XVII.
BEN'S PRACTICAL JOKE.
Mrs. Mudge was in the back room, bending over a tub. It was washing-day,and she was particularly busy. She was a driving, bustling woman, and,whatever might be her faults of temper, she was at least industrious andenergetic. Had Mr. Mudge been equally so, they would have been betteroff in a worldly point of view. But her husband was constitutionallylazy, and was never disposed to do more than was needful.
Mrs. Mudge was in a bad humor that morning. One of the cows had gotinto the garden through a gap in the fence, and made sad havoc among thecabbages. Now if Mrs. Mudge had a weakness, it was for cabbages. Shewas excessively fond of them, and had persuaded her husband to set outa large number of plants from which she expected a large crop. They wereplanted in one corner of the garden, adjoining a piece of land, which,since mowing, had been used for pasturing the cows. There was a weakplace in the fence separating the two inclosures, and this Mrs. Mudgehad requested her husband to attend to. He readily promised this, andMrs. Mudge supposed it done, until that same morning, her sharp eyes haddetected old Brindle munching the treasured cabbages with a provokingair of enjoyment. The angry lady seized a broom, and repaired quickly tothe scene of devastation. Brindle scented the danger from afar, and beata disorderly retreat, trampling down the cabbages which she had hithertospared. Leaping over the broken fence, she had just cleared the gap asthe broom-handle, missing her, came forcibly down upon the rail, and wassnapped in sunder by the blow.
Here was a new vexation. Brindle had not only escaped scot-free, but thebroom, a new one, bought only the week before, was broken.
"It's a plaguy shame," said Mrs. Mudge, angrily. "There's my best broombroken; cost forty-two cents only last week."
She turned and contemplated the scene of devastation. This yielded herlittle consolation.
"At least thirty cabbages destroyed by that scamp of a cow," sheexclaimed in a tone bordering on despair. "I wish I'd a hit her. If I'dbroken my broom over her back I wouldn't a cared so much. And it's allMudge's fault. He's the most shiftless man I ever see. I'll give him adressing down, see if I don't."
Mrs. Mudge's eyes snapped viciously, and she clutched the relics of thebroom with a degree of energy which rendered it uncertain what sort of adressing down she intended for her husband.
Ten minutes after she had re-entered the kitchen, the luckless man madehis appearance. He wore his usual look, little dreaming of the stormthat awaited him.
"I'm glad you've come," said Mrs. Mudge, grimly.
"What's amiss, now?" inquired Mudge, for he understood her look.
"What's amiss?" blazed Mrs. Mudge. "I'll let you know. Do you see this?"
She seized the broken broom and flourished it in his face.
"Broken your broom, have you? You must have been careless."
"Careless, was I?" demanded Mrs. Mudge, sarcastically. "Yes, of course,it's always I that am in fault."
"You haven't broken it over the back of any of the paupers, have you?"asked her husband, who, knowing his helpmeet's infirmity of temper,thought it possible she might have indulged in such an amusement.
"If I had broken it over anybody's back it would have been yours," saidthe lady.
"Mine! what have I been doing?"
"It's what you haven't done," said Mrs. Mudge. "You're about the laziestand most shiftless man I ever came across."
"Come, what does all this mean?" demanded Mr. Mudge, who was getting alittle angry in his turn.
"I'll let you know. Just look out of that window, will you?"
"Well," said Mr. Mudge, innocently, "I don't see anything inparticular."
"You don't!" said Mrs. Mudge with withering sarcasm. "Then you'd betterput on your glasses. If you'd been here quarter of an hour ago, you'dhave seen Brindle among the cabbages."
"Did she do any harm?" asked Mr. Mudge, hastily.
"There's scarcely a cabbage left," returned Mrs. Mudge, purposelyexaggerating the mischief done.
"If you had mended that fence, as I told you to do, time and again, itwouldn't have happened."
"You didn't tell me but once," said Mr. Mudge, trying to get up a feebledefence.
"Once should have been enough, and more than enough. You expect me toslave myself to death in the house, and see to all your work besides.If I'd known what a lazy, shiftless man you were, at the time I marriedyou, I'd have cut off my right hand first."
By this time Mr. Mudge had become angry.
"If you hadn't married me, you'd a died an old maid," he retorted.
This was too much for Mrs. Mudge to bear. She snatched the larger halfof the broom, and fetched it down with considerable emphasis uponthe back of her liege lord, who, perceiving that her temper was up,retreated hastily from the kitchen; as he got into the yard hedescried Brindle, whose appetite had been whetted by her previous raid,re-entering the garden through the gap.
It was an unfortunate attempt on the part of Brindle. Mr. Mudge,angry with his wife, and smarting with the blow from the broomstick,determined to avenge himself upon the original cause of all the trouble.Revenge suggested craft. He seized a hoe, and crept stealthily to thecabbage-plot. Brindle, whose back was turned, did not perceive hisapproach, until she felt a shower of blows upon her back. Confused atthe unexpected attack she darted wildly away, forgetting the gap in thefence, and raced at random over beds of vegetables, uprooting beets,parsnips, and turnips, while Mr. Mudge, mad with rage, followed close inher tracks, hitting her with the hoe whenever he got a chance.
Brindle galloped through the yard, and out at the open gate. Thence sheran up the road at the top of her speed, with Mr. Mudge still pursuingher.
It may be mentioned here that Mr. Mudge was compelled to chase theterrified cow over two miles before he succeeded with the help of aneighbor in capturing her. All this took time. Meanwhile Mrs. Mudge athome was subjected to yet another trial of her temper.
It has already been mentioned that Squire Newcome was Chairman of theOverseers of the Poor. In virtue of his office, he was expected toexercise a general supervision over the Almshouse and its management.It was his custom to call about once a month to look after matters, andascertain whether any official action or interference was needed.
Ben saw his father take his gold-headed cane from behind the door, andstart down the road. He understood his destination, and instantly theplan of a stupendous practical joke dawned upon him.
"It'll be jolly fun," he said to himself, his eyes dancing with fun."I'll try it, anyway."
He took his way across the fields, so as to reach the Almshouse beforehis father. He then commenced his plan of operations.
Mrs. Mudge had returned to her tub, and was washing away with bitterenergy, thinking over her grievances in the matter of Mr. Mudge, when aknock was heard at the front door.
Taking her hands from the tub, she wiped them on her apron.
"I wish folks wouldn't come on washing day!" she said in a tone ofvexation.
She went to the door and opened it.
There was nobody there.
"I thought somebody knocked," thought she, a little mystified. "PerhapsI was mistaken."
She went back to her tub, and had no sooner got her hands in the sudsthan another knock was heard, this time on the back door.
"I declare!" said she, in increased vexation, "There's another knock. Ishan't get through my washing to-day."
Again Mrs. Mudge wiped her hands on her apron, and went to the door.
There was nobody there.
I need hardly say that it was Ben, who had knocked both times, andinstantly dodged round the corner of the house.
"It's some plaguy boy," said Mrs. Mudge, her eyes blazing with anger."Oh, if I could only get hold of him!"
"Don't you wish you could?" chuckled Ben to himself, as he caught a slyglimpse of the indignant woman.
Meanwhile, Squire Newcome had walked along in his usual slow anddignified manner, until he had reached the front door of the Poorhouse,and knocked.
She took a dipper of hot suds from the tub in which she had beenwashing, and crept carefully into the entry, taking up a station closeto the front door.
"I wonder if Mrs. Mudge heard me knock," thought Squire Newcome. "Ishould think she might. I believe I will knock again."
This time he knocked with his cane.
Rat-tat-tat sounded on the door.
The echo had not died away, when the door was pulled suddenly open, anda dipper full of hot suds was dashed into the face of the astonishedSquire, accompanied with, "Take that, you young scamp!"
"Wh--what does all this mean?" gasped Squire Newcome, nearly strangledwith the suds, a part of which had found its way into his mouth.
"I beg your pardon, Squire Newcome," said the horrified Mrs. Mudge. "Ididn't mean it."
"What did you mean, then?" demanded Squire Newcome, sternly. "I thinkyou addressed me,--ahem!--as a scamp."
"Oh, I didn't mean you," said Mrs. Mudge, almost out of her wits withperplexity.
"Come in, sir, and let me give you a towel. You've no idea how I've beentried this morning."
"I trust," said the Squire, in his stateliest tone, "you will be ableto give a satisfactory explanation of this, ahem--extraordinaryproceeding."
While Mrs. Mudge was endeavoring to sooth the ruffled dignity of theaggrieved Squire, the "young scamp," who had caused all the mischief,made his escape through the fields.
"Oh, wasn't it bully!" he exclaimed. "I believe I shall die of laughing.I wish Paul had been here to see it. Mrs. Mudge has got herself into ascrape, now, I'm thinking."
Having attained a safe distance from the Poorhouse, Ben doubled himselfup and rolled over and over upon the grass, convulsed with laughter.
"I'd give five dollars to see it all over again," he said to himself. "Inever had such splendid fun in my life."
Presently the Squire emerged, his tall dicky looking decidedly limp anddrooping, his face expressing annoyance and outraged dignity. Mrs. Mudgeattended him to the door with an expression of anxious concern.
"I guess I'd better make tracks," said Ben to himself, "it won't do forthe old gentleman to see me here, or he may smell a rat."
He accordingly scrambled over a stone wall and lay quietly hidden behindit till he judged it would be safe to make his appearance.
Paul Prescott's Charge Page 17
