by a master-hand. There were no idle dissertations in it; every chapter,
every paragraph, every sentence, every line, rang with meaning; and it
was so forcibly written that it would captivate a stronger mind than his.
He [your humble servant, “the writer,”] was not content with one perusal,
but read it again, and then lent it to three other boys, who read it with
equal avidity. When returned, he might have been tempted to read it for
the third time; but, alas! those boys, in their eagerness to read, had
apparently neglected to wash their hands; and had turned over the leaves
so hurriedly that it was in a state of dilapidation.
The writer has nothing to say against that romance. He learned many
things from it, and unhesitatingly pronounces it the best he ever read.
It is still green in his memory--in fact, he looks back on it to-day
with feelings of respect and admiration. But it distracted his thoughts
from his lessons, and muddled his wits to such an extent that he fears
sometimes they are muddled yet.
Behold the result. A reaction set in, and all preposterous romances, that
one excepted, have become to him an abomination.
Hence outbursts like the one above.
_Chapter XX._
A GLORIOUS TRIUMPH.
We have strayed so far from our subject that the reader may be at a loss
to take our original meaning. If so, when the boys are saved let him
refer to Will’s soliloquy and what immediately follows, and light will
burst upon him.
Will drew nearer the fire, and looked at the demon with wondering eyes,
as every fifteen minutes or so he swung the huge fan suspended from the
ceiling. This fan effectually cleared the apartment of smoke, but what
became of the smoke was to Will an appalling mystery.
As time passed, and no relief came, Will’s uneasiness returned. His
anxiety about Henry became intolerable; he could endure it no longer.
Better even to anger the demon than sit in silence and suffer torments.
When he went out, surely he must have seen Henry.
This hero was one of those extremely patient people who, lest they should
incommode somebody else, will endure untold agony, when a simple question
might set all their doubts and fears at rest.
“Sir,” he ventured to ask, “do you think he was badly hurt?
Or--or--didn’t you go to look for him?”
The demon, who had been sitting beside the fire for the last half hour,
with his head resting on his hands and his elbows supported by his knees,
started violently. He had evidently been so deeply absorbed in thought
that he had forgotten another was present.
“Ha!” he cried excitedly. “Ha! What is this?” (Madmen always say “ha!”
generally twice.) Then, recovering himself, he added, “Yes, yes; I’m
going to speak to you presently. What did you say just now?”
Will repeated his question.
“Ho! There _was_ another with you, then!” he exclaimed. “I was afraid
that I had been mistaken again. I am deceived so often that I don’t know
when to believe even myself. Then there was another. But he had gone when
I went out to see. Who was he?”
Will was thunder-struck. Could he rely on this strange man? If Henry
had gone, he could not have been killed. But where could he be? Had he
forsaken him, his cousin? No; he could not believe that Henry, so noble,
brave, and true, could be guilty of such treachery. Then had he been
found by some one, and taken away? If so, why did he not return with a
band of men to save his cousin? In truth, Will was mystified. If he had
known that the poor boy was near him, lying helpless on the ground,
exposed to the cold night air, and moaning with pain, he would have
thought their case a desperate one indeed.
At length he collected himself sufficiently to answer the demon’s
question by giving his cousin’s name.
“And who are you?” asked the madman.
“William Lawrence.”
“Why did you two come here?” the demon asked abruptly.
This was an unexpected question; Will was not prepared to answer it. “To
see the cave,” he said at last.
“Did you two come alone, or is some one else lurking near?”
“No, sir; we came entirely alone.”
“That is well. You did not come to do me any harm?”
Will thought he could safely say “no” to that.
After a pause the demon said slowly, as though he had settled it in his
own mind: “You are a good little boy. I like you; you must stay with me;
I want a fine little fellow like you to be with me all the time.”
Will was struck dumb with consternation. He could not appreciate the
compliment thus paid him.
“No, sir,” he said imploringly, “I cannot stay here at all. You must let
me out, and I must find my cousin and go home.”
“No, I cannot let you go! You shall live with me for the rest of my life.
Sit down!” he cried, as Will started to his feet.
Then he darted to the door, and placed his back against it.
“But what would my parents say to that? They would never let me stay
here,” Will protested.
Luckless boy! In his distress he knew not what to do or say.
“_Parents?_ Have you _parents_?” the demon inquired.
“Certainly I have,” said Will, with great dignity.
“Then, why did they allow a little boy, you are only a boy, to come here
at this time of night?”
Will could say nothing in his defence. He hung his head in confusion.
“Well, I shall keep you here till morning, at least. If I should let you
go now, how do I know what you two might plot against me? No! Here you
are; here you stay!”
Will was only a boy, and he did not consider that a strong man is seldom
or never afraid of the machinations of school-boys, so he said earnestly:
“If you let me out immediately, I promise that we will go: home as fast
as possible.”
The demon continuing inexorable, the boy said desperately, “Sir, we have
friends who will certainly come for us, if you do not let me out.”
“Say no more,” replied the demon, “for I cannot let you go. Listen:
People take it into their heads sometimes to molest me, _but I always
come out all right_! _I teach them a lesson that they remember!_ Your
punishment will be to remain till I choose to set you free.”
The horrible stories told by Henry again flashed through the prisoner’s
mind, but he was not terrified. Looking intently at the demon, he fancied
that instead of wickedness he saw playfulness in his eye.
“He is only trying to frighten me,” was Will’s thought.
The demon had moved back to the fire after making his last remark, and
presently Will, seeing no other means of escape, sprang to his feet and
rushed headlong towards the door. He had barely reached it when the demon
was upon him. Once more two long and sinewy arms encircled the helpless
boy, and he was borne struggling back to the fire.
“Treacherous boy!” cried the demon. “I’ll settle your fate in the
morning; now you will have to be locked up in your room.”
Without another word he carried Will into the bedroom already described,
and laid him upon the bed.
“Get in between the quilts, and you will be comfortable,” he said, as he
turned to go.
Again the door was fastened, and again our blundering hero found himself
a close prisoner in the demon’s bedroom.
His thoughts were far from being pleasant. “If I had had the cleverness
of any other boy, I should not be here now,” he muttered. “By my own
silly questions and answers I only made matters worse. Henry, Charley,
George, or even Marmaduke, could have outwitted him easily; Steve would
have made _him_ a prisoner, ten to one, and escaped at his leisure. Oh!
this is horrible! I _must_ get away!”
He jumped lightly off the bed, and knelt before the door. By good
fortune, he found a crack through which he could observe every movement
made by the demon.
“Well, this is a good beginning!” he said, hopefully, “I shall watch till
he goes to bed, and then try again.”
But the demon, with provoking composure, sat and dozed before his fire.
Time passed exceedingly slowly to poor Will. He thought it must be near
the middle of the night, while it was not yet ten o’clock.
At length the madman arose and opened a concealed door in the wall. Then
he lighted a candle, passed in, and shut the door softly behind him.
Will, like all boys, had a touch of the romantic, and he was delighted
to see Henry’s suspicions verified. His spirits rose, and he chuckled
joyously: “Well, it’s a regular robbers’ den, after all. Concealed doors
and everything to match. If Henry is only alive, and I can get away, it
won’t be so bad, after all! And now that he’s gone I guess I can manage
it, after all!”
He waited a few minutes, and then began to fumble at his door. While in
the outer room with the demon, he had taken notice of the way in which
this door was fastened, and seen that it was by means of a heavy bolt on
the outside. He had also observed that in the door, above the bolt, there
seemed to be an opening, covered with a shingle that slid back and forth
on the inside.
Feeling carefully for this shingle, he found it, took out a pin which
held it fast, and shoved it back.
“The demon ain’t so careful as he wants to be!” Will said sagely.
“Surely, here is a loophole of escape! I wish I could ease my feelings by
heaping up big and meaning words, as Henry or George would do.”
He waited a few moments in some uneasiness, fearing that the demon might
have heard him tampering with the lock; but as all remained quiet he put
his hand through the opening, and shoved back the bolt.
The door opened, and Will stood in the outer room.
Having taken the precaution of shutting and bolting his door, he was
warily drawing near the front door, when a strange sound proceeding from
the demon’s hiding-place attracted his attention.
He heard the clink of money.
Will paused. “I’ll see what this means,” he said heroically, “but I’ll
not run the risk of being captured. No; I’m too near freedom to throw
away my chances just to see a crazy man finger his money.”
Picking up a stick from the smouldering fire, he softly approached the
concealed door.
Poor boy! Experience should have taught him better than to play the
Robber-Kitten--but when does experience profit a boy?
His usual luck befell him; he stumbled and fell prostrate with a crash.
The demon must have heard him, for he had barely regained his feet when,
with a cry of dismay, the concealed door was flung open. On seeing Will,
the demon did not stop to shut it, but darted upon him with fury. In his
headlong course he struck against a stone and fell heavily.
Will waited to see him rise, and stood ready to defend himself. But
the demon lay upon the floor immovable. His head had struck some hard
substance, and he was insensible.
Presently Will went up to the demon. “Poor fellow!” he said
compassionately, “he is badly hurt! His fall was serious; mine was only a
stumble. I can’t go away and leave him in this state; I must help him.”
Tenderly he raised the powerless man, and exerting all his strength, he
dragged him to a bench close by, and laid him on it. Then he saw that the
demon’s head was severely hurt.
“Now, if he wakes up and finds me taking care of him, he won’t hurt me;
so I shall go and get some water to bathe his head,” was Will’s next
thought. “Henry said there was a spring, or water of some kind, in the
cave, but there is certainly none in this room. Well, I must leave him
and look for some.”
Snatching up a little pail, he hurried into the room which the demon had
just left. Here he stopped a moment to look about. The room was very much
like the two already described; there was a rude couch in it, but it was
scantily furnished. The demon had evidently given up his “best bedroom”
to Will.
Our hero’s wandering eyes soon rested on the most noticeable “chattel” in
the room,--a large and strong box, the lid of which lay open. In this box
there was a little pile of silver coins.
“Hello!” he said, “The demon has some money, after all! This is what he
was jingling and counting, I suppose. Well, there’s no water here; I must
go on.”
If Will had stopped to count the demon’s treasure, he would have found it
a very modest fortune. In round numbers it amounted to only five dollars.
($5.00.)
O, golden legends of our youth,
O, thrilling tales of riper years,
How cruelly do you deceive!
A door stood open, leading from this room into a larger one.
“I’d better try this,” Will muttered. “It looks dark enough and big
enough for a cavern, and there ought to be water in it, if anywhere.”
Having made his way into this apartment, Will found it to be spacious,
but dark and desolate. A solitary lamp, which burned feebly, was of
little avail in such darkness. After taking a few steps he heard the
purling of water; and on reaching the spot he found a little stream of
pure water, which doubtless emptied into the brook in the valley, running
over the ground. He filled his pail and hurriedly retraced his steps,
noticing several openings into the outer room, concealed there, but
visible here.
“Well, this demon _is_ a queer fellow!” he soliloquized, as he went
along. “He seems to have all kinds of hiding-places here, that nobody
knows about. Now, what in the world does he do with so many rooms, and
why does he keep a light burning in this hole? Perhaps he keeps it
burning all the time on account of the darkness. I don’t wonder he has
money; it must take a fortune to live here, for it is just the same as
living in a castle. Well, I’ve explored his secret regions till I’m tired
of it; and I guess Henry was right when he said a band of robbers fitted
it up for a menagerie.”
A minute later he was again with the demon, whom he found still
insensible. Taking out his handkerchief, he bathed the man’s head gently,
and did everything he could to restore consciousness. But all in vain.
“Oh, dear!” he cried, “I shall have to leave him and look for Henry. I’m
sure Henry is alive, but I must find him, and then we can come here again
and help the demon.”
He arose and left the cave.
The writer has a great deal of boldness in attempting to depict the
emotions of his numerous heroes in their joys or sorrows; but he declines
to say anything about the meeting of the cousins on this occasion. It was
affecting in the extreme.
As time passed and the boys did not return, Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer became
very uneasy. Being fully aware of their son’s recklessness, they did not
know what danger he and Will might, even at that moment, be incurring.
All day the two had been whispering mysteriously together, as though
contriving some dark scheme; and perhaps, like Don Quixote and his
squire, they had set out in quest of adventures.
“Why couldn’t they have said where they were going, anyway?” Mr. Mortimer
growled impatiently.
Mrs. Mortimer was a woman who permitted her son to do very much as he
pleased, never interfering with his plans of amusement as long as he kept
within proper bounds.
“Henry said he would tell me all about it when he came back; and he
seemed, to be in such a hurry that I didn’t like to question him,” she
said mildly. “I--I think it must be all right.”
“Let us go up to the boys’ room,” Mr. Mortimer said; “perhaps we can find
a clue to their whereabouts.”
They went up-stairs immediately. The cousins had not shut the drawer, and
a single glance into it told that they had been loading pistols.
“Oh! this is horrible!” groaned Mr. Mortimer. “Wasn’t that boy Will sent
here because he got into disgrace about gunpowder?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Mortimer said faintly.
“Yes; and now, after trying to destroy the boys in his own village, he
has come here, to put an end to our Henry!” he continued fiercely. “Till
_he_ came, Henry’s balloons were all right, and I was proud of them; but
see how _he_ tampered with his model! Henry never dreamed of loading his
pistols, and going out with them. Henry is full of life, I know; but this
is all that boy’s doings.”
This was unjust to poor Will; but what parent would have laid the blame
on his own son?
Seeing that his wife was ready to burst into tears, he moderated his
anger, and said soothingly, “Oh, they’re all right, Nelly; Henry knows
enough to keep out of danger, if Will doesn’t. But I can’t stand this
suspense any longer; I’ll go out and hunt till I find them; and I’ll let
you know as soon as I get on their track.”
As he went out of the house he muttered audibly: “Well, I must send word
to this boy’s mother to keep him in leading-strings till he’s twenty-one.
How easily we manage Henry! It’s all in management, of course; and if
Mrs. Lawrence would do as well as her sister, Will would be a very good
boy. As it is, he can’t behave himself even away from home; and now the
two are deep in some horrible powder trick!”
How grieved Henry would have been if he could have heard his father speak
slightingly of his elaborate plot as a “trick”!
Boys, here is another pretty precept, which you will do well to commit to
memory: _Never associate with those who are smarter than yourselves; for,
if you do, you will be blamed equally with them when they lead you into
mischief._
After many fruitless inquiries, Mr. Mortimer at length met with a youth
who told him that about dark he had seen Henry and another boy riding off
with a teamster. Mr. Mortimer felt relieved, and sent word to his wife;
but for some time he could trace them no farther. At last, however, he
found the very teamster,--he having returned to the city,--and from him
he learnt where the boys probably were.
Having assembled a body of men, he set out for the cave forthwith, and
reached it a few minutes after Will had joined Henry. A happy meeting
took place, and tears of joy and thankfulness trickled down the cheeks of
the knights-errant. Henry was tenderly carried to the road, and put into
a vehicle in waiting.
Meanwhile, Will was speaking to Mr. Mortimer about the demon. He
listened attentively; and seeing no better way of settling the matter,
he determined to take the unfortunate man home with him. Then, after
fastening up the cave against intruders, the entire party returned to
town.
On the way, Henry and Will recounted their exploits glibly; the former
nobly taking to himself all the blame, or heroism, the latter putting in
a word now and then to enforce the others remarks. Poor boys! Now that
the affair was over they wished to make the best of it. Mr. Mortimer
listened patiently, and gradually it dawned upon him that his own son had
planned this expedition to the cave. However, as long as _Henry_ had done
it, it must be all right. He did not reprove them for their foolishness;
he was troubled about many things, and feared that his son’s injuries
were more serious than they seemed.
When the cousins entered the town they found that there was something of
a commotion among the people. Prominent citizens stopped Mr. Mortimer to
express their congratulations, and to see the youths who had “bearded
the lion in his den;” while the little street Arabs gave vent to their
feelings by shouting, “Bully for you!” “Henry’s a bouncer!” “Up with yer
hands, and off with yer hats; Henry’s the boy for to b-u-s-t um!”
“Will, I guess we’re heroes, after all!” Henry chuckled, “When I was
suffering down there at the foot of the hill, I almost concluded that
we’d made fools of ourselves; but this doesn’t seem like it!”
“Yes; but I wish they wouldn’t take so much notice of us.”
“Fiddle! Will, you ought to live in the city!”
The party moved on. A golden head leaned out of the upper window of
a certain house which they were approaching; the beautiful blue eyes
glanced anxiously up and down the street; a well-known voice--the voice
of the girl who had given Henry a glass ink-bottle--asked timidly of a
passer-by: “Have they found them yet?”
A certain boy--by name, the estimable Johnny Jones--was loitering near,
blinking with sleep and jealousy; and he took it upon himself to answer
jeeringly: “Found them? Oh, yes; they’ve found the heroes, and they’re
carting them home in the wagon that’s just here.”
The golden head was drawn in quickly, but the window was not shut.
The heroes were so near that they heard all. Then again the street Arabs
ran alongside; again they took up their cry.
Poor Johnny Jones! His envy, or jealousy, was almost too much for him.
And Henry?
His heart bounded with delight; he was supremely happy. To hear such
words from _her_ lips was ample recompense for all that he had suffered
or might yet suffer.
It was nearly five years later; Henry was just twenty-one. He and a
beautiful woman, dressed in bridal costume, were stepping into a railway
carriage that was to take them to a steamer about to set sail for Europe.
“Will,” he said suddenly, “pull off your hat quick, and bow! I--I can’t;
I’m too stiff.”
Wonderingly, and, alas! how awkwardly, Will raised his hat.
After they had passed the house Henry began to wonder what Johnny Jones
had been doing there. Had he been talking to _her_? His eyes flashed
fire; he was miserable.
Foolish boy, he was troubling himself needlessly. And if he had been more
a philosopher, he would have known that Jonny Jones, in saying those few
jeering words, had forever ruined his cause in the eyes of--------.
When the cousins reached home, Henry’s remaining pistol was unloaded, and
a hearty laugh followed; for all knew, of course, that both pistols must
have been loaded alike.
Henceforth, he could have the pleasure of telling his school-mates that
he had been “shot.” There was, however, one drawback: there was no wound
to heal, and there would be no scar to show to doubters.
Henry was thoroughly warmed; his ankle was rubbed with sundry liniments
and carefully bound up; and then the young adventurers were sent to bed.
“Well, Will, among other consolations there is this: we don’t sit up till
ten minutes to twelve every night, do we?”
“No. And we did it, Henry, after all! I explored the whole cave, and I’ll
tell you all about it to-morrow; I’m too tired now. Besides, _we rescued
the demon_!”
This proves that the heroes had not profited by their sufferings.
Meantime, the people of the house had been taking care of the madman.
Under their careful treatment he recovered sufficiently to be able to sit
up and converse.
He also had a “tale to tell,” but deferred telling it till the next day;
and by one o’clock the whole household was wrapped in slumber.
_Chapter XXI._
UNCLE DICK HIMSELF AGAIN.
The exposure of that night brought on a severe attack of rheumatism, and
the next day Henry was tossing about on his bed in agony. His sprained
ankle also was very painful.
A doctor was sent for in haste; and under his treatment and Mrs.
Mortimer’s watchful care, the boy recovered slowly.
Will was so grieved to see his cousin suffer that he almost fell sick
himself; and he took up his stand at the bedside, so that he might attend
to his slightest wish.
“I don’t mind being sick so much,” said Henry, as Will was peeling an
orange for him, “because it proves that a fellow’s mother and--and--and
_friends_ care for him, and want him to get well; but, I don’t want the
rheumatism, because it’s mostly old men and hardly used soldiers that
suffer with it.”
“What should you like to have?” asked Will.
“Well, Will, I don’t mind telling you. Will, I’ve always had a hankering
to be wounded so that it would leave an honorable scar--a scar that I
could be proud of, you know.”
The morning after the rescue the demon had a totally different air. He
no longer regarded strangers with suspicion, but frankly and promptly
replied to all who spoke to him. His eyes were calm and benign, no longer
having that “hunted look” which seemed so terrible. In a word, the demon
was no longer a madman; “the blow on his head had restored his reason.”
In real life this is, we believe, an uncommon occurrence; but in romance
it is becoming intolerably common. It is inserted in novels that are
otherwise good; it haunts some writers like an evil spirit; it is tricked
up in a new garb, sometimes, to throw the unsuspecting reader off his
guard; but if it is there, sooner or later it will crop out--often when
least expected, least desired.
In fact, whenever the practised reader picks up a tale in which a
_harmless_ maniac figures, his suspicions are at once aroused, and he
flings it aside with a gesture of contempt.
Having called Mr. Mortimer to his side, the disenthralled man said, with
a pleasant voice, “Sir, I do not know where I am, and I should like
to ask you a few questions. Last night I was not in a humor to make
inquiries, as I was so tired and weak; but this morning I am much better
and stronger. May I ask your name?”
Mr. Mortimer was surprised at and pleased with the man’s improved
appearance.
“I am happy to see that you are so much better, sir,” he said. “As to my
name, it is Mortimer; may I, in turn, ask yours?”
“Certainly, sir; I am Richard Lawrence.”