MR. MARTIN'S WILD-GOOSE CHASE.
Probably nothing could have given Martin greater pleasure than this
unexpected meeting with his step-children. He did not reflect that the
pleasure might not be mutual, but determined to make himself known
without delay. Hurrying forward, he placed one hand on the shoulder of
Rufus, saying, "Glad to see you, Rufus; what have you been up to lately?
Here's Rose too, I expect she's glad to see me."
At the first sound of his voice poor Rose began to tremble. Clinging
closer to her brother, she said, "Don't let him take me, Rufie."
"He shan't touch you, Rose," said Rufus, manfully.
"You don't seem very glad to see me," said Martin, smiling maliciously.
"That's where you're right," said Rufus, bluntly. "We are not glad to
see you. I suppose that don't surprise you much. Come along, Rose."
He tried to leave Martin, but Martin did not choose to be left. He
shuffled along by the side of our hero, considerably to the disgust of
the latter, who was afraid he might fall in with some acquaintance whose
attention would be drawn to the not very respectable-looking object who
had accosted him, and learn the relationship that existed between them.
"You seem to be in a hurry," sneered Martin.
"I am in a hurry," said Rufus. "It's late for Rose to be out."
"That's what I was thinking," said Martin. "Considerin' that I'm her
natural protector, it's my duty to interfere."
"A pretty sort of protector you are!" retorted Rufus, scornfully.
"You're an undootiful boy," said Martin, "to speak so to your father."
"Who do you mean?"
"Aint I your father?"
"No, you are not. If you were, I'd be ashamed of you. Mr. Martin, we
haven't anything to do with each other. You can go your way, and I'll
go mine. I shan't interfere with you, and I shan't allow you to
interfere with me."
"Ho, ho!" said Martin, "when was you twenty-one, I'd like to know?"
"It doesn't make any difference when. Good-night."
"You don't get rid of me so easy," said Martin. "I'll follow you home."
By this time they had reached the corner of Broadway and Union Square.
Rufus was placed in an awkward position. He had no authority to order
Martin away. He might follow them home, and ascertain where they lived,
and probably would do so. Rufus felt that this would never do. Were
their home known to Mr. Martin, he would have it in his power to lie in
wait for Rose, and kidnap her as he had done once before. He would never
feel easy about his little sister under these circumstances. Yet what
could he do? If he should quicken his pace, Martin would do the same.
"What do you want to follow us for?" he asked. "What good is it going to
do you?"
"Don't you trouble yourself about that," said Martin, exulting in our
hero's evident perplexity. "Considerin' that you two are my children, I
may want to come and see you some time."
Here Rose began to cry. She had always been very much afraid of Martin,
and feared now that she might fall into his hands.
"Don't cry, Rose," said Rufus, soothingly. "He shan't do you any harm."
"Maybe he won't if you treat him well," said Martin. "Look here, Rufus.
I'm hard up--dead broke. Haven't you a dollar to spare?"
"Are you going to follow us?"
"Maybe I won't if you'll give me the dollar."
"I can't trust you," said Rufus, suspiciously. "I'll tell you what," he
added, after a little thought; "go up to Madison Park, and sit down on
one of the seats, and I'll come up in half an hour, or three quarters at
most, and give you the dollar."
"Do you think I'm so green?" sneered Martin. "I might stop there all
night without seein' you. All you want is a chance to get away without
my knowin' where."
"No," said Rufus; "I'll do what I promise. But you must go up there now,
and not follow us."
"That don't go down," said Martin. "You don't ketch a weasel asleep."
"Well," said Rufus, coolly, "you can do just as you please. If you
accept my offer, you shall have a dollar inside of an hour. If you
don't, you won't get a penny."
Still Martin was not persuaded. He felt sure that Rufus meant to mislead
him, and, being unreliable himself, he put no confidence in the promise
made by our hero. He prepared to follow him home, as the knowledge of
where Rose lived would probably enable him to extort more than a dollar
from the fear and anxiety of Rufus. So he repeated:--
"That don't go down! You aint quite smart enough to take me in. I'm
goin' to follow you, and find out where you live."
"Better give him the dollar now, Rufus," suggested Miss Manning, who
felt nearly as anxious as Rose.
"No," said Rufus, decidedly; "I shan't gain anything by it. As soon as
he got the money, he'd follow us all the same."
"What will you do?" asked Miss Manning, anxiously.
"You'll see," said Rufus, composedly.
He had been busily thinking, and a plan had suggested itself to his
mind, which he thought offered probably the best way out of the
difficulty. He reflected that probably Mr. Martin, judging from his
appearance, was penniless, or nearly so. He therefore decided to jump on
board a horse-car, and thus elude him.
When they reached the corner of University Place, a car was seen
approaching.
Rufus hailed it.
"Are we going to ride?" asked Rose.
"Yes, Rose; and now, whatever I do, I want you to keep perfectly still
and say nothing. Will you promise?"
"Yes, Rufie."
Rufus exacted this promise, as Rose might unconsciously, by some
unguarded exclamation, betray the very knowledge which he was anxious to
conceal.
Martin fathomed the purpose of our hero, and determined not be balked.
He had five cents which had just been given him out of charity at the
door of the Academy, and, though the fare on the horse-cars was one cent
more, he thought he might make it do. Accordingly he got into the car
after Rufus.
"I couldn't bear to leave such agreeable company," he said, with a leer.
"Horse-cars are free, I believe."
"I believe they are," said Rufus.
"I wonder how much money he's got," thought our hero. "I guess I can
drain him after a while."
The conductor came along, and Rufus paid for Miss Manning and Rose, as
well as himself. Martin was hanging on a strap near by.
"Your fare," said the conductor.
Martin plunged his hand into his pocket, and drew out five cents. He
plunged his hand in again, and appeared to be hunting about for the
extra penny.
"I declare," said he, "I believe I've lost the other cent. Won't five
cents do?"
"Couldn't let you ride under six cents," said the conductor. "It's
against the rules."
"I can't see where it is," said Martin, hunting again.
"I'll pay the other penny," said a gentleman sitting near.
"Thank you, sir," said Martin. "Very much obliged to you. I'm a poor
man; but it's on account of some undutiful children that I've spent all
my money on, and now they begrudge their poor father a few pennies."
He looked at Rufus; but our hero did not see fit to apply the remark to
himself, nor, considering that he used to help support Martin, did he
feel any particular remorse.
If Martin had been a more respectable-looking object, if his nose had
been a trifle less red, and his whole appearance less suggestive of
intemperate habits, the remark he had let fall might have stirred some
of his listeners to compassion. But no one, to look at him, would wonder
much at a want of filial affection towards such a father. So, though he
looked round to notice the effect, hoping that he might elicit some
sympathy which should take a pecuniary form, he perceived that his
appeal had fallen upon stony ground. Nobody seemed particularly
impressed, and the hope of a contribution from some compassionate
listener faded out.
Rufus was a witness of this scene, and of course it enabled him to
fathom Martin's resources. He congratulated himself that they were so
speedily exhausted. He did not get out when the car reached Waverley
Place, for obvious reasons, but kept on till they came to Bleecker
Street. Rose was about to express surprise, but a look from Rufus
checked her.
At Bleecker Street he signalled to the conductor to stop. The latter
obeyed the signal, and our hero got out, followed not only by Rose and
Miss Manning, but, as might have been expected, also by Martin.
"You don't get rid of me so easy," said the latter, triumphantly.
"Don't I?" asked Rufus, coolly. "Are you going to follow me still?"
Martin answered in the affirmative, with an oath.
"Then," said Rufus, coolly, "I'll give you all the following you want to
do."
A car bound in the opposite direction was approaching. Rufus hailed it,
and it came to a stop.
Martin, who had not been anticipating this move, stopped a moment,
staring, crestfallen, at Rufus; but, recovering himself quickly, jumped
on the platform, resolved to try his luck.
Rufus paid his fare. Martin didn't volunteer to pay his, but looked
steadily before him, hoping that he might escape the conductor's
observation. But the latter was too sharp for that.
"Fare?" he said.
"All right," said Martin, plunging his hand into his pocket. Of course
he drew out nothing, as he anticipated.
"I declare," he said; "I believe I haven't any money with me."
"Then get off."
"Couldn't you let me off this time?" asked Martin, insinuatingly; "I'm a
poor man."
"So am I," said the conductor, bluntly. "You must get off."
"Isn't there any gentleman that'll lend a poor man six cents?" asked
Martin, looking round.
But nobody seemed disposed to volunteer assistance, and Martin was
compelled reluctantly to jump off.
But he didn't give up yet. The car didn't go so fast but that he could
keep up with it by running. It chafed him that Rufus should get the
better of him, and he ran along on the sidewalk, keeping the car
continually in sight.
"He's running," said Miss Manning, looking out. "What a determined man
he is! I'm afraid he'll find us out."
"I'm not afraid," said Rufus. "He'll get tired of running by the time we
get to Central Park."
"Shall you ride as far as that?"
"If necessary."
For about a mile Martin held out, but by this time he became exhausted,
and dropped behind. The distance between him and the car gradually
increased, but still Rufus rode on for half a mile further. By this time
Martin was no longer in sight.
"We'll cross over to Sixth Avenue," he said, "so that Martin may not see
us on our return."
This suggestion was adopted, luckily, for Martin had posted himself at a
favorable place, and was scanning attentively every returning car. But
he waited and watched in vain till long after the objects of his pursuit
were safe at home and in bed.