University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.

About an hour after Sidney left the dwelling of
Granny Gammon, as the Granny and her granddaughter
sat together talking over Bobby's misfortune, the
door opened, and that worthy covered with mud and
dirt, and much exhausted, entered the room.

“Father of all mercies!” ejaculated the old woman,
clasping her hands together with an hysteric
scream. “Bobby! cousin Bobby!” exclaimed Peggy,
springing towards him, and giving relief to her feelings
in tears, “we have been so troubled about you.”

Towzer leaped upon his master, and then darted
around the room in wild delight.

Bobby threw himself on the floor without saying a
word. His old grandmother looked at him as if expecting
him to speak, and then said, impatiently:

“Why don't you speak, child? why don't you speak,
after bringing all this trouble on us? why don't you
speak?”

Peggy had taken a seat by Bobby, and was gazing
on him intently. As his grandmother spoke he hid
his head in his cousin's lap, and said in a low voice,

“Cousin Peggy, you will not believe anything
against me, will you?”

“No, Bobby, not a word that goes against your
honesty.”

“I knew you wouldn't,” said Bobby, rising proudly,
while the tear started to his eye. “I knew you
wouldn't. I'll tell you all about it.”

“Do, child,” said the old woman, impatiently.

“Well, you know, I started off for the circus?”

“Yes, yes; what, Bobby? ha! I always told you
about the circus.”

“Granny, if you don't let me speak, how can I
tell? Well, I went into the circus, and there I saw
Jack Gordon and a whole parcel of fellows. But
before I went to the circus though, I went to Colonel
Bentley to give him the money. Jack Gordon knows
I did; for the pin somehow came out of my pocket
where I pined the money in, and it dropped out just
as I was standing talking to him. The money was
wrapped up in a bit of printed paper; and Gordon
said (it was near by Colonel Bentley's lodging place
that I met him); he says to me, `Bobby, you dropped
something.' I stooped down and picked up the money.
I was so awful frightened, thinking that something
had gone wrong; but I turned in and counted the
money and it was all right. Well, after that, as I
couldn't see Colonel Bentley that night, I thought as
I'd come in to go to the circus, I'd go.”

Here Granny Gammon heaved a deep sigh, and
shook her head ominously.

“To the circus I went,” continued Bobby, affecting
not to notice his grandmother, and addressing Peggy,
“and everything was right My own money—two
paper dollars, a silver one and a quarter I had in
my other pocket, and Colonel Bentley's by itself and
pined down. Well, I'm not a going to tell a story; so
I'll tell the whole truth. Jack Gordon got me to
drink with him, and so did another fellow. After
the circus was out, when we got to the tavern where
we were going to stay all night, I treated all round,
and all I know is that the next morning I was seized
while I was in bed, and accused of passing counterfeiting
money. The constables, or whoever they was,
searched my pockets, and there they found ever so
much money; it wasn't the money though that Mr.
Fitzhurst gave me, for that was rolled up in a bit of
paper. This looked like newer money. Somebody

must have come in my room and tricked me, indeed
they must.”

“What become of you then, Bobby?” interrupted
Peggy.

“Why,” said Bobby, “they called it a penitentiary
affair, and said they must take me before a squire;
they did so, sure enough. They took me away over
into old town, where I did'nt think a squire would
keep, it was in such a mean-looking place. When
they got me there, they threatened me awful, but then
Jack Gordon came in—and, and—”

“What about Jack Gordon, Bobby?” said Peggy,
“speak it out.”

“And Jack Gordon come to me, and asked me about
it, and I told him everything. He said that he'd stand
my friend, but that it was an awful business; he talked
to the squire, and the squire said as how as Gordon
asked it, that he would keep me locked up till evening
in his own house and would not send me to jail; and
that, by that time, Gordon maybe could get some witnesses
for me, and would let my friends know. Then
Gordon come and spoke to me—I asked him to keep
it away from you if he thought I could be got off
without telling you. He promised to do his best for
me, and said he was all sorts of a friend of mine.
There I staid in that room locked up, hour by hour;
you may know how I felt. While I was standing
looking out the window near night time, I see Jack
Gordon a laughing and talking in the road with the
landlord and the man that searched my pockets, and
they were laughing and as merry together as pick-pockets.
Jack Gordon looked up at the window and
saw me, and then they stopped talking together, and
Jack said that he would be with me presently. There
I staid. It grew long after night—no Jack come, and
I began to mistrust something, so I thought I'd get off
if I could—I watched round, and after a while I got

out of the window softly on to a shed, slipped down
into the yard, climbed the fence, and after puzzling
about the town at an awful rate, I found the market,
and then I knew which way to strike for home—Hangnation.”

“You a cussing, Robert, hey? you a cussing, are
you?” said the granny. “What's to be done about
this business? it's an awful sum of money that's lost,
child; they'll be after you to a certainty.”

“Let them come,” said Bobby, “I know I shan't
go to them. But if I only could get Mr. Sidney's
money. They give me liquor just to trick me—I
ought to have knowed it, I ought to have knowed it.
I must first see Mr. Sidney and tell him the whole
truth—I can't help it, I can't help it.”

We leave Bobby in the shelter of his grandmother's
roof, and return to Jack Gordon. Two hours or more
after his mysterious entrance into the cave, in the dead
of the night, the quick tramp of his horse's feet might
have been heard in the purlieus of the city. He rode
quickly on, with the confidence of one to whom the
streets were as familiar as the dangerous pathways
of the hills, and stopped not until he arrived at the
house from which Bobby had a few hours before
effected his escape.

The house was a two story frame building, through
a shutter of which a dim light twinkled forth. Gordon
kept his seat on his horse until after the echoes
of its footsteps had died away, apparently for the
purpose of listening if any one approached. All was
silent; and he threw himself from the horse, peeped
into the room through the shutter where the light
shone forth, and then with confidence stepped to the
door, and gave three distinct raps. A voice from
within asked, `Who's there;' and on Gordon's answering
“A true man,” the door was immediately opened, and
he entered. The person who admitted Gordon was

a tall and remarkably slim man, who seemed, as the
vulgar phrase is, double-jointed, for he appeared to
have the power of bending in any direction. His
forehead was villanously low, and his nose long and
snipe-like, with very narrow nostrils; nothwithstanding
which, he did that member the honour to speak
through it. He had a small, twinkling, gray eye,
which was keenly suspicious in its glance, and
conveyed to you the idea that its possessor was both
cunning and timid. He was so; though more than
once the hope of great gain had led him into acts of
daring that had surprised himself.

“Benbow, let me see, my chap,” said Gordon to
the worthy we have described, for such was his
name.

“The bird has flown,” said Benbow, trying to
throw an honest expression into his face, for he was
aware that such was not its habitual one, for even
when he told the truth his face seemed to contradict
him.

“Flown! Benbow, this is some trick of yours.”

“No trick, on my conscience. What motive have
I for tricking you? I'm running deep risks to please
you,—the boy never did me any harm.”

“Never did you any harm! And I suppose for
that reason you must let him off.”

“I tell you I didn't let him off. I went up into the
room to see if all was right, and I found that he had
hoisted the window and escaped. The risks I ran
was for you. I made my mind up to do it, and I did
it. Maybe it's a good thing that the boy has gone.
I don't believe that you could have convicted him if
he had showed a good character, and since you have
been gone Tom Fenton was here, and he thought it
was a foolish business. He couldn't see what you
were after; he says the boy can show a good character;

and that old Mr. Fitzhurst and his son would
stand by him to the last.”

“It's not needful that I should tell Tom Fenton
what I am after—it's my own business.”

“It's our business too, Mr. Gordon, I calculate, on
my conscience; it's our business, too, if we run risks,
sir: and I suppose you'll admit that I'm under some
responsibility.”

“I told you,” said Gordon, “I didn't wish to push
matters to the hardest. I wanted the money—I
wanted to ruin the character of the boy, and to seem
to stand his friend. You've been well paid for it, and
be damned to Tom Fenton. And so he's clean
gone?”

“Yes, clean gone.”

“Well, I suppose I'm somewhat baffled—if the
boy's friends come to see you in the matter you must
tell them that I stood by him, and stuck to it he could
not be guilty. Say the boy was drunk, and hint hard
against him. Speak it out, and say you believe him
guilty, but that considering his youth it had better be
dropped.”

“I will, I will, Gordon; but I don't like these proceedings
out of the regular business. No good will
come of it. You're too fond of going on your own
hook, Gordon; and that's the complaint about you.
I tell you plumply that's the complaint.”

“You're a lilly-livered chap, Benbow; never fear
me. Well, I must make the best of these matters—
but I wish you'd kept a tighter eye on the little rascal.
He's keen, and if he hadn't been so infernally corned—
but I must stop, or I suppose you'll get frightened at
that child. You think he's gone home, do you?”

“To be sure I do.”

“Yes; I suppose he has—I'd like to hear the tale
he'll tell. Mind, tell them I was his fast friend. Here,
give me something to drink—brandy, brandy. I've

done more things than one to night, and I must to the
hills.”

Benbow produced a flask, which he said contained
champagne brandy of the highest proof. He bid
Gordon say when, as he poured the liquor in a tumbler
which that worthy held for the purpose, and it
was not until the glass had lost more than half its
natural hue, that the word was pronounced.

After seeing the bottom of this stump cup, Gordon
left the house, and, mounting his horse, departed.