Jed, the Poorhouse Boy

"Yes he did. He appears to think that he can boss you and Mrs. F. and myself. Why, he stood by that boy, though he had actually assaulted me, and invited him home to supper."

"You don't mean this, Mr. Fogson?"

"Yes I do. Jed is at this very moment at the doctor's house. What mischief they are concocting I can't tell, but I am sure that I shall have more trouble with the boy."

Squire Dixon was very much disturbed. He was a vain man, and his pride sustained a severe shock when told that the doctor considered him unfit for his position.

"However," resumed the crafty Fogson, "I suppose we shall have to give in to the doctor."

"Give in!" exclaimed the squire, his face turning purple. "Never, Mr. Fogson, never!"

"I hate to give in, I confess, squire, but the doctor is a prominent man, and–"

"Prominent man! I should like to know whether I am not a prominent man also, Mr. Fogson? Moreover, I represent the town, and Dr. Redmond doesn't."

"I am glad you will stand by me, squire. With you on my side, I will not fear."

"I will stand by you, Mr. Fogson."

"I should hate to be triumphed over by a mere boy."

"You shall not be, Mr. Fogson."

"Then will you authorize me to demand the money from him?"

"I will authorize you, Mr. Fogson, and if the boy persists in refusing, I authorize you to use coercive measures. Do you understand?"

"I believe I do, squire. You will let it be understood that you have given me authority, won't you? Suppose the boy complains to Dr. Redmond?"

"You may refer Dr. Redmond to me, Mr. Fogson," said the squire pompously. "I think I shall be tempted to give this meddling doctor a piece of my mind."

Mr. Fogson took leave of the squire and pursued his way homeward with a smile on his face. He had accomplished what he desired, and secured a powerful ally in his campaign against the boy Jed and Dr. Redmond.

He returned home a little after eight, and just before nine Jed made his appearance at the door of the poorhouse. He was in good spirits, for he had decided that he would soon turn his back upon the place which had been his home for fourteen years.

CHAPTER VII.

FOGSON'S MISTAKE

"So you have got home?" said Mr. Fogson with an unpleasant smile as he opened the door to admit Jed later that evening.

"Yes, sir."

"You had a pleasant time, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," answered Jed, wondering to what all these questions tended.

"I suppose Dr. Redmond put himself out to entertain such a distinguished guest?"

"No, Mr. Fogson, I don't think he did."

"He didn't make arrangements to run the poorhouse, with your help, did he?"

"No," answered Jed with emphasis.

"We ought to be thankful, Mrs. Fogson and I, humbly thankful, that we ain't to be turned out by this high and mighty doctor."

"If you don't like the doctor you had better tell him so," said Jed; "he don't need me to defend him."

"Do you know where I've been to-night?" queried Fogson, changing his tone.

"How could I tell?"

"I've been to see Squire Dixon."

"Well, sir, I suppose you had a right to. I hope you had a pleasant call."

"I did, and what's more, I told him of Dr. Redmond's impertinent interference with me in my management of the poorhouse. He told me not to pay any attention to Redmond, but to be guided by him. So long as he was satisfied with me, it was all right."

"You'd better tell Dr. Redmond that when he calls here next time."

"I shall; but there's something I've got to say to you. He said I had a perfect right to take the dollar from you, for as a pauper you had no right to hold property of any kind. That's what Squire Dixon says. Now hand over that money, or you'll get into trouble."

"I wouldn't give the money to Squire Dixon himself," answered Jed boldly.

"You wouldn't, hey? I'll tell him that. You'll give it to me to-night, though."

He put out his hand to seize Jed, but the boy quietly moved aside, and said, "You can't get the money from me to-night, Mr. Fogson."

"Why can't I? There's no Dr. Redmond to take your part now. Why can't I, I'd like to know?"

"Because I haven't got it."

"What!" exclaimed Fogson. "Do you mean to say you've spent it already? If you have–"

"No, I haven't spent it, but I have given it to Dr. Redmond to keep for me."

Fogson showed in his face his intense disappointment. He expected to get the money without fail, and lo! the victory was snatched from him.

He glared at Jed, and seemed about to pounce upon him, but he thought better of it.

"You'll go and get the money in the morning," he said. "You and Dr. Redmond are engaged in a conspiracy against the town and the laws, and I am not sure but I could have you both arrested. Mind, if that money is not handed to me to-morrow you will get a thrashing. Now go to bed!"

Jed was not sorry to avail himself of this permission. He had not enjoyed the interview with Mr. Fogson, and he felt tired and in need of rest. Accordingly he went up stairs to the attic, where there was a cot bed under the bare rafters, which he usually occupied. There had been another boy, three months before, who had shared the desolate room with him, but he had been bound out to a farmer, and now Jed was the sole occupant.

Tired as he was, he did not go to sleep immediately. He undressed himself slowly in the obscurity, for he was not allowed a lamp, and made a movement to get into bed.

But a surprise awaited him. His extended hand came in contact with a human face, and one on which there was a mustache. Somebody was in his bed!

Naturally, Jed was startled.

"Who are you?" he inquired.

"Who'm I? I'm a gentleman," was the drowsy reply.

"You're in my bed," said Jed, annoyed as well as surprised.

"Where is my bed?" hiccoughed the other.

"I don't know. How did you get in here?"

"I came in when no one was lookin'," answered the intruder. "Zis a hotel?"

"No; it's the Scranton poorhouse."

"You don't say? Dad always told me I'd end up in the poorhouse, but I didn't expect to get there so quick."

"You'd better get up and go down stairs. Fogson wouldn't like to have you stay here all night."

"Who's Fogson?"

"He is the manager of the poorhouse."

"Who cares for Fogson? I don't b'lieve Fogson is a gen'leman."

"Nor I," inwardly assented Jed.

This was the last word that he could get from the intruder, who coolly turned over and began to snore.

Fortunately for Jed, there was another cot bed—the one formerly occupied by the other boy—and he got into it.

Fatigued by the events of the day, Jed soon slept a sound and refreshing sleep. In fact his sleep was so sound that it is doubtful whether a thunderstorm would have awakened him.

Towards morning the occupant of the other bed turned in such a way as to lie on his back. This position, as my readers are probably aware, is conducive to heavy snoring, and the intruder availed himself of this to the utmost.

Mr. and Mrs. Fogson slept directly underneath, and after awhile, the door leading to the attic being open, the sound of the snoring attracted the attention of Mrs. Fogson.

"Simeon!" she said, shaking her recumbent husband.

"What is it, Mrs. F.?" inquired her lord and master drowsily.

"Did you hear that?"

"Did I hear what?"

"That terrific snoring. It is loud enough to wake the dead."

By this time Fogson was fairly awake.

"So it is," he assented. "Who is it?"

"Jed, of course. What possesses the boy to snore so?"

"Can't say, I'm sure. I never heard a boy of his age make such a noise."

"It must be stopped, Simeon. It can't be more than three o'clock, and if it continues I shan't sleep another wink."

"Well, go up and stop it."

"It is more suitable for you to go, Mr. Fogson. I do believe the boy is snoring out of spite."

Even Fogson laughed at this idea.

"He couldn't do that unless he snored when he was awake," he replied. "It isn't easy to snore when you are not asleep. If you don't believe it, try it."

"I am ashamed of you, Simeon. Do you think I would demean myself by any such low action? If that snoring isn't stopped right off I shall go into a fit."

"I wouldn't like to have you do that," said Fogson, rather amused. "It would be rather worse than hearing Jed snore."

About this time there was an unusual outburst on the part of the sleeper.

"A little hot water would fix him," said Fogson. "It is a pity you had not saved your hot water till to-night."

"Cold water would do just as well."

"So it would. Mrs. F., that's a bright idea. I owe the boy a grudge for giving his money to Dr. Redmond. I'll go down stairs and get a clipper of cold water, and I'll see if I can't stop the boy's noise."

Mr. Fogson went down stairs, chuckling, as he went, at the large joke he was intending to perpetrate. It would not be so bad as being scalded, but it would probably be very disagreeable to Jed to be roused from a sound sleep by a dash of cold water.

"I hope he won't wake up before I get there," thought Mr. Fogson, as he descended to the kitchen in his stocking feet to procure the water.

He pumped for a minute or two in order that the water might be colder, and then with the dipper in hand ascended two flights of stairs to the attic.

Up there it was still profoundly dark. There was but one window, and that was screened by a curtain. Moreover, it was very dark outside. Mr. Fogson, however, was not embarrassed, for he knew just where Jed's bed was situated, and, even if he had not, the loud snoring, which still continued, would have been sufficient to guide him to the place.

"It beats me how a boy can snore like that," soliloquized Fogson. "He must have eaten something at Dr. Redmond's that didn't agree with him. If I didn't know it was Jed I should feel frightened at such an unearthly hubbub. However, it won't continue long," and Fogson laughed to himself as he thought of the sensation which his dipper of water was likely to produce.

He approached a little nearer, and in spite of the darkness could see the outlines of a form on the bed, but he could not see clearly enough to make out the difference between it and Jed's.

He poised himself carefully, and then dashed the water vigorously into the face of the sleeping figure.

The results were not exactly what he had anticipated.

CHAPTER VIII.

MR. FOGSON IS ASTONISHED

The sleeper had already slept off pretty nearly all the effects of his potations, and the sudden cold bath restored him wholly to himself. But it also aroused in him a feeling of anger, justifiable under the circumstances, and, not belonging to the Peace Society, he was moved to punish the person to whom he was indebted for his unpleasant experience.

With a smothered imprecation he sprang from the bed and seized the astonished Fogson by the throat, while he shook him violently.

"You—you—scoundrel!" he ejaculated. "I'll teach you to play such a scurvy trick on a gentleman."

Mr. Fogson screamed in fright. He did not catch his late victim's words, and was still under the impression that it was Jed who had tackled him.

Meanwhile the intruder was flinging him about and bumping him against the floor so forcibly that Mrs. Fogson's attention was attracted. Indeed, she was at the foot of the stairs, desiring to enjoy Jed's dismay when drenched with the contents of the tin dipper.

"What's the matter, Simeon?" she cried.

"Jed's killing me!" called out Fogson in muffled tones.

"You don't mean to say you ain't a match for that boy!" ejaculated Mrs. Fogson scornfully. "I'll come up and help you."

Disregarding her light attire she hurried up stairs, and was astonished beyond measure when she saw how unceremoniously her husband was being handled. She rushed to seize Jed, when she found her hands clutching a mustache.

"Why, it ain't Jed!" she screamed in dismay.

"No, it ain't Jed," said the intruder. "Did you mean that soaking for Jed, whoever he is?"

"Yes, yes, it was—quite a mistake!" gasped Fogson.

"I am glad to hear you say so, for I meant to fling you down stairs, and might have broken your neck."

"Oh, what a dreadful man!" ejaculated Mrs. Fogson. "How came you here and where is Jed?"

"I am here!" answered Jed, who had waked up two or three minutes previous and was enjoying the defeat of his persecutor.

"Did you bring in this man?" demanded Mrs. Fogson sternly.

"No. I walked in myself," answered the intruder. "I was rather mellow—in other words I had drunk too much mixed ale, and I really didn't know where I was. I had an idea that this was a hotel."

"You made a mistake, sir. This is the Scranton poorhouse."

"So the boy told me when he came in. I wouldn't have taken a bed here if I had known your playful way of pouring cold water on your guests."

"Sir, apart from your assault on me, me, the master of the poorhouse," said Fogson, trying to recover some of his lost dignity, "you committed a trespass in entering the house without permission and appropriating a bed."

"All right, old man, but just remember that I was drunk."

"I don't think that is an excuse."

"Isn't it? Just get drunk yourself, and see what you'll do."

"I don't allow Mr. Fogson to get drunk," said his wife with asperity.

"Maybe my wife wouldn't let me, if there was any such a person, but I haven't been so fortunate as Mr. Fogson, if that is his name."

"Mrs. F.," said her husband with a sudden thought, "you are not dressed for company."

Mrs. Fogson, upon this hint, scuttled down stairs, and the intruder resumed: "If I've taken a liberty I'm willing to apologize. What's more, I'll pay you fifty cents for the use of your bed and stay the night out."

He was appealing to Mr. Fogson's weak point, which was a love of money.

"I see you're ready to do the square thing," he said in softened accents. "If you'll say seventy-five–"

"No, I won't pay over fifty. I don't care to take it another night on those terms, if I am to be waked up by a dipper of water. You've wet the sheet and pillow so that I may take my death of cold if I sleep here any longer."

"I'll bring you a comforter which you can lay over the wet clothes."

"All right! Bring it up and I'll hand you the fifty cents."

"And—and if you would like breakfast in the morning, for the small extra sum of twenty-five cents–"

"Isn't that rather steep for a poorhouse breakfast?"

"You will not eat with the paupers, of course, but at a private table, with Mrs. Fogson and myself."

"All right! Your offer is accepted."

Mr. Fogson brought up the comforter, and the visitor resumed the slumbers which had been so unceremoniously interrupted.

The sun rose early, and when its rays crept in through the side window both Jed and his companion were awake.

"I say, boy, come over here and share my bed. I want to talk to you."

Jed's curiosity was excited, and he accepted the invitation.

He found his roommate to be a good-looking young man of perhaps thirty, and with a pleasant expression.

"So you are Jed?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"And you live in the poorhouse?"

"Yes," answered Jed, half-ashamed to admit it, "but I don't mean to stay here."

"Good! A smart boy like you ought not to be a pauper. You are able to earn your own living outside. But perhaps you are attached to the queer people who made me a visit last night."

"Not much!" answered Jed emphatically.

"I don't admire them much myself. I didn't see the old lady. Is she beautiful?"

Jed laughed heartily.

"You'll see her at the breakfast table," he said. "Then you can judge for yourself."

"I don't think I shall do anything to excite Fogson's jealousy. Zounds, if this isn't the queerest hotel I ever struck. I am sorry to have taken your bed from you."

"I was glad not to be in it when Mr. Fogson came up."

"You're right there," said the other laughing. "Whew! how the cold water startled me. Sorry to have deprived you of it."

"Mr. Fogson got a dose himself yesterday, only it was hot water."

"You don't say so! Was that meant for you, too?"

"Yes;" and Jed told the story of his struggle with Mr. Fogson, and his wife's unfortunate interference.

"That's a capital joke," said the visitor laughing. "Now I suppose you wonder who I am."

"Yes; I should like to know."

"I'm Harry Bertram, the actor. I don't know if you ever heard of me."

"I never attended the theatre in my life."

"Is that so? Why, you're quite a heathen. Never went to a theatre? Well, I am surprised."

"Is it a good business?" asked Jed.

"Sometimes, if the play happens to catch on. When you are stranded five hundred miles from home, and your salary isn't paid, it isn't exactly hilarious."

"Are you going to play anywhere near here?" asked Jed, who was beginning to think he would like to see a performance.

"We are billed to play in Duncan to-morrow evening, or rather this evening, for it's morning now."

"Duncan is only five miles away."

"If you want to attend I'll give you a pass. It's the least I can do to pay for turning you out of your bed."

"I could walk the five miles," said Jed.

"Then come. I'll see you at the door and pass you in. Ask for Harry Bertram."

"Thank you, Mr. Bertram."

"Old Fogson won't make a fuss about your going, will he?"

"Yes, he will; but I've made up my mind to leave the poorhouse, and I might as well leave it to-day as any time."

"Good! I admire your pluck."

"I wish I knew what I could do to make a living."

"Leave that to me. I'll arrange to have you travel with the show for two or three days and bunk with me. Have you got any—any better clothes than those?" and Bertram pointed to the dilapidated garments lying on a chair near by.

"Yes, I am promised a good suit by a friend of mine in the village. I'll go there and put them on before starting."

"Do; the actors sometimes look pretty tough, but I never saw one dressed like that."

"Jed!" screamed Mrs. Fogson from the bottom of the stairs. "You get right up and come down stairs!"

"They're calling me," said Jed, starting up.

"Will I have to get up too?"

"No; Mr. and Mrs. Fogson don't breakfast till seven. They'll send me up to call you."

"All right! We'll soon be travelling together where there are no Fogsons."

"I hope so," and Jed went down stairs with new life in his step.

CHAPTER IX.

JED LEAVES THE POORHOUSE

At eight o'clock Harry Bertram was summoned to breakfast in the private sitting-room of Mr. and Mrs. Fogson. In spite of the poor fare of which the paupers complained the Fogsons took care themselves to have appetizing meals, and the well-spread table looked really attractive.

"Sit down here, Mr. Bertram," said Mrs. Fogson, pointing to a seat. The place opposite was vacant, as the heads of the table were occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Fogson.

"Mrs. Fogson," said the actor, "I am going to ask a favor."

"What is it?" returned the lady, wreathing her features into a frosty smile.

"I see the seat opposite me is unoccupied. Will you oblige me by letting the boy Jed take it?"

Mrs. Fogson's face changed.

"I should prefer not to have him here," she answered in a forbidding tone.

"Of course I propose to pay for his breakfast the same price that I pay for my own."

"The boy is insubordinate and disobedient," said the lady coldly.

"Still he gave me his bed last night. Some boys would have objected."

"My dear," said Fogson, whose weakness for money has already been mentioned, "I think, as the gentleman has agreed to pay for Jed's breakfast, we may give our consent, merely to gratify him."

"Very well," answered Mrs. Fogson, resolved to claim the twenty-five cents for herself.

She rose from her seat, went to the window, and opening it, called to Jed, who was at work in the yard.

He speedily made his appearance.

"Sit down to the table, Jedediah," said Mr. Fogson with dignity. "Mr. Bertram desires you to breakfast with him."

Jed was very much surprised, but as he noted the warm biscuit and beefsteak, which emitted an appetizing odor, he felt that it was an invitation not to be rejected.

"I am very much obliged to Mr. Bertram," he said, "and also to you and Mrs. Fogson."

This was a politic remark to make, and he was served as liberally as the guest.

"Do you find your position a pleasant one, Mr. Fogson?" asked Bertram politely.

"No, Mr. Bertram, far from it. The paupers are a thankless, ungrateful set, but I am sustained by a sense of duty."

"The paupers were spoiled by our predecessors, Mr. and Mrs. Avery," chimed in Mrs. Fogson. "Really, Mr. Bertram, you would be surprised to learn how unreasonable they are. They are always complaining of their meals."

"I am sure they must be unreasonable if they complain of meals like this, Mrs. Fogson," said the actor.

"Of course we can't afford to treat them like this. The town would object. But we give them as good fare as we can afford. Are you going to stay long in Scranton?"

"No; I am merely passing through. I shall sleep to-night at Duncan."

"At the poorhouse?" asked Jed with a comical smile.

"Yes, if I could be sure of as good fare as this," replied the actor with an answering smile. "But that would be very doubtful."

Mrs. Fogson, who, cross-grained as she was, was not above flattery, mentally pronounced Mr. Bertram a most agreeable young man—in fact, a perfect gentleman.

"I am really ashamed," continued Bertram, "to have entered your house in such a condition, but I was feeling a little internal disturbance, and fancied that whisky would relieve it. Unfortunately I took too much."

"It might have happened to anyone," said Fogson considerately. "I am myself a temperance man, but sometimes I find whisky beneficial to my health."

Bertram, noticing the ruddy hue of Mr. Fogson's nose, was quite ready to believe this statement.

"May I ask if you are a business man?" remarked Fogson.

"My business is acting. I belong to the Gold King Company, which is to play at Duncan to-night."

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Fogson, with a glance of curiosity. "I never saw an actor before."

"I am sorry you should see such an unworthy representative of the Thespian art. If we were to play in Scranton, it would give me pleasure to offer you and Mr. Fogson complimentary tickets."

"I wish you were to play here," said Mrs. Fogson in a tone of regret. "I haven't seen a play for five years."

"I suppose you couldn't come to Duncan?"

"No; we could not be spared. Besides, we have no horse and carriage," said Fogson. "We must wait till you perform in Scranton."

Jed was very much relieved to hear this remark, for it would have interfered with his own plans if Mr. and Mrs. Fogson had accepted an invitation to witness the play at Duncan.

"Is it a good paying business?" asked Mr. Fogson.

"Well, so so. My salary is fifty dollars a week."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Fogson in envious surprise. "You ought to lay up money."

"It seems so, but in the summer we generally have a long vacation. Besides, we have to pay our hotel bills; so that, after all, we don't have as much left as you would suppose. Besides, we have to buy our costumes, and some of them are quite expensive."

In spite of these drawbacks the Fogsons evidently looked upon Bertram as a wealthy young man.

At length they rose from the table. Jed had never before eaten such a meal since he entered the poorhouse, and he felt in a degree envious of Mr. and Mrs. Fogson, who probably fared thus every day. When he considered, however, how they nearly starved the poor people of whom they had charge he felt indignant, and could not help wishing that some time they might exchange places with the unfortunate paupers.

He went out to the yard again, and resumed his work at the woodpile. Harry Bertram strolled out and lazily watched him.

"I suppose you never did work of this kind, Mr. Bertram?" said Jed.

"Oh yes, I lived for nearly a year with an aunt who required me to prepare all the wood for the kitchen stove. I can tell you one thing, though, I did not enjoy it, and when I left her I retired forever from that line of business."