Luck and Pluck

"I'm seventeen," grumbled Ben. "I'm old enough to look after property."

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Ben," said Mrs. Oakley. "I will give you an allowance of ten dollars a week from now till you are twenty-one. Then, if you behave well, I will make over to you twenty thousand dollars."

"You might say thirty. You're not saving a third for John Oakley, are you?"

Mrs. Oakley's face hardened.

"No," she said; "he's been too insolent to me. I suppose I must give him something, but he shall never have a third."

"Five hundred dollars will be enough for him," said Ben, with contemptible meanness, considering that but for the accident of his father's second marriage the whole property—one hundred and twenty times as much—would have gone to John.

"I can't tell you how much he will get," said Mrs. Oakley. "It depends on how he behaves. If he had treated us with greater respect, his chances would be a great deal better."

"He's a proud upstart!"

"But his pride shall be broken. I'm determined upon that."

"Then you won't send him to college? That would make him prouder still. Besides," added Ben, his habitual meanness suggesting the thought, "it costs a good deal to keep a fellow at college."

"No," said Mrs. Oakley, "he shan't go to college."

"Good!" said Ben, his eyes sparkling; "that will be a bitter pill for him, for he wants to go."

"How soon would he be ready?"

"In about a year."

"You may set your mind at rest on that point. He shan't go."

"All right, mother. When are you going to pay me my allowance?" he said, insinuatingly.

Mrs. Oakley took out her purse, and placed a ten-dollar bill in his hand.

"That's for the first week," she said.

"Couldn't you make it fifteen, mother?"

"No, ten must do for the present."

"Are you going to allow John anything?"

"He doesn't deserve anything. When he does, I will allow him fifty cents a week."

Ben strolled over to the billiard rooms, and spent the forenoon playing billiards with another young fellow as idle and unpromising as himself. He then walked over to the hotel, and bought a dozen cigars, one of which he began to smoke. At one o'clock he returned home to dinner. John was not present at this meal. The intermission between morning and afternoon schools at the academy was but an hour, and he had been accustomed to carry his lunch with him. He was not released until four o'clock in the afternoon.

"Well, mother," said Ben, "how about the horse? Are you going to give up to John?"

"Certainly not; you may consider the horse yours," said Mrs. Oakley.

"John'll make a fuss."

"Let him," said Mrs. Oakley. "He'll find that I can make a fuss too."

"I'll go out to ride this afternoon," said Ben, with satisfaction. "I'll get started just before four o'clock, so as to meet John on his way from school. He'll look mad enough when he sees me;" and Ben laughed, as he fancied John's looks.

"It is a very good plan," said Mrs. Oakley, approvingly. "We'll see if he dares to interfere with you again."

The more Ben thought of it, the better he was pleased with this plan. All the academy boys knew that the horse was John's, and they would now see him upon it. He would be likely to meet many of them, and this would make John's humiliation the greater. At half-past three he went out to the barn.

"Mike," he said, to the hostler, "you may saddle Prince. I am going to ride out."

"Master John's horse?"

"No, my horse."

"Your horse, sir? Prince belongs to Master John."

"How dare you stand there contradicting me?" said Ben, haughtily. "The horse is mine. My mother has given it to me."

"It's a shame, then," said Mike to himself, "for Master John sets a sight by that horse. The old woman's mighty queer."

It was lucky for Mike that Mrs. Oakley was not aware of the disrespectful term applied to her in Mike's thoughts, or he would probably have been discharged at short notice. But the fact was, that none of the servants liked her. Feeling a little doubtful of her own position, she always spoke to them in a haughty tone, as if they were far beneath her, and this, instead of increasing their respect, only diminished it.

Mike saddled Prince, and led him out into the yard.

"You must be careful, Master Ben," he said. "The horse has got a spirit of his own, and he isn't used to you."

Ben was a poor horseman, and he knew it; but he was too proud to admit it to Mike.

"Don't trouble yourself," he said, haughtily. "If John can manage him, I can."

"He's used to Master John."

"Well, he's got to get used to me," said Ben. "If he don't behave well it will be the worse for him. You haven't given me the whip."

"You'd better not use it much, Master Ben. He won't stand a whip very well."

"Keep your advice till it is asked for," said Ben.

"All right, sir," said Mike, and handed him the whip. He followed him with his eyes as he rode out of the yard. "He don't sit like Master John. It wouldn't take much to throw him off. However, I've warned him, and he must have his own way if he breaks his neck."

Although Ben had spurned Mike's warning with so much disdain, he thought of it as he rode up the street, and let Prince take his own gait. The truth was, he did not feel very secure in his seat, and did not feel very much confidence in his own horsemanship. Indeed, he would not have cared to ride out this afternoon, but for the anticipated pleasure of mortifying John.

He rode leisurely along, taking the direction of the academy, which was nearly a mile distant. He looked at his watch, and estimated that he would meet the pupils of the academy as they emerged from school.

He was right in his reckoning. At precisely four o'clock there was a bustle about the doors, and with merry shouts the boys poured out into the street. Among them were John Oakley and Sam Selwyn, who, as intimate friends and classmates, generally were found in company. They turned up the street which led by Mr. Selwyn's office, and in the direction of John Oakley's home.

"John," said Sam, suddenly, "I do believe that is Ben Brayton riding on your horse."

John looked up the street, and saw that Sam was right.

"You are right, Sam," he said.

"Did you tell him he might ride on it?"

"No."

"Then what business has he with it?"

"His mother told him he might take it. She has taken it from me."

"She's an old—"

"Don't call names, Sam. I'll tell you more about it another time."

Meanwhile Ben had seen the boys coming from the academy. Among others he recognized John and Sam, and his eyes flashed with anticipated triumph. Hitherto he had been content to let the horse go on at his own rate, but now he thought it was time to make a display. He thought it would annoy John to have him dash by at gallant speed, while he, the rightful owner, was obliged to stand out of the path, unable to interfere. He therefore brought the whip down with considerable emphasis upon Prince's side. Unfortunately he had not foreseen the consequences of the blow. Prince took the bit between his teeth, and darted forward with reckless speed, while Ben, seeing his mistake too late, pale and terrified, threw his arms around the horse's neck, and tried to keep his seat.

John started forward, also in alarm, for though he had no reason to like Ben, he did not want him to be hurt, and called "Prince!"

The horse recognized his master's voice, and stopped suddenly,—so suddenly that Ben was thrown off, and landed in a puddle of standing water in a gully by the side of the road. Prince stopped quietly for his master to come up.

"Are you hurt, Ben?" asked John, hurrying up.

Ben rose from the puddle in sorry plight. He was only a little bruised, but he was drenched from head to foot with dirty water, and patches of yellow mud adhered to his clothes.

"You did this!" he said, furiously to John.

"You are entirely mistaken. I hope you are not hurt," said John, calmly.

"You frightened the horse on purpose."

"That's a lie, Ben," said Sam, indignantly. "It's a lie, and you know it."

"I understand it all. You don't deceive me," said Ben, doggedly.

"Will you ride home?" asked John.

Ben refused. In fact, he was afraid to trust himself again on Prince's back.

"Then I suppose I must." And John sprang lightly upon the horse's back, and rode towards home, followed by Ben in his soiled clothes.

Mrs. Oakley, looking from her window, beheld, with wondering anger, John riding into the yard, and her son following in his soiled clothes.

"What's he been doing to Ben?" she thought, and hurried downstairs in a furious rage.

CHAPTER V.

BEN IS COMFORTED

"What have you been doing to my son, you young reprobate?" demanded Mrs. Oakley of John. Her hands trembled convulsively with passion, as if she would like to get hold of our hero, and avenge Ben's wrongs by inflicting punishment on the spot.

John was silent.

"Why don't you speak, you young rascal?" demanded Mrs. Oakley, furiously.

"I am neither a reprobate nor a rascal, Mrs. Oakley," said John, calmly, "and I do not choose to answer when addressed in that way."

"Ben," said Mrs. Oakley, turning to her son, "what has he done to you? How happens it that you come home in such a plight?"

"I was thrown over the horse's head into a mud-puddle," said Ben.

"Didn't he have anything to do with it?" asked Mrs. Oakley, determined to connect John with Ben's misfortune, if possible.

"He spoke to the horse," said Ben.

"And then he threw you?"

"Yes."

Ben answered thus, being perfectly willing that his mother should charge his fall upon John, as this would create additional prejudice between them. It was contemptible meanness on his part, but meanness was characteristic of him, and he had no hesitation in stooping to falsehood, direct or indirect, if by so doing he could compass his object.

"It is as I thought," said Mrs. Oakley, thinking it unnecessary to inquire further. "Of course, as soon as you were thrown, he jumped on the horse and rode home. You're carrying matters with a high hand, young man; but you'll find that I'm your match. Get off that horse, directly."

"That was my intention," said John. "I am sorry, Mrs. Oakley," he continued, "that Ben has not seen fit to give you a correct account of what has happened. If he had, it would have been unnecessary for me to speak."

"It is unnecessary for you to speak now, John Oakley," said his stepmother, sharply. "Do you mean to charge my son with telling a falsehood? If that is the case, take care what you say."

"Ben has not told a falsehood, but he is trying to make you believe that I caused his fall."

"I have no doubt you did."

"Then you are mistaken. Why didn't he tell you that when I first saw the horse he was running at great speed, in consequence of Ben's having imprudently struck him severely with the whip? He is a spirited horse, and won't stand the whip."

"He is like you in that, I suppose," said Mrs. Oakley, sneering.

"He is like me in that," said John, quietly.

"You would both be better if you had to stand it," said his stepmother, angrily.

John did not see fit to reply to this.

"Is this true, Ben?" she asked.

"Yes," said Ben, reluctantly. "I struck the horse; but it was not till John spoke to him that he threw me off."

"So I supposed," said Mrs. Oakley, significantly.

"I see, Mrs. Oakley," said John, "you are determined to find me guilty of causing Ben's fall. If I could be mean enough to do such a thing, and so risk his life, I should despise myself. Prince was rushing up the street with tremendous speed, and I was frightened at Ben's danger; I called out to Prince, but he stopped so suddenly that Ben was thrown into the puddle, or he might have been seriously hurt."

There was so much sincerity in what John said, that Mrs. Oakley, though very much against her will, could hardly help believing him. Determined, however, to make out a case against him, she said:—

"As soon as you saw him off, you jumped on the horse and rode home, leaving him to get home as he could. That was a very generous and noble thing to do!"

"Ask Ben if I did not ask him to ride home," said John.

Ben, in answer to his mother's glance, said, rather unwillingly:—

"Yes, he asked me to ride home, but he knew I wouldn't after being thrown once. I won't get on the brute's back again, I promise you."

Mrs. Oakley was disappointed to find that the case she was trying to make out against John had failed at all points, and that he was cleared even by the testimony of her principal witness.

"You had better come in and change your clothes, Ben," she said. "I am afraid you will take cold. And do you"—turning to John—"take the horse round to the stable. He's an ugly brute, and I'll take care that he doesn't endanger your life any more."

John led Prince round to the stable, and delivered him into the hands of Mike.

"Where's Master Ben?" inquired Mike.

"He got thrown off."

"I thought how it would be," said Mike. "He can't ride no more'n a stick. I told him not to take the whip, but he wouldn't heed a word I said."

"That's how he got thrown. He struck the horse violently, and he was running away with him when he heard my voice and stopped."

"Did Master Ben get hurt?"

"Not much. He fell into a puddle, and dirtied his clothes."

"Maybe he'll be wiser next time."

"He says he won't ride Prince again."

"All the better for you, Master John."

"I don't know, Mike," said John, soberly. "I'm afraid Mrs. Oakley will sell him. She says he is an ugly brute, and she won't have any more lives endangered."

"Ugly brute!" repeated Mike, indignantly. "There's not a bit of ugliness about him. He wants to be treated well, and I'd like to know who don't. And he's so attached to you, Master John!"

"Yes, Mike, it'll be hard to part with him." And John's lips quivered as he looked with affection at the noble horse, to which he had become much attached. Besides, it was his father's gift, and as such had an additional value for him, as, owing to his disinheritance, he had nothing else of value by which he could remember the parent whose loss he was made to feel more and more, as his stepmother's injustice and harsh treatment, and Ben's meanness and hostility served daily to increase. It almost seemed to him as if Prince was the only friend he had left, and that he must be parted even from him.

Meanwhile Ben was changing his clothes in his room. The adventure which had just happened to him did not make him feel very pleasant. In the first place, it is rather disagreeable to be thrown violently into a puddle of dirty water, and Ben might be excused for not liking that. Ben's pride was touched, since it had been demonstrated in the most public manner that he could not manage Prince, while it was well known that John could. Ben knew boys well enough to feel sure that he would be reminded from time to time of his adventure, and he did not like to be laughed at. Why was it that John always seemed to get the better of him? He went out expressly to triumph over John in presence of his schoolmates, and this had been the humiliating result.

"Why was I such a fool as to use the whip?" thought Ben, vexed with himself. "If it had not been for that, it would have been all right."

But he had used the whip, and it was all wrong. As to using the horse any more, he did not care to do it. To tell the truth, Ben, who, as we know, was not very courageous, was afraid of Prince. He suspected that the horse would remember the blow he had given him, and would be likely to serve him the same trick the next time he mounted him. So he resolved that he would never ride out on Prince again; but he was equally anxious that John should also be prevented from using him. The words that his mother had last used led him to hope that she would agree to sell him, and, what was still more important in his eyes, give him the money resulting from the sale. Under these circumstances the triumph would still be his, and he would enjoy John's grief for the loss of his horse.

When Ben descended from his chamber, in a clean suit, he found that his mother had taken measures to console him for his mortifying adventure. The tea-table was spread, and two or three delicacies such as he particularly liked were set before his plate. Ben surveyed this with satisfaction, for he was something of a gourmand.

"I thought you might be hungry, Ben," said his mother; "so I got some of that marmalade that you like so well, and here is some hot mince-pie."

"That's just what I like, mother."

"We will sit down at once. John can come when he gets ready."

"What are you going to do about that horse, mother?" asked Ben, rather indistinctly, for his mouth was full.

"I did intend to keep him for your use; but if he is likely to play such tricks as he has to-day, I suppose I had better sell him."

"Yes, mother, sell him. I'll never mount such a vicious brute again, and I suppose you won't keep him just for John's use."

"Of course not. It costs considerable to keep a horse. Besides, he'd be flinging out that he could manage the horse, and you couldn't."

"Of course he would. But the horse is used to him, you know, and that is why he doesn't find any trouble with him. But you gave me the horse, you know, mother."

"But you don't want him."

"No, I don't; but I suppose you'll give me the money you sell him for."

"I don't know about that," said Mrs. Oakley, hesitatingly. "He cost a hundred and fifty dollars. That is too much money for you to have."

"Why is it?" said Ben.

"I give you ten dollars a week now."

"Yes; but that goes for small expenses. If I wanted now to buy anything expensive, I couldn't do it."

"What is there you want?"

"I don't know yet," said Ben; "I haven't thought, but I should like to have the money."

Mrs. Oakley still hesitated.

"I know it would make John awful mad," said Ben, cunningly appealing to his mother's hatred of our hero, "to think that Prince was sold, and that I had the money. Perhaps it's that you're thinking of. But I didn't suppose you'd be influenced by anything he could say or do."

"John may be angry or not; it is entirely indifferent to me," said Mrs. Oakley, falling into the trap laid for her. "I was only thinking whether it would be well for you. I don't know but I will let you have the money,—that is, I will put it in the savings-bank in your name, and you can let me know when you want to use it, and what for."

"All right," said Ben, who determined that when he once got hold of the money he would not consult anybody as to its disposal. "When will you sell it, mother?"

"To-morrow, perhaps. I hear that Mr. Barnes, the livery stable-keeper, has just lost a valuable horse. Perhaps he may like to buy it."

"He'll buy it fast enough," said Ben. "I heard him say the other day that he should like to have Prince. He likes fast horses. How surprised John will be when he comes home, and finds Prince is missing!"

Ben laughed as he fancied John's anger, and this thought, together with the money which would so soon be placed to his account, quite restored his spirits, somewhat to John's surprise, who did not understand the reasons which he had for being cheerful.

So Prince's fate was decided, and a new trial awaited John.

CHAPTER VI.

OPEN HOSTILITIES

From his early boyhood John had been intended by his father to receive a collegiate education. If he should acquit himself with credit in college, he was afterwards to have his choice of studying a profession, or entering mercantile life. At the age of eleven he commenced Latin at the academy, and two years afterwards Greek, and in these he had advanced so far that in a year he would be qualified to enter college. There were six boys in the preparatory class to which he belonged, among them being Sam Selwyn, his intimate friend, who has already been introduced to the reader. From the first John had stood at the head of the class, both in Latin and Greek, Sam ranking second. Although they were rivals in scholarship, there had never been the shadow of a difference between them arising from this cause. Both were of a generous nature, and were strongly attached to each other, and it had long been understood between them that when admitted to college they would room together.

John had often talked with his father about going to college, and Squire Oakley had strong hopes of John's maintaining a high position in his college class, and doing him credit at the institution where he had himself graduated. This made it all the more remarkable that John's interests had been so entirely neglected in the disposition of his property made by his will.

As John was on his way to school, on the morning succeeding Ben's fall from the horse, he was overtaken by Sam Selwyn.

"How's your amiable brother this morning, John?" asked Sam.

"Meaning Ben?"

"Of course. I hope his health hasn't suffered seriously from his unexpected bath. Poor fellow! he had a pretty good fright."

"Yes, I don't think he'll trouble Prince very soon again."

"I shan't soon forget how frightened he looked with both arms around the horse's neck. I should have felt like laughing, only I was afraid he might come to harm. Now you'll have Prince to yourself."

"I don't know about that, Sam. I rather think, from something Mrs. Oakley said, that she means to sell Prince."

"Sell your horse!" exclaimed Sam, indignantly.

"She says it isn't mine. She's given it to Ben. As Ben don't dare to use it, I am afraid Prince will have to go," said John, sadly.

"I wouldn't stand it!" exclaimed Sam, in excitement. "It's an imposition."

"But what can I do?"

"The horse is yours."

"Not legally, I am afraid. I can't prove it, and Mrs. Oakley says it was only mine to use."

"Whether you can prove it or not, the horse is yours, and I say it will be an outrageous thing if it is sold. At any rate you ought to demand the money that is received for it."

"I'll tell you what I have made up my mind to do. Mrs. Oakley may say that the horse is expensive to keep, but as Ben received a watch and chain at the same time I got the horse, it is only fair that I should have a watch in place of it, if it is sold."

"Of course, that is only reasonable."

"Not that a watch would pay me for the loss of Prince. I'd rather have him than three watches; but it doesn't cost anything to keep a watch."

"That's true; but I hope you'll be able to keep the horse."

"So do I," said John; but he had very little expectation of it.

"Well, there's hope ahead, old fellow," said Sam, cheerfully. "Next year we'll enter college, and then you'll be out of the way of Master Ben and your kind stepmother, for forty weeks in the year, at any rate."

"I hope so," said John, slowly.

"You hope so?" repeated Sam. "You don't expect Mrs. Oakley will remove to Cambridge, so that you may still be favored with her charming company?"

"I don't feel sure of going to Cambridge myself," said John, soberly.

"You don't mean to say you're afraid you won't pass the examination? If you don't, there'll be precious little chance for the rest of us."

"That isn't what I mean," said John. "I think I should pass the examination. At any rate I am not afraid of it."

"What are you afraid of then?" asked Sam, in surprise.

"I am afraid Mrs. Oakley won't let me go."

"But your father always meant you to go. She knows that."

"Yes, she knows it, for father used often to refer to the time when I would be in college, in her presence. But I am afraid that won't make much difference with her."

"Has she said anything about it?"

"No, not yet; but it will cost considerable to keep me at Cambridge."

"Well, your father left a good deal of property."

"Yes; but it was left to Mrs. Oakley."

"There's enough to pay your expenses at college, and maintain Mrs. Oakley and Ben handsomely."

"I know that, but I am sorry to say that Mrs. Oakley and Ben both dislike me, and it will be reason enough with them to keep me at home because they know I am anxious to go."

"It's a burning shame," said Sam, indignantly, "that such a woman as that should have the control over you. As for Ben Brayton, I always did despise him. He's a mean fellow, and a coward to boot."