CHAPTER XVII
NEW ACQUAINTANCES
Herbert stopped overnight at Columbus.
The first train eastward left Columbus at seven o’clock in the morning. It was Herbert’s intention to take this train, but unfortunately, as he thought at the time, the clock at the hotel by which his movements were guided was ten minutes too slow. The consequence was, that before he had quite reached the depot he saw the cars going out at the other end. He ran as fast as possible, hoping still to make up for lost time, but it was in vain.
“You’re too late, youngster,” said a porter, who had been assisting to stow away baggage. “You’ll have to wait till the next train.”
“When does the next train start?” asked our hero.
“Twelve o’clock.”
“Then I shall have to wait till that time,” Herbert concluded, with regret.
Yet, as he directly afterwards thought, it could make no particular difference, since he had no stated engagement to meet, and this consideration enabled him to bear the inevitable delay with a better grace.
“I suppose,” he reflected, “I might as well go back to the hotel.”
He turned to leave the building when a carriage drove hastily up to the station. It was drawn by two horses, and driven by a negro in livery. A lady put her head out of the window and inquired anxiously if the train had started. She addressed this question to Herbert, who happened to be nearest.
“Yes, madam,” he answered, respectfully.
“I am so sorry,” said the lady, in a tone of vexation and perplexity. “It was very important that my father should take that train.”
“There is another train that starts at twelve,” said Herbert. “It will make a difference of a few hours only.”
“Yes,” said the lady, “but you do not understand my difficulty. The few hours’ difference in time would be of small importance, but my father is blind, and is, of course, for that reason, dependent upon the kindness of others. A gentleman of our acquaintance was going by this train, who would have taken charge of him and seen him safe to his destination. By losing the train we lose his services.”
“My dear,” said an elderly gentleman, sitting on the opposite seat, “if I can get somebody to see me on board, I think I can manage very well.”
“On no account, father,” was the hasty reply, “particularly under present circumstances.”
“Where is the gentleman going?” asked Herbert, with interest.
“To Philadelphia.”
“I am going on to New York,” said our hero. “I have been disappointed like you. I expected to take the early train.”
“Do you intend to go by the next train, then?” asked the lady.
“Yes, madam.”
“Then, perhaps—I have a great mind to ask you to take charge of my father.”
“I shall be very glad to be of service to you,” said Herbert. “There is only one objection,” he added, with some embarrassment.
“What is that?”
“Why,” said Herbert, frankly, “I am obliged to be economical, and I was thinking of buying a second-class ticket.”
“Oh,” said the lady, promptly, “there need be no difficulty about that. If you will take the trouble to look after my father, we will gladly pay for your ticket.”
“I am afraid my services will not be worth so much,” said Herbert, modestly.
“You must leave us to estimate them. If you do what you have undertaken, we shall consider the expense well incurred.”
Herbert made no further objection. He felt, indeed, that it would be quite a lift to him, in the present state of his finances, and besides would be a very easy way of earning the money. He therefore signified his thanks and his acceptance of the offer.
“When did you say the train starts?” asked the lady.
“At twelve.”
“Nearly five hours. That will be too long to wait. I think, father, we will go home.”
“Yes, my dear, I think that will be best.”
“Are you obliged to go home before starting?” the lady inquired, addressing Herbert.
“No, madam, I have no home in Columbus. I passed last night at a hotel.”
“Have you any particular plan for spending the next few hours?”
Herbert answered in the negative.
“Then will you not ride home with us? You will then be ready to start with my father.”
“I shall be happy to do so.”
“I think that will be much the best plan. Pompey, open the carriage door for the young gentleman.”
Our hero was about to say that he could just as well open the door for himself, but he reflected that it was best to adapt himself to the customs of those he was with. He bowed, therefore, and waited till the coachman had opened the door for him, and stepped into the carriage. The lady signed to him to take a seat beside her, and the door was closed.
“Home, Pompey,” said she, briefly.
The coachman ascended to his seat, and the spirited grays were soon whirling the party rapidly homeward.
It was a new position for our hero, and he felt it to be so. His parents had never been rich, and latterly had been very poor. Living in a small country village, he had never even seen so elegant a carriage as that in which he was now riding He sank back upon the luxuriously cushioned seat, and he could not help thinking how pleasant it would be if he could command so comfortable a conveyance whenever he wanted to ride out. But another thought succeeded this. If he were blind, like the gentleman whom he was to take charge of, it would be a very poor compensation to ride in a luxurious carriage. After all, things were not so unequal as they seemed at first sight.
“Since you are to be my father’s traveling companion,” said the lady, “perhaps you will not object to telling us your name.”
“Certainly,” said our hero, “my name is Herbert Mason.”
“Are you going from home for the first time?” inquired the lady.
“I have no home,” said Herbert. “My father and mother are both dead.”
“Excuse me,” said the lady, gently. “I am sorry to have touched upon a subject which must awaken sorrowful recollections. My father’s name is Carroll. Father, you have heard that your young escort is Mr. Herbert Mason.”
The old gentleman extended his hand, which Herbert took respectfully.
“I am afraid you will find me a troublesome charge,” he said. “Since I have become blind I have been compelled to tax the kindness of others.”
“The journey will be pleasanter to me,” said Herbert, politely, “than if I were alone.”
Mr. Carroll was evidently pleased with this remark, for he turned toward Herbert with increased interest.
“You can imagine how much more so it will be to me,” he said. “I have not your resources for beguiling the tedium of the way. I would give all my possessions gladly, for your young eyes. All journeys are alike to me now, since, however interesting the scenery, it is a blank to me.”
“That is indeed a privation, sir.”
“Especially in the journey we are about to take. The Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, as it is called, runs through a romantic and charming country, and affords views at once bold and beautiful. Have you ever traveled over the road?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you will have all the pleasure of a first discovery. Before I became blind, before, indeed, the railway was located, I became, as a young man, familiar with this whole section of country, so that I have, at least, the remembrance of it. I am obliged now to live upon my memory.”
“You say you have never been over this railroad,” said the lady. “Have you ever been to the East?”
“No, madam, I have always lived in the State of Ohio.”
“And you are now going to Philadelphia?” she inquired.
“I am going to New York,” said Herbert.
“Indeed! Is it on a visit?”
“No, madam, I am expecting to live there; that is, if I can make a living.”
“Are you dependent, then, upon your own exertions for support?”
“Yes, madam.”
“You seem very young for such a responsibility.”
“I am fourteen.”
“I thought you a year older. My Oscar is fourteen, and I am afraid he would make a poor hand at supporting himself. What do you think, father?”
“I think you are right, my dear. Oscar has not been placed in circumstances to develop his self-reliance.”
“No; that probably has something to do with it. But, Herbert, if you will permit me to call you so, do you not look forward to the future with apprehension?”
“No, madam,” said Herbert. “I am not afraid but that I shall be able to get along somehow. I think I shall find friends, and I am willing to work.”
“That is the spirit that leads to success,” said the old gentleman, approvingly. “Work comes to willing hands. I think you will succeed.”
“I hope so, sir.”
Our hero was gratified to meet with so much sympathy from those whose wealth placed them far above him in the social scale. But it was not surprising, for Herbert had a fine appearance and gentlemanly manners, marked, too, by a natural politeness which enabled him to appear better than most boys of his age.
CHAPTER XVIII
A YOUNG ARISTOCRAT
After a drive of three miles, which was accomplished in a short time by the spirited horses, the carriage entered, through an ornamental gate, upon a smooth driveway, which led up to a handsome mansion, of large size, with a veranda stretching along the entire front.
A boy, a little smaller than Herbert, ran out of the front door, and opened the door of the carriage before Pompey had time to descend from the box.
“What, grandpa, come back?” he said, in surprise.
“Yes, Oscar, we were too late for the train,” said his mother. “I brought you back a companion for a few hours. This is Herbert Mason, whom I intrust to your care, depending upon you to see that he passes his time pleasantly.”
Oscar looked at Herbert inquisitively.
Herbert offered his hand, saying, “I am glad to make your acquaintance, Oscar.”
“How long are you going to stay?” asked Oscar, as his mother and grandfather went into the house.
“I must return in time to take the twelve o’clock train.”
“Is grandpa going, too?”
“Yes.”
“And are you going to take care of him?”
“I believe so.”
“I wouldn’t want to.’
“Why not?”
“Oh, it’s an awful bore to be tied to a blind man.”
“You’d find it more of a bore to be blind yourself,” said Herbert.
“Yes, I suppose I should. Grandpa wants me to go to walk with him sometimes, but I don’t like it.”
“If I had a grandfather who was blind, I think I should be willing.”
“Wait till you have one, and you’ll see how it is then.”
“I suppose he needs somebody.”
“Oh, well, he can take one of the servants, then. It’s their business to work.”
“Where do you live?” he asked, after a pause.
“I am going to live in New York.”
“Are you? I should like to go there.”
“Perhaps you wouldn’t want to go as I am going.”
“What, alone? Yes, I should rather go that way. Then I could do as I pleased. Now it’s ‘Oscar, do this,’ and ‘You mustn’t do that,’ all the time.”
“That isn’t what I mean exactly. I’ve got to earn my own living after I get there, and I don’t know anybody in the city.”
“You haven’t run away from home, have you?”
“I haven’t got any home.”
“Where’s your father and mother?”
“They are both dead.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I hope to get into a store or counting-room and learn to be a merchant.”
“I shan’t have to work for a living,” said Oscar, in a tone of importance.
“Because your family is rich, I suppose,” said Herbert.
“Yes, we’ve got a large estate, ever so many acres. That’s what mother’s got. Then grandpa is rich besides, and I expect he will leave me a good deal of his money. He’s pretty old, and I don’t believe he’ll live very long.”
Oscar said this with such evident satisfaction that Herbert was disgusted, thinking it not very creditable to him to speculate so complacently upon his grandfather’s speedy death.
“You seem to be well off, then,” said he, at last, to the boy.
“Yes,” said Oscar, “our family is one of the first in the State. My father is a Peyton.”
“Is he?” asked Herbert, not appearing as much awestruck as Oscar expected.
“We’ve got a plantation in Virginia. We live there part of the year. My father’s there now. I hope we shall go there soon.”
“Do you like it better than here?”
“Yes, a good deal.”
“This is a handsome place.”
“Yes, this is mother’s estate. The other belongs to father.”
“Have you any brothers and sisters, Oscar?”
“I’ve got one sister. She’s about twelve. But, I say, I thought you were a gentleman’s son when I first saw you.”
“So I am,” said Herbert, emphatically.
“Was your father rich?”
“No.”
“Did he have to work for a living?”
“Yes.”
“Then he wasn’t a gentleman,” said Oscar, decidedly.
“Isn’t anybody a gentleman that has to work for a living?” asked Herbert, his indignation excited by his companion’s assumption of superiority.
“Of course not,” said Oscar, coolly. “It isn’t respectable to work. Niggers and servants work.”
“That is where I don’t agree with you,” said Herbert, his face flushing.
“You don’t pretend to be a gentleman, do you?” demanded Oscar, insolently.
“Yes, I do,” said Herbert, firmly.
“But you’re not one, you know.”
“I don’t know anything of the kind,” said Herbert, angrily. “I suppose you call yourself one.”
“Of course, I am a gentleman,” said Oscar, complacently.
“You don’t talk like one, at any rate,” retorted Herbert.
This was new language for Oscar to hear. He had been accustomed to have his own way pretty much, and had been used to order round his father’s servants and slaves like a little despot. The idea of being told by a boy who had to work for a living that he did not talk like a gentleman, did not suit him at all. His black eyes flashed and he clenched his fists.
“Do you mean to insult me?” he demanded.
“I never insult anybody,” said Herbert, not feeling particularly alarmed by this hostile demonstration. “It is you that have insulted me.”
“Didn’t you tell me I was not a gentleman?” said Oscar, hotly.
“I said you did not talk like one.”
“That’s about the same thing,” said Oscar.
“Just as you like. Even if I did say so, you said the same of me.”
“Well, suppose I did.”
“I am as much a gentleman as you, to say the least,” asserted Herbert.
“If you say that again, I’ll knock you down,” said Oscar, furiously.
“I’ll say it all day, if I like,” said Herbert, defiantly.
Perhaps it would have been better for Herbert to stop disputing, and to have taken no notice of Oscar’s words. But Herbert was not perfect. He had plenty of spirit, and he was provoked by the airs Oscar chose to assume, and by no means inclined to allow him to arrogate a superiority over himself, merely on account of his wealth. Though manly and generous, he was quick to resent an insult, and accordingly, when Oscar dared to repeat what he had said, he instantly accepted the challenge as recorded above.
Had Oscar been prudent, he would have hesitated before endeavoring to carry his threat into execution. A moment’s glance at the two boys would have satisfied anyone that the chances, in a personal contest, were decidedly in our hero’s favor. Herbert was not only a little taller than Oscar, perhaps an inch and a half, but his shoulders were broader and his frame more muscular. Oscar had never done any work to strengthen his arms, while Herbert had been forced by circumstances to do so.
Oscar flung himself upon Herbert, and endeavored to bear him to the ground. But the latter, without an effort, repelled the charge, and flung himself free from his antagonist’s grasp.
This naturally made Oscar more determined to overcome his foe. His face red with passion, he showered blows upon Herbert, which the latter parried with ease. At first he acted wholly upon the defensive, but, finding that Oscar’s impetuosity did not abate, suddenly closed with him and threw him down.
Oscar rose but little hurt, for Herbert used no unnecessary force, and recommenced the assault. But the result was the same as before. Oscar was almost beside himself with mingled rage and mortification, and it is hard to tell how long the contest would have lasted, had not a servant come up and informed the boys that Mrs. Peyton wished to see them immediately. She had witnessed the whole scene from a window and felt called upon to interfere.
“How is this, young gentleman?” she asked, gravely. “You have scarcely been together twenty minutes, and I find you fighting.”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Peyton,” said Herbert, in a manly tone. “I feel ashamed of myself, but Oscar attacked me for claiming to be a gentleman, and I am afraid that my blood was up, and so we got into a fight.”
“How is this, Oscar?” said his mother. “Did you so wholly lose your politeness as to attack your guest for asserting his claims to be a gentleman? I am annoyed with you.”
“He says he has to work for a living,” said Oscar, sullenly.
“So may you, some time.”
“I am rich.”
“You may not always be. At any rate, being rich doesn’t insure gentlemanly behavior, as your conduct to-day clearly shows. Herbert, I hope you will excuse my son’s rudeness.”
“Here is my hand, Oscar,” said Herbert, cordially. “Let us be friends.”
Oscar hardly knew how to receive this overture, but he was finally thawed by Herbert’s manner, and they were soon sauntering about on the lawn on the best of terms.
At half-past eleven, after an inviting lunch, the carriage was ordered, and Herbert and Mr. Carroll were driven to the depot, accompanied by Oscar, who went in his mother’s place.
Herbert purchased tickets for both, being intrusted with Mr. Carrol’s pocketbook for that purpose. He found a comfortable seat for the old gentleman, and sat down beside him.
CHAPTER XIX
A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTER
I pass over the route pursued by the travelers from Columbus to Wheeling, in West Virginia, as it possesses no special interest.
But after leaving Wheeling there is quite a change. Those of my readers who are familiar with the Baltimore & Ohio Railway will be able to understand the enjoyment which Herbert derived from the bold and romantic scenery visible from the car windows. Mr. Carroll made him take the seat nearest the window, that he might have a better view, and from time to time Herbert described what he saw to his sightless fellow-traveler.
Northwestern Virginia is very mountainous and the construction of a railway through such a region was a triumph of engineering skill. At times the road makes bold curves, so that the traveler, looking from the car window, can see opposite him, across an intervening gulf, the track over which the train was passing five minutes before. At some places the track is laid on a narrow shelf, midway of the mountain, a steep and rugged ascent on one side, a deep ravine on the other, somewhat like the old diligence road over the Alpine Mt. Cenis. Here and there appear small hamlets, consisting of one-story cabins, with the chimney built alongside, instead of rising from the roof in the usual manner.
How long shall we be in reaching Baltimore, Mr. Carroll? “asked Herbert.
“I believe it takes about twenty-six hours,” said the old gentleman. “But I do not mean to go through without stopping.”
“I didn’t know what your plan was,” said Herbert.
“I have been meaning to tell you. Our tickets will allow us to stop anywhere, and resume our journey the next morning, or even stop two or three days, if we like.”
“That is convenient.”
“Yes. If it had been otherwise, I should have purchased the ticket piecemeal. I cannot endure to travel all night. It fatigues me too much.”
“Where shall we stop, then?”
“I have not yet quite made up my mind. We will ride till about eight o’clock, and then stop over at whatever place we chance to have reached.”
This arrangement struck Herbert favorably. He was in no particular hurry, and the scenery was so fine, that he feared that he should lose a great deal by traveling at night, when, of course, he could not see anything.
They sat for a while in silence. Then Mr. Carroll inquired, suddenly, “Did you ever fire a pistol, Herbert?”
“Yes, sir,” was the surprised reply.
“Then you understand how to use one?”
“Oh, yes, sir. There was a young man in Waverley, the town where I used to live, who owned one, and I sometimes borrowed it to fire at a mark.”
“Then I think I will intrust this weapon to your charge,” said the old gentleman, drawing from his pocket a handsome pistol, and placing it in Herbert’s hand.
“Is it loaded, sir?”
“No, not at present. We will have it loaded before going to bed. I will tell you,” he added, in a lower tone, “my reason for going armed. It so happens that I have a large amount of money with me, and, of course, I feel a little concerned about its safety.”
“Perhaps it will be well not to say anything more about it at present, sir,” suggested Herbert, in a low voice. “You may be heard by someone who would like to take advantage of his discovery.”
“No doubt you are right. I will follow your advice.”
Herbert would not have thought to give this caution, but, just as Mr. Carroll uttered the words, “I have a large sum of money with me,” a man dressed in a rough frieze coat, with black whiskers, and a general appearance, which, to say the least, did not prepossess Herbert in his favor, chanced to walk through the car. Whether he caught the words Herbert could not tell, but he paused a moment, and fixed an unpleasant eye upon the two, as if determined to know them when he should meet them again. There was another suspicious circumstance. It had evidently been his intention to pass through the car, but he paused abruptly, and, turning back, sank into an unoccupied seat a few feet back of that occupied by Mr. Carroll and his young companion.
His attention naturally drawn by this suspicious conduct, Herbert was impelled to glance back once or twice. Each time he met the watchful look of the man fixed upon them, instead of being directed at the scenery outside, as was the case with the other passengers. When he saw that the boy was watching him, he turned his head carelessly, and commenced whistling. But this apparent indifference did not deceive Herbert for a moment.
“I will watch him,” thought our hero. “I do not like his looks. If he means mischief, as I think very probable, it is necessary that I should be on my guard against him.”
At half-past seven o’clock Mr. Carroll signified his intention of getting out at the next station. “I am beginning to feel tired,” he said, “and shall feel the better for a good supper and a night’s rest.”
“Very well, sir,” said Herbert.
It occurred to him that now they would get rid of the man who was watching them so closely.
“If he gets out of the train with us,” he thought, “I shall know what it means.”
The train slackened its speed, the sound of the whistle was heard, the brakes were applied, and soon the conductor, putting his head in at the door, called out “Oakland!”
“Here we are,” said Herbert. “Give me your hand, Mr. Carroll, and I will lead you out.”
The old gentleman rose from his seat, and, guided by Herbert, walked to the car door. At the door Herbert turned and looked back.
The man with the black whiskers, who a moment before seemed absorbed in a newspaper, had left his seat, and was but a few feet behind him.
Herbert did not believe that this was an accident. He felt sure that it meant mischief. But he did not on that account feel nervous, or regret that he had assumed a charge which seemed likely to expose him to peril. He had the pistol in his pocket, and that he knew would make him even with the rascal who was following them.
There was a covered carriage waiting outside to convey passengers to the only hotel which the village afforded.
“Shall we take the carriage, Mr. Carroll?” asked Herbert.
“Yes,” was the reply.
Herbert assisted him in, and placed himself in a seat opposite.
There were two or three other passengers, but the man with the black whiskers was not to be seen among them.
“I may be mistaken,” thought Herbert, who had rather expected to see him. “Perhaps he lives here, and I have been alarming myself without reason. Still, it is always best to be on one’s guard.”
A ride of half a mile brought them to a small but comfortable-looking inn. Herbert assisted Mr. Carroll to descend, and together they entered the house of entertainment.
“We shall want some supper. Herbert,” said Mr. Carroll. “You may order some.”
“What shall I order, sir?”
“I should like some tea and toast and some beef-steak. If there is anything that you would prefer, you may order that also.”
“No, sir, I should not wish anything better than you have ordered.”
“Tell them to get it ready as soon as possible. I feel weary with my day’s ride, and shall retire early.”
“I feel tired, too.” thought Herbert, “but it won’t do for me to sleep. I must keep my eyes open, if possible.”
Supper was soon served. The toast was well browned, and spread with excellent butter. The steak was juicy and tender, contrary to the usual custom of country inns, and the tea was fragrant and strong. Both the travelers partook heartily, having eaten nothing since noon, with the exception of a little fruit purchased from the car window at one of the stations. Herbert was not usually in the habit of drinking tea at night, but on this particular occasion he wanted to keep awake, and therefore drank two cups, of undiminished strength.
“Now, Herbert,” said Mr. Carroll, when they had finished supper, “you may ask the clerk to assign me to a large room with a couple of beds in it. I should prefer to have you in the same room with me.”
“Very well, sir.”
He rose from the table, and went to the public room, one portion of which was occupied by the office. As he made his way to the desk, he observed the man with black whiskers on a settee at one end of the room. He was smoking a clay pipe. Herbert caught a stealthy glance directed towards himself, but that was all. The man continued smoking, fixing his eyes with apparent interest on a large yellow handbill pasted on the opposite wall, announcing a performance by “The Great American Circus Company” the succeeding evening.
Herbert succeeded in obtaining such a room as he sought, and accompanied by a servant bearing a lamp, went back to the dining-room to accompany Mr. Carroll to it.