A HAPLESS HOLIDAY.
Brede, Brightly, and the larger boys leaped up, caught the top of the
fence, and swung themselves over lightly, while others unable to do
this ran along the base of it wildly, like frightened animals seeking a
passage through.
There was a board broken off at one place, and, one at a time, the
smaller boys began to squeeze through this narrow aperture. Plumpy
tried to get through here, but succeeded only in getting himself wedged
tightly in the opening. After vigorous efforts his comrades released
him, making a way again for themselves.
When they had all passed through, the fat boy, fearful of being left
behind, found a foothold on the broken board, and managed to climb by
it to the top of the fence. Here he hung for a moment in ludicrous
suspense, sawing the air with his hands, kicking lustily with both
feet, and shouting at the top of his voice; then, losing his imperfect
balance, he went toppling to the ground on the outside of the enclosure.
The earth was soft, his body was elastic, and he was not even bruised;
but his great paper star was ruined beyond hope of repair. He scrambled
hastily to his feet, and ran clumsily after his comrades, who were
gathered again into a single body, and were making a devious path
across the hilly fields. Finally they struck into a country cross-road,
and turned their faces toward the river.
They hurried along, as if, by their own resolution, they had not the
whole day before them for pleasure. They talked and laughed loudly as
they went, but the ring of sincere enjoyment was not in their voices.
Once they were suddenly alarmed by one of their number, who shouted
that Colonel Silsbee was coming after them with a horse and buggy. On
looking around, they did see a horse and buggy approaching them, but
the man in the vehicle was not Colonel Silsbee. He looked wonderingly
at them as he passed, and drove rapidly on.
After a little time they crossed the tracks of the Hudson River
Railroad, and kept on down to the river. A sloop was lying at the dock,
taking on a load of sawed lumber, and the boys amused themselves for a
short time running over the little vessel, and watching the dock-hands
at their work. Some one proposed a boat-ride on the river; but this was
clearly out of the question, as there were but two row-boats to be had
there, and these would not contain half of the party.
It was finally decided to go up to the railroad track and follow it
down the river, keeping a sharp lookout for anything that might turn up
in the way of diversion.
Patchy had lost his cap somewhere, and Brightly tied his handkerchief
over the child’s head to protect him from the hot rays of the sun. It
gave him a comical appearance, and some of the larger boys began to
make fun of him. The little fellow wanted to take it off; but Brightly
turned savagely on the tormentors and shut them up, and ordered Patchy
sternly to keep it on.
The utter foolishness of the expedition was already beginning to
impress itself on Brightly’s mind. Now that the step had been taken,
the breach made, now that it was too late to turn back, he was just
coming to a realization of the position in which he had placed himself.
Moreover, the thought that this little boy, the youngest in the school,
had been led into evil by the example and persuasion of such fellows as
he,--fellows old enough to be responsible,--preyed upon his mind, as he
walked silently along over the ties.
He kept Patchy in sight, helping him across the short bridges, and
holding him up against the bank while the trains flashed by. Brede went
on ahead, talking loudly, coarsely at times, telling what he should do
in case “Old Sil” attempted to punish him, or any of his fellows.
By and by they came to a tunnel in the face of an abrupt hill. The
mouth of it was very dark, and the small, rectangular spot of light
which marked the farther opening indicated that it was also very long.
Some of the more foolhardy were for pushing on through it; but the
timid ones stoutly demurred, and one frightened small boy began to cry.
Then Brightly declared that he should not enter it, nor allow any one
else to do so, if he could prevent him.
So wiser counsels prevailed, and the company retraced their steps till
they came to a narrow lane at the edge of a piece of woods, and they
turned up it toward the highway; but the unfenced woods along this
route were so cool and attractive, and the forest air was so sweet,
that they all lay down under the shade of the trees to rest.
Many of the lads were still laboring under deep excitement; but the
tendency to loud talking and boisterous laughter had lessened, and the
country stillness was scarcely broken by their noise. For most of them,
indeed, this quiet hour among the shadows of the forest was the only
bit of genuine enjoyment that they had during their entire outing. Even
Brightly felt the calming influence of Nature on his perturbed spirit.
Brede had stretched himself lazily on the ground, and he and two
or three others were smoking cigars, which one of their number had
thought to bring. There was no sign of serious thought in his face,
nor of genuine enjoyment. He felt that he had crossed the Rubicon
of disobedience; he proposed now to indulge his vicious taste for
rebellious freedom to the full.
It was Plumpy who called the company to attention by the remark, “I’m
hungry. Isn’t it about lunch-time?”
The few watches in the crowd were consulted, and it was discovered to
be nearly noon. Every one was hungry, and every one said so. Then the
question arose as to how, when, and where food was to be obtained.
Some one bethought him of a country store that he had once seen at a
cross-road corner a little way down the main road, and it was resolved
to go there. But who would buy the things to eat? This question led
to the evident necessity of further plans, and Drake’s fertile mind
quickly conceived a way out of the difficulty.
“Now, boys,” he said, “I’ll tell you what we’ve got to do. Everybody’s
got to turn his pockets inside out, an’ give all the money he’s got to
one fellow. I should say give it to Captain Brede,--he’s the head man
here,--an’ let him be the treasurer, an’ make the bargains an’ buy the
things for us all.”
“But,” suggested one, whose pockets were evidently not empty, “some’ll
be givin’ twice as much as others, an’ that won’t be fair.”
Drake was ready with an answer to the objection.
“Well,” he said, “everybody gives all he’s got, an’ if he aint got
anything, he don’t give anything,--not now. An’ when we get back, we’ll
figure up what it all cost, an’ then every fellow’s got to pay his
share, an’ you that pay more now’ll get that much more back.”
This plan met the approval of the company, and all hands were
immediately plunged into their owners’ pockets.
It was not a wealthy assemblage. There were forty-one boys in the
company, and the sum of their riches, which consisted largely of
pennies and fractional currency, was six dollars and fifty-four cents.
Brede took the money, and the boys resumed their march. They went up
to the highway, and turned toward the south. It was a good mile to the
country store, and it was long past noon when they reached it. They
were all tired, too, and very hungry.
Brede acted as spokesman for the party.
“We’re out on a picnic to-day,” he explained, “and we want a little
something to eat; a kind of lunch, you know.”
The storekeeper took a sugar-scoop out of a barrel and leaned on it
for a minute, looking at the crowd that filled the space between his
counters as if uncertain whether they were friends or foes.
“Well,” he said finally, “wha’ do ye want? We’ve got crackers an’
cheese, an’ that’s about all we hev got that’ll go around among ye.”
“Well, boys,” inquired Brede, “what do you say? Shall we have crackers
and cheese?”
Every one assented, and the captain turned again to the storekeeper.
“How do you sell your crackers and cheese?” he asked.
“Crackers is wuth a shillin’ a pound, an’ cheese is wuth two shillin’.”
“Well, how many pounds do you think it’d take for us?”
“Oh, I don’ know. S’pose you try ten pounds o’ crackers an’ a couple or
three pounds o’ cheese; an’ if that aint enough, why, they’s more here.”
“All right, weigh it out.”
The crackers were weighed out and distributed, the cheese cut into
small pieces and laid on the counters; and the hungry lads helped
themselves so liberally that it was not a great while before a fresh
supply was called for. Brede paid for the lunch with an important air,
and the storekeeper, who had hitherto appeared as if fearful that he
was contracting a bad debt, suddenly relaxed into good humor, and put
on a more hospitable manner.
“Anything else I can git for ye, young gentlemen?” he asked.
Plumpy responded. “We’d like a little after-dinner coffee,” he said
soberly, “and some nuts and fruit; and I desire to remind you, as
delicately as possible, that you have forgotten to furnish us with
napkins and finger-bowls.”
For a moment the storekeeper looked puzzled, but the shouts and
laughter of the other boys soon convinced him that nothing more was
really required.
A straw hat was voted to Patchy, and purchased with money from the
common fund; then the question arose again: What should be done next?
Some of the boys, Brightly among the number, were in favor of turning
back up the road toward Riverpark. They calculated that it would
be almost time for retreat before they could reach there, if they
should start immediately. This plan might have prevailed had not the
storekeeper, anxious to find favor in the eyes of his customers, made
a suggestion which met with their immediate and hearty approval.
“Mebbe,” he said reflectively, “mebbe you young gentlemen’d like to
go on down to New Hornbury an’ see the circus. ’Taint but a few mile
below here. Them’s the advertisements up there,” pointing to the
highly-colored show-bills hanging from the beams at the back of the
store.
The thought of a circus is always a pleasant one to boys, but to these
boys on this day it presented a suggestive attractiveness that was
wholly irresistible. They shouted as with one voice: “The circus! the
circus! hurrah for the circus!”
In two minutes the store at the country cross-roads was empty of human
beings, and the storekeeper was standing on his porch watching the
shouting and hurrying crowd of boys as they moved along the highway,
their faces still turned toward the south. The road was broad and
smooth, and the anticipation of unusual pleasure so nerved their limbs
and refreshed their spirits that they made very good time toward their
new destination for the first few miles of the way.
But weariness overtook them, and their steps lagged before they were
able to discern the flags floating from the tent-tops, before even the
outskirts of the town came upon their view. Finally Brede, who was in
the lead, threw himself at full length on a shady bank, exclaiming,
“I’m going to take a rest!”
The other boys were not long in following his example. They were all
tired, dusty, and perspiring, and glad enough to get a minute’s respite
from their toilsome march, even at the risk of being late at the circus.
An embarrassing thought came to Fryant.
“Have we got money enough to take us all in?” he asked. “How much is
there left, Cap?”
Brede made a hasty calculation on the sleeve of his white cuff. “Four
dollars and thirty-three cents,” he replied.
“How much does it cost to get in?” some one asked.
Fryant answered promptly. “Fifty cents apiece.”
“Let me see,” said the questioner, “that’d be-- Brede, you figure it.”
“That would be,” responded Brede, slowly, marking again on his cuff,
“twenty dollars and fifty cents for the crowd.”
A look of consternation came upon all faces.
“That settles it!” exclaimed Brightly; “we can’t go in.” Indeed, he
was rather glad of it. There would be some excuse now for turning back
toward home. He feared lest the company, by inconsiderate action,
should make it impossible to reach Riverpark before night.
“But,” said Fryant, after a moment of comparative silence, “there are
half of us who are young enough to go in at half-price.”
“And they always give schools a reduction,” added another.
“And their old show must be half-out by this time, anyway,” said a
third, consulting his watch.
“But there’s Plumpy,” said Drake, in whom not even the seriousness of
the emergency could wholly quench the spirit of fun. “Plumpy’s as big
as any five of us, an’ it’d cost two dollars an’ a half to get him in,
anyway, and they’d have to cut the canvas to do it, at that.”
Patchy had lately been reading the story of Joseph and his brethren.
“Le’s sell Plumpy to the Lishmalites for a freak!” he exclaimed, “an’
go into the show on the money.”
There was a general shout at this, in which Plumpy joined, and after
that the fat boy bore the added title, “The Freak.”
“Well,” cried Brede, petulantly, “there’s no time for fooling. Shall we
go on? What do you say?”
“Yes,” came the answer from nearly every one. “Go on.”
“Come along, then!”
Brede led the way, and the tired stragglers started out once more in
his wake. At the very next turn in the road they discovered the town of
New Hornbury, and to their ears came faintly the inspiring strains of
music from the band. They hurried on, to find that the circus-tents
were set up in the southerly suburbs of the town. It was nearly four
o’clock when they reached the ground, and some one told them that the
show had been in progress for more than an hour.
Brede and Fryant held a hasty conference with one of the managers, who
chanced to be in the ticket-seller’s wagon, and explained the situation
to him in a few words.
“How much money has your crowd got?” he asked. Brede told him. “Well,
give us three dollars,” he said.
Then, as the money was paid to him, stepping down from the wagon, he
continued: “Never mind the tickets; come along with me.”
He led the party through the entrance of the main tent, and piloted
them to seats in the high back-rows on the farther side of the arena.
There was still a good hour left of the performance, and those of the
boys who were not too tired to enjoy anything seemed to derive some
pleasure from the exhibition. But poor little Patchy, overcome by
heat and fatigue, fell asleep in Brightly’s arms long before the last
gorgeous procession had made its final exit.
When the party came out of the menagerie tent, some time after the
close of the performance, it was nearly six o’clock. Struggling away
from the outpouring mass of people, they gathered at one side of the
circus ground for consultation.
What was to be done now? They were all very tired and very hungry.
In an hour darkness would set in, and they were ten miles from home.
They had left of their common fund only a dollar and thirty-three
cents,--not enough to hire conveyances to take them to Riverpark; not
enough to pay their passage by either boat or cars; not enough to pay
for beds to sleep on here; not even enough to buy for their supper so
poor a meal as they had eaten at mid-day. The situation was a serious
one. There was no jesting now. Every tired face was sober and anxious
in its aspect.
Brede was sullen, and answered questions in petulant monosyllables,
or refused to answer at all. Brightly saw the impossibility of getting
these foot-sore lads back to Riverpark through the darkness of night,
and could suggest nothing better than that they should remain where
they were until morning. The prospect was indeed disheartening.
Then one of the boys spoke up who had, hitherto, said very little. His
name was Glück, and he was of German descent. His home was in the city
of Newburg, about six miles farther down, on the other side of the
Hudson.
“I have an uncle,” he said, “a farmer, who lives across the river about
a mile below here. If you boys have a mind to go over there with me, we
can get a roof to sleep under, and something for supper and breakfast,
and he’ll trust me for the bill.”
The suggestion was adopted at once. It seemed to be a sure way out
of the present difficulty. Brede alone remained sullen and silent.
The party moved up the street and then down to the dock. There was a
row-boat ferry there, and, after much dickering, the proprietor of it
agreed to take them across the river for six shillings.
Brede inquired privately of a man standing by when the next train
would go north, and, learning that it was due at New Hornbury in about
ten minutes, he became animated with a sudden desire to get the boats
loaded and started as quickly as possible. He took charge of the
proceeding, and hurried it along vigorously.
The first boat, in which Brightly had embarked, with the smaller boys,
had already been pushed off, and the strong young man who managed it
was heading it down the river against the tide. In the second boat the
proprietor of the ferry seated himself at the oars.
“All ready!” cried Brede, still standing on the dock; “push off!”
“Aint you goin’ yourself?” inquired the man.
“No; push off, I say!”
The ferryman, with a sweep of his oars, placed a broad band of foaming
water between the boat and the landing. Then some one, recovering from
sudden amazement, pointed at Brede and shouted,--
“He’s got the money!”
The shout aroused Brightly in the forward boat. He took in the
situation at a glance.
“Stop!” he cried to the rowers; “stop! turn back--back--quick--to the
landing!”
Brede had already turned, and was hastening up the dock toward the
railroad station. The whole party understood the meaning of his conduct
now, and every breast was filled with sudden indignation. He was
playing the part of traitor and coward at a most critical moment.
The water curled and foamed under the oars of the rowers in the
foremost boat as it was backed speedily to the landing. Brightly leaped
lightly to the dock, and, followed by a half-dozen others, gave chase
to the retreating captain. Brede saw them coming, and broke into a run.
Already the whistle of the approaching train was in his ears, and the
next minute it rumbled by him and pulled up at the station. He knew
that if he could reach it and get on board, he could protect himself
from his pursuers during the minute that might elapse before it should
be again under way. He redoubled his efforts.
The bell rang for the train to move. The rear car was not fifty feet
ahead of him; but behind him he heard fleet steps and quick breathing,
and he knew that Brightly was at his heels.