STEPHEN RAY AND HIS SON
Leaving Ernest and Luke Robbins on their way to California, our attention
is called to other characters who must play a part in the drama of the boy
from Oak Forks.
A few miles from Elmira, upon an eminence from which there was a fine view
of the surrounding country, stood the handsome country mansion of Stephen
Ray, already referred to as the cousin of Ernest's father. It passed into
his possession by inheritance from poor Ernest's grandfather, the will
under which the bequest was made cutting off his son for no worse a crime
than marrying a girl thoroughly respectable, but of humble birth.
Stephen Ray, since he came into possession of his uncle's estate, had
improved it considerably. He had torn down the old stable and built an
imposing new one. The plain carriage which had satisfied his uncle had
been succeeded by an elegant coach, and the slow horse by a pair of
spirited steeds.
Mr. Ray had become pompous, and by his manner made it clear that he
considered himself a man of great consequence. He was a local magistrate,
and had for years endeavored to obtain a nomination for Congress.
Had he been of popular manners, he would probably have succeeded, but he
was not a favorite among the poorer classes, and their vote must be
considered.
There is an old saying, "Like father, like son," and Clarence, now turned
sixteen, the only child of the country magnate, was like his father in all
objectionable qualities. He was quite as much impressed with ideas of his
own consequence.
It was about three o'clock in the afternoon. Mr. Ray sat on the piazza,
the day being unusually warm, reading a newspaper. In the street near by,
his son Clarence was moving swiftly on a new velocipede which his father
had just purchased for him.
"Out of the way, there!" he called out, as a shabbily dressed stranger
with a weary step plodded along the pathway.
Whether because he was hard of hearing or because his mind was
preoccupied, the stranger did not heed the warning, and Clarence, who
might easily have avoided the collision, ran into him recklessly. Had the
wheel been moving at a greater rate of speed, he might have been seriously
hurt. As it was, he was nearly thrown down.
But he rallied, and seizing the offending rider with no gentle grasp,
dragged him from the wheel, and shook him vigorously.
"Let me alone, you tramp!" exclaimed Clarence furiously.
But the stranger did not release his hold.
"Not till you apologize for running into me," he answered sternly.
"Apologize to a man like you!" ejaculated Clarence, struggling furiously
for his freedom.
"Will you apologize?"
"There is no need of an apology. You got in my way."
"You have no business on the sidewalk with your wheel. It is meant for
foot passengers."
"Do you know who I am?" demanded Clarence haughtily.
"No, I don't, nor do I care."
"I am Clarence Ray, son of Squire Stephen Ray. He is a magistrate, and he
can send you to jail."
These words of Clarence had the effect he desired. The stranger released
him, and eyed him with close scrutiny.
"So you are the son of Stephen Ray?" he said.
"Yes. What have you to say now?"
"That you had no right to run into me, whoever your father may be."
"I shall report your insolence to my father. I shall charge you with
violently assaulting me."
"I might have known you were Stephen Ray's son," said the stranger
thoughtfully.
"Do you know my father?" asked Clarence.
"I am on my way to call upon him."
"I don't think it will do any good. He never gives money to tramps."
"I have a great mind to give you another shaking up," said the man, and in
some fear Clarence edged away from him.
It was evident that this shabby-looking stranger had not a proper respect
for those who were in a higher station.
"I will tell him not to give you anything," continued Clarence.
"Like father, like son," said the stranger thoughtfully, apparently not
disturbed by the boy's threats.
Evidently he was no common tramp, or he would have been more respectful to
the son of the man from whom he was probably about to ask a favor.
"You just wait till you see my father. He'll give you a lecture that you
won't soon forget."
"You'd better get on your wheel, boy, and go right along," said the
stranger calmly.
"Do you know where my father lives?"
"Yes, at yonder fine house. I see him sitting out on the piazza. Shall we
go along together?"
"No, I don't keep such company as you."
"And yet some day you may be as poor and friendless as myself."
"That isn't very likely. My father is a very rich man."
"I knew him when he was poor."
More and more puzzled by the independent manner of this shabby stranger,
Clarence made a spurt, and soon found himself in the grounds of his
father's house.
"With whom were you talking, Clarence?" asked Stephen Ray as his son
joined him on the piazza.
"One of the most impudent tramps I ever came across," answered Clarence.
"He made an attack upon me, and pulled me from my bicycle."
Stephen Ray's cheek flamed with anger. An insult to his son was an insult
to him.
"Why did he do this? How dared he?"
"Because I happened to touch him as I passed," answered Clarence.
"He actually pulled you from your bicycle?" asked Stephen Ray, almost
incredulous.
"Yes."
"I should like to meet him. I should feel justified in ordering his
arrest."
"You will have a chance to meet him. He told me he was going to call upon
you--there he is now, entering the gate."
Stephen was glad to hear it. He wanted to empty the vails of his wrath on
the audacious offender.
He was accustomed to seeing men of the stamp of this stranger quail before
him and show nervous alarm at his rebukes. He had no doubt that his
majestic wrath would overwhelm the shabby outcast who had audaciously
assaulted his son and heir.
He rose to his feet, and stood the personification of haughty displeasure,
as the poor man who dared his anger walked composedly up the path. He now
stood by the piazza steps.
"It is well you have come here," began the squire in a dignified tone. "My
son tells me that you have committed an unprovoked outrage upon him in
dragging him from his wheel. I can only conclude that you are under the
influence of liquor."
Stephen Ray waited curiously to hear what the man would say. He was
prepared for humble apologies.
"I am no more drunk than yourself, if that is what you mean, Stephen
Ray."
Squire Ray was outraged and scandalized.
"You must be drunk or you would not dare to talk in this way. Who
authorized you to address me in this familiar way?"
"You are only a man, I believe, Stephen Ray. I have addressed you as
respectfully as you have spoken to me."
"Respect--to you?" repeated Mr. Ray disdainfully. "Has the time come when
we must be respectful to tramps?"
"A poor tramp is quite as deserving of respect as a rich rascal."
"What do you mean by that?" demanded the squire suspiciously.
"It was a general remark."
"It is well that it was. But it has no application in the present
instance. If you are poor I will give you a quarter, but only on condition
that you apologize to my son."
The stranger laughed.
"Why should I apologize to your son?" he asked.
"You pulled him off his wheel. Do you deny it?"
"No, I do not. Do you know what he did?"
"He brushed against you with his wheel, he tells me, accidentally."
"So that is his version of it? He deliberately ran into me."
"I gave you warning. I said 'Out of the way, there!'" interrupted
Clarence.
"Yes, but you had no right on the sidewalk."
"It seems to me, sir, that you are remarkably independent for a man of
your rank. Even if it had been as you say, you had no right to assault my
son. I might have you arrested on your own confession, but I will forbear
doing so on condition that you leave town at once."
"I have a little business with you first."
"If you expect alms, you have come to the wrong man."
"I know very well that you are not charitable. I used to be acquainted
with you."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Benjamin Bolton."
Stephen Ray looked startled.
"Benjamin Bolton!" he repeated, half incredulous. "I can't believe it."