In Search of Treasure

The clerk withdrew to an inner room, and presently reappeared.

“You can go in,” he said.

Guy nodded, and betook himself to Mr. Russell’s private room.

He found himself in the presence of a grave-looking man of fifty, who looked staid and dignified.

He surveyed Guy with evident curiosity.

“My clerk tells me you came from Bombay, from my correspondent, Mr. Saunders.”

“I am glad he told you so much. He tried to prevent my seeing you.”

“I do not often transact business with boys of your age. That was doubtless his reason.”

“Whatever his reason may have been, he made a mistake.”

“I suppose you have credentials?”

“Here is Mr. Saunders’ letter.”

The dignified Mr. Russell took the proffered letter, and as he read it looked from time to time at Guy in evident surprise.

This was the letter:

My dear Sir:

This letter will be presented you by young Mr. Fenwick, who has been in my employ here, and who has my entire confidence. I have given him two or three business commissions, of which he will speak to you. I have also instructed him to visit the school at which you placed my young ward, Vivian Bell, and investigate some complaints which the boy has made in a letter to me. Should he find them to be well founded he will, at his discretion, either remove him to another school, or, should his health require it, take him on a journey.

Whatever funds he may require you will supply him with, to an extent not exceeding five hundred pounds, and aid him in any way he may suggest. Though he is young, I have implicit confidence in his good judgment.

Yours respectfully,John Saunders.

It was evident that the grave Mr. Russell was very much amazed.

Guy seemed so young, and the responsible position in which he had been placed seemed so unsuitable to his youth, that the London merchant could hardly believe that the letter was genuine.

“Mr. Saunders writes that you were in his office in Bombay.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long were you there?”

“About six weeks.”

“Did he know you before he engaged you to enter his service?”

“Only a day or two.”

“All this is very extraordinary. Were you born in England or in Bombay?”

“In neither, sir. I am an American.”

“I cannot understand how Mr. Saunders should have engaged you on such short acquaintance, as you are so young.”

“I don’t like to mention it, sir, but I had the good fortune to save his life, and–”

“How?”

Guy related the particulars of the night attack on Mr. Saunders.

“I understand,” said the Englishman, his face clearing up. “You certainly placed my friend under great obligation; but how came he to have so much confidence in your business ability?”

“He knew nothing of my business ability at first, but after employing me a few weeks he seemed to be satisfied with me.”

“Quite so. I was at first inclined to fear that my old friend had lost his usual discretion, but I begin to see that he has acted sensibly. I shall, of course, comply with his request, and will assist you to the best of my endeavors. First, do you require any money?”

“Not to-day, sir, but I probably shall soon.”

Guy gave some business messages to Mr. Russell, and then asked: “Have you heard anything of Mr. Saunders’ young ward, of late, Mr. Russell?”

“Yesterday I received a letter from Dr. Musgrave, complaining of his insubordination.”

“Will you kindly show me the letter?”

The merchant opened his desk and produced a letter, which he placed in the hands of his young companion.

Guy read it with mingled interest and curiosity.

This is the material portion of it:

Respected Sir:

I regret to find myself under the necessity of complaining to you of the boy whom you some time since placed under my charge. I should have refrained from doing so, feeling quite able to manage him, if I did not suspect that he had made complaints to you or Mr. Saunders, of Bombay, of his treatment at the school. Let me say, then, that he has shown himself very insubordinate, and in that respect has set a bad example to my other pupils. In particular he is impudent to my son Simon, and seems to have conceived a violent hatred for him.

Simon is a very trustworthy and reliable boy, who endeavors in every way to carry out my wishes. I have made him a monitor, and to a certain extent have placed the younger boys under his charge. He has exercised great forbearance with Vivian, only requiring him to treat him, as my representative, with proper respect. This, young Bell seems unwilling to do, and I have no doubt is quite capable of misrepresenting the condition of things at the school, and his own treatment.

I do not ask your assistance in any way, feeling quite able to cope with him, but I wish to prepare you for any mendacious statements the boy may be tempted to make.

My school has, happily, a high reputation, and has been for years noted for its excellent parental discipline. I have received many testimonials from parents who appreciate the valuable training their sons have received at the school.

I am, very respectfully,Your obedient servant,Peter Musgrave, LL.D.

“What do you think of this letter, Mr. Russell?” asked Guy.

“I have nothing to go upon. I have not received any letter of complaint from young Bell.”

“Mr. Saunders has.”

“Indeed!”

“I have brought a copy of it to show you.”

The merchant looked over the letter, which has already been given in an earlier chapter.

“If these statements are true,” he said slowly, “the boy should be removed at once. The question is, are they true or not?”

“What did you know of the school, sir, that led you to select it for Vivian Bell?”

“I saw it advertised in the Times. Several well-known names were appended as references.”

“I chanced to have a fellow passenger, a young man, who, in his boyhood, was a pupil at the school.”

“Ha! And what did he say?”

“That Dr. Musgrave was a brute and a tyrant.”

“Possibly he was insubordinate, also.”

“I shall bring him in some day to call upon you. His name is August Locke, of Glasgow.”

“Indeed! Is he related to the merchant of that name?” asked Mr. Russell, with interest.

“He is his son.”

“His testimony carries weight. Then he thinks the complaints are well founded?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, Mr. Fenwick, the affair is in your hands. I have no responsibility in the matter. You will doubtless go to Milton and investigate.”

“Yes, sir. I am glad to say that Mr. Locke has agreed to go with me.”

“He can assist you materially, as he is acquainted with the school.”

At this moment the young Scotch clerk made his appearance.

“Here is a message just received from Milton,” he said.

The merchant tore it open, and read aloud, in some excitement:

From Dr. Musgrave, of Milton, to David Russell, Grace Court, London.

The boy Vivian Bell has run away. Will you defray expenses of search?

“How shall I answer this, Mr. Fenwick?”

“Please wire him that a special messenger will call upon him to-morrow.”

CHAPTER X

AT MILTON SCHOOL

Milton School was situated in a delightful part of the country. It was broad on the ground, and built of stone, the sides being overgrown with the clinging ivy so abundant in England.

It ought to have been a paradise. Casual visitors always admired it, and declared that the boys who attended it were especially favored.

But they did not know the character of Dr. Peter Musgrave, who had for fifteen years exercised tyrannical sway over the pupils committed to his charge.

He was in the habit of forming sudden prejudices against his pupils, and when he was “down on a boy,” as the saying is, no amount of good behavior softened him. Vivian Bell had been unfortunate enough to incur this man’s enmity, and his life had been a hard one ever since he had entered the school.

Two days before the date of the telegram mentioned at the close of the last chapter, Simon Musgrave, the doctor’s son, ordered Vivian to go on an errand to Milton village.

“I have a bad headache, Simon,” said Vivian. “I don’t feel as if I could sit up.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” returned the young tyrant. “You’re lazy, that’s all.”

“But indeed my head aches badly, Simon.”

“Don’t call me Simon.”

“Isn’t that your name?” asked Vivian, wonderingly.

“My name to you is Mr. Musgrave. Just remember that, will you?”

“Yes, Simon—I mean Mr. Musgrave.”

“Take that!” said Simon, aiming a blow at Vivian that nearly felled him to the ground. “Perhaps you’ll remember next time.”

“You have no right to strike me!” said Vivian, plucking up courage.

He did not dare to retaliate, for he was weak compared with the young tyrant.

“Haven’t I? Then I’ll do it again!”

Which threat he promptly translated into action.

“Now you know me. Don’t you ever dare to tell me again that I haven’t a right to wallop you! Start for the village at once, or you’ll get another!”

But there was an unexpected champion in the person of one of the older boys, who had come up while Simon was gratifying his brutal instincts.

“I say, Musgrave, what are you doing to Bell?”

“None of your business!”

“Isn’t it, though? You have made him cry.”

“Oh, he’s a cry-baby, anyway,” said Simon, scornfully.

“What has he been doing to you, Vivian?” asked the other boy, kindly.

“He hit me twice!”

“What did you do that for?”

“I told you before it was none of your business,” returned Simon Musgrave, sullenly. “If you’re not careful, I’ll serve you the same way!”

“You will, eh? I should like to see you do it!” replied Jim Rawdon, not in the least terrified by Musgrave’s threats, even if he were the son of the head master.

Simon Musgrave scowled at the intrepid boy, but he knew very well that it would not do to treat him as he had Vivian Bell. Simon was a born bully, and bullies are generally cowards.

He took advantage of Vivian Bell’s gentleness, but he held in unwilling respect James Rawdon’s strength and pluck.

“I’ll report your insolence to my father,” he said, biting his nether lip.

“Do,” retorted Rawdon. “Go and complain to your pa like an overgrown baby!”

Simon was in such a passion that he ached to strike Rawdon, but prudence got the better of temper, and he refrained.

Turning to Vivian, he said: “You heard what I told you to do. Go and do it!”

“What did you tell him to do?” asked Rawdon.

“I told him to go to the village on an errand for me.”

“Why don’t you go yourself?”

“Because I don’t choose to.”

“I would go if I hadn’t a headache,” interposed Vivian, putting his hand to his head and sighing. “It’s very bad.”

“It’s all put on,” said Simon, brutally. “Your head doesn’t ache any more than mine does.”

“Indeed, indeed it does!”

James Rawdon listened to Simon with a disgust for his brutality which he did not attempt to conceal.

“Don’t you go, Bell,” he said. “I’ll stand by you.”

“Look here, Rawdon, don’t put in your oar! You’ll get into trouble!”

“Who’s going to get me into trouble?”

“I am.”

“Come on, then!” and Jim Rawdon put himself in an attitude of defence.

“Oh, I sha’n’t touch you! I’d scorn to fight you; but I’ll report you and Bell to my father.”

“I’ve been reported to your father before now,” said Rawdon, significantly.

It was quite true that Jim Rawdon had little to fear from Dr. Musgrave. He was a resolute and determined boy, who would not permit anyone to impose upon him.

His father was a wealthy merchant in London, and it so happened that Dr. Musgrave was under a pecuniary obligation to the senior Rawdon to the extent of five hundred pounds. These two considerations made Jim a privileged character.

Simon, however, knew nothing of the pecuniary relations between his father and Mr. Rawdon, and was now thoroughly incensed, especially when Rawdon, taking Vivian Bell under his protection, walked off with him.

“I’ll go and complain to my father!” exclaimed Simon, wrathfully.

“Go along! Come with me, Vivian!”

Vivian, influenced by the older and stronger boy, obeyed him.

“Now, Vivian,” said Rawdon, “tell me why you let that brute impose upon you?”

“Because I can’t help it, Rawdon.”

“That’s something I wouldn’t say.”

“You don’t need to. You are strong—oh, so strong!” returned Vivian, admiringly.

“I am not as strong as Dr. Musgrave, but he never touches me.”

“He has flogged me often.”

“The old brute! And yet you are always gentle and inoffensive.”

“I try to be good and obey the rules, but the doctor is always finding fault with me.”

“That’s his way.”

“I can’t seem to please him.”

“Then why don’t you give it up?”

“I don’t understand you, Rawdon.”

“Then I’ll tell you, Vivian. If I were treated as you are I’d leave the school.”

“But how can I?”

“Who put you here?”

“My guardian.”

“Then why don’t you ask him to take you away?”

“I’ll tell you something, Rawdon, if you won’t tell.”

“Of course I won’t tell! What do you take me for?”

“I wrote to my guardian four months ago, telling him how I was treated here.”

“Four months ago! And haven’t you had any answer?”

“No. You see, he lives in Bombay.”

Jim Rawdon whistled.

“Bombay! That’s a terrible distance off!”

“Yes. It takes a long time for a letter to reach there. That’s the reason I haven’t yet heard from him?”

“Did you ask him to take you away?”

“Yes; and I do hope he will.”

“Very likely he won’t. If he lives so far off, very likely he won’t take any trouble in the matter.”

“Oh, I hope he will!”

“If I were you I would take the matter into my own hands. I’d run away!”

Vivian Bell almost gasped at the daring suggestion.

“But what could I do if I did run away? I haven’t any money; that is, I have only half a crown.”

“I’ve got two half-sovereigns, and you may have one of them.”

“You’re awfully kind, Rawdon. Would you really advise me to run away?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Where shall I go first?”

“There’s a farmer four miles away on the Bolton Road. His name is Giles Glover. Go there and ask him to keep you for a couple of days. You can pay him, you know. Tell him I sent you. He’s a friend of mine.”

“But after the two days?”

“I’ll call over and have a talk with you. I can ride with the carrier, so it won’t be any trouble. Then I’ll arrange something for you. Perhaps I may send you to London with a letter to my father.”

“But if the doctor catches me?” asked Vivian, with a shiver.

“The doctor won’t catch you. I’ll put him off the scent.”

“I don’t know, Rawdon. It seems a very bold thing to do.”

The conversation was interrupted here, for Simon Musgrave came up with a triumphant smile on his face.

“Rawdon and Bell are wanted,” he said. “You are to report at once to my father at his office.”

CHAPTER XI

AN INDEPENDENT PUPIL

Simon Musgrave walked away, not doubting that the two boys would obey orders.

“What shall I do, Rawdon?” asked Vivian, in a state of nervous alarm. “The doctor will be sure to flog me!”

“Then don’t go near him.”

“But he will come for me.”

“Then mind you are not to be found.”

“What do you mean?”

“Go to your room, get a few underclothes, and run away. Remember where I told you to go. You know where Farmer Glover lives?”

“Yes.”

“Go there. Ask him to keep you till I come.”

“But will he?”

“I am sure he will. He hates Dr. Musgrave, who tried to cheat him out of pay for some hay he bought of him. You’ll find him to be a good friend.”

“It seems a bold thing to do, Rawdon, but if you say I had better, I will be guided by you.”

“That is right. Now lose no time in going to your room, and I will delay matters so that you will have a chance to get away.”

“Shall you go to see the doctor?”

“Yes; I am not afraid of him.”

Jim Rawdon loitered about the quadrangle, and it was nearly fifteen minutes before he presented himself near the office. Simon had been sent out to look for him.

“Why don’t you go to my father’s office?” he demanded.

“There is no hurry,” returned Rawdon, composedly.

“You’ll find out if there isn’t. Pa’s awful mad; I can tell you that.”

“Then he’d better get over it as soon as possible. It isn’t healthy for an old man like him to get into a rage.”

“I hope he’ll flog you!” said Simon, exasperated at Rawdon’s coolness.

“You were always kind and friendly, Simon. Just as sure as he tries to flog me, I’ll flog you!”

“Where is Bell? Has he gone to the office?” said Simon, who felt that Rawdon would be very likely to carry out his threat.

“What have I got to do with Bell? Isn’t he in the office now?”

“If he isn’t it’ll be worse for him. Pa isn’t in a humor to be trifled with.”

Five minutes later Jim Rawdon sauntered into the office of Dr. Musgrave.

The doctor was sitting at his desk. His face was stern and wrathful.

“Where is Bell?” he asked, abruptly.

“I can’t tell you, sir.”

“Wasn’t he with you when my son Simon summoned you to my office?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then how is it you don’t know where Bell is?”

“I am not his guardian, Dr. Musgrave. We separated, and I did not trouble myself to see where he went. Hasn’t he been here?”

“No, he hasn’t,” answered the doctor, sharply. “How happens it that you come so late?”

“Simon didn’t tell me there was any particular hurry.”

“My orders are always to be obeyed at once!”

“Very well, sir.”

“You’d better remember that next time.”

“I am here now. What did you wish to see me about?”

“I understand that you have treated my son Simon with disrespect.”

“Please be more explicit, sir,” said Rawdon, with exasperating coolness.

The doctor bit his lip. He felt that Rawdon was impertinent, though his language was strictly respectful.

“You interfered between him and Bell.”

“I did. I saw that he was bullying Bell, and I interfered to protect Bell.”

“What business was it of yours?”

“Sir,” said Rawdon, with dignity, “I am an English boy, and I can’t stand by and see a younger boy bullied by an older and stronger one.”

“Do you think I will allow you to interfere with my son? If you had any complaints to make, you should have come to me.”

“There was no time for it.”

“Simon tells me that he asked Bell to go to the village on an errand for him.”

“Bell had a headache, and was not fit to run errands.”

“You could have told me that.”

“And in the meantime Bell would have been on his way to the village.”

“Hark you, Rawdon! You are taking too much on yourself!”

Jim Rawdon made no reply.

“And if this continues I shall feel compelled to flog you!”

“I think you had better not, Dr. Musgrave,” said Rawdon, in a significant tone.

“Why not, sir?” demanded the doctor, angrily.

“Because my father won’t permit it. He told me when I came to school to report to him if you laid your hand on me.”

Dr. Musgrave winced. He had reason to believe that Jim told the truth, and he knew that he was under obligations to the senior Rawdon, who might make things uncomfortable.

“I don’t allow any outsider to interfere with my discipline,” he said, “but I will postpone your case till I have dealt with Bell. You say you don’t know where he is?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you any idea where he went when he left you?”

“I think he may have gone to his room.”

“Did he understand that I sent for him?”

“I presume so, Dr. Musgrave. I didn’t ask him.”

“You may go to his room and see if he is there. If so, tell him to come here directly.”

Rawdon left the office.

Outside stood Simon Musgrave.

“Did my father flog you?” he asked, maliciously.

“You had better ask him.”

“I hope he did.”

“By the way, Simon, have you seen Bell?”

“No.”

“Your father thinks he may be in his room. Will you go and tell him, if you find him there, that he is to go to the office?”

This was to Simon an agreeable errand, and without asking whether it was desired by the doctor that he should go, he set off at once.

He returned in a brief space of time, saying:

“I can’t find him.”

“Then you might tell your father; or shall I do so?”

“I’ll go in.”

“I’ve been round to Bell’s room, pa,” he said, “but he isn’t there.”

“Inquire around among the boys if anyone has seen him,” answered the doctor, frowning.

“Did you flog Rawdon?” asked Simon, eagerly.

“Not yet. Do as I told you.”

Inquiry was made among the pupils, but if anyone had seen Vivian Bell, no one would give information on the subject.

At length an under-gardener said: “I seen him going off Bolton way. He had a bundle under his arm. He looked like he was running away.”

“Bell running away!” exclaimed Dr. Musgrave, scandalized. “Why, he wouldn’t dare to do such a thing!”

“You know best, sir,” said the gardener, humbly.

“If he has run away,” said Dr. Musgrave, setting his teeth, “I’ll half kill him when I get him back!”

Jim Rawdon was summoned again.

“Rawdon,” said Dr. Musgrave, abruptly, “has Bell ever said anything to you about running away?”

“Has he run away?” asked Rawdon, innocently, looking immensely surprised.

“Answer my question, sir.”

“I can’t say that he has, sir, although he has complained of being badly treated.”

“No one is badly treated here!” roared the doctor, furiously. “What do you mean by such an insinuation?”

Jim Rawdon did not seem terrified by the doctor’s angry outburst.

“I am not saying he was ill treated,” he replied, “but–”

“Well?”

“I think he was.”

“You are the most impudent boy I have in my school! How dare you talk in this way?”

Rawdon merely shrugged his shoulders.

Dr. Musgrave wished he might set off at once in pursuit of the missing pupil, but he could not break away from his duties.

“I’ll go for him, pa,” volunteered Simon.

“No; I will wait till to-morrow morning, and go myself.”

“But he may get away for good and all!”

“He can’t go far, for he has no money. I am not afraid of losing him.”

CHAPTER XII

HOW VIVIAN ESCAPED

When Vivian Bell parted from Jim Rawdon he strictly followed the directions of his schoolmate. He went hurriedly to his room, made up a bundle of underclothing, and then crossing the grounds in nervous haste, started on the Bolton Road.

He knew the way, for he had often gone in this direction on holidays, usually with a company of his schoolfellows.

He had hardly time to consider the importance of the step he was taking. He was animated by a feverish desire to get as far away as possible from the school where he was ill treated.

He feared and detested the head master, who, to the best of his remembrance, had never spoken a kindly word to him.

He would never of his own impulse have dared to run away, but the stronger will of Jim Rawdon dominated him.

As he hurried along on a rustic road between two delightful hedge-rows, he looked backward from time to time with nervous apprehension, almost expecting to see the tall, gaunt figure of Dr. Musgrave following him in hot pursuit, or the red head and malicious face of his young tormentor, Simon.

But when a mile away he began to feel less apprehension. He was confident that Rawdon would somehow cover his flight and put the pursuers off his track.

An unwonted sense of freedom came to him.

“Oh, if I could get away entirely from Dr. Musgrave!” he thought. “I would be willing to work hard. Perhaps some farmer would engage me. I would not mind hard work as long as I was well treated.”

It is a very serious thing when a teacher who should be the guardian and guide of his pupils inspires dread and abhorrence. It is difficult to estimate how much unhappiness is occasioned by such unprincipled tyrants as Dr. Peter Musgrave, the head master of Milton School.

It seems a pity that they could not for a time change places with some of the pupils they abuse, as is done in the ingenious story, “Vice Versa.”

Vivian had walked about two miles when he was overtaken by the carrier in his cart.

All the boys of Milton School knew Jack Hunt, who was a good-natured man of middle age.