"Of course," said Grandpapa, "after this, Jocko must go."
And "Of course," echoed every one else. "But where?"
"Oh, do send him to the Zoo," begged Polly, "do, Grandpapa dear, and then we can go and see him sometimes and take him nice things to eat."
"I don't believe Ben will want to go very often," said Jasper, with a little laugh, "will you, old fellow?"
"Yes," said Ben, with another laugh, "as long as I don't meet him in the dark, when he jumps at me from a curtain, I'd just as soon see him as not."
"Oh, I'm so very glad he is going to the Zoo," said Polly, with a long breath of relief, "he'll be real happy there with such lots of other monkeys."
But Jocko didn't go to the Zoo after all with "such lots of other monkeys," for Candace, hearing the news of the disturbance by supposed burglars at Mr. King's big mansion, and the consequent plan to send Jocko away, came waddling up the driveway as fast as she could.
"Here's Candace!" shouted Joel, who spied her first. "Come on, Pip, I guess she's got some candy sticks."
But Candace was so out of breath when she reached the big stone steps that she sank down to rest. If she had any candy sticks in the big black woollen pocket she always wore at her side, it couldn't have been announced at present. The truth was, however, that in the hurry and excitement of leaving the little shop, she had forgotten them. Whereat Joel was wofully disappointed, but he covered it up as best he might, seeing her chagrin when she pulled out all her things and shook the empty pocket.
"Oh, me, I've clar forgot 'em," she mourned, holding up her black hands in dismay, as the boys hung over her, still hoping that the candy sticks might be hiding in a corner of the big pocket.
"Shake it again, Candace! Shake it again!" cried Joel. "Here, let me," he begged.
"No, no, Mas'r Joel," protested Candace, in alarm, and putting both hands over the generous black woollen pocket, "you'll done shake it to def, you will. Dey ain' dah, I tell you. Oh, me, to tink I sh'd a-gone an' forget dem. An' it's all about dat ar monkey. Oh, whee! I ain' no bref lef'," and she rocked back and forth on the step, fanning herself with her black alpaca apron, without which she was never attired for a visit up at the King mansion.
"Well, Jocko isn't going to stay here any longer," announced Joel, briskly. "He's going up to the Zoo."
"Oh, no, he ain', Mas'r Joel," contradicted Candace, stopping her fanning to seize his arm.
"Yes, he is, Candace," declared Joel, bringing his black eyes on her in surprise; "he's got to go, he's been so naughty. Grandpapa says it isn't safe to keep him here any longer."
"Well, he ain' goin' to dat ar Zoo," protested Candace, bobbing her black bonnet, from which depended a big figured lace veil. "No, no, Mas'r Joel! Oh, your Grandpa won't neber send him dar," and she clasped her hands, while the tears came into her eyes.
"Yes, he will," stoutly repeated Joel, twisting away to stand still and regard her in intense astonishment, "'cause he said so, and my Grandpapa always does just what he says he will, Candace King."
Whenever the children wished to be very impressive with her they called her "Candace King." This usually overcame her with delight. But on this occasion she didn't notice it at all, but, beginning to blubber, she rocked back and forth on the step, saying between the gusts of her distress, "Oh, no, he won't, neber in all dis worl'."
"I'm going for Polly," said Joel, at his wits' end, and springing past her on the steps. Pip, not to be left alone with that singular old black woman, who now terrified him greatly, pattering after, the two raced into the house.
"Polly!" called Joel. "O dear! Where is she?"
"Here!" cried Polly, bobbing out of the music room, her practice hour being just over. "What is the matter, Joe?"
"Oh, Candace is out on the steps," said Joel, "and I guess she's got a fit."
"Candace out on the steps," cried Polly, "and in a fit! O dear me!" and she rushed out.
To be sure, there sat Candace, rocking back and forth, her face covered with her big hands, and wailing miserably.
"Oh, Candace!" and Polly sank down on the step beside her and throwing her arm around the big black figure, she put her cheek up against one of the black hands, "do tell me what is the matter." Joel and Pip, who had both followed, ranged themselves on either side.
"He won' send him away to de Zoo, will he, honey?" gasped Candace.
"What?" cried Polly, for the words were so muffled back of Candace's big hands, it was impossible to hear a word. "What do you say, Candace?"
So Candace went all over it again; but it wasn't much better so far as Polly's hearing it was concerned, and at last Polly gave it up in despair and started to her feet.
"I don't know what you are talking of, Candace," she declared, "so I'm going to get Grandpapa to come out and see what is the matter with you."
"Oh, no, honey, don'!" and Candace grasped Polly's gown. "You arsk him, dat's a good chile. Arsk him for pore ol' Candace," and she lifted her streaming eyes piteously.
"Ask him what?" cried Polly. "I don't know what you want, Candace. I haven't heard a word that you've been saying."
"She's awful funny," observed Joel; "I told you she was going to have a fit." With that Pip retreated suddenly and ran over to Polly's side, around whose gown he stared with very wide eyes at the big figure on the steps.
"She said something about the monkey," continued Joel, "and—"
"Yes, dat's it," cried Candace, delighted to be understood by somebody. "Oh, he won' send him to de Zoo, will he, Miss Polly?" she begged.
"Indeed he will," declared Polly, positively. "And you ought not to want Grandpapa not to send him," she said, much displeased, "for Jocko's been very naughty; very naughty indeed, Candace."
"Den he won' gib him to me," wailed Candace, releasing Polly's gown, and dropping her head so that the big figured lace veil trailed on the step. "O me—O my!"
"What's that you say, Candace?" cried Polly, dropping down on her knees again. "Do you want Jocko?" feeling as if she couldn't believe her ears.
"Ob course; dat's what I've been tellin' you and Mas'r Joel all de bressed time," said Candace, raising her head to survey them both with extreme dignity.
"Oh, she hasn't said a single word," began Joel.
"Hush, Joel," said Polly. "Candace, do you really want Jocko; really and truly?" and her eyes shone.
"Ob course I does;" Candace's head bobbed so decidedly that Polly had no reason to doubt her. "I'm dre'ful lonesome and he'd be comp'ny," as she swept the tears away with both hands.
"Oh, I'm so very, very glad you want Jocko!" cried Polly, hugging the big figure. While Joel cried "Hooray!" And Pip, when he saw all things turning out so well, emerged from the shelter of Polly's gown and piped out "Hooray," because Joel did.
"But Jocko will work mischief, I'm afraid," and Polly's face fell suddenly, "and just think, Candace, of all the nice things in your shop."
But Candace was not to be balked. Having once set her heart on having Jocko as a companion, she was now prepared to show how she had counted the cost. So she drew herself up to her utmost height.
"Phoo!" she declared, snapping her stubby black fingers, "dat ar monkey ain' a-goin' to hurt none ob my t'ings, Miss Polly. You know my ole safe?"
"Yes," Polly did, a certain hanging wire arrangement where various eatables were kept, to be free from the inspection of mice that were rampant in the room behind the small shop.
"Well, I done clared dat ole safe all out dis berry mornin', soon's eber I heard ob de trouble. Dat'll be a fine t'ing for Jocko to swing in," cried Candace, triumphantly.
"But where will you keep all your eatables?" said Polly, in amazement.
"Oh, honey," exclaimed Candace, impatiently, "I keeps 'em outside, ob course."
"But the mice," suggested Polly, fearfully.
"Dar ain' goin' t' be no mice," declared Candace, decidedly, and clapping her big hands together smartly. "Do you t'ink any mouse is a-goin' to touch my t'ings when he can hear dat ar monkey a-singin' an' carryin' on? No, sir, he ain'!"
"Well then," cried Polly, springing up, "I do so want you to have Jocko. Oh, I do, Candace," and she clasped her hands. "If you are sure he won't hurt your things and you really want him."
"I'm shore," declared Candace, solemnly. At this Joel bounded off, but Pip decided to stay with Polly to see the matter through.
"How lovely!" and Polly's eyes sparkled, "that you want Jocko, and then, just think, we can see him whenever we go to your shop, Candace." She bestowed another hug on the broad shoulders, or so much of them as she could compass.
"I know it, honey." Candace showed two rows of shining white teeth in a broad smile. "An' den, w'en you ain' dar, w'y him an' me can talk, an' it'll be real sosh'ble like."
"Yes," said Polly, quite as happy as Candace herself.
"He'll be sech comp'ny ebenin's," said Candace, folding her arms in great satisfaction; "you see I gotter set up fer a spell, 'cause some one might come in an' buy somethin'. Only las' week an' Mis' Hardin's girl come in fer a spool o' tred. It's been mighty lonesome, Miss Polly."
"So it must have been," said Polly, sympathetically, with a little twinge of remorse that she hadn't thought of it before; "but then, you've had your cat, Candace."
"Yes, I know," Candace gave a truthful nod, "but w'en you says cat, you says all dar is. Now dat ar cat kain't talk none. An' no matter how I stuffs her, she only licks her paws, an' looks fer more. And she ain't no good as fer's comp'ny—real sosh'ble comp'ny whar dar is talkin' goin' on, I mean. An' den jus' t'ink wat a beau'ful voice Jocko's got!" At that Candace fairly beamed.
"Oh, I'll ask Grandpapa not to send Jocko to the Zoo, but to give him to you," said Polly, preparing to spring off. "And I 'most know he will, Candace."
But it was really unnecessary for her to do that, for Joel at this moment dashed in, screaming out, "Grandpapa says yes, he does; Candace can have Jocko!"
And presently Candace, chuckling in delight, was drawn within the big mansion, Joel and Polly on either side, and Pip racing along in the rear. And quicker than it takes to write it, the whole houseful knew where Jocko's new home was to be, and everybody thronged around the happy old black woman.
"Only don't blame me, my good Candace," said Grandpapa, laughing, whom the uproar had drawn out of his writing room, "if that monkey eats up all your shopful."
"He ain' a-goin' t' eat up my t'ings," declared Candace, dropping him so many courtesies it was with extra difficulty she got the words out at all.
"Look out that he doesn't," warned Grandpapa, and he laughed again. "Well now, the next thing, I presume, in the order of arrangements, is to see that Master Jocko gets down to your shop, for that he spends another night here is not my plan for him."
"Oh, I'm going to take him down," announced Joel, easily.
"You!" exclaimed Grandpapa, and he laughed harder than ever.
"Yes, sir!" answered Joel, promptly, "and Candace is going too."
"Well, I guess Candace wouldn't want Jocko by the time they got to the shop," said Jasper,sotto voce.
"I guess not too," said Ben, with a laugh.
"And I'm going too," declared Percy, pushing to the centre of the circle.
"And so am I," said Van, "if Joel's going. Can't I, Grandpapa?" he begged.
"Goodness, what a procession!" exclaimed Grandpapa; "and of course David wants to go—eh, Davie, my lad?"
"Yes, I do," said David, "very much indeed, Grandpapa," and his blue eyes shone.
"I thought so; and I see no reason why you shouldn't be in the party, if all the other boys go. But, dear me, I couldn't allow it. Why, it would be, for all the world, like a circus. And, besides, the monkey would get away from you; he'd be sure to."
"Oh, no, Grandpapa, he wouldn't," howled Joel, quite beside himself with disappointment, and the tears began to come. "I'd hold on to his chain just as tight," and he doubled up his brown fists to show his capacity for keeping things. "Please let me take him."
"No, no;" Grandpapa shook his white head. And he didn't look at Joe nor at one of the other boys, either, for their eyes seemed to be giving them so much trouble. "But I tell you what I will let you do; you can all go down this afternoon and see Jocko in his new home. That is, if Candace will allow it?" and he bowed his white head as courteously toward her as if she had been a great lady.
"Fo' shore, Mas'r King," said Candace, showing all her teeth, her smile was so expansive. "Jocko an' me'll be ter home, an' den I'll gib you de candy sticks," she said, turning to Joel.
"Oh, goody!" exclaimed Joel. Then his face fell. "Oh, you can't, 'twould take such a lot, Candace; we're all coming."
"Oh, yer go long," said Candace, poking him with her big black finger, "ye're goin' to hab dem candy sticks. Yer Gran'pa's done gib me dat ar monkey, an' don' yo' suppose I'm goin' ter gib nuffin'? Oh, yer go long, Mas'r Joel."
Meantime Jasper was asking, "Well, Father, how are you going to get Jocko down to Candace's?"
"It is something of a problem," said the old gentleman, stroking his white head thoughtfully, "but the best way that suggests itself is," and he hesitated and looked anxiously at Ben,—"it's too bad to ask it, but could you take him, Ben, in the depot carriage? Thomas will drive you down."
"Oh, I'll be company for Jocko," said Ben, laughing, "we'll have a fine ride together."
"How I wish I could go with you," cried Jasper. "O dear me! I'm well enough. Let me, Father, do!"
"The idea!" exclaimed the old gentleman, in horror, "and you've been so sick, Jasper King!"
"O dear me! 'Twould be such fun," mourned Jasper.
"Well, Polly, you come," said Ben, persuasively.
"Yes," said Polly, "I will;" but her face drooped, and she couldn't look at Jasper in his disappointment.
"And see here," old Mr. King cried suddenly, "Candace can drive down too. So go get your monkey, and be off, Ben and Polly! And, Candace, remember what I said, and don't blame me for whatever Jocko does in that shop of yours," and Grandpapa went back to his writing room. But they could hear him laughing even after he had closed the door.
It was one thing to plan this fine drive in such pleasant company to introduce Jocko to his new home, and quite another to carry it out. In the first place, the monkey couldn't be found in his accustomed little room up next to that of Thomas over the stable. And Polly turned so pale that Ben hastened to say, "Oh, nothing has happened to him; don't be afraid, Polly. Nothing could happen to that monkey."
"Oh, there has; I know there has, Ben," she declared, clasping her hands in dismay, while the rest of the children, all except Jasper, who, of course, was shut up in the library watching proceedings as best he could from one of the long windows, ran this way and that, calling frantically on Jocko to come, with every imaginable blandishment they could think of as inducement, and Candace sat down on the stable steps and wrung her hands, and lifted up her voice in dismal cries.
This was as much worse as it was possible to be, than if Jocko had gone to the Zoo, for now he had run away, of course, and probably never would be found. "He's done gone to—whar's dat place he come from, Miss Polly?" wailed Candace.
"India," cried Polly, hearing Candace's question, and running up in the interval of exploring several places where Jocko might be expected to hide. "Oh, he couldn't go there, Candace."
"Oh, yes, he could," contradicted Candace, obstinately; "he come from dar, and he could go back dar;" and she redoubled her sobs.
"But he came in a big ship," cried Polly, laying her hand soothingly on the fat shoulder. "Do stop crying, Candace, we'll find him soon, I guess;" but she looked very much worried. "Have you found him, Ben?" she asked in a low voice, as he suddenly appeared.
"No." Ben didn't really say the word, on account of Candace, but he shook his head, and Polly running over to him, he drew her off into a quiet corner. "I really believe the little scamp has run off."
"Oh, Ben, how very dreadful!" exclaimed Polly, turning quite white. "Whatever shall we do with Candace, and whatwillhappen to Jocko? O dear me!" and she wrung her hands.
"Well now, see here, Polly," said Ben, turning her around and gathering up her hands in his bigger ones to hold them fast, "we have just got to make the best of this, and—"
"Yes," Thomas was saying, and the rattling of a chain, together with the sound of his foot-steps, struck upon their ears. "I thought I'd just take the monkey out for a bit of an airing;" and in they both came to the stable, he and Jocko together.
It was impossible to describe the delight of the whole company at the restoration of the lost one. Jocko, who had felt his loss of caste considerably since his escapade of the previous night, put on at once his old airy demeanor, and capered and blinked and wrinkled up his face, and wheedled and begged, and altogether quite outdid any of his former attempts in that line, until the children hung over him and protested that he must not leave them. Oh, no, he mustn't!
At that, Candace, who had found her feet in a surprisingly quick manner at the monkey's entrance, began to take alarm at once, and her black face fell.
"But he has just got to go," said Polly; "you know, boys, Grandpapa has said so." And Ben reiterating the same thing, the children declared, "Yes, he's going to Candace's."
"And you are going down to see him," cried Polly. "Do hurry, Ben, we must take him right straight off, 'cause they want to go to Candace's shop just as soon as ever they can."
So pretty soon the depot carriage, so called because it was one of the vehicles for common use in the establishment, being all ready, with Thomas, whip in hand, quite equipped for the start, Polly and Ben helped Candace in, or rather Polly did, Ben having quite as much as he could do to take care of Jocko; then Polly hopped in, and then Ben, with Jocko crowding in between his legs, got in with some difficulty.
"Oh, wait, do wait," begged Davie, before the door was shut. "I want to bid him good-by."
"Oh, Dave, you are going to see him in a little while," cried Joel, trying to pull him back, "just as soon as we get down to Candace's shop."
But David persisted. "He's going away," he said, "and I shall bid him good-by from here."
"Yes," said Polly, "I think he ought to, Ben, because Jocko is going away from this home."
So David climbed up on the carriage steps and shook Jocko's paw, and said "Good-by" two or three times, because from the monkey's face he didn't seem to realize the parting at all.
And then, as David had done it, why, Joel concluded that after all he wanted to. So up he climbed on the carriage step, and went through the same performance. Only he shook both of Jocko's paws. And then, of course, Percy and Van had to do the same thing, each being a little longer than the other about it.
And then little Dick piped up, standing on his tiptoes, "It's my turn; I'm going to bid my Jocko good-by, I am."
"Yes, do lift him up, Joe," said Ben.
So Joel gave little Dick a good fine lift, Dickie protesting so violently that he was going to get up on the carriage step himself, and trying to kick off any assistance, that he was precipitated to the floor of the carriage in a small heap.
"Dear me!" exclaimed Ben, huddling up Jocko, who pretended to be very much frightened, "this is a circus, I'm sure."
"Well now, Dick, hurry and say good-by," said Polly, "for Grandpapa expects us to start right off. And now, Phronsie. Come, pet!" as little Dick shook Jocko's paws briskly and tumbled out.
Phronsie, who had waited patiently till her turn came to say good-by, now put out her arms. "Take me, Polly," she said.
"Yes, I will," said Polly, flying out of the carriage. So Phronsie was lifted in, when she laid her soft little cheek on Jocko's wrinkled face. "I love you," she said, "and you are going to Candace's house."
"Oh, Phronsie," exclaimed Ben, with a grimace, trying to draw Jocko off.
But Phronsie was not quite through, so she held fast.
"And I'm coming to see you," she finished. Then she held up her arms for Polly to lift her out.
And then Polly hopped in again, Thomas cracked the whip, and off they went, Jocko showing a grinning face at the window, as long as the children were in sight. Then he sat up straight and looked the stout black figure on the opposite seat all over with extreme condescension.
"Well, you are all settled, old chap," said Ben, affectionately, with a pat on Jasper's shoulder, "for a spell at least."
"That's so," said Jasper, in huge satisfaction, and running over to set some books on his shelves; "good for Doctor Fisher that he won't let me go back till the middle of the term! But I have to dig at these, though, else I'll flunk when I do get there," as he crammed the last book into place.
"But you're not to go at them before next week, Jasper," remonstrated Ben, in alarm, and hurrying over to him, "you know Papa Doctor said so; you know he did!"
"Oh, I won't have a bout with them until then," promised Jasper. "But after that—then says I, why, I've simplygotto. Well now, Ben, there's Pip!" He whirled around to regard Ben anxiously.
"I know it," said Ben, with a long face.
"I suppose the little chap has got to go back and face those boys," said Jasper, ruefully.
Ben swung off on his heel and walked up and down the long apartment. "You know just as well as you want to, Jasper King," he said, coming up to stand squarely in front of the tall boy, "how it will be when Pip gets back there."
"Yes, I know; but perhaps the boys will treat him better now," said Jasper, yet he looked uneasy.
"Yes, for a while," said Ben, "I think they will;" then he burst out with honest indignation, "but there are enough boys there who'll be at their mean tricks soon enough, as long as you won't be on hand to make them stand round,—you know that, Jasper, as well as you want to."
"Well, Pip is different now," said Jasper, determined to find all the bright aspect possible to the case.
"I know he is," assented Ben, pounding his hand on the table, "ever so much more like a boy, but that will soon be taken out of him, get him back there without you, or any one who really cares a row of pins about him."
"They shan't take it out of him. Oh, no, no!" cried Jasper, in great distress. He really couldn't stop saying it.
"Yes," said Ben, obstinately, "they will."
"Well, what can be done about it?" demanded Jasper tossing his dark hair away from his brow. And he put a hand on either sturdy shoulder; "Speak out, now, old fellow, if you've a plan in your head, and I'm with you to the last gasp," he added, in suppressed excitement.
"There isn't anything to be done," said Ben, slowly, his blue eyes raised to the earnest ones looking him through and through, "except for Pip to keep away from that school till you go back."
"For Pip to keep away from that school," echoed Jasper, faintly; "why, he belongs there. Ben Pepper, whatareyou saying?"
"I can't help it if he does belong there," said Ben. "The thing is to get him away for a spell."
"How?" demanded Jasper, with a small shake of the broad shoulders.
"Your father can do it," said Ben, for answer.
"My father!" cried Jasper, in surprise. Then his hands fell away from Ben's shoulders, and he backed slowly off.
"Yes, your father," reiterated Ben. "He can do anything, and you know it."
"But Ben Pepper—you—you don't understand," said Jasper, very much puzzled to think how Ben, usually so level-headed, could fall into such a stupid misapprehension at this time. "Pip belongs to Doctor Presbrey; that is,—why, you know the story. His father and mother are dead, and he's in the care of the Doctor. Put there by a sort of a guardian down in South America, where the forlorn little chap came from, and—"
"Oh, I know that whole story," said Ben, guilty of interrupting.
"Well, then, how can you go on so?" exclaimed Jasper, more than ever bewildered that Ben should propose such a useless plan.
"Yes, but all that makes no difference," said Ben, snapping his fingers. "Your father can make Doctor Presbrey let Pip off to stay here until you go back." Ben set up his square shoulders and stood as tall as he could, looking up obstinately at Jasper's face.
"Whew!" whistled Jasper. Then he thrust his hands into his pockets and marched up and down the apartment, the same as Ben had done.
"You see, Doctor Presbrey is a sensible man," said Ben, firing one of his reserve shots after the tall boy, "and when he knows how Pip has changed since he's been here,—why, Joel has done wonders with him,—now that man is going to let him stay on a bit."
"Joel hasn't done everything," observed Jasper, wheeling in his corner.
"And your father can make anybody do anything," broke in Ben, hurriedly.
"Father never likes to interfere with people," said Jasper, running nervous fingers through his dark hair, and wrinkling it up into waves. Then he tossed it back in irritation. "He'll never do it in all this world, Ben Pepper!" and he strode off down the room again.
"Yes, he will," declared Ben, standing still in his tracks. Then he fired another shot. "But of course he won't if you and I don't believe in it."
"What do you mean?" cried Jasper, wheeling to run up and seize Ben's jacket-button. "Why, I'm in favor of it, this plan of yours, Ben, only it's perfectly useless to begin with;" his gray eyes turned dark with feeling as he fixed them on Ben's face.
"That's no way to favor a thing," said Ben, quite unmoved, "not to believe in it."
"But—but I can't say I believe in it, because Idon't," declared Jasper, quite as obstinately in his way.
"But you can go at it as if you wanted to believe in it," said Ben, sturdily.
"Well, I will; I'll promise you that," said Jasper, "for I want it as much as you do."
"I know it," said Ben, bobbing his head.
"All right; now we'll shove ahead on it," said Jasper, with a laugh. "But Father—" and his face fell.
"If we want it," said Ben, "we've got to make him want it, too."
"Of course. Well, we'll try for it," said Jasper, swallowing hard. "But there's the school; you see it interrupts all Dr. Presbrey's work over Pip."
"I know it," said Ben, and his face fell. "But you know everybody said Pip was so dull at school."
"Well, that's because he was such a forlorn little chap," said Jasper; "poor mite, anybody would be dull where he wasn't wanted."
"That's just it," cried Ben, eagerly. "Well now, he'll study and take hold of things with Joel and David, and Dr. Presbrey will be glad enough to let him stay if it will only wake him up." Ben gave a gasp when he had gotten through, for he wasn't much used to long sentences.
"Well, come on," Jasper picked him by the sleeve, "if we have it to do, to ask Father, we best have it over with;" and he hauled Ben off, never letting go till the two paused to knock on Mr. King's writing-room door.
Then just a breathing space, when it seemed to Jasper that he must make a bolt and give up the whole thing.
"Come in!" called his father's voice; and the two boys found themselves before the big writing-table, and looking down into his face. It wasn't an auspicious moment, for a letter lay open that had evidently caused the reader a bad quarter of an hour.
"What is it?" Old Mr. King looked sharply up from his fit of musing.
Jasper felt cold chills run all over him. As for Ben, he set his teeth, and his right hand doubled up in his pocket.
"Never mind, Father," said Jasper, beginning to back toward the door, "and beg pardon, Ben and I can come in another time if you will allow us."
"You will be good enough to stay now, Jasper, that you and Ben are here," said his father, decidedly, the irritation still remaining on cheek and brow; and he set his keen eyes to work on both boys. "Now then, what is it? Speak quickly, for I haven't much time to give you."
"Father," said Jasper, and he drew a long breath, "it's about Pip."
Old Mr. King took up the subject abruptly. "Well, what has he been doing?" he demanded.
"He hasn't been doing anything," said Jasper, "that is, nothing bad. It's about something we want you to do for him, Father."
"What?" It was only one word and it came out like a cannon-ball. Ben's hand clenched together tighter yet, especially as he saw Jasper's cheek turn white. "O dear," groaned Ben, "I ought not to have spoken to-day when he's been so sick."
"Father," Jasper drew another long breath, then he looked steadily into the sharp eyes, "if that poor little chap only needn't go back to school yet. Dr. Presbrey will let him stay here until I go, if you only ask him."
"What?" roared the old gentleman, amazed beyond his control.
"You know something of the hard time Pip has at the school," Jasper said persuasively, and though his cheek was white, he still looked steadily into the sharp eyes that now were blazing. "Oh, if you only would, Father, get Dr. Pres—"
"And do you mean to say, Jasper, that you would wish me to prefer such a request to Dr. Presbrey, that stern disciplinarian, that he should let a boy off, especially one who is under his care in such a way as Pip is? Preposterous!" Old Mr. King whirled around in his chair, then back again, to bring his right hand emphatically on the table, till the disturbing letter and all the nearest papers fluttered in the wind of his indignation.
"Father," said Jasper; then he stopped a second for the right word. But that wasn't allowed him.
"And that you should ask such a thing amazes me, Jasper. When did you ever know your father to interfere in other people's affairs?—When, indeed!" He was now so angry that he didn't seem able to contain himself except by pushing about the things nearest to him; and, as his eye fell again on the unlucky cause, he blazed forth, "Never ask me such a thing again."
"It was my fault," blurted Ben.
"Then you are also to blame," curtly replied Mr. King.
"Father," began Jasper again, brokenly; then, without another word, he turned and went out of the room. And Ben, getting out, he didn't know how, followed him to the other end of the hall.
"Don't feel so," cried Ben, in a mortal terror for Jasper, Pip's cause now being so much less, and laying his hand on the shaking shoulder. "Oh, Jasper, don't."
"We've hurt Pip," said Jasper, his head on his arms, as he leaned on the window-seat. "That's the worst of it. O dear me, Ben!"
"Perhaps not," said Ben, with a desperate attempt to be cheerful.
"Yes, we have," declared Jasper, gloomily. "Now we never shall get the poor chap the least help; not in all this world, Ben Pepper!"
"Well, we've done our best," said Ben, yet his heart fell.
"And, oh, don't blame Father," said Jasper, quickly, and raising his head a moment to look at Ben. "Don't, there's a good chap. He isn't himself to-day,—he's had bad news. Can't you see for yourself, Ben?" Jasper searched the round face eagerly.
"Of course I know it. Grandpapa wouldn't ever in all this world have gone against it if I hadn't made you go in there to-day." Ben, in his remorse, seized Jasper's shoulder and held on to it, saying it all over again, to wind up with, "It's all my fault, and I've ruined Pip's chance for sure now and made you sick on top of it all." Ben groaned, this time quite aloud, and, despite his efforts, he broke down and threw himself into the nearest chair, to bury his face in his hands.
"Oh, don't, don't!" begged Jasper, quite gone in distress to see, for the first time in his life, Ben give way, and he stumbled over to him.
A door off in the distance opened, but the sound fell unheeded.
"Boys!" Up flew their heads, for there was old Mr. King beckoning with an imperative hand. "Come to my room." And, not daring to look in each other's face, they found themselves once more behind the dreadful door, which was closed after them.
"Now, then, Jasper, my boy," and old Mr. King put a hand on his shoulder, "you sit there," pointing to a chair on one side of the writing-table, "and you, Ben, pull up another, there—that's right—get on my left hand. Now we are quite comfortable,"—and he sat down in his own big chair,—"where we can see each other and talk things over."
The old gentleman didn't look at them, but played with various trifles scattered over the table, the unlucky letter not being in sight, until such time as it might be supposed that everybody would be ready for conversation. Then he broke out quite easily, as if the most matter-of-fact thing were being said, "Well, now, that little matter of Pip you were going to tell me of. What is it, Jasper,—eh?"
"I didn't mean to ask you to do anything out of the way, Father," said Jasper, and his voice shook.
"Of course not, of course not," said his father, with a wave of the hand. "Well, I was a bit unstrung, my boy,"—he ran his fingers through his white hair,—"you must forgive your old dad." He coughed, twitched out his handkerchief, blew his nose violently, but didn't seem to get the better of it, especially as Jasper deserted his chair. "Oh, Father!" he cried, falling on his neck.
Ben slipped off his leather chair and crept to the door.
"Hold on!" thundered old Mr. King at him. "Where are you going, sir?"
"I thought—perhaps—you'd—" stammered Ben.
"You're not to think. Come back and sit down." Old Mr. King pointed to the chair, and Ben found himself on it again.
"And I've a word to say to you, Ben," said the old gentleman, "for you're mixed up in this business."
"I know," said Ben, hanging his head.
"So you needn't think to elude me,—oh, no!" and Mr. King gave a short laugh. "Now, then, Jasper," bestowing a pat on his dark hair, "you get into your chair and we'll see this thing through. Well, about Pip now," and both boys being settled, "you want me to ask Doctor Presbrey to let him stay here till you go back. Is that the idea?" the old gentleman glanced first at one and then at the other of the faces, now very much flushed.
"Yes, sir," said Jasper and Ben together.
"I know the poor little beggar has a hard enough time at that school, from what I saw myself," said Mr. King, "and I suppose I don't know half how bad it is."
"No, you don't, Father," broke in Jasper, quickly, and tossing the dark hair off from his hot forehead. It was easy enough now to find his tongue, seeing they were safely launched on Pip,—"for Doctor Presbrey even doesn't know it."
"A precious set of scamps they are," declared the old gentleman, wrathfully,—"gentlemen's sons! Pretty poor stuff they show for it, to hound a poor, insignificant little specimen like that lad. They ought to be ducked in the nearest pond."
"And it isn't always because they mean to be cruel," said Jasper, loyally, and slipping to the edge of his chair in his earnestness.
"But they are all the same," said old Mr. King, stoutly.
"O dear me! I know it, Father," said Jasper, quite distressed; "that is, some of them are—"
"Don't tell any theories of 'didn't think,' and 'didn't mean to,' and all that stuff," said the old gentleman, dryly; "it's plain to see that the Presbrey boys didn't regard Pip in the light of a desirable acquaintance."
"No, they didn't," said Jasper, honestly.
"I don't blame them for not being especially drawn to him," said his Father; "he's not to my taste exactly as a boy. But for schoolfellows to act so like the Dickens,—well there, that's my opinion of the whole matter." He brought his good right hand down again on the table, till several articles jumped, and the penholder fell off the silver rack and rolled to the floor.
"I'm altogether too obstreperous one way or the other this morning," said the old gentleman, with a laugh, as Jasper jumped and recovered it. Then the boys laughing, the air seemed to be cleared. So Mr. King settled back in his big chair and folded his hands in real enjoyment.
"Now I don't know but that it would be a good plan," he said, nodding his head, "for me to request Doctor Presbrey to allow the little lad to stay and return with you, Jasper. Understand that I don't say that I believe it will strike the Doctor so; but I can broach it, and if I put it rightly, and—"
"And you can, Father," Jasper in his eagerness was guilty of interrupting; "he will do it for you."
"I don't know about that, Jasper," said his Father, grimly, but he was vastly pleased nevertheless at the words; "what I know about Doctor Presbrey gives me reason to believe that no one ever makes him do a thing."
"Well, he will do it for you, I know," declared Jasper, shaking his dark head confidently.
"But it may strike the Doctor favorably; there's hope in that," proceeded Mr. King, briskly, "so I'll write to him and put the case as strongly as I know how. I promise you that, boys."
"Oh, thank you, Father," and "Oh, thank you, sir," from Jasper and Ben in the same breath.
"Well, now be off with you!"—the old gentleman dismissed them peremptorily,—"for if I have this letter to write I'd best have it off my mind at once," and off they flew on happy heels.
"Dear me! Here's Madam Van Ruypen," exclaimed Jasper, too elated to choose his words. "Now, what shall we do, Ben Pepper? Dodge this way;" and they scuttled down the back hall, as Hobson flung wide the big oaken front door.
They needn't have troubled themselves, however, to get out of the way, as the farthest from the stately old lady's mind was the desire to meet any of the children on this especial morning, her mind being weighted with other matters. When she was told that Mr. King was busy in his writing room, she waved one of her long black gloves at the butler, and said nonchalantly, "Oh, well, then I will see him there," and, to his great dismay, she sailed, with her Roman nose and big white puffs well in the air, down the hall to his door.
"Madam," essayed Hobson, starting after her,—but she was just going into the room.
As there was never any lack of directness in any of Madam Van Ruypen's purposes, or her statements, so now she said, scarcely pausing for a casual nod of recognition, "I want you to do me a favor, my good sir."
"Eh—er—" cried Mr. King, who had supposed it was Mrs. Whitney's rap that had called forth his "Come in." "My dear Madam," he rose, and with his courtliest air extended his hand, "you do me great honor," and he drew up a chair for her.
"Well, if I do you the honor, you must do me the favor," said Madam Van Ruypen, with a little laugh, and settling her stately figure on the chair.
"I shall be charmed to," said old Mr. King, "I promise you that, Madam."
"That's good," the old lady nodded with great satisfaction. "Well, now, you know, sir," then she paused, strangely at a loss how to begin, "that I am very much disturbed;" the face under the big white puffs fell into long lines that added at once ever so many years to her age.
"Oh, I am sorry to hear it," said old Mr. King, in great concern.
"I am, indeed. In fact, I have seldom been so upset. Perhaps I have no cause to be; it may turn out well for me." She gave vent to an uneasy little laugh, made an aimless sort of attempt to reach a fan that dangled by a jet chain from her wrist, gave it up, and settled back rigidly in her chair.
Mr. King, having nothing to say, picked up a paper-cutter on his writing-table and played with it, not looking at her.
"I'll tell you the whole story, then you'll see how I've got the notion in my head," she said explosively at last. "A notion that has turned to absolute truth, as I hope and pray!" Her thin face was white and drawn.
"I shall be very glad to hear whatever you may choose to tell me," said the old gentleman, turning courteously to her, "and then if I can be of any service, Madam Van Ruypen, you may command me."
She nodded her stately head. "You knew Emily?" she asked abruptly, her sharp eyes full on his face.
"Emily?" He searched his mind diligently, but no Emily, who naturally connected herself with the lady before him, appeared. "I am afraid not," he reluctantly admitted.
"You cannot have forgotten my daughter," cried Madam Van Ruypen, "though to be sure she was quite a child when we took her abroad to live."
"Oh, your daughter!" cried Mr. King; "indeed, I remember her quite well, though, as you say, she was a mere child when you deserted your own country to educate her abroad. But she was not Emily in those days," he rubbed his forehead in a puzzled way; "unless my memory plays me a trick, she was Helena."
"Helena she was," assented the old lady, undisturbed. "I remember now, it was afterward we began to call her Emily,—quite for a family reason. Well, that is neither here nor there. Now I won't go into details; enough to say that Emily, despite all her advantages, disappointed us utterly. Perhaps you remember hearing about that. Echoes, if no more, and plenty of them, reached my old home here," she added bitterly.
Mr. King bowed silently.
"You don't know that Emily married against her father's and my will; that she refused our help, and went off with her husband to share his lot. Oh, she was a proud one!" Madam Van Ruypen crushed her gloves together so tightly that the long hands within must have suffered. There was a pause, and Mr. King turned off to play with the paper-cutter again.
"And despite all our efforts, and, after Mr. Van Ruypen died, my individual attempts, we never could get any communication with her or her husband. Mr. King, I never blamed her; it was the influence of the man she married." She faced him now with blazing eyes and head erect.
Mr. King laid down the paper-cutter and turned back sympathetically; albeit several friends in the old town had kept alive for Emily Hastings's memory much commendation that she did not yield to her parents' choice of the superannuated wealthy foreigner they had selected as a husband for her.
"And he never let me know when the end was coming;" her voice did not break—she was to keep herself in hand until through. "Word was sent only after she had gone from this earth. Mr. King, who is that Pip you have with you?"
The transition was so sudden that the old gentleman started nearly out of his chair, stared at her, and gasped, "Pip—my dear Madam—"
"Tell me." He could see she was suffering now. The little beads of moisture ran down below the white puffs, and her eyes were fairly hungry for the reply.
"Pip—why, Pip—" stammered Mr. King.
"Tell me," she commanded peremptorily, "his name."
"It's—let me see, we have called him Pip constantly—" he groped for the rest of the recital Jasper had given him one day concerning the lad so thrown upon their sympathy. "I shall think of it presently,—or I can ask Jasper, or Ben," starting out of his chair.
"Stay," she laid a detaining hand upon his arm; "where did he live?"
"I recall that—South America," replied the old gentleman, promptly.
A spasm passed over her face.
"His—his father is dead?" It was almost a whisper in which these words came.
"Yes," said Mr. King, decidedly, "that is the reason that the poor little lad is under Dr. Presbrey's care."
The first gleam of comfort swept over the long, white face. "But the name,—you cannot think of it?" she begged piteously.
"Let me see,"—the old gentleman drummed on the writing-table, rubbing his white hair with an absorbed hand,—"Lef—Lef? Yes, I am quite sure, Leffingwell is Pip's name. Why, my dear Madam!"—he started and put out a strong hand to catch her as she swayed in her chair,—"what is it? What can be the matter?"
She recovered herself immediately and sat erect. "I am convinced that he is Emily's child."
"Impossible!" Old Mr. King started back and held up both hands incredulously.
She twitched her black bonnet strings apart with a hasty hand, as if finding it difficult to breathe.
"So I thought at first, and I have battled the idea as absurd. But it has conquered me to-day to come here and ask you about his history. And now Iknowhe is Emily's child."
"I did not hear that she had a son," said old Mr. King, as something seemed to be required of him.
"I did not know it until after his mother died," said Madam Van Ruypen, her voice breaking, "then chance report brought me the news. But I could never get in touch with his father, though I tried many a time. Cornelius Leffingwell was—"
"Cornelius?" broke in Mr. King.
"The name of Emily's husband," said the old lady.
"That is Pip's name, too," said the old gentleman.
Ben walked back and forth, his hands thrust deeply in his pockets. "It's no use, Mamsie," he came now and stood straight before her, his blue eyes fastened steadily upon her face; "I've justgotto do it."
"There is no need for you to say that, Ben." Mrs. Fisher's tone was quiet, but the blood was leaping in her veins. "You're my oldest child," then her voice broke.
"And that's the reason." Ben threw his head back and took his hands out of his pockets to clench them together hard. "It would be mean as—mean as anything to let Grandpapa do anything more for me, and—"
"There's where you are wrong, Ben," cried his mother, eagerly, and guilty of interrupting, "it is Mr. King's dearest wish to provide an education for you children; you can pay him back afterward. I have accepted for the others; why not for you?"
"Because,—look at Polly. Oh, mother, think what Polly can do with her music!" His whole face was working now, and his eyes shone.
"I know it," cried Mrs. Fisher, proudly. "Polly will be able to pay him back, there is no doubt about that."
"But I'm different," added Ben, quickly, "such a dull, plodding fellow. Oh, Mamsie, what would a college education amount to for me? I'm best to buckle right down to business."
"Ben, Ben!" Mother Fisher's tone was quite reproachful now, and she seized his hand and covered it with her two strong ones. "Any one can accomplish what he sets out to. You can amount to whatever you put your mind on; and you deserve a college education if ever a boy did." She broke down now and was sobbing on his shoulder.
Ben didn't say anything, this being quite beyond him, to see his mother cry. But he patted the smooth black hair with an unsteady hand.
"To think of your giving up your chance," at last Mrs. Fisher said brokenly; "it isn't right, Ben. Can't you see you ought not to do it?"
"But itisright," said Ben, sturdily recovering himself when he saw that his mother could really talk about it. "I'm to be a business man, and I'm going to begin at the very bottom, as an errand boy, or an office boy, and work up." Here he straightened his square shoulders as if already pretty near the top of things.
"Ah, Ben, my boy," Mrs. Fisher raised her head to look at him, "all you can get in the way of education helps you on just so much."
"And I can have all these years I'd be spending at college in learning the business," Ben hurried on, feeling if he didn't say something, he should surely break down; for there was such a world of pleading in the black eyes that he didn't dare to trust himself to look into them. "Don't you see, Mother? Besides,—well, I justcan'tdo it."
When Ben called her "Mother," it always meant something requiring grave attention. So Mrs. Fisher knew as well then as afterward that it was a decided thing that Ben was to leave school and go into a business life. All she said now was, "Come," leading the way to the roomy old sofa, where the children used often to tell their troubles or joys to her as they sat side by side.
When Ben emerged from his mother's room, he held his head high, but his breath came hard, and one fist deep in his pocket was clenched tightly.
"Halloo!"—Joel plunged into him; "where've you been?" And, not waiting for a reply, "Grandpapa says I'm to go if you'll go with me,"—he swarmed all over him in his eagerness.
"Get off, Joe!" cried Ben, roughly. It seemed as if he couldn't bear any more just then, and he gave him, without stopping to think, a little shove.
Joel looked at him with very wide eyes.
"You're always hanging on to me," went on Ben, crossly, not realizing a word he was saying. "Goodness me, a chap can't stir but you must pop up."
Joel stood perfectly still, plastered against the wall, his mouth open, but not equal to uttering a word, as Ben stalked on down the hall.
"Oh, you think you're smart, I s'pose," at last it came in a burst behind him. "Well, I don't want you to go with me, Mr. Ben Pepper—Mr. Ebenezer Pepper." Joel could hardly get the long name out, being so wholly unaccustomed to its use. "And I will tell Grandpapa I wouldn't have you go with me for anything."
"Joel!" Ben called hoarsely after him, whirling in his tracks to see Joel fly down the hall. "Oh, come back."
"You aren't going," declared Joel, savagely, and stopping long enough to snap his fingers at Ben, "no-sir-ee, not a single step!" And despite all Ben's efforts he pranced off with a final jump that defied pursuit.
Ben stood perfectly still for a moment, then strode off up to his room, where he locked the door fast, went over and sat on the side of the bed, and buried his face in his hands.
How long he sat there he never knew. The first thing that brought him to himself was Polly's voice, and her fingers drumming on the door.
"Bensie, are you here? O dear me!Doopen the door."
Ben took up his head at first with the wild thought that he wouldn't answer. But then, it was Polly calling, and such a thing as a locked door between them would never do. So he staggered off as best he might, not seeing his pale face in the mirror as he went by, and slowly turned the key.
"Oh, Ben! O dear me! What is it?" Polly cried, quite aghast at his face. She huddled up to him and grasped his arm. "Tell me, Ben," and the fright at seeing him thus drove every bit of color from her face.
"Nothing," said Ben, shortly, "that is—"
"Oh, now you are sick," cried Polly, quite wildly, and with another look into his face, usually so ruddy, she tore off her hands and raced toward the stairs. "I shall call Mamsie."
"Polly, Polly!" cried Ben, rushing out after her, "you must not call Mamsie. I'll tell you all about it, Polly. Polly, do come back."
But she didn't hear anything but the first words, that Mamsie must not be called, and feeling more sure than ever by this that Ben was really sick, she redoubled her speed and rushed into Mother Fisher's room, crying, "Oh, Mamsie, do come quickly; something is the matter with Ben."
Mrs. Fisher had sat down resolutely to her sewing after the decision had been made by Ben that put aside all her hopes for his future education. She now sprang to her feet, upsetting the big work-basket, and forgetting Polly, said, "It's been too much for him."
"What's been too much?" cried Polly, hanging to Mother Fisher's hand, her heart going like a trip-hammer. "Oh, Mamsie, whatisthe matter with Ben?" The room seemed to go round with her and everything to turn black.
"Polly," said Mrs. Fisher, firmly, "I cannot tell you anything now. You must stay here. I am going to see Ben." And Polly, left alone, had nothing to do but throw herself on the big, old sofa, where she crouched in her distress till Mamsie should come back and tell her all about the dreadful mystery.
For that something awful had happened to Ben, Polly was now quite sure, as she lay there, her head burrowed in the big pillow, the wildest thoughts running through her brain. The first thing she knew, a hard little hand was tucked into her neck. She knew Joel's tickles, that he loved to give her, long before he sang out, "Polly Pepper, lying down in the daytime! Aren't you ashamed?"
"Oh, Joel," cried Polly, in a smothered voice; "do go away," she begged.
For answer Joel slid to his knees and crowded his chubby face into the pillow. "Are you sick, Polly?" he cried, in an awe-struck voice.
"No," said Polly, wriggling hard to keep him from seeing her face; "do, please, go away, Joey."
"I know you're sick," contradicted Joel, stubbornly; and bounding to his feet, "Where's Mamsie?" peering all around the room.
Polly didn't answer, being unwilling to tell about Ben.
"Well, I shall go and find her," declared Joel, decidedly, preparing to rush off.
"You must not," cried Polly, bounding up to sit straight. "You mustn't and you can't, because—"
"Because what?" demanded Joel, coming back to the sofa to fasten his black eyes on her face.
"Oh, because—" began Polly, again casting frantically about in her mind what to say and twisting her handkerchief with nervous fingers.
"Now I know that my Mamsie is sick and you're keeping it from me," cried Joel, in a loud, insistent voice, "and I shall go and find her; so there, Polly Pepper."
"Joel, if you do," began Polly, desperately, seizing his jacket-end; then she knew he would have to be told when she saw his face, for nothing could be worse than to let him think anything had happened to Mamsie. "I'll tell you all about it," she promised; "do sit down," and she pulled him into the corner of the big sofa by her side; "you see it's about Ben."
Joel whirled around and fixed wide eyes of astonishment upon her.
"And I don't know in the least," said Polly, brokenly, "what's the matter with him. He acts so funny, Joel, you can't think," she brought up, mournfully, while she twisted her poor handkerchief worse than ever.
Joel pushed his face up to scan her thoughtfully to see if there were anything more forthcoming.
"And to think of it—Ben—" went on Polly in a fresh gust, "he's never acted so. O dear me! What can it be, Joel?"
In her distress she forgot that she was to comfort him, and she seized his arm and clung to it.
"It's me," blurted Joel, forgetting grammar and everything else, and pulling away from her, he slipped off the sofa and began a quick pace to the door.
"Where are you going?" Polly flew after him, and although he ran smartly, she had hold of his jacket-end. "Joel Pepper, you mustnotgo up to Ben's room. Mamsie wouldn't let me."
"But I made him bad," said Joel, his face dreadfully red and twitching violently to get free.
"You made him bad," repeated Polly, faintly, and, tumbling backward in surprise, she let the jacket-end go. "O dear me!"
"And I'm going to make him well," screamed Joel, plunging off. She could hear him clambering up over the stairs two at a time.
"If I could only go too," mourned Polly, having nothing to do but go slowly back and shut herself into Mamsie's room, as bidden.
She threw herself down again on the old sofa, and buried her face in the pillows. It was Joel who bounded in and up to her side, calling, "Oh, Polly!" that sent her flying up to sit straight. "Ben wants you," he cried excitedly.
"Oh, Joel, what is it?" she exclaimed, flying off from the sofa; "what is the matter with Ben?"
"Nothing," said Joel, in high glee. As long as Ben wasn't sick, and he had made matters right with him, the rest could wait. So downstairs Joel ran to Grandpapa, to tell him that he had made a grand mistake; that he did want Ben to go on the expedition, no more nor less than a visit to the Museum.
"I thought so, my boy," said old Mr. King, patting him on the shoulder. "Now, if I were you, I wouldn't go off half-cocked again, especially with Ben. No doubt he was in the wrong, too. There are always two sides to a thing."
"Oh, no, he wasn't," protested Joel, terribly alarmed lest Ben should be blamed. "I was cross, Grandpapa. 'Twas all my fault." He was so distressed that the old gentleman hastened to add, "Yes, yes; well, there now, that's quite enough. As I've never seen Ben treat you one-half as badly as you deserve, sir, I'll believe you. Now be off with you, Joel!" and with a little laugh and another last pat he dismissed him.
Meantime Polly was having a perfectly dreadful time up in Ben's room. It took Mrs. Fisher as well as Ben to comfort her in the least for her dreadful disappointment that Ben was not going to accept a long and thorough education at Mr. King's hands.
But all this was as nothing to Grandpapa's dismay when the truth came out. And it took more than the combined efforts of the whole household to restore him to equanimity when he saw that Ben was actually not to be moved from his resolution. It was little Doctor Fisher who finally achieved the first bit of resignation reached.
"Now, my good sir;" the little man put himself, unasked, beside the stately figure pacing with ill-concealed irritation down the "long path." It was several days since Ben had made his announcement, and Grandpapa had been hoping against all obstacles that the boy would give in at the last. But to-day even that hope slipped away.
"Let me speak a word for Ben," the little Doctor went on, raising his big spectacles just as cheerfully to the clouded face as if a warm invitation had been extended him.
"Ben needs no words from you, Doctor Fisher," said Mr. King, icily; "I really consider the least said on this subject the better, perhaps."
"Perhaps—and perhaps not," said the little man, just as cheerily. It was impossible to quarrel with him or to shake him off, and Mr. King, realizing this, kept on his walk with long strides, Doctor Fisher skipping by his side, telling off the points of what he had come to say, on his nervous fingers.
"Do you realize," he said at length, "that you would break down all Ben's best powers if you had your way with him?"
"Hold on there, man," roared the old gentleman, coming to an abrupt pause in his walk, "do you mean to say, and do you take me for an idiot, which I should be if I believed it, that the more education a boy gets, the more he injures his chances for life?"
The little man squinted at the tips of the trees waving their skeleton branches in the crisp air, then brought a calm gaze to the excited old face: "Not exactly; but I do say when you make a boy like Ben turn from the path he has marked out for himself, all the education that culture would crowd on him is just so much to break down the boy. Ben wouldn't be Ben after you got through with him. Now be sensible." He got up on his tiptoes and actually bestowed a pat on the stately shoulder. "Ben wants to go to work. Give him his head,—you can trust him; and let's you and I keep our hands off from him."
And the little Doctor, having said his say, got down on his feet again and trotted off.
All the remainder of that day Grandpapa went around very much subdued. He even smiled at Ben, a thing he hadn't done ever since the dreadful announcement that gave a blow to all his plans for the boy. And at last it began to be understood that the skies were clear again, and that things after all were turning out for the best.
"But only to think of it," Grandpapa would go on to himself in the privacy of his own room, "mountain children can be brought down and set into schools, and the Van Ruypen money do the old lady some good,—and there is Pip,—see what she has got there,—and nobody to interfere with what she'll spend on him. And I—I am balked the very first thing. And I did so mean to do well by Ben; dear, dear!"
But as the matter was now decided and out of his hands, the next thing to do was to get Ben a good place where he could begin on his business career, sure of good training. So the following day old Mr. King dropped into the office of Cabot and Van Meter, for a little private conversation.
They welcomed him heartily, as usual, dismissing other applicants for the time, and shut the door to the private office, drawing up their chairs to listen attentively.
"No business to-day," was Mr. King's announcement, "that is, in the regular way. This that I have come to see you about is quite out of the ordinary. I want a place in your establishment for a young friend of mine."
The two gentlemen looked up in amazement. It wasn't in the least like Mr. King to ask such a thing, knowing quite well that to secure such a place required much waiting for the required vacancy. It was Mr. Cabot who spoke first.
"I suppose he is experienced," he began slowly.
"Not in the least," replied old Mr. King, shortly.
"Well, er—on what do you recommend him?" ventured Mr. Van Meter.
"I don't recommend him," the old gentleman answered in his crispest manner. "Bless you, I don't go about recommending people; you know that." He looked into each face so fiercely that they both exclaimed together, "No, of course not. We quite understand."
"Well, what do you want your young friend to have with us—what kind of a position?" asked Mr. Cabot, patting one knee in perplexity.
"Anything," said Mr. King. "Give him anything to do; only get him in here. I tell you he must come, and you've got to take him." He leaned forward in his chair and struck his walking-stick smartly on the floor.
"Who is he?" demanded Mr. Van Meter, feeling that the exigency of the case demanded few words.
"Ben Pepper."
"Ben Pepper!" ejaculated Mr. Cabot. "Why, I thought he was in school."
"He was," said old Mr. King, turning on him with considerable venom, as if he were quite to blame for the whole thing, "but he has made up his mind to go into business. A very poor thing in my opinion; but since he's decided it that way, there's no more to be said," and he waved it off with a nonchalant hand.
"Not so very poor a thing to do after all." Mr. Van Meter got off from his chair, stalked up and down the office floor, bringing his hands every now and then smartly together, to emphasize his periods: "I was but a slip of a lad when I got into the business groove, and I've never been sorry I drudged it early. Now, Mr. King, it wouldn't be well to give Ben any better chance than I had. He must begin at the bottom to amount to anything."
"He wouldn't take the chance if you gave it to him," said Mr. King, dryly. "Why, there's where Ben says he belongs—at the bottom."