CHAPTER VII. EBEN GROWS ENVIOUS
“Well, mother,” said Herbert, as he entered the house, “I have brought you enough fish for dinner.”
“I waited to see what luck you would have, Herbert, and therefore have not got dinner ready. You will have to wait a little while.”
“I shall be all the hungrier, mother,” said Herbert.
Mrs. Carr could not help noticing the beaming look on her som’s face.
“You look as if you had received a legacy, Herbert,” she said.
Herbert laughed.
“There it is,” he said, displaying the sixty cents he had received from the landlord.
“There are ten cents more than I should have received for a whole day’s work at the store,” he said.
“Where did you get it, Herbert?”
“I sold a mess of fish to Mr. Barton, of the hotel.”
“You must have had good luck in fishing,” said his mother, looking pleased.
“I had help, mother. Mr. Melville, the young man from the city, who boards at the hotel, helped me fish.”
“Well, Herbert, you have made a good beginning. I couldn’t help feeling a little depressed when you left me this morning, reflecting that we had but my pension to depend upon. It seemed so unlucky that Eben Graham should have come home just at this time to deprive you of your place in the store.”
“It was a piece of good luck for me, mother.”
“I don’t see how,” said Mrs. Carr, naturally puzzled.
“Because I have a better situation already.”
Then Herbert, who had been saving the best news for the last, told his mother of his engagement as Mr. Melville’s companion, and the handsome compensation he was to receive.
“Six dollars a week!” repeated his mother. “That is indeed generous. Herbert, we did well to trust in Providence.”
“Yes, mother; and we have not trusted in vain.”
After dinner Herbert did some chores for his mother, and then went to the hotel to meet his new employer. He found him occupying a large and pleasant room on the second floor. The table near the window was covered with books, and there were some thirty or forty volumes arranged on shelves.
“I always bring books with me, Herbert,” said the young man. “I am very fond of reading, and hitherto I have occupied too much time, perhaps, in that way—too much, because it has interfered with necessary exercise. Hereafter I shall devote my forenoon to some kind of outdoor exercise in your company, and in the afternoon you can read to me, or we can converse.”
“Shall I read to you now, Mr. Melville?” asked Herbert.
“Yes; here is a recent magazine. I will select an article for you to read. It will rest my eyes, and besides it is pleasanter to have a companion than to read one’s self.”
The article was one that interested Herbert as well as Mr. Melville, and he was surprised when he had finished to find that it was nearly five o’clock.
“Didn’t the reading tire you, Herbert?” asked Melville.
“No, sir; not at all.”
“It is evident that your lungs are stronger than mine.”
At five o’clock Melville dismissed his young companion.
“Do you wish me to come this evening?” asked Herbert.
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t think of taking up your evenings.”
“At the post office I had to stay till eight o’clock.”
“Probably it was necessary there; I won’t task you so much.”
“When shall I come to-morrow?”
“At nine o’clock.”
“That isn’t very early,” said Herbert, smiling.
“No, I don’t get up very early. My health won’t allow me to cultivate early rising. I shall not be through breakfast much before nine.”
“I see you don’t mean to overwork me, Mr. Melville.”
“No, for it would involve overworking myself.”
“I shall certainly have an easy time,” thought Herbert, as he walked homeward.
He reflected with satisfaction that he was being paid at the rate of a dollar a day, which was quite beyond anything he had ever before earned. Indeed, to-day he had earned sixty cents besides. The sum received for the fish.
After supper Herbert went to the store to purchase some articles for his mother. He was waited on by Mr. Graham in person. As the articles called for would amount to nearly one dollar, the storekeeper said, cautiously: “Of course, you are prepared to pay cash?”
“Certainly, sir,” returned Herbert.
“I mentioned it because I knew your income was small,” said Ebenezer, apologetically.
“It is more than it was last week,” said Herbert, rather enjoying the prospect of surprising the storekeeper.
“Why, you ain’t found anything to do, have you?” asked Mr. Graham, his face indicating curiosity.
“Yes, sir; I am engaged as companion by Mr. Melville, who is staying at the hotel.”
“I don’t know what he wants of a companion,” said the storekeeper, with that disposition to criticise the affairs of his neighbors often found in country places.
“He thinks he needs one,” answered Herbert.
“And how much does he pay you now?” queried Ebenezer.
“Six dollars a week.”
“You don’t mean it!” ejaculated the storekeeper. “Why, the man must be crazy!”
“I don’t think he is,” said Herbert, smiling.
“Got plenty of money, I take it?” continued Ebenezer, who had a good share of curiosity.
“Yes; he tells me he is rich.”
“How much money has he got?”
“He didn’t tell me that.”
“Well, I declare! You’re lucky, that’s a fact!”
There was an interested listener to this conversation in the person of Eben, who had been in the store all day, taking Herbert’s place. As we know, the position by no means suited the young man. He had been employed in a store in Boston, and to come back to a small country grocery might certainly be considered a descent. Besides, the small compensation allowed him was far from satisfying Eben.
He was even more dissatisfied when he learned how fortunate Herbert was. To be selected as a companion by a rich young man was just what he would have liked himself, and he flattered himself that he should make a more desirable companion than a mere boy like Herbert.
As our hero was leaving the store, Eben called him back.
“What was that you were telling father about going round with a young man from the city?” he asked.
Herbert repeated it.
“And he pays you six dollars a week?” asked Eben, enviously.
“Yes; of course, I shouldn’t have asked so much, but he fixed the price himself.”
“You think he is very rich?” said Eben, thoughtfully.
“Yes, I think so.”
“What a splendid chance it would be for me!” thought Eben. “If I could get intimate with a man like that, he might set me up in business some day; perhaps take me to Europe, or round the world!” “How much of the time do you expect to be with this Mr. Melville?” he asked.
Herbert answered the question.
“Does he seem like a man easy to get along with?”
“Very much so.”
Eben inwardly decided that, if he could, he would oust Herbert from his desirable place, and substitute himself. It was a very mean thought, but Eben inherited meanness from his father.
“Herbert,” he said, “will you do me a favor?”
“What is it?” asked our hero.
“Will you take my place in the store this evening? I am not feeling well, and want to take a walk.”
“Yes,” answered Herbert, “as soon as I have run home to tell mother where I am.”
“That’s a good fellow. You shan’t lose anything by it. I’ll give you ten cents.”
“You needn’t pay me anything, Eben. I’ll do it as a favor.”
“You’re a trump, Herbert. Come back as soon as you can.”
When Eben was released from the store, he went over to the hotel, and inquired for Mr. Melville, leaving his unsuspecting young substitute in the post office.
CHAPTER VIII. EBEN’S ASSURANCE
“A young man wishes to see you, Mr. Melville,” said the servant.
George Melville looked up in some surprise from his book, and said: “You may show him up.”
“It must be Herbert,” he thought.
But when the door was opened, and the visitor shown in, Mr. Melville found it was an older person than Herbert. Eben, for it was he, distorted his mean features into what he regarded as a pleasant smile, and, without waiting to receive a welcome, came forward with extended hand.
“I believe you are Mr. Melville,” he said, inquiringly.
“Yes, that is my name,” said Melville, looking puzzled; “I don’t remember you. Have I met you before?”
“You saw me in father’s store, very likely,” said Eben. “I am Eben Graham, son of Ebenezer Graham, the postmaster.”
“Indeed! That accounts for your face looking familiar. You resemble your father very closely.”
“I’m a chip off the old block with modern improvements,” said Eben, smirking. “Father’s always lived in the country, and he ain’t very stylish. I’ve been employed in Boston for a couple of years past, and got a little city polish.”
“You don’t show much of it,” thought Melville, but he refrained from saying so.
“So you have come home to assist your father,” he said, politely.
“Well, no, not exactly,” answered Eben, “I feel that a country store isn’t my sphere.”
“Then you propose to go back to the city?”
“Probably I shall do so eventually, but I may stay here in Wayneboro a while if I can make satisfactory arrangements. I assure you that it was not my wish to take Herbert Carr’s place.”
“Herbert told me that you had assumed his duties.”
“It is only ad interim. I assure you, it is only ad interim. I am quite ready to give back the place to Herbert, who is better suited to it than I.”
“I wonder what the fellow is driving at,” thought Melville. Eben did not long leave him in doubt.
“Herbert tells me that he has made an engagement with you,” continued Eben, desiring to come to his business as soon as possible.
“Yes, we have made a mutual arrangement.”
“Of course, it is very nice for him; and so I told him.”
“I think I am quite as much a gainer by it as he is,” said Melville.
“Herbert was right. He is easily suited,” said Eben, to himself.
“Of course,” Eben added, clearing his throat, “Herbert isn’t so much of a companion to you as if he were a few years older.”
“I don’t know that; it seems to me that he is a very pleasant companion, young as he is.”
“To be sure, Herbert is a nice boy, and father was glad to help him along by giving him a place, with a larger salary than he ever paid before.”
“What is he driving at?” thought Melville.
“To come to the point, Mr. Melville,” said Eben, “I have made bold to call upon you to suggest a little difference in your arrangements.”
“Indeed!” said Melville, coldly. Though he had no idea what his singular visitor was about to propose, it struck him emphatically that Eben was interfering in an unwarrantable manner with his affairs.
“You see,” continued Eben, “I’m a good deal nearer your age than Herbert, and I’ve had the advantage of residing in the city, which Herbert hasn’t, and naturally should be more company to you. Then, again, Herbert could do the work in the post office and store, which I am doing, nearly as well as I can. I’ll undertake to get father to give him back his place, and then I shall be happy to make an arrangement with you to go hunting and fishing, or anything else that you choose. I am sure I should enjoy your company, Mr. Melville,” concluded Eben, rubbing his hands complacently and surveying George Melville with an insinuating smile.
“You have certainly taken considerable trouble to arrange this matter for me,” said Melville, with a sarcasm which Eben did not detect.
“Oh, no trouble at all!” said Eben, cheerfully. “You see, the idea came into my head when Herbert told me of his arrangements with you, and I thought I’d come and see you about it.”
“Did you mention it to Herbert?” asked George Melville, with some curiosity.
“Well, no, I didn’t. I didn’t know how Herbert would look at it. I got Herbert to take my place in the store while I ran over to see you about the matter. By the way, though I am some years older than Herbert, I shan’t ask more than you pay him. In fact, I am willing to leave the pay to your liberality.”
“You are very considerate!” said Melville, hardly knowing whether to be amused or provoked by the cool assurance of his visitor.
“Oh, not at all!” returned Eben, complacently. “I guess I’ve fetched him!” he reflected, looking at Mr. Melville through his small, half-closed eyes.
“You have certainly surprised me very much, Mr. Graham,” said Melville, “by the nature of your suggestion. I won’t take into consideration the question whether you have thought more of your own pleasure or mine. So far as the latter is concerned, you have made a mistake in supposing that Herbert’s youth is any drawback to his qualification as a companion. Indeed, his youth and cheerful temperament make him more attractive in my eyes. I hope, Mr. Graham, you will excuse me for saying that he suits me better than you possibly could.”
Eben’s countenance fell, and he looked quite discomfited and mortified.
“I didn’t suppose a raw, country boy would be likely to suit a gentleman of taste, who has resided in the city,” he said, with asperity.
“Then you will have a chance to correct your impression,” said Melville, with a slight smile.
“Then you don’t care to accept my offer?” said Eben, regretfully.
“Thank you, no. If you will excuse me for suggesting it, Mr. Graham, it would have been more considerate for you to have apprised Herbert of your object in asking him to take your place this evening. Probably he had no idea that you meant to supersede him with me.”
Eben tossed his head.
“You mustn’t think, Mr. Melville,” he said, “that I was after the extra pay. Six dollars doesn’t seem much to me. I was earning ten dollars a week in Boston, and if I had stayed, should probably have been raised to twelve.”
“So that you were really consenting to a sacrifice in offering to enter my employment at six dollars a week?”
“Just so!”
“Then I am all the more convinced that I have decided for the best in retaining Herbert. I do not wish to interfere with your prospects in the city.”
“Oh, as for that,” said Eben, judging that he had gone too far, “I don’t care to go back to the city just yet. I’ve been confined pretty steadily, and a few weeks in the country, hunting and fishing, will do me good.”
George Melville bowed, but said nothing.
Eben felt that he had no excuse for staying longer, and reluctantly rose.
“If you should think better of what I’ve proposed,” he said, “you can let me know.”
“I will do so,” said Melville.
“He’s rather a queer young man,” muttered Eben, as he descended the stairs. “It’s funny that he should prefer a country boy like Herbert to a young man like me who’s seen life, and got some city polish—at the same price, too! He don’t seem to see his own interest. I’m sorry, for it would have been a good deal more interesting to me, going round with him a few hours a day, than tending store for father. There’s one thing sure, I won’t do it long. I’m fitted for a higher position than that, I hope.”
“For downright impudence and cool assurance, I think that young man will bear off the palm,” thought George Melville, as his unwelcome visitor left the room. “Herbert is in no danger from him. It would probably surprise him if he knew that I should consider his company as an intolerable bore. I will tell Herbert to-morrow the good turn his friend has tried to do him.”
CHAPTER IX. THE SOLITARY FARMHOUSE
If Eben had been sensitive, the cool reception which he met with at the hands of Mr. Melville would have disturbed him. As it was, he felt angry and disappointed, and desirous of “coming up with” Herbert, as he expressed it, though it was hard to see in what way the boy had injured him. It did not seem quite clear at present how he was to punish Herbert, but he only waited for an occasion.
When Herbert learned, the next morning, from Mr. Melville, in what manner Eben had tried to undermine him, and deprive him of his situation, he was naturally indignant.
“I didn’t think Eben Graham could be so mean,” he exclaimed.
“It was certainly a mean thing to do, Herbert,” said George Melville; “but you can afford to treat young Graham with contempt, as he has been unable to do you any injury.”
“What shall we do this morning, Mr. Melville?” asked Herbert.
“I should like a row on the river,” said Melville. “Do you know of any boat we can have?”
“Walter Ingalls has a boat; I think we can hire that.”
“Do you know him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you may go and ascertain whether we can have it, or I will go with you to avoid loss of time.”
The boat was readily loaned, and the two were soon on the river. Mr. Melville first took the oars, but he was quickly fatigued, and resigned them to Herbert, who was strong and muscular for his age. As his companion observed his strong and steady strokes, he said:
“Herbert, I am disposed to envy you your strength and endurance. I get tired very easily.”
“Were you not strong when a boy?” asked Herbert.
“I never had much endurance. My mother had a feeble constitution and was consumptive, and I inherit something of her weakness.”
“It is fortunate that you have money, Mr. Melville, so that you are not obliged to work.”
“True; but I would give half my fortune to be strong and well.”
Herbert noticed the hectic flush upon Mr. Melville’s cheeks, and his white, transparent hands, and his sympathy was aroused.
“I see,” he said, thoughtfully, “that I am more fortunate than I thought in my health and strength.”
“They are blessings not to be overestimated, Herbert. However, my lot is, on the whole, a happy one, even though my life will probably be brief, and I have still many sources of satisfaction and enjoyment.”
The river led away from the village, flowing between wooded banks, with here and there a cottage set in the midst of the fields. Lying back in the stern, Melville enjoyed their tranquil passage, when their attention was suddenly attracted by a boy who stood on the bank, frantically waving his hat. Melville was the first to see him.
“What can that boy want?” he asked.
Herbert immediately looked around, and exclaimed in surprise:
“It’s Tom Tripp!”
“Row to shore, and see what he wants,” said Melville, quickly.
They were already near, and in a brief space of time they touched the bank.
“What’s the matter, Tom?”
“There’s a tramp in the house, stealing all he can lay hands on,” answered Tom, in excitement.
“What house?”
“Farmer Cole’s.”
Mr. Cole was the farmer for whom Tom Tripp was working.
Tom explained that the farmer was gone to the village, leaving his wife alone. A tramp had come to the door and asked for a meal. While Mrs. Cole was getting something for him, the visitor looked about him and, finding that there was no man about, boldly demanded money, after unceremoniously possessing himself of the silver spoons.
“Is he armed?” asked Melville.
“I don’t know; I don’t think so.”
“Does he know that you have gone for help?”
“No; he did not see me. I came from the fields, and saw him through the window. Mrs. Cole thinks I am in the field and there is no help near.”
Physical courage and physical strength do not always go together, and a weak man often excels a strong man in bravery. George Melville was thoroughly roused. For injustice or brutality he had a hearty contempt, and he was not one to stand by and see a ruffian triumph.
“Come, Herbert,” he said; “let us go to the help of this poor woman.”
“With all my heart,” answered Herbert, his eyes flashing.
Before describing the appearance of Herbert and George Melville upon the scene, I will go back a few minutes and relate what happened at the farmhouse.
Mrs. Cole was engaged in ironing when she heard a knock at the door.
Answering the summons, she found herself confronted by an ill-looking fellow whose dusty and travel-soiled garments revealed the character of the wearer.
“What is it you wish?” asked the farmer’s wife.
“I’m hungry!” said the tramp. “Can you give me something to eat?”
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Cole, cheerfully, for the good woman could not find it in her heart to turn away a fellow creature suffering from hunger. “We have enough and to spare. Come in, and sit down at the table.”
The visitor followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the table, while the farmer’s wife went to the pantry and brought out half a loaf of bread and a plate of cold meat.
The tramp was not long in attacking it, but after a few mouthfuls laid down his knife and fork.
“Where’s the coffee?” he asked.
“I have no warm coffee,” she answered.
“Don’t you drink coffee in the morning?”
“Yes, but breakfast was over two or three hours since. Shall I get you a glass of water?”
“Haven’t you any cider?”
“It seems to me you are particular,” said Mrs. Cole, growing indignant.
“All the same I want some cider,” said the tramp, impudently.
“I have no cider,” answered Mrs. Cole, shortly.
“A pretty farmhouse this is, without cider,” growled the tramp. “You can make me some coffee, then!”
“Who are you to order me round in my own house?” demanded Mrs. Cole, angrily. “One would think you took this for a hotel.”
“I take it for what I please,” said the tramp.
“If my husband were here you wouldn’t dare to talk to me like this!”
It was an unguarded admission, made on the impulse of the moment, and Mrs. Cole felt its imprudence as soon as she had uttered the words, but it was too late to recall them.
“Where is your husband?” asked the tramp, his face lighting up with a gleam of exultation.
“Near by,” answered Mrs. Cole, evasively; but her visitor saw that this was not correct.
“How much money have you in the house?” he demanded, abruptly.
“Money?” gasped the farmer’s wife, turning pale.
“Yes, money! Didn’t I speak plain enough?” asked the tramp, angrily.
“Are you a thief, then?”
“Don’t you dare to call me a thief!” said the tramp, menacingly.
“Then, if you are an honest man, why do you ask that question?”
“Because I am going to borrow what money you have.”
“Borrow!”
“Yes,” said the man, with a grin. “I’ll hand it back when I come around again.”
Under ordinary circumstances there would not have been money enough in the farmhouse to be anxious about, but it so happened that Farmer Cole had sold a yoke of oxen, and the money received, a hundred dollars, was upstairs in a bureau drawer. The thought of this, though she didn’t suppose the tramp to be aware of it, was enough to terrify Mrs. Cole, and she sank back in the chair in a panic. Of course the tramp inferred that there was a considerable sum in the house.
“Come, hurry up!” he said, roughly, “I can’t wait here all day. Where do you keep the money?”
“It is my husband’s,” said Mrs. Cole, terrified out of all prudence.
“All right! I’ll pay it back to him. While you’re about it, you may collect all the spoons, too. I’m going to open a boarding house,” he continued, with a chuckle, “and I shall need them.”
“Oh, heavens! What shall I do?” ejaculated the frightened woman.