Читать книгу Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience - Alger Horatio Jr., Thomas Chandler Haliburton - Страница 4

Dr. Crawford stopped short, and eyed Gilbert attentively.

“I don’t know you,” he said, in a querulous tone.

“I am a schoolmate of your son, Carl. My name is Gilbert Vance.”

“If you have come to see my son you will be disappointed. He has treated me in a shameful manner. He left home yesterday morning, and I don’t know where he is.”

“I can tell you, sir. He is staying—for a day or two—at my father’s house.”

“Where is that?” asked Dr. Crawford, his manner showing that he was confused.

“In Warren, thirteen miles from here.”

“I know the town. What induced him to go to your house? Have you encouraged him to leave home?” inquired Dr. Crawford, with a look of displeasure.

“No, sir. It was only by chance that I met him a mile from our home. I induced him to stay overnight.”

“Did you bring me any message from him?” “No, sir, except that he is going to strike out for himself, as he thinks his home an unhappy one.”

“That is his own fault. He has had enough to eat and enough to wear. He has had as comfortable a home as yourself.”

“I don’t doubt that, but he complains that his stepmother is continually finding fault with him, and scolding him.”

“He provokes her to do it. He is a headstrong, obstinate boy.”

“He never had that reputation at school, sir. We all liked him.”

“I suppose you mean to imply that I am in fault?” said the doctor, warmly.

“I don’t think you know how badly Mrs. Crawford treats Carl, sir.”

“Of course, of course. That is always said of a stepmother.”

“Not always, sir. I have a stepmother myself, and no own mother could treat me better.”

“You are probably a better boy.”

“I can’t accept the compliment. I hope you’ll excuse me saying it, Dr. Crawford, but if my stepmother treated me as Carl says Mrs. Crawford treats him I wouldn’t stay in the house another day.”

“Really, this is very annoying,” said Dr. Crawford, irritably. “Have you come here from Warren to say this?”

“No, sir, not entirely.”

“Perhaps Carl wants me to receive him back. I will do so if he promises to obey his stepmother.”

“That he won’t do, I am sure.”

“Then what is the object of your visit?”

“To say that Carl wants and intends to earn his own living. But it is hard for a boy of his age, who has never worked, to earn enough at first to pay for his board and clothes. He asks, or, rather, I ask for him, that you will allow him a small sum, say three or four dollars a week, which is considerably less than he must cost you at home, for a time until he gets on his feet.”

“I don’t know,” said Dr. Crawford, in a vacillating tone. “I don’t think Mrs. Crawford would approve this.”

“It seems to me you are the one to decide, as Carl is your own son. Peter must cost you a good deal more.”

“Do you know Peter?”

“I have met him,” answered Gilbert, with a slight smile.

“I don’t know what to say. You may be right. Peter does cost me more.”

“And Carl is entitled to be treated as well as he.”

“I think I ought to speak to Mrs. Crawford about it. And, by the way, I nearly forgot to say that she charges Carl with taking money from her bureau drawer before he went away. It was a large sum, too—twenty-five dollars.”

“That is false!” exclaimed Gilbert, indignantly. “I am surprised that you should believe such a thing of your own son.”

“Mrs. Crawford says she has proof,” said the doctor, hesitating.

“Then what has he done with the money? I know that he has but thirty-seven cents with him at this time, and he only left home yesterday. If the money has really been taken, I think I know who took it.”

“Who?”

“Peter Cook. He looks mean enough for anything.”

“What right have you to speak so of Peter?”

“Because I caught him stoning a cat this morning. He would have killed the poor thing if I had not interfered. I consider that worse than taking money.”

“I—I don’t know what to say. I can’t agree to anything till I have spoken with Mrs. Crawford. Did you say that Carl had but thirty seven cents?”

“Yes, sir; I presume you don’t want him to starve?”

“No, of course not. He is my son, though he has behaved badly. Here, give him that!” and Dr. Crawford drew a ten-dollar bill from his wallet, and handed it to Gilbert.

“Thank you, sir. This money will be very useful. Besides, it will show Carl that his father is not wholly indifferent to him.”

“Of course not. Who says that I am a bad father?” asked Dr. Crawford, peevishly.

“I don’t think, sir, there would be any difficulty between you and Carl if you had not married again.”

“Carl has no right to vex Mrs. Crawford. Besides, he can’t agree with Peter.”

“Is that his fault or Peter’s?” asked Gilbert, significantly.

“I am not acquainted with the circumstances, but Mrs. Crawford says that Carl is always bullying Peter.”

“He never bullied anyone at school.”

“Is there anything, else you want?”

“Yes, sir; Carl only took away a little underclothing in a gripsack. He would like his woolen clothes put in his trunk, and to have it sent–”

“Where?”

“Perhaps it had better be sent to my house. There are one or two things in his room also that he asked me to get.”

“Why didn’t he come himself?”

“Because he thought it would be unpleasant for him to meet Mrs. Crawford. They would be sure to quarrel.”

“Well, perhaps he is right,” said Dr. Crawford, with an air of relief. “About the allowance, I shall have to consult my wife. Will you come with me to the house?”

“Yes, sir; I should like to have the matter settled to-day, so that Carl will know what to depend upon.”

Gilbert rather dreaded the interview he was likely to have with Mrs. Crawford; but he was acting for Carl, and his feelings of friendship were strong.

So he walked beside Dr. Crawford till they reached the tasteful dwelling occupied as a residence by Carl and his father.

“How happy Carl could be here, if he had a stepmother like mine,” Gilbert thought.

They went up to the front door, which was opened for them by a servant.

“Jane, is Mrs. Crawford in?” asked the doctor.

“No, sir; not just now. She went to the village to do some shopping.”

“Is Peter in?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you will have to wait till they return.”

“Can’t I go up to Carl’s room and be packing his things?”

“Yes, I think you may. I don’t think Mrs. Crawford would object.”

“Good heavens! Hasn’t the man a mind of his own?” thought Gilbert.

“Jane, you may show this young gentleman up to Master Carl’s room, and give him the key of his trunk. He is going to pack his clothes.”

“When is Master Carl coming back?” asked Jane.

“I—I don’t know. I think he will be away for a time.”

“I wish it was Peter instead of him,” said Jane, in a low voice, only audible to Gilbert.

She showed Gilbert the way upstairs, while the doctor went to his study.

“Are you a friend of Master Carl’s?” asked Jane, as soon as they were alone.

“Yes, Jane.”

“And where is he?”

“At my house.”

“Is he goin’ to stay there?”

“For a short time. He wants to go out into the world and make his own living.”

“And no wonder—poor boy! It’s hard times he had here.”

“Didn’t Mrs. Crawford treat him well?” asked Gilbert, with curiosity

“Is it trate him well? She was a-jawin’ an’ a-jawin’ him from mornin’ till night. Ugh, but she’s an ugly cr’atur’!”

“How about Peter?”

“He’s just as bad—the m’anest bye I iver set eyes on. It would do me good to see him flogged.”

She chatted a little longer with Gilbert, helping him to find Carl’s clothes, when suddenly a shrill voice was heard calling her from below.

“Shure, it’s the madam!” said Jane, shrugging her shoulders. “I expect she’s in a temper;” and she rose from her knees and hurried downstairs.