MR. ASHBEL NORTON
The evening after the “opening exercises” at the Academy, and after the
sudden appearance in Ogleport of the great city lawyer, and his equally
sudden departure, George Brayton was sitting for awhile with his mother
and sister in their own room.
“And so your friend is to be here to-morrow?” he asked of Mrs. Brayton.
“We do not know yet if we can call him our friend,” replied she, “but
I wrote him we were coming here, and he replied that this would be
as convenient as any other place. Now he writes that he will arrive
to-morrow.”
“It seems so like a romance,” began Sibyl, “I can hardly believe it to
be real, but----”
“Real or not real,” said George, “the legacy will pay off our
mortgages and make us very comfortable. So I shan’t have to drudge out
my life at Ogleport with Dr. Dryer. Then if the rest should come!”
“I feel almost sure it won’t,” exclaimed Sibyl. “Seems to me it really
belongs to some one else, and I hope he may get it.”
“Money is a very useful thing, Sibyl,” said Mrs. Brayton, with a smile.
“When you are older you may not think so lightly of it.”
“And yet, mother,” said George, “Sibyl is right. Besides, we are very
much in the dark till we have heard the whole of the story.”
Nevertheless, little as they might know, they continued to discuss it
until a much later hour than those commonly kept by the boarders at
Mrs. Wood’s.
Bar and Val, in their own room, were at the same time busily engaged in
a discussion of the several events of the day, including Judge Danvers
and Sibyl Brayton.
Bar, indeed, was more than usually frank with his friend, and Val was
beginning to take a deeper interest than ever in his remarkable chum.
“Depend upon it, Bar,” he said, “old Judge Danvers didn’t travel all
the way up here for nothing. I shall expect that telegram, now, every
day till it comes.”
“So shall I,” replied Bar.
Nevertheless, they were destined to go on “expecting” for more days
than were at all comfortable for the uneasy heads of such a pair of
boys, though Bar Vernon seemed to “bear up” under the trial of his
patience a good deal better than did Val.
The next day, of course, was crammed full of “school,” and Bar Vernon’s
first surprise came in the shape of a discovery that it would not be
half so hard as he had feared for him to keep up with the several
“classes” in which he found himself.
He would, as Brayton showed him, have to do a good deal of “back
study,” going over a great deal of ground that was all an old story
to the rest; but then, with such a memory as his and with plucky hard
work, he would soon make it all up. Especially as in several important
branches, he would hardly have to study at all, as yet, and could give
his whole time to the things in which he was “behind.”
That was a hard day’s duty for George Brayton, but he stuck to it
manfully, although well aware that his mother and sister and their
very important visitor were impatiently waiting for him most of the
afternoon.
He managed to elude Dr. Dryer at the close, however, and the boys
themselves were hardly out of the building more promptly than was the
new “assistant,” a circumstance which by no means eluded the keen eyes
of Effie Dryer’s stepmother.
“A mere eye-servant,” she assured the Doctor. “That young man seems to
consider himself entirely independent of your control. To think of his
going away in that manner, without your permission!”
Dreadful, no doubt, but then Mrs. Dryer would have given half her
teeth, much as they cost, if she had known who was waiting for him, and
what it was he hurried home to talk about.
“My son, Mr. George Brayton--Mr. Ashbel Norton, George.”
The two men stood for a moment looking at each other, and then the
Englishman remarked:
“Happy to meet you, Mr. Brayton. I’ve already said nearly all I have to
say, but we can go over it again, if you wish.”
“I should like it, indeed,” said George; “and it seems to concern us
both, if I understand it.”
And then followed an hour of very earnest talk ending with Brayton’s
saying:
“You seem to have done all that the circumstances required. If he is
not found, it will not be your fault. Of course, you were careful in
your selection of counsel?”
“Yes, indeed,” replied Norton. “My bankers recommended me to a Judge
Danvers, who seems to stand very high----”
“Danvers?” exclaimed George. “Why, he was here yesterday.”
“Here? Judge Danvers? Now, do you know that seems very odd indeed! How
very singular! And to think I missed him so narrowly. But, then, I
suppose such a man has a good deal of business on his hands besides our
own. I’m going on to meet him in a day or two. Indeed, he told me to be
gone a week, but I find I can’t stand it. No fun at all, you know, with
so much at stake.”
“I should say not,” replied George, but he found himself looking
straight into the eyes of his pretty sister.
Could it be that her quick and somewhat romantic young brain had caught
a glimpse of the same thought which was slowly dawning upon his own?
Whether or not, neither of them said a word about it then to each
other, or even after Mr. Ashbel Norton had retired to his own room;
and the stage carried him away next morning with no other apparent
result of his visit to Ogleport than a conviction that Sibyl Brayton
was the very prettiest girl that he had ever seen in America, and a
determination that he would return at once to the city and “see what
that old fox of a lawyer was up to.”
The day of his departure was a Friday, and when the Academy doors were
closed they were not to be opened again till Monday, for Dr. Dryer had
not yet perfected his usual plans for robbing the boys of the morning
half of their weekly holiday. That would be sure to come, in due time,
but as yet the entire day was free.
Bar and Val had been getting up a plan of their own, and it carried
them, at their very best pace, out to Puff Evans’s the moment that
school was out.
A long, fast, hot walk to be sure, but they found Puff delighted to see
them and to show them what really marvelous progress he had made upon
his new boat.
“You was right about Skinner,” he said to Bar. “The old weasel had a
feller down here, snookin’ ’round and askin’ questions. I jist showed
him everything and told him he could go over and see you, if he wanted
to buy any one of the boats. He didn’t come, did he?”
“No, and he won’t,” said Bar; “but we must have the _Mary_ all ready
to-morrow. You’ve never painted her name on her. How long would it
take?”
“Do it in no time,” said Puff. “Be all dry in the mornin’.”
“Then she’ll have to be called the _Sibyl_, for to-morrow,” said Bar,
with more color than usual in his face. “Paint it as nicely as you can.
When I sell her back to you, you can name her over again if you choose.”
“All right,” replied Puff. “That’s a good enough name for a boat,
anyhow. I’ve seen right big boats and nice ones, too, with the meanest
kind of names.”
Val Manning chuckled in Bar’s very face, as Puff declared his not very
complimentary assent, but Bar seemed to have nothing to say, and they
went home to supper.
“Now, Mrs. Brayton,” said Bar, just before they left the table, “there
isn’t a bit of danger, and I’m so glad you’ve consented. I’m sorry you
can’t go; but Mr. Brayton himself can take care of Miss Sibyl. Then
there’s one thing more I have to ask of her.”
“What’s that?” said Sibyl.
“Why, I’m only a boy, you know, and I wouldn’t dare to go over and
ask Dr. Dryer’s daughter to come, too. She’d be company for you, and
if you’d only do me the favor to ask her for me, I’d be ever so much
obliged.”
Bar could hardly understand why Mrs. Brayton’s eyebrows should contract
so suddenly as they did, or why George Brayton should so promptly come
to his support, with:
“That’ll be just the thing, Sibyl. She’s tried to be polite to you and
mother, and I’m sure she’d enjoy it.”
If Mrs. Brayton had meant to put in any objection it was too late now,
for Sibyl was even demonstrative in her readiness to secure the company
of Effie Dryer.
“She’s the merriest, sweetest, nicest girl,” exclaimed Sibyl. “She’s
years older than I am, but she makes me feel perfectly at home with
her. Of course I may, mamma?”
“Certainly, my dear,” was Mrs. Brayton’s half doubtful reply, but there
must have been a vein of mischief in Val Manning for he instantly
proposed to accompany Sibyl in her call at the principal’s house.
It was curious that both Bar Vernon and George Brayton should feel at
the same moment, as if they would like to see Val Manning tumble into
the mill-pond with his clothes on!
His goodness was its own reward, however, for he had the happiness,
shortly afterwards, of being smiled on by Mrs. Dryer and preached to by
her husband for a round hour, while Sibyl and Effie were having a good
long talk all by themselves.
When the latter came at last to Val’s rescue, however, it suddenly
became very difficult for Mrs. Dryer to look sweet, for Effie’s first
words were, “So kind of Mrs. Brayton, is it not, papa?”
“Doubtless, my daughter, but in what manner has she exhibited her
benevolence of disposition?”
“Why hasn’t Mr. Manning told you? She has sent Sibyl over to invite me
to a ride in the boat to-morrow. Mr. Brayton will go with us and there
won’t be any danger. I haven’t been out on the lake for ever so long.”
“I’m so glad you’re going,” said Val, promptly. “Puff Evans is making
another boat. I’m so sorry it isn’t done, Mrs. Dryer, as then we should
have room for you and the Doctor as well. We think our boat is a great
beauty.”
“Indeed she is,” added Effie. “If it’s a pleasant day we can sail as
well as row.”
To do Dr. Dryer justice, the thought of making any objection never
entered his head, though that was what got him into trouble after Val
and Sibyl were gone.
As for Euphemia herself, that merry but unthoughtful maiden saw so
clearly the signs of a coming storm in the now wintry smile of her
stepmother, that she actually put on her hat and walked across the
green with Sibyl Brayton and Val.
The latter had done his part to admiration, and was therefore content
to delegate to George Brayton the duty of seeing Effie safely home
again.
A long way home, considering the size of the green. At least, that was
what Mrs. Brayton made up her mind to before she heard her son close
the door of his room on his return.
Whatever may have been Mrs. Brayton’s thoughts, however, she wisely
kept them to herself.
So did Zebedee Fuller, although he remarked aloud, as he returned to
his father’s house that evening:
“Yes, I fully approve of that. Euphemia is a fine young woman, and
George is displaying good sense. I wonder how it will strike old Sol? I
hope he won’t like it. I’ve seen Dorothy Jane look sideways at George.
There’s every reason to hope she hates him. Wouldn’t that be a pill,
now? And they’d have to take it, for the property’s all Euphemia’s, and
she’ll be of age in less’n two years. I could scarcely have planned it
better myself.”
And Zebedee chuckled an exceedingly great and satisfied chuckle.
He had been over to see Bar Vernon about having a grand good time
on the lake, next day, and had been sharply disappointed at the
disturbance of his plans. Bar had finally persuaded him, however, that
there was plenty of room on the lake, and that he and the other fellows
might just as well get such boats as they could and have their fishing.
“And I suppose, Bar,” said Zebedee, “you and Val and the rest will know
enough not to interfere with us. If there’s anything in the wide world
that unsettles my intellect, it’s a young lady.”
“You shan’t be afflicted,” laughed Bar. “You may have the whole lake
except the very patch of water we are fishing in.”