Читать книгу Bernard Brooks' Adventures: The Experience of a Plucky Boy - Horatio Alger Jr., Alger Horatio Jr., Thomas Chandler Haliburton - Страница 6

By the way,” said Mr. Penrose suddenly, “it has just occurred to me that I have had no breakfast.”

“It is the same case with me,” returned Bernard, smiling.

“Bless my soul! How hungry you must be!”

“Don’t you feel hungry, Mr. Penrose?”

“Yes, but my appetite isn’t equal to that of a growing boy. What time is it?”

“I have no watch, Mr. Penrose.”

“Then I will look at my own. It is nine o’clock. Won’t you go down stairs, Bernard, and ask if breakfast is over.”

Bernard returned with the information that the regular breakfast was over, but that a special breakfast for the two guests would be ready in half an hour.

“That will be satisfactory.”

Bernard thought it would be satisfactory to him also, for he felt, to use an expression of his own, “as hungry as a bear.”

It is needless to say that both enjoyed their breakfast.

“I suppose,” said Mr. Penrose, smiling, “that important business prevented your breakfasting with my old teacher, Mr. Snowdon.”

“Yes, sir; very important business.”

“Does he provide a liberal table?”

“Very far from it, sir.”

“So I imagined; though when I was his pupil, he had no boarding pupils. Suppose we take a walk about the town. I have never been in Poplar Plains before.”

“All right, sir.”

It was two hours before they returned. They had sauntered to the river and taken a seat on the bank under some old trees that afforded a grateful shelter. Mr. Penrose found himself more and more attracted by the frank, open nature of his boy companion.

“Really, Bernard,” he said, “I find you a very agreeable comrade. I am glad I fell in with you.”

“I shouldn’t think you would be, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because Mr. Snowdon says I am a bad lot.”

“I am disposed to think that Mr. Snowdon himself is a bad lot.”

Finally they rose and made their way back to the hotel.

In front of it was a rusty-looking chaise drawn by a rawboned horse, whose skin was worn away in several places.

Bernard started in dismay.

“Mr. Snowdon has come after me,” he said quickly.

“What makes you think so?”

“That horse and carriage is one that he always hires. He gets it because he can hire it for half the price of a stable team.”

“But there is no one in the carriage.”

“He is probably in the hotel. I don’t know what to do.”

“How could he have got track of you?”

“Freed Wentworth must have told him I was here. You see, I forgot to tell Freed not to speak of seeing me. Do you think he can carry me back?”

“I’ll tell you what to do, Bernard. Go back to the river side, and I will go forward and meet him. When the coast is clear I will go and find you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Snowdon and Septimus had driven up five minutes before. They left the horse standing in front of the hotel and entered.

“How do you do, Mr. Snowdon?” said the landlord. “What brings you here?”

“I am after a runaway boy – one of my pupils. I heard he was here.”

“There is one boy staying here, but he came with a gentleman whom I took for his guardian.”

“What’s his name? Let me look at your book.” Ezekiel Snowdon ran down the page with his lean forefinger. Finally he came to the following entries:

William Penrose, Buffalo.

Bernard Brooks.

Bernard had not registered himself from any place in particular, feeling that as yet he had no special local habitation.

“There it is!” said Mr. Snowdon triumphantly. “That’s the boy – Bernard Brooks.”

“And he is one of your pupils?”

“Yes, he ran away from my school – the Snowdon Institute – this morning.”

“He seemed to be traveling with Mr. Penrose. He came with him in a carriage.”

“I can’t help that. The man must have abducted him.”

“Don’t you think they had met before? They seemed to be well acquainted.”

“I don’t know about that. Now, Mr. Wilson, I want that boy given up to me. I want to take him home.”

“I have no authority over him, Mr. Snowdon. I can’t deliver him into your hands. I can’t take any responsibility.”

“I’ll take the responsibility,” said Mr. Snowdon impatiently. “Just show me to his room.”

“He isn’t in his room.”

“Where is he, then?”

“He went out to walk with Mr. Penrose directly after breakfast.”

“Is that a good while since?”

“About two hours.”

“Then I will wait for him. He can’t be out much longer.”

“That’s right, pa,” said Septimus. “You’d ought to take him back with you. If he makes any trouble, I’ll help you.”

The landlord regarded Septimus with a glance by no means flattering.

“Who is that boy, Mr. Snowdon?” he asked. “Is he one of your pupils?”

“That is my son, Septimus Snowdon,” answered Ezekiel, with an inflection of pride. It is strange that any one should be proud of such an unfledged cub as Septimus, but Mr. Snowdon was influenced by parental partiality.

Finally the landlord, whose eyes commanded the road outside, saw through the door the approach of Mr. Penrose.

“There’s Mr. Penrose,” he said, “the gentleman your pupil came with, but he is alone.”

“Alone!” repeated Snowdon. “Isn’t the boy with him?”

“No, it seems not. However, he will be here in a minute and you can talk with him.”

Mr. Snowdon advanced to the door, and met Mr. Penrose half way.

“Is this Mr. Penrose?” he asked stiffly.

“The same, Mr. Snowdon.”

“Ha, you know my name?”

“Yes, and I know you. I was once a pupil of yours.”

“Is that so? Where?”

“Out in a town in Illinois. You remember that the big boys rode you out of town on a rail.”

“Is that so, pa?” gasped Septimus in horror-struck amazement, “I don’t remember anything of the kind,” said Mr. Snowdon, disconcerted. “You must have mistaken the person.”

“Not at all. No one who had once met you would be likely to forget you, Mr. Snowdon.”

“We will drop this subject, if you please,” said Snowdon peevishly. “Where is the boy that went out with you this morning?”

“I really cannot say.”

“That answer is not satisfactory. Do you know who that boy is?”

“He says his name is Bernard Brooks.”

“That is true, and he is a pupil of mine.”

“Was a pupil of yours, like myself?”

“He is still my pupil. He was placed with me by his guardian. I charge you with abducting him, Mr. Penrose.”

“Really, this is amusing.”

“You won’t find it an amusing matter. I demand, where is the boy?”

“He went out to walk, and he left me.”

“Is he coming back to the hotel soon?”

“I can’t say. I have no authority over him.”

“Can’t you give me a clue as to his whereabouts?”

“I might, but I don’t choose to.”

“Mr. Wilson, you hear this? You understand that this gentleman is conniving at the escape of my pupil.”

“I have nothing to do with the matter,” said the landlord.

“By the way, Mr. Snowdon,” asked Mr. Penrose, “why did the boy Bernard run away from you?”

“Because he’s a bad lot.”

“Did you treat him kindly?”

“I always treat my pupils kindly,” answered Mr. Snowdon stiffly.

“You didn’t when I was a pupil of yours, five and twenty years ago. However, the boys didn’t treat you kindly. It makes me laugh whenever I think of you being ridden out of town on a rail.”

“Septimus, go outside!” said Mr. Snowdon, who felt sensitive about having this unpleasant episode in his early life made known to his son and heir.

“I want to stay here, pa.”

“Go out at once or I’ll horsewhip you.”

Much against his will, Septimus left the room. He was very curious to learn more about his father’s adventure with the big boys.

Mr. Snowdon waited an hour in the hope that Bernard would appear, but in vain. Finally he summoned Septimus reluctantly and started for home. He had ridden about two miles when he met an open carriage holding three gentlemen. They stopped their carriage and hailed Mr. Snowdon.

“Have you seen anything of a man about five feet eight inches in height, rather slender,” began one, and continued with an accurate description of Mr. Penrose.

“Is his name Penrose?” asked Ezekiel.

“Yes.”

“What do you want him for?”

“He is crazy. We want to take him to an asylum.”

“He is at the hotel in Poplar Plains,” answered Mr. Snowdon eagerly. “He has abducted a pupil of mine. I will go back with you. We shall get Bernard after all, Septimus.”

Both carriages started at a good rate of speed for Poplar Plains, Mr. Snowdon’s face wreathed with triumphant smiles.