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iiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiii
BY
C. G. I^OGERS,
l|IIIHIII|tlllilllll>lllllll'' ery hour. That is what you get a license for. It is for th\
privilege that you drove about the country with a demijohn of you
liquid iniquity in the back of your buggy, and got votes for M:
Sweetliar to get him into the Council, because you knew he coul.
get you your license.
Now, Soakey, this business has got to stop right here. A gla;
of beer now and then won't hurt the average man; or if you wan •
to take money in exchange for filling a man up so full he can't te!
whether he's treading on his own feet or somebody else's, let th;
rich and those who can afford it be your victims. Make you
money out of them. But you've got to quit this trade of robbir,;
poor families of their bread, making their homes a hell, the;
fathers a curse, and turning sober, respectable men into drunker
foolish, profane beasts.
You have a head, Mr. Soakey, and you will be expected t
use it in future. We don't expect you to stop selling whiskey, bu
we've told you what you are to do, and you'd better make a bii
readable note of it behind your bar when you go home. Becau;;
you won't find it just too nice for anything if you happen to com:
back here a second time.
You have a license, and you are expected not to abuse i
Two nights ago you sent John Mooney out of your house wi;
about a quart of forty-rod and seven or eight glasses of bee
trickling through his frame; while you had four dollars in your t:
that John had spent on himself and treating a dozen idle scani[
who sit about in your trap and talk scandal and spit tobacco juia
waiting for some poor deluded fool to waste his hard earned mone
on them.
The consequence of your sending Mooney from your doc
with all his senses fuddled, was that he drove off like a madniar.
belaboring his innocent horses and nearly running over sever/
children and an old woman in the street. And what is mor^
THE SCRAGVILLE BANDITS.
93
■s of the filth!
led poison to.
)rin had earnecj
ing a floor; yoJ
I for little Pete
and gave Pettj
In other wordd
ry-day — almos:?
It is for thd
:n.ii-john of you:j
jt votes for Mil
knew he couk!
t here. A glasi!
; or if you wa!i;|
full he can't te:|
iy else's, let tht|
[IS. Make yoi:|
•ade of robbin;;
es a hell, the:!
n into drunker
be expected i
ng whiskey, bi
tter make a bi^
lome. Becaui:
happen to com:
lot to abuser
your house wi'.
glasses of bee
)llars in your ti
sen idle scam[
it tobacco juic^
d earned mone
from your dot
like a madma:
ling over sever:
id what is mor;
)hn Mooney has'nt turned up yet. No one knows where he is,
ind in all probability he is dead on some by-road or in some
litch — all through you.
That's all, Mr. Soakey, and I hope you can carry it. And
lon't forget the good you will be doing his poor wif i and family
rhen you refuse Peter Morin whiskey. Peter is bad enough with-
)ut your whiskey. You can take him away."
" Bring on Prisoner No. 3," said the philosopher on the
ihrone. *' I'm getting sort of dry — hand us some cider."
The third victim was Dr. Mugwump, the medico who had ra-
ised to attend the sick man Smith, without his regular fee.
He was a short, stout man with grey whiskers and a very red
ice. But his cheeks had lost nearly all their normal brilliancy
rithin his time of imprisonment, and what had remained now fled
entirely as he discerned his surroundings. In fact, the erstwhile
ipous doctor turned positively ashy-hued, and he quivered and
roaned in a way that would have touched the hearts of the
skeletons, even; only that they were aware of his selfish treat-
»ent not only of the Smiths, but in many other similar cases.
The accusation was declared, and when the judge completed
tis lecture with the customary warning and advice, the doctor
found speech.
With his face still pale, his whole frame quivering, and his
loice faltering but intensely solemn and real, the culprit swore
)lemnly that tor the remainder of his sane days his actions toward
le poor, afflicted and needy siiould be morally irreproach-
Ible, and he would devote a portion of his time and care to
leir welfare. Which oaths, if violated, the judge said, would
Intail the direst consequences. It was hoped, meanwhile,
lat this warning would prove sufficient to redeem Dr. Mugwump
fom his selfish, inhuman and pompous \Yays.
" Fisher out," said the judge tersely as the doctor disappeared
irough the gloomy arras ; and comprehending this meaning, the
lev. Prolix Fisher was placed before the tribunal.
It must be confessed that the ecclesiastic lost in a short time
lat air of secureness and moral elevation, born no doubt of his
jligious and highly respectable position and calling. For he turned
tceedingly white, and trembled as much as either of the respect-
>le previous sinners, as he viewed the piercing eyes of the judge
id the awful array of solemn figures about him. He was a Daniel
the lion's den, but unfortunately his behaviour did not warrant
HiillF;:
94
THE SCRAGVILLE BANDITS.
the belief that he would execute the noble precept of the prophet j
and remain calm and collected, and play with the lions' tails ir.l
a patronizing way. I
'* Mr. Fisher," began the judge," you are here to answer the I
charge of having grossly neglected to visit one of your pauper
parishioners, a man named Smith, whom you knew to be seriously
ill and in destitute circumstances. You had promised with some
show of sympathy to call and see this family, and in the
neglect of this vigorous promise your crime lies.
Now, sir, on the same day that jou swore to see this
Smith, one of your flock^ and one of the poor and needy ^ as yocl
fervently call them in your nice, eloquent sermons, you dined withj
Mr. George Loftus Stuffer, a well-fed, well-circumstanced gentle j
man, another of your parishioners ; but — as accounts perhaps for|
your getting your engagements muddled — somewhat more prosper I
ous and educated than Mr. John Smith. I
This vivid personality of yours, Fisher me boy, for slightind
your really needy sheep who require your constant care and moral j
comfort, and your agency for their material welfare ; and yourj
adverse weakness for mingling with those of higher rank and in morel
opulent circumstances — people who are able to give you goocl
dinners, and who have nice houses and comfortable dining-rooms-|
these traits of yours. Reverend sir, have been noted and weighed I
in the scale of stern morality and equity ; and it is found that yoi;|
have trained yourself down to a very fine condition of unrighteous I
ness, neglect of your duties, and high-caste all-round selfishness |
You want just about seventy pounds of a mixture of benevolence. |
charity, humility, and pastoral love spread all over your mora!|
frame, before you can lay any claim to being — what your calling |
and title denominates you — a disciple of Christ. %
In briefi Mr. Fisher, you are nothing more or less than s|
smiling, mumbling, sycophantic hypocrite, religious in title anc|
profession only, and a mockery to your calling. |
Two Sundays ago you ascended the Scragville pulpit witl:|
your customary long, sanctimonious face and, preached a gooc:|
sermon entitled * charity.* |
The sermon was, as a composition and oratorically, ^^ ; bui|
taking your every-day deeds into consideration, that sermon, like |
all your flowery utterances, was nothing but mere idle rhetoric ^
lacking the slightest shade of even common sincerity. Which, ; |
repeat, is not at all consistent with your calling, the title c:|
THE SCRAG VILLE BANDITS.
95
answer the
your paupe:
be seriously
id with some
and in the
to see thi;
teedy^ as yo:
)u dined with
meed gentle I
5 perhaps for
inore prc»sper .
, for slightind
are and moral!
re ; and yomj
k and in more]
,ve you gooc|
ning-rooms-i
and weighed!
3und that youf
f unrighteous i
[id selfishness. I
benevolence,
;r your mor^
t your callin^i
or less than i
s in title ancj
He pulpit with
ached a gooc,
iWy, good; bui
sermon, likt ,
idle rhetoric
•ity. Which,'.;
g, the title o
Ireverendf or the coat you carry with such an easy grace upon your
[hypocritical back.
It is generally believed that all will be judged according to
[their doings, on a certain day. In fact, I heard you announce
[such as a positive fact about a month ago. And, if my memory
ierves me right, you bitterly, bitterly lamented the fact that 'many
[men and women ignored the celestial warning, and continued on
lunheedful in their sinful, worldly ways; committing the same
lets of sin day after day, saying to themselves, to-tnorroiv I will
turn over a nice new leaf with a picture of paradise on it. But
[the tomorrow never comes, my brethren,' etc., etc.
Those, Mr. Fisher, are your own words as nearly as I can re-
lember. But as it is thought that your day of personal reforma-
tion is about as far off as the day of universal judgment itself, it
Is proposed to check your backsliding and insincerity; and to warn
>ou that if you don't very soon change the tone of your actions in
rour parish, attend more regularly and freely to the wants
md calls of your sick and needy, be a little less arrogant and more
sincere and humble, and conform with the vows you took when
^ou entered the service of the church; your moral and physical
Systems will receive such a combined shock that I'm really afraid
rour constitution won't be strong enough to get over it.
Polite society is all very well, sir, altho' you may be inclined
think we don't put such a belief into practice when we bring
lou here. But sir, impartiality when your humble parishioners are
le main consideration, is adjudged essential on your part.
So you cai\ just indent it upon the big, pious tablet of your
lind that you will be scanned keenly from this out; and that if
le change I have recommended isn't very soon put mto execution,
m'll find yourself about the sickest looking parson that talks
Ivation and tries to get the best of a bargain for a pair of second
id suspenders. Take him out."
Mr. Fisher was ' taken out,* looking very rueful and repentant.
[is head hung upon his breast, his eyes were cast down, and his
lole face betokened mingled sorrow, despair, and a trifle of
lolesome awe.
As he disappeared behind the curtain, the judge leaned back
id took a drink of cider from a jug which was behind his seat,
Iden by a fold of the cloth ; and as he wiped his lips, he
lispered to the humorous skeleton : —
" If that don't effect a change in Prolix pretty durn quick.
96
THE SCRAGVIhLE BANDITS.
yoi
and
then I think I'll resign moral reformation in favor of the Salvatior
Army, and go into politic*. How did the lecture go, SkcUy ? "
" Just so smooth that I don't see how you remembered it ali,
said the skeleton addressed. " And them long words, too ! An
each one fit right in its own place ! "
*' The grammar, too ! " chimed in the other anatomia
creavure. " Every bit as good as them lecture fellers ! My !
must a' read an awful lot. Slugger ! "
" Trot in the last," said the judge straightening up ;
John Mooney was brought in.
" John Mooney, I regret to see you here taking on so," saic
the judge in a deprecating tone. Then changing his voice to one
of thunder, he commanded : —
" John Mooney, stand still ! " Poor Mooney, as he glarec
about at the black walls, black figures, black everything, anc
flickering candles, and wound up his frantic-eyed survey by glarinc
like an insane man at the two skeletons, no doubt thought he was
in Hades.
He nearly went into a fit, — and indeed it was a fit place-
and the two on either side of him had their work cut out in keep
ing the farmer upon his legs. He rolled and raved and gurgled
in a way that betrayed a most terrible fright.
" John Mooney, you are known," said the judge in a mock
fierce voice ; and John's eyes bulged out, and his frame tried to
go to every part of the cave at once. One of the skeletons acted
in a most unbecoming way, not at all as such weird and super-
natural creatures are supposed to conduct themselves.
" Yes, sir, you are known; and I want you to know that I
know that everybody knows that you are known. You are notori
ous as a drunkard, and celebrated as a fool. It is the talk of your
neighbors and those who know you that you go home drunk every
second night, beat your wife, half murder your children, tread on
the cat's tail, tear up the flooring, mash all the hereditary hard
ware, walk over the clean tablecloth, try to slay your hired man
with the handle part of your jack-knife, spit on the floor that your
wife has just been down on her knees scrubbing, kick the dog.
curse worse than Captain Kidd, and make a combined idiot, beast,
and fool of yourself in a hundred other atrocious ways.
Now, John, I think if you leave off" liquor, a change n\igh[
very soon be apparent in your demeanor both at home and abnad
If you will promise never to drink again, to be kind to your mit
^■m
THE SCRAG riLLE BANDITS.
9T
enmg up ; an:
ng on so," saicj
lis voice to one
kids, be respectable and sober, and stay at home nights, we'll
you off with this little lecture.
But if you ^(?«V, you will find yourself back here quickern*
|u can think, and the punishment won't be ladled out to you in
)onfull before meals; but will be so externally, internally and
^crnally awful, that I will spare you any account, for fear you
jht turn suddenly bald-headed or grey-headed or addle-headed.
fc you look a trifle nervous, which I take indicates repentance,
you may go. Take a good look at the place, John, so that you
think on it next time you are asked to take a drink."
Did John swear ? Well I should say so. He swore so
[emnly, so earnestly, so aw ully, that that curious being, the
[led skeleton, was taken with a fit of convulsions, and had to
le his complexion in his big bony-hands to cover up his emo-
in.
Then John Mooney was led out, a sad, sober, and a changed
awestruck man.
And the stern judge came down from the throne of Justice,
itched his arms, took off his mask, and said in the familiar tones
with the easy, natural every-day accentuation of the Slugger :
" Boys, let's fly to where the moral wine cup gambols; for
dead tired, and as dry as the whole darned proceedings !"
And so ended the first sitting of the * Court of Justice ' of
Scragville bandits.
CHAPTER XVni.
MR. SCRIMP'S SAMARITAN.
OW long Mr. Scrimp had lain there with his eyes and
hands bound he could not guess. He had shouted and
called until his throat was positively hoarse, and he had
raised — what did not under the circumstances, require
menting — a decidedly sharp appetite.
Evidently, he was on the outskirts of a bush, for birds were
ing all about him, and now and then the startling, regular
r of a red squirrel would break upon the air.
It must be a fine day, too, and the sun high up, for Mr.
imp felt its rays unpleasantly warm upon his face and neck.
7
> r « i ««.ii «i llW» W « > ilif ; i « . T -'"
^jmoLi
98
THE SCRAOVILLE BANDITS.
Heavens, how long was he to be there ? His feet were nq
bound, so he was able to change his position now and then i
some extent ]
Once he had essayed to get up and walk, but at the fi.
timid step he had tripped upon a root and fallen heavily upon h
face, hurting his physiognomy and incurring a heavy and paini.
jar upon his frame. I
So Mr. Scrimp concluded it would be best and safest to iJ
still where he was and wait a turn in his luck; which had certain]
been down of late, he thought. I
But only wait till he was free ! He would spend his iJ
dollar — well, no, but all the money and labor necessary to huj
down the rash perpetrators of the fearful indignity he had sufferej
who had outraged him and frightened him into an imbecile stJ
mission at their infernal tribunal. |
As to that document, it was not worth ///^/. Mr. ScrirJ
made a vigorous effort to snap his fore-finger and thumb together j
illustrate the worthlessness of the ' confession ' he had signel
It would not be legal, and if produced must betray the outlaii
who had waylaid and detained him. |
But who were they ? Despite his firm resolve to reap a \m
rible revenge when at liberty, Mr. Scrimp trembled and quailedi
he pondered on the mysterious events of the past twelve hours, a:|
thought of that stern-faced judge with his quiet, menacing tonel
and of the black-masked, mute clique. What were they ? Al|
where was this den of theirs' where he had lain captive for t^^
whole days, perhaps a week, and been almost starved ? :|
The birds still continued to sing, the indefatigable rj
squirrel persisted in his infernal and monotonous inimitable no:|
while the sun burned Mr. Scrimp's delicate features with grea:|
intensity than ever. I
Was he after, all, not near the highway, as he thought ? L^
perhaps, cruelly in some dark wood where no human being em
came, and where he would lie to starve to death, or die of damp,^
the sting of some horrible reptile. I
No, the wood could not be so very gloomy, if he -were in oM
for the sun struck too broadly upon him. l&ut the possibility m
such a horrible culmination to his career almost drove the noi^
ally calculating and collected Mr. Scrimp into a state about tj
cousin to insanity. He opened his lungs to their mim
extent, and mad with rage and frenzied terror, literally screaraedfl
"Help! help!" . ■
THE SCRAOriLLE BANDITS.
99
Ah, succor at last ! That surely was some one coming near
iim. Yes, ! yes ! it was the sound, the unmistakable welcome
)11 of carriage wheels coming rapidly along a hard road. He
ws near the highway, then. " Thank God ! " muttered Mr.
icrimp ; and then he was puzzled why he used the words. Be-
luse perhaps, of/iers used them without comprehending what they
leant, or much caring, so long as the expression gave full credit
their feelings.
Full of excitement for his rescue, Mr. Scrimp shouted and yell-
with a vigor hitherto unknown to his nurtured lungs. He
lised himself upon his feet and endeavored to walk in the direc-
lon of the sound of wheels and hoofs which grew closer and
)uder every moment.
But — confound that infernal root ! There you go again,
ir. Scrimp, full plump into a pool of water this time, filling your
louth with mud and dead leaves, and almost dislocating your old
»ck, that ought to have been wrung long ago by the hangman,
:cording to the philosophy of that nocturnal and mysterious
ibunal.
You hav'nt much wind left in your body after that fall, Mr
rimp, but you gather sufificient as you eject the mud and debris
)m your mouth, and wrench yourself fiercely round into a sitting
)sture, to cry once more, " help ! help ! " for the wheels and
)fs seem almost on you now.
" Hello ! who are you ? " exclaimed a deep voice that seemed
express surprise and agitation, as the driver reined in his steed
a walk.
" The victim of a foul plot. I'm a prisoner, bound. Mr.
rmip, of Scragville; I — "
"Sorry I can't help you," said the deep voice, somewhat
riedly; and then Mr. Scrimp heard the crack of a whip and the
k turning of the wheels as the horse broke into a brisk trot;
Mr. Scrimp, filled with an undefinable horror and despair,
rd the buggy drive off.
" Havn't time, Mr. Scrimp !" called back the driver. " I'm
Mugwump, and I've got to see a poor man down here who is
ig — John Smith, one of your tenants ! "
The last words were faint, as the vehicle was some distance
^y by this time; but they were sufficiently loud to be audible to
Scrimp's strained hearing.
" Good God ! " he gasped. " What terrible cynicism is this?
.M mH"/^
IQO
TBE SCRAOVILLE BANDITS.
Even the man I put in the way of making his money, passes me
by!"
And then, by a consequent train of thought, Mr. Scrimp re
membered the parable of the good Samaritan, and fervently
longed for his own Sarmaritan's coming. I
Presently he heard quick footsteps approaching, and he re I
peated his pathetic cry for rescue. I
The footsteps came nearer, sounding regularly upon the!
smooth highway. Evidently the pedestrian, whoever he might be, I
was in no small hurry. I
" Hello, help ! help ! " I
" Hello ! I can't stop now. My services are urgently requirl
ed at Scragville — Widow Mumper — can't live long — will send soniJ
one to you — so long ! " And the miserable man heard the stepsl
die away. I
It was the Rev. Prolix Fisher. I
" Passed by again ! Is this earth I am on ? Not civilizecj
earth, I'm certain. Those canU be human beings ; they are heart i
less, cynical fiends ! When will this help come ? Oh, I arJ
starving, dying with thirst ! Help ! help ! " I
Now come more steps. They are tiny, soft footsteps. AK^
Mr. Scrimp, by the way you start and listen, hope isn't dead yet.,.
The children came near. They left the road, tho' their feeJ
sounded softly, and oh, how cheerfully, upon the turf. I
" Why, it's Mr. Scrimp ! " exclaimed a juvenile voice withal
decided Irish accent. i
" Dear 1 dear ! " cried another — a girl's. " Why, Tim, he'il
all tied up in knots I " 1
" Undo my hands, children, quick, and take this thing off mjl
face ! " cried the prisoner. " I will reward you well ! " ■
" Ye did'nt treat us very well the other evenin*,'' said theS
boy, solemnly. '* Why sh'd I meddle wi' ye now ? " ■
'* Who are you, boy ? " fl
" I'm Tim Maloney ; ye k'-ow me father well enough." Thiil
tones were somewhat bitter, Mr. Scrimp thought. ^
" There's a warrant out now agin him becos* he defindec ^
hisself agin the p'leeceman, who shot at him becos' he bate a ma: ^
who called him a pauper, and other hard names. But — I'll loos;
ye. Me mother would do it." a
Why, dear me. Scrimp, what are you gnawing away yoii' J
undeiiip for, and why does your face burn even warmer than i\^%
sun can make it ? Anger — or — Shame ? M
TEE SCR AOV ILLS BANDITS,
101
" Tim," says Mr. Scrimp. The bandage is off by this time,
I but Mr. Scrimp has to keep his eyes closed, for the sun hurts
them cruelly ; while little Tim works vigorously away at the knots
[of tough cord that bind the man's wrists together.
" Tim, you have done me a good turn. You have my word
[that your father will be proclaimed free to return home to you."
"Ah, will ye now, sir?" cried Bridget earnestly; and Mr.
icrimp, his hands free, stretched his stiffened arms above his
lead, causing sharp pains to run all over his frame.
" I will keep my word," rejoined Mr. Scrimp, in a less tender
mice than before, and r.omewhat querulous and harsh. You
see, he was free again, indignant at his wrongs, boiling for ven-
geance, and all anxiety and terror gone. Why — yes — of course !
^here he had been on the edge of ihe highroad to Scragville all
^he time, filled with foolish,childish fears. He almost felt ashamed
)f himself, now, for his absurd terror. AtiJ in broad daylight, too !
Ls to that document and that imbecil'^ tribunal, he -almost believed
le whole affair a dream — a ridicules farce, a^ most.
.*s Mr. Scrimp turned a bend in the oad, walking as briskly
his stiffened limbs would permit, and followed by the children,
rho were trembling and joyful and expectant over the generous
promise of the gentleman, the trio came upon two boys seated on
le edge of the road.
One was a dark haired boy, with a pair of flashing eyes, and
high color.
The other was a somewhat lighter complexioned youth, with a
!ckled skin and sandy hair.
The first lad's name was Jim Brown. The other was
itroclus Duffy.
Jim Brown was engaged in cutting a thong which appeared
bind his companion's wrists together. The two glanced up as
[t. Scrimp came along.
Mr. Scrimp stared. Jim Brown severed the final strand, and
itroclus Duffy swung his arms and clapped his hands, giving a
[out of very evident relief.
" Who — who tied you like that ? " queried Mr. Scrimp
irply.
" Well, sir," said Jim Brown, " just wait till we find out, and
Sre'll be a funeral not long n^ter. At present the affair is wrapped
[black mystery. All I know is that Patroclus here an' me have
!n prisoners with our eyes covered up, ever since yesterday
102
THE SCBAQVILLE BANDITS.
evening when we was nabbed by someone and driven in a jolty
waggon goodness knows where.
And '.lighty hungry we are, lyin' here like too logs, only able
to hear ; until Dr. Mugwump comes along in a great sweat and
would only stop to cut me free."
" And is that all ? ,' said Mr. Scrimp, a good deal disap-
pointed at the narrowness of the tale.
" And ain't it enough ? " growled Patroclus Duffy. " How
would you like to be tied hand and foot and blindfolded, and
starved for twelve hours, an' have bugs crawlin' down your neck
an' up your leg an' not be able to give one solitary scratch ? By
crimus, sir, we're for revenge, an' we re goin' to get it, too ! "
" How ? " said Mr. Scrimp.
" How ? Why, lay for them brigands, with a double-barrelled |
shot gun. There's a gang of out-laws about here, and the people \
won't be safe till they're cot and swung."
Mr. Scrimp mentally coincided with this idea. But he said I
nothing, and frowned meaningly at the too Maloneys, who main-
tained a solemn silence regarding the gentleman's coincidal pre
dicament.
Mr. Scrimp, making a surly renewal to the anxious little I
Maloneys of his promise regarding their father, hurried down thej
main street of Scragville, the numerous loafers and villagers he
encountered gazing at him open-eyed and mouthed, too surprised]
to question him.
He glanced neither to the right nor left, but entered hii]
garden swiftly with his head down, a thousand thoughts crowding]
in his brain.
He turned the handle of his front door, and passed from the|
hall into the little parlor.
Mr. Scrimp was about to call out the name of his house I
keeper, when the words stopped in his throat. Somebody wasj
sitting at the table, looking straight at him.
..t
THE SCRAQVILLE BANDITS,
103
CHAPTER XIX.
MR. SCRIMP SURRENDERS.
)R. SCRIMP Started back with an oath on his lips, for he
saw that the Httle parlor was almost filled with the
forms of four tall men.
One of them, a brown-faced rough-dressed fellow,
rho looked like a gipsy, Mr. Scrimp thought, rose almost from
.'hind him and closed the door ; and placing a chair against it,
sat down.
Mr. Scrimp was a prisoner in his own house, and saw also
^hia he was m a trap.
" What the devil does this mean ? " he cried with a goodly
)how of indignant bluster, as he faced angrily about on the big
lellow, who sat immovable with his sturdy shoulders almost hiding
Ihe door.
" Better be cool, Scrimp," said a big man with a fair beard
jho had one arm in a sling, and who sat in Mr. Scrimp's easy-
khair before a table, which had several papers, together with pens
pd ink, upon it. And Mr. Scrimp had no difficulty in recogniz-
ing his rival of fifteen years ago, Henry Lee.
" A second tribunal," thought Mr. Scrimp to himself.
" Mr. Scrimp," said the gentleman with the bandaged arm,
1 have several important things to say to you. Better sit down
id listen attentively."
Mr. Scrimp was handed a chair by the fourth man of the
Jnwelcome party, a tall, dark, quick-actioned individual dressed
blue ; and he sat down, glaring at his unbidden guests.
" I have been given," said Mr. Lee, " a singular and shock-
ig document bearing your signature together with the signatures
\i twelve other individuals." '
This paper is nothing less than a confession from you of
)ur having bought from two gipsy men, my child, Kitty, who
IS stolen by the gipsies some time ago.
You paid them five hundred dollars, and you acknowledge
lat you did not tak^ the child with any gallant idea of returning
;r to her parents, but to keep her in your own possession, your
irpose being to revenge yourself upon me for certain fancied
rongs of years ago."
\f:
104
THE SCRAOVILLE BANDITS
Mr. Scrimp wondered where his house-keeper could be
Perhaps, confound her, she had turned traitor, too !
" Now, sir," continued his big judge, "aside from this doci;
ment, these two men here, Henry and Jeremiah Meikle, are read)
to make a statement on oath that the contents of this documen
are true, and that they are the gipsies in question. I don:
suppose you doubt that.
I am given to understand by a second mysterious papc:j^
placed in my hands, that you underwent a rather severe examina'
tion and scourging at the hands of some unknown beings anc
that they hinted at the emancipation of certain tenants of yor
whom you havn't been treating very well lately, according to th
masked tribunal's view. They have stated the whole affair .
length to me ; and I must say that I entirely concur in their idea
which are nothing more than just. And your liberty and freedc:
depend on certain things it is proposed you shall do.
In short, the mandate is this.
That you deed to Michael Maloney and John Smith, the p:
perties now occupied by them and their families respectively, .
ownership which is to be handed down from them to their childre
And you must also use your influence in procuring the sul
mary pardon of Michael Maloney. If you havn't heard the pi
ticulars ot his trouble, you can obtain them without travelling ve
far.
Now, of course, Mr. Scrimp, you will naturally imagine t
I am implicated to a large extent in this masked tribunal aE
It isn't so.
And if it wasn't that this league has delivered my child to r.
and obtained my promise in return that I will take my vengear '
On you in the mild but more philanthropic way I have stated
wouldn't think a moment of wringing your miserable little fra:
with such a vigor, that I doubt whether you would live long to :
joy the tenantship in a dungeon I would procure for you af;;
wards. *
Now, the persons who signed this document are ready toco:
forward at a moment's notice, and proclaim its validity, prepr
to stand the consequences of their summary and perhaps ille:
but not unjustifiable act.
And just one word more. The punishment for wilfully t-
eringin human beings is something enormous. How would
prisonment for life, for instance, suit your vigorous constituti
THE SCRAOVILLE BANDITS.
105
jm this doai
ikle, are ready
lis documen;|
;ion. I don:
iterious papef
;vere examinaj
n beings ancf
inants of youns^
wording to tfc|
vhole afiair i|
ir in their ideai|
rty and freedcLi
io.
L Smith, the pi|
respectively, j:|
to their childre^
icuring the sur
I't heard the pi|
at travelling ve|
ally imagine h
ed tribunal aff^
d my child tor.
.ke my vengea:
I have stated
arable little fra:
Id live long to :
cure for you ai:
are ready to cc
validity, prep^'
nd perhaps iHe.
nt for wilfully -
How would
orous constitut'
You'd get it, if I had to spend fifty thousand dollars in procuring
I it for you.
Now, you can doubtless see it all, and save me further words.
[I've made a long speech. This gentleman here is a detective, and
[has a warrant to arrest you at any moment he chooses. You can
iecide right here what course you will take, and will be given ont
lay to make your philanthropic arrangements and settlements
should you decide to abide the decision of the arbiters.
Oh, and by the way, I understand there is a movement on
foot to build a home not far from Scragville for the old and irirm.
^ou've got a pretty good bank account, and goodness kno'vs how
mch under the loose plank, as men of your stamp gener:»ily have ;
so you are supposed to donate a couple of thousand to this bene-
)lent purpose. Remember, >'^« will be old and infirm soon."
Did Mr. Scrimp storm and rave and bluster and threaten ?
Lather. But he had been turning the matter over bit by bit, and
Concluded that the case was really a strong one against him.
besides if he combated, he would be combating money. Lee
iras six times as rich as he. And, after all, from a broad point
\l view, the punishment was not very severe. He would not be
itirely robbed. Far from it. Only, Mr. Scrimp did not look at
lings fiom a broad point of view.
And so Mr. Scrimp caved in.
And who can picture, much less pen, the mingled stupefac-
)n, delight and surprise of John Smith and Michael Maloney a few
lys later, when thew were each presented with a deed of the little
)ttage and plot of ground they had hitherto found such dififi-
ilty to pay rent for.
And what was more, there was a present of $500 for each of
two men ; which came, it may be added, from Mr, Lee's
;)ulent pocket-book.
The constable soon recovered from his wounds ; for really
)re shot had entered the padding o*" his official coat of rusty
le, than his skin ; and Michael Malo y through a secret and
iccountable agency, was summoned bo.jk to Scragville, and is
a merry friend of Mr. Strutt. Mike, however, is perfectly mum
irding that eventful night in the bandits' cave, when he saw five
ll-known men tried by a court of masked — , well Mike says
^y've got the makin' of mighty fine men anyway.
Kitty went back to her Lake Memphramagog home, of course.
^||t Jim Brown and Slugger Tim went along with her, and had
ijlorious time.
mKRniiii
106
THE SCBAQVILLE BANDITS.
People, both patients and parishioners,could not help remark-
ing the change which had come over Dr. Mugwump and the Rev'd
Fisher of late. Their habits and carriage were entirely revolution-
ized ; no longer selfish, pompous or arrogant.
But kind, charitable to a wonderful degree, ready at a mom-
ent's notice to fly to the sick or dying, and minister physic and
mustard plaster or spiritual advice and comfort, with a haste and
zeal that seemed almost beyond the power of errmg man. Poor
Dr. Mugwump however, was noticed to be growing a trifle thin.
The Reverend gentleman, too, preached sermons that were
at strange variance with his former discourses : adverse in tone
and delivery, and charmingly earnest and simple. And both he
and the doctor became very popular with the humbler class ; while
that observant young fellow. Slugger Tim,was heard to remark that
the pair seemed to hang a great deal on this public opinion, and
seemed to be rather proud of it, too.
As to John Mooney, he nearly killed a tipsy fellow one day
who asked him to come and take something. He is terribly
respectable, and a leader of a temperance lodge. The tribunal
had not required all this diligence,but they concluded it could cer-
tainly not do John any harm to be so rigorous, and so did not
interfere.
And as to Soakey — well, the masked judge,the skeletons,and
the awfulness of the occasion rendered him ill for some weeks,after
he was found upon the road by several of his astonished ac(|uaint-
ances. He would give no word, to all the eager enquiries made,
regarding what had transpired during his absence ; but he seems
to be running his saloon as near to the standard prescribed by the
bandits, as possible.
CONCLUSION.
" Boys," said Slugger Tim one day in the latter part of
September, as the band was assembled in the cave ; " we'll soon
have to close up business on account of winter coming on.
Patroclus, too, has a visit to pay to some relatives down in
Middleby, and is going away next week. Jim and me are off,
too, for a tour of adventure down the river on a barge, and wont
be back, may be, for over a month.
Now the band has got $800.00 in the treasury. My idea is
THE SCRAG VILLE BANDITS.
107
this. We'll close up the cave till next summer, an' buy that hall
that's for sale in the village. It'll suit us first rate,and we can get
it dirt cheap for cash.
We'll organize a club, and this winter we'll have a good time
there. We'll have a gymnasium and a library, and — just whispei
it — there's a mighty nice stock of books and a complete athlotic
outfit ready to come from New York directly we give the word.
We'll take our cave properties and lock them up in our hall
in a couple of big chests. We can build a boat-house near Scully's
[to keep our boats in. .\nd I think that even leaving the excite-
ment of trying criminals, and the delightful society of a female
capture, out, we can have a mighty good time between this and
when the robins nest again. And between you and me and the
deed that can't talk plain, I think there's a little Vermont bird
that may fly down this way from Lake Memphramagog to spend
la few weeks holidays next summer.
I should have liked to try one or two of the general sinners
[that don't count, such as the man who maltreats and starves his
horse and spends the money that ought to buy fodder, in beer ; the
telephone girl who talks away up in G. ; the choir-soloist ; the ultra-
labstinence crank who always talks hygiene, and looks consumptive
[enough to warrant his wearing an undertaker's catalogue of prices
[next ^b his chest ; that greatest of all bores — the instalment-plan
[book agent, and a lot more. But I guess,^|^*ll all survive till
[next session, when we'll try and put a four^^ veto on some of
their idiosyncrasies for the relief of a long-suffering public.
And now, boys, circulate the cider, for I'm dry again."
And so, imagining that we hold that merry and convivial cup
in our hands, we drink a health and say farewell to the Bandits
" SCRAGVILLE.
^'•^'^ III Bll ^
Id
JACK AND JIM.
iT was the morning of the day before Christmas in the village
of Jollyburgh. The fresh-fallen snow lay pure on the roads,
the paths, the roofs, the fields, and the hills, in and about
the quiet hamlet. A few big, low, comfortable sleighs with
(heir accompanying teams were stationary in front of the post
^ffice, while their owners — some jolly-looking farmers who were
;nt cityward in company with their spouses — were chatting by
le stove in the post office, or listening with an apparent enjoyable
jnse of temporary independence and well-earned idleness to the
lumorous yarns spun by Larry Trentum, the shoemaker of
)llyburgh.
The hard-working and a trifle mercenary blacksmith, whose
)rkshop stood opposite to the post office, was busy plying his
ide and making the sparks fly ; while out on the bridge, seem-
jly impervious to the most severe cold, stood John Tuffun,
toll-gate keeper, in his shirt sleeves, looking robust and jolly,
^d talking to the gossiping inclined farmers who paused to con-
se upon the latest items of news and interest.
Down the village street came two boys, their hands in their pockets,
a careless, happy smile upon their faces. They were both young,
Kther of them over twelve, rosy and healthy looking. Their
[thes were perhaps not of the finest material nor betraying in their
llines the symmetrical "cut " of a first-class tailor ; their caps
re equally rococo in style, and their boots were old and betrayed
ims and miniature crevasses on their surfaces ; yet for all this
pair (of boys, not the boots) did not exhibit any great amount
sorrow at the forlorn condition of their habiliments ; on the
jtrary,they seemed happy and merry, and as if resolved to
te the most of matters as they stood ; and the morrow being
[istmas, as if determined on making that merry day as pleasant
enjoyable and eventful as possible. Unromantic lads of simple
Is ! Having no power to peep into futurity, they little
^med of how they would spend their Christmas day I
" Jim," said the tallest boy, " did you bring the sleigh ? "
—^■^^''a^'s'iiiexaaswmmm
110
JACK AND JIM,
" Yes," said Jim Jones, the son of the postmaster; "yesl
Jack, it's in the shed over there." I
"Well, we won't start till after dinner," said Jack. "tJ
afternoon will be plenty time to get the fir ; so you meet me heJ
at two an' we'll start." |
At two o'clock while the sun shone bright and cheerily, Jacl
Robinson and Jim Jones met in the village and started with thel
sled for Brown's bush, some way up the creek, intent upcl
getting a good load of evergreens for Christmas decoration. |
A slight path led through the bush, which was very large an*
rough, tho' somewhat thin on the outskirts ; but ps they got w:
in, the sun's long bars of light were checked from falling unbroken
upon the soft quilting of snow. |
Jack Robinson's taste being somewhat dainty in the matter "
evergreens, it was long ere the boys had their sleigh loaded, ar:
any thought of returning home entered their minds. iVhen tb
did look up it was with a considerable amount of surprise a:
alarm, for they noted that the sun had gone down and that t:
woods had gathered a very unpleasant darkness.
In a short time-in a very few minutes-the shadows would !
indistinguishable from the trunks of the pines. The wind \(:
blowing softly and mysteriously through the tree tops, and t:
air had grown sharp and cold. The sky had clouded, and \\L
could be seen of it through the crowded boughs was scarce ligh:;
in hue than the boughs themselves. Jack and Jim looked at ea.
other with somewhat scared faces for a few moments in silenc,^
and then Jim Jones said : ■
" We've come pr — pretty far in, Jack." ■
" Guess we have, Jim. We'll have to start, 1 guess."
" All ri — right. Jack. Gosh, it's dark ! Wonder if we c
strike the road all right ? We came a long bit oif it. HuL
What's that ? "
They listened. The sound came low and almost inaudi^
at first, but swelled louder and louder like a great army ga,therD
strength, until it ended in a muffled roar. 1
It was the west wmd. It shook the trees and branches mci
furiously, and the limbs rattled disconsolately. Two or thn
flakes of snow fell upon the boys' upturned faces, and startled the
Jack Robinson sat down upon the load of dark branches i
put his chin in his hands. Jim looked at him enquiringly but!
nothing. Jack's face was very pale, and his eyes were wide op
JACK AND JIM,
111
<(<
tmaster; "y^l
I Jack. "Ty
I meet me herj
i cheerily, JacJ
;arted with the.|
ic, intent up
3Cor ation.
s very large aa^
nsthey gotvc.|
Uing unbrokeL|
in the matter |
igh loaded, ar-i
ids. ^hen thr'
of surprise arl
wn and that th
ladows would i
The wind wj
lee tops, andj^
ouded, and ^^t.
was scarce ligb'.
im looked at ea
ments in silen.
»)
1 guess,
onder if we c
off it. Hu.
almost inaud::
It armygajthei:
id branches in<>|
Two or thrf
ind startled the
[ark branches aJ
Iquiringlybutsas:
were wide oj|
md staring. There was no daylight now. It had all fled, and
larkness had laid its sombre mantle upon everything but the snow,
rhose purity was even indistinct and hazy. The wind which had
lounded uncertain at first, was strong and decided now in its
iccent, roaring and shrieking and tearing, and the snow was com-
ing down fast and gathering heaviness in its fall.
" Jimmy," said Jack Robinson presently, as he looked at the
nher's disconsolate figure, with its coat collar upturned and hands
^hoved deep in the pockets ; " Jimmy " — and there was a tremor
his voice — " how far are we from — from the main road ?"
"Guess we must have come in — half a mile," responded Jim
Nervously.
"They'll be scared about us, Jim," said Jack, as he stood up
[nd manfully braced himself. Ten feet away from each other
jey could scarcely have made the forms of one another out.
"They'll be scared about us, Jim. We'll have to dig out of
us, anyway. Guess we hadn't better — get apart, eh Jim ?"
"No, Jack."
*' Let's set out this way, Jim. We'll leave the fir. Now I
)ose we left the track about — over here, eh Jim ?"
"Ye-es, Jack."
They tramped around side by side for about a quarter of an
)ur in silence.
'* We've struck the wrong way, Jim," said Jack presently.
[It's over — there — the track."
Another quarter of an hour's hopeless, aimless wandering,
le air was getting very cold.
" Yes, but Jack," said Jim in a whisper, " how are we to
low it ? The snow's pretty deep now, isn't it ?"
It was mdeed. Heavy as the wood was, the snow found a
jsage through the branches and now lay three or four inches
ip. The boys were covered with coats of white.
" Jack," said Jim as he drew himself together with a shudder,
fm gettin' cold. Feel sort of chilly all over ;" and he sank down
W the snow.
"Get up Jim, don't lie there," whispered Jack, as he grasped
chum by the shoulders and attempted to raise him to his feet,
it up ! It's death to lie down — in the snow — Jim."
" I feel so cold," said Jim, opening his eyes slowly. "It's
tmer like this, Jack. Let a fellow alone."
" Get up ! There's somethin' over there," said Jack as he
led Jim to his feet.
112
JAiJK AND JIM,
A large, dark, indistinct mass was directly before them.
Together the boys, numbed with cold, staggered to it. A|
large concave object, its upper surface covered with snow, bu
sombre and black within. The upturned trunk of a large tree
Here was shelter ! The snow could not get very far in, and the,
might keep warm together. They crept inside.
" Don't think we oughter do this," said Jack reflectively, a;
he peered out at the solemn whiteness. "J*m !"
There was no response. Jim was asleep.
" It don't seem fair to wake him," said Jack to himself, as h:
wrapped his meagre muffler about Jim's throat. "They're boun:
to look for us soon. I'll keep watch."
He himself was sleepy, too. If it were not for Jim— Ii:
gritted his teeth and opened his eyes wide, only to see the sair.:,
dreary black and white misty picture through the opening of th:
trunk. No welcome shout of his father's, of John Tuffun's or c
Mr. Jones' voice came to his ears. He heard the wind wild ar;
vengeful, tearing the boughs over[head away above, and then dyin.
away — where ? His eyes closed with an irresistible drowsine^i
How warm he felt ! And — how sleepy ! He heard a faint titiv
ling of bells, coming, it seemed from the village, from far awa
distinct in its indistinctness. What was that weird, strange noise
It sounded like a laugh — a little, odd, elfin, tiny cachinnatio:
Jack listened.
It sounded as if some one was coming near him. And yt;
the steps seemed as if from underground. He heard the soft r-
gular breathing of Jim, as the younger boy's head lay upon h.
shoulder. Then he felt something forcing itself upon his mind
that if he opened his eyes, there would be a strange, bright ligb
to greet his sight. Then came a burst of tiny voices, like a minisli
ture cry of astonishment from miniature throats. Jack felt his le.
pinched sharply, and opened his eyes.
Right at the end of the tree-trunk was a door ajar, an;,;
through the space streamed a bright glare of light that made hi-
eyes blink. Beside him stood two tiny men, one dressed whoi
in red, with a queer little precocious face that peered up at hi
with a sharp, enquiring look.
" Who are you, sir ? ', sharply enquired the little man in req
" My name is Jack Robinson," said Jack, feeling very dazi
" What ! are you Jack Robinson ! The great Jack Robinson;
cried the two little men in chorus. " Oh, you must not stay hen
It is very cold. You will freeze. Who is this here ? "
JACK AND JIM.
113
'• This here is Jim. Poor Jim ! he was very cold, and he's
me to sleep," said Jack sadly.
•' Well, you must not stay here," said the tiny man, as he
luddered and drew his red cloak about him. " Come along, you
ig hulk of a fellow, lift your friend up and bring him in out of
jecold."
Jack raised Jim not without difficulty; and following the little
^an who led the way, he stepped through the door at the end of
\t trunk, and it was immediately closed by the little man's com-
lion.
A glare of light blinded Jack's sight for a second. Then he
md himself in a long hall, at the farthest end of which was a
)r of green baize.
"You must wake your friend up. Jack Robinson," said the
(tie man in red in a very business-like manner ; and he pulled
unconscious Jim's ears sharply. Jim muttered something in-
Ifherent in his sleep ; and then, as Jack shook him, he yawned,
jretched his arms, rubbed his eyes with his fists, and staggered
his feet. He seemed very surprised and confused at the light
Id surroundings, and gazed foolishly at Jack, and then with
bnishment at the two little men who scarce reached his knee.
" Wake up ! wake up, boy ! " exclaimed the gnome in red,
irply. " We will be late for the presentation."
" Where are we, Jack ? " grunted Jim.
" I don't know, Jim, but I guess it's all right. The little
I's kind enough, and it's pretty nice and warm in here. We'll
what's up."
The tiny fellow in scarlet now led the way down the hall,
lose paved floor was partly covered with rich, heavy carpet, on
Bch the boys' footsteps fell noiselessly. Beautifully cirved
polished pillars of stone supported the ceiling, and a ijch,
glow of comfortable warmth pervaded the atmosphere.
At the green-baize door they halted, and a smart little red
^irrel dressed in blue and gold talked for a moment with the
|e man in red, and then they passed through into another hall,
ig which were posted two rows of chipmunks, twenty-four in
iber, between whom they walked. These chipmunks had on
iirt buff coats and white waistcoats. A couple of kittens, one
|rtoise-shell, the other a grey,and who were in full evening-dress,
standing in the embrasure of a window, smoking cigarettes.
the small man in red accompanied by the staring Jack and Jim
8
14
JACK AND JIM.
came up, the two kittens looked the boys up and down with :!.J
most supercilious air imaginable, that made poor Jim feel quJ
ashamed of himself. I
After securing two tickets from the grey kitten in the eveniJ
suit, the tiny man led the way through the §econd door, and thJ
they found themselves in a large grand room with a domed ceilin.-l
This room was brilliantly lighted, and hundreds of people, ver|
few of them bigger than the boys' guide, were walking about t
pairs chatting and laughing, the whole room being filled w ||
the hum of gay voices. Some of the elfin ladies were fannrit:
themselves, and flirtations were being carried on irrespective 1
the publicity of the place. Five chipmunks m evening dress \\r ■
idling near by the door, passing comments and making appal;;^
criticisms on the dresses and beauty of the ladies. ^
" Who are these fellows ?" said one of the chipmunks as •
nodded to the little man in red, and then looked Jack and ]M
over. m
" Follow me this way, please," said the small man brisk p^
without heeding the question, and the two boys taikd him as •' |
elbowed his way through the crowd. .
"I say. Jack," said Jim as he nudged his companion, ": vj
mighty queer, isn't it ? Wonder where we are going ? I fee! %
ashamed, tho', in these old clothes ! " i
"Never mind, Jim," replied Jack. "The little mnn see:.,|l
a decent fellow enough, and it's far better in here than outs;; J
Hello ! Here we are." d
They were now standing before a sort of elevation, on wh: ^
was a throne of scarlet and gold. On the throne was seatrc ^
ground-hog. dressed in a gorgeous cloak of scarlet,lined with w JjH
fur ; and on his head was a crown made of oats and flowers iri:fl|
woven. The little man was bowing profoundly to this personar^
and Jack divining that this must be some very great charac:,^|||
— perhaps the king — nudged Jim to follow the example set ^
their guide. ;»
" Your Highness," said the little man in red, " these are ;' "§m
unfortunate village boys whom I discovered just now out in : »
cold, asleep on the doorstep. I thought it best to bring them ^B
and learn your Highness's pleasure in regard to them." wjw
"Oh, I say, Jack !" whispered Jim trembling, "H ^
the old beggar won't be cross. I believe it's the same cha:bi|M
chased with Rover, that afternoon I stayed from school." to,^
JACK AKD JIM.
\\'y
" Well, well, Mr. Rollemup," said the monarch kindly, " we
uist not treat them harshly, poor boys ! Take them to the supper
)m ; no doubt they are hungry."
The little man made a bow, and the boys, following suit, were
len led by him to another door.
"It's the Christmas I'^ve ball, you know," said the little man,
he noticed Jim's bewildered face. And as he spoke the band
ick ui) a waltz.
" I'm sure that's our kitten went by there now," whispered
excitedly, as a pair went gliding past. '* Look, Jack ! The
;y one ! Tiny ! Tiny ! "
liut the kitten did not take theslighest notice ; only, two or
tee looked surprised, and the little man in red frowned, and said
(rriedly :
" You must not shout like that. It is against the orders,
[mc with me to the supper room."
Then the boys, following their guide, found themselves in a
jicic ■ i room beautifully garlanded with wreaths of cedar, while
m its centre ran a loncj table, on which were all the delicacies
sweatmeats one could imagine calculated to make a boy's
ith water.
"Now, just amuse yourselves," exclaimed the small man
liily. " I suppose you are hungry. I have business to attend
|6o you must excuse me. When you are ready to return to the
room I will get you partners." So saying he bowed and was
The boys were alone in the supper room, for the ball had
begun a short time before ; and at animal balls,you know,the
\i& do not go merely for the eating part of the entertainment
like some of our society folks.
" Oh, I say, Jack, what a grand old spread ! Look here !
^lotte russe, angels' food, patties, jellies, ices, bon-bons, kisses,
'cen, lobster-salads, oh ! everything ! I'm hungry. Jack."
[So the boys fell to, and visited each part of the table; trying
^thing.
I" What a jolly little beggar the chap who towed us along
exclaimed Jack, during a pause in his attack upon some
[jelly.
I' You bet ! I say Jack, we don't want to go back into that
)om," said Jim. " I don't want to dance, and I might have
know, with that grey kitten of ours. How queer it would
116
JACK AND JIM.
feel ! Look here, I wonder where this goes to ? " he continue:]
as he pushed open a door at the end of the room. " Oh, I say:|
The door opened into a small room, beautifully carpeted arj
papered. A cosy fire was burning in a grate, and a book-case acl
desk stood by; and the floor and desk were covered with sheets (|
foolscap paper very much written on.
A shaded lamp stood on the desk and threw a soft, war:
pinkish light over the room. It was evident to the boys that th?
were in a library and office.
" What a cosy'little room !" exclaimed Jim. " I wonder whe
this door leads to ?" continued the adventurous youth,pointing
a baize door beyond the grate.
'* I wonder what this means, tho' ?" said Jack, gazing at son
mysterious words in white upon the door.
etavirp yltcirtS,
sualC atnaS.
That is what they saw upon the door.
" Bother!" said Jim. " Never mind it. Let's go in."
" I see what it is !" exclaimed Jack. "It's written back»va-.
'Strictly private, Santa Claus'. "That's what it is."
" Well, let's go in," said Jim impatiently ; and Jack, very c.
ous himself, followed the other through the door.
They found themselves in a good sized room, with a li
ceiling, brilliantly lighted. The walls, corners, and floor v
literally covered and filled with all sorts of toys and books -
Christmas presents. Rocking horses, toy cannons, swords, gi
dolls, doll-houses, jumping-jacks, cornucopias, candy walk-
sticks, jack-in-the-boxes, Noah's arks — everything ! And right
the centre of the room sitting in a large cushioned arm-chair, '
an old man asleep. He wore a suit of yellow and red, trimiil
with white fur, and a long white beard grew to his waist.
Jack and Jim gazed at him silently and in awe.
"It must be Santa Claus !" whispered Jim presently,
never thought there was one. But isn't he a dandy ?"
Then they stole quietly about looking at the things, kee[|
very mum for fear of waking the old man. Presently they c2|
to a low desk on which was a large book. Jack began turE|
the leaves over, and presently he whispered excitedly to Jim ;
" Oh I say Jim, here are our names !"
The boys looked at the book together in silence, and t|
at each other.
JACK AND JIM.
117
" he continual
"Oh, I say,
Uy carpeted arj
a book-case acj
;d with sheets ti
' I wonder wht '
outh,pointing
k, gazing at sor
jt's go in."
vritten back»va:
IS.'
id Jack, very
c.
b.
g
)in, with a
;, and floor v.
1 and books :
ms, swords, gi
candy walk;
^ ! And right
ed arm-chair,
and red, trimr
is waist,
we.
presently.
nd> ?"
things, keer
sently they cr
:k began tiirr.
itedly to Jim.
silence, and ;-
"Don't look as if he was going to give us much, does it ?"
lid Jim, dubiously, as he glanced at the page. " ' One book,
)rae candy and raisins.' "
" Guess that's because our fathers ain't very rich," said Jack
^flectively. "These things are for the children of rich people, I
less."
'• Well, I don't see why we shouldn't help ourselves," said
m a little defiantly. "Hullo ! here's the old man's horn !"
He put out his hand and grasped a long horn which stood
ainst the chair in which the old man with the long beard lay
leep>
'' Jack ! Jack !" exclaimed Jim in a frightened tone, "help
e I can't let go ! It's going to my mouth !"
It was indeed moving, despite Jim's effort to prevent it, to-
Iterd his lips. Jack put out his hand, but it was too late. The
rn reached Jim's mouth and the next moment a loud, shrill
St startled the boys. The old man in the chair jumped to his
t. Immediately all was dark and confusion. The dolls squeaked,
animals in the arks roared and bellowed and howled ; the
nons and guns went off, the swords clashed and the drums
t. Then, suddenly, all was darker than before, and still ; and
the two boys it seemed as if they were being carried through
air, and that thousands and thousands of stars with intermittent
s of uncertain light of soft hues were passing before their eyes.
Suddenly all was light, and they found themselves crossing the
1-room. It was quite empty, and their steps upon the stone
r struck with a hollow sound, and echoed dismally from the
Is and ceiling. A strange fear smote their hearts and they hur-
brward, impelled by an irresistible terror which seemed to
ke their feet heavy, so that they could hardly move. They
gered through the green baize door, and with a
-found fleetness of foot, rushed down the pillared
ido;. As they opened the second door they met the little
n in red. He was hurrying forward, seemingly very agitated,
his tace was very pale.
" Something has happened," he said. " Someone is
d."
Just then the air grew dark, and almost instantaneously the
boys saw a pair of bright ethereal beings with silvery wings
t upward, shining brightly in the darkness. They had each a
le m their arms, and the boys looked wonderingly.
.-.»4iiM«iJSf- light to glar
bust John Tuff
sprang forward
he upturned tn:
rheir bodies we
;d ! They lool;
melt down in :
it of Death.
LITTLE CARL AND THE BLUE CAP.
UST so long age that I can't remember the exact date, there
stood on the bank of a big river a tiny cottage, that had
only two rooms. It was so small there wasn't really room
for another.
This cottage had a nice garden all round it, and up before
tiny windows grew delightful vines, that hid the white curtains
summer-time, when all the plants and hedges were in bloom.
Well, before this cottage was pulled down — as it eventually
s — there lived in it a small boy--quite a kid — with rosy,
8|fn-burnt cheeks, fair hair, and blue eyes as large as quarter
pilars, and a good deal brighter. And he had a nice little name ;
GUrl, he was called.
Now, little blue-eyed Carl, although he always managed to
get in his fine work on three square meals a day, and did not
htve to go to school or keep his nails very clean, was an extremely
dwcontented chap. For whenever he lay out in the garden under
tib shade of a beautiful cabbage, and watched the birds as they
ft|W up toward the sky ; or whenever he gazed at the cows graz-
il||l in the long lane, blinking their large soft eyes, he longed to
bl a bird or a Jersey cow, that he might fly or graze, or do just
wfcat he wasn't intended to do.
One-day — it was a warm, sunny afternoon in June, and there
wasn't a single speck of cloud on the whole blue sky — Carl lay in
t grass near the roadside. He felt very dissatisfied this parti-
r afternoon, and there were three or four big tears on his
cbeeks.
He was thinking so deeply what a shame it was that he
could not be a field-mouse and bore away under the ground, that
hedid not notice a queer, little old man who came do^vn the
rodd, and who stood looking sharply at the small boy in the
s with the tears on his face.
This old man was very small, and very thin and bent. He
an odd, wrinkled face, and there was a peculiarly knowing
120
LITTLE CARL AND THE BLUE CAP.
smile on it that would have made you feel uncomfortible had you
seen it,and caused you to think of elfins and goblinr> and gnomes,
and all sorts of terrible creatures from spirit-world.
The tiny old man wore a tiny tuque-shaped cap of red on
the back of his head, and his hair was silvery and long, falling
down over his shoulders. He had on a coat of black, reaching
to his knees — so shiny and smooth in places that you might have
thought it had belonged to the old man's grandfather ; and to
complete his costume he wore a pair of knee-breeches of yellow
cloth, red stockings, and a pair of heavy shoes very much in need
of a good brushing, ornamented with big buckles far from bright
On his back he carried a pack, just like a pedlar's, with the
edges rusty and frayed ; and lastly this odd character carried :
thick stick, with a gigantic knob carved in the form of a dog's heaCj
on one end, for a handle.
" Well, " said the old gentleman in a wee, sharp voice, "ai,.,
what is the matter with you, pray ?''
Carl was so startled when he looked up, that he gave a yd!
and rolled over, burying his face in the grass, and kicking his feet.l
But the old man merely laughed, seeming to enjoy Carl's frigh;|
very much.
So when Carl found that the newcomer wasn't going tcj
hurt him, and being a very inquisitive boy, he turned his curlyl
head around slowly and looked at the man with one big eye ; ami
then he looked at him with both eyes ; and finally he sat up ar.cl
stared at him with two very big eyes indeed ; quite as big as /'?;'
dollars.
"Well, young Spring-m-f/ie-eye, what ails you ?^' said the ol
man, tho' in a softer tone this time. And he took off his pack-j
which must have been rather heavy — and laid it in the grass, ar.^
sat down beside Carl.
Carl told him that he was crying just because he couldn't fef
a bird or a flower or a butterfly whenever he wished. And at thi
fresh occurrence of this hardship, Carl's tears commenced to flo'
again.
" Dear me /" chirped the old gentleman, " you are a ii\
chap. But stop all that blubbering, for you are flooding yoa
nice white collar, and I'll see if I can't do something for yoi
So saying, the old man knelt down in the grass and unfe
tened the pack, while Carl crept close up and gazed with ey:
bigger than ever.
)o
Irtl
pv
IS
it
He
LITTLE CARL AND THE BLUE CAP.
121
There were so many odd things in that pack ! A funny
black stick ; two or three big gold watches that didn't tick ; a
stuffed cat with immense staring glass eyes, that frightened Carl
almost out of his senses ; a pair of blue stockings with tassels to
them ; a big sharp knife ; a piece of plaited rope done up in a
coil ; a black mask, a lantern, an old and battered silver mug,
some biscuits, some corned-beef, a silver flask with ' fisherman's
delight ' engraved on it, and a yellow purse tied with green ribbons,
And down in one corner was a tiny cap of blue with a tassel,
which the old man took out.
"Now, little Kiver-on-feet," exclaimed the old man, "I will
I give you this blue cap. Till I take it from you again, you can
change from whatever you are into anything you wish, from a
Ihole in the ground to a cramp in the stomach of royalty. And I
[wish you fun. Good afternoon, young Tandem-canal."
Then the old fellow shouldered his pack and trotted off
lown the road, pounding the ground with his dog-headed stick as
ic went.
As for Carl, he stood with his present in his hand, staring
lifter the old man till the latter was out of sight Then he looked
|it the blue cap.
It was a nice cap, woven of blue wool of ever so many shades ;
ind as Carl did not wear a cap or hat of any sort, he very soon
the old gentleman's present on his head And very pretty it
)oked there ; for Carl's curls were of the loveliest golden hue,
id the blue harmonized wtth the gleaming hair perfectly. It
[tted very snugly, too ; and Carl sat down and kept pulling it
^rther on his head, till it almost covered his ears and eyes.
Just as he had got the cap thus far, and was struggling to pull
[over his ears altogether^ a black beetle walked very solemnly on to
right foot, fell down off it, and commenced climbing up the
ler one.
Carl stared at the beetle, and forgot all about the cap.
" My ! " exclaimed Carl at last. " How I should like to be a
itle and beat all the boys at climbing !"
The words were scarcely uttered when Carl, blue eyes and
cap, all vanished ; and in their place was a little insignificant
imon black beetle falling over the ground ih a clumsy manner,
other beetle who had been climbing over Carl's foot, was
)wn to the ground when Carl was changed, and fell right
^r the newcomer.
122
LITTLE CARL AND THE BLUE CAP.
u
" Well," snapped the upset beetle, for he was terribly angry,
you're a nice looking thing, ain't you ? where did you conic
from ? I've a good mind to black your eyes for you !" And so
saying the enraged beetle sparred up to the new beetle.
" Oh dear !" cried Carl, for although he was a beetle he knew
he was Carl. " What tvill I do ? I am very sorry I wished to h
a beetle !" And just then the other beetle — who was quite boiliru
over with rage by this time — hit Carl a ,hard blow and knocked
him over.
"Oh, don't, please !" howled Carl. " Oh, how I wish I was
a — a worm, that I might crawl away into the ground !"
As he said this Carl felt himself change into a worm, and he
disappeared into the ground as fast as he could; to the intense
surprise and disgust of the fighting beetle, who couldn't imagine
for the life of him where the new chap had gone to.
But very soon Carl got tired of staying under ground ; so ou
he came into the sunlight and crawled along through the grass ari
on to the road — a very green worm, indeed.
He was soon spied by a smart little red-breast, who was ho[
ping on the road near by ; and who pounced upon the poor wore
and carried him into a tree where her nest was.
"Oh," said Carl, " how I wish I was not a worm. I willkl
eaten up by these hungry young robins, and then there'll be
end of me ! I want to be a beetle again !"
At this moment Mrs. Robin Redbreast, wishing to speak
the youngsters, let the unfortunate worm drop from her beak ; an
Carl found himself transformed into a beetle once more. *■ Graq
ous ! How the young robins, who had no feathers on, screame;
when a great, hulking, clumsy beetle fell among them. But tt|
great, hulking, clumsy beetle quickly struggled to the edge of ttj
nest, and toppled over on to the ground.
" Oh ! oh ! oh ! " groaned Carl, as soon as he recovery
from the fall, which had shaken him considerably. " It ai:
very pleasant being a beetle or a worm ! and — oh dear! here
that terrible robin coming at me again ! What shall I — I want:
be a — a field rat ! "
Now, when Mrs. Redbreast came flying down to the tni:|
of the tree at the audacious insect who had been so obtrusive^
to enter her nest, she was very much startled at seeing there
great ugly field rat, that sat and blinked at her, and seemed v;
frightened itself.
p.
LITTLE CAUL AND THE BLUE CAP.
123
terribly angry.
iid you come
ou !"' And so
etle.
beetle be knt
wished to L
as quite boilir.
ar\d knockec
w I wish I wa
nd 1"
L worm, andl
to the intense!
;ouldn't imagine
;o.
• ground ; so c:
iigh the grass arcj
St, who was ho;
m the poor wore
worm. I willbcf
n there'll be
hing to speak ;]
Dm her beak ; arJ
:e more. ' ^^'^\
ers on, screame^
I them. But tj^:
to the edge oft'
I as he recoverel
erably. " It ai:
-oh dear! here
shall I— I want:
down to the trc^^
2en so obtrusive;
I at seeing there
;r, and seemed v;
So she flew screaming back to her young ones, very indignant,
you may believe ; and Carl was just congratulating himself on
having scared away the enemy, when he nearly tumbled head
over heels with fright at the fierce bark of a big dog, who came
tearing down over the grass at him.
Tremendously fierce and blood thirsty the dog looked, and
very shaky and panic-stricken Carl felt. And then Carl saw that
the big dog was Jack, his father's hound ; and so he squeaked
'Jack! Jack! it's me — Carl.' But of course the big hound
didn't understand rat language. However, Carl had enough rat-
sense to go bounding over the field, with Jack tearing after him,
barking and yelping in a way that would have scared the bravest
rat.
" Oh ! " squeaked Carl, as he tore along under a fence and
into a field full of thistles ; '' how foolish I was, wanting to be a
rat. Rats have an cwful time. I am nearly out of breath ; and
; that Jack, if he catches me, will crunch me up at one bite. What
jean I change myself to ? I want to be a — thistle — anything ! "
You may be sure that that great angry dog was struck
[dumb to see the rat he was just on the point of seizing between
[his gleaming teeth, disappear right before his eyes. He snuffed
md snarled, and snarled and snuffed ; but no, he could not find
that rat ; while Carl changed into a thistle, smiled and felt quite
safe. So the big dog feeling very disgusted and dazed, went
iway.
"This is very comfortable," murmured Carl to himself
[* One is clothed in a good suit of armor ; and I, being a tall thistle,
m see quite far. It is nice to be a thistle."
Presently he heard two thistles behind him talking, and so
je listened. One of them was a tallish, elegnnt thistle, while the
^ther was short and dumpy.
" I suppose you know that we are to be cut down this after-
noon," said the short thistle in a gloomy voice.
" Yes," answered the big thistle with a melancholy inclina-
[on of his stately head, "we all have to go. Farmer Brown has
?orn to clean us out. He and his so; John will be here soon,
^e have not long to live, brother !"
When Carl heard this, he felt more frightened than ever he
id before ; and looking up and over the field at the moment he
lied two men coming toward him, each of them carrying a
124
LITTLE CARL AND THE BLUE CAP.
" Here comes the farmer, ar?d his son !" cried the tall thistle.
" Now sa wed-off, we have to go !"
Upon this, Carl became very desperate, for the men were
close upon him now, and he could see the sunlight gleaming upon
the newly sharpened blades of their hoes. He was so very-
flustered and frightened, that he forgot all about his wishing
power at first, but he suddenly remembered it.
" Oh !" exclaimed he, "I want to be a flower in Captain Big-
wig's garden !"
When the two thistles saw their tall brother disappear like a
flash from before them, they were thunder-struck ; but they hadn't
much time to wonder, for soon Farmer Brown cut them down with
his sharp hoe.
Meanwhile, Carl found himself transformed into a bright red
flower in Captain Bigwig's garden, near the roadside.
Now, the Captain's house was about two miles away from
where Carl lived ; and Carl had often been to the fine place, and
had admired the grand house and the splendid garden. So <. arl,
now that he was changed into a gorgeous flower, felt fairly well
satisfied with himself, and tossed his head and gave himself airs ;
much to the disgust of the other flowers near him.
Presently an old man came along the road and stood at the
hedge and looked over it into the garden ; and Carl looked at ///;;/
and saw that it was the funny little old man who had given him
the blue cap.
" My ! my !" cried Carl, " there is the funny little old man
with the pack !" And he called out to the old man.
But of course the old man did not hear him, for Carl was
only a silly, vain flower.
Soon the old man — after looking shrewdly 'round as if to
make sure that there was no one about — opened the gate and
came into the garden. He stopped directly in front of the bed
where Carl was, and he removed his pack and took out the big
knife Carl had seen before. And then he stooped and cut — one—
two — three of the beautiful flowers that grew right alongside of
Carl.
" Dear ! dear ! " thought Carl feeling extremely ill at ease :
" he surely doesn't intend to cut me ! "
But that was just what the old man intended doing ; for he
stooped down once more and extended his hand.
" Oh ! " cried Carl, " I wish I was not a flower at all ! I want
to be only little Carl again ! "
LITTLE CARL AhD THE BLUE CAP.
125
Wasn't it queer ! There was Carl standing in the garden
path with the little blue cap on his head, rubbing his eyes and
feeling very odd, indeed. And there was the old man standing
in front of him, grinning from ear to ear.
g € "Well, Waterworks," said the old gentleman, briskly, " here
you are, eh ? And what sort of a time have you had ? "
So Carl told the old man his adventures, and gave him back
the blue cap. And then he ran all the way home, never looking
back at the old man ; who stood at Captain Bigwig's gate, laugh-
ing and grinning as he put the little blue cap into his rusty old
pack.
Carl got home just in time for supper, but he said nothing
about the old man or the cap ; and he was very quiet that evening,
and went to bed early. And he was never afterwards heard to
express a wish to be anything but Carl.
tie old man
Dr Carl was
"nS----,
-.C'/,
^-<<^3B»»
ill at ease:
THE EARL'S REVENGE.
CHAPTER I.
NE drear and yellow-headed afternoon in November, the
Earl of Plumdufif stood in his gorgeous drawing-room wit!;!
his patrician nose flattened in a degage manner againsj
the glass, looking out upon the noble expanse of elnij
girt lawn, that rolled for several acres down to the homely log fence
bordering Pat Murphy's modest plot.
Plumduff was a real Canadian earl, having inherited his titkj
from his grandfather ; who was an earl-y settler, and sold chew!
ing tobacco and suspenders in a one-horse store, and amasse:|
a fortune. (For further particulars about the lawn, shrubben
and statues, etcetera, etcetera ; and the noble earl's nose ar.
pants-of-arms, see " Divided Hearts, or the Porous Bridegroon\
by the author of" Dora's Corn.")
The talented and versatile author of " Dora's Corn " h:
omitted, however, to say anything about the wart on the port su
— that is, either side — of the Earl's nose ; or the color of the latter |
whi:h was sufficient, by the way, to flag a train.
Warts, though, do not amalgamate with lions couchant c;]
mortgages rampant — at least, not in ?ioble romances. There waif
a heavy mortgage (approximate heft, two thousand ;£) on the
lawn before alluded to, which the author of Dora's affliction ha:|
also left out.
Well, the Earl kept on squeezing his old nose against theba)
window, breathing hard, Presently there was a cr-a-a--sh ! The
glass had broken ! You see, even an Earl can have a strongwaji
of breathing. Altho', of course, such vulgar things are delicate!v|
excluded from the select pages of such natural stories as " Lore
Lovell's Leg-acy ; " " Fifteen Billion a Year ; " and the like.
TUK EARL'S RKVESGE,
127
herited his title
and sold chew
L and amassecj
iwn, shrubbery,!
carl's nose anq
3 Bridegroom,
ra's Corn " ha^j
)n the port su
orof the latter I
Ins couchantcp.
Is. There wa^?
ind £) on thc^
's affliction ha-^
I against the ba^
|-a-a--sh! Th
/e a strong-\\s
are delicat«
jries as
((
Lor.
Id the like.
After the Earl had puttied up the broken pane, he sat down
[to the luxurious meal his obsequious butler placed before him.
But he could not eat. How could he, when there was noth-
ing but plate and glass ? Besides, he had just had enough of plate-
^lass. Even coroneted persons have human appetites, you
mow. Tho' why it should be unnatural for them to /uur natural
ippetites seems somewhat unnatural
(For a brilliant, scintillating description of the ancestral hand-
le-down-father-to-son plate and cutlery of the Earl's establish-
icnt, see " Sixty Guineas a Yard,'' by the author of " The Queen's
)iamonds — in pawn.")
Suddenly the P^arl was interrujited in his surreptitious gnaw-
igs m the pantry by the noise of a carriage dashing up the
ravelled walk ; and an instant later a tall footman — about five feet
|ve tall — dressed in the splendid livery of the house of IMumduff, (an
[id shooting coat of the Earl's, with a coronet sewed on the left
ippel, and a pair of corduroy pants bought cheap from the butcher
|y the shrewd Earl ; ) this tall footman, we say, after didiberately
\crdin^ a quid of tobacco in his hip pockety announced : —
" My Lady"; my Lord Fishball !"
(For a description of the house, furniture, picture gallery —
le latter containing portraits of leading Canadian statesmen, and
^e Earl's haughty ancestor, in a red flannel shirt and with a pick
his hand; my lady's boudoir, my Lord Fishball's hyperion curls
id disti7i^uc features, see " Pumps and Swallow-tail,'' page 47.
»xt the picture.)
CHAPTER, n.
''^Remember thee ! remember thee !
Till Lethe quench life's burning s ream ;
Your neivjalse teeth you raved about ^
That formed the subject of your dreamt
-Byron.
F course there is nothing about false teeth in the narrative.
How could there be ? Disgusting I But I am only stick-
ing pertinaciously to the style of " Sword and Pimple ;"
" Twelve Hundred Titles," etcetera.
Lord Fishball spent two very pleasant weeks at Castle Plum-
(mansard roof castle — new style ) shooting upon the moor ;
e generally put John Thomas's hat up on a stump whenever
128
THE EARL'S REVENGE.
he wanted anything /ive to shoot at ; or flirting recklessly with I
fair cousin, the Earl's wife.
When he couldn't get enough to eat at the castle, or four,
that mutton cooked for the fourth time didn't go hand-in-hac:
with his alimentary system, he would stroll down to the village i
and have a meal there ; telling the landlord to * chawge it u:|
y'know ' to the Earl of Plumduff. But generally the landlor
couldn't see it in that way. So that really Lord Fishball's vi;
cost him more than living high at the free lunch counters in tori
would have done. |
" PlumdufFs brow is dark as Erbilis this mornin'," said t-^*^
'm sha:
butler to the cook ; " an' wots
the cors, I don't know
It's quite ineligible to me."
" The cors is M/V, Mr. Larder," hissed the cook " Lo
Fishball is makin' desprit love to our master's wife, an' I've
'im."
" Great Scott ! " said Mr. Larder, " is that all ?"
" And 'es goin' to 'ave 'is revenge ! " said the cook again.
Yes, the Earl of Plumdufif was determined on revenge. Heh
been insulted ; perfidy and dishonor had been thrust in his te
(He had twenty-one bills for those same teeth in his private dressi:
case, of which Larder had the key. You see, I had to men:
false teeth after all, so Byron's poetry is all right.) So he was lay;
low for a ter — r — ible revenge, and was laying his plans about ;
same time.
One beautiful evening in September (see almanacs)
countess received a large box of boots. They had been sent
a friend, ' the boy who brought them, said ; and she was to :
them on and keep whichever pair she liked best.
The countess sat down in the hall near the base-burner a.
tried a pair on ; while the polite boy turned his back, and be:
chipping the family arms off the hat-rack with his pen-knife.
No one saw tl- .it dark ' sinister face ' with its gleaming, b:
ful eyes at the top of the stairs! (See "The Maid of the I:
bustle," page 76),
The countess had a number six foot, but she thought it-
a three. So, of course, she at first tried on a pair of ones ; ti;|
twos, and then getting gradually vicious, she jammed her toes
a number 4 in a way that made the pale face on the lobby sm
When she came to number six, the countess was furi.
with defeated feminine pride ; and she just laid herself back
rammed that old foot of hers
THE EARVS REVENOE.
129
:klessly with \\
\ 1
castle, or four)
TO hand-in-haj
!o the village id
' chawge it d
lly the landlorj
3 Fishball's vkl
counters in to»
lornin'," said
: know 'm sha'j
le cook "Lo:|
vife, an' I've
all?"
[le cook again.
1 revenge. Hed
thrust in his teed
his private dress:!
[ had to men;
So he was lay:
lis plans about :;
ee almanacs) :;
had been sent
nd she was to :
base-burner
back, and be:.
is pen-knife.
its gleaming, bi
Maid of the I:
she thought it;
pair of ones ; U
fimed her toes i
In the lobby sir^
[ntess was furil
, herself back |
Crash ! Bang ! There will be a bill for those other boots
fm Crescentplate and Toesqueezer'a ; but no coffin will be re-
|ired for, the boy.
The Earl had accomplished his direful revenge.
He had put dynamite in the toe of boot number six^ right foot f
N. B. — Some readers will doubtless think there is a slight dis-
^pancy in commencing this story m November and about two
iks later making his characters enjoy the balmy air of Septem-
But how on earth could an author ring in his fine descrip-
)s if he did'nt take a few liberties with the almanac ? That's
It the almanac does with the weather, anyway.
HMUHiia
TOMMY DODD'S CHRISTMAS DEBT.
E had sat and i)ondered over it a long time, and now hi-
^1 ili^ mind was made up ; little liaur.i should have that covete
^^flT sled at afiy cost.
^^^^^ But how was he to manage it ? The sled w; i
marked upon the back in big, skeleton letters of chalk $1.50
and to his imagination they seemed to grin at him mockinglvj
'J'he price was unchangeable ; Mr. Sharpc, the storekeeper, had a.-}
sured him ot that ; and Tommy had only fifty cents. A doila.)
more was needed. Tommy had worked the sum out upcJ
his slate a hundred times, and the result was invariably the sanil
— one dollar. One dollar ! It seemed a vast, unattainable fortunif
to Tommy Dodd just now.
It was Christmas Eve, and Tommy's mother was puttirJ
little Laura to bed. The sun had set two hours ago in an oraini
ous, gloomy sky of angry gray, that boded a storm ; and even ncj
a few flakes flickered silently down, but speaking quite a tale
Tommy Dodd, who watched them very closely.
**Do you think Santa Claus will bring the sled. Tommy ?" sq
Laura from her cot. " Yoii said he would, you know, but manj
ma says he won't come this year." And the little girl sighed anxf
ously.
" He'll come all right, sissy, never fear," returned Tommy qi
confidently, though he wondered at his own temerity. But \\\
Laura, satisfied, went to sleep, his mother said :
" I wish you wouldn't put foolish ideas and hopes into yci
sister's head, Tom. You know your father has only money enoJ
to buy the food he has gone to the town for. And then Laci
will be unhappy all day."
Tommy said nothing ; but a little later, under a pretext
meeting his father in the lane, he left the cottage, and five mino:i
afterwards he was tramping on the high-road to the town, N
miles off, with his treasured half-dollar deep and safe in his trousejj
pocket.
TOMMY nODD'S CHRISTMAS DEBT.
131
" I don't see why I can't strike a job or two, like Billy Ranee
did last Christmas," mused Tommy as he neaied t'le town. " At
any rate I'm goin' to try."
He passed Skinnum's,the grocer's, with its windows brilliantly
lighted, displaying wreaths of evergreens, with red berries peeping
brightly here and there ; and he stopped for a moment to gaze at
the wealth of raisins and peel and oranges, and a hundred other
I delicious things. Looking into the shop he saw his father, a bent,
tired looking man, at the counter making his scant purchases.
*' It won't do fer ///>// t' see me," said Tommy to himself,
[as he slid into the shadow ; "cos, if he does, it'll mean carryin'
[home them parcels, an' then 't '11 be all u. p. with the sled."
Presently he came opposite to Soakey's, the saloonist's. There
iras a jovial crowd inside the gorgeously lighted place, with the
lundred and more glasses and bottles scintillating and sparkling
a perfectly bewildering manner. Bursts ot merry laughter came
6very moment to the ill-clad lit'.le boy, as he stood irresolute and
)ondering outside.
" I don't see why it wouldn't work," soliloquized young Dodd
he withdrew his face from the big window. " Soakey hain't got
boy just now, and he's sure to have lots of parcels to deliver on
'hristmas eve. 1*11 make a break for it, anyway." And he walked
lowly but determinedly toward the door.
Just then the latter opened, and a young, rosy-faced man
pepped out to the road to quiet a pair of fretful, spirited horses,
Jat stood by harnessed to a light cutter. It was young Robins,
le son ot the richest man in the township.
Robins caught sight of Tommy.
"Hello, kid !" he ! d merrily, "what are you standing out
ire for? Cor.je 'risio.i und get warm, and set 'em up !"
'"Set 'eui '^v\"' echoed Tommy mentally, as he followed
^ung Robins up 'o '.he bar. " That means sfand treat ! "
" Here's a yrning man, with his pockc^ ". ■' of money, who
Its to treat the crowd," said Robins ; and the crowd all laughed
cheered lust'ly.
Selfishness was a thing not kin to Tonr.my's nature, but he
led a trifle pale. Surely they wouldn't 'nake him spend his
ley !
" Come on, fork out, 1'horaas," cried Robins. " How much
got? Half-a-dollar,' eh ? '■ 5,s the big coin was solemnly laid
p the counter with Tomruy's sr-.all hand still upon it ; while
132
TOMMY DODD'S CHRISTMAS DEBT.
its owner's face was turned appealingly to the crowd of rougii
grinning men, who seemed to enjoy the affair immensely.
" Just 'nuff, Tom," said Bob Brass, the grocer's boy. " There!
ten of us. Set *em up, Soakev, an' give the kid a hot leminil
nade."
The " kid " let the steaming " lemingnade " stand befoJ
him ; and as the men raised their glasses to their lips and exclairaej
with a laugh, " Here's to yer, Tommy," he said, quietly : I
" No, not to me. To little Laura." I
The men set down their glasses. I
" To — to w^o ? " demanded Mr. Soakey, with a knowij
wink at the crowd. |
" To little Laura," said Tommy, looking solemnly at trJ
bartender. " She's my sister, y'know. She thinks Santa Clausl
comin' to our place sure^ to-night, with a big sled down there g
Sharpe's door, that's a dollar 'n a half That money was to hel
buy it : cos, you see, I told Laura she'd be cert'r : ^ get it. BuM
continued Tommy slowly — and the room w 'j:d live beenp™
fectly silent but for his voice, for all the men 'vere inlensej
interested, — " I —don't — see — how — I'm — to — get it, unless-^
unless you can give me a job, Mr. Soakey. That's what I cacl\^
here fer ; nof to drink ! "
There was ten seconds of continued silence on the ])ar;
the crowd, and then came a cheer that echoed clear across :;
street. When it had subsided, young Robins said :
" Well done, kid. You didn't think we meant to take y:
money, though, did you ? Let's have a glass, Soakey, and : ,,;
something in it to start the collection." ^
The schooner went round, and when it was handed to To:j^
it was freighted with over $4 in shining quarters and halv?- ttf
jingled merrily against the glass. Tommy emptied th'; ''''^ vT"^
out upon the counter. U S
" It — ain't — all — fer — me — is it ? " he gasped. ||li
** Of course it is," said Robins. " And give the boy anoti" "
hot lemonade, Soakey, and let him go."
Tommy tried to thank his benefactor, but his voice fai;
and his eyes were filled with happy tears. So he made tiic
of his way to the street.
Half an hour lal ^r he was outside the town, with a big
eel under his arm, and pulling the long, handsome sled ben::^
him.
^BT.
TOMMY DODD'S CHRISTMAS DEBT.
133
crowd of roug
mensely.
sboy. "There!
i a hot lerain;!
e" stand befoj
ps and exclair;.::^
quietly : "'
vith a knowit;
solemnly at irj
iks Santa Clause
id down there:
loney was to he
^. : ^ get it. Bui|
V'uve beenpe
'vere inlensel
it, unless^
at's what I caD
■j.
?et
on the par;
clear across ..
id:
ant to takey:
Soakey, and '
landed to T
and halv^
)tied th';
;d.
|e the boy anotf;
his voice fai!
made tiiC t
with a big \
)me sled bel.
It was snowing heavily, and the night was pitch dark,
very little while he slid ofif into the ditch, but his happy, buoyant
irits brought him quickly to the road again.
The snow was half a foot deep now, and the sled pulled
leavily through it.
Suddenly there was a rush and confused roar behind him,
ingled with the loud jingling of sleigh bells. Tommy partly tumb-
d to one side, and not a moment too soon. A pair of runaway
orses dashed by him, the driver giving a feeble yell as he sped
y. In another moment horses and driver had vanished in the
lackness.
" That's Robins," said Tommy with a nervous shiver as he
ew his breath and started after the runaway. He didn't walk
lOw, but found himself trotting as well as he could through the
eavy snow ; and finally he broke into a wild, plowing run.
Suddenly he stumbled against something that lay on the
ge of the road, just at a point where the bush ended, and
here the fierce north-west wind had swept the circling snow into
drift three feet high. The cutter had tilted and spilled its driver
re. But cutter and horses had vanished.
Tommy knelt down and shook the motionless form ; but he
t only an inarticulate grunt in reply.
" Drunk," said Tommy. Then he stood up and listened
tentively, hoping to hear the sleigh-bells of some home-returning
eler. But only the" swis/i of the wind as it dashed the snoV in
s face answered his unspoken and anxious inquiry.
" One, two, three, heave !" said Tommy, as he dragged the
avy form of the man upon little Laura's Christmas present. One
re big effort, and he had him on.
If it was hard pulling before, what was it now ? Poor Tommy
de very slow progress, stopping every short while to gather
ath and strength ; while the snow came down heavier, and the
blew wilder than ever. His father's cottage wan the nearest
ce, and that was a mile away. Still he trudged on, often com-
to his knees ; but as often he rose, borne up, like Horatius,
y the brave heart within."
Suddenly Tommy made an appalling discovery that chilled
a hundred times more than the bitter wind. He was off the
d!
He dared not leave his burden to try and find the track ; but
turned, as he thought, directly back with his load, hoping to
e upon the road again.
TOMMY DODiyS CHRISTMAS DEBT.
Poor boy ! He did not know that the road, as he turnei
was just behind him, and that he was leaving it at every hear
tired step he took.
He was nearly done out now. His ill-clad feet and barj
hands were bitingly cold, and the snow had worked under
trousers up to his knees. Almost every second moment he stucl
bled, and once his burden slid off the sled and he had terribl
work getting the unconscious man on again.
He became very sleepy, too. He tried hard to keep up, bs
flesh and blood were beaten, and he sank down completely eij
hausted. He lay beside Robins, his parcel of little purchas
clasped under one arm, and his head resting upon his sleeve.
Was that a shout ! But he was too tired and sleepy to rais^
his head.
How snug he felt ! And how sleepy !
*
if
Surely that was a shout, very faint, but repeated, soundi:
louder and nearer. One voice, two, three — a dozen of thee
He need have no care now ! Wouldn't little Laura laugh ai
clap her tiny hands when she saw him. And the sled —
But what had come over the sled ! It seemed to [JiarS
wings and to be travelling through the air like the fame
wooden horse in the fairy tale, above the snow, and he upon
Yet all the time the voices continued beside him, that sounded
his dreamy brain like the hum of bees.
Suddenly the air grew wonderfully bright and warm, a:
Tommy opened his eyes to find himself — at home !
When Tommy's father and a party of men, with lanterns I
looked like so many winter fire-flies glimmering here and tlifj
over the vast field of white, came to where Tommy lay, ttj
placed the lad upon the sled ; and covering him with a warm ca
coat, shouldered Tommy, sled and coon coat, and carried the I
home that way.
Robins was saved, too, though his life was despaired of fe
short time ; and in respect for the brave little lad who enduredj
u ch to save a drunkard's life, he swore never to touch liqi(
again ; an oath he has not since broken.
TOMMY DODiyS CHRISTMAS DEBT.
135
That was ten years ago ; little Laura was 6 years old then,
id if you know your addition and add six and ten together, you
In get what is considered a very delightful age when a pretty girl
[concerned.
Anyway, that's what Robins thinks, who is going to marry
lura — no longer" little," but a tall, beautiful, modest young lady
khis Christmas eve.
with lanterns *4
ig here and t!it|
Tommy lay, tf
with a warm cc|
Ind carried thebi
w^msmm
MISS CHIPPY'S LITTLE GAME.
jOST certainly, it was ^oo bad. Everybody was unan:
ous upon that point. There had been seven incuj
bents since the inauguration of Bibbleby Parish, a:
Miss Chippy hadn't even succeeded in making a |>|
ceptible impression. True, the other marriageable young ladies
Bibbleby hadn't done any better themselves, but they all aved
that their aspirations were not in that vein. And Miss Chippy >
candid ; she had been heard to say that she would marry anykl
It was true that Mrs. Mugwump, the doctor's wife, said tb
Dulcinea Chippy had made an impression on the Revd. Cal:
"^/les, the fourth incumbent; but it was one — as Mrs. M. only:|
well indicated by her particular emphasis upon and expression]
the word — not of the order of tender sentiment
it was Sunday morning, and the new divine came out of i
church and stood upon the door-step in the bright April sunshi:
The Reverend James Pullman blinked his eyes in a satisfied 5|
of way as he paused, key in hand, to congratulate himself u[|
the evidently favorable impression his sermon had made upon:
majority of his congregation. But his self-gratulations in this 1
spect were transitory; for his eye at the moment caught the viii
of a pretty female figure down the lane, a quarter of a mile acl
Dear Miss Dasher ! The Revd. James had been at Bibbll
only two months ; but the least interested had ere now obsen|
the evident emotion the charming Miss Dasher had created]
their clergyman.
The gentleman was so absorbed in his fancies that he did i
notice a second female figure which came hurrying up the patl^^f
his right ; and which paused abruptly by the step, as if surprii
at the lingering presence of the ecclesiastic It was Miss Chitj
She was a tallish young woman with an abundance of ' slJ
colored ' hair, as Mrs. Mugwump charitably expressed it.
figure was trim, tho' angular ; and her expression was generaii
sort of ever-acquiescent smile, for Miss Chippy seldom disagrf|
orally with anyone — that is anyone of consequence ; bein;
nature a good deal of a parasite.
MISS CHIPPY'S LITTLE GAME.
137
GAME.
ybody was unanb
been seven incEJ
3bleby Parish,
d in making a \
tble young ladies|
It they all aver-
.d Miss Chippy^
uld marry anybc;
tor's wife, said t:
the Revd. Ca.
IS Mrs. M. only;.^
1 and expression
■4
ne came out of :
ight April sunsb:^
; in a satisfied il'^
ilate himself u; f
had mad€ upon:
:ulations in this
it caught thevii"
Iter of a mile m
id been at Bibbk
ere now obsen
had created
Icies that he did:
;ing up the patr.
[step, as if surpr:
was Miss Chit:
Lundance of ' sK
Ixpressed it.
)n was general
seldom disagit;
[sequence ; bein;j
Mr. Pullman, I was
, And that allusion to
" Vou here, Mr. Pullman !" exclaimed Miss Chippy with
^tremendous astonishment, as she advanced a very neat and white
and. Miss Chippy prided herself on her hands. And once at
he * Patched Pants Bazaar ' when Mrs. Mugwump was having her
fortune' told through the lines upon herhand, by Mr.Doodledoo,
he Sunday School librarian (disguised under the swarthy complex-
n of an Arabian seer) Miss Chippy had artlessly laid her delicate
ngers upon Mrs. M.'s palm, and said in a deprecating way that
he was ^so sorry she couldn't indulge in such an extensive horos-
ope as dear Mrs. Mugwump.' And Mrs. Mugwump — whose
and was about as shapely and as large as a young ham, and
bout the same color — had never forgiven Miss Chippy.
" You here ?" repeated Miss Chippy. "How fortunate I am!
left my hymn-book inside the church. I am so careless and ab-
itracted sometimes. But then you know,
hinking of that delightful sermon of yours
me people coming to church merely to display their bodily
idornments: I am sure, at /east poor Mrs. Mugwump will be bene-
ted."
Mrs. Mugwump, by the way, had only that morning intro-
uced her new spring bonnet — a gorgeous affair of dazzling colors
to the gaze of the Bibbleites ; who had viewed it with mingle
142 MISS CHIPPY'S LITTLE GAME.
"Thunder ! What do they mean by sending me a liver pad ?'
And why had Miss Chippy displayed such ent>otion at the
sight of a liver pad ? It is not such an awful looking affair, You
can pat it, and it will not bite. In fact, I do not think it will even
growl.
And why did the Reverend Pullman give utterance to such
a fearful expression at the display of a similar articl'
Well, here's the whole story. And if I havn't k ^ . the entire
thing just about as mysterious as the construction, to say nothing
of the contents, of a liver pad, then may I never wear one.
When Miss Dasher visited the Epsom & White establish
ment, she ordered a liver pad, but did not mention to the
astute Mr. Lamb the fact that the article was for the express
personal benefit of her papa's constitution ; and Mr. Lamb con
sidered he was at perfect liberty to suppose that Miss Dasher
wanted it herself.
Well, Mr. Lamb had told his Mary of Miss Belle Dasher's
ordering a I — r p — d, thinking it an excellent joke ; and
immediately the equally garrulous Mary, as the reader knows, had
trotted to her mistress with the story.
The sentimental and yet practically conte Uive Miss
Chippy was struck with the idea that if dear Mr. Puiiman could
only know that his idol, the blooming Miss Dasher, wore a 1— r;
p — d, all affection would at once be stifled in his breast for that
young lady.
So after securing Mr. Lamb's promise of strict secrecy. Miss
Chippy acquainted that young man with her * practical joke ' ; the i
plan of which was simply that he should send a box of perfume
addressed to Mr. Pullman to Miss Dasher, and a 1 — r p— d|
addressed to Miss Dasher, to the clergyman ; and then repair with^
due speed the next morning to the respective houses, taking care I
to state to the clergyman that a certain article — giving the nam~\
intended for a Miss Dasher had been left by mistake with him:
and that his own etc.
Miss C. with her busy brain now worked up to high thinkinjl
pitch,strove to imagine the disappointment and horror of the digniti
ed gentleman as he conjured up his beautiful, charming Belle
consorting with a low, vile 1 r p d. And already visions
of those large pocket-handkerchiefs which bear pictures of hea i
MISS cnirpv's little game.
ua
liver pad?"
♦
:ion at the
affair, You
it will even
[ice to such
^ , the entire
say nothing
one.
e establish
tion to the
r the express
. Lamb con
Miss Dasher
elle Dasher's
t joke ; and
:r knows, had
\tive Miss
iiiman could
wore a 1— r
reast for that
secrecy, Miss
al joke ' ; the
of perfume
a I— r p-;(i|
en repair wit'n |
taking care I
ng the Jiamc-]^
ake with hinv,
high thinking I
.-ofthedigniii-
harming Belle
ilready visions
Lctures of heal
then life upon their borders, representing happy-faced canniKals
and the like arrayed in all the limited area and glory of a shirt-
button and a celluloid collar, floated in Miss Chippy's imagination.
But in his zeal, alas ! for tiie successful culmination of these
unchristian machinations, Mr. Lamb over-reached himself. Being
net particularly original by nature, and on striving to rehearse in
detail the plan of Miss Chippy, with all those little unnecessary
embellishments of a woman m her construction of any scheme,
ho became terribly entangled. Mr. Lamb was not sure whether
he was to send Miss Dasher or Miss Chippy the parcel ; and so
wiih a display of quite original but/fz/^/ originality, he determined
to send each of the three ))ersons concerned a parcel ; and the
adoption of this brilliant course together with a somewhat erratic
distribution of parcels generally by the delivery boy — who was
also in the plot — led to this :
The clergyman got a 1 — r p — d ; Miss Chippy got a I — r
p — d ; and Miss Dasher got a box of excellent perfumery at the
expense of her self-made and unsuccessful rival. Miss Dulcinea
Chippy.
That lady, in a blind and silent fury, went headlong to the
establishment of Epsom & White, and asked upon what authority
they had sent her — and she dumped over the parcel.
Now Mr. Lamb, who was within ear-shot, had perception
sufficient to see that a total disclosure would be as fatal to Miss
Chippy's moral reputation as it would be to Miss Dasher's physical
reputation ; and so he managed to draw the lady aside, and
philosophically enough showed what the result of an investigation
would be. And Miss C, bottling up her wrath and discomfiture,
departed with the assurance of the firm that it was a most
latrocious blunder.
She was scarce gone when the Reverend Mr. Pullman
[entered with a parcel under his arm, and desired of Mr. Epsom
jto know if the firm was advertising liver pads ; assuring the
istonished and now utterly confounded senior partner that his
:onstitution did not stand in urgent need of any such tonic.
Mr. Pullman was soon pacified, taking the assurance that
^here had been a complete blunder committed, as reason sufficient,
md went away smiling. But he was considerably surprised when,
)n a visit to the Dasher mansion on his way home, he was greeted
nth an outburst of thanks for his ' lovely present of perfume ! '
Towever, he of course made no mention of the affair he had
iceived, merely stating that he had not sent the perfume.
144
MISS CHIPPY'S LITTLE GAME.
Mr. Pullman's visit to the store was not long afterward follow-
ed by one from Miss Dasher, who marched up with parcel number
3 ; and a cold shiver ran through the frame of Mr. Epsom as
she asked if a mistake had not been made in sending her a
package of perfumery, and also askmg why that 1 — r p — d for
Mr. Dasher had not been delivered, as promised, on the
previous evening.
The firm now getting a slight idea of the mixed state of af-
fairs, traced the matter ; and discovering that the perfume had
been purchased by Miss Chippy to be sent to the Rev'd. James
Pullman of Bibbleby, packed it off without delay to that gentleman.
Miss Dasher's papa received his concentrated essence of tonic
with all possible expedience also ; and Mr. Pullman thought he
could not do less than acknowledge, a//er the sennce^ Miss Chippy's
present. But the consequent delight of that lady was short-lived;
for a few days following the Bibbleby folk were permitted to en-
large upon the report that their pastor was engaged to Miss Dasher,
whose mamma had told it in strict secrecy toMrs.Bargo,who had re-
peated it under the injunction of the greatest secrecy to Mrs.
Mugwump, who had — but doesn't everybody know how far a
secret will travel in a small place ? The greater the secret the
greater the circulation.
But to old Epsom there has always been a certain degree of
mystery surrounding that second 1 r p — d.
THE PHANTOM PARTNER.
/^J^^OHN GRILL threw the paper nervously upon the table,and
\Ja leaned slowly back in his padded arm chair with an empty
laugh. Why should that name come up before him to
taunt him with the past just when he had forgotten its ex-
istence ?
There it lay in the broad, ineradicable glare of print before
him, and he could not blot it out. He might shut his eyes and
purse up the lids, but the name floated there in big blood-red
filmy letters against a background of undecided black — John
Brown !
A plain name, but plain, unfortunately, in more than sound.
But why should it cause him any uneasiness of conscience ? It
was doubtless the name of some other 7nan who had been in the
accident. There were dozens of John Browns in the world. His
John Brown must be dead long years ere this.
Well suppose it was the same man ; what of it ? What had
he done to the man that was other than fair, except
John Grill, Esq., bit his lip and tried to stir himself, but he
could not move, and sank back, glaring at the opposite wall. There,
in his beautiful office with its thousand and one expensive luxuries,
its rich carpet, its handsome desk and chairs, its rugs and pictures
and carved grate, surrounded by all the comforts that money
could buy, he could not drive away the memory of twenty years.
A hundred figures were beckoning and shaking their fingers
at him, and mocking him. The clock ticked on and on. It was
long past the hour when he was accustomed to lock his office
door and march home to dinner at his handsome house on the
avenue, but John Grill never stirred. He sat there with his eyes
fixed (.n vacancy, his hands clutching the arms of his chair.
The ::,jirits of the flames of the fire leaped upon the wall in rare
[gleami, of light and shadow and weird shapes ; and fell and rose
10
146
THE PHANTOM PARTNER.
again, dancing high upor, the flowered pattern, and glistening in
the broad panes of the glass doors of the book-case. There was a
warm softness tinting the air that seemed made only for reveries
and fancies fitting to a poet or a dreamer, but not to a bustl
ing, active man of business. Grill was no poet, no dreamer, but
yet he sat there and glowered at the leaping shadows before him
and never moved so much as a finger. He seemed to have ceased
to breathe, even.
John Brown ! John Brown ! Yes, he remembered John
Brown. He remembered that they started into business together
confident, so they had said, of each other. He remembered how
they two had been Damon and Pythias to e; ' other at school and
then inseparable after college, resolving to &. ^rt as partners in the
fight for position and wealth and power.
He remembered that Brown had trusted everything to him
as being the senior, even to the last cent of the few thousands left to
him by his father. How he had trusted him ! Should he recall
the rest ? He could not help himself. The dancing demon of
seeming red on the flame-lit wall compelled him. Yes, he re
membered that at the end of two years the partnership had been
dissolved, and John Brown, who had trusted everything to him
was penniless, and he John Grill, was — well, to-day he was — rich,
they called it.
He remembered John Brown going down into poverty step
by step, with his beautiful young wife — unable to bear the reverse
— losing her roses and spirit. That was twenty years ago. Brown
had vanished long since. To where ?
What was that ? A knock ? It sounded like one. The
person evidently did not stand on ceremomy, for he came into
the room without more ado, and the light of the flames revealed
a wreck. He stood before the stout, well-fed man in the chair, a
thin, pale, haggard being, tall and spectral, and with a certain
awful fierceness in his gray eyes that made the pompous man in
the chair quail.
" I hope you remember me, John Grill," said the stranger in
a voice that was a mere whisper, but with a degree of bitterness
in it that made up for the deficiency in strength ; and John GrilFs
blood ran chill through him.
" 1 think you ought to if you try a little. How many years is
it since you robbed me of my money,my wife of her rightful com
forts, and my child of its bread ? How many since you professed
THE PHANTOM PARTNER,
147
to be my brother, through any and every adversity? It is a good
many, but it seems Hke yesterday to me . I have struggled here
10 say that I wish you to come with me for a short time. My
child was killed in an accident to-day; an account of it is there in the
paper. Perhaps you read the name. "Rut I have something that
I would like you to see. You surely must be curious to view it
for a man like you never does things by halves. Come."
The figure strode to the door and John Grill arose this time,
and followed like one in a dream.
They went down the long steps and out of the building into
the lighted street, down the main thoroughfare and away from it,
into finally a part of the city that John Grill had never seen;
through innumerable streets and a maze of houses,until they stop-
ped before a miserable row of one-storied buildings, that seemed
as if they wished to hide themselves from the public gaze and
were shrinking away from it and the roadway.
John Grill found himself in total darkness when he was
ushered into the building by his shabby companion. The latter
drew a match and lit the stub of a candle, that was set in a bottle
which stood on a chair. The visitor found himself in a room
possessed of more of the living than inanimate.
A table with nothing on it, a few chairs and a lounge com-
posed the furniture of the apartment. On the lounge lay a woman
— what had once been a beautiful woman ; now a mere shadow, a
second spectre, with large hollow eyes, and pale, thin cheeks and
wasted hands. Her hair was very long, and black, and fell down
about her face, making a startling contrast to her white skin.
John Grill remembered her, altho' she was changed so.
Remembered, too, how he had been a visitor at her house twenty
years ago, and had spent many an evening listening to her won-
derful voice as she sang to her husband and himself He wonder-
ed vacantly how much she could sing now ; not a great deal, he
mentally calculated.
He recalled too, how he had been best man at her wedding.
Good God ! he hoped she had forgotten him ! Three little children,
poor, thin-limbed, thin-faced, big-eyed children, stood near the
couch. Where were the others ? These were very young. And
they looked so very hungry. Why didn't they cry? Ah ! they
hadn't strength to do that. They had got beyond that stage.
The sick woman put her hand before her face to shield her
[eyes from the candle's light, meagre as that flame was, for it hurt
148
THE PHANTOM PARTNER,
her eyes. Perhaps she looked at the visitor through her thin
fingers. At any rate she turned her face away from him, and
closed her eyes. The husband — the spectre — stooped and kissed
her, and John Grill heard a sob. He felt choking himself.
" Tears in your eyes, John Grill ! " murmured the spectre.
" She is dying. The death of little Tommy, who was run over
to-day, seems to have broken her heart finally. There were seven,
you know. Just the three you see here, now. They'll miss her,
little as she has been able to do for them these three years past."
A mist seemed to come before the husband's eyes as he
spoke. It floated into the air, and the room seemed filled with
strange and varied murmuring sounds, like the rustling of strange
wings and the whisper of strange yoices.
The mist fell on John Grill's eyes, and he put out his hands.
They were grasped by fingers that felt like those of Death, and
fearful noises and cries were in his ears. Then an awful crashing
and rending and roaring as if Heaven were falling to the earth.
He tried to cry, and shake off the clammy clasp that held him
powerless. He struggled to his feet, the chair falling back with a
crash, and stood trembling.
* * ♦
The office was quite dark, for the fire had burned low, and
only a stray flame darted up out of the coals ; and then sank as
if tired and fretful, back again.
What was it that forced him to turn his head toward the door?
He tried, he struggled hard to keep his gaze the other way, but he
was powerless in this new magnetism. Slowly his head went round j
and his dilated, staring eyes saw a vision at the door that froze his |
blood.
There stood the man >vhom he had robbed, and in his arn^'
was the woman whose child that day had been run over by hisj
own coachman.
But she was dead. Her head fell back over the arm tha:j
carried her, and her long, black hair trailed upon the rich rug inj
the doorway. How white that face was ! But — God ! what an|
expression was in the face of the man ! Murder !
Av ! Murder ! The spectral- faced shadow glided forward |
with set teeth, the woman still over his arm. John Grill felt h
self grasped by the throat. He tried to cry ; he sank back \vitl;|
that terrible grip still upon him, and writhed and tossed his ariiiij
about. He felt himself growing weaker every moment j the lont
THE PHANTOM PARTNER.
149
1 her thin
I him, and
and kissed
iiself.
he spectre.
,s run over
were seven,
II miss her,
years past."
eyes as he
filled with
g of strange
t his hands.
Death, and
7ful crashing
3 the earth.
It held him
back with a
led low, and
hen sank as
ird the door' :
;r way, but he ►
.d went round
that froze hb '
1 in his ari^'
over by his
I
the arm tha:
s rich rug ir..
rod ! what anj
rlided forward
Grill felt hin;-^
ank backwit'r.
»ssed his arml
nent; the loni
hair of the dead woman swept his face, and he sank forward with
his arms thrown out before him.
* * ■)«■ '
When the morning came and they burst open the office door,
they found John Grill lying on the floor with his head resting upon
the eds;e of the table and his fingers as if clutching some imagin-
ary hand at his throat. His face was black, and the expression
distorted and frightful ; and the little doctor who came in a while
later said that John Grill had had a fit in his sleep, and that he
had died in it.
MILLY McCRAW'S ADVENTURE.
j , ^^ ILLY McCRAW had wandered about for some time
searching for the path leading to the farm-house ; and
very frightened and tired and thirsty, in a little gully
she at length sank down to wonder what would
become of her.
" Lost " she said to herself. " Lost, and just because I
wouldn't take that little old man's advice. And I was so rude to
him, too ! But he had no right to call me Sissy. Sissy indeed '.
If all these common people with their coarse hands and rough j
clothes, and dirty children — in their bare feet some of them — are
to be calling me * Milly ' and 'Sissy', I'd better have left niy
clothes at home, and dress in rough things that don't fit, and not
wear boots and stockings. Ugh !"
Milly' s clothes were unquestionably fine. They were very
fashionable in cut, Jand fitted her exquisitely. She wore a charm-
ing pink dress flounced with delicate and expensive cream lace;|
which had lost a good deal of its charm,however,within the past two |
hours, for it had become torn and soiled in Milly's clambering |
over fences and pushing through bushes trying to find the path.
She and her mother had only the day before reached Farmer!
Cowley's cottage, where they proposed spending one of the niost^
delightful months in the year — June.
Milly viewed with a good deal of concern and vexation \\c
soft white hands, now torn and blistered ; her face an:
neck, too, had become cruelly burnt and scratched; her feet were
sore; while her pretty golden hair had been very roughly and ir
considerately treated by the branches, for it now hung in a shocl; i
ing state of disorder about her shoulders. Her tiny pink parasol
had been torn in two or three places; and to crown all, she bacj
lost her hat.
In short the exquisitely attired Milly McCraw of an he::
previous, who had sauntered forth to ' create an impression upf^'
MILLY McCRAWS ADVENTURE.
161
the rustics,' as she said, had suffered a harsh change. Rumpled
and scorched and torn, and so weary and dispirited thai she
hadn't heart or exertion enough to look any further for the foot-
way, she sank down by the side of a little brook, in the gully, and
closed her eyes.
It was a fine day, tho' very hot; and the little hollow was
cool and shady, covered all up its sides with daisies and butter-
cups, and well scattered with big elms. The grass and leaves
j were at their freshest and greenest; and with a sweet breeze that
swept the gully gently now and then and put the tiniest of ripples
upon the bosom of the brook, it is no wonder that Milly sitting
lin the shadow of a huge moss-covered rock, and with her back
(comfortably against it, very soon went fast asleep.
And so, being asleep, Milly did not see the queerest figure
Kniaginable that came down the gully along the edge of the creek,
pith a tiny fishing rod in his hand, stopping to throw his line
Into every pool, and so getting gradually nearer to the little
Jirl.
This figure was a tiny man with a short grey beard. He wore
suit of entire green ; coat, knickerbockers, stockings and cap of
reen ; and his jacket which was a sort of blouse, was trimmed
rith Vxxge silver buttons.
Presently the fisherman in green spied Milly, and he drojjp-
his rod and skipped up beside her. Then he put his head on
Ine side, and then on the other side — in fact he put on a good
|eal of side — looking at Milly very curiously, and with a good
;al of pity. After taking a lo?ig look at her with his head very
juch on the right side, he uttered a sharp exclamation, slapped
leg, and ran down to where his rod was.
There he took the line off the rod, and pulling a
lall steel hook out of a leather bag he carried over his shoulder,
screwed the hook on to the handle end of the rod, and then
jjrust it into the hole nearest him. After feeling cautiously about
Uh it for sometime he suddenly threw himself back, and pulling
le rod up hand over hand, soon brought ashore a tin box.
The green man took the tin box and ran around to the other
le of the big rock against which Milly lay all this time asleep.
And there, somehoiv^ he disappeared like a flash.
Presently Milly felt herself in her sleep slipping gently back
it seemed as if the big rock was opening up at the part
\yas leaning against, and as if she was being drawn magnetically
its very centre. Yes, right into the rock ! And then
I.V2
MILLY McCBAW'S ADVENTURE.
What a (/ueer laugh, thought Milly, half wonderingly. And
then she opened her eyes and found she was leaning against a
beautiful smooth stone pillar in a large room with a domed ceiling
and a paved floor, like the rotunda of a big hotel ; while round
her, laughing and grinning and chattering and whispering, and
pointing their fingers at her, were the most nondescript, droll
and little people Milly had certainly ever seen.
One of them — and how Milly quailed as she recognized him '.
— was the old man who had met her in the wood and called
her ' Sissy,' and whom she had been so rude to. While another
was the green chap who had fished up the box, which he now-
carried in his hand.
" Well, Nimmy," said a chap in blue and gold to the green
man with the box," and didn't you catch anything} "
" Not a fish,^^ said Nimmy solemnly. " Didn't catch any,
didn't get a bite, didn't even lose one."
What a funny fisherman ! thought Milly, as she opened her
eyes to their widest extent ; and as she did so, the old man who
had called her Sissy came up to her, and said :
" Well, you're the funniest looking piece of baggage I've seen
for a long time ! And your name is not Sissy, eh ? Ha ! ha !
ha!"
Milly felt inclined to be very angry. The idea of her being
termed ' funny-looking ' indeed ! And by such an odd, tiny
chap, too ! But all the same she had a certain amount of awe
for the old man ; and so she said :
" My name is Millicent Editha Olivia McWhirter McCraw. I
should thank you to show me back to the path that "
" Haw ! haw ! haw !" laughed the little fellow in green.
" Millicent Edithaw Oliviaw McWhirtaw McCraw-aw-W/^/ a
name ! " and all the people laughed merrily, much to Milly's ex-
treme resentment and disgust.
" But you could never walk to Farmer Cowley's in that out-
fit ! " cried the old man. " Why, it's two miles ! Not in those
boots, I'm sure ! Look, Peter, look at her boots, do ! "
Milly glared haughtily and with increased indignation at the
old man, and then at Peter ; and finally in a half- wondering way,
at her boots. She could see nothing out of the way about her
boots. They were of the most fashionable shape, of exquisite
kid, and the heels were as high as any that were made.
Peter — a slim fellow in a yellow suit and with long hair to
MILLY McCRAW'S ADVENTURE.
153
match, a comical twinkling pair of eyes, and a large mouth that
seemed ready to grin at any moment — came up, and after very
discourteously and with the grossest impudence kneeling down
and critically eyeing Milly's boots, said ;
" Boots ! D'ye call those boots ? who invented them, Sissy ?
He couldn't have had much soul."
"No ; and he must have been rather narroiv jninded /^' cried
another.
" There's a good deal of point to that," said the old man
with a sage shake of his head.
" To the boot, you mean ! Ah, you always keep in step with
our humor ! " cried Peter, and they all laughed again. " Do look
at the heels, good people ! " the irrepressible chsp went on. " An
inch and a half high, or my name's not Pete" Picter-Patter 1 Now,
you see, this young lady, when she wants to reach anything, gets
up on her heels, instead of her toes 1 "
" No wonder she walks as if she had a crick in her back,"
sneered a young woman in blue whom Milly endeavored to abash
with a terribly sarcastic and haughty stare, but who returned
Milly's supercilious glance two-fold, and laughed at her full in the
face to boot.
" Oh, perhaps after all it isn't the heels make her bend that
way," observed Peter, as he walked solemnly about Milly with a
critical look that was comical. " If she carries high heels, she
certainly carries a head to match. But — I — think, now, its partly
that big thing she carries behind her, makes her stoop."
" Oh, yes ! " cried all the little women in a voice. " What is
that ? " And the entire lot crowded about Milly McCraw to gaze
at this new and puzzling discovery.
As for Milly, she was in a terrible pucker, and her face
burned crimson.
" To be criticised so ; it's humiliating. And by such a parcel
of imps, too ! " she muttered. " You stupids ! " she cried, losing
at length all patience. " The idea of you not knowing what that
is ! I thought you were civilized. Not know a bustle, indeed ! "
" A What? " screamed the little people together again.
" A bustle, wooden-heads ! "
" A bustle ! a bustle ! Bustle ! bustle ! bustle ! " they all
Icried ; and then went off into the maddest capers and fits of
jlaughter, repeating the word over and over again as if it were the
greatest joke in the world — instead of the greatest absurdity.
154
MLLY McCRA WS ADVENTURE.
But presently Peter drew a very solemn face, and came up to
Milly and said seriously ;
" Tell me ; what do you wear it for ? Are you ill ? "
It was now Milly's turn to )augh ; and this evidently dis-
pleased Peter, for he had asked the question very civilly, feeling
extremely curious on the matter.
" Why, everybody wears a bustle ! " cried Milly. *' Even
Mary Cowley up at the farm has a sort of one."
" But look at the poor thing's arms ! " cried the maiden in
blue again. " Scratched and bleeding I and just because she's
grown out of her drc . and the sleeves are a mile too short for
her ! Why, she's beentrymg to lengthen them with lace,as I live ! '
" It's nothing of the sort ! " retorted Milly angrily," and you
are very impertinent and unkind to say so. K?«, with your lonii,
loose sleeves, and ugly broad-toed shoes, that were out of
fashion lon^ ago. I never saw such a pack of dunces, never ! '
" Out of — what, did she say ? " said Peter with a mysterious
air to the blue girl.
" She said ' out of fashion^ whatever that may be," replied
the blue girl. " What is it, please, Miss Squeezed-in ? "
" How dare you call me such names ! " cried Milly stamp-
ing her foot, with the blood mounting to her forehead ; for she was
excessively annoyed. She, Millicent McCraw, to be treated with
such disrespect and ridicule by a parcel of mites or sprites, or
whatever they were ! It was shameful 1
" Squeezed-in, indeed ! " continued Milly in high dudgeon
" Let me go from this nasty place at once ! " and she looked
about for the door. But to her surprise and alarm she could ni t
see the slighest indication of an exit ; except the windows over her
head, where a peculiar pinkish light fell in.
"Well, now, Milly," said the old man, with a chuckle," do
you know, I think * Squeezed-in ' is a very appropriate name for i
you. Though how you do it, I'm sure I dont know."
" She must find it a hard matter to breathe, I should thinV,'
said Peter. " Mercy ! what a waist ! why, she isn't shaped like i
any of us, I'm sure. Her ribs and her lungs must have an awfully j
uncomfortable time of it. What have you got on, dear ? Do tell
us. We want to know every t hi fig about you."
" Is it possible ? " cried Milly. " Don't any of you know wliatj
corsets are ? "
" Corsets 1 corsets ! Is that what does it ? " screamed ti\
MILLY McCRA W'S ADVENTURE,
155
came up to
»>
dently dis-
illy, feeling
1.
((
Even
maiden in
jcause she's
3 short for
i,as I live '. '
^,"and you
h your lonsi,
vere out of
ices, never '. '
a mysterious
■ be," replied
I?"
Milly stamp-
; for she was
; treated with
)r sprites, or
igh dudgeon
id she looked
she could nc t
idows over her
chuckle," do
•iate name for
V."
should thinl,
•t shaped lik^j
lave an awfully \
dear? Do\^
you know will!
' screamed the
little people together. And they started jumping about again,
clapping their hands, stamping their tiny feet and screaming : —
" Corsets ! corsets ! We've found out ! we've found out ! "
Poor Milly was completely dumb-founded now. To dis-
cover people who wore nothing on their feet but horrid broad-
toed boots, not even on Sunday, was shocking enough, but not to
know about — not even to have heard of corsets or bustles seemed
so preposterous, that Milly could do nothing but stare at them.
Why, they were worse than savages !
But the little people hadn't done questioning or criticising
Miss Milly yet.
^^ Another discovery,as I live to make it !" cried the indefatig-
able Peter Pitter-Patter. " Look at her ears, all of you !"
" Oh, poor thing !" exclaimed the little blue maiden, but in
quite a sympathetic voice this time. "Why some one has actu-
ally bored holes in her pretty ears ! Oh the cruel brute ! " Now
that Milly looked minutely at them, she saw that not one of the
[little women wore ear-rings. They were nice-looking people, cer-
tainly, although they did dress so strangely. The women were
[beautiful, with fine features and lovely complexions. But no ; not
lofie of them wore ear-rings. What a pity, too, Milly thought ;
[such dear, delicate, shapely little ears.
"Did it hurt very much, dear ?" enquired the blue girl, in the
same kind, sympathetic way, looking up with such a comical ex-
jression of pity and curiosity at Milly's ears. " Did they do it
^cause you were very naughty, and have you got to wear them
)l€ry long ? "
"Oh, look ! look !" screamed Peter, as Milly opened her
fps to reply. And the little yellow-headed critic danced about
the ecstasy of still another detection.
"Look at her teeth ! A little brass one in between each big
le ! Well, that beats everything !"
'^ My filling\ " exclaimed Milly, completely stupefied with
lazement.
"And the collar !" screamed Peter again, waltzing about in
[comical way that would have made Milly McCraw laugh if she
' not been so utterly astounded and indignant. " It's two inches
|h, or I can't see."
You certainly can't see — over it,"said the green fisherman ;
then the old man said :
" Come Peter, you've worried Milly enough. Here, Mr. In-
■fflra
106
MILLV McCRAWS ADVENTURE.
M
novator,let's have your box ; " whereupon the fellow in green canic
forward with his tin box.
The old man then took it and handing it to the little woman j
in blue, said :
" Here Josie, take Milly into' your room to rest herself. Anc
after that we'll see about sending her home." Then Milly follow
ing Josie, entered a second apartment by way of a secret door
way in the wall.
Josis Untied the box ; and Milly as she reclined in a cosv
cushioned armchair, watched her take out :
First, six little boxes; and these were labelled : politeness
common-sense; modesty; reverence; kindness; refinement. An: |
then followed : a pair of low-heeled, broad-toed shoes; a broac
brimmed straw hat, 7////^«/ actually any trimming \ and a pla:]
cotton dress.
" Here dear," said the little woman in blue, *' let me take
those uncomfortable things you have on, and dress you in these i
You'll find them ever so much more comfortable to walk ho; I
m.
Milly shuddered as she looked at the homely apparel.
" Put those things on !" she cried with a scornful laug:
*'You don't mean to say you think I'd be seen in those comnioii|
ugly shoes, and that detestable gown, do you ? Why, there isn't;
speck of anything on it — not even a flounce. I gave you credil
for more sense. No thank you, indeed !" And Milly caught ttj
inoffensive gown and threw it contemptuously away from her.
And, oh ! what a hubbub there was when she did that ! Ul
little blue girl screamed, and all the tiny people came rushing in:|
the room, helter-skelter, with Peter and the old man and the gred
fisherman at their head, shouting her name. And then they co!:|
menced pinching her arms and shaking her this way and tha:j
and then
^ ***** *
Milly gave a start, and opened her eyes /^nH there wastb
big rock, and there the creek and th( <2.v' y. While beside he:
looking very foolish and grinning f 3X to ear was JohnrJ
Cowley, the farmer's boy; and his lit ister Molly, n her bigoj
fashioned sun-bonnet, gazing at Miii^ witV the solemnest
of eyes you could conceive. And so it wab nothing but a dreac
" We have had to pinch yer just a bit, 'coo you wou!^
wake," explained Johnnie apologetically. " Yer ma's ter..
scared about you. Can't y' get up ? "
MILLY McC RAW'S ADVENTURE
Vol
led in a cosv
Milly did get up, but she was fearfully stiff, and her toes
ached as they had never ached before. She could hardly walk ;
and such a long way it seemed, too, to Farmer Cowley's. Poor
Milly had to lean on sturdy Johnnie's arm, and limped every inch
of the road.
But she is like a great many other little- and big — girls, who
seem to grow more foolish as they grow older. And although she
had such a painful time of it, she wouldn't sacrifice wearing her
fashionable harness for one day's solid comfort — no, noi for
worlds ; but goes on squeezing her toes and her body as much as
I ever.
HOW TWO KIDS CAMPED OUT.
)AINT no use. He says no !"
There was a very evident readiness for rebellion
in little Billy Bunter's eyes, and deep sympathy in the
face of his companion, Top Johnson. And the
cause was this:
Billy Bunter's big brother was making ready for a camping
excursion in company with some of his friends, — Tony Johnson,
Top's brother — included ; and Billy had petitioned his brother to
take him and his chum Top along, the scheme having been pre-
viously discussed between himself and Top.
Billy had not anticipated a refusal, and the abrupt one he
had met had not only shocked and bitterly disappointed him, but
had also filled his sanguine heart with deep resentment
Top was a good deal disheartened, too ; and so the two little
fellows were silent for sometime, each filled with his own particu-
lar thoughts of the matter, and with an unexpressed but mutual
belief that they had been done a great wrong.
Billy had been leaning against the fence for some moments
with his hands deep in his pockets, while a variety of expressions
played fitfully over his countenance. Top watched these latter
with deep interest.
At length out went Billy's underlip, out came his hands from
his pockets, and a hang-the-cost look took final possession of his
face
' « Jingo ! " he said, as he glared at Top ; " I'll do it ! "
" Sk — i — i — p ? " whispered Top Johnson in an insinuating,
half-questioning way, as if he had partly guessed Billy's train ot
thought.
" Yes, sir, skip. I'm sick of this everlastin' business of bein
called a kid an' told I don't know nuff to chew gum with my front
teeth when I've got a gum-boil tnkin* up all the spare room at the
back.
HOW TWO KIDS CAMPED OUT.
159
What d'ye think he said, Top, when I asked him ? • Great
Carpet Tack ! ' he says, ' you camp ? No, no, kid,' he says,
* you'd have to be takin' a night-shirt and extra under-clothin' an'
pain-killer ; an' we have no room for invalids an' their 'senshals.
Some other eve, William. There's a quarter for yon ' "
" And did you take it ? " said Top Johnson.
" Of course I took it. A quarter counts high when you're
in a intrigue."
There was another pause. Top was too timid to broach the
character of the initial step, being a much more cautious and less
venturesome youth than Billy Bunter. The latter, howcver, was
only maturing his plans. Finally he said :
" Here it is. Top Johnson. Just say whether you're in for it,
win or lose.''
"It's a go, Billy."
" Then here she is. The canoe's all ready in the boat-house.
I know that, because I was down there helpin' Jack fix up.
There's the tent an' the poles in, an' the blankets. The grub's
the only sticker. How much can you collar? "
"Well, I dunno," said Top dubiously. "I don't think I'll
be able to do much on the pie or jam racket. What do we want,
mos'ly ? "
" W^hat do we want ? " echoed Billy sarcastically. " Did you
ever camp out, Top Johnson ? "
" We-el, I've been up the canal, y'know, with pa an' ma, an'
picnicked, an' "
" Oh, come off ! " sneered Billy Bunter. " Say right out you
know nuthin' about it, an' I'll try an give you a pointer. This
ain't no common weak-tea heavy-bun Sunday school racket. It's
[just the pure quill roughin! it. Thafs what it is. It's work.
Now, I've got a quarter, an' I've got about seventeen cents
jin my nigger-bank that I can embezzle easy. We'll keep most of
that fer milk an' eggs an' stuff we can buy from the farmers. What
you've got to do. Top, is to jest sink yer fiU'yal reserve, as Jack
[says, and scoop all y'can. Jest as much as f can carry, an' I'll do
[the same.
Jack an' the crowd don't intend to start till after tea,
BO we can get quite a lap on them. Jack wants me to carry his
jprovender from the grocVy down to the canoe about five ; an'
there's some fine eatin' there. Top. You be down at the boat-
*iouse at five sharp; I'll be on deck. An' you want to keep mum;
160
HOW TWO KIDS CAMPED OUT.
'cos if it leaks out, and little Minnie or Dollie gets a breath of it,
I'll be in fer it /lof, sure, an' the game'll be all u. p."
A little before the appointed hour Billy Bunter appeared at
the boat-house — which was, fortunately for his plan, entirely de-
serted — with a large^ basket stocked with parcels of all sizes,
He had beside these a large loaf of pan-bread under his arm, rob-
bed after much diligence and trouble, from the larder. Here
the young rebel — thoroughly aware of the impropriety of his action,
but smothering the cry of conscience under an assumed air of
bravado and indifference,and a very much exaggerated notion oi
his wrongs — here, we say, he got the canoe and its contents in I
order ; and then in a high state of nervous anxiety, waited the
coming of his co-conspirator. Top Johnson.
Top at length appeared with a not over jovial face,and a no:
over-extensive addition to the stores, his share consisting mere'v I
of a good-sized piece of cheese and a very meagre loaf. However,!
despite Top's solemn countenance and slim augmentation, tiiej
sight of his auxiliary restored the erstwhile nervously-conditionec j
Billy to a calmer and at the same time more buoyant state ::|
mind. And so impatient to depart and fearing the appearancel
upon the scene of some of their brothers' friends, if not those i::|
dividuals themselves, the two boys hastily slid the canoe mto t:
water.
" Can you paddle, or can't you paddle ?" said Billy Buni::
testily, after the two had taken their places, and Top Johnson h:
very nearly upset the canoe by letting his paddle get underneath i:
" Oh, I — guess so," replied Top, in not the most assurir,;!
tones. "Course it's a long time ."
Here the canoe dipped almost to the gunwale,and Top dro[-|
ping his paddle, clutched nervously to the sides. The padd::j
floated away, and Billy exercising his somewhat limited knowledjil
of a single-blade, had a good deal of difficulty in regaining J
When at length the paddle was recovered, Billy Bunter drew;!
long breath, and slinging the paddle viciously into the centre I
the canoe, said : I
" You — can't — paddle — worth — one — dime; an' you knowr.i
You sit still an' /'// do the work." i
They ran a couple of miles without accident, Billy Bunteri
spirits reviving considerably,and Top's dechning in a proportional
degree. Neither of them spoke for some time. Finally Top saici
" Aint we come far enough down. Bill ? There's a nic«
looking place over there; an' it's getting dusky." I
HOW TWO KIDS CAMPED OUT.
161
" Dusk nothin'," responded the helmsman irritably. " If
we was to pitch our stakes over there, we wouldn't be outside the
city limits. You don't want to camp in a back-yard, do you ?"
" We — 11, no; but then, if we wanted anything, it'd be
easy to run home fer it. But say, Bill, where you goin' to get the
stakes to pitch ? "
" Get 'em from under you : you're sittin' on them," snapped
Bill, as he dug his paddle with a violence that betrayed his
perturbed and distempered state of mind.
"They aint here," said Top Johnson with considerable con-
cern, as he very imprudently turned halt round to catch his
^companion's eye, causing the canoe to lurch fearfully.
" Sit still — you ! " screamed Billy Bunter, his nerves almost
j unhinged by this second narrow escape. " D'ye think I want to
[figger in an * early grave ' item ? "
Top obeyed this injunction, combining with it perfect silence,
land the canoe glided on again uneventfully with the swift current
jfor a mile. Then Top's enquiring tongue was set wagging once more
)y the problem he had been nursing in his brain for some time.
** If we aint got any pegs, how in the dickens are we goin' to
fasten down the tent, Bill ? "
"Oh, socks ! Can't we find some wood, an' make some ? "
" But we aint got any axe," responded Top hurriedly.
" Am^ we ? I guess this canoe can carry an axe."
" You left it — on the wharf," said Top Johnson in tones cal-
[ulated to be very impressive,and as if he had been meditating this
|isclourse at the first auspicious opportunity.
There was a pause — a very long, sinister pause. Billy Bunter
|dd his paddle across the gunwales, and glared at the innocent
ick of Top's yellow head. Then he hissed :
" And — you — saw — that — thing — lyin' there, an' didn't say
te word ! Huh ! You know as much about campin' out, you
),as a M'litia Colonel would about stormin' a fortress, if it come
)wn to the fine thing. Seems to me. Top Johnson, you jest let
It axe lie there, so as we'd have to go back for it, an' then
^u could get a cramp sud'nly and sneak home."
Top did not answer, for it was exactly what he had meditat-
" P'raps you'd like to go back home «^7£'," continued Billy
knter in contemptuous, mocking tones, which were somewhat
|Umed, however. He was just beginning to wish, evzr so little,
II
162
HOW TWO KIDS CAMPED OVT.
!^
that he hadn't come himself. It was getting unpleasantly dark ;
there was a strong wind blowing, too ; and — .
" Say — Billy," said Top Johnson.
" What?''
" Honor bright, now, don't you think yourself, we'd better go
back — fer that axe ? "
^^Gee — whizz ! Top, why don't you say straight out you're
sick of it."
Another space of silence; and thenTop Johnson sinking pride
and valor, and with a predetermined sullen indifference to Billy's
probable satire, said :
*' Well, I am. There now."
" That settles it," replied Billy Bunter with well-assumed
resignation. And Top Johnson never guessed how relieved Billy
himself felt. " Round she goes ! "
But when the canoe did finally go round, the boys discovered
with much concern on the part of Billy Bunter and alarm on the
side of Top Johnson, that there was a very crisp and steady wind
blowing down the river ; a wind every instant gaining force.
And when Billy Bunter, exerting his utmost muscle and skill, at-
tempted to paddle bravely against it, he discovered that he could
make little, if any, headway.
Top Johnson — now completely demoralized — assayed in an
agitated way to assist his companion in the stern; but he shipped
his paddle after the first erratic stroke at an alarmed and perempt-
ory order from Billy ; for Top's blade went half-way under the
canoe, and the latter narrowly escaped going over.
" Now don't blub, Top," said Billy Bunter, in a kinder tone,
" WeVe all right. We 11 get close in, and look for a good spot
to camp."
This was more feasible ; and shortly after Billy Bunter ran
the bow of the canoe upon the beach.
Top Johnson, with very cramped joints, scrambl'^d ashore;
and going a little inland, made a survey of the ground. He re
turned to his anxiously waiting companion with a rueful countpn
ance.
" We can't camp here" he whispered. " Ugh ! It's all mud
dy an' long grass ! Snakes an' toads, I guess."
So they paddled on a little way until they came abreast of wl
looked to Billy's not unpracticed eye like a much more favorable I
piece of ground ; a knoll covered with short grass, and runnin;|
ithoin
HOW TWO KIDS CAMPED OUT.
163
tly dark ;
better go
out you're
king pnde
i to Billy's
;ll-assumed
iieved Billy
1 discovered
arm on the
steady wind
ining force.
id skill, at-
lat he could
,sayed in an
he shipped
ind pererapt-
y under the
kinder tone,
a good spot
Bunter ran
)led ashore;
inG. He re-
jful cuuntpn-
It's all mud-
[breast of Nvljf-
lore favorabii
and runnin:
partly round it a narrow gully fringed with young poplars ; while
the ground rolled away from the river in what appeared to be a
fair stretch of pasture land.
It was long past sunset now ; but fortunately the sky was
clear and the stars shining brightly.
Billy Bunter got out to investigate, and came back with the
joyful intelligence, that there was ' just a hunky spot to pitch the
tent on ; ' and what was still better news to Top, a house and barns
a little way off.
" Let's go over there ! " cried Top, his spirits fast rising.
" I guess it's Browns'. They'll let us stay over-night ; an' then we
can paddle up in the morning."
" Do you like your dog cold, or in a live state ? " said Billy
Bunter, as at that moment the fierce and deep barking of several
dogs broke upon the air. " Those brutes 'd jest c/iew us, Top, if
we was to go over there. Wis can camp all right. An' I guess
Jack'll be down after awhile, lookin' for us, an' we can have tea
ready for them."
This joint mention of * tea ' and the probable appearance of
Billy's big brother at no very distant hour, stimulated Top Johnson;
for the double reason that he was very hungry despite his previous
dispirited condition, and that he knew Billy would have to bear
the brunt of Bunter Major's very possible and righteous indig-
nation.
So he helped to carry the things from the canoe to the knoll,
and after everything — the blankets, provisions, paddles and tin
cans and plates — had been piled in a distorted heap near by where
the tent was to be erected, the pair set themselves manfully enough
[upon the latter task.
"Now," said Billy as he unfolded the canvas by the process
[of several vigorous jerks; "now, Top, you joint that pole there —
[here, give it to me.
Lessee,it's //«V end; no,itaint,it's //lis end goes into the top of
the tcnl. There ! now,you crawl inside,an' hold the pole an' I'll —
|V»ell I'll get some sticks an' things fer pegs an' a stone to hammer
fhem in with. You hang on to that pole, Top Johnson. Never
und any ex'bition of the totter act just now."
After a very diligent and certainly arduous search along the
)each for the stick?, and another close scrutiny, this time of the
pasture, for the necessary nature's hammer, Billy got together the
iiquisites; and with considerable labor the job was completed.
V?
164
EOW TWO KIDS CAMPED OUT.
*' Looks kind of loppy on that side," said Billy as he surveyed
the tent. "But it'll do. Its go/ to do. Now fer a fire. Lessee :
the matches ."
Billy paused again. The matches ! The very articles his
brother had particularly requested him to put in the basket; and
the very thing he had neglected to do !
"G got — any — matches, Top ?" queried Billy Bunter, but
in a tone that did not indicate he anticipated the most favor-
able reply in the wcrld.
Top searched all his pockets; and from the last repository of
dust and nameless gatherings, he drew forth, oh, joy ! one-
two — three of the worst apologies for matches either of the two boys
had ever seen in their varied experiences. But they were pre-
cious, those matches.
"Now, you c'llect some wood, Top," said Billy, *' an' I'll
slice some shavins with my jack. We want to light the lantern,
too."
" Don't sound as if there was much oil in it," was Top John-
son's mournful report of his investigation, as he brought the
article in question forth.
Billy Bunter was silent again for a while, and then he ex-
claimed :
''Rat it ! That's another thing I forgot— the oil. I left the
can on the kitchen table."
This, and subsequent discoveries of a hke nature, one of which
was that two of the three low-grade 'matches' had no sulphur on
them, threw the youngsters into a somewhat dejected state. And
it was with considerable trepidation, and anxiety for the result-
after the shavings and wood had been placed ready to light-
that Billy Bunter prepared to draw the only match.
Fortune favored them this time, and a minute later the dry
wood crackled and the flames rose cheerily; the boys' spirits rising
several degrees at the same time.
But alas ! for the fluctuating nature of what is termed luck.
While the water was boiling, a cow — a large,dark, evil-browed cow
with malice aforethought — loomed up out of the shadow of the
pasture ; and passing in an inquisitive way peculiarly constitutional
to cows, came in contact with the long pole on the end of which
hung the can containing the water. Up went the stick, off walked
the cow in the most indifferent way imaginable, over went the can
— and, hiss siz-z-z ! the fire was almost extinguished.
HOW TWO KIDS CAMPED OUT.
166
This misfortune it is hardly necessary to state, as well as
damping the fire, considerably damped Top's, and even spirited
Billy Bunter's, ardor. However, they put more wood upon the
remaining coals; and then being very hungry, prepared for an at-
tack upon the provisions.
Billy Bunter on desperately investigating the internal nature
of the lantern, discovered with no small satisfaction that there
still remained a little oil in it ; and so they lit the lantern, and sat
inside the tent.
While silently employed upon the bread and potted-chicken, a
quivering of the canvas, which seemed to originate at the back,
caused Top Johnson to start nervously round ; and he discovered a
large pair of horns thrust through the tent, to the imminent peril
of the latter being overturned.
At the same moment the boys' nervously-alert ears heard
stealthy footsteps, and their hearts were set beating rapidly. Top
Johnson's face turned white, as he gazed helplessly at Billy Bunter
with staring eyes, and a mouth open in that particular way that
indicates the owner to be listening in a painfully acute manner.
The steps came nearer and nearer.
" P'raps it's Jack 'n Tony," whispered Billy, heroically trying
to look unconcerned ; though his quavering voice betrayed the
really agitated condition of his feelings. " Some trick 1 guess,
Top."
The flaps of the door were parted, and a coarse, dirty, red and
stubby-bearded face was thrust through the aperture.
"Haw ! haw ! campin' out, hey boys ? Avin' a nice time,
eh ? " said the owner of the dirty face with a horrible leer, screw-
ing up his features till his nasty little eyes were almost hidden.
Then he drew the folds of the tent round his scrubby chin and
tilted his head to one side, closing one eye altogether.
" Campin' out, are ye ? Doin' it in style, too ! Nothin' less 'n
potted-turkey an* cranberry jam ! Oh, I say, Bill, it's a genni-
wine gorge, this trip ! "
Billy Bunter knew what they were, and his heart quailed.
Tramps ! And the worst brand at that.
" Now sit still, Chippy, sit still," said the scrubby man as he
came into the tent and Top Johnson made a frantic dive for the
back, where he intended scrambling out, despite the proximity of
the horns.
" Shoo them cows away, William Wellington Wall, Esquire, an'
IGG
HOW TWO KIDS CAMPED OUT.
come inside an' show the young gentlemen wot a appetite an'
carryin' capacity you've got." And the speaker proceeded to
thoroughly unpack the basket ; while the two boys with palpitat-
ing hearts and scared faces watched him in silence, and not daring
to budge.
The second man, after driving the cows atvay, now entered the
tent. He was nearly as dirty as the other, and twice as villainous
looking, with a groggy nose, a puffy face, an evil pair of very blood-
shot eyes, and a horrible mouth only half-covered by a bristling,
yellow moustache.
As he entered the tent and sat down beside the red-whiskered
fellow, he uttered a fearful string of oaths and then a brutal laugh:
concluding by staring fiercely at Top Johnson for a moment and I
then suddenly hitting that palsied youth a slap in the face with a
very coarse hand, that sent poor Top rolling half-stunned into the lap
of the other rascal ; who seized the boy by the collar and jammed
him roughly into a sitting posture beside him, saying : I
" All there ! Stay there ! Now, Mr. Wall, wot'll y'ave ? 'Ere's I
the me 'n' you. Me — an' — you, see ? The kids has had ihdr I
splurge. Potted-chicken; rolled-oats, uncooked; corn-beef, I
werry good on the march. But as we're on the 5// just now, well I
indulge in a little potted-chicken, that bein* our particular Ml
Haw ! haw ! 'Ere's bread an' butter, too, an' jam, an' — bless me! I
Oranges ! Currant buns, too, blow me ! Spotted in some places,!
an' in most places not spotted at all. You young scrimp, you, I
you've been pickin' the currants out of the buns, 'ave you ? Wc:!
are ye snivellin' about? D'ye want Mr. Wellington Wall 'ere i;i
wack y'agin ? " I
Mr. Wall, just then rummaging in the bottom of the baske:|
turned round with his mouth crammed full of bread and chicker-1
and spluttered with an incoherent preliminary string of oaths : |
" What 've y' done with the licker, you ? Don't see i;E
anywhere." m
"Th — th — there was — wasn't any li — licker!" gasped poo'g
Top Johnson, as if he partly anticipated a second blow from thH
blackguard's heavy palm. I
" Oh skef up ! Can't a gentleman talk without bein' inteiH
rupted by a sneakin' little gaffer ? / know you, you miserabiiH
tremblin' little pup, you ! Yer mother didn't encourage /r^wH
bless me ; did she ? I saw you, you, makin' ugly faces at irfl
through your bow-windy, you. I've a mind to cut your throaiB
I have ! " ■
HOW TWO KIDS CAMPED OUT.
1G7
" It — it wasn't me, honor bright ! " cried the terrified Top in
an appealing voice, as he sought protection behind the shoulders
of the red-whiskered gentleman. " It was Jim ! "
" Did'nt I TELL y' to shet UP ? " roared the blackguard.
" Jim me no Jims ; yer a// Jims. What're you snivellin' about ?
Keni here till I lend y' me handkerchiet — me pretty, moss-rose
handkerchief what me mother wove. Ha ! ha 1 "
" Children sh'd be seen an' not heard, y' know, '' chimed in
the scrubby tramp. " That's a English sayin', y' know ; an' we/e
English, y' know. Blow me if we ain't ! Haw 1 haw 1 Nevaw,
nevaw, pon honaw, saw such a bloomin' "
A voice outside the tent cut the red-whiskered gentleman's
dissertation short, and what he firmly believed to be ' bloomin' '
the boys will never know ; unless, as Top surmised, it was Mr.
Wellington Wall's nose. The dirty-faced man dropped the slice
of bread he held, and gazed in a listenmg, suspicious way at Billy
Bunter, whose expression betokened a breathless interest. Surely
he knew that voice !
" Here they are, boys !/' it cried. " Tent pitched and illu-
minated up to the nmes ! "
Top Johnson gave a scream of delight, and before either of
the tramps could touch him was out of the tent. Mr. Wellington
Wall, with a customary imprecation, made a dive underneath the
back part of the canvas, upsetting and extinguishing the lantern
as he did so.
Billy Bunter and the tramp with the scrubby chin made a
combined spring in the wake of Top Johnson. But the tramp's
heavy foot caught the bottom of the tent pcle, and he fell flat upon
his face, the pole and entire tent coming down upon and com-
pletely enveloping him, nearly smothering him, too ; for he rolled
frantically about among the collection of bread and canned chicken
and etceteras.
At the same instant, too, there came a hoarse yell from the
other tramp — he of the bristly moustache and swell nomenclature.
And Billy Bunter as he ran out saw Top Johnson capering madly
about in an apparent state of intense delight. For the inquisitive
cow had put its horns through the canvas just as the tramp was
scrambling out, and these had caught in the fellow's coat . So
that between the three of them — Top Johnson, the tramp and
the cow — the two latter each trying to get free, and Top screech-
ing himself hoarse with merriment, they were having a pretty
boisterous and exciting time of it.
1G8
BOW TWO KIDS CAMPED OUT.
Billy Burner's brother and five or six other young men came
up at the same moment ; and grasping the situation, they quickly
grasped the two tramps, taking them down to the river where they
gave them a most unmerciful but perfectly justifiable duck
ing ; being assisted lustily by the farmer and his sons who came
running up at the noise.
uu But if it was a severe experience to Mr. Wall and the scrubby
man, it was a still sterner one to Billy Bunter and Top Johnson :
and I don't think they will again take such an independent line
in the matter of* roughing it ' until they have attained somewhat
maturer years and a much maturer experience ; which latter Billy
is rapidly gaining under the tutorship of his elder brother.
As for Top Johnson, he confines his camping ground to the
croquet-lawn, and invariably takes his meals in-doors, and break<
up camp when the sun sets.
THE MAGIC DRAUGHT.
CHAPTER I.
ONE fine May morning in i8 — a very shabby-looking
man might have been seen wandering disconsolately up
and down a shabby street near Cambridge Heath Road
at the East End of London.
He was a young man apparently, but the lines upon his face
betrayed a severe past and present expericnre of care and penury.
And indeed not only his face, but his habiliments also were a very
literal reflection of his worldly position and financial stress; for
I he was in the most desperate and indigent circumstances.
Peter Poorboy was his name, by calling a poet ; and very
[low down was Peter at the time we introduce him. He was out
of pocket, out at elbows, out at knees, out at the heels, out of
[health, out of spirits — out of doors. And as he stalked gloomy
ind despondent in his promenade past the open door that led to
piis meagre lodgings up two flights of stairs, he gazed with a sombre
)row at two tiny, hungry-faced children who were seated on the
ioorstep, substituting for a breakfast a portion of the bright sun-
shine ; and gazing all the while with an enquiring look at their
lispirited parent as he slouched by them. A look that seemed to
^ay ' dear papa, we havn't had any breakfast. Do you feel that
my, too ? '
At length with a fatigued air Peter Poorboy pushed past the
^air of hungry little girls, and climbing in a tired way to the
Jcond floor entered a small and meanly furnished room.
Here he threw himself down in a creaking rocking-chair with
bitter sigh, and drew his fingers m a dazed way across his eyes.
Then he rose and went over to one corner where a slight, pretty-
iced little woman with large lustrous eyes, lay on a very rackf d
id dilapidated lounge, watching him intently.
170
THE MAGIC DRAUGHT.
*' No luck for me, Evie," he said with a smile intended to be
bitter. " And no breakfast for the girls."
Tears filled the large eyes of the little woman as she looked
with sweet sympathy and pity at the toil-worn face of her husband.
She laid her fingers — very white fingers they were — on the frayed
sleeve of his shabby jacket, and whispered :
" Wouldn't they take it, dear ? Not even for a pound ?"
*' A pound ? " responded Poorboy ironically. " No, not ever,
a shilling. Not even sixpence. And what is more," he continued.
as he drew a roll of manuscript irom his jacket, '* they returned
me my ' Verses to an infant ' and my * Reveries,' done up in the
same musty piece of paper I carried them there in. They never
opened the parcel. They say, too, I can't write."
" How dare they say such an unkind thing ! " exclaimed Mr-.
Poorboy as her face flushed at the idea of her dear Peter suffer
ing such an imputation. "They must be fools — not honest, di;
cerning, impartial men."
" No, they are only rich, independent, well-fed publishers-!
that is all. They don't know what it is to average one meal in
two days, and a light one at that. They don't know what it ist(j
sit with a tired benumbed brain and an empty stomach over
rickety table by a candle's light, all through the night till the go:
en rays of God's universal sun come in at the window and
across your paper and trembling, palsied fingers. Nor do the;!
care to hear a recount of it. And if they did, they'd say ' pocj
devil, why don't you write a book on it. It would sell, you know.]
All they do say is ' you can't write, young man; give it c; j
Go in for some honest, busy employment — get a situation sonic
where that will guarantee you a salary every week; a certainty eve: j
if it be small.
They always say honest. ' Look for some honest employment]
Do they think that the profession of a poet is only a stej
above a thief or a rat-catcher ? If you were as generous actj
philanthropic and impartial as you are shallow and sneering ar.;j
mendacious and avaricious, you critics and publishers, Pei?i
Poorboy wouldn't be starving in a miserable tenement ramshad:]
building with a sick wife, and three consumptive children."
While Peter Poorboy was thus bitterly declaiming, a stran:]
voice upon the landing broke upon his ear, and he paused abrupt
to listen; and as he did so he heard little Emily say :
" This is the door, sir, father 's inside. Please walk itj
THE MAGIC DRAUGHT.
171
And then the door was pushed open and the stranger ste])ped into
the room.
He was a short slight man of perhaps fifty, with one of those
occasional faces that need only to be seen once to be remembered
ever afterward. His chin and nose were very prominent, tho' not
disproportionately large; and his eyes, which were gray, were
bright and deep and piercing. His whole expression was that of
a disposition of kindness, gentleness and benevolence; but at the
same time there was that in his splendid eyes and his prominent
features and the firm lines about his mouth that betokened him to
be a man of stern impartiality and a resolute will.
He was dressed in plain black — like Peter Poorboy. But
his clothes differed from Peter's in the one very significant and
potent respect that they were of the finest mateiial;and unimpaired,
us Peter's decrepit garments undoubtedly were.
The visitor laid his hat and cane ujjon the table, and bowing
graciously to Mrs. Poorboy, he said to the wondering and agitated
poet:
" You are doubtlessly surprised at this visit ; but I will not
keep you long in suspense and will explain the cause of it briefly
and at once." So saying, the gentleman sat down with some ap-
parent trepidation in the rickety rocking-chair Peter presented
him, and crossed his knees.
" He looks very much like business," thought Mrs. Poorboy;
and oddly enough that was the identical idea circulating in Peter's
imaginative brain at the moment.
" Now, Mr. Poorboy," began the caller, as he fixed his keen
eyes on the perplsixed countenance of Peter who continued to
stand in a respectful and expectant silence;)"! have heard of you."
Peter bowed. "And I also learned that you were^in bad circum-
stances, that I now have visual proof of" Peter 'smiled slightly,
and gazed in^ a half-deprecating, half-jaunty way 'round the nar-
row room.
" You are a poet, but I understand the publishers are under
[the impression you are a compulsory one. Now, I've perused one
tor two of your creations in the magazines, and without desiring to
[flatter you, they possess fair merit."
Peter bowed profoundly ; and his wife exclaimed :
" Oh ! Peter dear, those must be your * Ode to a free-lunch
:ounter ' and 'Chip me off a piece of sandwich;' they are the only
)nes you got into Brown's, you know."
172
THE MAGIC DRA UGHT.
If a look could have hastened the rash, tho' unsophisticated
Mrs. Poorboy to an untimely grave, Peter's expression as she
uttered her artless words would have done it. He turned his
back upon the discomfited little woman, presenting her with the
pitiable and at the same time comical prospect of a very rent,
fringed and rusty coat and unmentionables. The gray-eyed gen-
tleman smiled, and continued :
" Those things have merit, Mr. Poorboy ; and what those
parts dealing more esj^dcially with description lack, is counterbal-
anced by a certain bitterness, fire and naturalness in the allusion
to dom'',oiic trouble,care, poverty and the like. Which proves that
after all a material experience will yield the most lasting results,
and be most profitable in the long run to the author."
Peter wondered if this tenet held good in his own case.
" If so " he thought, " my run has not yet closed. When will the
end be ?"
"Now, Mr. Poorboy," went on the gentleman in a brisker
tone, '' not to be prosy, permit me to come to the point, and
state at the same time why I have come here. My name's Double
— Dingley Double; and I am termed by a great many a philan-
thropist. Whether I can prove to be one to you or not, is a
matter to be settled — in part — in a very short space of time."
"I like your poetry — I believe you have talent — latent talen:
and what you require to draw iL out is better times, good food f
less care, and v/hat will as a matter of consequence follow thc.v
blessmgs, good health and spirits."
Peter's visitor now took forth a pocket-book, and laying it c
the table, said :
" There's twenty pounds to give you a temporary lift ani
ameliorate your circumstances. Now, I want you to write me v
the course of a few days, as soon as you are in the spirit, anythin.
of your imagination; you can choose the subject yourself. Ant
to clear that still bewildered brow of yours, I give you the assur
ance that my only object in benefiting you is one from a philai;^
thropic view, and with the hope of bringing to the front a naniij
that I honestly believe only requires backing to make it onec:
the brightest in London. With this explanation ycu must re'l
main satisfied."
Peter bowed again; and tho' to a certain degree still niysci
fied, he was thoroughly contented to abide by the conditions (.11
his unknown benefactor, and earnestly assured the latter to ifel
THE MAGIC DRAUGHT.
173
" And, by the way, Mr. Poorboy," said the gentleman, turning
back from the landing as if the idea had just recurred to him; "let
me give you a wrinkle. You perhaps, like a great many literary
men, work after nightfall. Now, when writing at that period,
keej) a glass oi pure cold umter at your elbow, and sip it every
now and then. You will discover it to aid you amazingly, in every
sense, in your composition. Your ideas will come faster, your com-
parisons will be sharper,your similies brighter; and you will recognize
in your completed work a radical and superior difference to any of
the results of your previous labor."
Now, Peter's invariable habit had been this very one of
drinking cold water, in very liberal libations, when under press of
work; generally or when fortunate enough to secure it, flavoring
the liquid with a finger or I'.vo of whiskey to stimulate his imagina-
tion and stay his pinched stomach.
However, he said nothing of this to Mr. Double, hut prom-
ised with much solemn'ty to obey his patron's injunction and
advice to the letter ; and striving to express his really sincere
gratitude to the gentleman, he bowed the latter clear down to the
street, and then returned three steps at a time to his deeply won-
dering and equally grateful young wife.
Now, Peter's little Lizzie was on the doorstep when the visitor
was ushered to the street by lier father. And as soon as the latter
had disappeared at the top of the first flight of narrow stairs, the
gentleman in the nice black suit turned back and said to Lizzie :
" My dear little girl, I'm gomg to help your papa get rich and
famous, and I want you to help me.
Now, if I promise truly that I am not going to do any harm
to your dear papa, but am going to do him all the good in the world,
will yo.j .^romise that you will keep what I am going to tell you
to do, a secret ? "
^ izzie was a very cute litde girl, and, as little children very often
are, ? shrewd judgeof human character. She had listened very atten-
tively to the gentleman's speech, and while doing so, had been
studying his face intently, too. And the result of her critical
ocrutiny was that she said to herself:
" I like his face ; it's a good, kind face, and 1 believe solemn
[he is going to help papa. He isn't the kind of man that hurls
[people. Yes, I will trust him." And so she said aloud :
"Yes, sir, I will keep it a secret, whatever it is."
"That's a good girl, and that's right," said Mr. Double.
•■■s ^Tl9SOBarB^KTO»** -
174
THE MAGIC DRAUGHT.
" Now, here is a tiny phial with a white fluid in it. wSee, it is full,
When at night your papa sits down to write, he will have some
water to drink ; and perhaps he will tell you to get it for him,
And when you get it you must put into it just a few drops of the
liquid in this tiny bottle ; but take care not to let any one see you
do it, particularly your papa.
iS'ow perhaps you don't like to do this, thinking it may do
your papa some harm. Now watch me ; I am going to swallow
just half of what is in this phial to prove to you that it is not
poison and cannot hurt anybody."
So saying, the little gentleman put the tiny phial to his lips ;
and when he took it away and showed it to Lizzie, she saw that it
was half empty.
" Perhaps it is medicine," thought Lizzie. But she said :
*'It is because you don't look like a wicked man, sir, that I will
do it. I believe you are honest and kind, for one day on Holborn
Hill I saw you give an old beggar woman a pound note. I shan't
let anybody see me."
Mr. Dingley Double smiled, and giving Lizzie the little bottle
he saw her hide it carefully in a portion of her dress, and then he
said good-bye to her and walked briskly down the str- . t
Meanwhile, Peter Poorboy had been discussing his benefactor
in earnest terms with his wife ; elated with pride in the con-
sciousness of some one at length having perceived some talent
in him ; and considerably elevated in animal spirits al?
at the very opportune present of ;!^20, and the joyful prospect oi
a comfortable dinner not far off.
What a fortune it was, that ;Q2o^ to the little family ! Peter
lost very little time in scurrying to the nearest grocer's and layini;
in a comfortable stock of eatables \ taking little Iaiiaq. along to
help carry home the purchases.
And what a jolly dinner that was, and in what jovial spirits
they all were, to be sure ; Peter thought with a smile that it wa?
almost worth being poor to taste such real joy.
He was impatient to commence the task set him by his un
known and generous friend ; for it behoved him now to be ,i-
painstaking and clever as much as lay within his compass, in retur,:
for little Mr. Double's munificence and apparently genuine solic-
tude, as well as for his own and his family's welfare.
So after the happy meal his mind became absorbed with t'
important matter as to what the theme of his projected tais
should be.
THE MAGIC DRAUGHT.
175
See, it is full,
11 have some
;t it for him.
drops of the
y one see you
ig it may do
ng to swallow
I that it is not
al to his lips :
he saw that it
she said :
sir, that I will
y on Holborn
note. I shan't
he little bottle
J, and then he
(tr a
his benefactor
in the con-
1 some talent
spirits alsj
ul prospect ot
family ! Peter
r's and laying
izzie along to
it jovial spirits
ile that it was
lim by his un-
now to be a«
pass, in returr.
2;enuine solic-
jrbed with th:
projected task
" It shall be of no ordinary stuff, I warrant me," said the
poet dramatically. "Fresh and sparkling and full of energy. I
must go forth for a ramble and climb Parnassus in imagination —
otherwise High Holborn. Approve me now, oh ! gentle Nine,
for on my inspiration hangs the weal or woe of the Poorboys."
So that evening Peter surrounded himself with his materials,
and called for a " flagon of water, clear and cold ;" for, said he,
" I must celebrate the initial eve in the new era of my fortune by
mixing a jolly bowl of punch." And he sat down with a ready head
and hand to his labor. While little Lizzie true to her tryst,
and very important-visaged, you may believe, brought the water
and performed her mysterious function.
The poet sipped the punch and dipped his pen. He
became inspired from the word go, and his pen could scarce keep
pace with the bouniiful, the wonderful unprecedented flow of his
ideas. His conception was amazing !
" 'Tis Nectar I" cried Peter in astonishment, as he held up
and looked at the empty tumbler. " I was never so idealistic, so
fertile, so ardent in all my existence. Why, the most insignificant
point is neiv I There is not a single chestnut in the entire com-
position !"
It was true, indeed ; Peter had never in his brightest moods
or under the most pressing necessity, written so veil. His
choicest product, as he considered it, the " Reveries," was con-
temptibly tame when compared with this latest outpouring of
what seemed a new genius within him.
"There must be something in the ])unch, after all," mused
Peter, and he never guessed how near he came to the truth.
I" The more I drink, the finer my verses. It is like taking water
' .nd giving wine."
When Peter's new-found champion called two days later he
found the poet in a radiant humor.
" I think you will own it good, Mr. Double," said Peter
lomewhat self-complacently. " Candidly, sir, it is the best thing
''ve written yet."
The little gentleman bowed cjuietly, and said he was over-
joyed to hear it ; he kfie7ci Poorboy had genius of a high order.
And then he took a fine diamond ring off his little finger, and
laid :
Poorboy, I nn"i going to give you this ring as a guarantee
\i
my friendship, and to symbolize this change in your fortune
17G
THE MA GIG DRA UGHT.
you must n:)t part with it under any consideration. Wiien it
leaves your possession with your concurrence, you forfeit my
regard for you, and my interest in you."
If Peter Poorboy had been surprised ac the peculiar and
remarkable turn fortune had taken in his behirif, he was doubly
confused now. But he accepted the gift with a gracious and
fervent speech, and put it on his finger.
"And now," said Mr. Dingley Double," you must leave this
squalid, wretched place. You need not precipitate yourself
into luxury, but you can provide yourself with a suite of comfort-
able rooms in a respectable part of the city. I shall give you ^25
more on account of your next poem, that you may be able to
move your wife and family with all expediency. For I promise
you if you work faithfully and earnestly, and let your charming wife
and little ones share the glory of your labors, your name shall not
long be held obscure. I have weight with the publishers ; weight
with the critics. And they shall do you justice, I warrant you,
But you must not get arrogant and indifferent, and callous towards
your family ; or allow your head to be turned with flattery or the
adulations of new friends, should success crown your efforts. I
warn you of this, for many a man high up on the ladder
leading to fame lets vanity twine about his heart, master his better
feelings, and finally bring him tumbling down to the bottom
again." »
When the little gentleman was gone, Peter Poorboy sat
musing in his rickety rocking-chair, gazing at his magnificent
acquisition. He laughed aloud as he compared it with his mouldy
and tattered clothes.
" Lose his friendship ? I'd rather lose my head, and a!!
the latent ideas it might have in it. He's the finest gentleman in
all Christendom. But this ring ! How it gleams and glows and
sparkles I And how it betrays into their worst perceptible con-
dition my poor rags, making their slightest marks of decay glarin^^
blemishes, and their most trifling seams huge rents. I must ge:
me a new attire ere 1 flourish this jewel in the street, or the prying,
suspecting mob will think I've turned robber instead of self pro
spective Poet Laureate. Part with it, did he say ? No, no, gooc
Mr. Double, you do Peter Poorboy an injustice when you an
ticipate such graceless, scoundrelly ingratitude from him.
These were fine words, but we will see how Peter kept h:-
prom ise.
^Otr
THE MAGIC DRAUGHT.
177
CHAPTER II.
him.
lunch
NE morning Peter woke up like Lord Byron, to find him-
self famous. His ' Soliloquy of a gladiator' had appeared
and created a great reversion of feeling in his favor.
People were enquiring curiously and sympathetically for
Critics who had ridiculed and satirized his ' Ode to a free
counter ' were silent. Some of them even came out in
glowing dissertations on his splendid effort, that were far from ad-
verse.
The publishers, too, now addressed themselves to him, mak-
ing a variety of apologies for the previous treatment of them.
Tho' in reality some of his pieces had not merited very much
honest praise, being rather tame and unoriginal. Peter, however,
listened to their overtures in silence, for the circulation of any-
thing he might now produce rested entirely in the hands of his
patron Mr. Dingley Double, as agreed upon by that gentleman.
But alas ! the time soon came when the rising poet — the
pauper of only a few weeks previous — became arrogant, supercili-
ous, thankless, and even arbitrary. And a little baneful thought, at
first very insignificant, crept into his mind.
But stimulated to a rapid growth by the applause of the pub-
lic and the favorable notices of the critics, this same little thought
swelled into a large definable desire which was to free himself from
the servile yoke of his patron, and to acknowledge no authority.
"I have shamed the critics," said Peter proudly to himself
:*'They see now what stuff is in me. Why should I not say to this
[Mr. Double: I am not a little child ; I am now gaining a name
[and reputation that soon any literary man in London may envy.
I have talents ; I have a will of my own. I will be my own master,
I and do my own business."
1 And this desire so filled Peter's thoughts that at length he
could bear the fancied slavery no longer, and broached the sub-
ject to Mr. Dingley Double.
That person listened attentively until Peter had finished his
tapid and somewhat vehement address; and then he fixed his keen
€ye upon Peter's and answered very tran(iuilly :
I "I ])remonished you, Poorboy, against flattery. It has al-
leady spread its evil effects over you. You are now, short as
fou. period of success has been, filled with vain-glory and an
12
178
THE MAGIC DRAUGHT.
over-estimate of your abilities. You already think you are ranked
with the most noted and talented men in London. Another week
at this rate of self-advancement and you will be soaring above
them all; a fortnight, and you will set the standard of poetry to all
England."
Peter was a little awed, and for the moment he thought he
saw his folly, and some truth in his friend's words. But his cor.
triteness was of short order.
That week he devoted himself energetically to a poem in
several cantos. It was to be the lengthiest and finest thing yc:
issued from his ever-busy pen.
When it was completed, however, he did not wait for his pat-
ron to deal with its publication; but sent it off post haste to the
leadmg magazine, and received in return a cheque for ;^ioo. A
sum of money that completed the ascendency of his pride over hi;
better feelings of propriety and wisdom.
Peter Poorboy now attained a social eminence that threatened
the stability of his domestic tranquillity. He went out to dinner
parties — where his very common-place conversation, devoid to:
the most part of wit or startling originality created much surprise
and a good deal of chagrin. And Peter himself perple.xec I
a good deal at his dullness on such occasions discreetly screenecl
this want of that brightness and originality which figured in ever
line of his writings behind an almost absolute silence; tiavellic.j
on his literary 'shape,' so to speak. "For so long," thought he, "i>[
my works retain their present reputation, I can command the re-j
spect and adulation of all my critics and friends."
However, Peter Poorboy thought very often it was nio'.l
than passing strange that he, who could be so brilliant on pape'J
should be so very mediocral in his ordinary discourse,
could not fathom it ; and so remained only partially satisfied:!
plume himself upon his magnificence and potency as an autk'l
Meanwhile, little Lizzie performed diligently the task set
by Mr. Dingley Double. She loved the little gentleman ; andj
grieved her childish and susceptible heart to see her father ado;:|
ing daily a more arrogant and — what she mentally termed— c^|
respectful air toward their beneficent friend.
That individual observing keenly Peter Poorboy's chans'rl
tone, visited the little family less often now, since Peter had^
insolently usurped the reins of management. He, however, taifc'
seriously but kindly to the rising genius, as Peter styled hini>cl
THE MAGIC DU AUGHT.
171)
admonishing him to discontinue certain associations and deleteri-
ous habits he had already formed. The poet, however, took this
advice in very bad part, and hinted at its b.ing not only superflu-
ous but somewhat impertinent, and not fioii' essential to his
welfare.
Mrs. Poorboy 'heard Peter's high and mighty utterances with a
good deal of concern and dread. Experience with the world had
shown the little woman that pride and ingratitude were invariably
punished in some form or other ; and she importuned Her husband
to be less lofty and dictatorial toward the good man who had un-
doubtedly been the means of his reaching his present position of
comfort and prominence. This, however, Peter emphatically
and hotly denied, taking the credit of his eminence and change of
fortune to his own indefatigable industry and marvellous gen'us.
Now came Peter's crowning temptation ; a temptation
which proved an unfortunate crisis for him, and set the great
wheel of Fortune revolving in the opposite direction.
The poet became more popular every day — that is, his works
did. Each succeeding ode or sonnet, or whatever it happened to
be was a gem ; a paragon of fire, correctness, beauty. He was
continually away from home. He changed his moderate tho*
genial lodgings for a sumptuous house in a swell street. His work
brought him in handsome remittances, that, however, barely
Served to keep pace with his increased style of expensive living.
His little wife shed secret and perhaps foolish tears over her
[husband's dissipation and recklessness, but she said nothing to
[him. In fact, he had become such a great man now with titled
[persons calling on him to write elegant odes and eiptaphs and what
iot that she stood a good deal in awe of him. Being, however, one
lay discovered in a state of tearful despondency by Mr. Dingley
)ouble, whom she respected deeply, and being earnestly en-
reated by that gentleiiian to confess her trouble to him, she
cried :
" Oh, dear Mr. Double, you are the only friend I have in
lis wide, wide world 1" (Mr.l). had heard that before, but he always
Ippeared pleased in one sense to hear it.) "The people my
lushand brings here can never be friends of mine. But it is not
hat which grieves nje. My husband, who used to be so kind and
iolicitQus for my comfort, so jealous if any other hand ministered
Ifeo liiy slightest want, is neglecting me. This fame and blaze of
©iumph and sudden flow of wealth and prosjjerity has turned his
^ad. He is not the same."
180
THE MA QIC BRA TJGHT.
" I have noticed that myself," observed Mr. Dingley Double,
" and I must own I am a good deal disappointed in our 'genius,
It is what I partly feared, however. But tell me, is there no:
something else that causes you to look dispirited — ill, I may say
You may trust in me, even if your husband doesn't. I am sti!
your friend."
The little woman was silent for a few moments, with a distan;
look in her eyes, as if debating whether to make any further cor.
fidences. iAt length she took the little gentleman's hand betrtee,'.
her own, and exclaimed anxiously : i
" Perhaps you can tell me — perhaps you have heard. I hav:
been told it is not conventionality or a general thirst for pleasure
and society, that is making my husband lose his affection for m
and my little girls. I don't believe it — I will not believe it ; bu: I
it was whispered to me that — another woman has alienated— hiir. I
— from — his — wife — and chil — children ! " I
The poor little soul wound up this passionate revelation c:l
her sorrow by bursting into tears. Little Mr. Double, evident!) I
affected also, strove to soothe her with kind words. But there I
came in his fine eyes a look that seemed to say : i
Ah, my fine poet, my merry gallant, you shall pay for this f
You have trodden my pearls under your feet. You have returnc;
me the basest ingratitude for all my labor and indulgence. Vi.
have broken the heart of as good and true a little woman as evc
breathed ; who loves you, worships the very stair-carpet you waii
on, and thinks her husband the cleverest and greatest man in tkj
whole of England. Clever ! You fool ! You shall soon find, anc|
so shall the critics, and the public, and your ' friends,' too, tlii|
your wonderful talents are only mediocral. You immortalize;!
with Byron and Shelley, forsooth ! I like that ! You shall fall, m
gay, talented sprig ! And it will break your heart, if you haveari
left, to find how your warm friends and admirers will turn on y; 1
and scoff you, and laugh in your very face ! M
Those in fact, were the very words which shaped themselvtsa
through the medium of thought in Mr. Double's brain. ^M
when little Mrs. Poorboy's sorrow had somewhat subsided, hesi;M
gently : ■
" I have heard nothing of this ; let us hope it has no fourijH
ation. Unstable as Peter has proved himself, I still credit i^^w
with more affection and respect for his little wife than to be giiij|
of such treason. I must see your husband and have it out oi:|9
THE MAGIC DRAUGHT.
181
gley Double,
our 'genius.
is there not
U, 1 may say.
;. 1 am still
with a distan:
y further cor.
hand betweer.
leard. I ^avc
,t for pleasure
fection for nit
)elieve it ; bu:
ilienated— bin;
; revelation c:l
'uble, evidently
ds. But theul
lU pay for tbi5 1
u have returnee
ulgence. Veil
woman as evq
carpet you \va4
itest man in t-j
I soon find, anil
iends,' too,tli2:j
m immortalize:!
ouBhall fall, 1^1
J if you havear'i
will turn on yof
laped themselvJ
e's brain. A'-»
subsided, be s
it has no fou^
still credit u-l
than to be g&|l
have it out " '
for all with him. Relieve me, there is yet a way of bringing our poet
to a j)roper opinion of himself."
Then with some further words of consolation and advice, the
little gentleman took his way from the house, saying to liimself as
he reached the street :
"There can be little of the elixir left now, and the turning point
must soon come. He is so puffed up with an idea of his own abilities
that he will scarce recognize even such an abrupt and general fall-
off in his composition. And if he does, his ?iame, he will say to-
hinisclf, will cover all blemishes; the reviewer will hesitate to pass
cril'u isms for fear of chastisement from that ever prompt and vigor-
ou.s pen. Vii^orous pen ! Ha ! ha !"
Hear Mr. Double's cogitations, as he sauntered down the
street, were interrupted by a voice at his elbow; and turning he
?aw his litde aide, Lizzie Poorboy.
"Dear Mr. Double," said Lizzie, with an expression of much
concern, "there is none of thai left in the phial. I put in the last
drop last night. And great trouble I had, too, for papa doesn't
drink water now, mind you. It's always wine. I had the greatest
j trouble dropping it in without being seen. And one night I couldn't
get mar his tumbler, papa was so cross, and would stick to the
[table. And next morning he was angrier than ever, and the whole
[room was just covered with paper he had torn up and scattered all
ibout. So I guess that physic must do him good."
Mr. Dpuble smiled. "No, Lizzie," he said, "I'm not going
to give you any more of that 'physic' ; your papa is quite well now,
)r he soon will be. So you have no more work to do. But you
lust keep our secret still, and not breathe one icordoi what you've
)een uj) to. Not even hint at it . "
" I guess you will meet papa," said Lizzie as she was about
|o part from her friend. " He was driving in a fine carriage with
lady; but when 1 saw him, and called 'papa, papa,' and asked
^im to take me in, he frowned and looked the other way ; and the
idy laughed. I wonder," continued the little girl thoughtfully,
if that is why mamma cries so much now ? Papa doesn't come
[ome very often ; only when he wants to write."
''Lizzie," said the little gentleman in impressive tones, "you
lust not say one word about seeing your papa in a carriage with
;lady, do you hear? N'ot one word.'''
" \'ery well," said Lizzie. Ikit she turned away with a very
irious and puzzled face, and walked very slowly back to her home.
»
182
THE MAGIC DRAUGHT.
As Mr. Double neared a corner, a short distance from Poor-
boy's house, he saw a carriage draw up at the pavement ; and Mr
Poorboy, handsomely attired, alighted, bowing graciously to a very
pretty woman ; who smiled and kissed the tips of her fingers to the
poet as she drove off,
"Oho !" muttered Mr. Dingley Double. " That's your ganiv
is it ?"
The poet came along the street with a jaunty step until witr.
in a short distance of Mr. Double, when he suddenly discovert:
that gentleman's proximity, and appeared somewhat confused.
Mr. Double noticed also that the poet put his right hand ir.
side his coat as if searching for some article. The pair met, anc
the poet would have passed by with a mere nod, had not a look,
flashed from the little man's gray eyes, caused him to halt; lookin.
very sheepish as he continued to poke his hand deeper into hi;
pocket.
" You need not keep that farce up any longer," said Mr
Double in contemptuous tones. "I know what's the matter. You I
have parted with my ring. It's on the finger of the very hand tha:]
was kissed to you a minute ago. You fool ! I warned you tha;
when you parted with my ring you would forfeit my friendship anci
support."
" Support ! " sneered the poet. " What are you talking about J
One would think I was some parasite, hanging on your muniricer.:]
bounty, dependent for a day's happiness on one of y,our smite
This game's about played out, let me tell you ! "
"You forget yourself, Poorboy," said Mr. Double. "Ari
you forget, too, what you were when I came and succored you. I
pauper^ do you remember ? A penniless, starving man. It strife]
me you were somewhat of a parasite that day.
But it's not only me you have abused, Poorboy. I'll for!][iv|
that. You leave a trusting, affectionate wife at home alone
days at a time, for a woman who in less than a week, I iell yc^j
will point her finger at you in derision."
The poet sneered again, and replied testily :
" I wish you'd mind your own affairs, old fellow. I c"
manage mine, I warrant you. And look here, if I catch you:
ing my wife's eais with a pacj^ of lies "
" Silence, you babbling fool ! " said the little man in shr
tones, that made the Poet start back and pause abruptly.
"You, who make such a boast of your genius and reputat::
ti
TUE MAGIC DRAUGHT.
183
you, who think yourself one of the idols of London, in less than a
week, I tell you, will be the laughing stock of all those who know
you. Your friends will scorn you, cut you, cry ' idiot ! fool ! ' in
your very face. That is all, Master Poet, but it will be a heavy
burden for you to bear."
So saying, Mr. Double turned on his heel and walked cjuickly
away, the poet standing with his mouth wide open looking at'ter
him.
" Um ! '' said Poorboy, as Mr. Double disappeared, and he
walked toward his house. " What does the old fellow mean ?
Laughing-stock ? Me ? Well, I like that ! But hang me, what
docs he mean ? "
CHAPTER in.
/OU are going to be at home this evening, aren't you
Peter dear ? " said the poet's little wife. " Surely
your fine friends can spare you for one short evening,
now and then — to your wife ? "
Peter flushed. He was well conscious of his desertion of his
little spouse of late, and he felt a decided pang of remorse as he
looked curiously at her sweet face — a good deal too worn and pale
|o indicate full health, he thought. But like all Peter's better
ielings, this one was transient.
That ofificious little Double had irritated him, and his nerves
l^ere not yet calm from their interview. And besides, he had a
sk in hand which he was not hypocrite enough to make consist
^ith any present bestowal of affection upon, or apology for his
iglect to, his wife.
" Yes," he said, *' Fm going to be at home ; but I shall be
isy. Fve got something to write."
" Oh, I'm so glad ! " exclaimed the little woman. " And I've
|>t something, Peter — something to ask you."
" Why not say it now ? " replied the poet testily, a good
il apprehensive of the result, but with a fast rising feeling of
)ellion swelling his heart.
His wife was silent for a few moments, as if timid to broach
subject Then she drew herself up proudly, and said :
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