THE YOUNG RIVALS.
“Good-evening, Harry,” said Mrs. Thatcher, cordially. “Won’t you sit
down and take a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Thatcher; I have just got through supper. You must
excuse my coming so early, but I wanted to be sure to find Tom at home.”
The speaker was a slender, pleasant-faced boy of about Tom’s age. He
was better dressed than Tom, for though his father received but a small
annual salary from his parish, he was possessed of a considerable
private fortune, which enabled him to live with more freedom from
pecuniary anxiety than most ministers. The boys had always been
intimate, and Tom had more than once been favored by the loan of books
from his friend’s library.
“You have found me at home, Julian,” said Tom. “Is there anything going
on this evening?”
“Yes, and that’s what brings me here. There’s going to be a large
skating party on Round Pond, and we want you to join it.”
“I should like it, but I can’t go quite yet. I must saw and split some
wood for to-morrow first.”
“How long will it take you?”
“Less than an hour.”
“Let me help you. Then it won’t take so long.”
“I’m afraid I can’t afford to pay a hired man,” said Tom, laughing.
“The pleasure of your company will pay me,” said Harry.
“Thank you. I would take off my hat in return for the compliment if I
happened to have it on. I will soon be through supper.”
“Won’t you change your mind, Harry, and let me give you a cup of tea?”
asked Mrs. Thatcher.
“On second thoughts I will. It will keep me warm.”
The boys were soon through supper, and, adjourning to the wood-shed,
set to work energetically on the wood-pile.
“Will you saw or split, Harry?” asked Tom.
“I might break the saw if I attempted to use it. I will try the ax.”
“What would Rupert Simpson say if he should see you helping me?” said
Tom, in a moment’s pause. “He would think you were lowering yourself.”
“And he might be welcome to his opinion,” said Harry, independently.
“You are a good deal together.”
“Yes, but he seeks my company, not I his.”
“Mother tells me that he and I were like two brothers when we were
quite young. But he wasn’t rich then.”
“That has spoiled him.”
“At any rate, it has cured him of his liking for my company. Doesn’t
he ever speak to you about your being intimate with me?”
“Yes, often. He thinks I like you better than I do him, and he is right
there.”
“I can guess what he says to you, Harry?”
“Try it.”
Tom changed his voice, adopting Rupert’s rather affected tone.
“I shouldn’t think,” he began, “that you would associate with that Tom
Thatcher. He pegs shoes in father’s shop, and isn’t fit for gentlemen
like us to notice. My father doesn’t like me to keep such low company.”
Harry laughed heartily.
“You must have been listening some time when Rupert was speaking to
me,” he said.
“Then I hit right, did I?”
“Couldn’t come nearer.”
“I thought so. Yet father and Mr. Simpson worked side by side at the
shoe bench. They went to California together. Both secured a great deal
of money, but my poor father didn’t live to come home.”
“And his money? What became of that?” inquired Harry.
“No one knows. He was probably robbed of it.”
“It is a sad story, Tom.”
“Yes. My poor father’s fate is often in my mind. I cannot bring him
back to life, but I hope some day to learn something more of his last
days, and, if possible, of the manner in which he died.”
“Couldn’t Mr. Simpson tell you something about it?”
“He called on mother after his return, but gave her no definite
information. I am sometimes tempted to call on him and inquire on my
own account.”
“I would if I were you.”
“I will, then. I won’t speak to mother about it, because it always
makes her sad to speak about father’s death.”
“There’s the last stick, Harry,” said Tom, a few moments later. “Now I
sha’n’t have to keep you waiting any longer. I have only to put on my
coat, and get my skates.”
“Better wear your overcoat, Tom. It is quite cold.”
“Oh, I’m tough,” said Tom, lightly. “Besides, I can skate better
without it.”
He didn’t like to name the real reason, that he had no overcoat fit to
wear. The one he had worn the previous winter was very ragged, and he
could not spare money to buy a new one.
Harry suspected that this was the case, but was too delicate to refer
to it, and said nothing further.
From a nail in the closet Tom took down a pair of old wooden-framed
skates, on which, however, he could beat many who were provided with
club-skates of the most approved styles.
His friend Harry had a new pair of club-skates, and so had Rupert
Simpson.
A walk of a quarter of a mile brought the boys to Round Pond, which was
situated near the center of the village. It was small, not more than
three-quarters of a mile in circumference; but it was frozen clear as
glass, and looked tempting to the young skaters as they descended the
bank, and sat down by the margin to put on their skates.
Many boys and a few girls were already on the ice. When Tom and Harry
arrived some of them came to greet the new-comers. It was evident that
both were general favorites.
Among the boys who came up was Rupert Simpson.
“What made you so late, Harry?” he asked, impatiently.
“I called for Tom, and he had some wood to saw and split before he
could come.”
“I suppose you helped him,” suggested Rupert, with a sneer.
“I did.”
Rupert looked astonished and disgusted.
“I didn’t know you hired out to saw and split wood,” he said, with
another sneer.
“Now you do know it, I suppose you will cut my acquaintance,” said
Harry, pleasantly.
“I suppose you have a right to suit yourself. You wouldn’t catch me
sawing and splitting wood. We leave that to the servants.”
“You couldn’t give me a job, could you? However, it would be of no use.
I only work for Tom.”
Rupert shrugged his shoulders, and his attention was drawn to Tom’s old
skates.
“Those skates look as if they dated back to the ark,” said he, rudely.
“I don’t think they are quite so old as that,” returned Tom, coolly.
“They are a curiosity, anyway.”
“They can do good service, Rupert, that is, when Tom wears them,” said
Harry. “In spite of our fine club-skates, I believe we should find it
hard work to keep up with him.”
“Speak for yourself!” said Rupert, haughtily.
“No, I speak for you, too.”
“Try it! A race! a race!” exclaimed the boys in chorus.
“I will race with Harry,” said Rupert, hastily.
“No; you can beat me; I admit that in advance. Race with Tom.”
Tom said nothing. By this time his skates were on, and he was quite
ready to enter upon a trial of speed with Rupert, or any boy on the
pond; but he did not care to betray any anxiety on the subject.
Rupert was rather conceited on the subject of his skating. With the
exception of Tom Thatcher, he was probably the best skater in the
village--that is, among the boys--and felt pretty confident that he
could beat Tom himself. His reluctance was due only to his not liking
to place himself on an equality with the boy who pegged shoes for his
father at fifty cents per day. The clamor of the boys, however, and the
anticipation of a triumph over his rival overruled his objections, and
he said:
“I’ll try a race across the pond, if you insist upon it.”
“What do you say, Tom?” asked Harry.
“I am ready,” said Tom, promptly. “Just wait a minute till I tighten my
skates.”
“Won’t you use mine?” asked Harry.
“I object to that,” said Rupert.
“That will place you on equal terms.”
“I doubt that,” said Rupert, with a sneer which made his meaning plain.
“I will use the skates I have on,” said Tom, quietly.
“Clear the track!” exclaimed Harry.
The two boys took their positions side by side, both eager for the
race.