CHAP ENTERS THE FOG.
That afternoon Phil went up into the gun-room to see if Susan had
obeyed his orders in regard to putting Old Bruden back into its proper
place, but the gun was not there.
He was a good deal annoyed at this, for he did not want to have any
further dispute with the housekeeper; but he comforted himself by
thinking that perhaps she had not yet been up-stairs, and that she
would replace the gun that night when she went to her room.
But the next morning, when he visited the gun-room, Old Bruden was not
to be seen.
Things now looked very gloomy to our young friend. He did not like
quarrelling, and hard words, whether given or taken, were equally
unpleasant to him; and yet he plainly saw that if his authority was to
be worth anything that he must have a conflict with the housekeeper,
which would be pretty sure to be a tough one.
He had already suggested an improvement in his meals, which had been
received by Susan in a very contemptuous way.
While he was trying to make up his mind as to what course he would take
to bring the housekeeper to a proper sense of his position, he saw
Chap Webster coming up to the house. It was evident from his friend’s
countenance that he had a plan on his mind.
“Hello, Phil!” cried Chap, “I’ll tell you a splendid thing for this
afternoon. We’ll take our guns and go over to the Green Swamp. We are
pretty sure to get a shot at something,--big blacksnakes, perhaps, and
I want one to stuff,--and then we may find the lonely sumach.”
Among the boy-beliefs of that neighborhood was one that in or about
the centre of the Green Swamp there stood a large and poisonous
sumach-tree, which, like the direful upas of Java, dealt out death to
all who ventured beneath its shade.
Next to owning a tug-boat and blowing up the old wreck, Chap’s dearest
desire was to find this tree. Not that he wished to venture beneath its
shade, but he wished to see it, and to go just under its outer twigs,
so that if he began to feel sick or faint, he would be pretty sure
that he would die should he go all the way under, and that this was
actually a poisonous sumach-tree, just as good as a real upas.
“Chap,” said Phil, “you are always going in for something watery. I
believe that in a former state of existence you were a stork.”
“That may be,” said Chap; “and I’m a pretty long-legged bird yet. But
what do you say to the swamp? I expect it has dried up a good deal this
hot weather, and if we are careful in stepping from one hummock of
grass to another, perhaps we won’t get into the mud and water. But you
must carry Old Bruden this time, for we may have to take two or three
shots at a blacksnake, and long shots, too.”
Phil had begun to cheer up under the influence of Chap’s animation, but
his spirits now fell again. He was silent for a moment, and then he
said,--
“Chap, let’s go down under the old chestnut-tree and have a talk. I
want to tell you something.”
He had resolved to take his friend into his confidence. This sort of
thing was too much for one boy to bear alone.
“Any time in pleasant weather, till the burrs begin to stiffen, I don’t
mind sitting under a chestnut-tree,” said Chap, as he took his seat
beside Phil, beneath the great tree at the bottom of the lawn, “but
after that I prefer some other kind of shade. Now, what have you got to
tell?”
Thereupon Phil related the facts of Susan’s insubordination and the
various other out-of-way events that had happened lately.
“It is just what I told you, Phil,” said Chap. “You are in a regular
cloud. But now that you have let me into the fog, we will go to work
and scatter it like a hurricane. I tell you it is a regular rebellion
that’s rising up here, and it’s got to be crushed out in the bud!”
“Nipped, you mean,” Philip suggested.
“Nipped, frozen, squashed! anything, so that we get our iron heel on
it! I go in for throttling her, and holding her head under water until
she blubbers!”
“Who? Susan?” asked Phil.
“Well, not exactly Susan,” said Chap, “but the whole spirit of
rebellion. I’d begin with the housekeeper. She should be reduced to
submission or crumbled into ashes. And as for Joel, if he cuts up rough
when you want Jouncer again, as you say you think he may, I’d come down
on him like a clap of thunder at the very first sign of mutiny. And the
man who came here on a secret mission, I’d settle _him_. I’d ride into
town and get his hat if he hasn’t called for it yet, and I’d put up a
notice that he must come here, to this house, for his hat; and when he
came I’d make him divulge his reasons for wearing such a hat, and tell
where he got it; and he should never cross that threshold till he laid
bare the object of his midnight visit.”
“It wasn’t midnight,” said Phil.
“Well, then, whatever time of night it was. And I’ll tell you another
thing. I don’t altogether like the way Mr. Welford acted. From what you
say, I don’t think he came up to the mark as lively as he should have
done. I’d keep my eye on him, too.”
“You wouldn’t do anything to Mr. Hamlin who lives beyond the meadows,
would you?” said Phil.
“Why, no!” exclaimed Chap, looking around in surprise. “What has he got
to do with it?”
“Oh, nothing,” said Phil. “I only supposed you might think it mean to
leave him out of the general vengeance. But I tell you, Chap, you’re
too lofty and tremendous, with your thunder-claps and your iron heel.
These people don’t need anything like that.”
“Don’t you believe a word of it!” exclaimed Chap. “It isn’t the big,
savage hen-hawks that give the most trouble and are hard to get rid
of. It’s the potato-bugs. That’s where your iron heel comes in. If you
don’t scrunch this thing in the egg it will get ahead of you. You may
just rest certain of that.”
“Well, let’s scrunch,” said Phil. “How would you begin?”
“I can’t say just exactly what I’d do first,” answered Chap; “but
suppose we divide things. I’ll take Susan and you take Joel, and then
I’ll take the man with the black straw hat, and you can have Mr.
Welford.”
“You are choosing the heavy end of the load,” said Phil.
“That suits me,” said Chap. “I like to give a good lift when I get well
under a thing with some heft in it.”
Phil did not fancy the idea of his friend undertaking to reduce Susan
to proper submission; but, as Chap seemed fairly aching for the job,
and as he had been such a frequent visitor to the house, and, being
a very social boy, was really more intimate with Susan than Philip
himself was, the latter finally consented that Chap’s arrangements
should be carried out.
“But don’t come down too heavy at first,” said Phil. “I don’t want her
annihilated--only reformed.”
“All right!” said Chap. “I’ll start in as mild as a pot of
bonny-clabber.”
“Chap,” cried Phil, as a happy idea struck him, “you come here and
stay for a few days. Your folks will let you, I know.”
“Boy,” cried Chap, springing to his feet, “you are beginning to show
signs of life! I’ll go and ask them.”
And away he went, like a pair of compasses going mad.
It was not thought strange in the Webster family that Philip Berkeley,
being left alone in the great house where he lived, should want one of
his boy friends to stay with him for a time during his uncle’s absence;
and, as Chap was not particularly needed at home, permission was given
him to go and visit Philip for a few days.
The strictest injunctions, however, were laid upon him to behave
himself in as quiet and orderly a way as if Mr. Godfrey Berkeley were
at home.
“Orderly?” said Chap to himself, as he put a few clothes into a very
large valise. “I should think so! Why, I’m going there to establish
order!”
[Illustration]