Luck and Pluck 18

Luck and Pluck 18

John did not know whether to conclude that Hardscrabble was, or was

not, the real name of the town, but did not like to press the inquiry.

He never remembered to have heard of a town bearing that name. However,

he would know by evening at any rate. He could not help feeling some

curiosity as to Mr. Huxter's home; but neither that gentleman's

appearance nor description of it led him to form a very high idea of

its sumptuousness.

 

The breakfast was a substantial one, and Mr. Huxter did justice to it.

Indeed, he was seldom wanting in a good appetite, especially when the

repast was an inviting one.

 

"I suppose I shan't see Ben before I go?" said he, leaning back in his

chair, and picking his teeth with a fork.

 

"I am afraid not," said Mrs. Oakley. "Ben got home rather late last

night, and I suppose the poor boy is tired this morning. I think I had

better not disturb him."

 

"Don't disturb him on my account," said his uncle, who did not seem

much disappointed by Ben's absence. "He'd better have his sleep out.

But, sister Jane, if I were you I wouldn't let him stay out so late in

the evening."

 

"You must remember, Ephraim, he's a young gentleman now. It won't do to

keep him in leading-strings, just as if he were a boy."

 

"I'd keep him in check if he were my boy," thought Mr. Huxter; but he

saw that it would not be best to say so.

 

"Well, Jane, of course you know best," he said. "When are you coming to

make us a visit?"

 

"Not very soon, I am afraid. I can't leave the farm very well. There

are too many things which need attending to."

 

"There's the stage," said John, suddenly.

 

The rumbling of the wheels was faintly heard up the road. All rose from

the table, and prepared to go. Mrs. Oakley brought out a covered basket

and handed it to her brother.

 

"I've put some sandwiches in this basket," she said. "You'll be hungry

by and by, and it will save you the expense of stopping at a hotel for

dinner."

 

"Very good!" said Mr. Huxter, with satisfaction. "That's what I meant

to speak about, but I forgot it. I begrudge paying for dinner at a

tavern. They always charge you about double what it's worth. Come, Mr.

Oakley, are you ready?"

 

"All ready, sir."

 

The rumbling of the stage was now distinctly heard. They opened the

front door, and made signals for it to stop. The lumbering vehicle

was brought to in front of the gate, and the driver jumped from his

elevated perch, and opened the door for the passengers to enter.

 

"I think I'll take a seat outside, if it makes no difference to you,

Mr. Huxter," said John.

 

"Just as you like," was the reply.

 

So, while Mr. Huxter got inside, John took a seat beside the driver.

 

"Where are you going, John?" asked the driver, who knew everybody in

the village, and was on intimate terms with all.

 

"I'm going away with the gentleman who has just got inside," said John.

 

"Where does he live?"

 

"I don't know the name of the place," said our hero, suspecting that

Hardscrabble was only a local appellation.

 

"Be gone long?"

 

"Not more than a week."

 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Oakley watched the receding stage with satisfaction.

When it was out of sight, she entered the house.

 

"Now," said she, "I'll look for the will without John Oakley to spy

upon me."

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIII.

 

JOHN OAKLEY'S NEW HOME.

 

 

Although John would prefer to have remained at home, in order that his

studies might be uninterrupted, he nevertheless could not help deriving

enjoyment from the ride on the stage-coach. It was a beautiful morning.

The sun was gilding with its beams the fields and brooks, and a

beautiful breeze rustled in and out among the leaves of the trees that

for some distance lined the road. John, from his elevated perch, had an

excellent view of the scenes through which they passed. As they rode by

the house of Squire Selwyn, lie hoped to catch sight of his friend Sam;

but Sam was nowhere to be seen.

 

"Sam is lazy this morning," thought John, disappointed.

 

But there he did Sam injustice. He had risen early, and with hook and

line had gone to the pond to fish. From a distance he caught a glimpse

of the stage rumbling along the village street, but it was too far

off for him to distinguish the outside passengers. He would have been

surprised had he known that among them was his friend John.

 

Ere long they were beyond the limits of the township. Occasionally the

stage stopped to take in a fresh passenger, or to discharge a portion

of its living freight. At intervals of a few miles they came to some

village tavern, with a broad swinging sign, where the driver would

pause to water his horses, or, at longer intervals, to exchange them

for a fresh supply. Once or twice John descended to stretch his legs,

stiff with long sitting. More than once he observed Mr. Huxter enter

the tavern, and come out with his nose a little redder than usual.

 

"I went in to get a glass of bitters," he explained to John, whom he

encountered at the door on one of these occasions. "I'll get you some

if you want it."

 

"Thank you," said John. "I don't care for any."

 

"Well, you're young and strong, and don't need them. When you get to my

age, you'll need a little something to stimulate you."

 

John, who rightly conjectured that the glass of "bitters" was only

another name for New England rum, could not help thinking that Mr.

Huxter would have been quite as well off without it; but this thought

he of course kept to himself.

 

"The old gentleman is rather fond of 'wetting his whistle,' isn't he?"

said the driver, familiarly.

 

"So it seems," said John, briefly.

 

He did not care to discuss the conduct of his stepmother's brother

with any one, and therefore confined himself to this remark. At twelve

o'clock they had travelled forty miles.

 

"The stage will stop half an hour for dinner," said the driver, as he

drew up in front of an old-fashioned country tavern.

 

"This is as far as I go," said the driver to John. "Do you stop here?"

 

"No, we go further on."

 

"I suppose you'll be comin' back this way in a few days?"

 

"I expect so. By the way, if you see Sam Selwyn to-night, just tell him

that I was one of your passengers this morning."

 

"All right."

 

"John Oakley!" said Mr. Huxter, from below.

 

"Here, sir," said John.

 

"Just get down, and bring that basket with you. We'll go under the

trees and have a bite."

 

John followed directions, and the two sat down together, with the

basket between them.

 

"Travelling is hungry work," said Mr. Huxter. "Let's see what my sister

has put up for us."

 

The basket, being uncovered, proved to be full of sandwiches, with a

few doughnuts on top. They were all excellent of their kind; for Mrs.

Oakley, whatever might be said of her in other respects, was a good

house-keeper, and took care that whatever food was prepared in the

house should be good.

 

"Now, Oakley," said Mr. Huxter, "we needn't have any ceremony here.

Just make yourself at home and pitch in."

 

It may be observed that Mr. Huxter was gradually beginning to treat

John with greater familiarity. When first introduced, he had addressed

him as "Mr. Oakley." Next it was "John Oakley." Now it was "Oakley,"

without any prefix. John, who had no inordinate sense of his own

dignity, was not much disturbed by this, but continued to treat Mr.

Huxter with the same outward respect as at first.

 

Mr. Huxter followed his own recommendations strictly. He did "pitch

in," and with such vigor that he consumed two-thirds of the contents of

the basket, while John, whose appetite had also been stimulated by the

long ride, was eating the remaining third.

 

"Well, there aint much left, that's a fact," he said, surveying the

empty basket. "The ride's given you a pretty good appetite, Oakley."

 

"Pretty good," said John, smiling at the unexpected inference drawn

from the empty basket.

 

"That's lucky, for we shan't get anything more till we get home," said Mr. Huxter.