JEREMIAH TO THE RESCUE
"THEN all that I've done is wuss than lost," said Tad to himself as
he walked slowly away from the hospital where he had left his little
brother. "I've run away on the sly and walked all night; I've carried
off a sick child as can't be no good to me; I've broke with Phil and
with the gipsies; and all for what? To stay here and starve in the
streets while maybe the child dies in the hospital, and if he do die,
why then good-bye to any home-goin' at all. Just my luck I can't seem
to compass nothing at all, I can't."
That night he slept under an old boat which was turned on its side
awaiting repairs on the shore, above high-water mark. A more unhappy
lad it would have been hard to find under God's great canopy of sky
than Tad when he awoke next morning, cold, hungry, with a remorseful
conscience and an anxious heart. After buying a small loaf of bread
which was to last him all day, he walked down to the quay, which he had
good cause to remember, for it was here he had first met Renard. But
the thought of old Foxy was not uppermost in his mind as he sauntered
round, looking idly about him at the varied shipping, and at the busy
crowd loading and unloading the vessels. His wretched experiences
with his late master seemed to him now something very remote, almost
forgotten in the nearness of his more recent troubles.
So much absorbed was Tad in his own miserable reflections, and the
utter collapse of every plan he had made, that he started like one
awakened out of sleep, when a long, claw-like hand grasped his arm,
and a well-known, hateful voice said almost in his ear, "Ah, bon jour,
mine dear cheeile! So I you have found at de last!" And a grin of evil
triumph made even uglier and more repulsive than ever Renard's wicked
face. Tad started as though from some noxious reptile. All the memories
of his sufferings and those of Phil at the hands of this man rushed
upon him with overwhelming force, and he gazed into Renard's green
eyes, fascinated and speechless.
"Ah, ma foi!" chuckled Foxy. "Only to tink! Dis dear boy is so please
to see his old master, dat he find not word to speak."
"It's a lie! I ain't pleased!" cried Tad, finding voice at last. "You
know very well I'm nothin' of the kind. I hate you, that I do! Let me
go!" And he tried to wrench his arm from old Foxy's clutch.
"Oh fie! Fie! Wat naughty tempers have dis dear cheeile!" sighed Renard
as he tightened his hold. "Come wid me, mine friend; you shall once
again be educate in de college of Monsieur Renard. Widout doubt your
jours de fête—wat you call holiday—find demselves too long. Now you
weel work."
And old Foxy began to drag his unwilling prisoner along, trying to get
him away from the quay and into the town.
Tad did what he could to free himself from the man's hold, but all to
no purpose. As well might a fly try to win clear when a spider has hold
of him.
The people they met took no heed of him. It was nothing uncommon to see
a struggle or even a fight going on here, and nobody interfered; so Tad
was almost in despair, when suddenly he caught sight of something that
gave him energy and courage.
There, standing on the deck of a trim little vessel drawn close
up to the quay, was a burly form surmounted by a bluff; honest,
weather-beaten face and a shaggy mass of red hair and beard.
"Oh, Captain Jackson!" shrieked the lad. "Save me! Save me! Foxy's got
me again!" And he stretched out his one free arm in passionate entreaty.
The worthy Jeremiah leaped on shore and met Renard face to face.
"What's up?" said he. "What's the matter?"
"De matter, Monsieur Jeremie," replied Renard in honeyed tones, "is dat
dis poor boy did run away from his kind master, and now he come back,
and all weel be well again."
"Never, never!" cried Tad. "Don't believe him, please, captain! He's
the awfullest liar that ever was. Please, sir, look at me; don't you
call to mind a boy you picked up in a open boat at sea, and how good
you was to me? You wanted me to go back with you to England, and I'd
near made up my mind to it, when old Foxy here come down with Phil
Bates, and coaxed me into goin' along of him. And after that, me and my
chum was starved and beaten and ill-treated, and at last, roust of all,
we—"
"Weel you be quaite, Edouard?" hissed Renard, giving the boy's arm a
violent jerk. "If you hold not your peace," he added in a whisper, "I
weel keel you."
"I remember you very well, Teddie Poole," said Jeremiah. "So you don't
want to return to the man's service, eh?"
"No, sir, no indeed!" cried Tad. "Save me from him! Do save me,
captain!"
The bluff, good-humoured face looked very grave and stern as Jeremiah
Jackson turned once more to Renard.
"Unhand that lad, Renard!" he said.
"Ma foi! And why, Monsieur Jeremie?" inquired Foxy. "You have not de
right to say, 'Do dis and dat.'"
"It's no use bullyin' and blusterin', you parley-vooin' scoundrel!"
said Jackson stoutly. "Unhand that lad, or I'll tell the world here
what I know. If once all Granville heard that you—"
"Enough! Hush, oh hush, Monsieur Jeremie, mine good, dear friend!"
whispered Renard, looking round furtively to see if Jackson's rather
too plain speaking had been overheard. "It is one leetle joke; say
notting more. I am only delight to do you oblige, and if you desire
dat I let go dis cheeile, behold I cede heem widout unpleasant. Good
morning, Edouard; bon jour to you too, Monsieur Jeremie."
And loosening his hold on Tad, the Frenchman bowed low, cap in hand,
and shuffled off towards the town.