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Five Hundred Dollars; or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 22. A Panic At Farmer Wilson's |
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_ CHAPTER XXII. A PANIC AT FARMER WILSON'S Silas Wilson was not a brave man, and at his wife's suggestion he turned pale, and looked panic-stricken. "Do--you--think so?" he asked feebly. "Do I think so? I know so," returned Mrs. Wilson energetically. "How could he get up there?" Mrs. Wilson walked to the window, and her lynx eyes detected the ladder by which Phineas had climbed to the window of Bert's room. "Do you see that?" she asked. It is rather surprising that she did not suspect Bert of knowing something about the matter, but she had not yet had time to put two and two together. "It's terrible!" murmured Silas, mopping the cold perspiration from his forehead. "What can we do?" "What can we do? Go and get your gun, Silas, and go up and confront the villain. That's what we can do." Somehow the suggestion did not seem to find favor with Mr. Wilson. "He would shoot me," he said. "He's probably waitin' for me with a loaded weepun upon the landin'." "Silas Wilson, I am ashamed of you. Are you going to let a villainous burglar rampage round upstairs, stealin' whatever he can lay his hands on? Come now!" "I believe you care more for the few things upstairs than for your husband's life," said Silas reproachfully. "Do you want _me_ to go, Silas? What'll the folks in the village say when they hear of it?" "I don't know as I know where the gun is," said Silas nervously. "It's out in the woodshed behind the door." "I don't know as it's loaded. Besides I wouldn't want to be took up for murder." "Not much danger, Silas Wilson! Such men as you don't get into such scrapes as that." Mrs. Wilson went out into the woodshed, and returned, holding the gun in such a way that it pointed directly at her husband. "Don't you know no better than to p'int that gun at me, Sophia?" exclaimed Silas in no little terror. "Beats all what fools women are about firearms." "They may be fools, but they ain't cowards," returned Mrs. Wilson. "Come, are you going up or not?" "Hadn't I better go to the foot of the stairs and fire up?" asked Silas with a bright idea. "And then he'd come down on you, when your gun was discharged, and run his bayonet into you," said Mrs. Wilson, who knew that at the battle of Bunker Hill the muskets had bayonets attached. "I'll give him warnin'!" continued Silas. "It'll only be fair. He'll probably be frightened and climb down the ladder." "I never did see such a 'fraid cat in my life!" quoth Mrs. Wilson contemptuously. "Mebbe you're braver'n I be. If you are, go up yourself!" said Silas Wilson angrily. "You want to put your wife in danger, do you?" returned Mrs. Wilson, who was as averse to facing the burglar as her husband, though she talked more courageously. "And you want to expose your husband to danger," retorted Silas, "so it's an even thing, so far as I can see." It is hardly necessary to say that Bert enjoyed the dispute between the husband and wife, though he maintained an outward gravity which helped him to conceal his secret amusement. By this time he thought it time for him to take part. "I'll go up," he said. "You will?" exclaimed Silas in surprise and relief. "Yes, I am not afraid." "To be sure! The burglar wouldn't do you no harm. You're only a boy. Do you know how to fire a gun?" "Yes, but I shan't need the gun. I am sure the burglar wouldn't harm me." "You're a brave boy, Bert," said the farmer. "You're doing just what I would have done at your age." "You _never_ would have done it, Silas! I should be ashamed anyway to own up I was more of a coward as a grown man than as a boy." "Sophia, you don't know much about burglars and their ways. Don't be afraid, Bert; I'll back you up; I'll stand at the door of the kitchen with the gun in my hand, and help you if you need it." Bert smiled, for he knew just how valuable Silas Wilson's assistance would be, but he made no comment, and started on his perilous enterprise. "I hope he won't come to no harm," said Mrs. Wilson. "I don't know but I'd better go with him." "It would be safer for you, Sophia, for burglars don't shoot women." "Much you know about it, Silas." The two moved toward the kitchen door, Silas handling the gun as if he were afraid of it. They listened with painful attention, and presently heard the sound of voices, though they could not make out what was being said. "The boy's speakin' to him!" said Silas, awe-struck. "I never see such a terrible time. I wish I'd told Bert to tell the burglar to go back the same way he came, and we wouldn't fire at him. I don't want to be too hard on the transgressor. Mebbe he's driven to his evil ways by destitution." Mrs. Wilson paid very little attention to what her husband was saying, being more intent on what was passing upstairs. After a short interval Bert came down. "Well?" said Silas eagerly. "Did you see the burglar?" "Yes." "Where is he?" "In my room." "What is he doin' there?" "He is lying on the bed." "Well, if I ever saw such impudence!" ejaculated Mrs. Wilson. "Has he got a gun with him? Did he offer to shoot you?" "No," answered Bert gravely. "The poor fellow is sick." "Poor fellow, indeed!" sniffed Mrs. Wilson. "What does he mean by getting into a respectable house through a window? He'll end up his days in jail." "Does--does he look desperate?" inquired Silas Wilson. "Would he be likely to hurt me or Mis' Wilson?" "No; he says he would like to have you come up." "Well, of all things!" ejaculated Sophia. "I've got something to tell you," went on Bert, turning from one to the other. "He wants me to tell you before you go up. It is some one whom you both know, though you haven't seen him for a good many years." Silas did not understand, but a mother's instincts were quicker. "Is it our son--Phineas?" she asked. "Yes," answered Bert; "it is your son." "Who stole fifty dollars from his father, and crept away like a thief in the night!" exclaimed the farmer indignantly. "He has suffered, and is very weak," rejoined Bert. "He hadn't had anything to eat for twenty-four hours, and I may as well tell you that it was I who came downstairs in the night and took up the bread and milk to him." "You did quite right," said Mrs. Wilson, who was half-way upstairs by this time. He was her own son in spite of all, and though she was not an emotional woman, she yearned to see the face of her only child, with a mother's feelings all aroused within her. "He took fifty dollars!" repeated Silas Wilson, still harping on a wrong which he had never forgotten nor forgiven. Bert was rather disgusted at the farmer's meanness, but he relieved his anxiety. "He's brought you back the money!" he said shortly. "He has!" exclaimed Silas in a tone of gladness. "Did he tell you so?" "Yes; it is all the money he had, and he went without food rather than spend any of it." "Come, that's encouragin'," said the farmer. "He's turnin' from his evil ways." When they reached Bert's chamber they saw Mrs. Wilson kneeling beside the bed, her harsh features softened by the light of an affection which had been absent from them for years. She looked contented and happy, now that her boy was restored to her. "Got back again, Phineas, hey?" said Silas Wilson. "You're lookin' kinder peaked." "Yes, father, I've been sick, but now----" "I'll soon get him well!" interposed Mrs. Wilson. "I'll go right down and bring up some breakfast." "I can eat it, mother. I have had nothing except the bread and milk Bert brought me." On Wednesday evening Bert closed his engagement with the farmer, and declined to continue it, though urged strongly to do so. He went home in a whirl of excitement, for Phineas Wilson had told him something which overwhelmed him with astonishment. _ |
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