Facing the World

“Folks say he got a pile of money for saving the train.”

“He got a pretty stiff sum,” answered Fox cautiously.

“Do you keep his money?”

“Yes.”

“Is he easy to manage?” asked John Blake.

“Well, some folks might find trouble with him,” said Fox, complacently. “The fact is, gentlemen, I don’t mind telling you that he’s been trying to buck agin’ his guardeen a’ready. Where do you think I left him?” continued Fox, chuckling.

“Where?”

“Up in the attic, locked up in his chamber. I’m goin’ to feed him on bread and water a while, just to show him what sort of a man John Fox is.”

A grin overspread the face of Eben Bond, who had just looked out of the front window.

“So you left him in the attic, hey?” he said, waggishly.

“Yes, I did. Do you mean to say I didn’t?”

“I’m willin’ to bet he isn’t there now.”

“You just tell me what you mean, Eben Bond!” said John Fox, provoked.

“I mean that I saw that boy of yours go by the tavern only two minutes since.”

“Where did he go? In what direction?” demanded Fox, eagerly.

“Down toward the river.”

“He’s running away,” Fox said to himself, in dismay. “How in the the world did he get out?”

He ran up the road, gazing anxiously on this side and on that, hoping to come upon the runaway. One thing was favorable; it was a straight road, with no roads opening out of it at least a mile beyond the tavern. It led by the river at a point half a mile on.

“I’ll catch him yet. He can’t escape me!” Fox reflected.

John Fox pushed on breathless, and a minute later came in sight of the fugitive.

Harry had sobered down to a walk, thinking himself no longer in danger. If Mr. Fox had been wise enough to keep silent till he had come within a few rods he might have caught him easily, but excitement and anger were too much for prudence, and he called out, angrily: “Just wait till I get hold of you, you young villain! I’ll give you a lesson.”

Harry turned quickly and saw his enemy close upon him.

That was enough. He set out on what the boys call a dead run, though he hardly knew in what direction to look for refuge. But through the trees at the west side of the road he caught sight of something that put new hope into his heart. It was a boat, floating within three feet of shore. In it sat a boy of about Harry’s own age. It was Willie Foster.

There was no time for ceremony, Harry sprang into the boat, and, seizing an idle oar, pushed out into the river.

The owner of the boat, who had been thoughtfully gazing into the water, looked up in surprise.

“Well, that’s cool!” he ejaculated.

“I beg your pardon,” said Harry, still plying the oar; “I couldn’t help it; Mr. Fox is after me.”

John Fox, by this time, stood on the river bank shaking his fist, with a discomfited expression, at his intended victim.

“Come back here!” he shouted.

“Thank you, I would rather not,” answered Harry, still increasing the distance between himself and his guardian.

“You Willie Foster, row the boat back!” bawled John Fox,

“Is your name Willie Foster?” asked Harry, turning to his companion, who was looking, with a puzzled expression, from one to the other.

“Yes.”

“Then, Willie, if you will help me row over to the other side of the river and set me off there, I’ll give you a dollar.”

“I’ll do it,” said Willie, seizing the other oar, “but you needn’t give me any money.”

To his intense disgust, Fox saw the boat, propelled by the two boys, leaping forward energetically, while he stood helplessly on the bank.

The other bank was half a mile away, and could not be reached except by a bridge a considerable distance away. The two boys said little until the trip was accomplished.

“I hope you won’t get into any serious trouble with Mr. Fox,” said Harry, as they drew near the bank.

“I don’t care for old Fox, and father doesn’t like him, either.”

As he got out of the boat he pressed a dollar into Willie’s reluctant hand.

“Now, which way had I better go?”

“Take that footpath. It will lead to Medfield. There you can take the cars.”

“Good-by, Willie; and thank you.”

Willie didn’t row back immediately. John Fox was lying in wait on the other side, and he didn’t care to meet him.

Harry pushed on till he reached a highway. He felt in doubt as to where it might lead him, but followed it at a venture. He wondered whether John Fox would pursue him, and from time to time looked back to make sure that his guardian was not on his trail. In about three hours he found himself eight miles away. Then, for the first time, he felt that it might be safe to stop and rest. In a village a little way back he had entered a bakeshop and purchased some rolls and a glass of milk, which he ate with a good relish.

He resumed his walk, but had not gone a quarter of a mile when he heard the noise of wheels, which on coming up with him, came to a halt.

“Shall I give you a lift?” said the driver of the team.

Looking up, he saw that it was a covered wagon with four wheels, such as is often to be met in New England towns. The man who held the reins was of large frame and portly, with dark hair and whiskers. He might be about forty-five years of age.

“Thank you, sir, said Harry.

“Where are you bound, if you don’t mind my being inquisitive?”

“I don’t know,” answered Harry, doubtfully. “I’m seeking my fortune, as they say.”

“Well you ought to find it,” returned the other, after a deliberate survey of his young companion. “You’re well-built, and look healthy and strong. Have you got any money?”

“A little. My father died lately and left me three hundred dollars. He recommended to me as guardian a man named John Fox, living eight miles back. Well, I have tried Mr. Fox, and I prefer to be my own guardian.”

“I’ve heard of John Fox. He’s fox by name and fox by nature. So you and he didn’t hitch horses. When did you leave him?”

“This morning. I don’t know but I may say that I am running away from him, as I left without his knowledge or permission, but as he is not yet my legal guardian, I don’t consider that he has any right to interfere with me.”

“You haven’t told me your name yet.”

“My name is Harry Vane.”

“I am the Magician of Madagascar. You may have heard of me.”

“I don’t think I have,” said Harry, puzzled.

“I have been before the public many years,” he said. “I give magical entertainments, and, in the course of the last twenty years, have traveled all over the continent.”

“You see,” explained Harry, apologetically, “I have always lived in a small country town, where there were few amusements, and so I know very little of such things. I never saw a magical entertainment in my life.”

“Didn’t you, indeed? Then you shall see me perform to-night. I am to give a magical soiree in Conway, the town we are coming to.”

“I should like it very much, Mr. –” and Harry paused in doubt.

“I am called Professor Hemenway—Hiram Hemenway,” said the magician.

“Do you like your business?” asked Harry, curiously.

“Why shouldn’t I? I have a chance to travel. The people appreciate my efforts and reward me generously.”

By a fortunate accident Harry happened to turn in his seat and look through a small window in the back part of the wagon. What he saw startled him. In a buggy, ten rods back, he recognized his late guardian and Joel. They were making good speed, and were doubtless in pursuit of him.

Harry quickly imparted his discovery to his companion.

“Don’t let them capture me!” he said.

“I should like to see him do it,” responded the professor. “Get into the back part of the wagon, and crouch down.”

Harry did as directed.

Then the professor slackened his speed, and allowed the pursuers to overtake him.

“I say, stranger,” said Fox, as he drew up alongside. “A boy ran away from me this morning. Perhaps you have seen him?”

“I saw a boy about a mile back,” said the magician, reflectively, “a stout, good-looking lad, dark-brown hair, and a pleasant expression; didn’t look at all like you. I chatted with him a while. He said he was leaving a man who claimed to be his guardian, but wasn’t.”

“The young liar!” ejaculated Fox, wrathfully. “Where is he now?”

“Is he in your wagon?” put in Joel, sharply.

“If he were you’d see him, wouldn’t you?”

“In behind you?”

“Yes, are you kidnapping him?” demanded Fox, fiercely.

“There is a boy in the back part of my wagon,” said the magician, coolly. “If you ain’t afraid of smallpox, you may see him. Which shall it be, you or the boy?”

A pallid hue overspread the face of John Fox, which was increased by an agonizing moan, which appeared to proceed from behind the magician.

“Turn the horse, Joel,” was all he said.

He whipped up his horse without a word, and did not pull up for half a mile.

“You can come out now, Harry,” said the professor, with a queer smile. “I am a ventriloquist, and that moan did the business.”

CHAPTER VII

A NEW ENGAGEMENT

Harry was not a little relieved at his narrow escape. He did not propose to be taken captive without making a strong resistance; but still, in a struggle with Mr. Fox and Joel, he felt that he would be considerably at a disadvantage.

“I am much obliged to you for saving me, Professor Hemenway,” he said.

“You are quite welcome. So you didn’t like old Fox?”

“Not much.”

“He doesn’t appear to like you any better.”

“There isn’t much love lost between us,” returned Harry, laughing.

“How do you like the boy?”

“He served me a good turn—for five dollars—but he would help capture me for the same money, or less.”

“You seem to know him.”

“He is fond of money, and would do almost anything for it.”

“You thank me for saving you from capture, my lad,” continued the magician. “Well, I had an object in it—a selfish object.”

Harry looked puzzled.

“It struck me that I needed a boy about your size, and character, for a general assistant, to sell tickets, take money, and help me on the stage. How do you like the idea?”

“I like it,” answered Harry; “but there is one objection.”

“What is that?”

“I don’t come from Madagascar,” responded Harry, slyly.

Professor Hemenway laughed.

“You’ve been as near there as I have,” he said. “Did you really think I came from Madagascar?”

“You look more as if you came from Maine, sir.”

“You’ve hit it! There’s where I did come from. I was raised twenty-five miles from Portland on a farm. But it would never do to put that on the bills. People are ready to pay more for imported than for native curiosities. However, to come to business. I had a young man traveling with me who wasn’t suited to the business. He was a dry-goods clerk when I took him, and is better adapted to that business than to mine. He left me last week, and I have been in a quandary about his successor. How much do you consider your time worth?”

“Just at present it isn’t worth much. If you will pay my traveling expenses, that will satisfy me.”

“I will do better than that I will give you five dollars a week besides, if business is good.”

“Thank you, sir. I think I shall enjoy traveling.”

There are few boys who do not like change of scene, and the chance of seeing new places is attractive to all. Harry was decidedly of the opinion that he had a streak of luck. It would be much better in all ways than living with his late guardian, and working for partial board.

As they approached the village of Conway, Harry’s attention was drawn to a variety of posters setting forth, in mammoth letters, that the world-renowned Magician of Madagascar would give a magical soiree at the Town Hall in the evening. Tickets, fifteen cents; children under twelve years, ten cents. The posters, furthermore, attracted attention by a large figure of the professor, dressed in bizarre style, performing one of his tricks.

“That draws attention,” observed the professor, “particularly among the boys. I think I shall have a hall full this evening. An audience of three hundred will pay very well. My expenses are light. I do most of my traveling in this wagon, and at hotels I get the usual professional reduction.”

“Did it take you long to learn the business?”

“I have been learning all along. Every now and then I add a new trick. I will teach you some.”

“I might leave you and set up on my own hook when I have learned,” suggested Harry, with a smile.

“It will be some time before you look old enough for a magician. When you are, I’ll give you my blessing and send you out.”

Meanwhile they had been jogging along, and were already in the main street of Conway. The professor drew up in front of the village hotel, and a groom came forward and took his horse.

“Wait a minute my friend,” said the professor. “Harry, you can help me take my implements out of the back of the wagon.”

These “implements” were of a heterogeneous character, but all would come in use in the evening. A number of boys watched their transfer with mingled awe and curiosity.

“What’s them?” Harry heard one ask another, in a half-whispered tone.

“Those,” said the professor, in an impressive tone, turning toward the boys. “Those are paraphernalia!”

The boys looked more awestruck than ever. All inwardly resolved to go to the Town Hall that evening, and get a nearer view of the articles which had such a grand name.

After a while Harry came downstairs from the room assigned him, and stood on the piazza.

One of the boys drew near him cautiously.

“Are you the magician’s son?” he asked.

“No,” answered Harry, smiling.

“Do you come from Madagascar?”

“I have not been there recently.”

“Are all the people there magicians?”

“Not quite all.”

This information was rather scanty, but it was whispered about among the boys, the first boy boasting that he had a talk with the young man magician. If Harry had heard himself called thus, he would have been very much amused.

Directly after supper Harry went with his employer to assist in preparing the stage for the evening performance. Though novice, he acquitted himself to the satisfaction of his employer, who congratulated himself on having secured so efficient an assistant. Half an hour before the performance he stationed himself in the entry, provided with tickets. He sat at a small table, and received the crowd. Though new to the business, he managed to make change rapidly. He found his position one in which he had a chance to study human nature.

During the evening Harry was called upon to assist the professor in some of his tricks. Some boys would have been embarrassed upon finding themselves objects of general attention, but Harry was by temperament cool and self-possessed. He had been fond of declamation at school, and this had accustomed him, to some extent, to a public appearance.

The entertainment was in two parts, with an intermission of ten minutes.

“I wish you were a singer,” said the professor, when they were standing behind the screen.

“Why?” asked Harry.

“Because the audience sometimes gets impatient during the intermission. If I could put you on for a song, it would help quiet them.”

“I can sing a little,” said Harry, modestly.

“What can you sing?”

“How would ‘The Last Rose of Summer’ do?”

“Capital. Can you sing it?”

“I can try.”

“You are sure you won’t break down? That would make a bad impression.”

“I can promise you I won’t break down, sir.”

“Then I’ll give you a trial. Are you ready to appear at once?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wait, then, till I announce you.”

The professor came from behind the screen, and, addressing the audience, said: “Ladies and gentlemen, lest you should find the necessary intermission tedious, I am happy to announce to you that the young vocalist, Master Harry Vane, has kindly consented to favor you with one of his popular melodies. He has selected by request, ‘The Last Rose of Summer.’”

Harry could hardly refrain from laughing when he heard this introduction.

“One would think I was a well-known singer,” he said to himself.

He came forward, and, standing before the audience, with his face a little flushed, made a graceful bow. Then, pausing an instant, he commenced the song announced. He had not sung two lines before the professor, who waited the result with some curiosity and some anxiety, found that he could sing. His voice was high, clear, and musical, and his rendition was absolutely correct. The fact was, Harry had taken lessons in a singing school at home, and had practiced privately also, so that he had reason to feel confidence in himself.

The song was listened to with earnest attention and evident enjoyment by all. When the last strain died away, and Harry made his farewell bow, there was an enthusiastic burst of applause, emphasized by the clapping of hands and the stamping of feet.

“You did yourself proud, my boy!” said the gratified Professor. “They want you on again.”

This seemed evident from the noise.

“Can’t you sing something else?”

“Very well, sir.”

Harry was certainly pleased with this evidence of popular favor. He had never before sung a solo before an audience, and, although he had felt that he could, he was glad to find that he had not overestimated his powers.

Once more he stood before the audience.

“I thank you for your kindness,” he said. “I will now sing you a comic song.”

He sang a song very popular at that time, the words and air of which were familiar to all. While it did not afford him so good a chance to show his musical capacity, it was received with much greater favor than the first song.

There was a perfect whirlwind of applause, and a third song was called for.

“I would rather not sing again, professor,” said Harry.

“You needn’t. They would keep you singing all the evening if you would allow it. Better leave off when they are unsatisfied.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “Master Vane thanks you for your kind applause, but he makes it an unvarying rule never to sing but two songs in an evening. He never broke that rule but once, and that was at the special request of the governor-general of Canada. I shall now have the pleasure of performing for your amusement, one of my most popular experiments.”

“Well, you have pleased the people, and that is the main point. By Jove! my boy, you’ve got a lovely voice.”

“I am glad you think so, sir.”

“You will prove a very valuable addition to my entertainments. I mean to show my appreciation, too. How much did I agree to give you?”

“Five dollars a week if business was good.”

“It’s bound to be good. I’ll raise your wages to ten dollars a week, if you’ll agree to sing one song, and two, if called for, at each of my evening entertainments.”

“I’ll do it, sir,” said Harry, promptly. “It’s a surprise to me, though, to find my voice so valuable to me.”

“It’s a popular gift, my boy; and all popular gifts are valuable. When I get my new bill printed, I must have your name on it.”

They left Conway about noon the next day.

The Foxes, were destined to hear of Harry’s success. The Conway Citizen was taken in the family, and, much to their astonishment, this is what they found, prominently placed, in the next number:

“The magical entertainment of Professor Hemenway, on Thursday evening, was even more successful than usual. He had had the good fortune to secure the services of a young vocalist named Harry Vane, who charmed both young and old by two popular selections. His voice and execution are both admirable, and we predict for him a brilliant future.”

Mr. Fox read this aloud in evident wonder and excitement.

“Did you ever hear the like?” he said.

“Who’d have thought it?” chimed in Mrs. Fox.

CHAPTER VIII

A LIBERAL OFFER

Then commenced a round of travel—what the professor called a professional tour. By day they traveled in the wagon, carrying their paraphernalia with them, stopping at the principal towns, and giving evening entertainments. At many of these places the magician was well known, and his tricks were not new. But he had an attraction in his young assistant, who was regularly advertised on the posters as the “celebrated young vocalist, whose songs are everywhere received with admiring applause.”

Indeed it was very near the truth. Harry was really a fine singer, and his fresh, attractive face and manly appearance won him a welcome in all the towns on their route. Sometimes a young girl in the audience threw him a bouquet. This made him blush and smile, and the donor felt rewarded.

Where was it going to end? Was he to continue in the service of the professor, and in time become himself a magician and a traveling celebrity? Harry was not sure about it. He saw that it would pay him better than most kinds of business, and he also discovered that Professor Hemenway was even better off than he had represented. Yet, he was not quite ready to select the same profession, but, being only sixteen, felt that he could afford to remain in it a while longer.

One day the professor gave him a surprise.

“Harry,” he said, as they were jogging along a dusty road, “do you think you would like to travel?”

“I am traveling now,” answered Harry, with a smile.

“True, but I don’t mean that. Would you like to go on a long journey?”

“I should like nothing better,” replied Harry, promptly.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking about. I recently read in some paper that a man in my line had made a trip to Australia, and reaped a rich harvest. Everywhere he was received with enthusiasm, and made as much money, in one month as he would do here in four. Now why shouldn’t I go to Australia?”

Harry’s eyes sparkled.

“It would be a fine thing to do,” he said.

“Then you would be willing to accompany me?”

“I would thank you for taking me,” answered the boy.

“That is well!” said the professor, in a tone of satisfaction. “I confess I shouldn’t like to go alone. It would be a great undertaking, but with a companion it would seem different. But, is there anyone who would object to your going?”

“Yes,” answered Harry, smiling, “Mr. Fox, my ‘guardeen,’ would.”

“We won’t mind Mr. Fox. Very well, then, Harry, we will consider it settled. I shall rely on you to help me by your singing there as you do here. As to your wages, I may be able to pay you more.”

“Never mind about that, professor. It will cost you a good deal to get us there. I am perfectly willing to work for the same sum I do now, or even less, on account of the extension of the trip.”

“Then you leave that matter to me. I won’t take advantage of your confidence, but you shall prosper if I do.”

“How soon do you propose to go, professor?” asked Harry, with interest.

“As soon as possible. I shall ascertain when the first packet leaves Boston, and we will take passage in her.”

The professor’s decision pleased Harry. He had been a good scholar in geography—indeed, it was his favorite study—and had, besides, read as many books of travel as he could lay his hands on. Often he had wondered if it ever would be his fortune to see some of the distant countries of which he read with so much interest. Though he had cherished vague hopes, he had never really expected it. Now, however, the unattainable seemed within his grasp. He would not have to wait until he was a rich man, but when still a boy he could travel to the opposite side of the world, paying his expenses as he went along.

Two weeks passed. Each day they halted in some new place, and gave an evening performance. This life of constant motion had, at first, seemed strange to Harry. Now he was accustomed to it. He never felt nervous when he appeared before an audience to sing, but looked upon it as a matter of course.

At last they reached Boston. They were to give two entertainments at a hall at the south end. It was the first large city in which Harry had sung, but he received a welcome no less cordial than that which had been accorded to him in country towns.

They were staying at a modest hotel, comfortable, but not expensive. Harry was sitting in the reading room, when a servant brought in a card. It bore the rather remarkable name of

“DR. MENDELSSOHN BROWN.”

“A gentleman to see you, Mr. Vane,” said the servant.

Harry rose and surveyed the stranger in some surprise. He had long hair, of a reddish yellow, with an abundant beard of the same hue. His suit of worn black fitted him poorly, but Dr. Brown evidently was not a devotee of dress. No tailor could ever point to him, and say with pride: “That man’s clothes were made at my shop.”