Robert Coverdale's Struggle: or, on the Wave of Success

Husband and wife fell together in a heap, and Andrew Jackson uttered a yell of dismay.

In all the confidence of assured victory, Mr. Nathan Badger, seeing the dim outline of a figure upon the bed, had brought down his stick upon it with emphasis.

"I'll l'arn you!" he muttered in audible accents.

It was a rude awakening for Tom Tapley, the tramp, who was sleeping as peacefully as a child.

The first blow aroused him, but left him in a state of bewilderment, so that he merely shrank from the descending stick without any particular idea of what had happened to him.

"Didn't feel it, did yer?" exclaimed Mr. Badger. "Well, I'll see if I can't make yer feel it!" and he brought down the stick for the second time with considerably increased vigor.

By this time Tom Tapley was awake. By this time also he thoroughly understood the situation or thought he did. He had been found out, and the farmer had undertaken to give him a lesson.

"That depends on whether you're stronger than I am," thought Tom, and he sprang from the bed and threw himself upon the astonished farmer.

Nathan Badger was almost paralyzed by the thought that Bill Benton, his hired boy, was absolutely daring enough to resist his lawful master. He was even more astounded by Bill's extraordinary strength. Why, as the boy grappled with him, he actually felt powerless. He was crushed to the floor, and, with the boy's knee upon his breast, struggled in vain to get up. It was so dark that he had not yet discovered that his antagonist was a man and not a boy.

Nathan Badger had heard that insane persons are endowed with extraordinary strength, and it flashed upon him that the boy had become suddenly insane.

The horror of being in conflict with a crazy boy so impressed him that he cried for help.

Then it was that Tom Tapley, gathering all his strength, lifted up the prostrate farmer and pitched him downstairs just as Mrs. Badger was mounting them, so that she and her husband fell in a breathless heap on the lower stairs, to the indescribable dismay of Andrew Jackson.

Mrs. Badger was the first to pick herself up.

"What does all this mean, Mr. Badger?" she asked.

"That's what I'd like to know," said Mr. Badger ruefully.

"You don't mean to say you ain't a match for a boy?" she demanded sarcastically.

"Perhaps you'd like to try him yourself?" said her husband.

"This is very absurd, Mr. Badger. You know very well he's weak for a boy of sixteen, and he hasn't had anything to eat since morning."

"If you think he's weak, you'd better tackle him," retorted Nathan. "I tell you, wife, he's got the strength of a man and a strong man, too."

"I don't understand it. Tell me exactly what happened."

"Well, you saw me go upstairs with the stick Andrew Jackson gave me," said Mr. Badger, assuming a sitting position. "I saw the boy lyin' on the bed, snoring and I up with my stick and brought it down pretty hard. He quivered a little, but that was all. So I thought I'd try it again. He jumped out of bed and sprang on me like a tiger, grinding his teeth, but not saying a word. I tell you, wife, he seemed as strong as a horse. I couldn't get up, and he sat and pounded me."

"The idea of being pounded by a small boy!" ejaculated Mrs. Badger.

"Just what I'd have said a quarter of an hour ago!"

"It seems impossible!"

"Perhaps it does, but it's so."

"He never acted so before."

"No, and he never hit Andrew Jackson before, but yesterday he did it. I tell you what, wife, I believe the boy's gone crazy."

"Crazy!" ejaculated Mrs. Badger and Andrew in a breath.

"Just so! When folks are crazy they're a good deal stronger than it's nateral for them to be, and that's the way with Bill Benton."

"But what could possibly make him crazy?" demanded Mrs. Badger incredulously.

"It may be the want of vittles. I don't know as we'd orter have kept him without his dinner and supper."

"I don't believe a bit in such rubbish," said Mrs. Badger, whose courage had come back with the absolute silence in the attic chamber. "I believe you're a coward, Nathan Badger. I'll go upstairs myself and see if I can't succeed better than you did."

"You'd better not, wife."

"Oh, don't go, ma!" said Andrew Jackson, pale with terror.

"I'm going!" said the intrepid woman. "It shan't be said of me that I'm afraid of a little bound boy who's as weak as a rat."

"You'll find out how weak he is," said Mr. Badger. "I warn you not to go."

"I'm goin', all the same," said Mrs. Badger. "You'll see how I'll tame him down. Give me the stick."

"Then go if you're so plaguy obstinate," said her husband, and it must be confessed that he rather hoped his wife, who had ventured to ridicule him, might herself meet with a reception that would make her change her tune somewhat.

Mrs. Badger, stick in hand, marched up to the door of the attic and called out boldly:

"Open the door, you young villain!"

"How does she know I'm young?" thought Tom Tapley, who was on guard in the room. "Well, now, if she wasn't such an old woman I should feel flattered. I guess I'll have to scare her a little. It wouldn't be polite to tumble her downstairs as I did her husband."

"Have you gone crazy?" demanded Mrs. Badger behind the door.

"Not that I know of," muttered the tramp.

"Perhaps you think you can manage me as well as Mr. Badger?" she continued.

"I should smile if I couldn't," commented Tom Tapley. "That woman must think she's extra strong to be a match for me!"

"I'm coming in to whip you till you cry for mercy!"

"Really, she's a pretty spunky old woman!" thought the tramp. "If I can't hold my own against her, I'll sell myself for old rags!"

Mrs. Badger pushed open the door, saw dimly the outline of the tramp and struck at it with the stick.

But alas! the stick was wrenched from her hand, a pistol, loaded only with powder, was discharged, and the intrepid lady, in a panic, flew out of the room and downstairs, tumbling into her husband's arms.

Nathan Badger was delighted at his wife's discomfiture. She couldn't taunt him any longer.

"I told you so!" he chuckled. "How do you like tacklin' him yourself, my dear? Wouldn't you like to try it again? Ho! ho!"

"Mr. Badger, you're a fool!" exclaimed his wife sharply.

"It strikes me you're a little in that way yourself, Mrs. Badger. Did you give him a floggin'? Ho, ho! you were in a great hurry to come away!"

"Mr. Badger, he fired at me with a pistol. I tell you he's a dangerous boy to have in the house."

"Oh, no, Mrs. Badger, you can manage him just as easy!"

"Shut up, Mr. Badger! How did I know he had a pistol? I tell you it's a serious thing! Before morning, you, and Andrew Jackson, and me may be dead corpses!"

At this awful statement Andrew Jackson burst into a terrified howl.

"I'll tell you what we'd better do, Mr. Badger. We'll go into our room and lock ourselves in."

"Let me come in, too," said Andrew. "He'll kill me! He hates me!"

"Yes, my darling, you may come, too!" said his mother.

So the valiant three locked themselves up in a chamber and listened nervously.

But Tom Tapley was already out of the house. He made his escape over the roof, fearing that the neighborhood would be roused and his safety endangered.

So passed a night of unparalleled excitement in the Badger homestead.

CHAPTER XXX

ATTACKED IN THE REAR

Early the next morning the three Badgers held a council of war.

It was unanimously decided that something must be done, but what that something should be it was not easy to determine.

Mr. Badger suggested that the town constable should be summoned.

"The boy has committed assault and battery upon our persons, Mrs.

Badger," he said, "and it is proper that he should be arrested."

"Shall I go for the constable?" asked Andrew Jackson. "I should like to have him put in jail. Then we should be safe."

"The constable would not be up so early, Andrew."

"Besides," said Mrs. Badger, "we shall be laughed at for not being able to take care of a single small-sized boy."

"You know what he is capable of, Mrs. Badger. At least you did when you came flyin' down the attic stairs into my arms!"

"Shut up, Mr. Badger," said his wife, who was ashamed when she remembered her panic. "You'd better not say anything. He got you on the floor and pounded you – you a full-grown man!"

"I'd like to pound him!" said Badger, setting his teeth hard.

"It's a pity if three of us can't manage him without calling in a constable," continued Mrs. Badger, who, on the whole, had more courage than her husband.

"What do you propose, wife?" asked Nathan.

"I propose that we all go up and seize him. He is probably asleep and can't give any trouble. We can tie him hand and foot before he wakes up."

"Capital!" said Mr. Badger, who was wonderfully assured by the thought that his young enemy might be asleep. "We'll go right up."

"He may be awake!" suggested Andrew Jackson.

"True. We must go well armed. I'll carry the gun. It will do to knock the pistol out of his hand before he gets a chance to use it."

"Perhaps so," assented Mrs. Badger.

"And you, Andrew Jackson, what can you take?"

"I'll take the poker," said the heroic Andrew.

"Very good! We had better arm ourselves as soon as possible or he may wake up. By the way, Mr. Badger, where is the ball of twine? It will be useful to tie the boy's hands."

"If his hands are tied he can't work."

"No, but I will only keep them tied while I give him a thrashing. You can take possession of his pistol and hide it. When he is thoroughly subdued we will untie him and send him to work."

"Without his breakfast?" suggested Andrew.

"No, he has already fasted since yesterday morning, and it may make him desperate. He shall have some breakfast, and that will give him strength to work."

Andrew Jackson was rather disappointed at the decision that Bill was to have breakfast, but on this point he did not venture to oppose his father.

The plan of campaign having been decided upon, it only remained to carry it out.

Mr. Badger took the old musket and headed the procession. His wife slipped downstairs and returned with the kitchen broom and a poker. The last she put in the hands of her son.

"Use it, Andrew Jackson, if occasion requires. You may be called upon to defend your father and mother. Should such be the case, do not flinch, but behave like a hero."

"I will, ma!" exclaimed Andrew, fired perhaps by the example of the great general after whom he was named. "But you and pa must tackle him first."

"We will!" exclaimed the intrepid matron. "The disgraceful scenes of last evening must not again be enacted. This time we march to certain victory. Mr. Badger, go on, and I will follow."

The three, in the order arranged, advanced to the foot of the stairs, and Mr. Badger slowly and cautiously mounted them, pausing before the door of the room that contained, as he supposed, the desperate boy.

"Shall I speak to him before entering?" he asked in a tone of indecision, turning back to his wife.

"Certainly not; it will put him on his guard. Keep as still as you can.

We want to surprise him."

To account for what followed it must be stated that Dick Schmidt awakened his visitor early and the two went down to breakfast. Mr. Schmidt was going to the market town and found it necessary to breakfast at five o'clock. This happened fortunately for Bill, as he was able to obtain a much better breakfast there than at home.

When breakfast was over he said soberly:

"Dick, I must go back."

"Why do you go back at all?" said Dick impulsively.

"I must. It is the only home I have."

"I wish you could stay with me."

"So do I, but Mr. Badger would come after me."

"I suppose he would. Do you think he will flog you?"

"I am sure he will."

"I'd like to flog him – the brute! Don't take it too hard, Bill. You'll be a man some time, and then no one can punish you."

Poor Bill! As he took his lonely way back to the house of his tyrannical employer in the early morning he could not help wishing that he was already a man and his days of thraldom were over. He was barely sixteen. Five long, weary years lay before him.

"I'll try to stand it, though it's hard," murmured Bill. "I suppose he's very mad because I wasn't home last night. But I'm glad I went. I had two good meals and a quiet night's sleep."

It was not long before he came in sight of home.

Probably no one was up in the Badger household. Usually Bill was the first to get up and Mrs. Badger next, for Andrew Jackson and his father were neither of them fond of early rising.

The front and back doors were no doubt locked, but Bill knew how to get in.

He went to the shed, raised a window and clambered in.

"Perhaps I can get up to my room without anybody hearing me," he reflected.

He passed softly through the front room into the entry and up the front stairs. All was quiet. Bill concluded that no one was up. He came to the foot of the attic stairs, and his astonished gaze rested on the three Badgers, armed respectively with a gun, a broom and a poker, all on their way to his room.

"Were they going to murder me?" he thought.

Just then Andrew Jackson, who led the rear, and was therefore nearest to

Bill, looked back and saw the terrible foe within three feet of him.

He uttered a loud yell, and, scarcely knowing what he was about, brought down the poker with force on his mother's back, at the same time crying:

"There he is, ma!"

Mrs. Badger, in her flurry, struck her husband with the broom, while her husband, equally panic-stricken, fired the musket. It was overloaded, and, as a natural result, "kicked," overthrowing Mr. Badger, who in his downward progress carried with him his wife and son.

Astonished and terrified, Bill turned and fled, leaving the house in the same way he entered it. He struck across the fields and in that moment decided that he would never return to Mr. Badger unless he was dragged there. He felt sure that if he did he would be murdered.

He had no plans except to get away. He saw Dick Schmidt, bade him a hurried good-by and took the road toward the next town.

For three days he traveled, indebted to compassionate farmers for food. But excitement and fatigue finally overcame him, and he sank by the roadside, about fifty miles from the town of Dexter, whence he had started on his pilgrimage.

CHAPTER XXXI

BILL BENTON FINDS A FRIEND

Late one afternoon Robert Coverdale reached Columbus on his Western trip. The next day he was to push on to the town of Dexter, where he had information that the boy of whom he was in search lived.

The train, however, did not leave till eleven o'clock in the forenoon, and Robert felt justified in devoting his leisure hours to seeing what he could of the city and its surroundings.

He took an early breakfast and walked out into the suburbs.

As he strolled along a little boy, about seven years old, ran to meet him.

"Please, mister," he said, "won't you come quick? There's a boy layin' by the road back there, and I guess he's dead!"

Robert needed no second appeal. His heart was warm and he liked to help others when he could.

"Show me where, bub," he said.

The little fellow turned and ran back, Robert keeping pace with him.

By the roadside, stretched out, pale and with closed eyes, lay the poor bound boy, known as Bill Benton.

He was never very strong, and the scanty fare to which he had been confined had sapped his physical strength.

Robert, at first sight, thought he was dead. He bent down and put his hand upon the boy's heart. It was beating, though faintly.

"Is he dead, mister?" asked the boy.

"No, but he has fainted away. Is there any water near by?"

Yes, there was a spring close at hand, the little boy said.

Robert ran to it, soaked his handkerchief in it, and, returning, laved the boy's face. The result was encouraging.

Bill opened his eyes and asked in a wondering tone:

"Where am I?"

"You are with a friend," said Robert soothingly. "How do you feel?"

"I am very tired and weak," murmured Bill.

"Are you traveling?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

Robert thought that the boy's mind might be wandering, but continued:

"Have you no friends in Columbus?"

"No. I have no friends anywhere!" answered Bill sorrowfully, "except

Dick Schmidt."

"I suppose Dick is a boy?"

"Yes."

"Where have you been living?"

"You won't take me back there?" said Bill uneasily.

"I won't take you anywhere where you don't want to go. I want to be your friend, if you will let me."

"I should like a friend," answered Bill slowly. Then, examining the kind, boyish face that was bent over him, he said, "I like you."

"Have you had anything to eat to-day?" asked Robert.

"No."

"Will you go with me to my hotel?"

"I have no money."

"Poor boy!" thought Robert, "it is easy enough to see that."

Bill's ragged clothes were assurance enough of the truth of what he said.

"I must take care of this poor boy," thought Robert. "It will delay me, but I can't leave him."

He heard the sound of approaching wheels, and, looking up, saw a man approaching in a wagon. Robert signaled him to stop.

"I want to take this boy to the hotel," he said, "but he has not strength enough to walk. Will you take us aboard? I will pay you a fair price."

"Poor little chap! He looks sick, that's a fact!" said the kind-hearted countryman. "Yes, I'll give you both a lift, and I won't ask a cent."

There was some surprise felt at the hotel when Robert appeared with his new-found friend. Some of the servants looked askance at the ragged clothes, but Robert said quietly:

"I will pay for him," and no objection was made.

When Bill was undressed and put to bed and had partaken of a refreshing breakfast he looked a great deal brighter and seemed much more cheerful.

"You are very kind," he said to Robert.

"I hope somebody would do as much for me if I needed it," answered

Robert. "Do you mind telling me about yourself?"

"I will tell anything you wish," said Bill, who now felt perfect confidence in his new friend.

"What is your name?"

"Bill Benton; at any rate, that's what they call me."

"Don't you think it's your real name, then?"

"No."

"Have you any remembrance of your real name?" asked Robert, not dreaming of the answer he would receive.

"When I was a little boy they called me Julian, but – "

"Julian!" repeated Robert eagerly.

"Yes."

"Can you tell what was your last name?" asked Robert quickly.

Bill shook his head.

"No, I don't remember."

"Tell me," said Robert, "did you live with a man named Badger in the town of Dexter?"

The sick boy started and seemed extremely surprised.

"How did you find out?" he asked. "Did Mr. Badger send you for me?"

"I never saw Mr. Badger in my life."

Bill – er perhaps I ought to say Julian – looked less anxious.

"Yes," he said, "but he treated me badly and I ran away."

"Did you ever hear of a man named Charles Waldo?"

"Yes, he was the man that sent me to Mr. Badger."

"It's a clear case!" thought Robert, overjoyed, "I have no doubt now that I have found the hermit's son. Poor boy, how he must have suffered!"

"Julian," said he, "do you know why I am traveling – what brought me here? But of course you don't. I came to find you."

"To find me? But you said – "

"No, it was not Mr. Badger nor Mr. Waldo that sent me. They are your enemies. The one that sent me is your friend. Julian, how would you like to have a father?"

"My father is dead."

"Who told you so?"

"Mr. Waldo. He told Mr. Badger so."

"He told a falsehood, then. You have a father, and as soon as you are well enough I'll take you to him."

"Will he be kind to me?"

"Do not fear. For years he has grieved for you, supposing you dead. Once restored to him, you will have everything to make you happy. Your father is a rich man, and you won't be overworked again."

"What is my father's name?" asked Julian.

"His name is Gilbert Huet."

"Huet! Yes, that's the name!" exclaimed Julian eagerly. "I remember it now. My name used to be Julian Huet, but Mr. Waldo was always angry whenever any one called me by that name, and so he changed it to Bill Benton."

"He must be a great scoundrel," said Robert. "Now, Julian, I will tell you my plan. I don't believe there is anything the matter with you except the want of rest and good food. You shall have both. You also want some new clothes."

"Yes," said Julian, looking at the ragged suit which now hung over a chair. "I should like some new clothes."

A doctor was called, who confirmed Robert's opinion.

"The youngster will be all right in a week or ten days," he said. "All he wants is rest and good living."

"How soon will he be able to travel?"

"In a week, at the outside."

During this week Robert's attention was drawn to the following paragraph in a copy of the Dexter Times, a small weekly paper, which he found in the reading room of the hotel:

"A DESPERATE YOUNG RUFFIAN. – We understand that a young boy in the service of Mr. Nathan Badger, one of our most respected citizens, has disappeared under very extraordinary circumstances. The evening previous to his departure he made an unprovoked attack upon Mr. and Mrs. Badger, actually throwing Mr. Badger downstairs and firing a pistol at Mrs. Badger. He was a small, slight boy, but the strength he exhibited was remarkable in thus coping successfully with a strong man. Mr. Badger thinks the boy must have been suddenly attacked by insanity of a violent character."

"What does this mean, Julian?" asked Robert, reading the paragraph to his young protege.

"I don't know," answered Julian, astonished. "I spent the last night before I came away with my friend Dick Schmidt."

In a few days Julian looked quite another boy. His color began to return and his thin form to fill out, while his face wore a peaceful and happy expression.

In a new and handsome suit of clothes he looked like a young gentleman and not at all like Bill Benton, the bound boy. He was devotedly attached to Robert, the more so because he had never before – as far as his memory went – received so much kindness from any one as from him.

"Now," thought Robert, "I am ready to go back to Cook's Harbor and restore Julian to his father."

CHAPTER XXXII

ONCE MORE IN COOK'S HARBOR

Various had been the conjectures in Cook's Harbor as to what had become of Robert Coverdale.

Upon this point the hermit was the only person who could have given authentic information, but no one thought of applying to him.

Naturally questions were put to Mrs. Trafton, but she herself had a very vague idea of Robert's destination, and, moreover, she had been warned not to be communicative.

Mr. Jones, the landlord, supposed he had gone to try to raise the amount of his mortgage among distant relatives, but on this point he felt no anxiety.

"He won't succeed," said he to his wife; "you may depend on that. I don't believe he's got any relations that have money, and, even if he has, they're goin' to think twice before they give a boy two hundred dollars on the security of property they don't know anything about."

"What do you intend to do with the cottage, Mr. Jones?"

"It's worth five hundred dollars, and I can get more than the interest of five hundred dollars in the way of rent."

"Is anybody likely to hire it?"

"John Shelton's oldest son talks of getting married. He'll be glad to hire it of me."

"What's to become of Mrs. Trafton?"

"I don't know and I don't care," answered the landlord carelessly. "The last time I called she was impudent to me; came near ordering me out of the house till I made her understand that I had more right to the house than she had."

"She puts on a good many airs for a poor woman," said Mrs. Jones. "It's too ridiculous for a woman like her to be proud."

"If anything, she isn't as bad as that young whelp. Bob Coverdale. The boy actually told me I wasn't respectful enough to his precious aunt. I wonder if they'll be respectful to her in the poorhouse – where it's likely she'll fetch up?"