"Certainly not. It can't be thought of," said the squire hastily,knowing that if the selectmen advocated such a measure they wouldprobably lose their reelection.
"If it would, we might live a little better, so that Ann Carterwouldn't have to complain, though, bless your soul! that woman is alwayscomplainin'."
"Ahem! Mr. Tucker, you present the matter to me in a new light. I reallyfeel that Ann Carter is very unreasonable in her complaints."
"I knowed you'd do me justice, squire," said Mr. Tucker effusively."You're a sharp man. You ain't a-goin' to be taken in by any of thempaupers' rigmarole. I always said, Squire Pope, that you was theright man in the right place, and that the town was lucky to have sointelligent and public-spirited a citizen fillin' her most importantoffices."
"Mr. Tucker," said the squire, "you gratify me. It has ever been my aimto discharge with conscientious fidelity the important trusts which thetown has committed to my charge--"
"I'll bear witness to that, squire."
"And your sincere tribute gives me great satisfaction."
"I hope you'll report things right to the board, Squire Pope?" said Mr.Joe Tucker insinuatingly.
"Be assured I will, Mr. Tucker. I consider you a zealous and trustworthyofficial, striving hard to do your duty in the place the town hasassigned you."
"I do, indeed, squire," said Mr. Tucker, pulling on a red handkerchiefand mopping some imaginary tears. "Excuse my emotions, sir, but yourgenerous confidence quite unmans me. I--I--trust now that I shall beable to bear meekly the sneers and complaints of Ann Carter and herfellow paupers."
"I will stand by you, Mr. Tucker," said Squire Pope cordially, for theman's flattery, coarse as it was, had been like incense to his vanity."I will stand by you, and uphold you by my testimony."
"Thank you, squire. With such an impartial advocate I will continue todo my duty and fear nothing."
As Squire Pope left the almshouse, Mr. Tucker winked at himself in theglass, and said quizzically:
"I guess I'm all right now. The vain old fool thinks he's a secondSolomon, and thinks I regard him as such. Oh, it takes me to get roundhim!"
Squire Pope wrote an elaborate report, in which he stated that, aftersearching investigation, he had ascertained that the complaints of AnnCarter were absolutely groundless, and gave it as his convictionthat Mr. Tucker's treatment of her and her associate paupers wascharacterized by remarkable consideration and humanity.
Such officials as he have much to answer for, and yet there are plentyjust as false to their responsibilities as he.
It was two days after Squire Pope's ineffectual attempt to possesshimself of Philip's violin, that our hero was walking along a countryroad, on his return from an errand which, he had undertaken for hisfriend's father, when his attention was drawn to the yelping of a smalldog, that seemed in fear or pain.
Looking over the stone wall, Philip saw Zeke Tucker amusing himselfby thrusting the dog's head into a pool of dirty water, and holding itthere till the animal was nearly strangled. The dog's suffering appearedto yield the most exquisite amusement to the boy, who burst into pealafter peal of rude laughter as he watched the struggles of his victim.
Philip, like every decent boy, had a horror of cruelty, and the sightstirred him to immediate anger and disgust.
"What are you doing there, Zeke Tucker?" he demanded sternly.
"None of your business!" answered Zeke, frowning.
"You'd better answer my question," said Philip, who had by this timejumped over the wall.
"Then I will. I'm havin' a little fun. What have you got to say aboutit?" retorted Zeke.
And once more he plunged the head of the poor dog into the filthy pool.
The next moment he found himself floundering on his back, while the dog,slipping from his grasp, was running across the meadows. "What did youdo that for!" demanded Zeke, springing up, his face flaming with rage.
"I rather think you understand well enough," answered Philipcontemptuously.
"What business have you to touch me? I can have you arrested, you lowpauper!"
"What's that? What did you call me?" demanded Philip.
"I called you a pauper."
"By what right?"
"Squire Pope told my father he was going to bring you over to thepoorhouse to live. You just see if my father doesn't give it to youthen!"
"Thank you," said Phil contemptuously; "but I don't propose to board atyour establishment, not even to obtain the pleasure of your society."
"Maybe you can't help yourself," said Zeke gleefully.
For he saw what had escaped the notice of Philip, whose back wasturned--namely, a four-seated carryall, containing his father and SquirePope, which had just halted in the road, hard by.
"Mr. Tucker," said Squire Pope, in a low tone, "now will be the bestopportunity to capture the boy and carry him to the almshouse."
"All right--I'm ready," said Tucker readily.
For another boarder would bring him sixty cents a week more.
They stopped the horses and prepared for business.
CHAPTER XIII. IN THE ENEMY'S HANDS
Philip heard a step, and turned to see whose it was; but, when herecognized Mr. Tucker, the latter's hand was already on his collar.
"What have you been doin' to Zeke? Tell me that, you young rascal," saidMr. Tucker roughly.
"He pitched into me savage, father," answered Zeke, who had pickedhimself up, and was now engaged in brushing the dust from his coat.
"Pitched into ye, did he?" repeated Joe Tucker grimly. "I reckonhe didn't know your father was 'round. What have you got to say foryourself, eh?"
Philip regarded his captor contemptuously, and didn't struggle toescape, knowing that he was not a match for a man five inches tallerthan himself. But contempt he could not help showing, for he knew verywell that Zeke had inherited his mean traits largely from his father.
"I'll thank you to remove your hand from my collar, sir," said Philip."When you have done that, I will explain why I pitched into Zeke, as hecalls it."
"Don't you let go, father!" said Zeke hastily. "He'll run away, if youdo."
"If I do, you can catch me between you," returned Philip coolly.
"I reckon that's so," said Mr. Tucker, withdrawing his hand, but keepingwary watch of our hero.
"Now go ahead!" said he.
Philip did so.
"I saw Zeke torturing a small dog," he explained, "and I couldn't standby and let it go on."
"What was he doin' to him?" inquired Mr. Tucker.
"Putting the poor animal's head into this dirty pool, and keeping itthere till it was nearly suffocated."
"Was you doin' that, Zeke?" asked his father.
"I was havin' a little fun with him," said Zeke candidly.
"It might have been fun to you, but it wasn't to him," said Phil.
"Why didn't you ask Zeke to stop, and not fly at him like a tiger?"demanded Mr. Tucker.
"I did remonstrate with him, but he only laughed, and did it again."
"He hadn't no right to order me," said Zeke. "It wa'n't no business ofhis if I was havin' a little fun with the dog."
"And I had a little fun with, you," returned Philip--"You couldn't havecomplained if I had dipped your head in the water also."
"I ain't a dog!" said Zeke.
"I should respect you more if you were," said Philip.
"Are you goin' to let him talk to me like that!" asked Zeke, appealingto his father.
"No, I ain't," said Mr. Tucker angrily. "You've committed an assault andbattery on my son, you rascal, and you'll find there ain't no fun in itfor you. I could have you arrested and put in jail, couldn't I, squire?"
"Ahem! Well, you could have him fined; but, as he is to be under yourcare, Mr. Tucker, you will have a chance of making him conduct himselfproperly."
"What do you mean by that, Squire Pope?" asked Philip quickly.
"Young man, I do not choose to be catechized," said Squire Pope, in adignified manner; "b
ut I have no objections to tell you that I have madearrangements with Mr. Tucker to take you into the poorhouse."
"I've heard that before, but I couldn't believe it," said Philipproudly.
"I guess you'll have to believe it pretty soon, he, he!" laughed Zeke,with a grin which indicated his high delight. "I guess dad'll make youstand round when he gits you into the poor-house."
"Don't you consider me capable of earning my own living, Squire Pope?"asked Philip.
"Ahem! Yes, you will be one of these days. You won't have to stay in thealmshouse all your life."
"You'll have a chance to earn your livin' with me." said Mr. Tucker. "Ishall give you something to do, you may depend."
"You can make him saw and split wood, father, and do the chores and milkthe cow," suggested Zeke.
"I have no objection to doing any of those things for a farmer," saidPhilip, "but I am not willing to do it where I shall be considered apauper."
"Kinder uppish!" suggested Mr. Tucker, turning to Squire Pope. "Most allof them paupers is proud; but it's pride in the wrong place, I reckon."
"If it is pride to want to earn an independent living, and not live oncharity, then I am proud," continued Philip.
"Well, squire, how is it to be," asked Mr. Tucker.
"Philip," said Squire Pope pompously, "you are very young, and you don'tknow what is best for you. We do, and you must submit. Mr. Tucker, takehim and put him in the wagon, and we'll drive over to the poorhouse."
"What! now?" asked Philip, in dismay.
"Just so," answered Joe Tucker. "When you've got your bird, don't lethim go, that's what I say."
"That's the talk, dad!" said Zeke gladfully. "We'll take down his pride,I guess, when we've got him home."
Joe Tucker approached Philip, and was about to lay hold of him, when ourhero started back.
"You needn't lay hold of me, Mr. Tucker," he said. "I will get into thewagon if Squire Pope insists upon it."
"I'm glad you're gettin' sensible," said the squire, congratulatinghimself on finding Philip more tractable than he expected.
"And you will go to the poorhouse peaceful, and without making a fuss?"asked Joe.
"Yes, I will go there; but I won't stay there."
"You won't stay there!" ejaculated the squire.
"No, sir! In treating me as a dependent on charity, you are doing whatneither you nor any other man has a right to do," said Philip firmly.
"You don't appear to remember that I am a selectman and overseer of thepoor," said the Squire.
"I am aware that you hold those offices; but if so, you ought to savemoney to the town, and not compel them to pay for my support, when I amwilling and able to support myself."
Squire Pope looked a little puzzled. This was putting the matter in anew light, and he could not help admitting to himself that Philip wascorrect, and that perhaps his fellow citizens might take the same view.
On the other hand, the squire was fond of having his own way, and he hadnow gone so far that he could not recede without loss of dignity.
"I think," he answered stiffly, "that I understand my duty as well as aboy of fifteen. I don't mean to keep you here long, but it is the bestarrangement for the present."
"Of course it is," said Zeke, well pleased with the humiliation of hisenemy.
"Shut up, Zeke!" said his father, observing from the squire's expressionthat he did not fancy Zeke's interference.
"All right, dad," said Zeke good-naturedly, seeing that things hadturned out as he desired.
"Jump in!" said Mr. Tucker to Philip.
Our hero, without a word, obeyed. He was firmly resolved that SquirePope should not have his way, but he did not choose to make himselfridiculous by an ineffectual resistance which would only have ended inhis discomfiture.
Seated between Mr. Tucker and the squire, he was driven rapidly towardthe poorhouse.
CHAPTER IX. THE POORHOUSE.
There was no room for Zeke to ride--that is, there was no seat forhim--but he managed to clamber into the back part of the wagon, wherehe sat, or squatted, rather uncomfortably, but evidently in the best ofspirits--if any inference could be drawn from his expression.
The poorhouse was not far away. It was a three-story frame house, whichbadly needed painting, with a dilapidated barn, and shed near by.
A three-story farmhouse is not common in the country, but this dwellinghad been erected by a Mr. Parmenter, in the expectation of making afortune by taking summer boarders.
There was room enough for them, but they did not come. The situation wasthe reverse of pleasant, the soil about was barren, and there were noshade or fruit trees. It was a crazy idea, selecting such a spot for asummer boarding-house, and failure naturally resulted.
There had, indeed, been two boarders--a man and his wife--who paid oneweek's board, and managed to owe six before the unlucky landlord decidedthat they were a pair of swindlers. He had spent more money than hecould afford on his house, and went steadily behind-hand year afteryear, till the town--which was in want of a poorhouse--stepped inand purchased the house and farm at a bargain. So it came to be aboarding-house, after all, but in a sense not contemplated by theproprietor, and, at present, accommodated eleven persons--mostly old andinfirm--whom hard fortune compelled to subsist on charity.
Mr. Tucker had this advantage, that his boarders, had no recourse exceptto stay with him, however poor his fare or harsh his treatment, unlessthey were in a position to take care of themselves.
When Philip came in sight of the almshouse--which he had often seen, andalways considered a very dreary-looking building--he was strengthened inhis determination not long to remain a tenant.
Mr. Tucker drove up to the front door with a flourish.
A hard-featured woman came out, and regarded the contents of the wagonwith curiosity.
"Well, Abigail, can you take another boarder!" asked Mr. Tucker, as hedescended from the wagon.
"Who is it?"
"Well, it ain't likely to be Squire Pope!" said Joe facetiously; "andZeke and I are regular boarders on the free list."
"Is it that boy?"
"Yes; it's Phil Gray."
"Humph! boys are a trial!" remarked Mrs. Tucker, whose experience withZeke had doubtless convinced her of this fact.
"I sha'n't trouble you long, Mrs. Tucker," said Philip. "I don't intendto stay."
"You don't, hey?" retorted Joe Tucker, with a wolfish grin and anemphatic nod of the head. "We'll see about that--won't we, Squire Pope?"
"The boy is rather rebellious, Mrs. Tucker," said the selectman. "Heappears to think he knows better what is good for him than we do.You may look upon him as a permanent boarder. What he says is of noaccount."
Philip said nothing, but he looked full at the squire with anunflinching gaze. If ever determination was written upon any face, itwas on his.
"Come down there!" said Mrs. Tucker, addressing our hero. "You're athome now."
"Mr. Dunbar won't know what has become of me," said Philip, with asudden thought. "They will be anxious. May I go back there and tell themwhere I am?"
"Do you think I am green enough for that?" Mr. Tucker, touching theside of his nose waggishly. "We shouldn't be likely to set eyes on youagain."
"I will promise to come back here this evening," said Philip.
"And will you promise to stay?" asked Squire Pope doubtfully.
"No, sir," answered Philip boldly. "I won't do that, but I will engageto come back. Then Mr. Tucker will have to look out for me, for I tellyou and him frankly I don't mean to stay."
"Did you ever hear such talk, squire!" asked Mr. Tucker, with a gaspof incredulity. "He actually defies you, who are a selectman and anoverseer of the poor."
"So he does, Mr. Tucker. I'm shocked at his conduct."
"Shall we let him go?"
"No, of course not."
"I agree with you, squire. I know'd you wouldn't agree to it. What shallI do about his wantin' to run away?"
"It will be best to confin
e him just at first, Mr. Tucker."
"I'll shut him up in one of the attic rooms," said Mr. Tucker.
"I think it will be the best thing to do, Mr. Tucker."
Philip took all this very coolly. As to the way in which they proposedto dispose of him for the present he cared very little, as he did notintend stay till morning if there was any possible chance of gettingaway. The only thing that troubled him was the doubt and anxiety of hisgood friends, the Dunbars, when he did not return to the house.
"Squire Pope," he said, turning to that official, "will you do me afavor?"
"Ahem! Explain yourself," said the squire suspiciously.
"Will you call at Mr. Dunbar's and tell them where I am."
Now, for obvious reasons, the squire did not like to do this. He knewthat the Dunbars would manifest great indignation at the arbitrary stepwhich he had adopted, and he did not like to face their displeasure,especially as his apology would perforce be a lame one.
"I don't think I am called upon to do you a favor, seeing how you'veacted, Philip," he said hesitatingly. "Besides, it would be out of myway, and I ought to get home as soon as possible."
"Then you refuse, sir?"
"Well, I'd rather not."
The Young Musician; Or, Fighting His Way Page 4