THE PROFESSOR’S FLIGHT.
Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca was not a wise man. It would have been
much more to his interest to deal honestly with Philip, paying his
share of the profits of the first performance, and retaining his
services as associate and partner.
But the professor was dazzled by the money, and unwilling to give it
up. Moreover, he had the vanity to think that he would draw nearly as
well alone, thus retaining in his own hands the entire proceeds of any
entertainments he might give.
When he met Philip on the road he was well-nigh penniless. Now,
including the sum of which he had defrauded our hero and his creditors
in Wilkesville, he had one hundred and fifty dollars.
When the professor went to bed, he had not formed the plan of deserting
Philip; but, on awaking in the morning, it flashed upon him as an
excellent step which would put money in his pocket.
He accordingly rose, dressed himself quietly, and, with one cautious
look at Philip—who was fast asleep—descended the stairs to the office.
Only the bookkeeper was in the office.
“You are stirring early, professor,” he said.
“Yes,” answered Riccabocca, “I generally take a morning walk, to get an
appetite for breakfast.”
“My appetite comes without the walk,” said the bookkeeper, smiling.
“If Mr. de Gray comes downstairs, please tell him I will be back soon,”
said Riccabocca.
The bookkeeper readily promised to do this, not having the slightest
suspicion that the distinguished professor was about to take French
leave.
When Professor Riccabocca had walked half a mile he began to feel
faint. His appetite had come.
“I wish I had stopped to breakfast,” he reflected. “I don’t believe De
Gray will be down for an hour or two.”
It was too late to go back and repair his mistake. That would spoil
all. He saw across the street a baker’s shop, just opening for the day,
and this gave him an idea.
He entered, bought some rolls, and obtained a glass of milk, and,
fortified with these, he resumed his journey.
He had walked three miles, when he was over-taken by a farm wagon,
which was going his way.
He hailed the driver—a young man of nineteen or thereabouts—ascertained
that he was driving to Knoxville, and, for a small sum, secured passage
there.
This brings us to the point of time when Philip and Mr. Gates drove up
to the hotel at Knoxville.
“I can see the professor,” said Philip, in eager excitement, when they
had come within a few rods of the inn.
“Where is he?”
“He is in the office, sitting with his back to the front window. I
wonder what he will have to say for himself?”
“So do I,” said the landlord curiously.
“Shall we go in together?” questioned Philip.
“No; let us surprise him a little. I will drive around to the sheds
back of the hotel, and fasten my horse. Then we will go round to the
front, and you can go in, while I stand outside, ready to appear a
little later.”
Philip thought this a good plan. He enjoyed the prospect of confronting
the rogue who had taken advantage of his inexperience, and attempted
such a bold scheme of fraud. He didn’t feel in the least nervous, or
afraid to encounter the professor, though Riccabocca was a man and he
but a boy. When all was ready, Philip entered through the front door,
which was open, and, turning into the office, stood before the
astonished professor.
The latter started in dismay at the sight of our hero. He thought he
might be quietly eating breakfast ten miles away, unsuspiciously
waiting for his return. Was his brilliant scheme to fail? He quickly
took his resolution—a foolish one. He would pretend not to know Philip.
“Well, Professor Riccabocca,” Philip said, in a sarcastic tone, “you
took rather a long walk this morning.”
The professor looked at him vacantly.
“Were you addressing me?” he inquired.
“Yes, sir,” answered Philip, justly provoked.
“I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance, young man.”
“I wish I hadn’t the pleasure of yours,” retorted Philip.
“Do you come here to insult me?” demanded Riccabocca, frowning.
“I came here to demand my share of the money received for the
entertainment last evening, as well as the money paid for the hall, the
printer, and bill-poster.”
“You must be crazy!” said Riccabocca, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t
know you. I don’t owe you any money.”
“Do you mean to say we didn’t give an entertainment together last
evening at Wilkesville?” asked Philip, rather taken aback by the man’s
sublime impudence.
“My young friend, you have been dreaming. Prove what you say and I will
admit your claim.”
Up to this point those present, deceived by the professor’s coolness,
really supposed him to be in the right. That was what Riccabocca
anticipated, and hoped to get off before the discovery of the truth
could be made. But he did not know that Philip had a competent witness
at hand.
“Mr. Gates!” called Philip.
The portly landlord of the Wilkesville Hotel entered the room, and
Riccabocca saw that the game was up.
“Mr. Gates, will you be kind enough to convince this gentleman that he
owes me money?” asked Philip.
“I think he won’t deny it now,” said Gates significantly. “He walked
off from my hotel this morning, leaving his bill unpaid. Professor
Riccabocca, it strikes me you had better settle with us, unless you
wish to pass the night in the lockup.”
Professor Riccabocca gave a forced laugh.
“Why, Mr. de Gray,” he said, “you ought to have known that I was only
playing a trick on you.”
“I supposed you were,” said Philip.
“No, I don’t mean that. I was only pretending I didn’t know you, to see
if I could act naturally enough, to deceive you.”
“Why did you desert me?” asked Philip suspiciously.
“I started to take a walk—didn’t the bookkeeper tell you?—and finding a
chance to ride over here, thought I would do so, and make arrangements
for our appearance here. Of course, I intended to come back, and pay
our good friend, the landlord, and give you your share of the common
fund.”
Neither Gates nor Philip believed a word of this. It seemed to them
quite too transparent.
“You may as well pay us now, Professor Riccabocca,” said the landlord
dryly.
“I hope you don’t suspect my honor or integrity,” said Riccabocca,
appearing to be wounded at the thought.
“Never mind about that,” said Mr. Gates shortly. “Actions speak louder
than words.”
“I am quite ready to settle—quite,” said the professor. “The money is
in my room. I will go up and get it.”
There seemed to be no objection to this, and our two friends saw him
ascend the staircase to the second story. Philip felt pleased to think
that he had succeeded in his quest, for his share of the concert money
would be nearly seventy dollars. That, with the balance of the money;
received from Farmer Lovett, would make over a hundred dollars.
They waited five minutes, and the professor did not come down.
“What can keep him?” said Philip.
Just then one of the hostlers entered and caught what our hero had
said.
“A man has just run out of the back door,” he said, “and is cutting
across the fields at a great rate.”
“He must have gone down the back stairs,” said the clerk.
“In what direction would he go?” asked Philip hastily.
“To the railroad station. There is a train leaves in fifteen minutes.”
“What shall we do, Mr. Gates?” asked Philip, in dismay.
“Jump into my buggy. We’ll get to the depot before the train starts. We
must intercept the rascal.”