MORE TROUBLES FOR RANDY
Two days passed quietly, and Randy did not see or hear anything more of
Bob Bangs. Then he learned through Jack that Mrs. Bangs had gone off on
a summer trip, taking her son with her.
"I hear there are great changes at the iron works," said Randy, to his
friend. "Mr. Bangs, they say, is in charge."
"He is, and father is out of it," answered Jack, bitterly. "That is
what Mrs. Bangs meant when she said I must be bitter against the
family."
"Is your father out of it entirely, Jack?"
"Yes, so far as holding a position is concerned. He still has his
stock. But he is afraid that won't be worth much, if Amos Bangs runs
the concern."
"What is your father going to do?"
"He doesn't know yet. He is trying to connect with some other iron
works."
"I hope he strikes something good."
"So do I, Randy."
"I wish I could get something to do, too," went on Randy.
"You mean during the summer?"
"Yes, and maybe later, too."
"Why, isn't your father working?"
"Not to-day. He has been working in a damp cellar and that brought on
his old complaint, rheumatism. He suffers something awful with it. He
ought to have a long rest."
"He certainly ought not to work in a cellar."
"He has already told his boss he couldn't go at it again," answered
Randy.
"Have you had a doctor?"
"Yes, Doctor Case came this morning."
"What does he say?"
"He says rheumatism is hard to cure and that my father will have to
take care of himself," answered Randy. "But I must go on now," he
added. "I must get some things for mother at the store."
What Randy said about his father was true. Louis Thompson was suffering
very much. He rested on a couch in the sitting room of the cottage, and
his wife did what she could to relieve his pain.
Several days passed and the rheumatism, instead of growing better,
became worse, so that neither Mrs. Thompson nor Randy knew what to do
for the sufferer. Then Mr. Thompson's side began to draw up, and in
haste a specialist from the city was called in. He gave some relief,
but said it would be a long time before the sufferer would be able to
go to work again.
"You must keep off your left leg," said the specialist.
A few days after that Louis Thompson tried to walk. But the pain was so
great he could not stand on the rheumatic limb. He sank on his couch
with a groan.
"I cannot do it," he gasped.
"Then do not try," answered his wife.
"But I must get to work, Lucy. I cannot afford to be idle."
"Never mind, Louis; we will get along somehow."
"How much did that specialist charge?"
"Fifty dollars?"
"And what was Doctor Case's bill?"
"Ten dollars."
"Sixty dollars! And we had only ninety dollars in the bank! That leaves
us only thirty dollars."
To this Mrs. Thompson did not answer. She had used up nearly ten
dollars for medicines, but did not wish to worry her suffering husband
by mentioning it.
"If I don't go to work we'll all starve to death!" continued Louis
Thompson.
"We'll manage somehow," answered the wife, bravely.
Nevertheless, she was much discouraged, and that evening, when her
husband was asleep, she and Randy talked the matter over as they sat on
the porch in the darkness.
"Mother," said Randy, earnestly, "I don't want you to feel troubled.
You have labored so long for me that it is now my turn. I only want
something to do."
"My dear child," said the mother, "I do not need to be assured of your
willingness. But I am sorry that you should be compelled to give up
your vacation and maybe your schooling."
"Giving up schooling will not be necessary. I can study in the
evenings. I am wondering what I can find to do."
"I know so little about such things, Randy, that we must consult
someone who is better qualified to give advice in the matter--your
Uncle Peter, for instance."
At this Randy gave a sigh.
"I don't know Uncle Peter. He never comes here."
"That is true," answered Mrs. Thompson, with some hesitation. "But you
know he is a business man and has a great deal to attend to. Besides,
he has married a lady who is exceedingly fashionable, and I suppose he
does not care to bring her to visit such unfashionable folks as we
are."
"Then," said Randy, indignantly, "I don't want to trouble him with any
of my applications. If he doesn't think us good enough to visit we
won't force ourselves upon him."
"My dear boy, you are too excitable. It may be that it is only his
business engagements that have kept him away from us. Besides, you can
go to him only for advice; it is quite different from asking
assistance."
Mother and son discussed the situation for fully an hour and at last,
in the absence of other plans, it was decided that Randy should go to
his uncle the next day and make known his wants. Mr. Thompson was told,
early in the morning, and said Randy could do as he thought best.
"But don't expect too much from your Uncle Peter," said the sick man.
Peter Thompson was an elder brother to Randy's father. Early in life he
had entered a counting room and ever since had been engaged in
mercantile pursuits. At the age of twenty-eight he had married a
dashing lady, who was more noted for her fashionable pretensions than
for any attractive qualities of the heart. She was now at the head of a
very showy establishment, far more pretentious than that over which
Mrs. Bangs presided. She knew little about her husband's relations and
cared still less.
The town of Riverport was twenty miles distant from Deep Haven, where
Peter Thompson resided with his family. A boat ran daily between these
places and several others, but Randy did not wish to spend the
necessary fare, and so borrowed a bicycle from Jack and made the trip
by way of the river road, a safe if not very comfortable highway.
Randy had been to Deep Haven several times in years gone by, but,
strange as it may seem, had never gone near his uncle's residence. But
he knew where the house was located--a fine brick affair, with a swell
front--and leaning his bicycle against a tree, he mounted the stone
steps and rang the bell.
"What's wanted?" demanded the servant who answered the summons, and she
looked Randy over in a supercilious manner, not at all impressed by the
modest manner in which he was attired.
"Is Uncle Peter at home?" asked Randy, politely.
"Who's Uncle Peter?"
"Mr. Peter Thompson?"
"No, he isn't."
"Where is he?"
"At his store, I expect."
"Is Mrs. Thompson at home?"
"I don't know. I'll see. Who shall I say wants to see her?"
"Randy Thompson."
Randy was left standing in the elegantly furnished hallway while the
servant departed. He could not help but contrast such elegance with his
own modest home.
"Come into the drawing room," said the servant, briefly, on returning,
and ushered him into the finest apartment he had ever entered.
Here he was kept waiting for fully quarter of an hour. Then a showily
dressed woman swept into the room with a majestic air and fixed a cold
stare upon our hero.
"Are you my aunt?" he asked, somewhat disconcerted by his chilling
reception.
"Really, I couldn't say--not having seen you before," she answered.
"My name is Randy Thompson. I am the son of Louis Thompson, of
Riverport."
"Ah, I see."
The woman said no more, but seemed to await developments. Randy was
greatly embarrassed. His aunt's coldness repelled him, and he easily
saw that he was not a welcome visitor. A touch of pride came to him and
he resolved that he would be as unsociable as his relative.
"What can he want of me?" thought the woman.
As Randy said nothing more she grew tired of the stillness and drew
herself up once more.
"You must excuse me this morning," she said. "I am particularly
engaged. I suppose you know where your uncle's store is. You will
probably find him there." And then she rang for the servant to show our
hero to the door. He was glad to get out into the open air once more.
"So that is Aunt Grace," he mused. "Well, I don't know as I shall ever
wish to call upon her again. She is as bad as an iceberg for freezing a
fellow. No wonder she and mother have never become friends."