WHO IS MASTER.
I remained in the back room long enough to assure myself that Mrs.
Fishley did not intend to put a rude hand upon Flora. I even ventured to
hope that she was ashamed of herself, and would not repeat the dastardly
act. I went to the barn to consider the situation. I felt just as though
I had won the victory over my tyrants in the present battle; but I was
confident that the conflict would be renewed at some more favorable
time.
Like all small-minded men, like all tyrants and oppressors, Captain
Fishley was a revengeful person. He would wait till he caught me
napping, and then spring some trap upon me. He would delay his vengeance
till some circumstances conspired against me, and then come down upon me
with the whole weight of his malignity. I determined to keep a sharp
lookout upon all his movements, and especially to avoid all cause of
offence myself. I meant to keep myself as straight as I possibly could.
I had time only to run my course through my mind before the supper-bell
was rung at the back door by Mrs. Fishley. Should I go in to supper as
usual, and meet the whole family, including Ham? I answered this
question in the affirmative, deciding that I would not sulk, or make any
unnecessary trouble to any one. I went in, and took my seat as usual at
the table, by the side of Flora. It was a very solemn occasion, for
hardly a word was spoken during the meal. If I had been ugly, I might
have congratulated myself upon the sensation I had produced.
The head of the family sweetened his tea twice, and upset the
milk-pitcher upon the table-cloth, which, under ordinary circumstances,
would have brought forth some sharp criticisms from his wife; but Mrs.
Fishley neglected to express her disapprobation of her spouse's
carelessness, even in the mildest terms. All these things assured me
that our host and hostess were busy thinking of the great event of the
afternoon. The captain looked morose and savage, and Mrs. Fishley looked
as though a new burden, or a new grief, had been added to her heavy load
of worldly cares.
I half suspected that Captain Fishley was not entirely satisfied with
the conduct of either his wife or his son. It was even possible that he
had spoken to them in disapprobation of their course; but I had no means
of knowing. It seemed to me that otherwise father, mother, and son would
have joined in a general jaw at me, as they had often done before.
Whatever good or evil had been wrought by my vigorous action, my
appetite was not impaired. I ate a hearty supper, and then went into the
store for the mail-bag, which was to be carried down to Riverport.
"Are you going after the mail, Buck?" asked Captain Fishley, in an ugly,
taunting tone, which assured me that he had not recovered from the
shock.
"Yes, sir."
"O, you are! I didn't know but you would give up work altogether,"
sneered he, apparently disappointed to find me no longer a rebel.
"I told you I should do my work just as I always did. All I want is fair
treatment for my sister and myself," I replied in the least offensive
tones I could command.
"I expect my brother, Squire Fishley, will come up to-night," added the
captain, more mildly. "You will go to the hotel in Riverport for him,
and bring him up. Take a lantern with you; it will be dark to-night."
Squire Fishley had been a state senator, and the captain regarded him as
one of the greatest men in Wisconsin. I was rather pleased to have his
company home on the lonely ride from Riverport, and I confess that I was
somewhat proud of making the acquaintance of the distinguished
gentleman.
"Don't be in a hurry, Buck," said Ham Fishley, as I picked up the
mail-bag.
I stopped and looked at him, for his tones were more conciliatory than I
had heard him use within my remembrance. I actually flattered myself
that I had conquered a peace.
"I want to ride with you as far as Crofton's," he added. "I have been
very busy getting ready, and haven't had time to black my boots yet.
It's a pretty stylish party I'm going to, and I want to look as
scrumptious as any of them. Will you black them for me? I'll be much
obliged to you if you will."
"Certainly I will, Ham, when you ask me in that way, and glad to do it
for you," I replied, without hesitating an instant.
I took the boots and went to work upon them. There was an unmistakable
smile of triumph on his face as I did so; but I was perfectly satisfied
that the triumph was mine, not his. Doubtless those civil, polite words
were an invention of the enemy, to win my compliance; and Ham,
forgetting that I had not rebelled against the work, but only the
tyrannical style of his order, was weak enough to believe that he had
conquered me. I made up my mind to review the circumstances, and explain
my position to him, on the way to Crofton's.
"Hasn't that letter come yet, Captain Fishley?" asked an ancient maiden
lady, who entered the store while I was polishing Ham's boots.
"I haven't seen anything of it yet, Miss Larrabee," replied the
postmaster.
"Dear me! What shall I do!" exclaimed the venerable spinster. "My
brother, down in Ohio, promised to send me forty dollars; and I want the
money awfully. I was going down to see Jim's folks, but I can't go, nor
nothin', till that money comes. I hain't got nothin' to pay for goin'
with, you see."
"I'm very sorry, Miss Larrabee. Perhaps the letter will come in
to-night's mail," added the captain.
"But the mail don't git in till nine or ten o'clock, and that's after
bedtime. Ethan writ me the money would be here by to-day, at the
furthest. You don't suppose it's got lost--do you?"
"I think not. We've never lost anything in our office, leastwise not
since I've been postmaster," answered Captain Fishley, who seemed to
attribute the fact to his own superior management.
"It may come up to-night, as you say, and I will be down again in the
morning to see about it," replied Miss Larrabee, as she left the store,
hopeful that the money would arrive in season to enable her to depart
the next day on her journey.
I finished blacking Ham's boots, and he put them on. He was going to a
party at Crofton's, and had already dressed himself as sprucely as the
resources of Torrentville would permit. He was seventeen years old, and
somewhat inclined to be "fast." He was rather a good-looking fellow--an
exceedingly good-looking fellow in his own estimation. Being an only
son, his father and mother were disposed to spoil him, though not even
Ham wholly escaped the sharp points and obliquities of his mother's
temper. His father gave him what he believed to be a liberal allowance
of spending money; but on this subject there was a disagreement between
Ham and the "old man."
The young man always wanted more money, and the old man thought he had
enough. Ham was pleasantly inclined towards some of the young ladies,
and some of the young ladies were pleasantly inclined towards him. Ham
liked to take them out to ride, especially Squire Crofton's youngest
daughter, in the stable-keeper's new buggy; but his father thought the
light wagon, used as a pleasure vehicle by the family, was good enough
even for Elsie Crofton. I had heard some sharp disputes between them on
this subject.
There was to be a party that evening at Crofton's. Ham was invited of
course; I was not. Ham was considered a young man. I was deemed a boy,
not competent to go to parties yet. As long as Flora could not go, I was
content to stay at home with her.
I placed the mail-bag in the wagon, Ham took his seat by my side, and I
drove off. As the reader already knows my position in regard to my
tyrants, I need not repeat what passed between Ham and me. I told him I
had made up my mind to do all the work I had been in the habit of doing,
without grumbling, until October, but that I would not be treated like a
dog any longer; I would take to the woods and live like a bear before I
would stand it. My remarks were evidently very distasteful to my
companion. He did not say much, and I was sorry to see that he was
nursing his wrath against me. He regarded me as a being vastly inferior
to himself, and the decided stand I had taken filled him with the same
kind of indignation which a brutal teamster feels towards his contrary
horse.
"Hold on a minute, Buck; I want to get a drink of water," said Ham, as
we approached a spring by the roadside, half a mile before we reached
Crofton's.
I drew up the black horse, and he jumped out of the wagon. He did not
drink more than a swallow; and I did not think he was very thirsty.
"Go ahead!" said he, leaping into the rear of the wagon, behind the
seat, where I had thrown the mail-bag.
He sat down on the end-board of the wagon, and though I thought it a
little strange that he should take such an uncomfortable seat,
especially when he had on his best clothes, I did not suspect any
mischief. The first thing I knew after I had started the horse, the
mail-bag came down upon my head with a force which made me see more
stars than ever before twinkled in the firmament of my imagination. At
the next instant, Ham seized me by the collar of my coat with both
hands, in such a way that I could not easily move.
"Now, Buck Bradford, we'll settle this business. I'm going to know who's
master, you or I," cried Ham.
"All right, Ham; you shall know in about two minutes and a half," I
replied, choking with wrath, as I hauled in the horse.
Then commenced a struggle which it is impossible to describe. I do not
myself know what I did, only that I thrashed, squirmed, and twisted till
I found myself behind the seat with my antagonist; but he held on to my
coat-collar as though his salvation depended upon the tenacity of his
grip. Finally I doubled myself up, and came out of my coat. In the
twinkling of an eye, I sprang upon him, and tumbled him out of the
wagon, into the dirt of the road. Though he was a year older and two
inches taller than I was, while he had been clerking it in the store, I
had been nursing my muscles with the shovel and the hoe, the pitchfork
and the axe; and I was the stronger and tougher of the two. I could do
more, and bear more, than he. A fight depends as much upon the ability
to endure injury as it does to inflict it.
The rough usage I had given Ham was very disheartening to him; while I,
with the exception of being a little shaky about the head from the blow
of the mail-bag, was as fresh as ever.
"Have you found out who's master yet, Ham?" I demanded, edging up to
him.
He looked sheepish, and retreated a pace at every step I advanced. At
this point, however, the black horse started, and I was obliged to
abandon the field for a moment to attend to him, for the reins had
fallen under his feet. I turned the horse around, and then I saw that my
cowardly assailant had armed himself with a club.