Philip was elated by his triumph over Harry. Being cowardly by nature,
he felt that it would be a terrible thing to stay in the lonely wood
all night, and he naturally thought that Harry would look upon it in
the same light.
He felt that it would pay off all old scores, and leave the advantage
with him. But there was a drop of bitterness mingled with his
exultation.
James Congreve had called him a bully to his face, and in the presence
of Harry, and this seemed to him a personal insult. He was not willing
to let it pass, and was resolved to give Congreve to understand that
the offense must not be repeated.
“Well, Philip,” said Congreve, “our plan has succeeded.”
“Yes,” answered Philip, shortly.
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you satisfied yet?”
“Yes, as far as that goes; but I don’t like the way you spoke to me.”
“Go ahead! Let me know what it is you complain of.”
“You called me a bully!”
“You are one, you know,” said Congreve, frankly.
“No, I don’t know it; and, what is more, I don’t like to have any one
speak of me in that way!” returned Philip, irritably.
“Very likely not. People don’t generally like to have their faults
alluded to.”
“I tell you I am not a bully!”
“You are mistaken. You would bully me if I were a small boy and not
your superior in strength.”
“At any rate, if you are my friend, you ought not to talk of me in that
way,” said Philip, thinking it politic to change his tone.
“You want me to shut my eyes to your real character, then?”
“I don’t want you to talk of me in an insulting manner.”
“Not at all, my dear fellow. I said you were a bully, and so you are. I
meant no offense. The sons of rich men are sometimes puffed up with the
idea of their own importance, and your father is a rich man, at least
for a country place.”
“He is a rich man for any place,” said Philip, boastfully.
“I am glad to hear it, especially as it will make it easier for you to
pay me the trifling sum you owe me.”
“Trifling sum!” ejaculated Philip. “You said it amounted to over
twenty-two dollars.”
“So it does; but that is a trifling sum for the son of a very rich man.
Some persons would charge you for the little service I have done this
afternoon, but that I only did at the bidding of friendship.”
“It was very kind of you,” said Philip, uncomfortably; “but you mustn’t
think because my father is rich I have plenty of money. The fact is, he
is very stingy with me, and if it wasn’t for my mother I would only
have a dollar a week.”
“It is very considerate of the old man, to be sure. You ought to have
five dollars a week.”
“So I ought. If I only had I would be able to pay you up in a short
time.”
“Why don’t you suggest to your paternal relative to enlarge the
supplies?” suggested Congreve, knocking off the ashes from his cigar.
“I have,” answered Philip, “and he always says that a dollar a week is
enough for a boy of my age.”
“Parents are apt to have limited ideas on such subjects. That was the
case with my father.”
“What did you do?”
“Do? I borrowed from him.”
“How could you do that? Was he willing?”
“He didn’t know it.”
“Didn’t know that you borrowed money of him?”
“No. You are an only child, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“So am I. You will be sole heir to your father’s property, won’t you?”
“Of course,” answered Philip, with an air of consequence.
“Then, really, the property may be considered yours now—at least in
part.”
“I suppose so.”
“That’s the way I look at it. Well, I happened to know where my father
kept his government bonds, and I borrowed one.”
“Wasn’t that stealing?” asked Philip.
“It would have been if the bond had belonged to a stranger, but, as it
was likely to be mine some day, of course, that made it different.”
“What did your father say?” asked Philip, anxiously.
“Oh, he made a fuss; but the bond wasn’t registered, and he hadn’t a
memorandum of the number, so he couldn’t do anything. I sold it through
a friend, and while the money lasted I was in clover.”
“My father has got some government bonds,” said Philip; “but I
shouldn’t dare to take one, although, as you say, they will be mine
some day.”
“Suppose your father did find it out—which is not at all likely—you are
his son, and you could tell him plainly that your small allowance
compelled you to do it.”
“I shouldn’t know how to dispose of the bond, if I did take one.”
“Oh, I would manage that for you! That is the only thing there would be
any risk about; but you are a friend of mine.”
“Yes, I know you are a good friend,” said foolish Philip, who, it is
needless to say, could hardly have had a worse enemy than the one who
offered him such bad advice.
“So I am, but I don’t take any credit for that,” answered wily
Congreve. “People are apt to deceive themselves about such things, you
know, as a son’s appropriating what really belongs to him; but I know
the world better than you, and understand how to look at things.”
“It may be as you say,” said Philip, growing nervous at the idea of
robbing his father, “but I don’t think I like the plan.”
“Oh, very well; I only suggested it for your good,” said Congreve,
preparing to draw the net around his victim.
“If you have any other way of paying me the twenty-three dollars you
owe me, it’s all the same to me.”
“But I thought,” said Philip, in alarm, “that you were in no hurry
about it. You said I might win it back.”
“So you may, and probably will; but if you don’t you ought to pay it.”
“I will, sometime.”
“I really should be glad if I could wait till then, but, as it happens,
I have pressing need of the money.”
“But if I can’t pay it?”
“Then I shall feel obliged to call on your father, and ask him to pay
me.”
“You wouldn’t do that!” said Philip, panic-stricken.
“I shall feel obliged to. It is only a trifle, and he will probably pay
it, giving you a little lecture, perhaps, but nothing worse.”
“You don’t know him,” said Philip, uncomfortably. “He will be awful
mad. He had a cousin who was a gambler, and he has often warned me
against gambling.”
“I don’t approve of gambling myself,” said Congreve; “but there is a
difference between that and a little stake on a game of cards to make
it interesting.”
“I don’t think father would see any difference,” suggested Philip, who
did not himself understand what difference there could be.
It is hardly necessary to say to my young readers that common sense is
the best teacher in such matters, and that no difference appears to
common sense between gambling at cards and gambling in any other form.
“Oh, well, you know best about that. Then it would be better that I
shouldn’t say anything to the old man?”
“No; don’t say anything to him about it,” said Philip, eagerly.
“I won’t—that is, if you pay me the money in three days.”
“But how can I do it?” asked Philip, in fresh dismay.
“Put a bond in my hands, then, and I will dispose of it and give you
the balance. You only owe me twenty-three dollars, and a fifty-dollar
bond would leave you a handsome surplus. If it were a hundred-dollar
bond it would be all the better. Think of having seventy-five dollars
or more at your command.”
The prospect was tantalizing, but Philip still felt afraid to
appropriate one of his father’s bonds. If it had been a fear of doing
wrong, I should be glad to say so, but it was more a fear of
consequences.
“After all,” he said, “perhaps I may win it back, and then there won’t
be any need of raising money. You said you would give me the chance.”
“So I will. You can come to my room now, if you like, and try your
luck.”
So Philip went, like a fly into the spider’s parlor, and the natural
result followed.
When he left the hotel he had increased his debt to forty dollars, and
the prospect looked darker than ever.
As he walked home, it is doubtful if he did not feel more uncomfortable
than our unfortunate hero, whom we left, bound hand and foot, in Pegan
Hill Wood.