ESCAPE AND FLIGHT.
Though the boys had made as little noise as possible, conversing in an
undertone, they had been heard by Mrs. Tucker. Her husband, as was his
custom, had gone to sleep; but Mrs. Tucker, who, during the day, had
discovered the loss of ten cents from her bureau drawer in which she
kept her savings, had been kept awake by mental trouble. Some of my
readers may think so small a loss scarcely worth keeping awake for, but
Mrs. Joe Tucker was a strictly economical and saving woman—some even
called her penurious—and the loss of ten cents troubled her.
She would have laid it to one of “them paupers,” as she was wont
contemptuously to refer to them, except that she never allowed one of
them to enter the sacred precincts of her chamber.
A horrible thought entered her mind. Could it be Zeke, the boy whom she
thought such a paragon, though no one else had been able to discover
his virtues or attractions? She did not like to think of it, but it did
occur to her that Zeke, the previous day, had asked her for ten cents,
though he would not own the purpose for which he wanted it. The boy
might have been tempted to take the money. At any rate, she would go
and see.
Zeke slept in a small room adjoining. When his mother entered, with a
candle in her hand, he was lying asleep, with his mouth wide open, and
one arm dropped over the side of the bed.
Mrs. Tucker took a look at him, and saw that he was wrapped in slumber
and unable to notice what she proposed to do. His clothes were thrown
down carelessly on a chair near-by.
Mrs. Tucker searched first in the pockets of his pants, and, though she
discovered a large variety of miscellaneous articles, “of no use to any
one except the owner,” she didn’t discover any traces of the missing
dime. She began to hope that he had not taken it, after all, although,
in that case, the loss would continue to be shrouded in obscurity. But,
on continuing her search, she discovered in one of the pockets of his
vest a silver ten-cent piece.
Mrs. Tucker’s eyes flashed, partly with indignation at Zeke’s
dishonesty, partly with joy at the recovery of the missing coin.
“I’ve found you out, you bad boy!” she said, in a low voice, shaking
her fist at the sleeping boy. “I wouldn’t have believed that my Zeke
would have robbed his own mother. We must have a reckoning to-morrow.”
She was half-inclined to wake Zeke up and charge him with his crime,
confronting him with the evidence of it which she had just discovered;
but on second thoughts she decided that she might as well let him
sleep, as the next day would do just as well.
Poor Zeke! he was not guilty, after all, though whether his honesty was
strict enough to resist a powerful temptation, I am not sure.
The dime which Mrs. Tucker had discovered was the same one that Philip
had given to Zeke in return for his service in notifying Frank Dunbar
of his captivity. In another pocket was the five-cent piece given him
by Frank, but that had escaped his mother’s attention.
The reader will understand now how it happened that Mrs. Tucker was
kept awake beyond her usual time. She was broad awake when Frank Dunbar
arrived, and she heard something through the partially open window of
the conference between the two boys. She heard the voices that is to
say, but could not tell what was said.
With her mind dwelling upon Zeke’s supposed theft, however, she was
more easily frightened than usual, and immediately jumped to the
conclusion that there were burglars outside, trying to get in.
The absurdity of burglars attempting to rob the town poorhouse did not
occur to her in panic. She sat up in bed, and proceeded to nudge her
husband in no gentle fashion.
“Mr. Tucker!” she exclaimed.
Her husband responded by an inarticulate murmur, but did not wake.
“Mr. Tucker!” she exclaimed, in a louder voice, giving him a still more
vigorous shake.
“Eh! What! What’s the matter?” said Tucker, opening his eyes at last,
and staring vacantly at his wife.
“What’s the matter!” retorted his wife impatiently. “The matter is that
there’s burglars outside!”
“Let ’em stay outside!” said Joe Tucker, in a sleepy tone.
“Did any one ever hear such a fool?” exclaimed Mrs. Tucker,
exasperated. “They’re trying to get in. Do you hear that, Mr. Tucker?”
“Trying to get in! Is the door locked?” asked Joe, a little alarmed.
“You must get up and defend the house,” continued Mrs. Tucker.
Now, Mr. Tucker was not a brave man. He had no fancy for having a
hand-to-hand conflict with burglars, who might be presumed to be
desperate men. It occurred to him that it would be decidedly better to
stay where he was and run no risk.
“Never mind, Abigail,” he said, soothingly. “The burglars can’t do us
any harm. They can’t do any more than carry off a pauper or two, and I
don’t, believe they’ll do that.”
“I wouldn’t mind that, Mr. Tucker; but I’ve left the spoons
down-stairs!” answered his wife.
“How many are there!”
“Six. I want you to go down and get them and bring them up here, where
they will be safe.”
“But suppose I should meet some of the burglars!” suggested Tucker,
trembling.
“Then you must defend yourself like a man!”
“You might find me in the morning weltering in my gore!” said Joe, with
an uneasy shudder.
“Are we to have the spoons stolen, then!” demanded Mrs. Tucker sharply.
“If you care so much for the spoons, Abigail, you’d better go
down-stairs yourself and get ’em. I don’t value them as much as my
life.”
“I don’t know but I will, if you’ll look out of the window and see
whether you can see any of the burglars outside,” responded Mrs.
Tucker. “If they haven’t got in yet, I’ll take the risk.”
“Where did you hear ’em, Abigail?”
“Right outside. Open the window and look out, and you may see ’em.”
Mr. Tucker was not entirely willing to do this, but still he preferred
it to going down-stairs after the spoons, and accordingly he advanced,
and, lifting the window, put his head out, as described at the close of
the last chapter.
Philip and Frank were just ready to go when they heard the window
rising, and naturally looked up in some trepidation.
“It’s old Tucker!” said Frank, in a low voice.
Philip looked up, and saw that his friend was right.
Mr. Tucker had not yet discovered them, but the whisper caught his ear,
and looking down he caught sight of the two boys.
In his alarm, and the obscurity of the night, he did not make out that
they were boys and not men, and was about to withdraw his head in
alarm, when a mischievous impulse seized Frank Dunbar.
“Give me the ball, Philip!” he said quickly.
Philip complied with his request, not understanding his intention.
Now, Frank belonged to a baseball club, and had a capital aim. He threw
up the ball and struck Mr. Tucker fairly in the nose. The effect upon
the terrified Joe was startling.
Full as his mind was of burglars, he fancied that it was something a
great deal more deadly that had struck him.
“Oh, Abigail! I’m shot through the brain!” he moaned in anguish, as he
poked in his head and fell back upon the floor.
“What do you mean, Joe?” asked his wife, in alarm, as she hastened to
her prostrate husband, whose hand was pressed convulsively upon the
injured organ, which, naturally ached badly with the force of the blow.
“I’m a dead man!” moaned Mr. Tucker; “and it’s all your fault. You made
me go to the window.”
“I don’t believe you’re shot at all! I didn’t hear any report,” said
Mrs. Tucker. “Let me see your face.”
Mr. Tucker withdrew his hand mournfully.
“You’ve only been struck with a rock or something,” said she, after a
careful examination.
“It’s bleeding!” groaned Joe, seeing a dark stain on his night-dress.
“Suppose it is—it won’t kill you. I’ll look out myself.”
But she saw nothing. Philip and Frank had immediately taken to flight,
and vanished in the darkness.
“They’ve run away!” announced Mrs. Tucker. “My spoons are safe.”
“But my nose isn’t,” groaned Mr. Tucker.
“You won’t die this time,” said Mrs. Tucker, not very sympathetically.
“Soak your nose in the wash-basin, and you’ll be all right in the
morning.”
The two boys were destined to have another adventure that night.