Grit or The Young Boatman of Pine Point 9

Grit or The Young Boatman of Pine Point 9

"Did he leave his day's earnings with you?"

 

"No," answered Mrs. Brandon, with a troubled look. "He has the best

right to that himself."

 

"Has he, hey? We'll see about that. I, as his stepfather and legal

guardian, shall have something to say to that."

 

Mrs. Brandon was not called upon to reply, for the door opened just

then, and the young boatman stood in the presence of his worthy

stepfather.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER IX.

 

A LITTLE DISCUSSION.

 

 

Grit was only ten years old when his stepfather began to serve out his

sentence at the penitentiary, and the two had not seen each other since.

Instead of the small boy he remembered, Brandon saw before him a boy

large and strong for his age, of well-knit frame and sturdy look. Five

years had made him quite a different boy. His daily exercise in rowing

had strengthened his muscles and developed his chest, so that he seemed

almost a young man.

 

Brandon stared in surprise at the boy.

 

"Is that--the cub?" he asked.

 

"I object to that name, Mr. Brandon," said Grit quietly.

 

"You've grown!" said Brandon, still regarding him with curiosity.

 

"Yes, I ought to have grown some in five years."

 

It occurred to Mr. Brandon that it might not be so easy as he had

expected to bully his stepson. He resolved at first to be conciliatory.

 

"I'm glad to see you," he said. "It's long since we met."

 

"Yes," answered Grit.

 

He was not prepared to return the compliment, and express pleasure at

his stepfather's return.

 

"I'm glad you and your mother have got along so well while I was away."

 

Grit felt tempted to say that they had got along better during Mr.

Brandon's absence than when he was with them, but he forbore. He did not

want to precipitate a conflict, though, from what his mother had said,

he foresaw that one would come soon enough.

 

"Your mother tells me that you make money by your boat," continued Mr.

Brandon.

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"That's a good plan. I approve it. How much money have you made to-day,

now?"

 

"I have a dollar or two in my pocket," answered Grit evasively.

 

"Very good!" said Brandon, in a tone of satisfaction. "You may as well

hand it to me."

 

So the crisis had come! Mrs. Brandon looked at her son and her husband

with anxiety, fearing there would be a quarrel, and perhaps something

worse. She was tempted to say something in deprecation, but Grit said

promptly:

 

"Thank you, Mr. Brandon, but I would prefer to keep the money myself."

 

Brandon was rather taken aback by the boy's perfect coolness and

self-possession.

 

"How old are you?" he asked, with a frown.

 

"Fifteen."

 

"Indeed!" sneered Brandon. "I thought, from the way you talked, you were

twenty-one. You don't seem to be aware that I am your legal guardian."

 

"No, sir, I was not aware of it."

 

"Then it's time you knew it. Ain't I your stepfather?"

 

"I suppose so," said Grit, with reluctance.

 

"Ha, you admit that, do you? I'm the master of this house, and it's my

place to give orders. Your wages belong to me, but if you are obedient

and respectful, I will allow you a small sum daily, say five cents."

 

"That arrangement is not satisfactory, Mr. Brandon," said Grit firmly.

 

"Why isn't it?" demanded his stepfather, frowning.

 

"I use my money to support the family."

 

"Did I say anything against it? As the master of the house, the bills

come to me to be paid, and therefore I require you to give me every

night whatever you may have taken during the day."

 

"Do you intend to earn anything yourself?" asked Grit pointedly; "or do

you expect to live on us?"

 

"Boy, you are impertinent," said Brandon, coloring.

 

"Don't provoke Mr. Brandon," said Grit's mother timidly.

 

"We may as well come to an understanding," said Grit boldly. "I am

willing to do all I can for you, mother, but Mr. Brandon is able to take

care of himself, and I cannot support him, too."

 

"Is this the way you talk to your father, you impertinent boy?"

exclaimed Brandon wrathfully.

 

"You are not my father, Mr. Brandon," said Grit coldly.

 

"It is all the same; I am your mother's husband."

 

"That's a different thing."

 

"Once more, are you going to give me the money you have in your pocket?"

 

"No, sir."

 

Brandon looked at Grit, and he felt that it would have given him

pleasure to shake the rebellion out of his obstinate stepson, but supper

was almost ready, and he felt hungry. He decided that it would be as

well to postpone an open outbreak. Grit was in the house, and not likely

to run away.

 

"We'll speak of this another time," he said, waving his hand. "You will

find, young man, that it is of no use opposing me. Mrs. Brandon, is

supper almost ready?"

 

"Nearly," answered his wife, glad to have the subject postponed.

 

"Then serve it as soon as possible," he said, in a lordly tone. "I am to

meet a gentleman on business directly afterward."

 

Supper was on the table in fifteen minutes.

 

Mr. Brandon ate with evident enjoyment. Indeed, it was so short a time

since he had been restricted to prison fare that he relished the plain

but well-cooked dishes which his wife prepared.

 

"Another cup of tea, Mrs. Brandon," he said. "It seems pleasant to be at

home again after my long absence."

 

"I shouldn't think he would like to refer to his imprisonment," thought

Grit.

 

"I hope soon to be in business," continued Brandon, "and we shall then

be able to live in better style. When that time comes I shall be willing

to have Grit retain his small earnings, stipulating only that he shall

buy his own clothes, and pay his mother, say a dollar and a quarter a

week, for board."

 

He said this with the air of a man who considered himself liberal, but

neither Grit nor his mother expressed their sense of his generosity.

 

"Of course, just at present," Mr. Brandon proceeded, "I have no money.

The minions of the law took from me all I had when they unjustly thrust

me into a foul dungeon. For a time, therefore, I shall be compelled to

accept Grit's earnings, but it will not be for long."

 

Grit said nothing to this hint, but all the same he determined, whether

for a short or a long time, to resist the exactions of his stepfather.

 

As for Brandon, his change of front was induced by the thought that he

could accomplish by stratagem what he might have had some difficulty in

securing by force. He still had twenty-five cents of the dollar which

his wife had given him in the morning.

 

When supper was over he rose, and, putting on his hat, said:

 

"I am going to the village on business. I shall be home in good season.

Are you going my way, Grit?"

 

"Not just at present," answered Grit.

 

Mother and son looked at each other when they were alone.

 

"I suppose he's gone to the tavern," said Grit.

 

"Yes, I presume so," said his mother, sighing.

 

"Well, mother, I didn't give up the money."

 

"No, Grit, but he means to have it yet."

 

"He's welcome to it if he can get it," said the boy manfully.

 

"You haven't got the sixty dollars with you?" said his mother

anxiously.

 

"No, they are safe. I have kept only two dollars, thinking you might

need some groceries."