A MEAN TRICK.
Harry Raymond had been employed in Mr. Porter’s store but a few days when
he had a difficulty with James Turner, which deserves to be chronicled.
For various reasons James cherished a dislike of our hero, which he was
not likely to get over very soon. Harry had always distanced him in his
studies, and, as we have seen, had carried off the prize for declamation,
which James persuaded himself would have been his but for the partiality
of Mr. Tower. Again, James aspired to be a leader among the boys at
school and in the village. He felt that this position was due to him on
account of the superior wealth of his father. When boys assert this claim
to consideration, it is generally a sign that they have little else to
boast of; and this was precisely the case with James Turner.
Now, it may appear strange, that though Squire Turner was the richest
man in the village, and Mr. Raymond one of the poorest, the boys paid
much more respect to Harry than to the son of the wealthy squire. Harry
was put forward prominently on all occasions; as, for example, when a
military company was formed, he was elected captain, while James could
not even obtain the post of simple corporal. Of course the latter
withdrew his name from the roll in disgust; but the company, so far from
being thrown into consternation, appeared to thrive about as well as
before. This military organization went by the name of the Vernon Guards,
and consisted of about thirty boys. They used to parade on Saturday
afternoons, when a sufficient number could be gathered for duty, and the
young captain, who had studied up his duties, discharged them in a very
creditable manner.
James Turner, however, had one consolation in all this strange neglect.
His superiority was conceded by one boy, who was in the habit of
revolving round him like a humble satellite. This was Tom Barton, who
has already been referred to. Tom was a born sycophant, and was ready on
all occasions to natter James and join him in abusing Harry and Harry’s
friends. Tom’s father was in California at the mines. His mother was
a weak woman, of an envious disposition, who was always bewailing her
fate in having married a poor man instead of a certain other person who
had turned out rich, and who, as she asserted, had offered her his hand
in early life. In fact, it was generally supposed that her complaints
had driven her husband to California to seek for the fortune for which
she was continually pining. As for Tom, she considered him one of the
smartest boys in America, and, as might be expected, asserted that he
took after her, and not after his father.
“There aint any Barton about him,” she said. “He’s all Jessup.”
This was not far from true. Tom certainly did inherit his mother’s mean
and disagreeable qualities, and there were very few points in which he
resembled his father, who was really a worthy man, and deserved a better
wife than had been allotted to him.
It might have been supposed that Harry’s misfortune in losing his father
would have led to a suspension of ill feeling on the part of James and
his sycophant. But I have already said that James was a mean boy, and
Tom was in this respect a very fitting companion for him. Indeed, Tom,
besides espousing James’s quarrel, had a personal grievance of his own.
At the time that Alfred Harper entered the village store, Mr. Porter
had an application for the place from Tom, which he had seen fit to
decline without assigning any reasons for so doing. In fact, Tom had
the reputation of being lazy and self-sufficient, and the store-keeper
rightly concluded that he would not be likely to prove a very valuable
assistant. When Tom heard that the coveted place had been given to Harry,
he felt highly indignant, not only with Mr. Porter, but with Harry
himself, and was anxious for an opportunity of wreaking vengeance upon
our hero. Now, the manliest way would have been to make a direct assault
upon him; but this he did not care to do. He knew that Harry had a pair
of good, strong arms, and was ready on all occasions to defend himself.
If he should venture upon an attack, it was pretty clear to him that he
would get the worst of it, and this would be very far from suiting him.
He preferred to wait for some secret way of injuring him.
That opportunity came about a week after Harry had entered upon his
duties in Mr. Porter’s store.
It has already been said that one of his duties was to drive the
store-wagon, and deliver groceries in different parts of the village.
One afternoon he was driving at about half a mile distance from the
store. Among other articles in the wagon was a basket containing three
dozen eggs, which, by the way, were to be delivered to Squire Turner’s
house-keeper.
Just about this part of the road there was a cliff on one side, about
twenty feet in height, with a steep, almost perpendicular, descent. The
field terminating thus abruptly belonged to Squire Turner. It so happened
that James Turner and Tom Barton were walking leisurely along the cliff
just as Harry came driving by.
“There’s Harry Raymond,” said Tom, spitefully. “Old Barton must have been
hard up for a clerk when he took him.”
“I suppose he took pity on him,” said James, “and gave him the situation
to keep him out of the poor-house.”
“That isn’t the way he looks at it,” said Tom. “He puts on as many airs
as if he owned the store himself.”
“Didn’t you try for the place once, Tom?”
“Why, not exactly,” said Tom. “I told him I would take it if he couldn’t
get anybody else. It isn’t much of a place.”
Of course this was only a salvo for Tom’s wounded pride, for he had been
eager to enter the store.
“I’ll tell you what,” added Tom, after a pause, “suppose we play a trick
on Raymond.”
“What sort of a trick?”
“Suppose we pitch a stone into that basket of eggs. There’ll be an awful
smash, and he can’t see who did it.”
This was a proposition which just suited James. It would get Harry into
trouble with his employer, and this of course would be rare sport. Then,
as they could easily withdraw from sight, he would never know to whom he
was indebted for the favor. All these considerations darted through James
Turner’s mind more quickly than I have stated them, and he responded:—
“All right, Tom. You do it. You can fire straighter than I.”
Tom needed no second approval. He seized a stone about as large as his
two fists, or perhaps a little larger, and, bending over the cliff, fired
it directly at the basket.
His success was all that he could have wished. His aim was a true one,
and the first Harry knew of the “trick,” there was a loud crash behind
him, and the contents of the eggs were partially spattered over him.
Glancing quickly back, he saw that the wreck was almost total. Of the
three dozen eggs not one third had escaped destruction.
Now, though Harry was naturally good-natured, he felt that this was a
little too much for good-nature. It might be a joke; but he could not
see it in that light. He knew that he was likely to be blamed for the
accident, and he resolved to find out how it came about. It was not
very probable that the stone came into the basket of its own volition.
There was evidently some human agency concerned, and this agency Harry
determined to ascertain.
Looking up, he just caught a glimpse of Tom Barton peering over to see
what mischief had been done.
“It’s that mean Tom Barton,” he said to himself. “He’s about the only
fellow mean enough to play such a trick. Perhaps he thinks I’m going to
stand it.”
“Whoa!” shouted Harry.
In obedience to the summons the horse came to a halt.
Harry drew him to the side of the road, and jumped out of the wagon. He
hesitated about leaving the horse unattended; but just at that moment
Will Pomeroy came along.
“Just mind the horse a minute, Will,” said Harry.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll tell you when I come back.”
Our hero felt that there was no time for explanation. He began to
clamber up the side of the cliff. This was a hard job, for it was nearly
perpendicular, but here and there were roots and bushes that helped him
along. Probably his indignation helped him, for in a very short time he
reached the top.
Tom Barton was elated at the success of his trick. After first looking
over to see the extent of the damage, he withdrew to a short distance,
and threw himself under a tree by the side of James Turner. He felt
entirely safe, not having the least idea that Harry would undertake to
climb the cliff.
The two boys were laughing together over the success of their trick,
when the figure of our hero, his face red with excitement, and his hands
chafed and torn, presented itself unexpectedly.
Tom sprang to his feet in dismay.
“Look here, Tom Barton,” said Harry, in a quick, peremptory way, “what
did you mean by pitching a stone into my basket of eggs?”
“Don’t be afraid,” said James Turner, in a low voice; “I’ll stand by you.”
This emboldened Tom. Though he would not have liked to engage in single
combat with Harry, he concluded that our hero would be in no haste to
engage both. So he answered, insolently:—
“None of your business!”
“It strikes me that it is my business,” said Harry, warmly. “It was a
mean, contemptible trick.”
“What are you going to do about it?” sneered Tom.
Now I am not going to justify Harry for the course he took, but it was
certainly very natural.
“Stand up here, if you dare, and you’ll see,” he answered, with
compressed lips.
“Let’s give him a licking, James,” said Tom. “It’ll do him good.”
Both boys sprang to their feet, and advanced towards our hero. He saw
that his task was not going to be an easy one. The united strength of
both of his assailants was undoubtedly greater than his own. If he
allowed the two to come to close quarters with him, he would probably
get the worst of it. Here was a chance for strategy, and he resolved to
improve it.