HARRY DISAGREES WITH HIS GUARDIAN
Harry and his guardian met at the dinner table. Mrs. Fox had provided
a boiled dinner, to which Harry was ready to do justice.
Mr. Fox seemed unusually pleasant.
“I find, Harry,” he said, clearing his throat, “that you have already
been distinguishing yourself.”
“Then you heard of the narrow escape of the train?” said Harry.
“Yes, I heard that but for your presence of mind, and Mrs. Brock’s
tablecloth, there would have been a smash-up.”
“What on earth are you talkin’ about, John Fox?” demanded his wife,
curiously.
“Well, you see, Maria, the rain of last night washed away part of the
railroad track, and the train would have been plunged into a gully if
our young boarder here hadn’t seen the danger, and, borrowin’ a
tablecloth from Mrs. Brock, signaled the train.”
“You don’t say?”
“That isn’t all,” resumed John Fox. “The passengers took up a
contribution, and I expect gave quite a handsome sum to our young
friend.”
“How much did the folks give you?” asked Joel eagerly.
“I’ve got fifteen dollars left,” he replied. “I gave some money to
Mrs. Brock for the use of the tablecloth.”
John Fox looked disappointed and disgusted.
“You don’t mean to say,” he ejaculated, sharply, “that you gave away
almost half of your money for the use of an old tablecloth that would
be dear at a dollar?”
“If I hadn’t had the tablecloth, I couldn’t have attracted the
engineer’s attention,” said Harry, mildly.
There was a little more conversation on the subject, but Harry
remained tranquil, and did not appear disturbed by the criticisms
elicited by his conduct. He heartily hoped that his guardian’s family
would not find out how large a sum he had received.
When dinner was over, Harry was about to leave the house, when John
Fox said, insinuatingly: “Don’t you think you’d better give me that
money to keep for you? It will be safer in my hands.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fox,” said Harry, “but I think I can take care of it
myself.”
“Fifteen dollars is a good deal of money for a boy like you to carry
round with you,” said his guardian.
“I don’t think I shall lose it, sir,” replied the boy.
“Perhaps not, but you will be tempted to spend it wastefully.”
John Fox didn’t look amiable. He was in doubt whether he might not
properly take from his ward the money by force, but it occurred to him
that it would be better not to assert his authority quite so soon.
“We will speak of this again,” he said.
“It is well I didn’t bring all the money home. I wonder how soon
Mr. Fox will make another attempt to secure the sum I have with me,”
thought Harry.
The attempt was made that same night.
Harry was afraid he would be expected to occupy the same room with
Joel, in which case he could hope for no privacy, and would be unable
to conceal his money, which he had little doubt his guardian intended
to secure, either by fair means or foul. It chanced, however, that
Joel slept in a small bedroom opening out of his parents’ chamber. So
Harry was assigned an attic room, in the end of the house, the sides
sloping down to the eaves. It was inferior to the chambers on the
second floor, but our hero was not disposed to complain. He valued
solitude more than superior finish.
Harry’s suspicion was roused by the circumstance that his guardian did
not again refer to his money, nor did he manifest any disappointment
at his ward’s declining to intrust him with it.
During the evening, Joel brought out a backgammon board, and proposed
to Harry to play. If there would have been anything to read Harry
would have preferred entertaining himself in that way, but Mr. Fox
didn’t appear to be literary. There were a few books in the house, but
they were not of an attractive character.
Partly in backgammon, partly in conversation with the son and heir of
the Foxes, the time passed till half-past eight o’clock.
“Joel, you can go to bed,” said his mother. “It is half-past eight.”
Joel yawned, and interposed no objection.
“You may as well go, too, Harry,” said Mrs. Fox.
“I am ready to go to bed,” said Harry.
In fact, he felt rather sleepy, and anticipated little pleasure in
sitting up in the far from exciting company of Mr. and Mrs. Fox.
“Joel!” said his mother, “take this candle and show Harry upstairs in
the attic chamber.”
“Yes, mam.”
So, preceded by Joel, Harry went up two flights of stairs to the attic
room reserved for him. It was the only room that had been finished
off, and the garret outside looked dark and forbidding.
“I would be scared to sleep up here,” said his companion.
“I shall not be at all frightened, Joel,” said Harry.
“Good-night. Just hold the candle while I go downstairs.”
When he was fairly all alone, Harry began to look about him, to
ascertain in what kind of quarters he was to pass the night. To begin
with he examined the door, he ascertained that it was a common latch
door, and there was no lock. There was nothing to prevent anyone
entering the room during the night. There was a small cot bed in one
corner, a chair, and an old wooden chest. There was no bureau nor
washstand. The absence of the latter annoyed Harry.
He learned afterward that he was expected to go downstairs and wash in
a large basin in the kitchen sink--wiping his face on a brown, roll
towel which was used by the entire family. This was quite
unsatisfactory to Harry, who was scrupulously neat in his tastes.
“This isn’t a palace exactly,” Harry said to himself.
Then came the thought, “What was he to do with his money?”
Now, it so happened that Harry was the possessor of two
pocketbooks--one--shabby, and well worn, which he had failed to throw
away on buying another just before he left home. In connection with
this, a scheme for outwitting Mr. Fox came into his mind. He folded up
a fragment of newspaper, and put it into the old pocketbook, bulging
it out till it looked well filled, and this he left in the pocket of
his pantaloons.
“Now to hide the other,” said he to himself.
He looked about the room seeking for some place of concealment.
Finally he noticed in one portion of the floor a square board, which
looked as if it might be lifted. He stooped over and succeeded in
raising it. The space beneath was about a foot in depth--the lower
level being the lathing and plastering of the room below.
“That will do,” said Harry, in a tone of satisfaction. “I don’t think
Mr. Fox will find my money here,” and dropping the pocketbook into the
cavity he replaced the square board. Then he went to bed and awaited
results.
When Harry had gone up to his bed, Mr. and Mrs. Fox naturally began to
compare notes respecting him.
“That new boy rides a high horse,” said Mrs. Fox, grimly. “Are you
going to allow it?”
“Certainly not.”
“He wouldn’t give up his money to you, though you are his guardeen.”
“Very true, but I mean to have it all the same. I shall go up to his
bedroom after he is asleep, and then it will be the easiest thing in
the world to take the pocketbook without his knowin’ anything about
it.”
“He’ll know it in the mornin’.”
“Let him! Possession is nine p’ints of the law, Mrs. Fox.”
“He might say you stole it.”
“He can’t do that, for I’m his guardeen, don’t you see?”
A little after ten Mr. Fox, considering that Harry must be sound
asleep, decided to make him a visit. He removed his shoes, and in his
stocking feet, candle in hand, began to ascend the narrow and steep
staircase which led to the attic.
“Shall I go with you, John?” queried his helpmeet.
“No, I guess I can manage alone.”
His wife wanted to share in the excitement of the night visit. There
was something alluring in the thought of creeping upstairs, and
removing by stealth, the pocketbook of the new inmate of their home.
Left to himself, Mr. Fox pursued his way up the attic stairs. They
creaked a little under his weight, and, much to his annoyance, when he
reached the landing at the top he coughed.
“I hope the boy won’t hear me,” he said to himself.
He paused an instant, then softly opened the door of Harry’s chamber.
All seemed satisfactory. Our hero was lying quietly in bed, apparently
in a peaceful sleep. Ordinarily he would have been fast asleep by this
time, but the expectation of a visit from his guardian had kept him
awake beyond his usual time. He had heard Mr. Fox cough, and so, even
before the door opened, he had warning of the visit.
Harry was not a nervous boy, and had such command of himself, that,
even when Mr. Fox bent over, and, by the light of the candle, examined
his face, he never stirred nor winked, though he very much wanted to
laugh.
“All is safe! The boy is sound asleep,” whispered Mr. Fox to himself.
He set the candle on the floor, and then taking up Harry’s pantaloons,
thrust his hand into the pocket.
The very first pocket contained the pocketbook which our hero had put
there. Mr. Fox would have opened and examined the contents on the
spot, but he heard a cough from the bed, and, quickly put the
pocketbook into his own pocket, apprehending that his ward might wake
up, and taking up the candle, noiselessly withdrew from the chamber.
After he had fairly gone, Harry had a quiet laugh to himself.
Mr. Fox returned in triumph to his own chamber, where his wife was
anxiously waiting for him.
“Have you got it, Mr. F.,” she asked, eagerly.
“Got it? Why shouldn’t I get it?”
“Well, open it, and let us see what it contains.”
This Mr. Fox proceeded to do. But no sooner did his glance rest on its
contents than his lower jaw fell, and his eyes opened wide in
perplexity.
“Well, what are you staring at like a fool?” demanded his wife, who
was not so situated that she could see the contents of the pocketbook.
“Look at this, Mrs. F.,” said her husband, in a hollow voice. “There’s
no money here--only this piece of newspaper.”
“Well, well, of all the fools I ever saw you are about the most
stupid!” ejaculated Mrs. Fox. “What you undertake you generally carry
through, do you? After all the fuss you’ve brought down a pocketbook
stuffed with waste paper.”
“I don’t understand it,” said Fox, his face assuming a look of
perplexity. “Surely the boy told the truth when he said he had fifteen
dollars.”
“Of course! Joel saw the money--a roll of bills, and saw him take them
out of his pocketbook. He must have taken them out. Did you search all
his pockets?”
“No; when I found the pocketbook I thought I was all right.”
“Just like a man!” retorted Mrs. Fox. “I’ll go up myself, and see if I
can’t manage better than you.”
“Then you’d better take this wallet, and put it back in his pocket.”
“Give it to me, then.”
With a firm step Mrs. Fox took the candle, and took her turn in going
up the attic stairs.