"Yes."
"It is strange. I don't understand it."
Edgar was relieved to find that Mark did not claim him as a cousin, though to his surprise he saw that Mark stood particularly well with the young hostess.
"How do you, Mark?" The speaker was a bright boy of sixteen, the brother of Miss Gilbert. "How well you are looking!"
"Thank you, Charlie. If a young lady had told me that it would make me proud."
"Come along. I will introduce you to a couple of nice girls."
"Who is that?" asked Edgar of Rayburn, who had now come up.
"Don't you know? That is Charlie Gilbert, Maud's brother."
"So he knows Mark, too."
"Why shouldn't he?"
"Because Mark is—you will be surprised to hear it—a common telegraph boy."
"He may be a telegraph boy, but he certainly is not a common one. He is a nice-looking fellow, and I am glad to know him."
Presently dancing began. In his earlier days, when his father was living, Mark had taken lessons from a teacher, and though he was rather out of practise he ventured to go out on the floor, having as his partner one of the prettiest girls in the room.
As there was space for but two sets of dancers, Edgar was obliged to sit still and see the others dance. He felt very much dissatisfied especially as Mark seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly.
"Society in New York seems to be very much mixed," he said to himself, "when telegraph boys can push in and make themselves so conspicuous in rich men's houses."
Edgar got a chance to dance once later on, but the girl he danced with was very small and insignificant in appearance.
"Well, what kind of a time did you have?" asked Solon Talbot when his son returned home.
"Very good."
"I suppose it was quite a brilliant affair," said Solon Talbot complacently. "I am glad to have you invited to such a swell house. Did Stanley Rayburn take you up to Miss Gilbert?"
"No; he promised to, but when I looked for him he was not to be found."
"That was awkward."
"No; I found a substitute, a boy whom you and I both know."
"I have no idea whom you can mean."
"No; you might guess all night, but without success. It was Mark Mason."
"What! You don't mean to say that Mark Mason was a guest at the party?"
"Yes he was, and he seemed very well acquainted too."
"Was he in his telegraph uniform?"
"No; he had on a nice new suit, as handsome as mine. He had a rose in his buttonhole and looked quite like a dude."
"How very extraordinary!" ejaculated Solon.
"I thought you would say so."
"Why, they are living from hand to mouth, steeped in poverty."
"So I thought, but it doesn't seem like it."
"The boy must be very cheeky, but even so, I can't account for his success. I shall have to call on his mother and ask what it means."
A weeklater Mark received the follow letter:
"Mark Mason: Please call at my office as soon as convenient.
"D. Gilbert."
"This letter is from Maud Gilbert's father," said Mark, addressing his mother. "I wonder what he wants."
"Nothing disagreeable, I am sure. Of course you will go."
"I will call to-morrow morning."
Mr. Gilbert was a commission merchant, with an office in the lower part of the city, west of Broadway. Mark obtained leave of absence for an hour agreeing to pay the price usually charged to customers.
He had seen Mr. Gilbert, a stout, portly man of fifty, during his call at the house in Forty-Fifth Street. Therefore when he was admitted to Mr. Gilbert's office, he addressed him not as a stranger but as an old acquaintance.
"I received your note, Mr. Gilbert, and have called according to your request."
"That is right, Mark. Sit down till I have finished looking over my letters. You will find the morningHeraldon the table near you."
In ten minutes the merchant had finished with his letters, and whirled round in his chair.
"I believe you are a telegraph boy," he said.
"Yes, sir."
"What pay do you receive?"
"I don't average over six dollars a week."
"How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"My daughter thinks you are unusually bright and intelligent."
"I am very much obliged to Miss Maud for her good opinion," said Mark, his face flushing with gratification.
"How can you get along on six dollars a week? You have a mother partially dependent upon you, I believe."
"I have lately had a present of a thousand dollars from Mr. Luther Rockwell, the banker. I was in his office when a dynamite crank threatened to blow us all up."
"I heartily congratulate you, Mark. You deserved the gift for your coolness and courage, but itisn't every rich man who would make so generous an acknowledgment for your services."
"That's true, sir. Mr. Rockwell has been very kind."
"How do you like the position of telegraph boy?"
"I would like to give it up. It doesn't lead to anything. But I don't want to throw myself out of work. Six dollars a week is a small income, but it is better than nothing."
"I approve your prudence, but I think other and better employment can be obtained for you. Maud tells me that you were sent not long since to Cleveland with some valuable jewelry."
"Yes, sir."
"You succeeded in your mission?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you meet with any adventures while you were gone?"
"Yes, sir."
"Tell me briefly what they were."
Mark did so.
"Don't think I am influenced by curiosity," said Mr. Gilbert. "The fact is, I have a still longer journey for you if you don't object, and I wished to assure myself that you were adequate to undertake it. It may take six weeks, or it may take twomonths. I should advise you to give up your position as messenger, and I will guarantee you an equally good place when you return."
"Thank you, sir. In that case I won't hesitate to give it up."
"Your week closes to-morrow, I suppose."
"Yes, sir."
"Then give notice at once."
"Where are you going to send me, sir?" asked Mark, with pardonable curiosity.
"To California."
Mark looked amazed. He knew that California was even further away than Liverpool, and having the love of travel and adventure natural to boys of his age he felt that he should thoroughly enjoy the trip.
"I should like very much to go," he said promptly.
"Now I must tell you why I send you. A cousin of mine has just died in California, leaving a young son of ten years of age. He wrote me a letter from his death-bed commending the boy to my care. I will gladly undertake the charge of the boy, as I had a strong regard for his father, who, by the way had died poor.
"But a difficulty presented itself. The boy could not come East by himself, and there seemed no one to bring him. Of course I can't leave my business,and there is no one else in my family who can be sent. Under these circumstances Maud has recommended me to send you."
"I shall be glad to go, sir."
"You are a rather young guardian for a young boy, but I think you possess the necessary qualification. Your experience as a telegraph boy has made you sharp and self-reliant, and altogether I think you will acquit yourself to my satisfaction."
"I will try to, sir."
"I need no assurance of that."
"How am I to go?"
"By the Union and Central Pacific Road from Omaha. I will supply you with a through ticket."
"Shall you wish me to return immediately?"
"No; you can stay in California two or three weeks and get acquainted with the boy. I have never seen him, but I think you won't find him troublesome. Are you fond of children?"
"Very, sir."
"The poor boy will need a kind friend, having lost his father so recently. And now, there is one thing more to be spoken of—your compensation."
"I shall be satisfied with whatever you think right."
"Then we will fix that after your return. Butyou will need to leave some money with your mother to pay expenses while you are away."
"I can draw from Mr. Rockwell."
"No; if you have money in his hands let it remain. I will advance you a hundred dollars to leave with your mother. I may as well do that now. On Saturday evening, when you are released from your present position, call at the house and receive your ticket and final instructions."
"Thank you, sir."
Mr. Gilbert rang a little bell, and a boy appeared.
"Go to the bank and get this check cashed," said the merchant.
In a few minutes he returned with a roll of bills.
"Count them over and see if they are right, Mark."
"Yes, sir; they are correct."
"Very good! Remember that they are for your mother. Tell her also that if you remain longer than I anticipate, and she gets short of money, she can call at my office and I will supply her with more."
Mark left the office in a state of joyful excitement.
He was to make a long journey across the continent. He would see many states and cities, andbecome acquainted with places which he now knew only by hearsay. And after he returned his prospects would be brighter, for Mr. Gilbert had promised to find him a position at least equal to the one he resigned.
In the afternoon as Mark was returning from an errand in West Fiftieth Street, he saw Edgar Talbot in the neighborhood of Bryant Park.
"Hallo!" said Edgar condescendingly. "Are you on an errand?"
"Yes."
"Ho, ho! how you will look in a telegraph boy's uniform when you are a young man of twenty-five."
"What makes you think I am going to be a telegraph boy so long?"
"Because you are not fit for any other business."
Mark smiled.
"I am sorry for that," he said, "for as it happens I have tendered my resignation."
"You don't mean that you are going to leave the messenger service?"
"Yes."
"But how are you going to live? It won't be any use to ask father for money."
"I presume not."
"Perhaps," suggested Edgar hopefully, "you have been discharged."
"I discharged myself."
"Have you got another position?"
"I am going to travel for a while."
Edgar Talbot was more and more perplexed. In fact he had always found Mark a perplexing problem.
"How can you travel without money?"
"Give it up. I don't propose to."
"Have you got any money?"
Mark happened to have with him the roll of bills given him for his mother. He drew it out.
"Do you mean to say that is yours? How much is there?"
"A hundred dollars."
"I don't believe it is yours."
"It isn't. It belongs to my mother."
"But father said she was very poor."
"At any rate this money belongs to her."
"Where are you going to travel?"
"Out West."
This was all the information Mark would give. Edgar reported the conversation to his father, who was also perplexed.
"Mark Mason is a strange boy," he said. "I don't understand him."
Markhad intended to find a new and more comfortable place for his mother, being dissatisfied with their humble rooms in St. Mark's Place, but the journey he was called upon so unexpectedly to make, led to a postponement of this plan.
"You can move, mother, if you like," said Mark, after placing the hundred dollars in her hands. "You'll have money enough."
"That's true, Mark, but you wouldn't know how to address me, and I might lose some of your letters. I shall be satisfied to stay here till you return. But do you think you had better go? You are very young to cross the continent alone."
"I am nearly sixteen, mother, and I have been in the habit of looking out for myself. Besides Mr. Gilbert thinks I am old enough, and if he has confidence in me I ought to have confidence in myself."
"I suppose it is all right, but I shall miss you terribly."
"It is for my good, and will be for yours, mother. I have long wanted to leave the messenger serviceand get into some steady position where I can push myself ahead, and this seems to me my chance."
"You will write often, Mark?"
"I will be sure to do that. You don't think I will forget my mother?"
On Saturday evening Mark went to Mr. Gilbert's to receive instructions.
"I must tell you something about the boy of whom you are to be temporary guardian," said Mr. Gilbert. "Perhaps it will be best for me to read you in the first place the letter I received from my poor cousin just before his death. It was written at his dictation, for he was already too weak to hold the pen."
He drew from a desk this letter which he proceeded to read aloud:
"Gulchville, California,"Oct. 17.
"My dear Cousin,
"When this letter reaches you I shall in all probability be in a better world. I am dying of consumption. I leave behind me a boy of ten—my poor little Philip. I leave him to the mercies of a cold world, for I am penniless. I had a little property once, but I speculated and lost all. Poor Philip will be an orphan and destitute. I know you are rich and prosperous. Won't you, in your generosity,agree to care for my poor boy? He won't require much, and I shall be content to have him reared plainly, but I don't want him to suffer.
"I am sick at the house of a cousin of my wife. He is a mean man, and his wife is also penurious and mean. They have made my sickness still more bitter by their taunts. They complain that I am an expense to them, and they would turn me out of doors, sick as I am, I am convinced, if they were not ashamed to do so. Poor Philip will be left to their tender mercies, but I hope only for a short time. I can bear to suffer myself, but I can't bear to think of his suffering. He is a sensitive boy, not over strong, and ill-fitted to bear the buffetings of a cold and unkind world. Won't you send for him as soon as you can? In your hands I am sure he will be safe and kindly cared for.
"I am getting very tired and must stop. God bless you!
"Your unfortunate cousin,"John Lillis.
"P. S. The man in whose house I am stopping is named Nahum Sprague."
"You see, Mark, your mission will be one of mercy. The sooner the poor boy is rescued from such people as Mr. and Mrs. Sprague the better forhim. By the way, I don't want them to say my cousin has been an expense to them. Therefore I will authorize you to obtain from them an itemized account of what they have spent for him and the boy and pay it. You will see that they don't impose upon me by presenting too large a bill."
"Yes, sir. I will look sharply after your interests."
"I shall give you more than enough to get you to San Francisco, and I will give you a letter to a firm there, authorizing you to draw upon them for any sum you may require up to a thousand dollars."
"But that will be a great deal more than I shall need."
"I presume so, but I give you so large a credit to use in case of emergencies."
"You are trusting me very far, Mr. Gilbert."
"I am aware of that, but I feel entirely safe in doing so."
"Thank you, sir."
Other directions were given, and it was agreed that Mark should start on his long journey on Monday morning.
Somedays later Mark found himself at Omaha. Here he was to transfer himself to the Union Pacific Railroad, at that time the only Pacific road built with the exception of the Central Pacific, which formed with it a continuous line to San Francisco. Mark decided to remain in Omaha for a single day and then take the train for his destination.
At the hotel Mark found himself sitting next to a man with bronzed face and rough attire who embodied his ideas of a miner. The stranger during the meal devoted himself strictly to business, but going out of the dining-room at the same time with Mark he grew sociable.
"Well, young pard.," he said, "what's your trail?"
Mark looked puzzled.
"I mean which way are you going—East or West?"
"I am going to San Francisco."
"Ever been there before?"
Mark shook his head.
"I never was as far West as this before," he answered. "I came from New York."
"So I thought. You look like a tenderfoot. Are you going out to stay?"
"Only a short time. I am going after a young boy. I am going to carry him back with me."
"A kid, eh? You're not much more than a kid yourself."
"I guess I can take care of myself," said Mark with a smile.
"Shouldn't wonder. You look like it. Nothing soft about you."
"I hope I haven't got a soft head. As to my heart, I hope that isn't hard."
"Good for you. I reckon you're a likely kind of boy."
"I suppose you have been to California," said Mark, thinking it his turn to ask questions.
"Yes; I've been on the coast for three years, more or less."
"How do you like it out there?"
"Well, I've had my ups and downs. A year ago, six months for that matter, I was dead broke."
"Did your luck change?"
"Not till I struck Nevada. Then I got a small interest in the Golden Hope mine——"
"The Golden Hope mine?" exclaimed Mark in excitement.
"Do you know anything of that mine, youngster?"
"Yes; I have a—a friend who owns some stock in it."
"Then your friend is in luck. Why, do you know where the stock stands to-day?"
"No, but I should like to know."
"At 110."
Mark's eyes sparkled with joyous excitement.
"Is it possible?" he exclaimed.
"It's so. I've got a block of a hundred shares myself, which I bought eighteen months ago for a song. I give you my word I didn't think it worth more than a dollar or two a share—what I gave—when I learned not long since that they'd struck it rich, and I was no longer a pauper."
"That's good news for me," said Mark slowly.
"Why? Have you got any of it?"
"My mother is entitled to two hundred shares from her father's estate."
"Whew! Have you come out to see about it?"
"No; that was not my object, but I shall find out what I can about it."
"You're in luck."
"Well, perhaps so. But my uncle is trying to cheat my mother out of it."
"Then he must be a rascal. Tell me about it."
The man looked sympathetic and trustworthy, and Mark without hesitation told him the story as it is already known to the reader.
"Do you think the stock has reached its highest point?" he asked anxiously.
"No; it will probably rise to two hundred."
"Then my uncle probably won't close it out just at present."
"No; he will hear how the matter stands, and if he is sharp he will hold on."
"I am glad of that, for I want a little time to decide how to act."
"I am going to stop at the mine on my way to 'Frisco."
"I will give you my address and ask you to write me a line to the care of my banker there, letting me know what you can about the mine."
"All right, boy! I like you, and I'll do it. When do you start?"
"To-morrow."
"We'll start together, and I'll get off the train in Nevada."
LeavingMark on his way we will precede him, and carry the reader at once to Gulchville, in California, where he was to find the young boy of whom Mr. Gilbert had requested him to take charge.
In an unpainted frame house lived Mr. Nahum Sprague. In New England such a building would hardly have cost over five hundred dollars, but here it had been erected at more than double the expense by the original owner. When he became out of health and left California it was bought for a trifling price by Nahum Sprague.
The letter was a man of forty-five with small eyes and a face prematurely wrinkled. He was well-to-do, but how he had gained his money no one knew. He and his wife, however, were mean and parsimonious.
They had one son, a boy of fifteen, who resembled them physically and mentally. He was named Oscar, after a gentleman of wealth, in the hope that at his death the boy would be remembered. Unfortunatelyfor Oscar the gentleman died without a will and his namesake received nothing.
The disappointed parents would gladly have changed the boy's name, but Oscar would not hear of it, preferring the name that had become familiar.
This was the family whose grudging hospitality had embittered the last days of John Lillis, and to them he was obliged to commit the temporary guardianship of his little son Philip.
In the field adjoining, Philip Lillis, a small pale boy, was playing when Oscar Sprague issued from the house.
"Come here, you little brat!" he said harshly.
Philip looked with a frightened expression.
"What do you want of me?" he asked.
"What do I want? Come here and see."
The little fellow approached.
He was received with a sharp slap in the face.
"Why do you hit me, Oscar?" Philip asked tearfully.
"Because you didn't come quicker," answered the young tyrant.
"I didn't know you were in a hurry."
"Well, you know it now."
"You wouldn't have hit me when papa was alive," said Philip with a flash of spirit.
"Well, he isn't alive, see?"
"I know he isn't, and I am alone in the world."
"Well, don't snivel! If anything makes me sick at the stomach it is to see a boy snivel."
"Maybe you'd cry if your papa was dead."
"There ain't much fear. The old man's too tough," responded Oscar, who had no sentimental love for his father. Indeed, it would have been surprising if he had shown any attachment to Nahum Sprague, who was about as unattractive in outward appearance as he was in character and disposition.
"You didn't tell me what you wanted me to do."
"Just wait till I tell you, smarty. Do you see this bottle?"
"Yes."
"Take it to the saloon and get it full of whisky."
"Papa didn't want me to go into a liquor saloon."
"Well, your papa ain't got nothing to do with you now. See? You just do as I tell you."
Philip took the bottle unwillingly and started for the saloon.
"Mind you don't drink any of it on the way home," called out Oscar.
"As if I would," said Philip indignantly. "I don't drink whisky and I never will."
"Oh, you're an angel!" sneered Oscar. "You'retoo good for this world. Ain't you afraid you'll die young, as they say good boys do?"
"I don't believe you'll die young, Oscar."
"Hey? Was that meant for an insult? But never mind! I don't pretend to be one of the goody-goody Sunday-school kids. Now mind you don't loiter on the way."
Oscar sat down on the doorstep and began to whittle.
The door opened and his father came out.
"Why didn't you go to the saloon as I told you?" he asked hastily.
"It's all the same. I sent Philip."
"You sent that boy? He ain't fit to send on such an errand."
"Why ain't he? He can ask to have the bottle filled, can't he?"
"What did he say? Was he willing to go?"
"He said his papa," mimicked Oscar, "didn't want him to go into a liquor saloon."
"He did, hey? All the more reason for making him go. His poverty-stricken father can't help him now. Why, I am keeping the boy from starving."
"Are you going to keep him always, dad?"
"I ought to turn him over to the town, but folks would talk. There's a man in New York that his father said would send for him. I don't knowwhether he will or not. There's a matter of fifty dollars due to me for burying John Lillis. That's the way I get imposed upon."
Philip kept on his way to the saloon. He was a timid, sensitive boy, and he shrank from going into the place which was generally filled with rough men. Two miners were leaning against the front of the wooden shanty used for the sale of liquor when Philip appeared.
As he passed in one said to the other, "Well, I'll be jiggered if here isn't a kid comin' for his liquor. I say, kid, what do you want?"
"Some whisky," answered Philip timidly.
"How old are you?"
"Ten."
"I say, young 'un, you're beginnin' early."
"I don't want it for myself," returned Philip half indignantly.
"Oh, no, of course not. You won't take a sip yourself, of course not."
"No, I won't. My papa never drank whisky, and he told me not to."
"Where is your papa?"
"Gone to Heaven."
The miner whistled.
"Then who sent you for whisky?"
"Mr. Sprague."
"Old Nahum?"
"His name is Nahum."
"I thought he was too mean to buy whisky. Do you live with him?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is he any kin to you?"
"No," answered Philip quickly.
"Does he treat you well?"
"I don't like to answer such questions," said Philip guardedly.
"I suppose you are afraid to. Did your father leave any money?"
"No," answered Philip sadly.
"Then I understand how it is. Do you expect to keep on living with Mr. Sprague?"
"Papa wrote to a gentleman in New York. I expect he will send for me."
"I hope he will for your sake, poor little chap. Well, go on and get your whisky. I don't want to take up your time."
As Philip entered the first speaker remarked, "Well, Bill, I don't pretend to be an angel, but I wouldn't send a kid like that for whisky. I drink it myself, but I wouldn't want a boy like that to go for it. I'd go myself."
"I agree with you," said Bill. "That Sprague ain't of much account any way. I'd lick him myself for a dollar. He's about as mean as they make 'em."
Philiptimidly made known his request and the bottle was filled. The saloon-keeper attended to the order in a matter-of-fact manner. As long as he got his pay he cared very little whom he dealt with.
Philip, feeling ashamed of his burden, came out with the bottle and set out on his return home. He had been delayed by the conversation at the door, and he had also had to wait to have the bottle filled, there being several customers to attend to before him. So it happened that when he got back Mr. Sprague and Oscar were awaiting him impatiently.
"There the boy comes at last, father," said Oscar. "He's creeping like a snail."
Whisky was Mr. Sprague's one extravagance, and he had waited longer than usual for his customary drink. This made him irritable.
"Why don't you come along faster, you young beggar?" he called out harshly.
"I'll start him up, dad," said Oscar with alacrity.
"Do so!"
Oscar started down the road with a cruel light in his eyes. He liked nothing better than to ill-treat the unfortunate boy who had been left to the tender mercies of his father.
Philip did not understand what Oscar's coming portended till the older boy seized him violently by the shoulders.
"Why don't you hurry up?" he demanded. "Don't you know any better than to waste your time playing on the street?"
"I didn't waste any time. I couldn't get waited on at first."
"That's too thin! You were walking like a snail any way. I'll see if I can't make you stir your stumps a little faster."
Oscar pushed Philip so violently that the little fellow stumbled, and then came a catastrophe! He was thrown forward. The bottle came in contact with a stone, and of course broke, spilling the precious contents, as Nahum Sprague thought them.
"Now you've done it!" exclaimed Oscar. "I wouldn't be in your shoes, young man. Pa will flog you within an inch of your life."
"See what Philip has done, pa!" said Oscar, pointing to the broken bottle.
Nahum Sprague absolutely glared at the unfortunate boy. His throat was dry and parched, and hiscraving for whisky was almost painful in its intensity. And now to have the cup dashed from his lips! It would take time to get a fresh supply, not to count the additional cost. His wrath was kindled against the poor boy.
"What made you break the bottle, you young rascal?" he demanded harshly.
"I didn't mean to," answered Philip, pale with fright.
"You didn't mean to? I suppose it fell of itself," retorted Mr. Sprague with sarcasm.
"Oscar pushed me," exclaimed Philip. "He pushed me very hard, or I wouldn't have dropped it."
"Now he wants to throw it all upon me, pa. Ain't you ashamed of yourself?"
"It's true, Oscar, and you know it," returned Philip with a show of spirit. "You said I didn't move fast enough."
"It's a wicked lie. I just touched you on the shoulder, and you broke the bottle out of spite."
"I have no doubt Oscar is right," said Nahum Sprague severely. "You have destroyed my property. You have broken the bottle as well as wasted the whisky. You are a wicked and ungrateful boy. Here I have been keeping you out of charity because your lazy and shiftless father left you nothing."
"Don't you say anything against my father,"said Philip, his meek spirit aroused by this cruel aspersion of the only human being who had cared for him since his mother's death.
"Hoity, toity! Here's impudence! So I am not to say anything against your father after caring for him through his sickness and burying him at my own expense."
"I'll pay you back, Mr. Sprague, indeed I will," said Philip, his lip quivering.
"You'll pay me back, you who are nothing but a beggar. Well, here's cheek. You talk as if you were rich instead of a pauper."
"I'll pay you some time—I have no money now—but I'll work day and night when I am a man to pay you."
"That all sounds very well, but it don't pay me for the bottle of whisky. I must give you a lesson for your carelessness. Oscar, go and get the horsewhip."
"I'll do it, dad," said Oscar joyfully.
He was naturally a cruel boy, and the prospect of seeing Philip flogged gave him the greatest pleasure.
There was a small outbuilding near the house which had once been used for a stable when Mr. Sprague kept a horse, but the last poor animal having pined away and died, as it was believed from insufficientfood, it was no longer in use except as a store house for various odds and ends. The horsewhip was saved over from the time when it was needed for its legitimate purpose.
"Oh, don't whip me, Mr. Sprague!" pleaded Philip, frightened at the last words of his cruel guardian.
He was a sensitive boy, one of the kind that thrives under kind influences, and droops under ill-treatment. He had a delicate physical organization that shrank from pain, which some boys bear with stoical fortitude.
It was not merely pain, but the humiliation of a blow that daunted him.
Mr. Sprague did not make any reply to his pleadings, but waited impatiently for Oscar to appear.
This was not long. Sent on a congenial errand Oscar wasted no time, but came out of the building promptly with the horsewhip in his hand.
"Here it is, dad!" he said, handing it to his father.
All this happened in open view of the house and of the public road. Mr. Sprague was so intent upon his plan of punishing Philip that he did not notice the approach of two men walking with unsteady steps along the highway and now close at hand. They were the two men who had talked with Philipin front of the drinking saloon. They had been drinking, but had not reached the stage of helplessness.
"I say, Joe," said one, looking towards Nahum Sprague's house, "there's where old Sprague lives."
"He's a mean rascal," hiccoughed the other. "I'd like to thrash him."
"There's the kid—the one he sent to buy some drink. And there's old Sprague with a whip in his hand. I'll be dog-goned if he ain't goin' to lick him. It's a beastly shame. I say, suppose we take a hand."
"All right, Bill."
Meanwhile Nahum Sprague, quite unaware that he was likely to be interfered with, took the whip from the hand of his son. He looked at Philip very much as a cat looks at a mouse whom she is preparing to swallow.
"Now you're going to catch it," he announced, with a cruel gleam in his eyes. "Now you're going to see what you get for spilling my whisky. I'll learn you!"
"Oh, please don't whip me, Mr. Sprague!" pleaded Philip. "Indeed. I didn't mean to break the bottle."
"Nahum brought the whip down with a swish on Philip's legs."—Page 285. Mark Mason's Victory."Nahum brought the whip down with a swish on Philip's legs."—Page 285.Mark Mason's Victory.
"Nahum brought the whip down with a swish on Philip's legs."—Page 285.
Mark Mason's Victory.
"That's too thin! You didn't want to go for the whisky in the first place. You said yourpapa,"with a mocking sneer, "didn't like to have you go to a saloon."
"That's true, but I went."
"Because you had to. You are lazy and put on airs, just as if you wasn't a beggar dependent on me for the bread you eat and the clothes you wear."
"My father bought me these clothes," said Philip.
"Suppose he did? When you have worn them out you'll expect me to buy you some more."
"What are you waiting for, pa?" asked Oscar impatiently. "If you're going to lick him, why don't you do it?"
"I'm going to," said Nahum, and, raising the whip he brought it down with a swish around the legs of the poor boy.
Philip cried with pain, dancing up and down, and Oscar went into a fit of laughter at what he thought an amusing spectacle.
"That's the talk, dad!" exclaimed Oscar. "You gave it to him good. Give it to him again."
"I mean to," said Nahum grimly, and he raised the whip a second time.
"Say, Joe, are we going to stand this?" asked Bill.
"Not by a long shot! Follow me, pard."
Mr. Sprague's back was turned to the street, and he did not see the quick approach of the two miners.He was just about to bring down the whip again upon poor defenseless Philip when he thought he was struck by a cyclone.
Bill seized him by the collar, while Joe snatched the whip from his hand.
"Why, why, what's all this?" asked the astonished man in dismay.
"Two can play at your little game," answered Joe. "You can stand it better than the kid," and he lashed the unfortunate Nahum across the legs just as Philip had suffered a short time before.
"Stop, stop!" yelled Nahum, who was a coward at heart. "What do you mean? I'll have the law of you."
"That's what you were doing to the kid. I'll give you a dose of your own medicine," and Mr. Sprague received a second stroke.
"Give me the whip, Joe!" cried Bill. "Give me a chance at him! Don't keep all the fun to yourself."
"All right! Here it is."
Bill used the whip quite as effectively as his friend Joe.
"You stop licking my pa!" exclaimed Oscar, not daring, however, to approach the scene of conflict.
"I say, kid, what was he licking you for?" asked Bill after the first blow.
"He said I broke the bottle and spilled the whisky."
"And did you?"
"Yes, but Oscar pushed me and made me do it."
"Who's Oscar?"
"That boy there."
"Oho! so he's to blame for it."
"It's a lie!" retorted Oscar.
"It isn't. I know the kid's telling the truth. He deserves a dose, too. Bring him here, Joe."
Joe advanced upon Oscar, and after a short chase seized him by the collar, and brought him up to the self-appointed dispenser of justice.
"Hold him tight, Joe!"
Then Oscar felt the whip lash coiling around his legs.
"You quit that!" he howled in anger and dismay.
"One more will do you good. You're bigger than the kid and you can stand it better."
A second time the lash descended with even greater force, and Oscar jumped and danced as Philip had done before him, but somehow it didn't seem to impress him as so funny.
"You'd better give the old man more and then we'll let him go," said Joe.
"I'll have you arrested!" shrieked NahumSprague, but in spite of his threat he received another dose of the same medicine.
"When you want some more call on us!" said Bill.
As he spoke he flung the whip out into the street, and the two ministers of justice went off laughing.
"If they try to lick you again, kid, come and tell us," Joe called back.
Whenthe two unauthorized ministers of justice had departed Oscar and his father looked at each other in anger and stupefaction.
"It's an outrage!" exclaimed Nahum Sprague.
"I'd like to shoot them!" returned Oscar. "I'd like to see them flayed within an inch of their lives."
"So would I. They are the most audacious desperadoes I ever encountered."
"Do you know them, dad?"
"Yes; they are Bill Murphy and Joe Hastings. They are always hanging round the drinking saloon."
"We can lick Philip at any rate!" said Oscar, with a furious look at poor Phil. "He brought it on us."
But Nahum Sprague was more prudent. He had heard the threat of Bill and Joe to repeat the punishment if Philip were attacked, and he thought it best to wait.
"Leave it to me," he said. "I'll flog him in due time."
"Ain't you going to do anything to him, dad?" asked Oscar in disappointment.
"Yes. Come here, you, sir!"
Phil approached his stern guardian with an uncomfortable sense of something unpleasant awaiting him.
Nahum Sprague seized him by the collar and said, "Follow me."
He pushed the boy before him and walked him into the house, then up the stairs into an attic room, where he locked him in. Just then the bell rang for dinner.
Poor Phil was hungry, but nothing was said about dinner for him. A dread suspicion came to him that he was to be starved. But half an hour later the door opened, and Oscar appeared with two thin slices of bread without butter.
"Here's your dinner," he said.
It was a poor enough provision for a hungry boy, but Phil ate them with relish, Oscar looking on with an amused smile.
"Is that all I am to have?" asked Phil.
"Yes; it is all you deserve."
"I don't know what I have done."
"You don't, hey? You broke the bottle and spilled the whisky."
"I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't pushed me."
"There you go, laying it off on me. You'd better not."
"But it's true, Oscar."
"No, it isn't. You broke the bottle to spite pa."
"I wouldn't have dared to do it," said Philip.
"You dared a little too much, anyway. Didn't you get those men to follow you and interfere with what was none of their business?"
"No, I didn't."
"Hadn't you spoken with them at the saloon?"
"Yes."
"I thought so."
"They asked me who sent me for the whisky and I told them."
"You didn't need to tell them. If it hadn't been for that they wouldn't have come round to our place and assaulted pa and me. They'll catch it, pa says. Shouldn't wonder if they'd be put in prison for five years."
Young as he was Phil put no faith in this ridiculous statement, but he thought it best not to make any comment.
"How long is your father going to keep me here?" he asked.
"Maybe a month."
This opened a terrible prospect to poor Phil, who thought Mr. Sprague quite capable of inflicting such a severe punishment.
"If he does I won't live through it," he said desperately.
"You don't mean to kill yourself?" said Oscar, startled.
"No, but I shall starve. I am awfully hungry now."
"What, after eating two slices of bread?"
"They were very thin, and I have exercised a good deal."
"Then I advise you to make it up with pa. If you get down on your knees and tell him you are sorry, perhaps he will forgive you, and let you out."
Phil did not feel willing to humiliate himself in that way, and remained silent.
"There ain't any bed for me to sleep on," he said, looking around.
"You will have to sleep on the floor. I guess you'll get enough of it."
Oscar locked the door on the outside and went down-stairs. Disagreeable as he was Phil was sorry to have him go. He was some company, and when left to himself there was nothing for him to do. If there had been any paper or book in the room itwould have helped him tide over the time, but the apartment was bare of furniture.
There was one window looking out on the side of the house. Phil posted himself at this, and soon saw Oscar and his father leave the premises and go down the street. Nahum had a bottle in his hand, and Phil concluded he was going to the drinking saloon to get a fresh bottle of whisky.
Phil continued to look out of the window.
Presently he saw a boy pass whom he knew—a boy named Arthur Burks.
He opened the window and called out eagerly, "Arthur!"
Arthur turned round and looking up espied Philip.
"Hello!" he cried. "What are you doing up there?"
"I am locked in."
"What for?"
"I accidentally dropped a bottle of whisky, and spilled it. Mr. Sprague got mad and locked me up here."
"That's a shame. How long have you got to stay?"
"Oscar says he may keep me here a month."
"He's only frightening you. Old Sprague wouldn't dare to do it."
"That isn't all. I am half starved. He only gave me two small slices of bread for dinner."
"He's a mean old hunks. I just wish you could come round to our house. We'd give you enough to eat."
"I wish I were there now," sighed Philip.
"I've got an idea," said Arthur, brightening up. "What time do Mr. Sprague and Oscar go to bed?"
"Very early. About nine o'clock."
"Would you run away if you could?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll tell you what I'll do. At half-past nine Albert Frost and I will come around with a tall ladder—Mr. Frost has got one—and we'll put it up against your window. Will you dare to get out of the window, and come down?"
"Yes, I'll do anything to get away. But can you get the ladder?"
"Yes; Albert will manage it. Do you think the old man will be likely to see or hear us?"
"No; he sleeps on the other side of the house."
"All right! You can expect us. I guess I had better go now, for fear I may be seen, and they might suspect something."
"But where can I go when I leave here?"
"Come to our house. You can sleep with Rob, my little brother."
"Thank you, Arthur. I'll expect you."
Philip felt a good deal more cheerful after Arthur had gone. He knew that in Arthur's house he would be very differently treated from what he had been by Nahum Sprague. He did not feel it wrong to leave the Spragues', as they were constantly complaining that he was a burden.
"If Mr. Burks would only let me live with him," he thought, "I should be happy, and I would be willing to work hard."
At half-past five Oscar came up to the room again, this time accompanied by his father.
"How do you like being locked up here?" asked Nahum.
"Not very well."
"Get down on your knees and beg my pardon for your bad conduct, and I will let you out."
"I would rather not, sir."
"Do you hear that, Oscar? He would rather not."
"I heard it, pa."
"It is only right that he should suffer the penalty of his headstrong conduct. Give him his supper and we will leave him to think of his sinfulness."
Oscar produced two more thin slices of bread and a cup of very weak tea.
"You are not entitled to tea," said Nahum. "It is only because we are kind-hearted that I permitted Mrs. Sprague to send up a cup. I have not put in milk or sugar because I refuse to pamper you."
Philip made no comment, but disposed of the tea and bread in a very short space of time. He felt ready to join in with Oliver, in Dickens's immortal story, when he asked for "more." But he knew it would be of no use.
"Now, we will go down, Oscar."
"All right, pa. I hope the house won't catch fire in the night," he added, with the laudable purpose of terrifying Philip, "for we might not be able to come up and unlock the door."
Philip felt uncomfortable, but he reflected that before many hours, if Arthur Burks kept his promise, he would no longer be an inmate of Mr. Sprague's home.
"He'll have a sweet time sleeping on the floor, pa," said Oscar as they went down-stairs.
"It will serve the little fool right," returned Nahum Sprague grimly.
Philipwaited impatiently from supper-time till half-past nine o'clock. Fortunately Mr. Sprague and Oscar went to bed rather earlier than usual.
On account of Philip's being locked up some of the "chores" which he had been accustomed to do fell to the father and son. So it happened that when it was twenty minutes to eight Mr. Sprague said: "I feel sleepy. I think I shall turn in now."
"I am sleepy too, pa," said Oscar. "I wonder how Philip feels."
"You can sleep with him if you want to," said Mr. Sprague jocosely.
"Thank you, dad. You're very kind, but I don't care to sleep on the floor. I guess the young beggar will feel pretty sore in the morning."
"It's his own fault," said Nahum grimly.
"All the same you'd better let him out to-morrow. I don't care about doing his chores right along."
"I'll see about that. Whenever he will get down on his knees and beg my pardon he can go free."
By nine o'clock Mr. and Mrs. Sprague and Oscar were in bed, and by half-past nine all were fast asleep. The whole family were good sleepers, and it may be added for the senior Sprague that he was a good snorer also.
Philip posted himself at the window. About five minutes after the time agreed upon he saw in the moonlight his two boy friends approaching, bearing between them a long ladder.
His heart leaped within him. They had not forgotten him after all.
He stood at the open window and waved his hand.
"There he is, Albert!" said Arthur Burks. "I guess he's glad to see us. We'll soon have him out of there."
The two boys came under the window and called up softly:
"Has old Sprague gone to bed?"
"Yes," answered Phil. "I hear him snoring."
"I hope they are all fast asleep," said Albert. "Here, Arthur, you just hold on to the ladder while I raise it."
"Do you think it is tall enough?" asked Arthur.
"I'll risk it."
The two boys worked till they had the ladder raised and leaning against the window.
"Will you dare to get out of the window and get down?" asked Arthur.
"I guess so."
"Be very careful. You don't want to fall."
Cautiously Phil put out one leg and placed his foot on one rung of the ladder. Then clutching firm hold of the side he put out the other, and now he had both feet on the rung.
"Now come down carefully!" said Albert.
Phil followed directions. He was only ten years old, and he certainly did feel a little timid, but he felt that behind him was a prison and before him was liberty, and he did not hesitate. So rung by rung he cautiously descended, till he stood on the ground beside the ladder in the company of his two friends.
"Bravo, Phil!" said Arthur Burks. "You've done splendidly. Now, Albert, let's get away before old Sprague hears us."
The ladder was carefully taken down, and the two boys walked off with it. Albert at the head and Arthur at the foot, while Phil followed behind.
"We'll go to your house first, Albert, and take the ladder," said Arthur. "Then Phil will go home with me."
The two boys lived not far apart, and this arrangement proved convenient.
"I wonder what old Sprague will say in the morning," laughed Albert. "He'll wonder how in the world Philip got away."
"Perhaps he'll think he jumped out of the window."
"How do you feel, Phil?" asked Arthur.
"I feel pretty hungry."
"What did you have for supper?"
"Two thin slices of bread and a cup of tea."
"I guess we'll find something in the pantry at our house," said Arthur, "unless Rob's got out of bed and eaten it up."
By ten o'clock the ladder was replaced and the several boys were safe at home.
Arthur was as good as his word. He got out some bread and butter, some cold meat and a glass of milk, and Philip made a hearty meal.
"I haven't had as good a supper for a long time," he said with a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"That's why you're so skinny. If we had you here we'd soon fat you up. Now are you ready to go to bed?"
"Yes, Arthur. How kind you are to me."
"I can't compare with your friend Oscar, Phil."
"I hope not. Oscar's about as mean a boy as I know. He's very different from you and Albert."
Meanwhile unconscious of the loss of one of theirlittle household Mr. and Mrs. Sprague and Oscar slumbered on till after sunrise.
"Get up, Oscar!" called Nahum Sprague, going to his son's room. "You must get up."
"What must I get up for?" grumbled Oscar.
"Because you will have to do Philip's chores this morning."
"Why don't you call him, pa? I don't see why I should do his work."
"Because he is locked up for punishment. I am not ready to let him out yet."
"It seems to me I am being punished. He has nothing to do while I have to get up early and work."
"Would you be willing to change places with him, be locked up all day, live on bread and water, and sleep on the hard floor?"
"Well, he's done it, and now you might let him out and set him to work."
"I have already said that I would let him out when he got down on his knees and begged my pardon."
"And have I got to do his work till he begs your pardon? I say, that ain't fair."
"I begin to think, Oscar, you are very lazy. I'll tell you what you may do. When you are dressed you may go to the door of the attic room and askPhilip if he is ready to apologize to me. If he says yes, I'll go up and receive his apology, and then he can come down and go to work."
"All right, pa, I'll do it. I guess he's got enough by this time."
Five minutes later Oscar was at Philip's door. He had forgotten to bring up the key which his father had taken down-stairs the evening previous.
He put his mouth to the keyhole, first rapping at the door to command attention.
"I say, you Phil!" he called out.
There was no answer.
Oscar rapped again.
"Philip Lillis!" he called.
For reasons which we understand, though Oscar didn't, there was no response.
Oscar became angry, and began to pound vigorously at the door.
"There, if he doesn't hear that he must be deaf!" he said to himself.
"I say, do you want to be let out?"
No answer.
"He hears me, and won't answer out of pure spite," reflected Oscar indignantly.
He continued to pound.
"Look here, you young beggar," he cried, "if you don't answer me I'll get pa to bring up the horsewhipand flog you within an inch of your life. There won't be any bar-room loafers to save you this time."
Even this threat seemed to produce no effect, and Oscar, quite out of temper, descended the stairs.
"Well," said Mr. Sprague, "what does he say?"
"What does he say? He won't say anything."
"Perhaps he didn't hear you," suggested Mr. Sprague.
"If he didn't he must be as deaf as a post."
"Slickening, is he?"
"That's about the size of it."
"Well, we can cure him of that."
"I'll tell you what to do, pa. I'll get the horsewhip and you can give him a good thrashing. I told him you would. There won't be any one to interfere up there."
"That's true. Go and get the whip, Oscar."
No employment was more congenial. Oscar went down-stairs with alacrity and soon reappeared with the whip. By this time his father was dressed and ready for action.
"Here's the whip, pa. May I go up with you?"
"Yes; come up."
Father and son ascended the stairs and stood before Philip's door.
"Speak to him first, pa, and see if he will answer you."
Nahum Sprague in a stern and authoritative tone called "Philip."
No answer.
"Didn't I tell you, pa."
"Philip Lillis!"
Again no reply.
"I didn't think the boy would be so owdacious. I'll soon learn him!"
Mr. Sprague turned the key and opened the door, entering the room with upraised whip. He gave a gasp of surprise.
"Why, he isn't here!" he ejaculated.
"Isn't here?" shouted Oscar in amazement.
"No; and the winder is open," exclaimed Mr. Sprague.
"He wouldn't dare to jump out, would he?"
Nahum Sprague advanced to the window and put his head out, expecting to see Philip on the ground beneath, perhaps with a broken limb. But no Philip was visible!