Loe raamatut: «Adventures of a Telegraph Boy or 'Number 91'», lehekülg 10
CHAPTER XXX
PAUL’S RECEPTION AT ROCKVILLE
Paul found himself unable to start for Rockville in the afternoon. He was obliged to make arrangements at home for an indefinite absence, and procure from the savings bank a supply of money for current expenses, which he left in the hands of Mrs. Hogan. His outfit was provided by Mrs. Holbrook, who made it as ample as if Paul were the son of a well to do family, instead of a telegraph boy, dependent upon his own exertions for a scanty living in a shabby tenement house.
When his new patroness parted from him, she put a pocketbook into his hands.
“This is not intended for remuneration,” she said, “for I shall pay the telegraph company their usual charges. But I wish you to have money to use, as you may require it.”
“Thank you,” said Paul. “You are very kind.”
“No, I am only considerate and just.”
“Have you any special directions to give, Mrs. Holbrook?”
“None beyond what I have already given. I must trust greatly to your own good judgment and discretion. I am sure I can do so with confidence, after the good report Mr. Cunningham has made of you.”
“Thank you; I will try to deserve your confidence.”
“You may write to me from time to time, when you have anything to communicate.”
Paul promised to do so, and at nine o’clock took a train at the Grand Central Depot for Rockville.
Fairly seated in the cars, he opened the pocketbook given him by Mrs. Holbrook.
It contained three five dollar bills, and five dollars more in small notes.
“Mrs. Holbrook is very liberal,” he reflected, complacently. “It will be a pleasure to be in her service. I am fortunate in finding such good friends.”
Paul was fortunate, but his good fortune was deserved. He always tried to do his duty, was always courteous and obliging, and not afraid to work. Such boys generally find friends. If any of my readers think they are badly treated by their employers, and are poorly provided with friends, let them consider whether they have taken pains to deserve them.
Paul had never traveled, and two hours’ ride on the cars from New York to Rockville, on a pleasant, sunny morning, interested him very much.
He knew very little of the country, having spent most of his time in the lower part of the city. He began to think the world was more beautiful than he imagined.
Finally, the cars came to a stop; the conductor called out “Rockville!” and Paul, with curious anticipation, stepped from the cars upon the platform.
There was the usual crowd around the depot. On the platform stood a man with a whip in his hand, evidently a driver.
“Carriage for the hotel, or any part of the village!” he called out.
Paul stepped up to him and inquired: “Can you tell me how far from here Mrs. Granville lives?”
“The widder Granville?” queried the driver.
“I suppose so. She is an old lady.”
“Just so. Well, she lives about a mile away, on the Plainfield Road.”
“Can you take me there?”
“Well, as you ain’t over and above hefty, I guess the horses can manage it,” added the driver, humorously. “Just hop on. We’ll be starting directly.”
Paul got on the front seat with the driver, feeling disposed to a social chat with that personage. There was but one other passenger, a lady, who was bound for the hotel.
“Are you going to visit the widder?” asked the knight of the whip.
“I am expecting to stay at her house a little while.”
“I suppose you know her?”
“No, I have never seen her. I bring a letter from her niece in New York, Mrs. Louisa Holbrook.”
“I’ve heard tell of her. She was down here a week last summer. I guess she and the housekeeper couldn’t hitch hosses.”
“Mrs. Mercer is the housekeeper, I believe,” said Paul.
“Folks call her the housekeeper. I call her the boss,” said the driver. “She’s got the old lady under her thumb, if all accounts are true.”
“Is she agreeable?”
Amos, the driver, emitted a short laugh. “Wait till you see her,” he said, significantly.
“Do you think Mrs. Granville stands in dread of her?” asked Paul, rather anxiously.
He was beginning to think his task might be a hard one.
“No; the old lady is easy goin’, that is all. If she ever got roused she’d turn out to have a will of her own, or I’m greatly mistaken. Bless your soul, Mrs. Mercer wouldn’t dare to go too far, for she wants the old lady to leave her a good slice of her property. But she gets round her in an underhand way. For instance, if her son wants to go off anywhere, and it isn’t convenient for him to drive the old lady out, Mrs. Mercer persuades her that she isn’t looking well, or that the wind is cold and raw, and she’d better stay at home. I shouldn’t be surprised if she’d get the old lady to make a will in her favor.”
“I wonder what sort of a reception the housekeeper will give me,” said Paul, thoughtfully.
“Very likely she will not be over glad to see you, especially when she knows you’re a friend of Mrs. Holbrook. That lady saw through the housekeeper’s little schemes, and did what she could to put a spoke in her wheel – that’s why she hates her.”
“Well, all I can do is to hope for the best.”
“Be yer expectin’ to stay long?” asked Amos, curiously.
“That depends on whether the housekeeper will let me, from what you tell me.”
“You’ll find it dreadful dull.”
“Perhaps so, but I’m going to offer to drive out Mrs. Granville, and I’m willing to take care of the horse or horses, if she wants me to.”
“Frost will like that, for he’s lazy, and will be glad to get rid of the work.”
“I suppose Frost is the housekeeper’s son.”
“Yes, that’s the one I mean.”
“What sort of a fellow is he?”
“Good enough for those who like him,” answered Amos, dryly. “I don’t.”
“Does he resemble his mother?”
“He’s a chip of the old block, but not half so smart. His mother thinks him an angel, and what she wants the old lady’s property for is not so much for herself as for her son.”
“You think I won’t find him a pleasant companion, then?”
“I know you won’t.”
“Then I hope I shall like Mrs. Granville.”
“She’s a good old lady and awful rich. The only weak thing about her is her trusting the housekeeper.”
“I should think she would prefer to have some relative with her.”
“She won’t get any to stay with her till she discharges Mrs. Mercer. The housekeeper makes herself as disagreeable as possible to any relation, because she’s afraid they will get an influence over the old lady’s mind and interfere with her.”
“Perhaps she may think the same of me.”
“Like as not. You can tell better in a few days. But there’s the house, the big white one on a little hill to the left.”
“It is a very nice one.”
“Oh, yes, it’s a good house. Why shouldn’t it be? The old lady’s got plenty of money.”
“Have you any idea how much?”
“It’s risin’ a hundred thousand dollars, I heard Squire Taylor say once. Squire Taylor is her lawyer, and he’s likely to know.”
“No wonder the housekeeper has designs upon it.”
“Just so – I shouldn’t mind if the old lady would leave me a slice. You might put in a good word for me – Amos Drake – when you get acquainted.”
“I’ll think of it,” answered Paul with a smile. “I owe you something for all the information you’ve given me.”
“That’s all right. You seem a good sort of chap, and you’re welcome.”
Amos drew up in front of the house, and reined in the horses; while Paul descended from the carriage.
“How much is the fare?” asked Number 91.
“Twenty cents.”
“That’s near enough,” said Paul, handing him a quarter.
“You’re a gentleman,” said Amos. “Now I’ll have a cigar when I get back to the hotel.” Paul walked up the path to the front door of the mansion and rang the bell.
In about a minute the door opened, and he found himself confronting a tall, grim looking woman with thin face and figure, and iron gray hair.
“Who are you, and what is your business?” she demanded in a chilly tone. Paul had no doubt in his own mind that it was the housekeeper.
“My name is Paul Parton, from New York, and I have a letter for Mrs. Granville.”
“You can give me the letter.”
“Thank you, but I would prefer to give it to Mrs. Granville – ”
“Humph! Are you one of her relations?”
“No, but I come from Mrs. Holbrook, her niece.”
“Oh,” said the housekeeper, grimly. “Well, I don’t think you can see Mrs. Granville; she’s got a headache, and can’t be disturbed.”
CHAPTER XXXI
A DEFEAT FOR THE HOUSEKEEPER
The housekeeper held the door half way open, and evidently meant to prevent Paul from entering. If he had been less determined, or more easily abashed, he would have given up his purpose. But Number 91 had a will of his own.
“I don’t accept a dismissal from you, madam,” he said, eying Mrs. Mercer with a steady glance. “I demand to see Mrs. Granville.”
“Hoity toity! Who are you, I’d like to know?” demanded the housekeeper, amazed and exasperated.
“A visitor to Mrs. Granville,” answered Paul; “you, I suppose, are a servant.”
“Do you dare to call me a servant, you impudent boy?” answered Mrs. Mercer, raising her voice.
“What are you, then?” asked Paul, calmly.
“I am Mrs. Mercer, the housekeeper, I’d have you to know.”
“So I suppose, and Mrs. Granville is your employer. By what right do you dare to send away her visitors?”
Mrs. Mercer was quite unused to being defied so boldly, and she could hardly express her indignation.
“Well, I never heard of such impudence!” she ejaculated.
In her anger she would have closed the door, but just at that moment a voice was heard from the floor above – the voice of Mrs. Granville, who had been attracted by the housekeeper’s loud tones.
“What is all this, Mrs. Mercer?” she asked, in a tone of authority.
“It’s a boy who wants to force his way in, ma’am,” said Mrs. Mercer, in a sulky tone.
“What boy is it?” asked her mistress.
Paul answered this question himself.
“I come from New York with a letter from your niece, Mrs. Holbrook,” he said.
“Then come in at once,” said the old lady, in an imperative tone. “Why did you not admit him at once?”
“I didn’t know,” answered the housekeeper, confused.
“I beg your pardon,” said Paul, “I told you this, and you said Mrs. Granville had a headache, and would not see me.”
“What do you mean by this misrepresentation, Mrs. Mercer?” demanded the old lady, sternly.
“I offered to take the letter up to you,” said Mrs. Mercer, a little alarmed at the evident anger of her mistress.
“When Mrs. Granville reads the letter she will understand why I preferred to hand it to her myself.”
“Why did you say I had a headache? Why do you presume to send away my visitors, Mrs. Mercer?” demanded the old lady, thoroughly aroused.
“I meant it for the best,” said the woman, sulkily.
“Never presume so far again. Now, young man, come up and let me see you.”
Paul passed the discomfited housekeeper, and, going upstairs, followed the old lady into a pleasant sitting room.
“I am sorry to have been the means of disturbing you,” said Paul, politely. “Mrs. Holbrook sends you this letter, and wishes me to give you her love.”
“You are a nice looking boy,” said the old lady, letting her glance rest approvingly on Number 91. “I hope Louisa is well.”
“Very well, thank you.”
She put on her glasses, and read the letter.
“So you are Paul Parton,” she said, as she folded up the letter.
“Yes, madam.”
“A New York boy?”
“Yes, madam.”
“I am afraid you will find it dull here.”
“O no, Mrs. Granville, I am sure I shall like the country, for a while at least.”
“Do you know how to drive?”
“Oh, yes; I am used to horses.”
“On the whole, I am glad Louisa sent you down here. Frost Mercer, who usually drives me, has been getting lazy of late, and makes excuses when I want to go out.”
“I won’t do that, Mrs. Granville. I shall be only too glad to go.”
“You are sure you won’t upset me?”
“I don’t believe I shall,” answered Paul, smiling. “I don’t care about being upset myself.”
“I think, on the whole, I shall like to have a boy about,” said the old lady, thoughtfully.
“I am afraid Mrs. Mercer might object to me.”
“I am the mistress of the house. Mrs. Mercer is only the housekeeper,” said the old lady, with an unwonted assumption of dignity. “Please ring the bell, Paul.”
Paul did so.
Presently the housekeeper entered in answer to the summons. She looked askance at Paul.
“Mrs. Mercer,” said her mistress, “you will prepare a room for this young gentleman. He will remain here, for the present.”
Mrs. Mercer looked disagreeably surprised.
“Perhaps you had better read this letter from my niece, Mrs. Holbrook, as it will save explanations.”
The housekeeper read the letter, and her thin lips tightened with displeasure.
“There is no need of your getting a boy to drive you around, ma’am,” she said. “My son is perfectly able to do it.”
“Your son is very apt to be engaged when I want to drive out,” returned the old lady, dryly.
“I will see that it don’t happen again,” said the housekeeper, anxious to keep Paul out of the house.
“There is no occasion for that. Mind, I don’t blame your son. Paul here will have nothing else to do, and can drive me as well as not. Besides, he will read to me, and spare my eyes.”
“Frost would be willing to read to you.”
Mrs. Granville smiled.
“I don’t think reading aloud is one of your son’s accomplishments,” she said. “His voice is not exactly musical.”
This was certainly true, for Frost Mercer had a voice deep and croaking, like a frog’s.
“I am sorry you are so prejudiced against my poor boy,” said Mrs. Mercer, mortified and displeased.
“You are a foolish woman, Mrs. Mercer. I am only going to make it easier for Frost, and give this young gentleman something to do. Paul, you may go with Mrs. Mercer, and take possession of your room. Go where you please, till half past twelve, our dinner hour. After dinner, I may take a drive.”
“You’d better get your life insured, then, ma’am,” muttered Mrs. Mercer. “Boys ain’t to be trusted with horses.”
“Is your horse very lively or skittish?” asked Paul.
“No,” answered Mrs. Granville. “He is very gentle and tractable.”
“Then I don’t think there is any need of insuring your life, Mrs. Granville.”
“I wouldn’t ride out with you,” said the housekeeper, spitefully.
“Perhaps you will think better of me after a while, Mrs. Mercer,” said Paul, good naturedly.
The housekeeper closed her lips firmly and shook her head.
“I’ve made one enemy, that’s clear,” said Paul to himself – “probably two, for the housekeeper’s son isn’t likely to be my friend.”
Mrs. Mercer led the way to a small room on the next floor.
“You can go in there,” she said, ungraciously.
“Thank you,” said Paul.
It occurred to him to wonder why so small a room should be assigned him, while there seemed to be plenty of larger ones. In the arrangement of the room, however, there was nothing to be desired. Everything was neat and comfortable. To Paul, accustomed to a shabby tenement house, it seemed luxurious, and he was disposed to enjoy it for the time, be it long or short.
CHAPTER XXXII
FROST MERCER IS CONTRARY
Mrs. Mercer, the housekeeper, was seriously annoyed by the appearance of Paul upon the scene. For years she and her son had had charge of Mrs. Granville’s affairs, and they had taken care to turn the charge to profitable account. The wages which each received formed only a part of this advantage. They bought everything for the house, and levied tribute from every tradesman as a compensation for turning the trade in his direction. The result was that Mrs. Granville, without being aware of it, paid a larger price than any one else for what articles she purchased, the storekeepers and others compensating themselves in this way for the percentage they had to pay the housekeeper and her son.
It is for this reason that Mrs. Mercer never cared to have any visitor in the house. She feared her dishonesty might be found out. She was especially afraid of any one sent by Mrs. Holbrook, who during her stay had been bold enough to interfere with the housekeeper.
When she had ushered Paul into his chamber, she went out to the barn, where she found her son, not at work, but sitting on an old rocking chair which he had carried out for his convenience, smoking.
“Well, mother, what’s up?” he asked, on Mrs. Mercer’s entrance.
“We have got a visitor,” answered his mother, abruptly.
“We?”
“Well, Mrs. Granville.”
“Who is it – the Holbrook woman?” queried Frost, taking his pipe from his mouth.
“No, but it’s some one she sent.”
“Man, woman, or child?”
“It’s a boy – about sixteen, he looks.”
“What on earth should she send a boy for?” asked Frost, in surprise.
“To make mischief, I reckon.”
“What can a boy do?”
“I read the woman’s letter. She sends him to take your place.”
“What?” exclaimed Frost, in some alarm.
“Why, she hints that he can drive out the old lady, read to her, and make himself generally useful.”
“That will make it lighter for me,” said Frost, who was lazy, “if he does the driving.”
“Yes, but don’t you see what a chance he will have to work himself into the confidence of the old woman?”
“What sort of a boy does he seem to be?”
“I’ve only seen him five minutes, but I’ve found out that he is impudent. When I didn’t want to let him in, he actually defied me – asked by what right I sent away Mrs. Granville’s visitors.”
“So he is inclined to make trouble, is he?”
“Yes.”
“Suppose I give him a thrashing?”
“It won’t do, Frost.”
“You think I am not a match for a boy of sixteen?”
“No, not that; but we must not be imprudent. Better get rid of him by underhand means.”
“Such as what?”
“I don’t know yet; I will consider. Meantime I thought I would come out and put you on your guard.”
“All right, mother. I guess we can checkmate the young meddler. Is he in the house?”
“Yes; I’ve put him in the small room.”
“Next to mine?”
“Yes.”
“All right; I’ll look him over at dinner time.”
In this, however, Frost counted without his host. Mrs. Granville was accustomed to have her meals brought up to her own room. Today she expressed the wish that Paul should dine with her. This displeased the housekeeper.
“I suppose Frost and I are not good enough company for the young man,” she said, sulkily.
“My good Mercer, you are much mistaken,” said Mrs. Granville, soothingly. “I thought he would be company for me; besides, it will give me a chance to ask him some questions about Louisa.”
“Very well, ma’am,” said the housekeeper, but she didn’t look satisfied.
“What do you think, Frost?” she said, as she went downstairs. “Master Paul – that’s his name – is to dine with the old woman upstairs. I suppose he is too good to eat with us.”
“I don’t know as I care much, mother; I don’t want his company.”
“Nor I, for the matter of that, but it’s putting this young popinjay over our heads. They’ll be getting thick together, and the boy will be pulling our noses out of joint.”
“If he does, I’ll pull his out of joint,” muttered Frost.
“Bide your time, Frost. We’ll put our heads together and see if we can’t send him packing.”
After dinner Mrs. Granville expressed a desire, as it was a fine day, to go out for a drive.
“I shall be very happy to drive you,” said Paul, cheerfully.
“You are sure you can drive?” asked the old lady, anxiously.
“I should smile,” Paul was about to reply, when it occurred to him that this form of expression did not sound exactly proper. “I am used to driving, ma’am,” he said, instead.
“Then about two o’clock you may go out to the barn and ask Frost to harness up.”
“O, I’ll do that, Mrs. Granville.”
When he went out to the barn, he found Frost Mercer sitting at his ease, engaged at his favorite business of smoking a pipe.
“I suppose you are Frost,” he said, with a smile.
“I am Mr. Mercer,” answered Frost, in a forbidding tone.
“I beg your pardon. I will call you Mr. Mercer, if you prefer it. I am Paul Parton.”
“I don’t know as that concerns me,” said Frost, staring at Paul in an unfriendly manner.
“It is just as well you should know my name, as I am living in the house,” said Paul, independently. “Mrs. Granville wishes me to drive her out If you will show me what carriage she uses and so forth, I will harness up.”
This was, on the whole, satisfactory to Frost, as he would not have the trouble of harnessing.
“There’s the carriage,” he said, “and there’s the harness. You can find the horses if you use your eyes.”
“Thank you; you are very obliging,” said Paul, with a little touch of sarcasm.
“The old lady doesn’t seem to value her neck,” observed Frost.
“What makes you think so?”
“In letting you drive her.”
“O, that’s it. I think I shall bring her back safe.”
“I don’t know about that. You’re a city boy, ain’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What chance have you had to learn about horses?”
“I know a little about them.”
“Well, I wash my hands of it. If the team is upset, Mrs. Granville will have herself to blame for it.”
“I don’t think you need to worry,” said Paul. “I’ll promise to bring her back safe.”
He set to work to harness the horses. Frost surveyed him with critical eyes, but he could see no evidence of ignorance on Paul’s part. He did his work quickly and skillfully, and then, opening wide the barn doors, led the horses out. Then he jumped into the carriage and was about to drive to the house.
“Come back and shut the barn doors!” called out Frost from his rocking chair.
Paul turned and looked back.
“I don’t think it will do you any harm to do that yourself,” he said, “if you can spare the time from smoking.”
“Hey, what’s that?” demanded Frost, angrily.
“I don’t think it will be necessary to repeat it,” said Paul, coolly; “you heard me.”
“None of yer sass, boy!” said Frost, wrathfully.
Paul did not deign to answer him. He saw that Frost did not intend to be pleased with anything he did, and that there was no use in trying to conciliate.
“I hate that boy!” reflected Frost, following Paul with a venomous expression. “My mother is perfectly right. He’s a dangerous visitor. We must get rid of him one way or another.”
Paul drove around to the front of the house and found Mrs. Granville ready at the door – with the housekeeper at her side.
“I do hope you won’t meet with an accident,” said Mrs. Mercer with an air of deep solicitude. “Frost is ready to drive you. It will be safer.”
“Thank you, my good Mercer, but Paul tells me he understands driving.”
“I shouldn’t mind if she broke her neck,” muttered the housekeeper, following the carriage with her eyes, “if I only knew it was all right now in her will.”
