Bernard colored, partly with indignation.
“What shameful conduct do you refer to?” he asked.
“I have received a letter from Mr. Snowdon, your respected preceptor,
telling me how you have behaved.”
“Would you allow me to read the letter?”
“Yes, though I think you won’t find it very pleasant reading.”
He lifted the lid of his desk and drew out a letter which he handed to
Bernard.
Bernard opened and read it.
It ran thus:
“Cornelius McCracken, Esq.:
Respected Sir: It gives me keen anguish to reveal to you the unworthy
conduct of the boy whom you intrusted to my charge. It may not wholly
surprise you, for, if I remember rightly, you described Bernard Brooks
to me as a “bad lot.” In truth he is so. He has been mutinous and
disagreeable, and has bullied my son Septimus, whom for some reason he
seems to dislike strongly. Septimus is of a very amiable disposition—he
is very like me—but he was constrained to complain of Bernard’s
overbearing conduct. I felt that the boy needed castigation. You
remember that King Solomon approved corporal punishment. Accordingly I
prepared to inflict it. Getting wind of my intention, Bernard ran away.
He led me a long chase into the marshy lands to the rear of my farm, and
managed to entrap me into a ditch where my wardrobe received
considerable injury. Then he stayed away all night. In the morning,
however, my boy Septimus found him in a hayloft in my barn and notified
me.
“I immediately took a horsewhip and went out to the barn. I ascended to
the loft, but he, being active and agile, managed to elude me, and
escaped from the barn, removing the ladder so that I could not descend
for some time. I won’t go into details, but I will mention that he ran
away to the neighboring town of Poplar Plains, where I found him in the
company of an escaped lunatic. I should have been able to capture him
but for the presence and interference of a Western desperado, who
produced a revolver and threatened my life. He is still at large and
probably still in the company of this lunatic, who seems at present
disposed to befriend him, but may at any time murder him, as his cousin,
now in pursuit of him, gives him a very bad character.
“I have felt it my duty to lay these facts before you for your
consideration. I may add that I was put to considerable expense in
hiring a horse to pursue Bernard. This and some other items amount to
about five dollars, which I shall be glad if you will remit to me, as my
means are straitened and I cannot bear the loss.
“Yours sincerely,
“Ezekiel Snowdon.”
“What have you to say to this?” asked Mr. McCracken severely.
“Only that Mr. Snowdon is unfit to teach, and is as brutal as he dares
to be. I was fully justified in running away. I don’t allow any man to
horsewhip me.”
“So you abused his son, Sep——” and Mr. McCracken referred to the
letter to refresh his memory as to the name.
“Septimus? He is worse, if anything, than his father.”
“Do you expect me to send you to another school, where you can have your
own way?”
“No; I would prefer to earn my own living.”
“Are you still with the lunatic?”
“Mr. Penrose is no lunatic, though he has a cousin who is trying to get
him into an insane asylum in order to gain possession of his money.”
“Very plausible! I suppose he tells you so. Are you still with him?”
“No, sir. I am with a miner from Colorado—a Mr. Stackpole.”
“Is he the desperado referred to by Mr. Snowdon in his letter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Upon my word, I congratulate you on your choice of associates. Where is
he now?”
“In New York, at the Grand Union Hotel. I have been staying there with
him.”
“Has he adopted you?”
“No, sir. Mr. McCracken, there is one question I would like to ask you.”
“What is it?”
“You are my guardian. Have you charge of my property for me?”
“No. Who told you that I had?” demanded Mr. McCracken suspiciously.
“No one, but I thought my father might have left something.”
“He left about a hundred and fifty dollars, but it was gone long ago.”
“And have you been paying my expenses out of your own pocket ever
since?”
“Yes,” answered Mr. McCracken, but he looked somewhat embarrassed.
“Then I thank you for your liberality, sir. I don’t like to impose upon
it, and would like to make my own living.”
“That sounds very well, but what can you do?”
“I don’t know yet, but I am sure I can earn my board. I am young and
strong.”
“Where did you get that gold watch?” asked Mr. McCracken, as Bernard
drew it to consult the time.
“It was given me by a firm of bankers in Albany—Murdock & Co.”
“What induced them to give it to you?”
“I helped them to recover some bonds which had been stolen from them.”
“Humph! You seem to be fond of adventures.”
“The adventure was forced upon me.”
“Let me know what you want.”
“If you could help me to find a place where I can earn a living I should
feel deeply indebted to you, and it would save you from supporting me
out of your own pocket.”
“I will think of it. Where are you staying?”
“At the Grand Union Hotel.”
“Who is paying your bills?”
“Mr. Joshua Stackpole.”
“You can come to my house. In a few days I shall probably find you a
place.”
“Thank you, sir. Where do you live?”
Mr. McCracken gave an address on Lexington Avenue.
“I will go there this afternoon.”
“I shall be home at five. You may present yourself then.”
Bernard was about to leave the office when Mr. McCracken called him
back.
“Wait a minute. Did you notice what Mr. Snowdon said about his expense
in getting you back?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Bernard with a smile. “Do you think he expended
five dollars?”
“No, sir. I know he did not. The horse he hired is about twenty-five
years old, and he can have it whenever he please for seventy-five
cents.”
“So Mr. Snowdon wishes to make a little profit out of the transaction.”
“So it appears.”
“Very well, that will do.”
The next day Mr. Snowdon received the following letter:
“Dear Sir:
“I have delayed answering your letter till I could see my ward. He
called on me this morning. He charges you with an attempt to horsewhip
for insufficient cause. Into the merits of this controversy between you
I will not enter. I doubt if it will be advisable to send him back to
Snowdon Institute, and at his request I shall find him some employment.
“As to the charge you make for expenses in pursuing him I think you have
greatly overcharged. I inclose two dollars, which Bernard tells me is
considerably more than your horse hire cost you.
“Your obedient servant,
“Cornelius McCracken.”
Ezekiel Snowdon read this letter with a perturbed brow.
“Such is gratitude!” he exclaimed, raising his eyes to heaven in
protest. “The mental anguish that that boy has cost me ought to count
for something. Yet his guardian has sent me a paltry two-dollar bill.
Truly the virtuous are persecuted in this world. They must seek their
reward in a better sphere.”
“Has the crazy man been caught, pa?”
“Not that I have heard. That good man, his cousin, has been foiled in
his efforts probably. I shall miss the money I have been accustomed to
receive from Bernard’s guardian. Unless we can fill his place, I shall
be obliged to cut down the rations of butter, and have it only every
other day.”
“I can’t do without butter, pa. You needn’t give any at all to the
boarders.”
“True, the suggestion is a good one. Competent medical authorities say
that butter is apt to bring humors to children. They will be better off
without it.”
Bernard reported to Mr. Stackpole the interview he had had with his
guardian, and asked his advice as to what he had better do.
“You had better try him for a while, Bernard,” said Mr. Stackpole, “and
see whether he is ready to do the fair thing by you. If he doesn’t you
will always find a friend in Joshua Stackpole.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stackpole, I am sure of that.”
“So this Mr. McCracken says your father left you no property. When did
he die?”
“When I was about seven years old.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Very little. He used to travel—I think he was an agent of some kind.
Mr. McCracken never would tell me much about him. How long shall you
stay in New York, Mr. Stackpole?”
“I shall leave in a day or two. I have to go to Philadelphia on
business, and after I return I shall leave for Colorado. My address will
be at the Red Dog Mine, Gulchville.”
“That’s a queer name, Mr. Stackpole. Was there ever a red dog?”
“One of the miners in a fit of intoxication painted his dog red, and
that gave a name to the mine.”
The next day found Bernard at his guardian’s house.