that be?" + +"Mr. de Gray, your performances have been greeted with applause in +all parts of the United States. How do you explain that?" + +"I don't pretend to explain it. I wasn't aware that my name had ever +been heard of a hundred miles from here." + +"It has not, but it will be. I have only been predicting a little. +The paragraph isn't true now, but it will be some time, if we live +and prosper." + +"But I don't like to be looked upon as a humbug, professor," said +Philip uneasily. + +"You won't be. You are really a fine player, or I wouldn't consent +to appear with you. The name of Riccabocca, Mr. de Gray, I may +truthfully say, is well known. I have appeared in the leading cities +of America. They were particularly enthusiastic in Chicago," he +added pensively. "I wish I could find a paragraph from one of their +leading papers, comparing my rendering of the soliloquy in 'Hamlet' +to Edwin Booth's, rather to the disadvantage of that tragedian." + +"I would like to read the notice," said Philip, who had very strong +doubts as to whether such a paragraph had ever appeared in print. + +"You shall see it. It will turn up somewhere. I laid it aside +carefully, for I confess, Mr. de Gray, it gratified me much. I have +only one thing to regret: I should myself have gone on the stage, +and essayed leading tragic roles. It may not be too late now. What +do you think?" + +"I can tell better after I have heard you, professor," answered +Philip. + +"True, you can. Mr. de Gray," continued the professor, lowering his +voice, "notice how much attention we are receiving from the guests +at the tables. They have doubtless read the notice of our evening +entertainment." + +Philip looked round the room, which was of good size, and contained +some thirty or more guests, and he saw that the professor was right. + +He met several curious glances, some fair ladies expressing interest +as well as curiosity, and his face flushed. + +"Gratifying, isn't it?" said the professor, smiling. + +"No, I don't think it is," answered our hero. + +"Why not?" demanded Professor Riccabocca, appearing amazed. + +"If all were true, it might be," replied Philip. "As it is, I feel +like a humbug." + +"Humbug pays in this world," said the professor cheerfully. "By the +way, there's another little paragraph to which I will call your +attention." + +Philip read this additional item: + +"We understand that Professor Riecabocca and Mr. Philip de Gray have +received a cable despatch from the Prince of Wales, inviting them to +instruct his sons in elocution and music, at a very liberal salary. +They have this proposal under consideration, though they are +naturally rather reluctant to give up the plaudits of the public, +even for so honorable a position." + +"Professor Riccabocca," said Philip, considerably annoyed by this +audacious invention, "you ought to have consulted me before +publishing such a falsehood as this." + +"Falsehood, Mr. de Gray? Really I'm shocked! Gentlemen don't use +such words, or make such charges." + +"You don't mean to say it's true that we have received any such +telegram?" + +"No; of course not." + +"Then why didn't I use the right word?" + +"It's an innocent little fiction, my young friend--a fiction that +will do no one any harm, but will cause us to be regarded with +extraordinary interest." + +Here the thought occurred to Philip that he, the future instructor +of British royalty, had only just escaped from a poorhouse, and it +seemed to him so droll that he burst out laughing. + +"Why do you laugh, Mr. de Gray?" asked the professor, a little +suspiciously. + +"I was thinking of something amusing," said Philip. + +"Well, well! We shall have cause to laugh when we play this evening +to a crowded house." + +"I hope so. But, professor, if we keep together, you mustn't print +any more such paragraphs about me. Of course, I am not responsible +for what you say about yourself." + +"Oh, it will be all right!" said Riccabocca. "What are you going to +do with yourself?" + +"I shall practice a little in my room, for I want to play well +to-night. When I get tired I shall take a walk." + +"Very wise--very judicious. I don't need to do it, being, as I may +say, a veteran reader. I wouldn't rehearse if I were to play this +evening before the president and all the distinguished men of the +nation." + +"I don't feel so confident of myself," said Philip. + +"No, of course not. By the way, can you lend me fifty cents, Mr. de +Gray?" + +"Certainly." + +"I don't want to break a ten." + +Professor Riccabocca didn't mention that the only ten he had was a +ten-cent piece. + +Slipping Philip's half-dollar into his vest pocket, he said +carelessly: + +"We'll take this into the account when we divide the proceeds of the +entertainment." + +"Very well," said Philip. + +He went up to his room and played for an hour or more, rehearsing +the different pieces he had selected for the evening, and then, +feeling the need of a little fresh air, he took a walk. + +In different parts of the town he saw posters, on which his name was +printed in large letters. + +"It seems almost like a joke!" he said to himself. + +Just then he heard his name called, and, looking up, he recognized a +young fellow, of sixteen or thereabouts, who had formerly lived in +Norton. It seemed pleasant to see a familiar face. + +"Why, Morris Lovett," he exclaimed "I didn't know you were here!" + +"Yes; I'm clerk in a store. Are you the one that is going to give an +entertainment tonight?" + +"Yes," answered Philip, smiling. + +"I didn't know you were such a great player," said Morris, regarding +our hero with new respect. + +He had read the morning paper. + +"Nor I," said Philip, laughing. + +"Are you going to Europe soon?" + +"It isn't decided yet!" Philip answered, laughing. + +"I wish I had your chance." + +"Come and hear me this evening, at any rate," said Philip. "Call at +the hotel, at six o'clock, and I'll give you a ticket." + +"I'll be sure to come," said Morris, well pleased. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +A TRIUMPHANT SUCCESS. + + + + + +Philip took another walk in the afternoon, and was rather amused to +see how much attention he received. When he drew near the hotel he +was stared at by several gaping youngsters, who apparently were +stationed there for no other purpose. He overheard their whispers: + +"That's him! That's Philip de Gray, the wonderful fiddler!" + +"I never suspected, when I lived at Norton, that I was so much of a +curiosity," he said to himself. "I wish I knew what they'll say +about me to-morrow." + +At six o'clock Morris Lovett called and received his ticket. + +"You'll have a big house to-night, Philip," he said. "I know a lot +of fellows that are going." + +"I am glad to hear it," said Philip, well pleased, for he concluded +that if such were the case his purse would be considerably heavier +the next day. + +"It's strange how quick you've come up;" said Morris. "I never +expected you'd be so famous." + +"Nor I," said Philip, laughing. + +"I'd give anything if I could have my name posted round like yours." + +"Perhaps you will have, some time." + +"Oh, no! I couldn't play more'n a pig," said Morris decidedly. "I'll +have to be a clerk, and stick to business." + +"You'll make more money in the end that way, Morris, even if your +name isn't printed in capitals." + +They retired into a small room adjoining the stage, to prepare for +their appearance. + +The professor rubbed his hands in glee. + +"Did you see what a house we have, Mr. de Gray?" + +"Yes, professor." + +"I think there'll be a hundred dollars over and above expenses." + +"That will be splendid!" said Philip, naturally elated. + +"The firm of Riccaboeca and De Gray is starting swimmingly." + +"So it is. I hope it will continue so." + +"Here is the program, Mr. de Gray. You will observe that I appear +first, in my famous soliloquy. You will follow, with the 'Carnival +of Venice.' Do you feel agitated?" + +"Oh, no. I am so used to playing that I shall not feel at all +bashful." + +"That is well." + +"I would like to be on the stage, professor, to hear you." + +"Certainly. I have anticipated your desire, and provided an extra +chair." + +The time came, and Professor Riccabocca stepped upon the stage, his +manner full of dignity, and advanced to the desk. Philip took a +chair a little to the rear. + +Their entrance was greeted by hearty applause. The professor made a +stately bow, and a brief introductory speech, in which he said +several things about Philip and himself which rather astonished our +hero. Then he began to recite the soliloquy. + +Probably it was never before so amazingly recited. Professor +Riccabocca's gestures, facial contortions, and inflections were very +remarkable. Philip almost suspected that he was essaying a burlesque +role. + +The mature portion of the audience were evidently puzzled, but the +small boys were delighted, and with some of the young men, stamped +vigorously at the close. + +Professor Riccabocea bowed modestly, and said: + +"Gentlemen and ladies, you will now have the pleasure of listening +to the young and talented Philip de Gray, the wonderful +boy-musician, in his unrivaled rendition of the 'Carnival of +Venice.'" + +Philip rose, coloring a little with shame a I this high-flown +introduction, and came forward. + +All applauded heartily, for sympathy is always felt for a young +performer, especially when he has a manly bearing and an attractive +face, such as our hero possessed. + +Philip was determined to do his best. Indeed, after being advertised +and announced as a boy wonder, he felt that he could not do +otherwise. + +He commenced, and soon lost himself in the music he loved so well, +so that before he had half finished he had quite forgotten his +audience, and half started at the boisterous applause which +followed. He bowed his acknowledgments, but found this would not do. + +He was forced to play it a second time, greatly to the apparent +satisfaction of the audience. It was clear that, whatever might be +thought of Professor Riccabocea's recitation, the young violinist +had not disappointed his audience. + +Philip could see, in a seat near the stage, the beaming face of his +friend Morris Lovett, who was delighted at the success of his old +acquaintance, and anticipated the reflected glory which he received, +from its being known that he was a friend of the wonderful young +musician. + +Professor Riccabocca came forward again, and recited a poem called +"The Maniac," each stanza ending with the line: "I am not mad, but +soon shall be." + +He stamped, raved, tore his hair, and made altogether a very +grotesque appearance. + +Philip could hardly forbear laughing, and some of the boys in the +front seats didn't restrain themselves, Some of the older people +wondered how such a man should be selected by the Prince of Wales to +instruct his sons in elocution--not suspecting that the newspaper +paragraph making mention of this was only a daring invention of the +eminent professor. + +Next came another musical selection by Philip, which was as +cordially received as the first. + +I do not propose to weary the reader by a recital of the program and +a detailed account of each performance. It is enough to say that +Professor Riccabocca excited some amusement, but was only tolerated +for the sake of Philip's playing. + +Naturally, our hero was better received on account of his youth, but +had he been twice as old his playing would have given satisfaction +and pleasure. + +So passed an hour and a half, and the musical entertainment was +over. Philip felt that he had reason to be satisfied. Highly as he +had been heralded, no one appeared to feel disappointed by his part +of the performance. + +"Mr. de Gray," said the professor, when they reached the hotel, "you +did splendidly. We have made a complete success." + +"It is very gratifying," said Philip. + +"I felt sure that the public would appreciate us. I think I managed +everything shrewdly." + +"How much was paid in at the door?" asked Philip, who naturally felt +interested in this phase of success. + +"One hundred and forty-five dollars and a half!" answered the +professor. + +Philip's eyes sparkled. + +"And how much will that be over and above expenses?" he asked. + +"My dear Mr. de Gray, we will settle all bills, and make a fair and +equitable division, in the morning. I think there will be a little +more than fifty dollars to come to each of us." + +"Fifty dollars for one evening's work!" repeated Philip, his eyes +sparkling. + +"Oh, I have done much better than that," said the professor. "I +remember once at St. Louis I made for myself alone one hundred and +eighty dollars net, and in Chicago a little more." + +"I didn't think it was such a money-making business," said Philip, +elated. + +"Yes, Mr. de Gray, the American people are willing to recognize +talent, when it is genuine. You are on the threshold of a great +career, my dear young friend." + +"And only a week since I was in the Norton Poorhouse," thought +Philip. "It is certainly a case of romance in real life." + +The two went to bed soon, being fatigued by their exertions. The +apartment was large, and contained two beds, a larger and smaller +one. The latter was occupied by our hero. + +When he awoke in the morning, the sun was shining brightly into the +room. Philip looked toward the opposite bed. It was empty. + +"Professor Riccabocca must have got up early," he thought. "Probably +he did not wish to wake me." + +He dressed and went downstairs. + +"Where is the professor?" he asked of the clerk. + +"He started away two hours since--said he was going to take a walk. +Went away without his breakfast, too. He must be fond of walking." + +Philip turned pale. He was disturbed by a terrible suspicion. Had +the professor gone off for good, carrying all the money with him? + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +BESET BY CREDITORS. + + + + + +Philip was still a boy, and though he had discovered that the +professor was something of a humbug, and a good deal of a braggart, +it had not for a moment occurred to him that he would prove +dishonest. Even now he did not want to believe it, though he was +nervously apprehensive that it might prove true. + +"I will take my breakfast," he said, as coolly as was possible, "and +the professor will probably join me before I am through." + +The clerk and the landlord thought otherwise. They were pretty well +convinced that Riccabocca was dishonest, and quietly sent for those +to whom the "combination" was indebted: namely, the printer and +publisher of the Daily Bulletin, the agent of the music-hall, and +the bill-sticker who had posted notices of the entertainment. These +parties arrived while Philip was at breakfast. + +"Gentlemen," said the landlord, "the boy is at breakfast. I think he +is all right, but I don't know. The professor, I fear, is a +swindle." + +"The boy is liable for our debts," said the agent. "He belongs to +the combination." + +"I am afraid he is a victim as well as you," said the landlord. "He +seemed surprised to hear that the professor had gone out." + +"It may all be put on. Perhaps he is in the plot, and is to meet the +old fraud at some place fixed upon, and divide the booty," suggested +the agent. + +"The boy looks honest," said the landlord. "I like his appearance. +We will see what he has to say." + +So when Philip had finished his breakfast he was summoned to the +parlor, where he met the creditors of the combination. + +"These gentlemen," said the landlord, "have bills against you and +the professor. It makes no difference whether they receive pay from +you or him." + +Poor Philip's heart sank within him. + +"I was hoping Professor Riccabocca had settled your bills," he said. +"Please show them to me." + +This was done with alacrity. + +Philip found that they owed five dollars for the hall, five dollars +for advertising and printing, and one dollar for bill-posting-- +eleven dollars in all. + +"Mr. Gates," said our hero uneasily, to the landlord, "did Professor +Riccabocca say anything about coming back when he went out this +morning?" + +"He told my clerk he would be back to breakfast," said the landlord; +adding, with a shrug of the shoulders: "That was two hours and a +half ago. He can't be very hungry." + +"He didn't pay his bill, I suppose?" + +"No, of course not. He had not given up his room." + +Philip became more and more uneasy. + +"Didn't you know anything about his going out?" asked the landlord. + +"No, sir. I was fast asleep." + +"Is the professor in the habit of taking long morning walks?" + +"I don't know." + +"That is strange, since you travel together," remarked the +publisher. + +"I never saw him till day before yesterday," said Philip. + +The creditors looked at each other significantly. They began to +suspect that Philip also was a victim. + +"Do you know how much money was received for tickets last evening?" + +"About a hundred and fifty dollars." + +"How much of this were you to receive?" + +"Half of what was left after the bills were paid." + +"Have you received it?" asked the agent. + +"Not a cent," answered Philip. + +"What do you think about the situation?" + +"I think that Professor Riccabocca has swindled us all," answered +Philip promptly. + +"Our bills ought to be paid," said the agent, who was rather a hard +man in his dealings. + +"I agree with you," said Philip. "I wish I were able to pay them, +but I have only six dollars in my possession." + +"That will pay me, and leave a dollar over," suggested the agent. + +"If it comes to that," said the printer, "I claim that I ought to be +paid first." + +"I am a poor man," said the bill-sticker. "I need my money." + +Poor Philip was very much disconcerted. It was a new thing for him +to owe money which he could not repay. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "I have myself been cheated out of fifty +dollars, at least--my share of the profits. I wish I could pay you +all. I cannot do so now. Whenever I can I will certainly do it." + +"You can pay us a part with the money you have," said the agent. + +"I owe Mr. Gates for nearly two days' board," he said. "That is my +own affair, and I must pay him first." + +"I don't see why he should be preferred to me," grumbled the agent; +then, with a sudden, happy thought, as he termed it, he said: "I +will tell you how you can pay us all." + +"How?" asked Philip. + +"You have a violin. You can sell that for enough to pay our bills." + +Poor Philip! His violin was his dependence. Besides the natural +attachment he felt for it, he relied upon it to secure him a living, +and the thought of parting with it was bitter. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "if you take my violin, I have no way of +making a living. If you will consider that I, too, am a victim of +this man, I think you will not wish to inflict such an injury upon +me." + +"I do not, for one," said the publisher. "I am not a rich man, and I +need all the money that is due me, but I wouldn't deprive the boy of +his violin." + +"Nor I," said the bill-sticker. + +"That's all very fine," said the agent; "but I am not so soft as you +two. Who knows but the boy is in league with the professor?" + +"I know it!" said the landlord stoutly. "The boy is all right, or I +am no judge of human nature." + +"Thank you, Mr. Gates," said Philip, extending his hand to his +generous defender. + +"Do you expect we will let you off without paying anything?" +demanded the agent harshly. + +"If I live, sir, you shall lose nothing by me," said Philip. + +"That won't do!" said the man coarsely. "I insist upon the fiddle +being sold. I'll give five dollars for it, and call it square." + +"Mr. Gunn," said the landlord, in a tone of disgust, "since you are +disposed to persecute this boy, I will myself pay your bill, and +trust to him to repay me when he can." + +"But, Mr. Gates--" said Philip. + +"I accept!" said the agent, with alacrity. + +"Receipt your bill," said the landlord. + +Mr. Gunn did so, and received a five-dollar bill in return. + +"Now sir," said the landlord coldly, "if you have no further +business here, we can dispense with your company." + +"It strikes me you are rather hard on a man because he wants to be +paid his honest dues!" whined Gunn, rather uncomfortably. + +"We understand you, sir," said the landlord. "We have not forgotten +how you turned a poor family into the street, in the dead of winter, +because they could not pay their rent." + +"Could I afford to give them house-room?" inquired Gunn. + +"Perhaps not. At any rate, I don't feel inclined to give you +house-room any longer." + +Mr. Gunn slunk out of the room, under the impression that his +company was no longer desired. + +"Mr. Gray," said the publisher, "I hope you don't class me with the +man who has just gone out. I would sooner never be paid than deprive +you of your violin. Let the account stand, and if you are ever able +to pay me half of my bill--your share--I shall be glad to receive +it." + +"Thank you, sir!" said Philip, "You shall not repent your confidence +in me." + +"I say ditto to my friend, the publisher," said the bill-poster. + +"Wait a moment, gentlemen," said Philip. "There is a bare +possibility that I can do something for you." + +For the first time since he left Norton he thought of the letter +which he was not to open till he was fifty miles from Norton. + +"Mr. Gates," he said, "can you tell me how far Norton is from here?" + +"About sixty miles," answered the landlord in surprise. + +"Then it's all right." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +A TIMELY GIFT. + + + + + +The reader has not forgotten that Farmer Lovett, when Philip refused +to accept any compensation for assisting to frustrate the attempt at +burglary, handed him a sealed envelope, which he requested him not +to open till he was fifty miles away from Norton. + +Philip had carried this about in his pocket ever since. He had +thought of it as likely to contain some good advice at the time; but +it had since occurred to him that the farmer had not had time to +write down anything in that line. + +He was disposed to think that the mysterious envelope might contain +a five-dollar bill, as a slight acknowledgment of his services. + +Though Philip had declined receiving any payment, it did seem to him +now that this amount of money would relieve him from considerable +embarrassment. He therefore drew a penknife from his pocket and cut +open the envelope. + +What was his amazement when he drew out three bills--two twenties +and a ten--fifty dollars in all! There was a slip of paper, on which +was written, in pencil: + +"Don't hesitate to use this money, if you need it, as you doubtless +will. I can spare it as well as not, and shall be glad if it proves +of use to one who has done me a great service. JOHN LOVETT." + +"What's that!" asked the landlord, regarding Philip with interest. + +"Some money which I did not know I possessed," answered Philip. + +"How much is there?" + +"Fifty dollars." + +"And you didn't know you had it?" asked the publisher--rather +incredulously, it must be owned. + +"No, sir; I was told not to open this envelope till I was fifty +miles away from where it was given me. Of course, Mr. Gates, I am +now able to pay all my bills, and to repay you for what you handed +Mr. Gunn." + +"I am pleased with your good fortune," said the landlord cordially. + +"Thank you, sir." + +"But I am sorry your knavish partner has cheated you out of so much +money." + +"I shall make him pay it if I can," said Philip resolutely. + +"I approve your pluck, and I wish you success." + +"He owes you money, too, Mr. Gates. Give me the bill, and I will do +my best to collect it." + +"If you collect it, you may have it," said Gates. "I don't care much +for the money, but I should like to have the scamp compelled to fork +it over." + +"I wish I knew where he was likely to be," said Philip. + +"He may go to Knoxville," suggested the publisher. + +"How far is that?" + +"Ten miles." + +"What makes you think he will go to Knoxville?" asked the landlord. + +"He may think of giving a performance there. It is a pretty large +place." + +"But wouldn't he be afraid to do it, after the pranks he has played +here?" + +"Perhaps so. At any rate, he is very likely to go there." + +"I will go there and risk it," said Philip. "He needn't think he is +going to get off so easily, even if it is only a boy he has +cheated." + +"That's the talk, Mr. Gray!" said the landlord. "How are you going?" +he asked, a minute later. + +"I can walk ten miles well enough," answered Philip. + +He had considerable money now, but he reflected that he should +probably need it all, especially if he did not succeed in making the +professor refund, and decided that it would be well to continue to +practice economy. + +"I have no doubt you can," said the landlord, "but it will be better +not to let the professor get too much the start of you. I will +myself have a horse harnessed, and take you most of the distance in +my buggy." + +"But, Mr. Gates, won't it be putting you to a great deal of +trouble?" + +"Not at all. I shall enjoy a ride this morning, and the road to +Knoxville is a very pleasant one." + +"Let me pay something for the ride, then." + +"Not a cent. You will need all your money, and I can carry you just +as well as not," said the landlord heartily. + +"I am very fortunate in such a kind friend," said Philip gratefully. + +"Oh, it isn't worth talking about! Here, Jim, go out and harness the +horse directly." + +When the horse was brought round, Philip was all ready, and jumped +in. + +"Would you like to drive, Mr. Gray?" asked the landlord. + +"Yes," answered Philip, with alacrity. + +"Take the lines, then," said the landlord. + +Most boys of Philip's age are fond of driving, and our hero was no +exception to the rule, as the landlord supposed. + +"You'll promise not to upset me," said Mr. Gates, smiling. "I am +getting stout, and the consequences might be serious." + +"Oh, I am used to driving," said Philip, "and I will take care not +to tip over." + +The horse was a good one, and to Philip's satisfaction, went over +the road in good style. + +Philip enjoyed driving, but, of course, his mind could not help +dwelling on the special object of his journey. + +"I hope we are on the right track," he said. "I shouldn't like to +miss the professor." + +"You will soon know, at any rate," said Gates. "It seems to me," he +continued, "that Riccabocca made a great mistake in running off with +that money." + +"He thought it would be safe to cheat a boy." + +"Yes; but admitting all that, you two were likely to make money. In +Wilkesville your profits were a hundred dollars in one evening. Half +of that belonged to the professor, at any rate. He has lost his +partner, and gained only fifty dollars, which would not begin to pay +him for your loss." + +"Perhaps he thought he would draw as well alone." + +"Then he is very much mistaken. To tell the plain truth, our people +thought very little of his share of the performance. I saw some of +them laughing when he was ranting away. It was you they enjoyed +hearing." + +"I am glad of that," said Philip, gratified. + +"There's no humbug about your playing. You understand it. It was you +that saved the credit of the evening, and sent people away well +satisfied." + +"I am glad of that, at any rate, even if I didn't get a cent for my +playing," said Philip, well pleased. + +"The money's the practical part of it," said the landlord. "Of +course, I am glad when travelers like my hotel, but if they should +run off without paying, like the professor, I shouldn't enjoy it so +much." + +"No, I suppose not," said Philip, with a laugh. + +They had ridden some seven miles, and were, therefore, only three +miles from Knoxville, without the slightest intimation as to whether +or not they were on the right track. + +To be sure, they had not expected to obtain any clue so soon, but it +would have been very satisfactory, of course, to obtain one. + +A little farther on they saw approaching a buggy similar to their +own, driven by a man of middle age. It turned out to be an +acquaintance of the landlord's, and the two stopped to speak. + +"Going to Knoxville on business, Mr. Gates?" asked the newcomer. + +"Well, not exactly. I am driving this young man over. By the way, +have you seen anything of a tall man, with long, black hair, dressed +in black?" + +"Yes. Do you want to see him?" + +"This young man has some business with him. Where did you see him?" + +"He arrived at our hotel about an hour since, I calculate." + +Philip's heart bounded with satisfaction at this important news. + +"Did he put up there?" + +"Yes. I believe he is going to give a reading this evening." + +"Thank you!" + +"The professor must be a fool!" said the landlord, as they drove +away. + +"I begin to think so myself," replied Philip. + +"That's all in our favor, however. We shall get back that money +yet." + +The horse was put to his speed, and in fifteen minutes they reached +Knoxville. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +THE PROFESSOR'S FLIGHT. + + + + + +Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca was not a wise man. It would have been +much more to his interest to deal honestly with Philip, paying his +share of the profits of the first performance, and retaining his +services as associate and partner. + +But the professor was dazzled by the money, and unwilling to give it +up. Moreover, he had the vanity to think that he would draw nearly +as well alone, thus retaining in his own hands the entire proceeds +of any entertainments he might give. + +When he met Philip on the road he was well-nigh penniless. Now, +including the sum of which he had defrauded our hero and his +creditors in Wilkesville, he had one hundred and fifty dollars. + +When the professor went to bed, he had not formed the plan of +deserting Philip; but, on awaking in the morning, it flashed upon +him as an excellent step which would put money in his pocket. + +He accordingly rose, dressed himself quietly, and, with one cautious +look at Philip--who was fast asleep--descended the stairs to the +office. + +Only the bookkeeper was in the office. + +"You are stirring early, professor," he said. + +"Yes," answered Riccabocca, "I generally take a morning walk, to get +an appetite for breakfast." + +"My appetite comes without the walk," said the bookkeeper, smiling. + +"If Mr. de Gray comes downstairs, please tell him I will be back +soon," said Riccabocca. + +The bookkeeper readily promised to do this, not having the slightest +suspicion that the distinguished professor was about to take French +leave. + +When Professor Riccabocca had walked half a mile he began to feel +faint. His appetite had come. + +"I wish I had stopped to breakfast," he reflected. "I don't believe +De Gray will be down for an hour or two." + +It was too late to go back and repair his mistake. That would spoil +all. He saw across the street a baker's shop, just opening for the +day, and this gave him an idea. + +He entered, bought some rolls, and obtained a glass of milk, and, +fortified with these, he resumed his journey. + +He had walked three miles, when he was over-taken by a farm wagon, +which was going his way. + +He hailed the driver--a young man of nineteen or +thereabouts--ascertained that he was driving to Knoxville, and, for +a small sum, secured passage there. + +This brings us to the point of time when Philip and Mr. Gates drove +up to the hotel at Knoxville. + +"I can see the professor," said Philip, in eager excitement, when +they had come within a few rods of the inn. + +"Where is he?" + +"He is in the office, sitting with his back to the front window. I +wonder what he will have to say for himself?" + +"So do I," said the landlord curiously. + +"Shall we go in together?" questioned Philip. + +"No; let us surprise him a little. I will drive around to the sheds +back of the hotel, and fasten my horse. Then we will go round to the +front, and you can go in, while I stand outside, ready to appear a +little later." + +Philip thought this a good plan. He enjoyed the prospect of +confronting the rogue who had taken advantage of his inexperience, +and attempted such a bold scheme of fraud. He didn't feel in the +least nervous, or afraid to encounter the professor, though +Riccabocca was a man and he but a boy. When all was ready, Philip +entered through the front door, which was open, and, turning into +the office, stood before the astonished professor. + +The latter started in dismay at the sight of our hero. He thought he +might be quietly eating breakfast ten miles away, unsuspiciously +waiting for his return. Was his brilliant scheme to fail? He quickly +took his resolution--a foolish one. He would pretend not to know +Philip. + +"Well, Professor Riccabocca," Philip said, in a sarcastic tone, "you +took rather a long walk this morning." + +The professor looked at him vacantly. + +"Were you addressing me?" he inquired. + +"Yes, sir," answered Philip, justly provoked. + +"I haven't the pleasure of your acquaintance, young man." + +"I wish I hadn't the pleasure of yours," retorted Philip. + +"Do you come here to insult me?" demanded Riccabocca, frowning. + +"I came here to demand my share of the money received for the +entertainment last evening, as well as the money paid for the hall, +the printer, and bill-poster." + +"You must be crazy!" said Riccabocca, shrugging his shoulders. "I +don't know you. I don't owe you any money." + +"Do you mean to say we didn't give an entertainment together last +evening at Wilkesville?" asked Philip, rather taken aback by the +man's sublime impudence. + +"My young friend, you have been dreaming. Prove what you say and I +will admit your claim." + +Up to this point those present, deceived by the professor's +coolness, really supposed him to be in the right. That was what +Riccabocca anticipated, and hoped to get off before the discovery of +the truth could be made. But he did not know that Philip had a +competent witness at hand. + +"Mr. Gates!" called Philip. + +The portly landlord of the Wilkesville Hotel entered the room, and +Riccaboeca saw that the game was up. + +"Mr. Gates, will you be kind enough to convince this gentleman that +he owes me money?" asked Philip. + +"I think he won't deny it now," said Gates significantly. "He walked +off from my hotel this morning, leaving his bill unpaid. Professor +Riccabocca, it strikes me you had better settle with us, unless you +wish to pass the night in the lockup." + +Professor Riccabocca gave a forced laugh. + +"Why, Mr. de Gray," he said, "you ought to have known that I was +only playing a trick on you." + +"I supposed you were," said Philip. + +"No, I don't mean that. I was only pretending I didn't know you, to +see if I could act naturally enough, to deceive you." + +"Why did you desert me?" asked Philip suspiciously. + +"I started to take a walk--didn't the bookkeeper tell you?--and +finding a chance to ride over here, thought I would do so, and make +arrangements for our appearance here. Of course, I intended to come +back, and pay our good friend, the landlord, and give you your share +of the common fund." + +Neither Gates nor Philip believed a word of this. It seemed to them +quite too transparent. + +"You may as well pay us now, Professor Riccabocca," said the +landlord dryly. + +"I hope you don't suspect my honor or integrity," said Riccabocca, +appearing to be wounded at the thought. + +"Never mind about that," said Mr. Gates shortly. "Actions speak +louder than words." + +"I am quite ready to settle--quite," said the professor. "The money +is in my room. I will go up and get it." + +There seemed to be no objection to this, and our two friends saw him +ascend the staircase to the second story. Philip felt pleased to +think that he had succeeded in his quest, for his share of the +concert money would be nearly seventy dollars. That, with the +balance of the money; received from Farmer Lovett, would make over a +hundred dollars. + +They waited five minutes, and the professor did not come down. + +"What can keep him?" said Philip. + +Just then one of the hostlers entered and caught what our hero had +said. + +"A man has just run out of the back door," he said, "and is cutting +across the fields at a great rate." + +"He must have gone down the back stairs," said the clerk. + +"In what direction would he go?" asked Philip hastily. + +"To the railroad station. There is a train leaves in fifteen +minutes." + +"What shall we do, Mr. Gates?" asked Philip, in dismay. + +"Jump into my buggy. We'll get to the depot before the train starts. +We must intercept the rascal." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +THE RACE ACROSS FIELDS. + + + + + +It so happened that Professor Riccabocca had once before visited +Knoxville, and remembered the location of the railroad station. +Moreover, at the hotel, before the arrival of Philip, he had +consulted a schedule of trains posted up in the office, and knew +that one would leave precisely at ten o'clock. + +The impulse to leave town by this train was sudden. He had in his +pocket the wallet containing the hundred and fifty dollars, of which +a large part belonged to Philip, and could have settled at once, +without the trouble of going upstairs to his room. + +He only asked leave to go up there in order to gain time for +thought. At the head of the staircase he saw another narrower flight +of stairs descending to the back of the house. That gave him the +idea of eluding his two creditors by flight. + +I have said before that Professor Riccabocca was not a wise man, or +he would have reflected that he was only postponing the inevitable +reckoning. Moreover, it would destroy the last chance of making an +arrangement with Philip to continue the combination, which thus far +had proved so profitable. + +The professor did not take this into consideration, but dashed down +the back stairs, and opened the back door into the yard. + +"Do you want anything, sir?" asked a maidservant, eyeing the +professor suspiciously. + +"Nothing at all, my good girl," returned the professor. + +"You seem to be in a hurry," she continued, with renewed suspicion. + +"So I am. I am in a great hurry to meet an engagement." + +"Why didn't you go out the front door?" asked the girl. + +"Oh, bother! What business is it of yours?" demanded the professor +impatiently. + +And, not stopping for further inquiries, he vaulted over a fence and +took his way across the fields to the station. + +"Here, Sam," called the girl, her suspicions confirmed that +something was wrong, "go after that man as fast as you can!" + +This was addressed to a boy who was employed at the hotel to go on +errands and do odd jobs. + +"What's he done?" asked Sam. + +"I don't know; but he's either run off without paying his bill, or +he's stolen something." + +"What good'll it do me to chase him?" asked Sam. + +"If he's cheated master, he'll pay you for catching the man." + +"That's so," thought Sam. "Besides, I'll be a detective, just like +that boy I read about in the paper. I'm off!" + +Fired by youthful ambition, Sam also vaulted the fence, and ran +along the foot-path in pursuit of the professor. + +Lorenzo Riccabocca did not know he was pursued. He felt himself so +safe from this, on account of the secrecy of his departure, that he +never took the trouble to look behind him. He knew the way well +enough, for the fields he was crossing were level, and half a mile +away, perhaps a little more, he could see the roof of the +brown-painted depot, which was his destination. Once there, he would +buy a ticket, get on the train, and get started away from Knoxville +before the troublesome acquaintances who were waiting for him to +come down-stairs had any idea where he was gone. + +The professor ran at a steady, even pace, looking straight before +him. His eyes were fixed on the haven of his hopes, and he did not +notice a stone, of considerable size, which lay in his path. The +result was that he stumbled over it, and fell forward with +considerable force. He rose, jarred and sore, but there was no time +to take account of his physical damages. He must wait till he got on +the train. + +The force with which he was thrown forward was such that the wallet +was thrown from his pocket, and fell in the grass beside the path. +The professor went on his way, quite unconscious of his loss, but +there were other eyes that did not overlook it. + +Sam, who was thirty rods behind, noticed Professor Riccabocca's +fall, and he likewise noticed the wallet when he reached the spot of +the catastrophe. + +"My eyes!" he exclaimed, opening those organs wide in delight; +"here's luck! The old gentleman has dropped his pocketbook. Most +likely it's stolen. I'll carry it back and give it to Mr. Perry." + +Sam very sensibly decided that it wasn't worth while to continue the +pursuit, now that the thief, as he supposed Riccabocca to be, had +dropped his booty. + +Sam was led by curiosity to open the wallet. When he saw the thick +roll of bills, he was filled with amazement and delight. + +"Oh, what a rascal he was!" ejaculated the boy. "I guess he's been +robbing a safe. I wonder how much is here?" + +He was tempted to sit down on the grass and count the bills, but he +was prevented by the thought that the professor might discover his +loss, and returning upon his track, question him as to whether he +had found it. Sam determined that he wouldn't give it up, at any +rate. + +"I guess I could wrastle with him," he thought. "He looks rather +spindlin', but then he's bigger than I am, and he might lick me, +after all." + +I desire to say emphatically that Sam was strictly honest, and never +for a moment thought of appropriating any of the money to his own +use. He felt that as a detective he had been successful, and this +made him feel proud and happy. + +"I may as well go home," he said. "If he's stolen this money from +Mr. Perry, I'll come in for a reward." + +Sam did not hurry, however. He was not now in pursuit of any one, +and could afford to loiter and recover his breath. + +Meanwhile, Professor Riccabocca, in happy unconsciousness of his +loss, continued his run to the station. He arrived there breathless, +and hurried to the ticket-office. + +"Give me a ticket to Chambersburg," he said. + +"All right, sir. Ninety cents." + +If Riccabocca had been compelled to take out his wallet, he would at +once have discovered his loss, and the ticket would not have been +bought. But he had a two-dollar bill in his vest, and it was out of +this that he paid for the ticket to Chambersburg. Armed with the +ticket, he waited anxiously for the train. He had five minutes to +wait--five anxious moments in which his flight might be discovered. +He paced the platform, looking out anxiously for the train. + +At length he heard the welcome sound of the approaching locomotive. +The train came to a stop, and among the first to enter it was the +eminent elocutionist. He took a seat beside the window looking out +toward the village. What did he see that brought such an anxious +look in his face? + +A buggy was approaching the depot at breakneck speed. It contained +Mr. Gates, the landlord, and the young musician. Mr. Gates was +lashing the horse, and evidently was exceedingly anxious to arrive +at the depot before the train started. + +Beads of perspiration stood on the anxious brow of the professor. +His heart was filled with panic terror. + +"The girl must have told them of my flight," he said to himself. +"Oh, why didn't I think to give her a quarter to keep her lips +closed? Why doesn't the train start?" + +The buggy was only about ten rods away. It looked as if Philip and +his companion would be able to intercept the fugitive. + +Just then the scream of the locomotive was heard. The train began to +move. Professor Riccabocca gave a sigh of relief. + +"I shall escape them after all," he said triumphantly, to himself. + +He opened the window, and, with laughing face, nodded to his +pursuers. + +"We've lost him!" said Philip, in a tone of disappointment. "What +can we do?" + +"Find out where he is going, and telegraph to have him stopped," +said Mr. Gates. "That will put a spoke in his wheel." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +THE LOST WALLET. + + + + + +Mr. Gates was acquainted with the depot-master, and lost no time in +seeking him. + +"Too late for the train?" asked the latter, who observed in the +landlord evidences of haste. + +"Not for the train, but for one of the passengers by the train," +responded the landlord. "Did you take notice of a man dressed in a +shabby suit of black, wearing a soft hat and having very long black +hair?" + +"Yes." + +"Where is he going?" asked Mr. Gates eagerly. + +"He bought a ticket for Chambersburg." + +"Ha! Well, I want you to telegraph for me to Chambersburg." + +The station-master was also the telegraph-operator, as it chanced. + +"Certainly. Just write out your message and I will send it at once." + +Mr. Gates telegraphed to a deputy sheriff at Chambersburg to be at +the depot on arrival of the train, and to arrest and detain the +professor till he could communicate further with him. + +"Now," said he, turning to Philip, "I think we shall be able to stop +the flight of your friend." + +"Don't call him my friend," said Philip. "He is anything but a +friend." + +"You are right there. Well, I will amend and call him your partner. +Now, Mr. de Gray--" + +"My name is Gray--not de Gray. The professor put in the 'de' because +he thought it would sound foreign." + +"I presume you have as much right to the name as he has to the title +of professor," said Gates. + +"I don't doubt it," returned Philip, smiling. + +"Well, as I was about to say, we may as well go back to the hotel, +and await the course of events. I think there is some chance of your +getting your money back." + +When they reached the hotel, they found a surprise in store for +them. + +Sam had carried the professor's wallet to Mr. Perry, and been told +by them to wait and hand it in person to Philip and his friend, Mr. +Gates, who were then at the depot. + +When they arrived, Sam was waiting on the stoop, wallet in hand. + +"What have you got there, Sam?" asked Mr. Gates, who often came to +Knoxville, and knew the boy. "It's the wallet of that man you were +after," said Sam. + +"How did you get it?" asked Philip eagerly. + +"I chased him 'cross lots," said Sam. + +"You didn't knock him over and take the wallet from him, did you, +Sam?" asked Mr. Gates. + +"Not so bad as that," answered Sam, grinning. "You see, he tripped +over a big rock, and came down on his hands and knees. The wallet +jumped out of his pocket, but he didn't see it. I picked it up and +brought it home." + +"Didn't he know you were chasing him?" + +"I guess not. He never looked back." + +"What made you think of running after him?" + +"One of the girls told me to. The way he ran out of the back door +made her think there was something wrong." + +"Suppose he had turned round?" + +"I guess I could have wrastled with him," said Sam, to the amusement +of those who heard him. + +"It is well you were not obliged to." + +"Who shall I give the wallet to?" asked Sam. + +"Mr. Gray, here, is the professor's partner, and half the money +belongs to him. You can give it to him." + +"Have I a right to take it?" asked Philip, who did not wish to do +anything unlawful. + +He was assured that, as the business partner of the professor, he +had as much right as Riccabocca to the custody of the common fund. + +"But half of it belongs to the professor." + +"He'll come back for it, in the custody of the sheriff. I didn't +think I was doing the man a good turn when I telegraphed to have him +stopped." + +The first thing Philip did was to take from his own funds a +five-dollar bill, which he tendered to Sam. + +"Is it all for me?" asked the boy, his eyes sparkling his joy. + +"Yes; but for you I should probably have lost a good deal more. +Thank you, besides." + +And Philip offered his hand to Sam, who grasped it fervently. + +"I say, you're a tip-top chap," said Sam. "You ain't like a man that +lost a pocketbook last summer, with a hundred dollars in it, and +gave me five cents for finding it." + +"No; I hope I'm not as mean as that," said Philip, smiling. + +He opened the wallet and found a memorandum containing an exact +statement of the proceeds of the concert. This was of great service +to him, as it enabled him to calculate his own share of the profits. + +The aggregate receipts were one hundred and fifty dollars and fifty +cents. Deducting bills paid, viz.: + +Rent of hall........................ $5.00 + +Printing, etc........................ 5.00 + +Bill-poster ......................... 1.00 + +Total...........................$11.00 + +there was a balance of $138.50, of which Philip was entitled to +one-half, namely, $69.25. This he took, together with the eleven +dollars which he had himself paid to the creditors of the +combination, and handed the wallet, with the remainder of the money, +to Mr. Perry, landlord of the Knoxville Hotel, with a request that +he would keep it till called for by Professor Riccabocca. + +"You may hand me three dollars and a half, Mr. Perry," said Mr. +Gates. "That is the amount the professor owes me for a day and +three-quarters at my hotel. If he makes a fuss, you can tell him he +is quite at liberty to go to law about it." + +Meanwhile, where was the professor, and when did he discover his +loss? + +After the train was a mile or two on its way he felt in his pocket +for the wallet, meaning to regale himself with a sight of its +contents--now, as he considered, all his own. + +Thrusting his hand into his pocket, it met--vacancy. + +Pale with excitement, he continued his search, extending it to all +his other pockets. But the treasure had disappeared! + +Professor Riccabocca was panic-stricken. He could hardly suppress a +groan. + +A good woman sitting opposite, judging from his pallor that he was +ill, leaned over and asked, in a tone of sympathy: + +"Are you took sick?" + +"No, ma'am," answered the professor sharply. + +"You look as if you was goin' to have a fit," continued the +sympathizing woman. "Jest take some chamomile tea the first chance +you get. It's the sovereignest thing I know of--" + +"Will chamomile tea bring back a lost pocket-book?" demanded the +professor sharply. + +"Oh, Lor'! you don't say you lost your money?" + +"Yes, I do!" said Riccabocca, glaring at her. + +"Oh, dear! do you think there's pickpockets in the car?" asked the +old lady nervously. + +"Very likely," answered the professor tragically. + +The good woman kept her hand in her pocket all the rest of the way, +eyeing all her fellow passengers sharply. + +But the professor guessed the truth. He had lost his wallet when he +stumbled in the field. He was in a fever of impatience to return and +hunt for it. Instead of going on to Chambersburg, he got out at the +next station--five miles from Knoxville--and walked back on the +railroad-track. So it happened that the telegram did no good. + +The professor walked back to the hotel across the fields, hunting +diligently, but saw nothing of the lost wallet. He entered the +hotel, footsore, weary, and despondent. The first person he saw was +Philip, sitting tranquilly in the office. + +"Did you just come down from your room?" asked our hero coolly. + +"I am a most unfortunate man!" sighed Riccabocca, sinking into a +seat. + +"What's the matter?" + +"I've lost all our money." + +"I am glad you say 'our money.' I began to think you considered it +all yours. Didn't I see you on the train?" + +"I had a bad headache," stammered the professor, "and I didn't know +what I was doing." + +"Does riding in the cars benefit your head?" + +Professor Riccabocca looked confused. + +"The wallet was found," said Philip, not wishing to keep him any +longer in suspense. + +"Where is it?" asked the professor eagerly. + +"Mr. Perry will give it to you. I have taken out my share of the +money, and Mr. Gates has received the amount of his bill. It would +have been better for you to attend to these matters yourself like +an honest man." + +Professor Riccabocca was so overjoyed to have back his own money +that he made no fuss about Philip's proceedings. Indeed, his own +intended dishonesty was so apparent that it would have required even +more assurance than he possessed to make a protest. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +A NEW BUSINESS PROPOSAL. + + + + + +Professor Riccabocca put the wallet in his pocket with a sigh of +satisfaction. There were still sixty dollars or more in it, and it +was long since he had been so rich. + +He began to think now that it might be well to revive the +combination. There was some doubt, however, as to how Philip would +receive the proposal. + +He looked at his young partner and was not much encouraged. He felt +that he must conciliate him. + +"Mr. de Gray," he began. + +"Call me Gray. My name is not de Gray." + +"Well, Mr. Gray, then. I hope you don't have any hard feelings." + +"About what?" inquired Philip, surveying the professor curiously. + +"About--the past," stammered the professor. + +"You mean about your running off with my money?" returned Philip +plainly. + +Professor Riccabocca winced. He did not quite like this form of +statement. "I am afraid you misjudge me," he said, rather confused. + +"I shall be glad to listen to any explanation you have to offer," +said our hero. + +"I will explain it all to you, in time," said the professor, +recovering his old assurance. "In the meantime, I have a proposition +to make to you." + +"What is it?" + +"Suppose we give an entertainment in Knoxville--on the same terms as +the last." + +"I shouldn't think you would like to appear before an audience here, +Professor Riccabocca." + +"Why not?" + +"Before night everybody will have heard of your running away with +the proceeds of the last concert." + +"Public men are always misjudged. They must expect it," said the +professor, with the air of a martyr. + +"I should think you would be more afraid of being justly judged." + +"Mr. Gray," said the professor, "I have done wrong, I admit; but it +was under the influence of neuralgia. When I have a neuralgic +headache, I am not myself. I do things which, in a normal condition, +I should not dream of. I am the victim of a terrible physical +malady." + +Philip did not believe a word of this, but he felt amused at the +professor's singular excuse. + +"Come, Mr. Gray, what do you say?" + +"I think I must decline," returned Philip. + +But here Professor Riccabocca received unexpected help. + +Mr. Perry, the landlord, who had listened to the colloquy, +approached the two speakers and said: + +"Gentlemen, I have a proposal to make to you both." + +Both Philip and the professor looked up, with interest. + +"Some of the young men in the village," said the landlord, "have +formed a literary club, meeting weekly. They have hired and +furnished a room over one of our stores, provided it with, games and +subscribed for a few periodicals. They find, however, that the +outlay has been greater than they anticipated and are in debt. I +have been talking with the secretary, and he thinks he would like to +engage you to give an entertainment, the proceeds, beyond a fixed +sum, to go to the benefit of the club. What do you say?" + +"When is it proposed to have the entertainment?" asked Philip. + +"I suppose we should have to name to-morrow evening, in order to +advertise it sufficiently." + +"I am willing to make any engagement that will suit the club," said +Philip. + +"And I, too," said Professor Riccabocca. + +"The secretary authorizes me to offer you ten dollars each, and to +pay your hotel expenses in the meantime," said Mr. Perry. + +"That is satisfactory," said our hero. + +"I agree," said the professor. + +"Then I will at once notify the secretary, and he will take steps to +advertise the entertainment." + +Ten dollars was a small sum compared with what Philip had obtained +for his evening in Wilkesville, but a week since he would have +regarded it as very large for one week's work. He felt that it was +for his interest to accept the proposal. + +He secretly resolved that if the entertainment should not prove as +successful as was anticipated, he would give up a part of the sum +which was promised him for his services. + +Professor Riccabocca assented the more readily to the proposal, +because he thought it might enable him again to form a business +alliance with our hero, from whom his conduct had estranged him. + +"Suppose we take a room together, Mr. de Gray," he said, with an +ingratiating smile. + +"Gray, if you please, professor. I don't like sailing under false +colors." + +"Excuse me; the force of habit, you know. Well, do you agree?" + +"The professor has more assurance than any man I ever heard of," +thought Philip. "You must excuse me, professor," he said. "After +what has happened, I should feel safer in a room by myself." + +"Why will you dwell upon the past, Mr. Gray?" said the professor +reproachfully. + +"Because I am prudent, and learn from experience," answered Philip. + +"I assure you, you will have nothing to complain of," said +Riccabocca earnestly. "If we are together, we can consult about the +program." + +"We shall have plenty of time to do that during the day, professor." + +"Then you don't care to room with me?" said Riccabocca, looking +disappointed. + +"No, I don't." + +"What are you afraid of?" + +"I am afraid you might have an attack of neuralgic headache during +the night," said Philip, laughing. + +Professor Riccabocca saw that it would be of no use for him to press +the request, and allowed himself to be conducted to the same room +which he had so unceremoniously left a short time before. + +During the afternoon, Philip had a call from John Turner, the +secretary of the Young Men's Club. He was a pleasant, +straightforward young man, of perhaps twenty. + +"We are very much obliged to you, Mr. Gray," he said, "for kindly +consenting to play for our benefit." + +"It is for my interest," said Philip frankly. "I may as well remain +here and earn ten dollars as to be idle." + +"But you made a great deal more, I understand, in Wilkesville?" + +"Yes; but I might not be as fortunate here. I had not intended to +appear here at all, and should not have done so unless you had +invited me. How many have you in your club?" + +"Only about twenty-five, so far, and some of us are not able to pay +much." + +"How long has your club been formed?" asked Philip. + +"Only about three months. We wanted a place where we could meet +together socially in the evening, and have a good time. Before, we +had only the stores and barrooms to go to, and there we were tempted +to drink. Our club was started in the interests of temperance, and +we can see already that it is exerting a good influence." + +"Then I am very glad to assist you," said Philip cordially. + +"You must come round and see our room. Are you at leisure now?" + +"Yes, Mr. Turner." + +Philip accompanied his new friend to the neatly furnished room +leased by the society. He was so well pleased with its appearance +that he thought he should himself like to belong to such an +association, whenever he found a permanent home. At present he was +only a wanderer. + +"Our debt is thirty-four dollars," said the secretary. "You may not +think it large, but it's large for us." + +"I hope our entertainment will enable you to clear it off." + +"If it should it will give us new courage." + +On the evening of the next day Philip and the professor entered the +hall engaged for the entertainment, and took seats on the platform. + +The hall was well filled, the scale of prices being the same as at +Wilkesville. + +"Mr. Gray," whispered the secretary joyfully, "it is a great +success! After paying all bills the club will clear fifty dollars." + +"I am delighted to hear it," said Philip. + +The professor commenced the entertainment, and was followed by +Philip. + +As Philip began to play his attention was drawn to three persons who +were entering the hall. + +These were a lady, a little girl, and a stout gentleman, in whom +Philip, almost petrified with amazement, recognized his old +acquaintance, Squire Pope, of Norton, who had shown himself so +anxious to provide him a home in the poor-house. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +SQUIRE POPE IS AMAZED. + + + + + +Though Philip did not know it, it chanced that Squire Pope's only +sister, Mrs. Cunningham, lived in Knoxville. She was a widow, fairly +well off, with a young daughter, Carrie--a girl of twelve. Squire +Pope had long thought of visiting his sister, and happening about +this time to have a little business in a town near-by, he decided to +carry out his long-deferred plan. He arrived by the afternoon train, +in time for supper. + +"I am glad you are here to-night, brother," said Mrs. Cunningham. + +"Why particularly to-night, Sister Ellen?" asked the squire. + +"Because there is to be an entertainment for the benefit of the +Young Men's Literary Club. It is expected to be very interesting." + +"What sort of an entertainment, Ellen?" asked the squire. + +"The celebrated elocutionist, Professor Riccabocca, is to give some +readings--" + +"Riccabocca!" repeated the squire, in a musing tone. "I can't say I +ever heard of him." + +"Nor I; but I hear he's very celebrated." + +"Is there anything else?" + +"Yes, there's a young musician going to play. He is said to be +wonderful. He plays on the violin." + +"He's a very handsome boy," said Carrie enthusiastically. "He's +staying at the hotel. I saw him this afternoon when I was passing." + +"So he's good-looking, is he, Carrie?" asked the squire, laughing. + +"He's ever so good-looking," answered Carrie emphatically. + +"Then we must certainly go, for Carrie's sake," said the squire. + +Squire Pope had not the slightest idea that the young musician, +about whom his niece spoke so enthusiastically, was the boy whom he +had so recently persecuted. + +If Carrie had mentioned his name, the secret would have been out, +but she had not yet heard it. + +In honor of her brother's arrival, Mrs. Cunningham prepared a more +elaborate supper than usual, and to this it was owing that the three +entered the hall late, just as Philip was about to commence playing. + +The squire and his companions were obliged to take seats some +distance away from the platform, and as his eyesight was poor, he +didn't immediately recognize as an old acquaintance the boy who was +standing before the audience with his violin in his hand. + +"That's he! That's the young violin-player!" whispered Carrie, in a +tone of delight. "Isn't he handsome, uncle!" + +"Wait till I get my glasses on," said the squire, fumbling in his +pocket for his spectacle-case. + +Adjusting his glasses, Squire Pope directed a glance at the stage. +He instantly recognized Philip, and his surprise was boundless. He +gave a sudden start. + +"By gracious, I couldn't have believed it!" he ejaculated. + +"Couldn't have believed what, brother?" asked Mrs. Cunningham. + +"I know that boy!" he said, in a tone of excitement. + +"You know him, uncle?" said Carrie, delighted. "Then you must +introduce me to him. I want to meet him ever so much. Where did you +ever see him?" + +"Where did I see him? I'm his guardian. He ran away from me a little +more than a week since, and I never knew where he went." + +"You the guardian of the wonderful boy-player?" said Carrie, +astonished. "Isn't it strange?" + +"His father died a short time since and left him in my care," said +the squire, not scrupling to make a misstatement. "But I'll tell you +more about it when the performance is over." + +When Philip first saw Squire Pope entering the hall it disconcerted +him, but he reflected that the squire really had no authority over +him, and consequently he had nothing to fear from him. + +Should his pretended guardian make any effort to recover him, he was +resolved to make a desperate resistance, and even, if necessary, to +invoke the help of the law. + +Meanwhile, his pride stimulated him to play his best, and the hearty +applause of the audience when he had finished his piece encouraged +him. + +As he was bowing his thanks he could not help directing a triumphant +glance at Squire Pope, who was carefully scrutinizing him through +his gold-bowed spectacles. + +He was glad that the squire had a chance to see for himself that he +was well able to make his own way, with the help of the violin of +which the Norton official had attempted to deprive him. + +In truth, Squire Pope, who knew little of Philip's playing, except +that he did play, was amazed to find him so proficient. Instead, +however, of concluding that a boy so gifted was abundantly able to +"paddle his own canoe," as the saying is, he was the more resolved +to carry him back to Norton, and to take into his own care any the +boy might have earned. In the middle of the entertainment was a +recess of ten minutes, which most of the audience spent in +conversation. + +Miss Carrie began again to speak of Philip. + +"Oh,--uncle," she said, "I'm so glad you know that lovely +boy-player! He is earning lots of money." + +"Is he!" asked the squire, pricking up his ears. "Who told you so?" + +"One of the young men that belongs to the club told me they were to +pay him ten dollars for playing to-night." + +"Ten dollars!" ejaculated the squire, in amazement. "I don't believe +it! It's ridiculous!" + +"Oh, yes, it is true!" said Mrs. Cunningham. "John Turner told +Carrie; and he is secretary, and ought to know." + +"That isn't all," continued Carrie. "Mr. Turner says it is very kind +of Mr. Gray--" + +"Mr. Gray!" repeated the squire, amused. + +"Well, Philip, then. I suppose you call him Philip, as you are his +guardian." + +"Well, what were you going to say?" + +"Mr. Turner says that it is very kind of Philip to play for so +little, for he made a good deal more money by his entertainment in +Wilkesville." + +"Did he give a concert in Wilkesville?" asked the squire quickly. + +"Yes, he and the professor. He was liked very much there." + +"And you heard that he made a good deal of money there?" + +"Yes; lots of it." + +"Then," thought the squire, "he must have considerable money with +him. As his guardian I ought to have the care of it. He's a boy, and +isn't fit to have the charge of money. It's very lucky I came here +just as I did. It's my duty, as his guardian, to look after him." + +The squire determined to seek an interview with our hero as soon as +the entertainment was over. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +THE PRETENDED GUARDIAN. + + + + + +Philip played with excellent effect, and his efforts were received +with as much favor at Knoxville as at Wilkesville. He was twice +encored, and at the end of each of his selections he was greeted +with applause. + +As for Professor Riccabocca, people hardly knew what to make of him. +He was as eccentric and extravagant as ever, and his recitations +were received with good-natured amusement. He didn't lack for +applause, however. There were some boys on the front seats who +applauded him, just for the fun of it. Though the applause was +ironical, the professor persuaded himself that it was genuine, and +posed before the audience at each outburst, with his hand on his +heart, and his head bent so far over that he seemed likely to lose +his balance. + +"We are making a grand success, Mr. Gray," he said, during the +interval of ten minutes already referred to. "Did you notice how +they applauded me?" + +"Yes," answered Philip, with a smile. + +"They evidently appreciate true genius. It reminds me of the ovation +they gave me at Cincinnati last winter." + +"Does it?" asked Philip, still smiling. + +"Yes. I was a great favorite in that intellectual city. By the way, +I noticed that they seemed well pleased with your playing also." + +This he said carelessly, as if Philip's applause was not to be +compared to his. + +"Yes, they treat me very kindly," answered Philip. + +"You are fortunate in having me to introduce you to the public," +said the professor emphatically. "The name of Riccabocca is so well +known, that it is of great advantage to you." + +The professor deluded himself with the idea that he was a great +elocutionist, and that the public rated him as highly as he did +himself. When anything occurred that did not seem to favor this +view, he closed his eyes to it, preferring to believe that he was a +popular favorite. + +"I hope I shall never be so deceived about myself," thought Philip. + +When the entertainment was over, Mr. Caswell, president of the club, +came up to Philip and said cordially: + +"Mr. Gray, we are very much indebted to you. Thanks to you, we are +out of debt, and shall have a balance of from twelve to fifteen +dollars in the treasury." + +"I am very glad of it," said Philip. + +"So am I," said the professor, pushing forward, jealous lest Philip +should get more than his share of credit. + +"And we are indebted to you also, Professor Riccabocca," said the +president, taking the hint. + +"You are entirely welcome, sir," said Riccabocca loftily. "My help +has often been asked in behalf of charitable organizations. I +remember once, in Philadelphia, I alone raised five hundred dollars +for a--a--I think it was a hospital." + +This was an invention, but Professor Riccabocca had no scruple in +getting up little fictions which he thought likely to redound to his +credit and increase his reputation. + +"Doubtless you are often called upon also, Mr. Gray," suggested Mr. +Caswell with a smile. + +"No," answered Philip. "This is the first time that I have ever had +the opportunity." + +"There's no humbug about the boy," thought Mr. Caswell. "As for the +professor, he is full of it." + +"I have pleasure in handing you the price agreed upon," said the +president, presenting each with a ten-dollar bill. + +"Thank you," said Philip. + +Professor Riccabocca carelessly tucked the bill into his vest +pocket, as if it were a mere trifle. + +At this moment, Mr. Turner came up with all the other gentleman. +"Mr. Gray," he said, "here is a gentleman who wishes to speak to +you." + +Philip looked up, and saw the well-known figure of Squire Pope. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +HIS OWN MASTER. + + + + + +"Ahem, Philip," said the squire. "I should like a little +conversation with you." + +"Good evening, Squire Pope," said our hero, not pretending to be +cordial, but with suitable politeness. + +"I didn't expect to see you here," pursued the squire. + +"Nor I you, sir." + +"I am visiting my sister, Mrs. Cunningham, who lives in +Knoxville. Will you come around with me, and make a call?" + +Now, considering the treatment which Philip had received from the +squire before he left Norton, the reader can hardly feel surprised +that our hero didn't care to trust himself with his unscrupulous +fellow townsman. + +"Thank you, Squire Pope," said Philip, "but it is rather late for me +to call at a private house. I am staying at the hotel, and if you +will take the trouble to go around there with me, we will have a +chance to converse." + +"Very well," said the squire, hesitating. Just then up came his +niece, Carrie, who was determined to get acquainted with Philip. + +"Uncle," she said, "introduce me to Mr. Gray." + +"This is my niece, Caroline Cunningham," said the squire stiffly. + +"I am glad to meet Miss Cunningham," said Philip, extending his +hand, with a smile. + +"What a lovely player you are, Mr. Gray!" she said impulsively. + +"I am afraid you are flattering me, Miss Cunningham." + +"Don't call me Miss Cunningham. My name is Carrie." + +"Miss Carrie, then." + +"I was ever so much surprised to hear that uncle was your guardian." + +Philip looked quickly at the squire, but did not contradict it. He +only said: + +"We used to live in the same town." + +During this conversation Squire Pope looked embarrassed and +impatient. + +"It's getting late, Carrie," he said. "You had better go home." + +"Aren't you coming, too, uncle?" + +"I am going to the hotel to settle some business with Philip." + +"What business, I wonder?" thought our hero. + +Arrived at the hotel, they went up-stairs to Philip's chamber. "You +left Norton very abruptly, Philip," commenced the squire. + +"There was good reason for it," answered Philip significantly. + +"It appears to me you are acting as if you were your own master," +observed the squire. + +"I am my own master," replied Philip firmly. + +"You seem to forget that I am your guardian." + +"I don't forget it, for I never knew it," said our hero. + +"It is generally understood that such is the case." + +"I can't help it. I don't need a guardian, and shall get along +without one." + +"Ahem! Perhaps that isn't to be decided by you." + +"If I am to have a guardian, Squire Pope," said Philip bluntly, "I +sha'n't select you. I shall select Mr. Dunbar." + +"I have much more knowledge of business than Mr. Dunbar," said the +squire, shifting his ground. + +"That may be, but there is one important objection." + +"What is that?" + +"You are not my friend, and Mr. Dunbar is." + +"Really this is very extraordinary!" ejaculated the squire. "I am +not your friend? How do you know that?" + +"You tried to make a pauper out of me, when, as you must perceive, I +am entirely able to earn my own living." + +"Is it true that you were paid ten dollars for playing this +evening?" asked the squire curiously. + +"Yes, sir." + +"It beats all!" said the squire, in amazement. + +"Yet you wanted to sell my violin for a good deal less than I have +earned in one evening," said Philip, enjoying his enemy's surprise. + +"You gave an entertainment at Wilkesville also, I hear?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Did you make as much there?" + +"I made between sixty and seventy dollars over and above expenses." + +"You don't expect me to believe that!" said the squire. + +"I don't care whether you believe it or not; it's true." + +"Have you got the money with you?" + +"Yes." + +"Then you'd better give it to me to keep for you." + +"Thank you; I feel capable of taking care of it myself." + +"But it's improper for a boy of your age to carry round so much +money," said the squire sharply. + +"If I need help to take care of it, I will ask Mr. Dunbar." + +"Come, Philip," said the squire, condescending to assume a +persuasive manner, "you must remember that I am your guardian." + +"I dispute that," said Philip. + +"I won't insist upon your going back with me to Norton, as long as +you are able to support yourself." + +"Then you wouldn't advise me to go back to the poorhouse," said +Philip, with some sarcasm in his voice. + +"I didn't mean to have you stay there long," said the squire, rather +confused. "You'd better give me most of your money, and I'll take +care of it for you, and when you're twenty-one you'll have quite a +little sum." + +"I am much obliged to you, sir, but I won't put you to the trouble +of taking care of my money," answered Philip coldly. + +Squire Pope continued to argue with Philip, but made no impression. +At length he was obliged to say good night. + +"I will call round in the morning," he said, at parting. "Perhaps +you'll listen to reason then." + +When he called round in the morning he learned to his disappointment +that Philip was gone. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +AN OFFER DECLINED. + + + + + +After his interview with Squire Pope, Philip came down to the +office, where he saw Professor Riccabocca, apparently waiting for +him. + +"Well, Mr. Gray, where shall we go next?" asked the professor, with +suavity. + +"I haven't decided where to go--have you?" asked Philip coolly. + +"I suppose we had better go to Raymond. That is a good-sized place. +I think we can get together a good audience there." + +"You seem to be under the impression that we are in partnership," +said Philip. + +"Of course," answered Riccabocca. + +"I have made no agreement of that sort, professor." + +"But, of course, it is understood," said Riccabocca quickly, "as +long as we draw so well." + +"You must excuse me, Professor Riccabocca. I must decline the +proposal." + +"But why?" inquired the professor anxiously. + +"I hope you won't press me for an explanation." + +"But I do. I can't understand why you should act so against your own +interest. You can't expect people will come just to hear you play. +You need me to help you." + +"It may be as you say, professor, but if you insist upon my speaking +plainly, I don't care to travel with a man who has treated me as you +have." + +"I don't understand you," said Riccabocca nervously; but it was +evident, from his expression, that he did. + +"Then you seem very forgetful," said Philip. "You tried to deprive +me of my share of the proceeds of the entertainment at Wilkesville, +and would have succeeded but for a lucky accident." + +"I told you that it was all owing to neuralgia," said Professor +Riccabocca. "I had such an attack of neuralgic headache that it +nearly drove me wild." + +"Then," said Philip, "I would rather find a partner who is not +troubled with neuralgic headache. I think it would be safer." + +"It won't happen again, Mr. Gray, I assure you," said the professor +apologetically. + +He endeavored to persuade Philip to renew the combination, but our +hero steadily refused. He admitted that it might be to his pecuniary +advantage, but he had lost all confidence in the eminent professor, +and he thought it better to part now than to give him another +opportunity of playing a similar trick upon him. + +The professor thereupon consulted the landlord as to whether it +would be advisable for him to give another entertainment unaided, +and was assured very emphatically that it would not pay expenses. + +"You make a great mistake, Mr. Gray," said Riccabocca. "It would be +a great advantage for you to have my assistance at this stage of +your professional career." + +"I don't expect to have any professional career," answered Philip. + +"Don't you intend to become a professional musician?" asked the +professor, surprised. + +"Probably not. I have only been playing because I needed money, and +my violin helped me to a living." + +"You can't make as much money in any other way." + +"Not at present; but I want to get a chance to enter upon some kind +of business. I am going to New York." + +"You will some time have a chance to hear me there, in the Academy +of Music," said Riccabocca pompously. + +"I will go and hear you," said Philip, laughing, "if I can afford a +ticket." + +"Say the word and we will appear there together, Mr. Gray." + +"I think not, professor." + +In fact, though Philip had found himself unexpectedly successful as +a musician, he knew very well that he was only a clever amateur, and +that years of study would be needed to make him distinguished. + +He was glad that he had the means of paying his expenses for a +considerable time, and had in his violin a trusty friend upon which +he could rely in case he got into financial trouble. Directly after +breakfast he set out on his journey. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +AN AMBITIOUS WAYFARER. + + + + + +The large sums which Philip had received for his playing might have +dazzled a less sensible boy. He was quite conscious that he played +unusually well for a boy, but when it came to selecting music as a +profession, he felt it would not be wise to come to too hasty a +decision. To be a commonplace performer did not seem to him very +desirable, and would not have satisfied his ambition. + +He had told Professor Riccabocca that he intended to go to New York. +This design had not been hastily formed. He had heard a great deal +of the great city in his home in the western part of the State of +which it was the metropolis, and he was desirous of seeing it. +Perhaps there might be some opening for him in its multitude of +business houses. + +Philip had plenty of money, and could easily have bought a railroad +ticket, which would have landed him in New York inside of +twenty-four hours, for he was only about four hundred miles distant; +but he was in no hurry, and rather enjoyed traveling leisurely +through the country towns, with his violin in his hand. + +It reminded him of a biography he had read of the famous Doctor +Goldsmith, author of the "Vicar of Wakefield," who made a tour on +the continent of Europe, paying his way with music evoked from a +similar instrument. + +Three days later, he found himself on the outskirts of a village, +which I will call Cranston. It was afternoon, and he had walked far +enough to be tired. + +He was looking about for a pleasant place to lounge, when his +attention was drawn to a boy of about his own age, who was sitting +on the stone wall under a large tree. + +He was rather a slender boy, and had originally been well dressed, +but his suit was travel-stained, and covered with dust. + +Now, boys have a natural attraction for each other, and Philip +determined to introduce himself to the stranger. This he did in +boy-fashion, by saying: + +"Hello!" + +"Hello!" said the stranger, looking up. + +But he spoke slowly and wearily, and to Philip he seemed out of +spirits. + +"Do you live in Cranston?" asked Philip, taking a seat beside the +other boy, upon the top of the stone wall. + +"No; do you?" + +"No." + +"Where do you live?" + +"I don't live anywhere just at present," answered Philip, with a +smile. "I am traveling." + +"So am I," said the other boy. + +"I am traveling to New York," Philip continued. + +"And I am traveling from there," said his new acquaintance. + +Then both boys surveyed each other curiously. + +"What's your name?" asked the stranger. + +"Philip Gray. What's your's?" + +"Mine is Henry Taylor. What have you got there?" + +"A violin." + +"Do you play on it?" + +"Yes; a little." + +"I should think you'd be tired lugging it round." + +Philip smiled. + +"It is about all the property I have," he said; "so it won't do for +me to get tired of it." + +"You're richer than I am, then," said Henry. + +"Are you poor, then?" asked Philip, in a tone of sympathy. + +"I haven't got a cent in my pocket, and I haven't had anything to +eat since breakfast." + +"Then I'm glad I met you," said Philip warmly. "I will see that you +have a good supper. How long is it since you left New York?" + +"About a week." + +"What made you leave it?" + +Henry Taylor hesitated, and finally answered, in a confused tone: + +"I've run away from home. I wanted to go out West to kill Indians." + +Philip stared at his new acquaintance in astonishment. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +THE INDIAN HUNTER. + + + + + +Philip had lived so long in a country village that he had never +chanced to read any of those absorbing romances in which one boy, of +tender years, proves himself a match for a dozen Indians, more or +less, and, therefore, he was very much amazed at Henry Taylor's +avowal that he was going out West to kill Indians. + +"What do you want to kill Indians for?" he asked, after an +astonished pause. + +Now it was Henry's turn to be astonished. + +"Every boy wants to kill Indians," he answered, looking pityingly at +our hero. + +"What for? What good will it do?" asked Philip. + +"It shows he's brave," answered his new friend. "Didn't you ever +read the story of 'Bully Bill'; or, The Hero of the Plains'?" + +"I never heard of it," said Philip. + +"You must have lived in the woods, then," said Henry Taylor, rather +contemptuously. "It's a tip-top story. Bully Bill was only fourteen, +and killed ever so many Indians--twenty or thirty, I guess--as well +as a lot of lions and bears. Oh, he must have had lots of fun!" + +"Why didn't the Indians kill him?" asked Philip, desirous of being +enlightened. "They didn't stand still and let him kill them, did +they?" + +"No; of course not. They fought awful hard." + +"How did one young boy manage to overcome so many Indians?" + +"Oh, you'll have to read the story to find out! Bully Bill was a +great hero, and everybody admired him." + +"So you wanted to imitate his example?" asked Philip. + +"To be sure I did." + +"How did you happen to get out of money?" + +"Well," said Henry, "you see me and another boy got awful excited +after reading the story, and both concluded nothing could make us so +happy as to go out West together, and do as Bill did. Of course, it +was no use to ask the old man--" + +"The old man?" queried Philip. + +"The gov'nor--father, of course! So we got hold of some money--" + +"You got hold of some money?" queried Philip. + +"That's what I said, didn't I?" rejoined Henry irritably. + +"Yes." + +"Then what's the use of repeating it?" + +Philip intended to ask where or how Henry got hold of the money, but +he saw pretty clearly that this would not be agreeable to his new +acquaintance. Though without much experience in the world, he +suspected that the money was not obtained honestly, and did not +press the question. + +"Well, me and Tom started about a week ago. First of all, we bought +some revolvers, as, of course, we should need them to shoot Indians. +They cost more than we expected, and then we found it cost more to +travel than we thought." + +"How much money did you have?" + +"After paying for our revolvers, Tom and me had about thirty +dollars," said Henry. + +"Only thirty dollars to go west with!" exclaimed Philip, in amazement. + +"Why, you see, the revolvers cost more than we expected. Then we +stopped at a hotel in Albany, where they charged us frightfully. +That is where Tom left me." + +"Tom left you at Albany?" + +"Yes, he got homesick!" said Henry contemptuously. "He thought we +hadn't money enough, and he said he didn't know as he cared so much +about killing Indians." + +"I agree with Tom," said Philip. "I don't think I should care very +much about killing Indians myself, and I should decidedly object to +being killed by an Indian. I shouldn't like to be scalped. Would +you?" + +"Oh, I'd take care of that," said Henry. "I wouldn't let them have +the chance." + +"It seems to me the best way would be to stay at home," said Philip, +smiling. + +"If I stayed at home I'd have to go to school and study. I don't +care much about studying." + +"I like it," said Philip. "So Tom left you, did he?" + +"Yes; but I wasn't going to give up so easy. He took half the money +that was left, though I thought he ought to have given it to me, as +I needed it more. I wasn't going home just as I'd started." + +"Then you've spent all your money now?" + +"Yes," answered Henry gloomily. "Have you got much money?" he asked, +after a pause. + +"Yes, I have about a hundred dollars-say, ninety-five." + +"You don't mean it!" ejaculated Henry, hie eyes sparkling. + +"Yes, I do." + +"How did you get it?" + +"I earned most of it by playing on the violin." + +"I say," exclaimed Henry, in excitement, "suppose you and me go into +partnership together, and go out West--" + +"To kill Indians?" asked Philip, smiling. + +"Yes! With all that money we'll get along. Besides, if we get short, +you can earn some more." + +"But what advantage am I to get out of it? I am to furnish all the +capital and pay all expenses, as far as I can understand. Generally, +both partners put in something." + +"I put in my revolver," said Henry. + +"One revolver won't do for us both." + +"Oh, well, you can buy one. Come, what do you say?" asked Henry +eagerly. + +"Let me ask you a few questions first. Where does your father live?" + +"In New York." + +"What is his business?" + +"He is a broker in Wall Street." + +"I suppose he is rich?" + +"Oh, he's got plenty of money, I expect! We live in a nice house on +Madison Avenue. That's one of the best streets, I suppose you know!" + +"I never was in New York. Is your mother living?" + +"No," answered Henry. "She died three years ago." + +If his mother had been living, probably the boy would never have +made such an escapade, but his father, being engrossed by business +cares, was able to give very little attention to his son, and this +accounts in part for the folly of which he had been guilty. + +"Have you got any brothers or sisters?" he asked. + +"I have one sister, about three years younger than I. Her name is +Jennie." + +"I wish I were as well off as you," said Philip. + +"How do you mean?" + +"I mean I wish I had a father and sister." + +"Haven't you?" + +"My father is dead," said Philip gravely, "and I never had a +sister." + +"Oh, well, I don't know as I'm so lucky," said Henry. "Sisters are a +bother. They want you to go round with them, and the old man is +always finding fault." + +Philip's relations with his father had always been so affectionate +that he could not understand how Henry could talk in such a way of +his. + +"I don't know what makes you ask me such a lot of questions," said +Henry, showing impatience. "Come, what do you say to my offer?" + +"About forming a partnership?" + +"Yes." + +"I'd rather not--in that way." + +"In what way?" + +"I mean for the purpose of going out West to kill Indians." + +"You've no idea what fun it would be," said Henry, disappointed. + +"No, I suppose not," said Philip, smiling. + +"Then I suppose I shall have to give it up," said Henry. + +"Now I have a proposal to make to you," said Philip. + +"What is it?" + +"If you agree to go home, I'll pay your expenses and go along with +you. I've never been to New York, and I'd like to have some one with +me that could show me round the city." + +"I can do that," said Henry. "I know the way all about." + +"Then will you agree?" + +"Yes." + +"Then come along, and we'll stop at the first convenient place and +get some supper." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +AN ADVENTURE IN THE WOODS. + + + + + +"I shall do a good thing if I induce Henry to go home," thought +Philip. "That is rather a queer idea of his about wanting to kill +Indians. It seems to me as much murder to kill an Indian as any one +else." + +He only thought this, but did not express it, as he did not care to +get into a discussion with his new acquaintance, lest the latter +should recall his consent to go home. + +"I say, Philip," said Henry, who had now learned our hero's name, +"we ain't in any hurry to go to New York, are we?" + +"I thought we might take a train to-morrow morning, and go straight +through." + +"But I'd rather take it easy, and travel through the country, and +have adventures." + +"But you forget that your father will be anxious about you." + +"Yes, I suppose he will." + +"I'll tell you what I'll do. If you'll write a letter to your +father, and let him know that you are safe with me, I'll do as you +say." + +"All right," said Henry, in a tone of satisfaction; "I'll do it." + +"Father'll pay you all you have to spend for me," Henry added, after +a moment's pause. + +"Very well; then I will be your banker." + +Philip was not foolish enough to protest that he did not care to be +repaid. All he had in the world was a little less than a hundred +dollars, and when that was gone he was not absolutely sure of making +any more at once, though he felt tolerably confident that he could. + +"Suppose you let me have ten dollars now," suggested Henry. + +"I think I would rather keep the money and pay the bills," said +Philip quietly. + +He was not sure but that Henry, if he had a supply of money in his +pockets, would reconsider his promise to go home and take French +leave. + +Of course, it would be extremely foolish, but his present expedition +did not indicate the possession of much wisdom. + +"I don't see what difference it makes," said Henry, looking +dissatisfied. + +"I won't argue the point," answered Philip good-naturedly. + +"I wish I was in New York, near a good restaurant," said Henry, +after a pause. + +"Oh. I forgot! You are hungry." + +"Awfully. I don't believe there's a hotel within two or three miles. +I don't think I can hold out to walk much farther." + +A few rods farther on was a farmhouse standing back from the road, +old-fashioned-looking, but of comfortable aspect. + +A young girl appeared at the side door and rang a noisy bell with +great vigor. + +"They're going to have supper," said Henry wistfully. "I wish it was +a hotel!" + +Philip had lived in the country, and understood the hospitable ways +of country people. + +"Come along, Henry," he said. "I'll ask them to sell us some supper. +I am sure they will be willing." + +Followed by his new acquaintance, he walked up to the side door and +knocked--for there was no bell. + +The young girl--probably about Philip's age--opened the door and +regarded them with some surprise. + +Philip bowed. + +"Will you be kind enough to tell us if there is any hotel near-by?" +he asked. + +"There's one about three miles and a half farther on." + +Henry groaned inwardly. + +"I am going to ask you a favor," said Philip. "My friend and I have +traveled a considerable distance, and stand in need of supper. We +are willing to pay as much as we should have to at a hotel, if you +will let us take supper here." + +"I'll ask mother," said the young girl. + +And forthwith she disappeared. She came back in company with a +stout, motherly-looking woman. Philip repeated his request. + +"Why, to be sure," she said heartily. "We always have enough, and to +spare. Come right in, and we'll have supper as soon as the +men-folks come in." + +They entered a neat kitchen, in the middle of which was set out a +table, with a savory supper upon it. Henry's eyes sparkled, and his +mouth watered, for the poor boy was almost famished. + +"If you want to wash come right in here," said the farmer's wife, +leading the way into a small room adjoining. + +The two boys gladly availed themselves of the permission, though +Henry would not have minded sitting right down, dusty as he was. +However, he felt better after he had washed his face and bands and +wiped them on the long roll towel that hung beside the sink. + +They were scarcely through, when their places were taken by the +farmer and his son, the latter a tall, sun-burned young man, of +about twenty, who had just come in from a distant field. The +farmer's wife soon explained the presence of the two young +strangers. + +"Sho!" said the farmer. "You're pretty young to be travelin'. You +ain't in any business, be you?" + +Henry was rather ashamed to mention that his business was killing +Indians, though, as yet, he had not done anything in that line. He +had an idea that he might be laughed at. + +"I am a little of a musician," said Philip modestly. + +"Sho! do you make it pay?" + +"Pretty well, so far; but I think when I get to New York I shall try +something else." + +"Are you a musician as well as he?" asked the farmer of Henry. + +"No, sir." + +"Come, father, you'd better sit down to supper, and do your talking +afterward," said the farmer's wife. + +So they sat down to the table, and all did full justice to the +wholesome fare, particularly Henry, who felt absolutely ravenous. + +Never at the luxurious home of his father, in Madison Avenue, had +the wandering city boy enjoyed his supper as much as at the plain +table of this country farmer. + +The good mistress of the household was delighted at the justice done +to her viands, considering it a tribute to her qualities as a cook. + +When Philip produced his purse to pay for their supper, the farmer +absolutely refused to receive anything. "But I would rather pay," +persisted our hero. + +"Then I'll tell you how you may pay. Give us one or two tunes on +your violin." + +This Philip was quite willing to do, and it is needless to say that +his small audience was very much pleased. + +"I say," said Henry, "you play well enough to give concerts." + +"I have done it before now," answered Philip, smiling. + +They were invited to spend the night, but desired to push on to the +hotel, being refreshed by their supper and feeling able to walk +three or four miles farther. + +About half-way their attention was drawn to what appeared a deserted +cabin in the edge of the woods, some twenty rods back from the road. + +"I say, Philip," said Henry, "there's an old hut that looks as if +nobody lived in it. Wouldn't it be a lark for us to sleep there +to-night? It would save the expense of lodging at the hotel, and +would be an adventure. I haven't had any adventures yet." + +"I have no objection," said Philip. "We'll go, at any rate, and look +at it." + +They crossed the field, which seemed to have been only partially +cleared, and soon reached the hut. + +It was very bare within, but on the floor, in one corner, was a +blanket spread out. There was a place for a window, but the sash had +been removed, and it was easy to step in. + +"I wonder how this blanket came here?" said Philip. + +"Oh, I guess the last people that lived here left it!" returned +Henry. "I say, Phil, I begin to feel tired. Suppose we lie down? I'm +glad I haven't got to walk any farther." + +Philip sympathized with his new friend; and so, without much parley, +the two boys threw themselves down on the blanket, and were soon +fast asleep. + +How long Philip slept he didn't know, but he was awakened by a +terrible screech, and, opening his eyes, say Henry sitting bolt +upright, with trembling limbs and distended eyeballs, gazing +fearfully at a tall, muscular-looking Indian, who had just stepped +into the cabin through the open window. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +AN INDIAN AT LAST. + + + + + +"What's the matter?" asked Philip, rubbing his eyes, for he was +hardly able--so suddenly had he been roused from sleep--to +comprehend the situation. + +Henry, as white as a sheet, could only point at the tall Indian, +who, standing motionless, was gazing as intently at the boys. + +He made one step forward, and Henry thought he was about to be +killed and scalped forthwith. + +"Oh, Mr. Indian Chief," he exclaimed, in tremulous accents, "don't +kill me! I--I ain't ready to die!" + +The Indian looked amazed, and laughed gutturally, but did not speak. +His laugh increased Henry's dismay. + +"I've got a revolver. I'll give it to you if you won't kill me," +continued Henry. + +Then the Indian spoke. + +"Why should I kill white boy?" he asked in a mild tone, which ought +to have convinced Henry that he had nothing to fear. + +But the boy was so frenzied with terror, and so possessed of the +thought that the Indian was just like the savage warriors of the +plains, of whom he had read so much, that he still felt his life to +be in danger, and answered the question in a way not expected. + +"I suppose you want my scalp," he said; "but I am only a boy, and I +don't mean any harm. I hope you'll spare my life." + +Another fit of guttural laughter from the Indian, which perplexed +Henry, and after a pause he said: + +"Me no want white boy's scalp! Me good Indian!" + +An immense burden seemed lifted from poor Henry's breast. + +"Then you don't want to kill me?" he said. + +"No!" + +"Then why do you come here?" + +"Me live here." + +The secret was out--a secret which Philip had suspected from the +first, though Henry had not dreamed of it. + +They had lain down in the Indian's cabin, appropriating his blanket, +and were simply intruders. + +Philip thought it was time for him to take part in the conversation, + +"I hope you'll excuse us," he said, "for coming here. We had no idea +any one lived here." + +"No matter," said the Indian civilly--that being one of the phrases +which his knowledge of English included. + +"Henry," said Philip, "let us get up. We are sleeping in this--this +gentleman's bed." + +He felt a little at a loss how to designate the Indian, but felt +that it was best to be as polite as possible. + +The two boys started up, in order to yield to the master of the +house the bed which properly belonged to him. + +"No," said the Indian, with a wave of his hand. "White boys stay +there. Indian sleep anywhere." + +So saying, he lay down in one corner of the cabin, and settled +himself apparently to repose. + +"But," said Philip, "we don't want to take your bed." + +"No matter!" said the Indian once more. + +"You are very kind," said Philip. "Henry, we may as well lay down +again." + +Henry obeyed directions, but he was not altogether free from alarm. +He had read that the Indians are very crafty. How did he know but +their copper-colored host might get up in the night, skillfully +remove their scalps, and leave them in a very uncomfortable plight? + +"Hadn't we better get up, and run away as soon as he is asleep?" he +whispered to Philip. + +"No; he's friendly," answered Philip confidently. + +As Henry had read about friendly Indians--all he knew about Indians, +by the way, was derived from reading stories written by authors +little wiser than himself--he concluded that perhaps there was +nothing to fear, and after a while fell asleep again. + +When the boys awoke it was morning. They looked toward the corner +where the Indian had lain down, but it was vacant. + +"He's gone." said Henry, rather relieved. + +"You were pretty well frightened last night," said Philip, smiling. + +"Who wouldn't be!" asked Henry; "to wake up and see a big Indian in +the room?" + +"I dare say many boys would be frightened," said Philip, "but I +don't think a boy who left home to go out West to kill Indians ought +to be afraid of one." + +"I guess I'll give up going," said Henry, rather abashed. + +"I think myself it would be as well," observed Philip quietly. +"You'd find it rather serious business if you should meet any real +Indian warriors." + +"I don't know but I should," Henry admitted, rather awkwardly. "I +didn't think much about it when I left home." + +"I suppose you thought you'd be a match for half a dozen Indian +warriors?" said Philip, laughing. + +"That was the way with 'Bully Bill'; or, 'The Hero of the Plains,'" +said Henry. "He always came off best when he fought with the +Indians." + +"I don't think either you or I will ever prove a Bully Bill," said +Philip. "I might enjoy going out West some time, but I shouldn't +expect to kill many Indians. I think they would stand a good deal +better chance of shooting me." + +Henry said nothing, but looked thoughtful. His romantic ideas seemed +to have received a sudden shock, and he was trying to adjust his +ideas to the new light he had received. + +The boys were preparing to go out, when their Indian host suddenly +reappeared. He carried in his hand a large-sized loaf of baker's +bread, which he had procured at the village store. He was alive to +the duties of hospitality, and did not intend to let his guests go, +uninvited though they were, without a breakfast. + +Though his stock of English was limited, he made out to invite the +boys to breakfast with him. + +Henry would have preferred to go to the hotel, but Philip signed to +him to accept graciously the Indian's hospitality. + +As the bread was fresh, they partook of it with relish, washing it +down with drafts of clear spring water. + +The Indian looked on, well pleased to see the justice done to his +hospitality. He explained to the boys that he made baskets, caught +fish, and sometimes engaged in hunting, managing, in one way and +another, to satisfy his simple wants. His name was Winuca, but his +white neighbors called him Tom. + +When the boys were ready to go, Philip drew from his pocket a +jack-knife, nearly new, of which he asked the Indian's acceptance. + +Winuca seemed very much pleased, and shook hands heartily with his +young guests, wishing them good-by. + +The boys kept on to the hotel, where they spent a few hours, taking +dinner there. Their breakfast had been so simple that they had a +very good appetite for their midday meal. + +"While we are here, Henry, suppose you write to your father and +relieve his anxiety?" suggested Philip. + +"Why can't you write?" asked Henry, who cherished the general boyish +distaste for letter-writing. + +"Because it will be more proper for you to write. I am a stranger to +him." + +"You won't be long, Philip? I shall want you to come and make me a +visit." + +"Perhaps you'll be tired of me before we get to New York," suggested +Philip, with a smile. + +"There isn't much chance of it. I like you better than any boy I +know. You're awful brave, too. You didn't seem to be at all scared +last night when the Indian came in." + +"It was because I felt sure that any Indian to be found about here +would be harmless." + +"I wish we could make a journey together some time. I'd like to go +West--" + +"To kill Indians?" + +"No. If they'll let me alone, I'll let them alone; but there must be +a lot of fun out on the prairies." + +"Well, Henry, go and write your letter, and we can talk about that +afterward." + +The letter was written and mailed, and arrived in New York several +days before the boys did. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +A WELCOME LETTER. + + + + + +Alexander Taylor, a Wall Street broker, sat at breakfast in his fine +house on Madison Avenue. His daughter, Jennie, about thirteen years +old, was the only other person at the table. + +"Papa, have you heard nothing of Henry?" asked the little girl +anxiously. + +"Only that the boy who got started with him on his foolish tramp got +back three days since." + +"Is Tom Murray back, then?" + +"Yes; he showed himself more sensible than Henry." + +"Oh, I'm afraid something's happened to him, papa! Why don't you +advertise for him, or send out a detective, or something?" + +"I will tell you, Jennie," said Mr. Taylor, laying down the morning +paper. "I want your brother to stay away long enough to see his +folly." + +"But perhaps he may get out of money, and not be able to get +anything to eat. You wouldn't want him to starve, papa?" + +"There isn't much chance of it. If he is in danger of that, he will +have sense enough to ask for food, or to write to me for help. I +rather hope he will have a hard time." + +"Oh, papa!" + +"It will do him good. If I sent for him and brought him back against +his will, he would probably start off again when he has a good +chance." + +Jennie could not quite follow her father in his reasoning, and was +inclined to think him hard and unfeeling. She missed her brother, +who, whatever his faults, treated her tolerably well, and was at any +rate a good deal of company, being the only other young person in +the house. + +Just then the servant entered with three letters, which he laid down +beside his master's plate. + +Mr. Taylor hastily scanned the addresses. + +"Here is a letter from Henry," he said, in a tone of satisfaction. + +"Oh, read it quick, papa!" + +This was the letter which Mr. Taylor read aloud, almost too +deliberately for the impatience of his daughter: + +"Dear Father: I am alive and well, and hope to see you in a few +days. I guess I made a mistake in running away, though I didn't +think so at the time, for I wanted to see life, and have adventures. +I don't know how I should have got along if I hadn't met Philip +Gray. He's a tip-top fellow, and is paying my expenses. I told him +you would pay him back. He has got me off the idea of going West to +kill Indians." + +"Oh, papa!" exclaimed Jennie, opening her eyes wide. "I didn't know +that was what Henry went for." + +"I don't think the Indians would have felt very much frightened if +they had heard of his intention. However, I will proceed: + +"I was all out of money when Philip met me, and I hadn't had +anything to eat since morning, he bought me some supper, and is +paying my expenses. He is a poor boy, coming to New York to get a +place, if he can. He has got a violin, and he plays beautifully. He +earned all the money he has by giving concerts." + +"I should like to see Philip," said Jennie, with interest. + +"I asked him if he wouldn't go out West with me, but he wouldn't. He +told me he wouldn't do anything for me unless I would agree to come +home." + +"He is a sensible boy," commented Mr. Taylor, in a tone of approval. + +"We thought at first of coming right home on the cars, but I wanted +to walk and see something of the country, and Philip said he didn't +mind. He told me I must write and tell you, so that you needn't feel +anxious. + +"You will see us in a few days. I will bring Philip to the house. +Your son, HENRY TAYLOR." + +"Is that all?" asked Jennie. + +"Yes; I consider it a very fair letter. It is evident Henry has made +the acquaintance of a sensible boy. I shall take care that he +doesn't let it drop." + + + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +A FRESH START. + + + + + +Five days later, just as Mr. Taylor was sitting down to dinner, at +the close of the day, the door-bell rang violently. + +There was a hurried step heard in the hall, and the door opening +quickly Henry Taylor rushed in, his face beaming with smiles. + +"Oh, I'm so glad to see you, Henry!" said Jennie, embracing him. "I +missed you awfully." + +Henry looked at his father, a little doubtful of his reception. + +"Are you well, father?" he asked. + +"Quite well," responded Mr. Taylor coolly. "Where did you leave your +scalps?" + +"What?" ejaculated Henry, bewildered. + +"I thought you left home to kill Indians." + +"Oh!" said Henry, smiling faintly. "I didn't meet any +Indians--except one--and he was friendly." + +"Then your expedition was a failure?" + +"I guess I'll leave the Indians alone," said Henry sheepishly. + +"That strikes me as a sensible remark. Of course, a few Indian +scalps would be of great use to you. I fully expected a present of +one, as a trophy of my son's valor; but still, in case the Indian +objected to being scalped, there might be a little risk in +performing the operation." + +"I see you are laughing at me, father," said Henry. + +"Not at all. You can see that I am very sober. If you think you can +make a good living hunting Indians--I don't know myself how much +their scalps bring in the market--I might set you up in the +business." + +"I am not so foolish as I was. I prefer some other business. Philip +told me--" + +"Where is Philip?" asked Jennie eagerly. + +"I left him in the parlor. He said I had better come in first." + +"Go and call him. Invite him, with my compliments, to stay to +dinner." + +Henry left the room, and reappeared almost immediately with Philip. + +Both boys were perfectly neat in appearance, for Philip had insisted +on going to a hotel and washing and dressing themselves. + +As he followed Henry into the room, with modest self-possession, his +cheeks glowing with a healthy color, both Jennie and Mr. Taylor were +instantly prepossessed in his favor. + +"I am glad to see you, Philip," said the broker, "and beg to thank +you, not only for the material help you gave Henry, but also for the +good advice, which I consider of still greater importance and +value." + +"Thank you, sir. I don't feel competent to give much advice, but I +thought his best course was to come home." + +"You haven't as high an idea of hunting Indians as Henry, I infer?" + +"No, sir," answered Philip, smiling. "It seems to me they have as +much right to live as we, if they behave themselves." + +"I think so, too," said Henry, who was rather ashamed of what had +once been his great ambition. + +"You haven't introduced me to Philip--I mean Mr. Gray," said Jennie. + +"This is my sister Jennie, Phil," said Henry, in an off-hand manner. + +"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Gray," said Jennie, extending her +hand. + +"I am hardly used to that name," said Philip, smiling. + +"When I get well acquainted with you I shall call you Philip." + +"I hope you will." + +Within an hour Miss Jennie appeared to feel well acquainted with her +brother's friend, for she dropped "Mr. Gray" altogether, and called +him Philip. + +At her solicitation he played on his violin. Both Mr. Taylor and +Jennie were surprised at the excellence of his execution. + +When Philip rose to go, Mr. Taylor said cordially: + +"I cannot permit you to leave us, Philip. You must remain here as +our guest." + +"But, sir, I left my things at a hotel." + +"Then Henry will go with you and get them." + +So Philip found himself established in a fine house on Madison +Avenue as a favored guest. + +The next morning, when Mr. Taylor went to his office, he asked +Philip to go with him. Arrived in Wall Street, he sent a boy to the +bank with a check. On his return, he selected five twenty-dollar +bills, and handed them to Philip. + +"You have expended some money for Henry," he said. + +"Yes, sir; but not quarter as much as this." + +"Then accept the rest as a gift. You will probably need some new +clothes. Henry will take you to our tailor. Don't spare expense. The +bill will be sent to me." + +"But, Mr. Taylor, I do not deserve such kindness." + +"Let me be the judge of that. In a few days I shall have a proposal +to make to you." + +This was the proposal, and the way it was made: + +"I find, Philip," said Mr. Taylor, some days later, "that Henry is +much attached to you, and that your influence over him is excellent. +He has agreed to go to an academy in Connecticut, and study hard for +a year, provided you will go with him. I take it for granted you +haven't completed your education?" + +"No, sir." + +"I shall pay all the bills and provide for you in every way, exactly +as I do for Henry." + +"But, Mr. Taylor, how can I ever repay you?" asked Philip. + +"By being Henry's friend and adviser--perhaps, I may say, +guardian--for, although you are about the same age, you are far +wiser and more judicious." + +"I will certainly do the best I can for him, sir." + +During the next week the two boys left New York, and became pupils +at Doctor Shelley's private academy, at Elmwood--a pleasant country +town not far from Long Island Sound--and there we bid them adieu. + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Young Musician, by Horatio Alger + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG MUSICIAN *** + +This file should be named tngms10.txt or tngms10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, tngms11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, tngms10a.txt + +Produced by Carrie Fellman + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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