EMILE TOURON.
The carriage which was approaching came slowly, although the driver,
a negro boy, continually belabored his horse with a short whip,
endeavoring, besides, by a vigorous clicking and jerking of the reins,
to make him go faster; but the horse had evidently made up his mind
that in regard to this sort of thing a line must be drawn somewhere,
and he drew it at a slow trot, as being the fastest pace that should be
expected of his old bones and stiff muscles.
“Who in the world can be coming here?” cried Phil, jumping up from his
seat. “It can’t be uncle!”
But the moment the boys got a good look at the carriage, they perceived
that the individual on the back seat was not Mr. Godfrey Berkeley. It
was a young person, apparently a boy.
When the carriage reached the front of the house, Phil went down the
steps to receive the visitor.
This person was already working at the crooked handle of the carriage
door, and, having at last succeeded in turning it, he quickly got out.
He was a well-dressed young fellow, scarcely as tall as Phil, but
apparently two or three years older. He had dark hair and eyes, and a
very small moustache, which, though not noticeable at a distance, was
quite distinct when one stood near and looked him full in the face.
This young person stepped up quickly to Phil and held out his hand.
“Is this my Cousin Phileep?” he asked, with a smile.
“I am Philip Berkeley,” said our friend, taking the hand of his
visitor, and looking very much bewildered.
“Zen you are my cousin, for I am Emile Touron. You know me now?”
Phil did not know him from Adam, but he was saved any embarrassment on
this point by the visitor turning to the carriage to help the boy pull
out a small trunk, which was stowed away in the front of the vehicle.
The driver was paid, and drove away, and Phil then took hold of one
handle of the trunk to assist his visitor in carrying it up the steps.
“One moment,” said his new-found cousin. “Let me gaze upon zis
sharming house--zese lovely plains!” And he looked over the lawn and
the pasture-field with a glistening eye, and then stepped backward to
gaze upon the house. “Ah, ze bells! ze bells!” he cried. “Where are ze
bells,--zose lovely bells which did dingle-dangle all ze time, ‘Come to
dinner! Dinner ready! Hurry up!’ I was a boy when I heard zose lovely
bells, and I did zink zey dingled in Shinese. But it was all ze same to
me. Where are zey now? Haf zey blown away?”
“I never saw them at all,” said Phil. “My uncle took them down before I
came here. He did not like them.”
The face of Monsieur Emile assumed a shocked expression.
“Not like zose bells,” he exclaimed,--“zose angel bells! I say no more!”
And taking hold of one handle of the trunk, he and Phil carried it up
the steps.
Chap, who had been gazing in silent wonderment at the visitor, was now
introduced to him. Emile Touron shook hands with the tall boy, but
apparently took little interest in him, and suggested to Phil, as they
passed into the hall, that as they now had hold of the trunk they might
as well carry it up into the room he was to occupy.
Phil’s mind was not prepared for such prompt action, but he was a quick
thinker, and of a polite and hospitable nature.
He asked to be excused a moment, and ran out into the porch and very
soon arranged with Chap that he should move into Phil’s room and let
the visitor have the one he occupied.
No further preparations being necessary, the new-comer was put into
possession of Chap’s bed-chamber, while the big valise and small amount
of clothing belonging to Master Webster were carried into Phil’s room.
Monsieur Emile desired to make some change in his toilet, and Phil left
him to himself. He found Chap in the hall, eager to know all about this
newly arrived cousin.
“All I know about him,” said Phil, “is that my aunt married a Frenchman
named Touron, but I always thought she had no children.”
“And if she had had any,” said Chap, “they wouldn’t have been French
ones.”
“That’s very true,” said Phil; “at least, not so French as this fellow.
They would always have lived in America. And, besides, he is too old to
be my aunt’s son. I remember when she was married. I was a little chap,
but I heard it talked about.”
“Then it’s all plain enough,” said Chap. “Your French uncle was
married twice, and this is one of the original children.”
“You are right, no doubt,” said Phil; “but that doesn’t make him much
of a cousin, does it?”
“He seems to be quite at home, for all that,” said Chap.
“I have often heard,” said Phil, “that my aunt and her husband spent a
good deal of time here while my grandfather was alive, and I suppose
this boy was with them.”
“That’s it, I guess,” said Chap; “but I don’t remember him. I didn’t
come here much in those days.” After a pause, he continued: “Now that
you’ve got your cousin here, I don’t suppose you want me. Things look
as if he were going to make a good deal of a stay.”
“Now, look here, Chap,” said Phil, earnestly. “I don’t want any of your
nonsense. Just you hang on where you are. It’s as likely as not I’ll
need you more than ever. I don’t wonder this French fellow wanted to
come and stay awhile with us, for if he has been here before he must
know that it’s a tip-top place in summer. If he’d come when uncle was
here, it would have been all right. But why everything should turn up
just now I can’t imagine.”
“Don’t worry about me,” said Chap. “I’ll hang on.”
At this moment Susan appeared at the door. She had not spoken to Phil
since he threatened to dismiss her; but now she saw fit to break the
silence.
“Is that young man going to stay here?” she asked.
“I suppose he’ll stay some time,” answered Phil. “He brought a trunk.”
“Well, then,” said the housekeeper, “if you are going to pay me off
and discharge me, you might as well do it now, before this house gets
filled up with boys.”
“I am not going to pay you off and discharge you, Susan,” said Phil,
coloring a little, “for I find I can’t do it, and I think it will be a
great deal better, Susan, if you’d take hold and pull along squarely
with me, as uncle intended.”
“Oh, yes, of course!” said Susan.
And, with a little toss of her head, she walked off.
It did not take long for Phil to get acquainted with Emile Touron, for
the young Frenchman made himself very much at home at Hyson Hall. He
took the greatest interest in the place, went all over the house and
farm, visited the stables and barn, and asked a great many questions,
some of which Phil did not like, as they concerned the price and value
of various things on the farm.
It was evident that Emile was a very sharp-witted and practical youth.
His knowledge frequently surprised Phil and Chap; and when he met with
anything he did not understand he was not satisfied until he found out
all that he could about it.
But his manner to Chap was not always pleasant, and he once asked Phil
how long “zis Shap” was going to stay.
“For a long time, I hope,” said Phil, quickly. “He is my best friend.”
And the subject was dropped.
Chap did not like the French boy at all. He generally called him
“Emily,” in speaking of him, though Phil would not allow him to do so
to his face.
“He has got a girl’s name,” said Chap, “and we might as well give it to
him squarely in English.”
Not only was Emile personally disagreeable to Chap, but he interfered
with his plans. Chap wanted very much to go to work on the wreck, and
if he did so now he must either conceal the undertaking from the French
boy or let him have part in it.
The first was evidently impossible, and there were many objections to
the second. The greatest of these was that Emile would lay claim to a
portion of the recovered treasure.
“But he hasn’t any right to it,” said Chap, when talking of the matter
to Phil, who had at last consented to go into the wrecking business,
although he had not been told the story of the three brothers. “A
fellow can’t inherit through his father, and then around to his
step-mother, and back to her ancestors, can he?”
Phil agreed that this could not be done, and it was finally concluded
to tell Emile about the wreck, and to let him join in the preliminary
operations. It was also agreed that Phœnix Poole should be taken into
partnership.
Phœnix was quiet, but he was a good, square fellow, and did not have
much chance for fun. Work was rather slack at the Poole farm just then,
and he could occasionally have an opportunity to get away. It would be
a mean thing, both boys agreed, not to let Phœnix in.
When Emile was told the story of the wreck and the sunken treasure, he
treated it with incredulity, and even scorn.
Phil did not care whether he believed it or not, but Chap was very much
annoyed that any one should doubt a thing so self-evident as this, in
which he took so great an interest. In his zeal to convince the French
boy he told him much more than he should have done, considering his
compact with the man with the black straw hat; but Emile shook his
head and sneered at the whole affair.
Notwithstanding this, however, he made one of a party of four boys who
went down to the river, one warm morning, to make a practical survey
of the position of the wreck, especially that part of it which was
entirely submerged.
A large, flat scow was poled out into the river, and anchored over the
spot where Chap had calculated that the stern of the vessel must lie.
The boys were all good swimmers, and the preliminary observations were
to be made by diving. Emile did not undress, but sat in the scow and
watched the other boys.
Half a dozen times each of the three swimmers stood up on the side of
the scow, and plunged to the bottom of the river, but each time they
came up with the report that they could discover nothing but mud and
mussel-shells.
Phil had just declared that they might as well give up the diving
business, for that day, at any rate, when, to the surprise of the other
boys, Emile began to get ready to go into the water.
“It’s no use to dive for ze sunken ship,” he said, “but it is so hot I
must take one little swim.”
It was evident he was an experienced swimmer, for he made a splendid
dive. He sprang as far from the scow as he could, and went down in a
slanting direction from it. He stayed under a long time,--so long,
indeed, that the other boys began to get a little troubled.
“I don’t care much for Emily,” said Chap, “but I should hate to have
him stick fast in the mud and be drowned.”
When the French boy came up he was more than forty feet from the scow,
and he puffed at a great rate as he swam to its side.
“Now, zen,” said he, “we haf all had enough of ze dive. Zis is one
horrid river. You stick fast some day, and never come up, if you don’t
take care.”
No one seemed inclined to differ from this opinion; but Phœnix now
appeared on the side of the scow, ready for another dive.
“Don’t you do zat!” cried Emile. “It is but vile folly to swim here.
Don’t I tell you you be drowned?”
“All right!” said Phœnix; and in he went.
Like Emile, he sprang far from the scow, and went down in a slanting
direction. He did not stay down as long as the French boy, and he came
up much nearer the scow.
“Now, zen,” said Emile, as Phœnix clambered on board, “I hope you is
satisfied.”
“Enough for to-day,” said Phœnix.
When the boys reached the house, Emile went up-stairs to his room.
As soon as he had disappeared, Phœnix took Phil and Chap a little way
down the road.
“Look here,” he said, in a low voice, although there was nobody near,
“when I dived that last time I found something.”
“What?” asked Chap and Phil together.
“The side of a big ship,” said Phœnix.
[Illustration]