CHAPTER XIX BAFFLED A ROBBER
Fairfax paused at Andy's threat. He was only a boy, it is true, but he looked cool and resolute, and the gun, which was pointed at him, looked positively dangerous. But was he to be thwarted in the very moment of his triumph, by a boy? He could not endure it.
"Young man," he said, "this is dangerous business for you. If you don't make yourself scarce, you won't be likely to return at all."
"I'll take the risk," said Andy, coolly.
"Confound him! I thought he'd be frightened," said Fairfax to himself.
"I don't want to kill you," he said, with a further attempt to intimidate Andy.
"I don't mean to let you," said our hero, quietly.
"You are no match for me."
"With a gun I am."
"I don't believe it is loaded."
"If you try to pick up that pistol, I'll convince you; by the powers, I will," said Andy, energetically.
"What is to prevent my taking away the gun from you?"
"Faith," returned Andy, quaintly, "you'll take the powder and ball first, I'm thinkin'."
Fairfax thought so, too, and that was one reason why he concluded not to try it.
It was certainly a provoking position for him.
There lay the pistol on the ground, just at his feet; yet, if he tried to pick it up, the boy would put a bullet through him. It was furthermore provoking to reflect that, had he not stopped to parley with Colonel Preston, he might have secured the money, which he so much desired, before Andy had come up. There was one other resource. He had tried bullying, and without success. He would try cajoling and temptation.
"Look here, boy," he said, "I am a desperate man. I would as leave murder you as not."
"Thank you," said Andy. "But I'd rather not have it done."
"I don't want to hurt you, as I said before, but you mustn't interfere with me."
"Then you mustn't interfere with the colonel."
"I must have the money in his pocketbook."
"Must you? Maybe, I'll have something to say, to that."
"He has eight hundred dollars with him."
"Did he tell you?"
"No matter; I know. If you won't interfere with me, I'll give you two hundred of it."
"Thank you for nothing, then," said Andy, independently. "I'm only a poor Irish boy, but I ain't a thafe, and never mane to be."
"Bravo, Andy!" said Colonel Preston, who had awaited with a little anxiety the result of the offer.
Fairfax stooped suddenly, but before he could get hold of the pistol, Andy struck him on the head with the gun-barrel, causing him to roll over, while, in a quick and adroit movement, he himself got hold of the pistol before Fairfax had recovered from the crack on his head.
"Now," said Andy, triumphantly, with the gun over his shoulder, and presenting the pistol, "lave here mighty quick, or I'll shoot ye."
"Give me back the pistol, then," said the discomfited ruffian.
"I guess not," said Andy.
"It's my property."
"I don't know that. Maybe you took it from some thraveler."
"Give it to me, and I'll go off peaceably."
"I won't take no robber's word," said Andy. "Are you goin'?"
"Give me the pistol. Fire it off, if you like."
"That you may load it again. You don't catch a weasel asleep," answered Andy, shrewdly. "I've a great mind to make you march into the village, and give you up to the perlice."
This suggestion was by no means pleasant for the highwayman, particularly as he reflected that Andy had shown himself a resolute boy, and doubly armed as he now was, it was quite within his power to carry out his threat.
"Don't fire after me," he said.
"I never attack an inimy in the rare," said Andy, who always indulged in the brogue more than usual under exciting circumstances.
I make this explanation, as the reader may have noticed a difference in his dialect at different times.
"We shall meet again, boy!" said Fairfax, menacingly, turning at the distance of a few feet.
"Thank you, sir. You needn't thrubble yourself," said Andy, "I ain't anxious to mate you."
"When we do meet, you'll know it," said the other.
"Maybe I will. Go along wid ye!" said Andy, pointing the pistol at him.
"Don't shoot," said Fairfax, hastily, and he quickened his pace to get out of the way of a dangerous companion.
Andy laughed as the highwayman disappeared in the distance.
"I thought he wouldn't wait long," he said.
"Andy," said Colonel Preston, warmly, "you have behaved like a hero."
"I'm only an Irish boy," said Andy, laughing. "Shure, they don't make heroes of such as I."
"I don't care whether you are Irish or Dutch. You are a hero for all that."
"Shure, sir, it's lucky I was round whin that spalpeen wanted to rob you."
"How did you happen to be out with a gun this afternoon?"
"I got my work all done, and Miss Grant said I might go out shootin' if I wanted. Shure, I didn't expect it 'ud been robbers I would be afther shootin'."
"You came up just in the nick of time. Weren't you afraid?"
"I didn't stop to think of that when I saw that big blackguard p'intin' his pistol at you. I thought I'd have a hand in it myself."
"Jump into the chaise, Andy, and ride home with me."
"What, wid the gun?"
"To be sure. We won't leave the gun. That has done us too good service already to-day."
"I've made something out of it, anyway," said Andy, displaying the pistol, which was silver-mounted, and altogether a very pretty weapon. "It's a regular beauty," he said, with admiration.
"It will be better in your hands than in the real owner's," said Colonel Preston.
By this time Andy was in the chaise, rapidly nearing the village.
"If you hadn't come up just as you did, Andy, I should have been poorer by eight hundred dollars."
"That's a big pile of money," said Andy, who, as we know, was not in the habit of having large sums of money in his own possession.
"It is considerably more than I would like to lose," said Colonel Preston, to whom it was of less importance than to Andy.
"I wonder will I ever have so much money?" thought Andy.
"Now, I'll tell you what I think it only right to do, Andy," pursued the colonel.
Andy listened attentively.
"I am going to make you a present of some money, as an acknowledgment of the service you have done me."
"I don't want anything, Colonel Preston," said Andy. "I didn't help you for the money."
"I know you didn't, my lad," said the colonel, "but I mean to give it to you all the same."
He took out his pocketbook, but Andy made one more remonstrance.
"I don't think I ought to take it, sir, thankin' you all the same."
"Then I will give you one hundred dollars for your mother. You can't refuse it for her."
Andy's eyes danced with delight. He knew how much good this money would do his mother, and relieve her from the necessity of working so hard as she was now compelled to do.
"Thank you, sir," he said. "It'll make my mother's heart glad, and save her from the hard work."
"Here is the money, Andy," said the colonel, handing his young companion a roll of bills.
Again Andy poured out warm protestations of gratitude for the munificent gift, with which Colonel Preston was well pleased.
"I believe you are a good boy, Andy," he said. "It is a good sign when a boy thinks so much of his mother."
"I'd be ashamed not to, sir," said Andy.
They soon reached the village. Andy got down at the Misses Grant's gate, and was soon astonishing the simple ladies by a narrative of his encounter with the highwayman.
"Do you think he'll come here?" asked Sophia, in alarm. "If he should come when Andy was away–"
"You could fire the gun yourself, Sophia."
"I should be frightened to death."
"Then he couldn't kill you afterward."
"Just so," answered Sophia, a little bewildered.
"Were you shot, Andrew?" she asked, a minute afterward.
"If I was, I didn't feel it," said Andy, jocosely.
Andy's heroic achievement made him still more valued by the Misses Grant, and they rejoiced in the handsome gift he had received from the colonel, and readily gave him permission to carry it to his mother after supper.
CHAPTER XX HOW THE NEWS WAS RECEIVED
It is always pleasant to carry good news, and Andy hastened with joyful feet to his mother's humble dwelling.
"Why, Andy, you're out of breath. What's happened?" asked Mrs. Burke.
"I was afraid of bein' robbed," said Andy.
"The robber wouldn't get much that would steal from you, Andy."
"I don't know that, mother. I ain't so poor as you think. Look there, now!"
Here he displayed the roll of bills. There were twenty fives, which made quite a thick roll.
"Where did you get so much, Andy?" asked his sister Mary.
"How much is it?" asked his mother.
"A hundred dollars," answered Andy, proudly.
"A hundred dollars!" repeated his mother, with apprehension. "Oh, Andy, I hope you haven't been stealing?"
"Did you ever know me to stale, mother?" said Andy.
"No, but I thought you might be tempted. Whose money is it?"
"It's yours, mother."
"Mine!" exclaimed Mrs. Burke, in astonishment. "You're joking now, Andy."
"No, I'm not. It's yours."
"Where did it come from, then?"
"Colonel Preston sent it to you as a present."
"I am afraid you are not tellin' me the truth, Andy," said his mother, doubtfully. "Why should he send me so much money?"
"Listen, and I'll tell you, mother, and you'll see it's the truth I've been tellin'."
Thereupon he told the story of his adventure with the highwayman and how he had saved Colonel Preston from being robbed.
His mother listened with pride, for though Andy spoke modestly, she could see that he had acted in a brave and manly way, and it made her proud of him.
"So the colonel," Andy concluded, "wanted to give me a hundred dollars, but I didn't like to take it myself. But when he said he would give it to you, I couldn't say anything ag'inst that. So here it is, mother, and I hope you'll spend some of it on yourself."
"I don't feel as if it belonged to me, Andy. It was you that he meant it for."
"Keep it, mother, and it'll do to use when we nade it."
"I don't like to keep so much money in the house, Andy. We might be robbed."
"You can put part of it in the savings bank, mother."
This course was adopted, and Andy himself carried eighty dollars, and deposited it in a savings bank in Melville, a few days afterward.
Meanwhile Colonel Preston told the story of Andy's prowess, at home.
But Mrs. Preston was prejudiced against Andy, and listened coldly.
"It seems to me, Colonel Preston," she said, "you are making altogether too much of that Irish boy. He puts on enough airs to make one sick already."
"I never observed it, my dear," said the colonel, mildly.
"Everyone else does. He thought himself on a level with our Godfrey."
"He is Godfrey's superior in some respects."
"Oh, well, if you are going to exalt him above your own flesh and blood, I won't stay and listen to you."
"You disturb yourself unnecessarily, my dear. I have no intention of adopting him in place of my son. But he has done me a great service this after-noon, and displayed a coolness and courage very unusual in a boy of his age. But for him, I should be eight hundred dollars poorer."
"Oh, well, you can give him fifty cents, and he will be well paid for his services, as you call them."
"Fifty cents!" repeated her husband.
"Well, a dollar, if you like."
"I have given him a hundred dollars."
"A hundred dollars!" almost screamed Mrs. Preston, who was a very mean woman. "Are you insane?"
"Not that I am aware of, my dear."
"It is perfectly preposterous to give such a sum to such a boy."
"I ought to say that I gave it to him for his mother. He was not willing to accept it for himself."
"That's a likely story," said Mrs. Preston, incredulously. "He only wants to make a favorable impression upon you—perhaps to get more out of you."
"You misjudge him, my dear."
"I know he is an artful, intriguing young rascal. You give him a hundred dollars, yet you refused to give Godfrey ten dollars last week."
"For a very good reason. He has a liberal allowance, and must keep within it. He did not need the money he asked for."
"Yet you lavish a hundred dollars on this boy."
"I felt justified in doing so. Which was better, to give him that sum, or to lose eight hundred?"
"I don't like the boy, and I never shall. I suppose he will be strutting around, boasting of his great achievement. If he had a gun it was nothing to do."
"I suspect Godfrey would hardly have ventured upon it," said the colonel, smiling.
"Oh, of course, Godfrey is vastly inferior to the Irish boy!" remarked Mrs. Preston, ironically. "You admire the family so much that I suppose if I were taken away, you would marry his mother and establish her in my place."
"If you have any such apprehensions, my dear, your best course is to outlive her. That will effectually prevent my marrying her, and I pledge you my word that, while you are alive, I shall not think of eloping with her."
"It is very well to jest about it," said Mrs. Preston, tossing her head.
"I am precisely of your opinion, my dear. As you observe, that is precisely what I am doing."
So the interview terminated. It was very provoking to Mrs. Preston that her husband should have given away a hundred dollars to Andy Burke's mother, but the thing was done, and could not be undone. However, she wrote an account of the affair to Godfrey, who, she knew, would sympathize fully with her view of the case. I give some extracts from her letter:
"Your father seems perfectly infatuated with that low Irish boy. Of course, I allude to Andy Burke. He has gone so far as to give him a hundred dollars. Yesterday, in riding home from Melville, with eight hundred dollars in his pocketbook, he says he was stopped by a highwayman, who demanded his money or his life. Very singularly, Andy came up just in the nick of time with a gun, and made a great show of interfering, and finally drove the man away, as your father reports. He is full of praise of Andy, and, as I said, gave him a hundred dollars, when two or three would have been quite enough, even had the rescue been real. But of this I have my doubts. It is very strange that the boy should have been on the spot just at the right time, still more strange that a full-grown man should have been frightened away by a boy of fifteen. In fact, I think it is what they call a 'put-up job.' I think the robber and Andy were confederates, and that the whole thing was cut and dried, that the man should make the attack, and Andy should appear and frighten him away, for the sake of a reward which I dare say the two have shared together. This is what I think about the matter. I haven't said so to your father, because he is so infatuated with the Irish boy that it would only make him angry, but I have no doubt that you will agree with me. [It may be said here that Godfrey eagerly adopted his mother's view, and was equally provoked at his father's liberality to his young enemy.] Your father says he won't give you the ten dollars you asked for. He can lavish a hundred dollars on Andy, but he has no money to give his own son. But sooner or later that boy will be come up with—sooner or later he will show himself in his true colors, and your father will be obliged to confess that he has been deceived. It puts me out of patience when I think of him.
"We shall expect you home on Friday afternoon of next week, as usual."
Andy was quite unconscious of the large space which he occupied in the thoughts of Mrs. Preston and Godfrey, and of the extent to which he troubled them. He went on, trying to do his duty, and succeeding fully in satisfying the Misses Grant, who had come to feel a strong interest in his welfare.
Three weeks later, Sophia Grant, who had been to the village store on an errand, returned home, looking greatly alarmed.
"What is the matter, Sophia?" asked her sister. "You look as if you had seen a ghost."
"Just so, Priscilla," she said; "no, I don't mean that, but we may all be ghosts in a short time."
"What do you mean?"
"Smallpox is in town!"
"Who's got it?"
"Colonel Preston; and his wife won't stay in the house. She is packing up to go off, and I expect the poor man'll die all by himself, unless somebody goes and takes care of him, and then it'll spread, and we'll all die of it."
This was certainly startling intelligence. Andy pitied the colonel, who had always treated him well. It occurred to him that his mother had passed through an attack of smallpox in her youth, and could take care of the colonel without danger. He resolved to consult her about it at once.
CHAPTER XXI A MODEL WIFE
Colonel Preston, returning from a trip to Boston, in which, probably, he had been unconsciously exposed to the terrible disease referred to, was taken sick, and his wife, wholly unsuspicious of her husband's malady, sent for the doctor.
The latter examined his patient and, on leaving the sick-chamber, beckoned Mrs. Preston to follow him.
"What is the matter with him, doctor?" asked Mrs. Preston. The physician looked grave.
"I regret to say, Mrs. Preston, that he has the smallpox."
"The smallpox!" almost shrieked Mrs. Preston. "Oh! what will become of me?"
Dr. Townley was rather disgusted to find her first thought was about herself, not about her stricken husband.
"It's catching, isn't it, doctor?" she asked, in great agitation.
"I am sorry to say that it is, madam."
"Do you think I will take it?"
"I cannot take it upon myself to say."
"And I was in the same room with him," wailed Mrs. Preston, "and never knew the awful danger! Oh, I wouldn't have the smallpox for this world! If I didn't die, I should be all marked up for life."
"You haven't much beauty to spoil," thought the doctor; but this thought he prudently kept to himself.
"I must leave the house at once. I will go to my brother's house till he has recovered," said Mrs. Preston, in agitation.
"What!" exclaimed the doctor, in surprise, "and leave your husband alone!"
"I can't take care of him—you must see that I can't," said Mrs. Preston, fretfully. "I can't expose my life without doing him any good."
"I expose myself every time I visit him," said the doctor. "I never had the smallpox. Have you been vaccinated?"
"Yes, I believe so—I'm sure I don't know. But people sometimes take the smallpox even after they have been vaccinated. I should be so frightened that I could do no good."
"Then," said the doctor, gravely, "you have decided to leave your husband?"
"Yes, doctor, I must. It is my duty—to my boy," answered Mrs.
Preston, catching at this excuse with eagerness. "I must live for him, you know. Of course, if I could do any good, it would be different.
But what would Godfrey do if both his father and mother should die?"
She looked up into his face, hoping that he would express approval of her intentions; but the doctor was too honest for this. In truth, he was disgusted with the woman's selfishness, and would like to have said so; but this politeness forbade. At any rate, he was not going to be trapped into any approval of her selfish and cowardly determination.
"What do you wish to be done, Mrs. Preston?" he asked. "Of course, your husband must be taken care of."
"Hire a nurse, doctor. A nurse will do much more good than I could. She will know just what to do. Most of them have had the smallpox. It is really much better for my husband that it should be so. Of course, you can pay high wages—anything she asks," added Mrs. Preston, whose great fear made her, for once in her life, liberal.
"I suppose that will be the best thing to do. You wish me, then, to engage a nurse?"
"Yes, doctor, if you will be so kind."
"When do you go away?"
"At once. I shall pack up my clothes immediately. On the whole, I think I will go to the town where Godfrey is at school, and board there for the present. I must see him, and prevent him from coming home."
"You will go into your husband's chamber and bid him good-by?"
"No; I cannot think of it. It would only be useless exposure."
"What will he think?"
"Explain it to him, doctor. Tell him that I hope he will get well very soon, and that I feel it my duty to go away now on Godfrey's account. I am sure he will see that it is my duty."
"I wonder what excuse she would have if she had no son for a pretext?" thought the doctor.
"Well," he said, "I will do as you request."
"See that he has the best of care. Get him two nurses, if you think best. Don't spare expense."
"What extraordinary liberality in Mrs. Preston," thought the physician.
He went back into the chamber of his patient.
"Doctor," said Colonel Preston, "you didn't tell me what was the matter with me. Am I seriously sick?"
"I am sorry to say that you are."
"Dangerously?"
"Not necessarily. You have the smallpox."
"Have I?" said the patient, thoughtfully.
"It's an awkward thing to tell him that his wife is going to leave him," the doctor said to himself. "However, it must be done."
"Have you told my wife, doctor?"
"I just told her."
"What does she say?"
"She is very much startled, and (now for it), thinks, under the circumstances, she ought not to run the risk of taking care of you on account of Godfrey."
"Perhaps she is right," said Colonel Preston, slowly.
He was not surprised to hear it, but it gave him a pang, nevertheless.
"She wants me to engage a nurse for you."
"Yes, that will be necessary."
There was a pause.
"When is she going?" he asked, a little later.
"As soon as possible. She is going to board near the school where Godfrey is placed."
"Shall I see her?"
"She thinks it best not to risk coming into the chamber, lest she should carry the infection to Godfrey."
"I suppose that is only prudent," returned the sick man, but in his heart he wished that his wife had shown less prudence, and a little more feeling for him.
"Have you thought of any nurse?" he asked.
"I have thought of the widow Burke."
"She might not dare to come."
"She has had the disease. I know this from a few slight marks still left on her face. Of course, you would be willing to pay a liberal price?"
"Any price," said Colonel Preston, energetically. "It is a service which, I assure you, I shall not soon forget."
"I must see her at once, for your wife will leave directly."
"Pray, do so," said Colonel Preston. "Tell my wife," he said, after a pause, "that I hope soon to have recovered, so that it may be safe for her to come back."
There was a subdued bitterness in his voice, which the doctor detected, and did not wonder at. He gave the message, as requested.
"I am sure I hope so, Dr. Townley," said Mrs. Preston. "I shall be tortured with anxiety. I hope you will write me daily how my poor husband is getting along?"
"Perhaps the paper might carry the infection," said the doctor, testing the real extent of her solicitude.
"I didn't think of that," answered Mrs. Preston, hastily. "On the whole, you needn't write, then. It might communicate the disease to Godfrey."
"She finds Godfrey very useful," the doctor thought.
"I will bear my anxiety as I can," she continued. "Have you thought of anyone for a nurse?"
"I have thought of Mrs. Burke."
"She is poor, and will come if you offer her a good price. Try to get her."
"I think she will come. I must go at once, for your husband needs immediate attention."
"Get her to come at once, Dr. Townley! Oh, do! My husband may want something, and I can't go into the room. My duty to my dear, only son will not permit me. I hope Mr. Preston understands my motives in going away?"
"I presume he does," said the doctor, rather equivocally.
"Tell him how great a sacrifice it is for me to leave his bedside. It is a terrible trial for me, but my duty to my son makes it imperative."
The doctor bowed.
He drove at once to the humble dwelling of Mrs. Burke.
His errand was briefly explained.
"Can you come?" he asked. "I am authorized to offer you ten dollars a week for the time you spend there."
"I would come in a minute, doctor, but what shall I do with Mary?"
"She shall stay at my house. I will gladly take charge of her."
"You are very kind, doctor. I wouldn't want to expose her, but I don't mind myself. I don't think I am in danger, for I've had the smallpox already."
"Can you be ready in five minutes? Tell Mary to pack up her things, and go to my house at once. We'll take good care of her."
In less than an hour Mrs. Burke was installed at the bedside of the sick man as his nurse. As she entered the house, Mrs. Preston left it, bound for the railway depot.
"I'm so glad you're here," she said, greeting the widow Burke with unwonted cordiality. "I am sure you will take the best care of my husband. I have told the doctor to pay you whatever you ask."
"I'll do my best, Mrs. Preston, but not for the money," answered Mrs.
Burke. "Your husband shall get well, if good care can cure him."
"I've no doubt of it; but the carriage is here, and I must go. Tell my husband how sorry I am to leave him."
So Mrs. Preston went away, leaving a stranger to fulfill her own duties at the bedside of her husband.
Thus it happened that, when Andy came home, he found his mother already gone, and his sister on the point of starting for the doctor's house. His idea had already been carried out.