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Only An Irish Boy; or, Andy Burke's Fortunes, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 8. The Midnight Alarm |
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_ CHAPTER VIII. THE MIDNIGHT ALARM "It's time for me to be goin' back," said Andy, as the clock indicated twenty minutes to nine. "I wish you could sleep at home, Andy," said his mother. "They want me to purtect them," said our hero, with a little importance. "I'll pack my clothes in a handkerchief." "I've got a little carpetbag," said his mother. "That looks more respectable. When you have earned enough money, you must have a new suit of clothes." "How much will they cost, mother?" "I think we can get a cheap suit for fifteen or twenty dollars. When you have got the money, we will call on the tailor and see." "Shure, I'll feel like a gentleman with a suit like that." "Mary, go and get the carpetbag. I've packed Andy's clothes all ready for him." Mary soon reappeared with the carpetbag, and Andy set out on his return. Presently, as the clock struck nine, he knocked at the door of the Misses Grant. The elder opened the door for him. "You are punctual, Andrew," she said, approvingly. "Yes, ma'am." "Are those your clothes?" pointing to the bag he carried. "What few I've got, ma'am. I'm goin' to buy some more when I've got money enough." "That is right. We want you to look respectable." "Just so," remarked Sophia, who felt that it was time for her to speak. Then a brilliant idea seized her. "If he was a girl, we could give him some of our dresses." "But he isn't," said matter-of-fact Priscilla. "Or if we were men," continued Sophia, with another brilliant idea. "But we are not." "Just so," assented her sister, now brought to the end of her suggestions. By this time Andy was in the house, holding his cap in one hand, and his carpetbag in the other. "Do you feel tired?" asked Priscilla. "Yes, ma'am." "Then, perhaps you would like to go to bed?" "I would, if it's just the same to you, ma'am." "Very well, follow me, and I will show you your room. Sophia, perhaps you had better come, too." They went up the front stairs. The house proper had two rooms on the lower floor, and the two chambers over them. But there was, besides, an extension behind, used as a kitchen, and over this was the room which had been used by John, the former servant. "This is your room, Andrew," said Miss Priscilla. "Sophia, will you lift the latch?" The door being opened, revealed a small chamber, with the ceiling partly sloping. There were two windows. It was very plainly furnished, but looked very comfortable. Andy glanced about him with a look of satisfaction. It was considerably more attractive than the bed in the attic which he had occupied at the house of the farmer for whom he had last worked. "We've put the feather bed at the bottom, as it's summer," said Miss Priscilla. "All right, ma'am." "There's one thing you've forgotten, Priscilla," suggested Sophia. "What is that?" "The gun." "Oh, yes. I am glad you reminded me of it. Andrew, can you fire off a gun?" "Yes, ma'am," said Andrew, glibly. He had never done it, but he had seen a gun fired, and always wanted to make a trial himself. "As you are the only menfolks in the house, we should expect you to fire at any robbers that tried to enter the house." "Do you expect any, ma'am?" asked Andy, eagerly. "No; but some might come. Of course, we cannot fire guns--it would be improper, as we are ladies." "Just so," interrupted Sophia. "So we shall leave that to you. Do you think you would dare to?" "Would I dare, is it?" asked Andy. "Shure, I'd be glad of the chance." "I see you are brave. I'll show you the gun now." She went to the closet in the corner of the room, and pointed out a big, unwieldy musket to Andy. It was in the corner. "Is it loaded, ma'am?" he asked. "Yes; it has been loaded for a year or more. John never had occasion to use it, and I hope you won't. If any robber should come," added the kind-hearted spinster, "perhaps you had better only shoot him in the arm, and not kill him." "Just as you say, ma'am." "I believe that is all I have to say. Sophia, shall we go to our own room?" "Just so." So the two maidens withdrew, and Andy was left to his own reflections. He undressed himself quickly, and deposited himself in the bed, which proved to be very comfortable. He went to bed, but there was one thing that prevented his going to sleep. This was the gun. He had never even had one in his hand, and now there was one at his absolute disposal. It made him feel a sense of his importance to feel that, upon him, young as he was, devolved the duty of defending the house and its occupants from burglary. "And why not? Shure, I'm 'most a man," reflected Andy. "I can shoot off a gun as well as anybody. I wonder will robbers come to-night!" thought Andy. He rather wished they would, so that he might have an excuse for firing the gun. However, of this there seemed very little chance, for had not Miss Priscilla said that it had been loaded for more than a year, and during all that time John had never had occasion to use it? This seemed rather discouraging. "I wonder would they let me go out gunning with it?" thought Andy. Somehow or other, he could not get his mind off the gun, and, after a lapse of an hour, he was as wide awake as ever. Meanwhile, Priscilla and Sophia were both asleep, not being interested in the gun. Finally it occurred to Andy that he would get up and look at the gun. He wanted to make sure that he understood how to fire it. It was important that he should do so, he reasoned to himself, for might not a burglar come that very night? Then, suppose he was unable to fire the gun, and in consequence of his ignorance, both he and the two ladies should be murdered in their beds. Of course, this was not to be thought of, so Andy got out of bed, and, finding a match, lit the candle and put it on the bureau, or chest of drawers, as they called it in the country. Then he stepped softly to the closet and took out the gun. "Murder! how heavy it is!" thought Andy. "I didn't think it was half as heavy. There must be a pound of bullets inside. Now," he said to himself, "suppose a big thafe was to poke his dirty head in at the winder and say, 'Give me all your money, or I'll break your head'--I'd put up with the gun and point at him this way." Here Andy brought the gun into position with some difficulty and put his finger near the trigger. "And I'd say," continued Andy, rehearsing his part, "'Jump down, you thafe, or I'll put a bullet through your head.'" At that unlucky moment his finger accidentally pulled the trigger, and instantly there was a tremendous report, the noise being increased by the shattering of the window panes by the bullet. Probably the charge was too heavy, for the gun "kicked," and Andy, to his astonishment, found himself lying flat on his back on the floor, with the gun lying beside him. "Oh, murder!" ejaculated the bewildered boy, "is it dead I am? Shure, the divil's in the gun. What will the ould wimmen say? They'll think it's bloody burglars gettin' into the house. Shure, I'll slip on my pants, for they'll be coming to see what's happened." He picked himself up, and slipped on his pants. He had scarcely got them on when the trembling voice of Miss Priscilla was heard at the door. _ |
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