HOW SMITHERS FOUND CONSOLATION.
While Tommy was gone Mrs. Smithers came up and laid the table, for
although her husband was high-toned, he did not choose to keep a
servant.
In ten minutes Tommy came back.
"Did you feed the horse?" asked Mr. Smithers.
"I gave him the supper," replied Tommy; "but he wouldn't touch it."
"That's strange," remarked Smithers.
"I think that plug of yours is ailing," said Barker, "and it's a wonder
to me why you keep him."
"Well, you see," replied Smithers, "I got him cheap, and having a good
barn at the back, I thought he'd be handy to take to the ferry, and to
go out with Sundays and holidays."
"That's so."
"Tommy," said Smithers, "what did you give him?"
The boy was about to answer when Mrs. Smithers rushed into the room.
"Where's the oysters?" she almost screamed.
"How should I know?" replied her husband. "Didn't I give them to you to
cook?"
"You did, and I roasted them beautifully, took the top shells off, and
left them on the stove in a big dish, while I went upstairs to tidy up."
Mr. Smithers bent a severe glance on Tommy.
"What did you give the horse?" he asked.
"The supper," replied Tommy.
"What?"
"The oysters. Thought that was what you meant."
Mrs. Smithers clasped her hands together, and uttered a cry.
"Do horses eat oysters?" demanded Smithers, furiously.
"How could I tell?" answered Tommy. "I've heard of donkeys eating
thistles."
"What would you like to eat, you donkey?"
"A mild tongue," said Tommy.
"How do you mean, you idiot?"
"Do be quiet, dear," cried Mrs. Smithers.
"Am I to be insulted by this idiot of yours, madam?" thundered Smithers.
The wife raised her apron to her eyes and began to cry.
Smithers seized Tommy by the ear and pulled it, exclaiming:
"What do you mean? Are you luny?"
"I meant a beef tongue, not too much salted," replied Tommy.
"What did you do with the oysters?"
"Won't you lick me, if I tell you?"
"N-no."
"When I found the horse wouldn't look at them, I called Charley Barker,
and we polished them off between us."
Mr. Smithers let go of Tommy's ear and looked at him ferociously.
"You young villain!" he exclaimed; "I'll skin you some of these days."
At this Mrs. Smithers burst into a fresh torrent of grief.
"Oh, that I should have to hear my boy called such a name!" she sobbed.
"Silence, woman!" roared her husband.
She sank into a chair, exhausted, and redoubled her groans and tears.
"See here," exclaimed Barker, "I'll send for some more. There's no harm
done."
"No, you won't," replied Smithers. "You're just as bad as the boy. I
could see you snickering all the time, and it's the last chance you'll
have of coming into my house."
"I can get out of it," said Barker.
"Git!"
This was said in such a contemptuous manner that Barker had no
alternative.
Putting on his hat, he went.
When he was gone, Smithers attempted to do what he had not dared to
undertake while the undertaker was in the room.
Seizing his rattan, he rushed upon Tommy.
His mother threw herself between them, and Tommy escaped the intended
blows, but his stepfather chased him around the room, uttering frantic
cries.
The door being open, the boy thought it would be only prudent to make
his escape.
"You rascal! you dunce!" cried Smithers. "The idea of giving oysters to
horses! I'll be even with you!"
Tommy banged the door after him, and his stepfather, having put his
hand on it, got badly crushed.
He withdrew his hand covered with blood, and as he sucked his fingers
he danced an original fandango on the floor.
At this moment the door opened and a boy's form appeared.
Blinded with rage and smarting with pain, Smithers struck out with the
cane.
"Oh, pa!" cried the boy; "what have I done? It's me, Harold. Look out,
or you'll hit Ally."
Mr. Smithers groaned again.
In the passion of the moment he struck his own child, Harold, who, with
his sister, had just returned from the party.
"My darling!" he exclaimed, "I'm truly sorry. It was that stupid, that
silly, that insane beast, Tommy, I meant to chastise."
"What's he done, pa?"
"Don't ask me. Maria, I'm going down the street, to the drug store, to
have my hand dressed."
"You shouldn't be so violent," she said.
"Just keep that boy out of my sight when I come back, that's all."
"I can't help his making mistakes."
"I'll kill or cure him, anyway."
"When shall you be back?"
"I don't know."
"Don't be long. I'm tired and hungry. We've had no supper," said Mrs.
Smithers.
"I shall get mine outside."
"What am I to do? I've had none."
"You may thank your precious brat for that, madam. Give oysters to a
horse! Oh, my, I'll never get over it!" cried Mr. Smithers.
Wrapping his injured hand in a handkerchief, he rushed from the house,
leaving his wife alone with Harold Stamford and Alice Regina.
"What is the matter with pa, ma, dear?" asked Alice.
"Oh, don't bother me," said Mrs. Smithers, swaying herself to and fro
in the rocking-chair.
"Wasn't he mad?" remarked Harold. "I never saw him so before. It was
all that Tommy's doing, I'll bet."
"Go up to bed, both of you," said Mrs. Smithers.
"I won't for one," exclaimed Alice. "Will you, Harold?"
"Not much," replied the boy.
"Your father will punish you when he comes back."
"No he won't--he likes us too much, and we don't care for you, ma, when
pa isn't here," said Alice.
Mrs. Smithers sighed again, but made no further effort to get the
children to bed.
She knew they were their father's spoiled pets, and that it was
useless, with her weak mind and undecided character, to attempt to
control them in his absence.
So, while she sat silently crying to herself, Harold Stamford and Alice
Regina got out the board and amused themselves with a game of checkers.
It was past midnight when Smithers returned, with rather an unsteady
gait, and a glaziness about his eyes, which, taken in connection with
the huskiness of his voice, led his wife to suppose that he had been
drinking.
"This is a nice time to come home," she said, with more than her usual
boldness.
"Very nicesh timesh," he answered, hiccoughing.
"Where have you been?"
"Looking for boysh they call Shoft Tommy--hic--that'sh where I've been."
"Did you find him?"
"No."
"Well, he's not come in," said Mrs. Smithers, "and it's my opinion that
your harshness has driven him to some rash act."
"Run away, do you think?" exclaimed Smithers. "Oh, dear,
no--hic--Tommy's too good a judge of when he'sh well off. Light
my--hic--candlesh, and I'll go to bed."
Smithers was accommodated with a light, and in some mysterious manner
retired without breaking his neck or setting the house on fire.
Harold and Alice followed their father's example, but Mrs. Smithers
remained up till the small hours, waiting for Tommy to come back.
The fire in the stove went out, and the daylight peeped through the
shades. Still the anxious mother watched.
When Tommy managed to escape from his father's anger, he ran to the
back of Mr. Barker's house, where he knew he was sure of protection and
shelter.
In the kitchen he found Charles Barker, a boy about his own age.
"Hello, Tommy," exclaimed Charley; "weren't those oysters bully?"
"I'm afraid to go home, through them," answered Tommy. "It seems as if
I made another mistake. They weren't for the horse's supper at all. I
wish I was a little smarter. Father will knock the life out of me when
he catches me."
"Let him sleep over it," said Charley, "that's what I do when pop's mad
with me. Sleep out all night, and let him go to business before you
show up."
"Where can I stay?"
"In our house. You can go up in the carpenter's shop and sleep
in one of the coffins. I'd give you half my bed, but father's so
funny-tempered he might lick us both, if he found that I'd kept you
out."
"That's so; and for want of a better roost, I'll do as you say."
"Come at once, for I hear pop upstairs, going on at mamma as he always
does when he's in a bad temper."
Charley went into the yard, followed by his friend Tommy, on whom he
thought he was conferring a great favor in allowing him to sleep in a
coffin.
The snow was lying about in heaps, and the idea that it would be great
fun to snowball somebody at once struck Charley.
"Say!" he exclaimed, "let's go down street and snowball Darky John."
"All right," replied Tommy.
"You fire at him, and I'll make a grab at his candy and divvy with you
afterward."
"Just's you say."
Darky John was a good-tempered colored man who kept a candy store.
The boys were always playing him some trick or another, and, indeed,
they made his life a misery and a burden to him.
As usual, Soft Tommy did not see the drift of his friend's proposal.
He ran the risk of getting all the blows, and Charley all the candy.
A few minutes' walk brought them to Darky John's. He was standing
behind his counter, and was suddenly roused from the contemplation of
a batch of red and blue-colored sugar pigs by the forcible contact of a
snowball with his nose.
"Ki!" he said, "dat's too rough for dis chile to stand. Who fire dat
ball?"
"Give him a couple more, and make him come out after you," whispered
Charley.
Tommy threw two more balls, one of which raised a commotion among
the bottles on a shelf, the other broke on John's ear, and its flaky
particles streamed down his neck.
"Fore de lord, dat's too much. What I gwine to do now? If I cotch dat
boy, I'll have to make him feel mighty sick!" exclaimed Darky John.
Catching sight of Tommy he ran out of the shop and chased him up the
street.
Charley, meanwhile, entered the store and filled his pockets with
candy.