MR. BRANDON LOSES HIS SUPPER.
When Brandon and Travers had discussed the plan, and decided to accept
the terms offered by Colonel Johnson, the latter, looking cautiously
about, inquired:
"Where's the boy?"
"Out with the boat, I expect," said Brandon.
"He's a little ruffian. I never saw such a desperate boy of his age."
"He managed you neatly," said Brandon, with a smile.
"Pooh!" returned Travers, who did not like the allusion. "I didn't want
to hurt the boy."
"He didn't want to harm you," said Brandon, with an exasperating smile.
"I could wind him round my finger," said Travers disdainfully. "You
don't think I'm afraid of that half-grown cub, I hope."
Grit heard this, and smiled to himself at the evident annoyance of
Travers.
"As to winding me round his finger," thought the young boatman, "I may
have something to say about that."
Brandon did not continue his raillery, not wishing to provoke the
friend who had secured him participation in so profitable a job.
"Where's the old lady?" asked Travers, with a glance toward the
staircase.
"I believe she's gone out, but I'll see."
Brandon went to the foot of the stairs, and called:
"Mrs. B.!"
There was no response.
"Yes, she's gone, and the coast is clear. Where are you staying,
Travers?"
"I s'pose I'll have to stay at the hotel, unless you can provide for me
here."
"You'd better go to the tavern, for there might be trouble about keepin'
you here. Mrs. B. and the boy don't like you."
"I thought you were master of the house," said Travers, with mild
sarcasm.
"So I am," answered Brandon, a little embarrassed, "but I don't want to
be in hot water all the time."
"You don't want me to stay to supper, I reckon."
"Well, I guess not to-night. Fact is, I don't know when we shall have
supper. Mrs. B. ought to be here gettin' it ready."
"Come out and have a walk, Brandon. I will introduce you to Colonel
Johnson, and we can talk this thing over."
"All right. That'll take up the time till supper."
The two men walked over to the tavern, and Colonel Johnson walked out
with them. They had a conference together, but it is not necessary to
give the details here.
A little after six o'clock Brandon directed his steps homeward.
"I'll be a little late to supper," he said to himself, "but Mrs. B. will
save some for me. I feel confoundedly hungry. Must be in the air.
There's nothing like country air to give a man a good appetite."
Brandon opened the door of the cottage, and went in. All was quiet and
solitary, as he had left it.
"Well. I'll be blowed!" he ejaculated. "What does all this mean? Where's
Mrs. B., and where's supper?"
He sat down, and looked about him in surprise and bewilderment.
"What has become of Mrs. B.?" he thought. "She hasn't gone and left me,
just when I've come home after an absence of five years? That boy can't
have carried her off, can he?"
Brandon did not have long to debate this question in his own mind, for
the door opened, and Grit and his mother entered. Brandon was relieved,
but he could not forbear expressing his vexation.
"Well, Mrs. B.," he said, "this I call pretty goings on. Are you aware
that it is nearly seven o'clock, ma'am?"
"I supposed it was," answered his wife quietly.
"And you've left me to starve here, ma'am! This is a strange time for
supper."
"We've had supper," answered Grit coolly.
"Had supper!" ejaculated Brandon, looking about him. "I don't see any
signs of supper."
"You won't see any signs of it here," continued Grit.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that mother and I have engaged board at Mrs. Sprague's. We have
just had supper there."
"You have! Well, that's a new start. It doesn't matter much, though.
I'll go over and get mine."
"We haven't made any arrangements for you," said Grit. "I shall pay for
mother's board and mine. You can make any bargain you like for your
board."
"Well, if that isn't the meanest treatment I ever received!" exclaimed
Brandon, in wrath and disgust. "You actually begrudge me the little I
eat, and turn me adrift in the cold world!"
"That's one way of looking at it, Mr. Brandon," said Grit. "Here's the
other: You are a strong man, in good health, and able to work. Most men
in your position expect to support a family, but you come to live upon
my earnings, and expect me not only to provide you with board, but with
money for the purpose of drink. That isn't all! You bring home one of
your disreputable companions, and expect us to provide for him, too.
Now, I am willing to work for mother, and consider it a privilege to do
so, but I can't do any more. If you don't choose to contribute to the
support of the family, you must at least take care of yourself. I am not
going to do it."
"How hard and unfeeling you are, Grit!" said Brandon, in the tone of a
martyr. "After all I have suffered in the last five years you treat me
like this."
"As to the last five years, Mr. Brandon," said Grit, "I should think you
would hardly care to refer to them. It was certainly your own fault that
you were not as free as I am."
"I was a victim of circumstances," whined Brandon.
"We won't discuss that," said Grit. "You had a fair trial, and were
sentenced to five years' imprisonment. About the unkindness. I should
like to know what you think of a man who deliberately takes away the
means of earning a living from his stepson, who is filling his place,
and supporting his family, in order to gratify his miserable love of
drink."
"You drove me to it, Grit."
"How did I drive you to it?"
"You would not give me from your overflowing hoards, when I felt sick
and in need of a mild stimulus. You had sixty dollars, and would not
spare me one."
"So you sold my boat for half price, and squandered nearly the whole
proceeds in one forenoon!" exclaimed Grit scornfully. "Mr. Brandon, your
reasoning is altogether too thin. We have decided to leave you to
support yourself as you can."
Here the glowing prospects offered by the plan suggested by Colonel
Johnson occurred to Brandon, and his tone changed.
"You may find you have made a mistake, Grit, you and Mrs. B.," said
Brandon pompously. "You have snubbed and illtreated me because you
looked upon me as a poor, destitute, friendless man. It's the way of the
world! But you may regret it, and that very soon. What will you say when
I tell you that I have a chance to earn five thousand dollars in the
next five days, eh?"
Mrs. Brandon looked surprised, for Grit had not thought it wise to
confide to his mother what he had heard of the conversation between
Travers and his stepfather. Grit, on the other hand, was immediately
interested, for the compensation offered was one of the things he had
not overheard.
"Five thousand dollars!" he repeated, appearing to be surprised.
"Yes, five thousand dollars!" repeated Brandon complacently. "That's a
thousand dollars a day! Perhaps you won't be so anxious to get rid of me
when I am worth my thousands."
"That's pretty good pay," said Grit quietly. "What have you got to do?"
"That would be telling," said Brandon cunningly. "It's a joint
speculation of my friend Travers and myself--my friend Travers, whom you
treated so badly. It's he that's brought me this fine offer, and you
insult and order him out of the house. You were just as bad as Grit,
Mrs. B."
"You are welcome to all you make, Mr. Brandon," said Grit. "Neither my
mother nor myself will ask a penny of the handsome sum you expect to
make. You can spend it all on yourself if you like. All we ask is, that
you will take care of yourself, and leave us alone."
"I mean to do so," said Brandon independently, "but, as I shan't get the
money for three or four days, I should like to borrow five dollars, and
I'll repay you double within a week."
"That's a very generous offer," said Grit, "but I don't lend without
better security."
"Isn't there anything to eat in the house, Mrs. B.?" asked Brandon,
changing the subject. "I'm famished."
"You will find some cold meat, and bread, and butter in the pantry."
Brandon went to the pantry, and satisfied his appetite as well as he
could. He then went out, and Grit soon followed.
"Mother," he said, "I have an important call to make, but will be back
soon."
It will be remembered that Mr. Courtney had formerly been president of
the bank, but proving unpopular in consequence of his disposition to
manage it in his own interest, Mr. Philo Graves, a manufacturer, was put
in his place. To the house of Mr. Graves Grit directed his steps.