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Randy of the River: The Adventures of a Young Deckhand, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 3. Exposing Bob Bangs |
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_ CHAPTER III. EXPOSING BOB BANGS When Bob Bangs saw the key ring his face changed color. "Where did you get that?" he demanded. "Got it where you dropped it--at the pool where we left our fish." "How do you know it is mine?" "By the initials on it." "Humph!" "If you don't want the key ring we'll keep it," put in Randy, quickly. "No, you won't keep it. Give it to me." "Then give us our fish," said Randy, quietly but firmly. "They are not all your fish. I caught two of them." "The two smallest, I suppose." "No, the two largest." "We lost six big fish and these belong to us," said Randy, and took the best fish from the string. "Bob Bangs, it was a contemptible thing to do," he added, with spirit. "I wouldn't do such a dirty thing for a thousand dollars." "Bah! Don't talk to me, unless you want to get hurt," growled the large youth, savagely. "I am not afraid of you, even if you are bigger than I am," said Randy, undaunted by the fighting attitude the bully had assumed. "It certainly was a mean piece of business," came from Jack. "If you wanted some fish why didn't you ask us for them?" "Humph! I can buy my fish if I want to." "Then why did you take ours?" demanded Randy. "I--er--I didn't know they belonged to you. I just saw the strings in the pool and took a few," answered the boy, lamely. "Give me my key ring." The ring with the keys was passed over, and Randy and Jack restrung their fish. In the meantime Bob Bangs entered his father's garden, slamming the gate after him. "You just wait--I'll get square with you!" he shouted back, and shook his fist at Randy. "You be careful, or you'll get into trouble!" shouted back Randy, and then he and Jack walked away with their fish. "What's the matter, Master Robert?" asked the man-of-all-work around the Bangs place, as he approached Bob from the barn. "Oh, some fellows are getting fresh," grumbled the big youth. "But I'll fix them for it!" "I see they took some of your fish." "We had a dispute about the fish. Rather than take them from such a poor chap as Randy Thompson I let him keep them," said Bob, glibly. "But I am going to get square with him for his impudence," he added. After a long hard row and fishing for over an hour, Bob Bangs had caught only two small fish and he was thoroughly disgusted with everything and everybody. He walked into the kitchen and threw the fish on the sink board. "There, Mamie, you can clean those and fry them for my supper," he said to the servant girl. "Oh, land sakes, Master Bob, they are very small," cried the girl. "They won't go around nohow!" "I said you could fry them for _my_ supper," answered Bob, coldly. "They are hardly worth bothering with," murmured the servant girl, but the boy did not hear her, for he had passed to the next room. He went upstairs and washed up and then walked into the sitting room, where his mother reclined on a sofa, reading the latest novel of society life. "Where is father?" he asked, abruptly. "I do not know, Robert," answered Mrs. Bangs, without looking up from her book. "Will he be home to supper?" To this there was no reply. "I say, will he be home to supper?" and the boy shoved the book aside. "Robert, don't be rude!" cried Mrs. Bangs, in irritation. "I presume he will be home," and she resumed her novel reading. "I want some money." To this there was no reply. Mrs. Bangs was on the last chapter of the novel and wanted to finish it before supper was served. She did little in life but read novels, dress, and attend parties, and she took but small interest in Bob and his doings. "I say, I want some money," repeated the boy, in a louder key. "Robert, will you be still? Every time I try to read you come and interrupt me." "And you never want to listen to me. You read all the time." "No, I do not--I really read very little, I have so many things to attend to. What did you say you wanted?" "I want some money. I haven't had a cent this week." "Then you must ask your father. I haven't anything to give you," and again Mrs. Bangs turned to her book. "Can't you give me a dollar?" Again there was no answer. "I say, can't you give me a dollar?" "I cannot. Now go away and be quiet until supper time." "Then give me fifty cents." "I haven't a penny. Ask your father." "Oh, you're a mean thing!" growled the wayward son, and stalked out of the sitting room, slamming the door after him. "What a boy!" sighed the lady of the house. "He never considers my comfort--and after all I have done for him!" And then she turned once more to her precious novel. It wanted half an hour to supper time and Bob, not caring to do anything else, took himself back to his room. Like his mother, he, too, loved to read. Stowed away in a trunk, he had a score or more of cheap paper-covered novels, of daring adventures among the Indians, and of alluring detective tales, books on which he had squandered many a dime. One was called "Bowery Bob, the Boy Detective of the Docks; or, Winning a Cool Million," and he wanted to finish this, to see how Bob got the million dollars. The absurdity of the stories was never noticed by him, and he thought them the finest tales ever penned. He was deep in a chapter where the hero in rags was holding three men with pistols at bay when he heard a noise below and saw his father leaping from the family carriage. Mr. Bangs' face wore a look of great satisfaction, showing plainly that his day's business had agreed with him. "How do you do, dad?" he said, running down to greet his parent. "First-rate, Bob," said Mr. Bangs, with a smile. "How have things gone with you to-day?" "Not very well." "What's the matter?" "You forgot to give me my spending money this week." "I thought I gave it to you Saturday." "That was for last week." "I think you are mistaken, Bob. However, it doesn't matter much," went on Mr. Bangs, as he entered the house. "Phew! He's in a fine humor to-night," thought Bob. "I'll have to strike him for more than a dollar." "Where's your mother?" went on the gentleman. "In the sitting room, reading. But I say, dad, what about that money?" "Oh, do you want it right away?" "I'd like to have it after supper." "Very well." "Can I have three dollars? I want to buy something extra this week--some things I really need." "Ahem! Three dollars is quite a sum. I don't know of any other boy in Riverport who gets as much as three dollars in one week to spend." "Well, but they haven't as rich a father as I have." "Ah, quite true," nodded Mr. Bangs, with satisfaction. "I think I can safely lay claim to being the richest man in this district." "Then I can have the three dollars?" went on Bob, anxiously. "Yes. Here you are," and his parent brought forth a well-filled wallet and handed over three new one-dollar bills. Bob was stowing the money away in his pocket and congratulating himself on his luck when a door opened and Mrs. Bangs appeared. "So you are back, Amos," she said, sweetly. "It has been such a long, lonesome day without you." "And a busy day for me," answered Amos Bangs, as he passed into the sitting room and dropped into an easy chair. "Did you go to Springfield?" "I did, and met Tuller and the rest. We've got that thing in our grip now." "Yes," she said, vaguely. In reality she took no interest whatever in her husband's affairs so long as she got what money she desired. "Yes, sir--we've got the thing just where we want it," continued Amos Bangs. "You mean----?" his wife hesitated. "I mean that iron works affair of course, Viola. Can't you understand at all?" "Oh--er--yes, of course. Let me see, you were trying to get control so you said." "Exactly, and I've got it." "Was not that the works in which Mr. Bartlett is interested?" "The same." "Did not he have the control?" "Yes, but I have it now, and I am going to keep it," answered Amos Bangs, with evident satisfaction. "Do you mean Jack Bartlett's father, dad?" questioned Bob, eagerly. "I do." "Have you got the best of him?" "Well, I have--ahem--carried my point and the iron works will be absorbed by the concern in Springfield." "And Jack Bartlett's father won't like that?" "No. In fact, I am afraid he will fight it. But he can do nothing, absolutely nothing," went on Amos Bangs. "I hold the whip hand--and I shall continue to hold it." "I hate the Bartletts and I hope you do get the best of them." "This will make Mrs. Bartlett take a back seat," said Mrs. Bangs, maliciously. "Maybe you mean that seat in church," said Bob, slyly. "Not that particularly, although it is time they went to the rear--they have had a front seat so long. Amos, we must take a front seat now." "As you please, Viola." "And I must have some new dresses." "You shall have them, my dear." "You dear, good man!" cried the fashionable wife; and then the whole family went in to supper. Bob felt particularly elated. He had gotten three dollars for spending money and he felt sure that the Bartletts, including Jack, would have to suffer. "I wish dad could do something to injure the Thompsons," he said to himself. "But Mr. Thompson is only a carpenter. I must watch my chance and get square with Randy on my own account." _ |
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