IN THE ENEMY’S HANDS
Philip heard a step, and turned to see whose it was; but, when he
recognized Mr. Tucker, the latter’s hand was already on his collar.
“What have you been doin’ to Zeke? Tell me that, you young rascal,”
said Mr. Tucker roughly.
“He pitched into me savage, father,” answered Zeke, who had picked
himself up, and was now engaged in brushing the dust from his coat.
“Pitched into ye, did he?” repeated Joe Tucker grimly. “I reckon he
didn’t know your father was ’round. What have you got to say for
yourself, eh?”
Philip regarded his captor contemptuously, and didn’t struggle to
escape, knowing that he was not a match for a man five inches taller
than himself. But contempt he could not help showing, for he knew very
well that Zeke had inherited his mean traits largely from his father.
“I’ll thank you to remove your hand from my collar, sir,” said Philip.
“When you have done that, I will explain why I pitched into Zeke, as he
calls it.”
“Don’t you let go, father!” said Zeke hastily. “He’ll run away, if you
do.”
“If I do, you can catch me between you,” returned Philip coolly.
“I reckon that’s so,” said Mr. Tucker, withdrawing his hand, but
keeping wary watch of our hero.
“Now go ahead!” said he.
Philip did so.
“I saw Zeke torturing a small dog,” he explained, “and I couldn’t stand
by and let it go on.”
“What was he doin’ to him?” inquired Mr. Tucker.
“Putting the poor animal’s head into this dirty pool, and keeping it
there till it was nearly suffocated.”
“Was you doin’ that, Zeke?” asked his father.
“I was havin’ a little fun with him,” said Zeke candidly.
“It might have been fun to you, but it wasn’t to him,” said Phil.
“Why didn’t you ask Zeke to stop, and not fly at him like a tiger?”
demanded Mr. Tucker.
“I did remonstrate with him, but he only laughed, and did it again.”
“He hadn’t no right to order me,” said Zeke. “It wa’n’t no business of
his if I was havin’ a little fun with the dog.”
“And I had a little fun with, you,” returned Philip—“You couldn’t have
complained if I had dipped your head in the water also.”
“I ain’t a dog!” said Zeke.
“I should respect you more if you were,” said Philip.
“Are you goin’ to let him talk to me like that!” asked Zeke, appealing
to his father.
“No, I ain’t,” said Mr. Tucker angrily. “You’ve committed an assault
and battery on my son, you rascal, and you’ll find there ain’t no fun
in it for you. I could have you arrested and put in jail, couldn’t I,
squire?”
“Ahem! Well, you could have him fined; but, as he is to be under your
care, Mr. Tucker, you will have a chance of making him conduct himself
properly.”
“What do you mean by that, Squire Pope?” asked Philip quickly.
“Young man, I do not choose to be catechized,” said Squire Pope, in a
dignified manner; “but I have no objections to tell you that I have
made arrangements with Mr. Tucker to take you into the poorhouse.”
“I’ve heard that before, but I couldn’t believe it,” said Philip
proudly.
“I guess you’ll have to believe it pretty soon, he, he!” laughed Zeke,
with a grin which indicated his high delight. “I guess dad’ll make you
stand round when he gits you into the poor-house.”
“Don’t you consider me capable of earning my own living, Squire Pope?”
asked Philip.
“Ahem! Yes, you will be one of these days. You won’t have to stay in
the almshouse all your life.”
“You’ll have a chance to earn your livin’ with me.” said Mr. Tucker. “I
shall give you something to do, you may depend.”
“You can make him saw and split wood, father, and do the chores and
milk the cow,” suggested Zeke.
“I have no objection to doing any of those things for a farmer,” said
Philip, “but I am not willing to do it where I shall be considered a
pauper.”
“Kinder uppish!” suggested Mr. Tucker, turning to Squire Pope. “Most
all of them paupers is proud; but it’s pride in the wrong place, I
reckon.”
“If it is pride to want to earn an independent living, and not live on
charity, then I am proud,” continued Philip.
“Well, squire, how is it to be,” asked Mr. Tucker.
“Philip,” said Squire Pope pompously, “you are very young, and you
don’t know what is best for you. We do, and you must submit. Mr.
Tucker, take him and put him in the wagon, and we’ll drive over to the
poorhouse.”
“What! now?” asked Philip, in dismay.
“Just so,” answered Joe Tucker. “When you’ve got your bird, don’t let
him go, that’s what I say.”
“That’s the talk, dad!” said Zeke gladfully. “We’ll take down his
pride, I guess, when we’ve got him home.”
Joe Tucker approached Philip, and was about to lay hold of him, when
our hero started back.
“You needn’t lay hold of me, Mr. Tucker,” he said. “I will get into the
wagon if Squire Pope insists upon it.”
“I’m glad you’re gettin’ sensible,” said the squire, congratulating
himself on finding Philip more tractable than he expected.
“And you will go to the poorhouse peaceful, and without making a fuss?”
asked Joe.
“Yes, I will go there; but I won’t stay there.”
“You won’t stay there!” ejaculated the squire.
“No, sir! In treating me as a dependent on charity, you are doing what
neither you nor any other man has a right to do,” said Philip firmly.
“You don’t appear to remember that I am a selectman and overseer of the
poor,” said the Squire.
“I am aware that you hold those offices; but if so, you ought to save
money to the town, and not compel them to pay for my support, when I am
willing and able to support myself.”
Squire Pope looked a little puzzled. This was putting the matter in a
new light, and he could not help admitting to himself that Philip was
correct, and that perhaps his fellow citizens might take the same view.
On the other hand, the squire was fond of having his own way, and he
had now gone so far that he could not recede without loss of dignity.
“I think,” he answered stiffly, “that I understand my duty as well as a
boy of fifteen. I don’t mean to keep you here long, but it is the best
arrangement for the present.”
“Of course it is,” said Zeke, well pleased with the humiliation of his
enemy.
“Shut up, Zeke!” said his father, observing from the squire’s
expression that he did not fancy Zeke’s interference.
“All right, dad,” said Zeke good-naturedly, seeing that things had
turned out as he desired.
“Jump in!” said Mr. Tucker to Philip.
Our hero, without a word, obeyed. He was firmly resolved that Squire
Pope should not have his way, but he did not choose to make himself
ridiculous by an ineffectual resistance which would only have ended in
his discomfiture.
Seated between Mr. Tucker and the squire, he was driven rapidly toward
the poorhouse.