Luck and Pluck

"It is not."

"It was his father's wish and intention. That wish ought to be sacred with you."

"I understand my duty."

"I trust you will do something more than understand it," said the lawyer, gravely. "I must remonstrate with you on your intentions with regard to John. He is an excellent scholar, and his abilities are superior. It would be a great pity that he should be debarred from the privilege of a college education."

"You say he is an excellent scholar," said Mrs. Oakley. "Then, if his education is already so excellent, there is no further need of his studying. He can begin to earn his living."

"Surely you do not mean what you say. If he were poor, and such a necessity existed, it would be well enough that he should go to work; but you well know that no such necessity exists."

"I am not going to support him in idleness," said Mrs. Oakley, coolly.

"As a student in college he would lead far from an idle life," said the lawyer. "Study is hard work, and college distinction is never won by a lazy student."

"It may be work, though to my mind it is not; but it brings in no money."

"Not at first, perhaps, but it prepares the student for remunerative employment in after life."

"I don't think much of colleges."

Though Mrs. Oakley said this, she would have been very glad to have Ben in college, not that she cared so much to have him a scholar, but it would give him a good social standing.

"I don't know," said Squire Selwyn, rather sharply, for he was getting out of patience with Mrs. Oakley,—"I don't know that it matters much what your opinion of colleges is. It was, as you know, the desire and intention of your late husband that John should enter college. It is your moral duty to carry out that intention."

"I don't care to be told what is my duty," said Mrs. Oakley, her eyes flashing.

"Do you propose to be independent of public opinion?"

"Perhaps you mean your opinion?"

"Not mine alone. Let me tell you, Mrs. Oakley, that in defrauding John Oakley of the privileges which his father meant him to enjoy, you are wronging the dead as well as the living,—not John alone, but the dead husband from whom all your money comes."

"He chose to leave all his money to me," said Mrs. Oakley, "Probably he thought that I would know how to dispose of it without outside advice."

"I am not so sure that he did leave his money to you," said the lawyer, significantly.

Mrs. Oakley flushed. Could he know that the will was found? Involuntarily she put her hand to her pocket, where the will was at that moment lying concealed. But a moment's reflection satisfied her that Hannah, who had not left the house, could not have had a communication with Squire Selwyn. Besides, there was no probability of Hannah's suspecting the nature of the document which she had seen in the candle.

"You have not forgotten that there was a will executed three months before Mr. Oakley died," added Squire Selwyn,—"a will by which John would have come into possession of two-thirds of the estate."

"I have heard a great deal about that will," retorted Mrs. Oakley. "Undoubtedly my husband destroyed it, as unjust to me."

"I don't see how it was unjust to you. It left the property as the law would have left it."

"Very well, where is the will? If you will produce it, I shall of course surrender to John all except the third which comes to me."

"I wish I could produce it."

"But you can't," said Mrs. Oakley, triumphantly, looking the lawyer in the face.

"In my opinion it has never been properly searched for," said the lawyer. "I have the strongest reason to believe that it exists."

"May I inquire what is that reason?" asked Mrs. Oakley.

"Mr. Oakley, in his last sickness, spoke to John about the will."

"What did he say about it?" asked the lady. "This is the first I have heard of it."

"Unfortunately he was so low that he was unable to declare where it was."

Mrs. Oakley looked relieved.

"But John heard the words 'secret drawer.'"

"Then you conclude that the will is still in existence."

"I do."

"And where do you think it is?"

"Somewhere in this house," said Squire Selwyn, emphatically.

"It is strange then that it has not been found," said Mrs. Oakley.

"I do not think so. If hidden in a secret drawer, it would naturally be difficult to find."

Mrs. Oakley rapidly made up her mind what to do. She saw that Squire Selwyn was suspicious of her. By a show of fair dealing she could allay those suspicions, and this would be worth while.

"If this will exists," she said, "it ought to be found."

"So I think," said the lawyer, surprised to hear her speak thus.

"And though its discovery would be to my disadvantage, I certainly shall not object to a search. Are you at leisure now to assist me in such a search?"

"I am," said the lawyer. "I think there is no time like the present."

"Then let us begin in this very room."

"It wouldn't be likely to be here. Still it is best not to slight any possible place of concealment."

Assisted by Mrs. Oakley, Squire Selwyn commenced a strict search, beginning with the parlor, and proceeding from room to room. He little suspected how near him the document was all the time. Of course the search proved fruitless.

"There is one room which has not yet been searched," said Mrs. Oakley,—"the only one except the kitchen, in which Mr. Oakley would be hardly likely to conceal it. I mean my own room."

"There's no occasion to search there."

"I would prefer that the search should be thorough. Here are my keys. I would rather have you go up."

Thus requested, Squire Selwyn complied with the request. He returned from the quest disappointed.

"It is very strange," he thought. "I am firmly convinced that my friend Oakley left a will in existence. But where is it?"

That question he was unable to answer.

"I cannot find the will," he said.

"I am glad you have searched," said Mrs. Oakley. "The fact that I have given you every facility for searching proves that I am perfectly willing that my husband's will should be carried out."

"And his wishes as well?"

"What do you refer to?"

"I refer to John's education."

"I have made up my mind as to that," said Mrs. Oakley, briefly.

"Do you consider your brother's house a suitable home for Mr. Oakley's son?"

"Why not?" she demanded, sharply.

"Do you think, in setting him to work in a shoe-shop, you are doing as his father wished?"

"I do not know where you got your information, Mr. Selwyn," said Mrs. Oakley, angrily, "but I must tell you that you are meddling with business that does not concern you. As you were my husband's lawyer, and drew up the will which you thought in existence, I have asked you to search for it; I have even opened my own chamber to your search. You ought to be satisfied by this time that you are mistaken. In doing this, I have done all that I intend doing. I shall take my own course with John Oakley, who is dependent upon me, and whatever you choose to think or say can have no effect upon me. Good-afternoon, sir."

Mrs. Oakley swept from the room, and Squire Selwyn left the house, feeling that his visit had not benefited John in the slightest degree. That night he wrote John a letter.

CHAPTER XXII.

MR. HUXTER GETS INTO HOT WATER

It was Mr. Huxter's intention to set John to work as soon as possible; but it so happened that the shoe business, in which he was engaged, had been for some time unusually dull, and had not yet revived. To this circumstance our hero was indebted for the comparative freedom which for a few days he was permitted to enjoy. During that time he was waiting anxiously for the expected letter from Squire Selwyn. He wished to know whether his stepmother was resolutely determined upon her present course with regard to himself, before he decided to take the matter into his own hands, and help himself in his own way. Upon one thing he was fully resolved,—not to remain much longer a member of Mr. Huxter's household.

As the letter was to come to the Milbank post-office, on the fourth afternoon he walked over to that village. This time he was not fortunate enough to meet David Wallace, and therefore had a long and tiresome walk.

"Is there a letter here for John Oakley?" he inquired of the postmaster.

"John Oakley," said the old official, looking under his glasses. "Do you live round here?"

"I am passing a short time in the neighborhood," said John.

The postmaster took some time to adjust his spectacles, and a longer time in looking over the letters. John waited anxiously, fearing that he had taken the long walk for nothing. But he was destined to be more fortunate.

"You said your name was John Oakley?" repeated the official, balancing a letter in his hand.

"Yes," said John, quickly.

"Then here's a letter for you. It looks like Squire Selwyn's writing."

"It is from him," said John.

"Then you know him?"

"Yes," said John, mechanically, impatiently tearing open the letter.

"He's a good lawyer, the squire is," said the postmaster. "He was here only last week."

"Yes, I saw him."

This was the letter which John received:—

"My dear young Friend:—I called upon your stepmother yesterday in the afternoon, hoping to induce her to adopt different measures with regard to yourself. I regret to say that I failed utterly in my mission. She will not permit you to go to college, declaring that you have already a sufficient education. Nor will she remove you from the house of Mr. Huxter, though I represented that he was not a proper person to have the charge of you.

"We had some conversation about the missing will. I was a little surprised by her suggesting that I should search the house for it. I was glad of the opportunity, and proceeded to do so. I made the search as thorough as possible, but discovered nothing. I still believe, however, that the will is in existence, unless it has been destroyed since your father's death.

"I hardly know what to advise under the circumstances. If you should leave Mr. Huxter, I advise you to seek your aunt at Wilton, and I shall be glad to hear from you when you have arrived there. If you should need money, do not hesitate to apply to me, remembering that I am your father's friend."

"Your true friend,

James Selwyn."

"P. S. I enclose a few lines from Sam."

There was another sheet inside the envelope, on which John recognized easily Sam's familiar handwriting. He was very glad to hear from Sam, for whom he felt a warm attachment.

Here is Sam's letter:—

"Dear John:—I have been missing you awfully. I couldn't think what had become of you till father told me he had seen you at Milbank. So you are in the spider's clutches, you poor innocent fly? A nice time you must have of it with old Huxter. I declare I've no patience with Mrs. Oakley, when I think of the way she has treated you. I can't do anything to her; but I'll take it out in tricks on Ben. By the way, your amiable stepbrother has got a new friend,—a flashy young man from New York, who sports a lot of bogus jewelry, and smokes from ten to a dozen cigars a day, and spends his time in lounging about the billiard and bar room. He isn't doing Ben any good. They play billiards a good deal, and he tells Ben stories about the city, which I expect will make Ben want to go there. Do you think Mrs. Oakley will let him?

"You've no idea how I miss you, old fellow. All the hard parts in Virgil and Xenophon come to me now. I don't enjoy studying half so much now that you are away. If I were you, I'd give old Huxter the slip some fine morning. I only wish you could come and stay at our house. Wouldn't it be jolly? I know father would like it; but I suppose people would talk, and Mrs. Oakley would make a fuss.

"Well, it's time for me to go to studying. Keep up a stiff upper lip, and never say die. Things will be sure to come round. One thing, you must be sure to write to me as soon as you can. Tell me all about how you're getting along with the monstrum horrendum informe. Of course I mean old Huxter."

"Your affectionate friend,

Sam Selwyn."

John felt much better after reading these letters. He felt that, whatever might be the hardships of his present lot, he had two good friends who sympathized with him. He read over the lawyer's letter once more. Though he didn't expressly advise him to leave Mr. Huxter, it was evident that he expected him to do so. John himself had no doubts on that point. He felt that he would be willing anywhere else to work for his living; but to remain in his present position was insupportable. He could feel neither regard nor respect for Mr. Huxter. He witnessed daily with indignation the manner in which he treated his poor wife, whom he sincerely pitied. But it was not his business to interfere between man and wife. No, he could not stay any longer in such a house. To-morrow morning he would rise early, and, before Mr. Huxter woke, bid a silent farewell to Jackson, and start on his journey to Wilton.

When he reached his boarding-place, it was already four o'clock in the afternoon. Mr. Huxter had come home just drunk enough to be ugly. He had inquired of his wife where John was. She couldn't tell him.

"What business has he to leave the house without permission?" he growled.

"He is old enough for that, surely," said Mrs. Huxter.

"Shut up, Mrs. Huxter! What do you know about it?" said her husband. "The boy needs a good flogging."

"I'm sure he's a very good boy," said Mrs. Huxter. "He is quite a young gentleman."

"He is altogether too much of a young gentleman," said Mr. Huxter. "He puts on too many airs for me."

"You are not just to him, Mr. Huxter."

"How many times, Mrs. Huxter, must I request you to mind your own business?" said her husband, coarsely. "Do you know what I am going to do?"

"What?" asked his wife, with apprehension.

"I'm going to cut a stout stick out in the orchard, and give the young gentleman a lesson when he returns. That's what I'm going to do."

"Oh don't, Mr. Huxter!" implored his wife, clasping his arm.

But Mr. Huxter was in one of his ugly fits, and shaking off his wife's grasp, went out into the orchard, taking out his jack-knife. He returned in a few minutes with a thick stick in his hand, which boded no good to poor John.

Mrs. Huxter turned pale with apprehension, and earnestly hoped John would not return until her husband had forgotten his resolution. But this was not to be. She heard a step upon the threshold, and John entered by the back way. Mr. Huxter tightened the grasp upon his stick, and smiled grimly.

"Where've you been, Oakley?" he demanded, abruptly.

"I have been over to Milbank," said John, quietly, not knowing the intention of the questioner.

"What did you go over to Milbank for?" asked Huxter.

"I didn't know there was any objection to my going," said John.

"What business had you to go without asking my leave?"

"I didn't suppose there was any need of my asking you whether I could go or not."

"You're an impudent young rascal!" exclaimed Mr. Huxter.

"What reason have you for calling me that?" asked John, calmly. He saw that Mr. Huxter had been drinking, and did not wish to get into a dispute with him.

"You needn't think you can put on any of your airs here. I won't stand it!" vociferated Huxter, gradually working himself up into a rage.

"I don't want to put on any airs, Mr. Huxter," said John.

"Do you mean to contradict me?" demanded Huxter, glaring at John.

"You had better go out," said Mrs. Huxter, in a low voice.

"He shan't go out! He shall stay," roared Huxter. "I'll thank you not to interfere, Mrs. Huxter. I'm going to flog the young jackanape."

He seized his stick and made a rush at John. Our hero, knowing he could not cope with him, and besides not wishing to get into a fight in the presence of Mrs. Huxter, dodged the angry man. This made Mr. Huxter, whose blood was now up, all the more eager to get hold of him. John, however, succeeded in eluding him once more. This time, however, Mr. Huxter was unlucky. Mrs. Huxter had been washing, and the tub full of quite warm water had been temporarily placed upon the floor of the kitchen. Mr. Huxter, whose motions were not over-steady, slipped, and, falling backward, sat down in the tub.

He gave a yell of pain, and John, taking advantage of the accident, ran out of the door. But Mr. Huxter was in no condition to follow him. The water was not hot enough to scald him; but it certainly made him feel very uncomfortable.

"The young rascal has killed me," he groaned. "I'm scalded to death, and I suppose you're glad of it, Mrs. Huxter. You put the tub there on purpose."

Mr. Huxter took off his clothes and went to bed, swearing at his poor wife, who he declared was in league with John.

"There's no help for it now," said John to himself. "I must leave this house to-morrow."

CHAPTER XXIII.

IN WHICH JOHN TAKES FRENCH LEAVE

"To-morrow I will leave Jackson," thought John, as he undressed himself, and jumped into bed.

His spirits rose as he made this resolution. It had been very irksome to him to feel that he was under the control of such a man as Mr. Huxter,—a man for whom it was impossible for him to feel either respect or regard. Under any circumstances it would have been disagreeable for him to remain, but off from the studies in which he had taken delight, the time passed heavily; he felt that he had no longer an object in life. But the petty persecutions to which he was subjected made it intolerable, and he was satisfied that the accident which had befallen Mr. Huxter would only make matters worse.

Meanwhile Mr. Huxter, on his bed below, cherished thoughts the reverse of agreeable concerning our hero.

"I'll come up with the young rascal," he muttered. "He'll find it's a bad day's work he's done for himself."

"It wasn't his fault, Mr. Huxter," said his wife, who wanted justice done.

"Why isn't it his fault?" said her husband, looking at her with a frown.

"He didn't know you would slip into the tub."

"And I shouldn't wonder if you put it there, Mrs. Huxter. It was a regular trap."

"I put it there just for a few minutes. I was going to move it."

"Yes, after you had accomplished your object, and got me scalded."

"You ought not to say such things, Mr. Huxter. You know I was innocent of any such intention."

"Oh, of course nobody was to blame! That's always the way. But it isn't much comfort to me."

"I don't see how anybody was to blame."

"Well, I do," said Mr. Huxter, savagely. "As soon as I get up, I'll give Oakley such a flogging as he never got before."

It was a great disappointment to Mr. Huxter that he could not carry out his benevolent design at once; but he felt too uncomfortable for that.

"I wish you had never brought him here," said Mrs. Huxter. "I am sure he cannot enjoy himself much here."

"I don't care whether he enjoys himself or not," said her husband. "We get six dollars a week for his board,—that's the main point. And next week, when I set him to work in the shop, we'll make a pretty good thing out of him."

"I don't believe he will be willing to work in the shop. He knows that you get paid for his board."

"I think I can persuade him with the horsewhip," said Mr. Huxter, significantly.

At that moment John's steps were heard as he ascended the attic stairs on his way to bed.

A new thought came to Mr. Huxter about an hour later. He reflected that it was in John's power to elude his vengeance by escaping, and this he had no intention of permitting.

"Mrs. Huxter," he said.

"Do you want anything?"

"Yes, I want you to go upstairs, and fasten the door of John Oakley's chamber."

"What for?"

"No matter what for. Go and do it, and I will tell you afterwards."

"He won't be able to come downstairs in the morning."

"I don't mean that he shall. I'll keep him in his room for twenty-four hours on bread and water. It'll be a good lesson for him. Come, are you going? If you don't I'll get out of bed myself, and go up."

Mrs. Huxter thought it best to comply with the command accompanied by such a threat. Much against her will, therefore, she went up and secured the door of John's chamber by a bolt placed upon the outside. She hoped that her husband would forget all about it during the night, so that she might release John before he had learned that he had been a prisoner.

It was about half-past three that John awoke. He did not know what time it was, but conjectured that it might be near four. Though he still felt sleepy, he deemed it advisable to lose no more time, but escape while Mr. Huxter was asleep. He accordingly dressed himself as carefully as he could, in the imperfect light, and went on tiptoe to the door. He tried to open it, but without success. Thinking that the door might stick, he made another attempt. This time he understood the state of things.

"I have been bolted in," he said to himself. "Can Mr. Huxter have suspected my plan?"

Whether this was or was not the case John was unable to determine.

He sat down on the bed, and reflected what he had better do. Should he give up the attempt, and go to bed again? No; he was resolved not to relinquish his plan while there was any chance of carrying it out.

He went to the window and looked out. If it had been on the second floor the difficulty would have been less, but it was an attic window, and over twenty feet from the ground. There was no ell part beneath; but the distance to the ground was unbroken.

A sudden thought struck John. He turned up the bed, and found that it rested upon an interlacing cord. Why could he not detach this cord, and, fastening it to some fixed object in the chamber, descend with safety to the ground? The plan no sooner occurred to John than he determined to carry it into execution.

The rope proved to be quite long enough for his purpose. He fastened one end securely, and dropped the other over the sill. Looking down, he saw that it nearly reached the ground. He had no fear of trusting himself to it. He had always been good at climbing ropes, and was very strong in the arms.

"After all," he thought, "this is better than to have gone downstairs. I might have stumbled over something in the dark, and Mr. Huxter would have been roused by the noise."

He got out of the window, and swung out. He let himself down as noiselessly as possible. In less than a minute he stood upon the ground, under the gray morning sky.

He looked up to Mr. Huxter's window, but everything was still. Evidently no one had heard him.

"So far, so good," thought John. "Now I must travel as many miles as possible between now and six o'clock. That will give me a good start if I am pursued."

John hoped he would meet no one who would recognize him. But in this he was disappointed. He had walked six miles, when he heard his name called from behind. Startled, he looked back hastily, and to his relief discovered that the call came from David Wallace, who had taken him up on his first journey to Milbank.

"Where are you going, John?" asked David. "Don't you want to ride?"

"Thank you," said John.

He jumped on board the wagon, and took a seat beside David.

"You are travelling early, David," he said.

"Just what I was going to say to you," said David, laughing. "Are you walking for your health?"

"Not exactly," said John. "I've a great mind to tell you. You won't tell?"

"Honor bright!"

"Then, I've left Mr. Huxter without bidding him good-by."

"Good!" said David. "I don't blame you a bit. Tell me how it happened."

David was highly amused at Mr. Huxter's adventure with the tub.

"I must tell that to George Sprague," he exclaimed. "It's a good joke."

"I'm afraid Mr. Huxter wouldn't agree with you there."

"He never does agree with anybody. Now tell me how you managed to walk off."

John narrated how he found himself locked in, and how he resorted to the expedient of the bed-cord.

"You're a trump, John!" said David, slapping him on the shoulder. "I didn't think you had so much spunk."

"What did you think of me?" asked John, smiling.

"You see you're such a quiet fellow, you don't look as if you were up to such things. But what will you do if Mr. Huxter pursues you?"