THE YOUNG RIVALS.
When Oliver left the house he was uncertain whither to bend his steps.
The supper hour was near at hand, but it would hardly be pleasant under
the circumstances to meet his step-father and Roland at the tea-table.
He preferred to go without his evening meal.
As he walked slowly along the main street on which his step-father's
house was situated, plunged in thought, he was called to himself by a
slap on his shoulder.
"What are you thinking about, Oliver?" was asked, in a cheery voice.
"Frank Dudley!" said our hero, "you're just the boy I want to see."
"Do I owe you any money?" asked Frank, in mock alarm.
"Not that I know of."
"Then it's all right. I am glad to meet you, too. Where are you going?"
"I don't know."
"Have you had supper?"
"No."
"Then come home with me. You haven't taken supper at our house for a
long time."
"So I will," responded Oliver with alacrity.
"I see how it is," said Frank. "They were going to send you to bed
without your supper, and my invitation brings you unexpected relief."
"You are partly right. But for your invitation I should have had no
supper."
"What is it all about, Oliver? What's the matter?"
"I'll tell you, Frank. Mr. Kenyon and I have had a quarrel."
"I am not surprised at that. I don't admire the man, even if he is your
step-father."
"Oh, you needn't check your feelings on my account. I never could like
him."
"How did the trouble begin?"
"It began with Roland. I'll tell you about it," and Oliver told what
had occurred.
Frank listened in silence.
"I think you did right," he said. "I wouldn't submit to be ordered
round by such a popinjay. He's the most disagreeable boy I know, and my
sister thinks so, too."
"He seems to admire your sister."
"She doesn't appreciate his attentions. He's always coming up and
wanting to walk with her, though she is cool enough with him."
Oliver was glad to hear this. To tell the truth, he had a boyish fancy
for Carrie Dudley himself, which was not surprising, for she was the
prettiest girl in the village. Though he had not supposed she looked
favorably upon Roland, it was pleasant to be assured of this by the
young lady's brother.
"Poor Roland!" he said, smiling. "Your sister may give him the
heartache."
"Oh, I guess his heart's pretty tough. But here we are."
Frank Dudley's father was a successful physician. His mother was dead,
and her place in the household was supplied by his father's sister,
Miss Pauline Dudley, who, though an old maid, had a sunny temperament
and kindly disposition. The doctor's house, though not as pretentious
as Mr. Kenyon's, was unusually pleasant and attractive.
"Aunt Pauline," said Frank to his aunt, who was sitting on a rocking
chair on the front piazza, "I have brought Oliver home to supper."
"I am very glad to see you, Oliver," said Miss Dudley. "I wish you
would come oftener."
"Thank you, Miss Dudley; I am always glad to come here. It is so
pleasant and social compared with----"
He paused, thinking it not in good taste to refer unfavorably to his
own home.
"I understand," said Miss Dudley. "You must be lonely at home."
"I am," said Oliver briefly.
"Not much company, and that poor," whispered Frank.
Oliver nodded assent.
Here Carrie Dudley appeared and cordially welcomed Oliver.
"Carrie seems glad to see you, Oliver," said Frank; "but you must not
feel too much elated. It's only on account of your relationship to
Roland. She's perfectly infatuated with that boy."
Like most brothers, Frank liked to tease his sister.
"Roland!" repeated Carrie, tossing her head. "I hope I have better
taste than to like him."
"It's all put on, Oliver. You mustn't believe what she says."
"Didn't I see Roland walking with you yesterday?" asked Oliver, willing
to join in the teasing.
"Because I couldn't get rid of him," retorted Carrie.
"He thinks you are over head and ears in love with him," said Frank.
"I don't believe he thinks anything of the kind. If he does, he is very
much mistaken; that is all I can say."
"Don't tease your sister any more, Frank," said Oliver. "I don't
believe she admires Roland any more than I do."
"Thank you, Oliver. I am glad to have you on my side," said the young
lady graciously. "I shouldn't mind if I never saw Roland Kenyon."
"Stop your quarrelling, young people, and walk in to supper," said Miss
Pauline.
"Where is your father to-night, Frank?" asked Oliver, as they ranged
themselves round the neat supper table.
"He has been sent for to Claremont. He won't be back till late,
probably. You will please look upon me as the head of the household
while he is away."
"I will, most learned doctor."
The evening meal passed pleasantly. Oliver could not help contrasting
it with the dull and formal supper he was accustomed to take at home,
and his thoughts found utterance.
"I wish I had as pleasant a home as you, Frank."
"You had better come and live with us, Oliver."
"I should like to."
"Suppose you propose it to Mr. Kenyon. I don't believe he prizes your
society very much."
"Nor I. He wouldn't mind being rid of me, but Roland would probably
object to my coming here."
"I didn't think of that."
"I should like to have you with us, Oliver," said Miss Pauline. "You
would be company for Frank, and could help keep him straight."
"As if I needed it, Aunt Pauline! All the same, I should enjoy having
Oliver here, and so would Carrie."
"Yes, I should," said the young lady unhesitatingly.
Oliver was well pleased, and expressed his satisfaction.
After supper they adjourned to the parlor, and presently Carrie sat
down to the piano and played and sang some popular songs, Frank and
Oliver joining in the singing.
While they were thus engaged a ring was heard at the door-bell.
"That's Roland, I'll bet a hat," said Frank. "It's one of his courting
evenings."
It proved to be Roland.
He entered with a stiff bow.
"Good-evening, Miss Carrie," he said, a little awkwardly.
"Good-evening, Mr. Kenyon," said the young lady distantly. "Will you be
seated?"
"Thank you. Good-evening, Frank."
"Good-evening. May I introduce you to Mr. Oliver Conrad?"
"You here?" said Roland, surprised.
Being near-sighted, he had not before noticed our hero's presence.
"I am here," said Oliver briefly.
"We were singing as you entered, Roland," said Frank mischievously.
"Won't you favor us with a melody?"
"I don't sing," said Roland stiffly.
"Indeed! Oliver is quite a singer."
"I was not aware he was so accomplished," said Roland, unable to
suppress a sneer.
"I suppose he doesn't often sing to you."
"I shouldn't like to trouble him. I should be very glad to hear you
sing, Miss Carrie."
"If Frank and Oliver will join in. I don't like to sing alone."
A song was selected, and the three sang it through. Sitting at
the other end of the room, Roland, who greatly admired Carrie, was
tormented with jealousy as he saw Oliver at her side, winning smiles
and attention which he had never been able to win. He could not help
wishing that he, too, were able to sing. If Oliver had made himself
ridiculous, it would have comforted him, but our hero had a strong and
musical voice, and acquitted himself very creditably.
"It's a pity you don't sing, Roland," said Frank.
"I wouldn't try to sing unless I could sing well," said Roland.
"Is he hitting you or me, Oliver?" asked Frank.
"You sing well," said Roland.
"Then it's you, Oliver!"
Oliver smiled, but took no notice of the remark.
Roland rose to go a little after nine. He had not enjoyed the evening.
It was very unsatisfactory to see the favor with which his enemy was
regarded by Carrie Dudley. He had not the art to conceal his dislike of
our hero.
"You'd better come home," he said, turning to Oliver. "Father objects
to our being out late."
"I know when to come home," said Oliver briefly.
"You'd better ask leave before you go out to supper again."
"If you have no more to say I will bid you good-evening," said Oliver
quietly.
"You see what a pleasant brother I have," said Oliver after Roland's
departure.
"It's a good thing to have somebody to look after you," said Carrie. "I
wish Frank had such a guardian and guide."
"I shall have, when Roland is my brother-in-law," retorted Frank.
"Then you'll have to go without one forever."
"Girls never say what they mean, Oliver."
"Sometimes they do."
Meanwhile Roland was trudging home in no very good humor.
"I'd give fifty dollars to see Oliver well thrashed," he muttered. "He
is interfering with me in everything."