The Young Musician; Or, Fighting His Way

by Jr. Horatio Alger

  Philip immediately followed the advice of his friend. He was curious tohear what the squire would say.

  Squire Pope's eyesight was not good, and it was only when he came nearthat he recognized Frank Dunbar. He stopped short, for there was asubject on which he wished to speak.

  "Frank Dunbar!" he said.

  "Do you wish to speak to me, sir?" inquired Frank coldly.

  "Yes. Where have you been?"

  "Out walking," answered Frank shortly.

  "Have you been to the poorhouse?"

  "I have."

  "Did you see Philip?"

  "I saw him looking out of a third-story window."

  Squire Pope chuckled, if, indeed, such a dignified man can be said tochuckle.

  "What did he say?" he condescended to inquire.

  "That he wouldn't stay."

  "He will have to," responded Squire Pope complacently. "Mr. Tucker willsee to that."

  "Probably Mr. Tucker will wake up some fine morning and find Phil's roomempty," said Frank quietly.

  "I'll take the risk of it," returned the squire serenely. "But there's amatter I want to speak to you about. You've got Philip's fiddle in yourpossession."

  "Suppose I have."

  "I wish you to bring it round to my house in the morning, and I'll giveyou something for your trouble."

  "You must excuse me, Squire Pope. If it were your property, I wouldbring it to you and charge nothing for my trouble."

  "Young man," said the squire sternly. "I am Philip's legal guardian, andI have a right to receive his violin. You will get into trouble if youresist my authority."

  "If you will give me Philip's order for it, you shall have it, sir."

  "Frank Dunbar, you are trifling with me. Philip is now a pauper, and hasno right to hold property of any kind. He cannot give a legal order."

  "Then you are guardian to a pauper?"

  "In my capacity of overseer of the poor."

  "In my capacity as Philip's friend, I refuse to consider you hisguardian. You may call him a pauper, but that doesn't make him one."

  "He is an inmate of the Norton Poorhouse."

  Frank laughed.

  "I don't want to be disrespectful, Squire Pope," he said; "but I can'thelp telling you that you undertook a bigger job than you thought for,when you made up your mind to make a pauper of Philip Gray."

  Squire Pope was indignant at the coolness of Frank.

  "I shall come to your house to-morrow morning," he said, "and convinceyou to the contrary."

  "Very well, sir."

  Frank Dunbar bowed, and the squire went his way.

  "That's a very impudent boy!" he soliloquized. "Just like the Gray boy.It wouldn't do him any harm to put him under Joe Tucker's care, too."

  After the squire had passed on, Philip came out from behind the stonewall.

  "Did you hear what passed between your guardian and myself?" askedFrank.

  "Yes, I heard every word."

  "He little thought that the bird had flown, Phil."

  "He will make all the trouble he can. That is one more reason why Ithink it best to leave town."

  "I wouldn't let Squire Pope drive you out of town."

  "I would stay and face the music if it suited me, but I want to goaway."

  "Suppose we cut across this field. It will be a little nearer."

  "All right."

  There was a pathway through a pasture-lot, comprising some ten acres,poor land, covered with puny bushes, and a few gnarled trees, producingcider-apples. It belonged to an old bachelor farmer, who lived insolitary fashion, doing his own cooking, and in general taking careof himself. He was reputed to have money concealed about his premises,which was quite probable, as he spent little, and was known to havereceived, four years before, a considerable legacy from the estate of abrother who had died, a successful merchant in the city of New York.

  The boys had to pass by the small and weather-stained house where helived, as the path ran very near it.

  When within a few rods of the house, the boys were startled by a sharpcry of terror, which appeared to proceed from inside the house.

  Both simultaneously stood still.

  "What's that!" exclaimed both in concert.

  "Somebody must be trying to rob Mr. Lovett," suggested Frank.

  "Can't we do something!" said Phil quickly.

  "We can try."

  There were two stout sticks or clubs lying on the ground at their feet.They stooped, picked them up, and ran to the house. A glance showed thatone of the windows on the north side had been raised.

  The window sill was low. Pausing a moment before springing over it intothe room, they looked in and this was what they saw:

  The farmer lay half-prostrate on the floor, half supporting himself by achair, which he had mechanically grasped as he was forced downward. Overhim stood a ruffianly looking tramp, whom Phil remembered to have seenabout the streets during the day, with a stick uplifted. He had notheard the approach of the boys.

  "Give me two hundred dollars, and I'll go," he said to the man at hisfeet.

  "I cannot do it. I haven't got as much here."

  "That's a lie!" said the other coarsely. "I heard all about you to-day.You're a miser, and you've got no end of money stowed away here. Get itfor me, quick, or I'll dash your brains out."

  Just then the prostrate farmer saw what the tramp could not see, hisback being turned to the window, the faces of the two boys lookingthrough the window. Fresh courage came to him. Single-handed, and takenat advantage, he was no match for the ruffian who had entered his house;but with these two young auxiliaries he felt that all was not lost.

  CHAPTER XVII. A REFORMED BURGLAR.

  "What do you say!" demanded the tramp impatiently. "Speak quick! I can'tstay here all night."

  "Let me up, and I'll see if I can find the money for you."

  "I thought I'd bring you to terms," said the tramp, laughing grimly.

  He allowed his victim to rise, as he certainly would not have done if hehad looked behind him and seen the two boys at the window.

  "Now's our time," answered Philip.

  He gave a light spring into the room, followed by Frank.

  Of course, the tramp heard them, and turned in sudden alarm. As heturned, the farmer snatched the club from his hand, and he found himselfunexpectedly unarmed and confronted by three enemies.

  "It's my turn now," said Lovett. "Do you surrender?"

  The tramp saw that the game was up and made a dash for the open window,but Philip skillfully inserted a stick between his legs, and tripped himup, and, with the help of Mr. Lovett, held him, struggling desperately,till Frank fetched a rope, with which he was securely bound.

  "Confound you!" he said, scowling at the two boys. "But for you I wouldhave succeeded and got away with my booty."

  "That's true!" said the farmer. "I owe my escape from robbery, and,perhaps, bodily injury, to you."

  "I am glad we were at hand," said Philip.

  "And now, my friend," said the farmer, "I may as well say that youwere quite mistaken in supposing I kept a large amount of money in thislonely house. I should be a fool to do it, and I am not such a fool asthat."

  "Where do you keep your money, then?" growled the tramp.

  "In different savings-banks. I am ready to tell you, for it will do youno good."

  "I wish I'd known it sooner. I came here on a fool's errand."

  "I am glad you have found it out."

  "Now, what are you going to do with me!"

  "Keep you here till I can deliver you into the hands of the law."

  "That won't do you any good."

  "It will give you a home, where you cannot prey on the community."

  "I don't mean to do so any more. I'm going to turn over a new leaf andbecome an honest man--that is, if you'll let me go."

  "Your conversion is rather sudden. I haven't any faith in it."

  "Listen to me," said the man, "and then decide. Do you think I am aconfirmed la
wbreaker?"

  "You look like it."

  "Yes, I do; but I am not. Never in my life have I been confined in anyprison or penitentiary. I have never been arrested on any charge. I seeyou don't believe me. Let me tell you how I came to be what I am: Twoyears since I was a mechanic, tolerably well-to-do, owning a house witha small mortgage upon it. It was burned to the ground one night. I builtanother, but failed to insure it. Six months since, that, too, burneddown, and left me penniless and in debt. Under this last blow I lost allcourage. I left the town where I had long lived, and began a wanderinglife. In other words, I became a tramp. Steadily I lost my self-respecttill I was content to live on such help as the charitable choseto bestow on me. It was not until to-day that I formed the plan ofstealing. I heard in the village that you kept a large sum of money inyour house, and an evil temptation assailed me. I had become tired ofwandering, and determined to raise a sum which would enable me to liveat ease for a time, I should have succeeded but for these two boys."

  "And you are sorry you did not succeed?"

  "I was, five minutes since, but I feel differently now. I have beensaved from crime. Now, I have told you my story. Do with me as youwill."

  The man's appearance was rough, but there was something in his tonewhich led Mr. Lovett to think that he was speaking the truth.

  "Boys," he said, "you have heard what this man says. What do you thinkof it?"

  "I believe him!" said Philip promptly.

  "Thank you, boy," said the tramp. "I am glad some one has confidence inme."

  "I believe you, too," said Frank.

  "I have not deceived you. Your words have done me more good than youthink. It is my first attempt to steal, and it shall be my last."

  "If you want to become an honest man, God forbid that I should do aughtto prevent you!" said the farmer. "I may be acting unwisely, but I meanto cut this rope and let you go."

  "Will you really do this?" said the tramp, his face lighting up withmingled joy and surprise.

  "I will."

  He knelt on the floor, and drawing from his pocket a large jack-knife,cut the rope.

  The tramp sprang to his feet.

  "Thank you," he said, in a husky voice. "I believe you are a good man.There are not many who would treat me as generously, considering whatI tried to do just now. You sha'n't repent it. Will you give me yourhand!"

  "Gladly," said the farmer; and he placed his hand in that of thevisitor, lately so unwelcome. "I wish you better luck."

  "Boys, will you give me your hands, too?" asked tke tramp, turning toPhilip and Frank.

  Tke boys readily complied with his request, and repeated the good wishesof the farmer.

  The stranger was about to leave the house, when Lovett said:

  "Stay, my friend, I wish to ask you a question."

  "Very well, sir."

  "Have you any money?"

  "Not a cent."

  "Then take this," said the farmer, drawing from his vest pocket afive-dollar bill. "I lend it to you. Some time you will be able to repayit, if you keep to your resolution of leading an honest life. When thattime comes, lend it to some man who needs it as you do now."

  "Thank you, sir. I will take it, for it will help me greatly at thistime. Good-by! If you ever see me again, you will see a different man."

  He leaped through the window and was gone.

  "I don't know if I have done a wise thing, but I will take the risk,"said the farmer. "And now, boys, I want to make you some return for yourassistance to-night." Both Frank and Philip earnestly protested thatthey would receive nothing in the conversation that ensued. Philip madeknown his intention to leave Norton the next morning.

  "What are your plans? Where do you mean to go?" asked the farmer.

  "I don't know, sir. I shall make up my mind as I go along. I think I canmake my living somehow."

  "Wait here five minutes," said Lovett, and he went into an adjoiningroom.

  Within the time mentioned, he returned, holding in his hand a sealedletter.

  "Philip," he said, "put this envelope in your pocket, and don't open ittill you are fifty miles from here."

  "Very well, sir," answered Philip, rather puzzled, but not so muchsurprised as he might have been if he had not known the farmer'sreputation for eccentricity.

  "I suppose it contains some good advice," he thought. "Well, good adviceis what I need."

  The two boys went home immediately upon leaving the farmhouse. Though somuch had happened, it was not late, being not quite half-past nine.

  Philip received a cordial welcome from Mr. and Mrs. Dunbar, who,however, hardly expected to see him so soon. "Are you willing to receivea pauper beneath your roof?" asked Philip, smiling.

  "That you will never be while you have health and strength, I'll bebound," said Mr. Dunbar. "I like your pride and independence, Philip."

  They tried to induce Philip to give up his resolution to leave Nortonthe next morning, but did not succeed.

  "I will come back some time," he said. "Now I feel better to go."

  At five o'clock the next morning, with a small bundle swung over hisshoulder, attached to a stick, Philip Gray, carrying his violin, leftthe village, which, for some years, had been his home. Frank accompaniedhim for the first mile of his journey. Then the two friends shook handsand parted--not without sorrow, for who could tell when they would meetagain?

  CHAPTER XVIII. A PROFESSIONAL ENGAGEMENT.

  A depressing feeling of loneliness came to Phil after he had parted withFrank. He was going out into the world with no one to lean upon, and noone to sympathize with him or lend him a helping hand. No wonder he feltfriendless and alone. But this mood did not last long.

  "I shall find friends if I deserve them," he reflected, "and I don'tmean to do anything dishonorable or wrong. I am willing to work, and Ibelieve I can make a living."

  Leaving him to proceed, we go back to the poor-house, where his absencewas not noticed till morning.

  Joe Tucker, in spite of the blow which his nasal organ had received,slept pretty comfortably, and was awakened at an early hour by hisvigilant spouse.

  "You'd better go up and wake that boy and set him to work, Mr. Tucker,"she said. "There are plenty of chores for him to do."

  "You are right, Abigail," said Mr. Tucker, with approval. He reflectedthat he could assign to Philip some of the work which generally fell tohimself, and the reflection was an agreeable one. He had tried to getwork out of Zeke, but he generally found that it was harder to keep himat work than it was to do the job himself.

  After he had made his toilet--not a very elaborate one--Mr. Tucker wentup-stairs to arouse his young prisoner. He found the key in the outsideof the door. Everything seemed right.

  "I wonder how he feels this morning?" chuckled Mr. Tucker. "Wonderwhether he's tamed down a little?"

  He turned the key in the lock and threw open the door. He glanced atthe bed, started in amazement to find that it had not been slept in, andthen his wonder ceased, for the telltale rope explained how the boy hadescaped.

  He ran down-stairs in anger and excitement.

  "What's the matter with you, Joe Tucker?" demanded his wife. "Are youdrunk or crazy?"

  "Enough to make me both, wife," he answered. "The boy's gone!"

  "Gone!" exclaimed Mrs. Tucker, stopping short, with a saucepan in herhand.

  "Gone!" ejaculated Zeke, his mouth wide open.

  "I don't believe it," said Mrs. Tucker positively. "He couldn't go. He'dhave to jump out of the third-story window."

  "Sure enough!" said Zeke.

  "I can't help it--he's gone," declared Mr. Tucker. "He tied aclothesline to the bedstead and let himself down from the window. Now, Iwant to know who left a clothesline in the room?"

  "There wasn't any," said Mrs. Tucker.

  "Maybe he had one in his pocket," suggested Zeke.

  But this suggestion was not considered worthy of notice by his parents.

  "Now I know who hit me in the nose!" exclaimed Mr. Tucker,
lightflashing upon him. "There was two of 'em--the ones I took for burglars."

  "Then the other one must have been Frank Dunbar," said Mrs. Tucker.

  "Zeke," said his father, "go right off and tell Squire Pope that PhilipGray has escaped. Ask him if I can't have him arrested for assault andbattery. It's likely he's at Frank Dunbar's now. We'll have him backbefore the day is out, and then I'll see he don't get out!"

  "All right, dad! As soon as I've had breakfast I'll go."

  The result of Zeke's message was that Squire Pope hurried over to thepoorhouse and held a conference with Mr. and Mrs. Tucker.

  The next step was that he and Joe rode over to Mr. Dunbar's, to demandthe return of the fugitive.

  They found Frank splitting wood in the yard. To him they made knowntheir errand, requesting him to call Philip out.

  "He isn't here," answered Frank.

  "Isn't here? I don't believe it!" said the squire hastily.

  "Sorry you doubt my word, Squire Pope, but it's just as I say."

  "Where is he, then?" demanded the squire suspiciously.

  "He has left town."

  "Left town?" repeated the squire and Joe Tucker, in dismay. "Where is hegone!"

  "He's probably ten miles away by this time," answered Frank, enjoyingtheir perplexity. "I guess you'd better wait till he comes back."

  Joe and the squire conferred together, but no satisfactory resultwas arrived at, except it wouldn't pay to pursue Philip, for tworeasons--one, because they were quite uncertain in what direction he hadgone; another, because, even if overtaken, they would have no authorityto apprehend him, since he had been guilty of no crime.