A CIRCUS IN MR. SPRAGUE'S YARD.
PHILIP timidly made known his request and the bottle was filled. The
saloon-keeper attended to the order in a matter-of-fact manner. As long
as he got his pay he cared very little whom he dealt with.
Philip, feeling ashamed of his burden, came out with the bottle and set
out on his return home. He had been delayed by the conversation at the
door, and he had also had to wait to have the bottle filled, there being
several customers to attend to before him. So it happened that when he
got back Mr. Sprague and Oscar were awaiting him impatiently.
"There the boy comes at last, father," said Oscar. "He's creeping like a
snail."
Whisky was Mr. Sprague's one extravagance, and he had waited longer than
usual for his customary drink. This made him irritable.
"Why don't you come along faster, you young beggar?" he called out
harshly.
"I'll start him up, dad," said Oscar with alacrity.
"Do so!"
Oscar started down the road with a cruel light in his eyes. He liked
nothing better than to ill-treat the unfortunate boy who had been left
to the tender mercies of his father.
Philip did not understand what Oscar's coming portended till the older
boy seized him violently by the shoulders.
"Why don't you hurry up?" he demanded. "Don't you know any better than
to waste your time playing on the street?"
"I didn't waste any time. I couldn't get waited on at first."
"That's too thin! You were walking like a snail any way. I'll see if I
can't make you stir your stumps a little faster."
Oscar pushed Philip so violently that the little fellow stumbled, and
then came a catastrophe! He was thrown forward. The bottle came in
contact with a stone, and of course broke, spilling the precious
contents, as Nahum Sprague thought them.
"Now you've done it!" exclaimed Oscar. "I wouldn't be in your shoes,
young man. Pa will flog you within an inch of your life."
"See what Philip has done, pa!" said Oscar, pointing to the broken
bottle.
Nahum Sprague absolutely glared at the unfortunate boy. His throat was
dry and parched, and his craving for whisky was almost painful in its
intensity. And now to have the cup dashed from his lips! It would take
time to get a fresh supply, not to count the additional cost. His wrath
was kindled against the poor boy.
"What made you break the bottle, you young rascal?" he demanded harshly.
"I didn't mean to," answered Philip, pale with fright.
"You didn't mean to? I suppose it fell of itself," retorted Mr. Sprague
with sarcasm.
"Oscar pushed me," exclaimed Philip. "He pushed me very hard, or I
wouldn't have dropped it."
"Now he wants to throw it all upon me, pa. Ain't you ashamed of
yourself?"
"It's true, Oscar, and you know it," returned Philip with a show of
spirit. "You said I didn't move fast enough."
"It's a wicked lie. I just touched you on the shoulder, and you broke
the bottle out of spite."
"I have no doubt Oscar is right," said Nahum Sprague severely. "You have
destroyed my property. You have broken the bottle as well as wasted the
whisky. You are a wicked and ungrateful boy. Here I have been keeping
you out of charity because your lazy and shiftless father left you
nothing."
"Don't you say anything against my father," said Philip, his meek
spirit aroused by this cruel aspersion of the only human being who had
cared for him since his mother's death.
"Hoity, toity! Here's impudence! So I am not to say anything against
your father after caring for him through his sickness and burying him at
my own expense."
"I'll pay you back, Mr. Sprague, indeed I will," said Philip, his lip
quivering.
"You'll pay me back, you who are nothing but a beggar. Well, here's
cheek. You talk as if you were rich instead of a pauper."
"I'll pay you some time--I have no money now--but I'll work day and
night when I am a man to pay you."
"That all sounds very well, but it don't pay me for the bottle of
whisky. I must give you a lesson for your carelessness. Oscar, go and
get the horsewhip."
"I'll do it, dad," said Oscar joyfully.
He was naturally a cruel boy, and the prospect of seeing Philip flogged
gave him the greatest pleasure.
There was a small outbuilding near the house which had once been used
for a stable when Mr. Sprague kept a horse, but the last poor animal
having pined away and died, as it was believed from insufficient food,
it was no longer in use except as a store house for various odds and
ends. The horsewhip was saved over from the time when it was needed for
its legitimate purpose.
"Oh, don't whip me, Mr. Sprague!" pleaded Philip, frightened at the last
words of his cruel guardian.
He was a sensitive boy, one of the kind that thrives under kind
influences, and droops under ill-treatment. He had a delicate physical
organization that shrank from pain, which some boys bear with stoical
fortitude.
It was not merely pain, but the humiliation of a blow that daunted him.
Mr. Sprague did not make any reply to his pleadings, but waited
impatiently for Oscar to appear.
This was not long. Sent on a congenial errand Oscar wasted no time, but
came out of the building promptly with the horsewhip in his hand.
"Here it is, dad!" he said, handing it to his father.
All this happened in open view of the house and of the public road. Mr.
Sprague was so intent upon his plan of punishing Philip that he did not
notice the approach of two men walking with unsteady steps along the
highway and now close at hand. They were the two men who had talked with
Philip in front of the drinking saloon. They had been drinking, but had
not reached the stage of helplessness.
"I say, Joe," said one, looking towards Nahum Sprague's house, "there's
where old Sprague lives."
"He's a mean rascal," hiccoughed the other. "I'd like to thrash him."
"There's the kid--the one he sent to buy some drink. And there's old
Sprague with a whip in his hand. I'll be dog-goned if he ain't goin' to
lick him. It's a beastly shame. I say, suppose we take a hand."
"All right, Bill."
Meanwhile Nahum Sprague, quite unaware that he was likely to be
interfered with, took the whip from the hand of his son. He looked at
Philip very much as a cat looks at a mouse whom she is preparing to
swallow.
"Now you're going to catch it," he announced, with a cruel gleam in his
eyes. "Now you're going to see what you get for spilling my whisky. I'll
learn you!"
"Oh, please don't whip me, Mr. Sprague!" pleaded Philip. "Indeed. I
didn't mean to break the bottle."
[Illustration: "Nahum brought the whip down with a swish on Philip's
legs."--Page 285.
_Mark Mason's Victory_.]
"That's too thin! You didn't want to go for the whisky in the first
place. You said your _papa_," with a mocking sneer, "didn't like to
have you go to a saloon."
"That's true, but I went."
"Because you had to. You are lazy and put on airs, just as if you wasn't
a beggar dependent on me for the bread you eat and the clothes you
wear."
"My father bought me these clothes," said Philip.
"Suppose he did? When you have worn them out you'll expect me to buy you
some more."
"What are you waiting for, pa?" asked Oscar impatiently. "If you're
going to lick him, why don't you do it?"
"I'm going to," said Nahum, and, raising the whip he brought it down
with a swish around the legs of the poor boy.
Philip cried with pain, dancing up and down, and Oscar went into a fit
of laughter at what he thought an amusing spectacle.
"That's the talk, dad!" exclaimed Oscar. "You gave it to him good. Give
it to him again."
"I mean to," said Nahum grimly, and he raised the whip a second time.
"Say, Joe, are we going to stand this?" asked Bill.
"Not by a long shot! Follow me, pard."
Mr. Sprague's back was turned to the street, and he did not see the
quick approach of the two miners. He was just about to bring down the
whip again upon poor defenseless Philip when he thought he was struck by
a cyclone.
Bill seized him by the collar, while Joe snatched the whip from his
hand.
"Why, why, what's all this?" asked the astonished man in dismay.
"Two can play at your little game," answered Joe. "You can stand it
better than the kid," and he lashed the unfortunate Nahum across the
legs just as Philip had suffered a short time before.
"Stop, stop!" yelled Nahum, who was a coward at heart. "What do you
mean? I'll have the law of you."
"That's what you were doing to the kid. I'll give you a dose of your own
medicine," and Mr. Sprague received a second stroke.
"Give me the whip, Joe!" cried Bill. "Give me a chance at him! Don't
keep all the fun to yourself."
"All right! Here it is."
Bill used the whip quite as effectively as his friend Joe.
"You stop licking my pa!" exclaimed Oscar, not daring, however, to
approach the scene of conflict.
"I say, kid, what was he licking you for?" asked Bill after the first
blow.
"He said I broke the bottle and spilled the whisky."
"And did you?"
"Yes, but Oscar pushed me and made me do it."
"Who's Oscar?"
"That boy there."
"Oho! so he's to blame for it."
"It's a lie!" retorted Oscar.
"It isn't. I know the kid's telling the truth. He deserves a dose, too.
Bring him here, Joe."
Joe advanced upon Oscar, and after a short chase seized him by the
collar, and brought him up to the self-appointed dispenser of justice.
"Hold him tight, Joe!"
Then Oscar felt the whip lash coiling around his legs.
"You quit that!" he howled in anger and dismay.
"One more will do you good. You're bigger than the kid and you can stand
it better."
A second time the lash descended with even greater force, and Oscar
jumped and danced as Philip had done before him, but somehow it didn't
seem to impress him as so funny.
"You'd better give the old man more and then we'll let him go," said
Joe.
"I'll have you arrested!" shrieked Nahum Sprague, but in spite of his
threat he received another dose of the same medicine.
"When you want some more call on us!" said Bill.
As he spoke he flung the whip out into the street, and the two ministers
of justice went off laughing.
"If they try to lick you again, kid, come and tell us," Joe called
back.