Luck and Pluck

"I'm going away with the gentleman who has just got inside," said John.

"Where does he live?"

"I don't know the name of the place," said our hero, suspecting that Hardscrabble was only a local appellation.

"Be gone long?"

"Not more than a week."

Meanwhile, Mrs. Oakley watched the receding stage with satisfaction. When it was out of sight, she entered the house.

"Now," said she, "I'll look for the will without John Oakley to spy upon me."

CHAPTER XIII.

JOHN OAKLEY'S NEW HOME

Although John would prefer to have remained at home, in order that his studies might be uninterrupted, he nevertheless could not help deriving enjoyment from the ride on the stage-coach. It was a beautiful morning. The sun was gilding with its beams the fields and brooks, and a beautiful breeze rustled in and out among the leaves of the trees that for some distance lined the road. John, from his elevated perch, had an excellent view of the scenes through which they passed. As they rode by the house of Squire Selwyn, lie hoped to catch sight of his friend Sam; but Sam was nowhere to be seen.

"Sam is lazy this morning," thought John, disappointed.

But there he did Sam injustice. He had risen early, and with hook and line had gone to the pond to fish. From a distance he caught a glimpse of the stage rumbling along the village street, but it was too far off for him to distinguish the outside passengers. He would have been surprised had he known that among them was his friend John.

Ere long they were beyond the limits of the township. Occasionally the stage stopped to take in a fresh passenger, or to discharge a portion of its living freight. At intervals of a few miles they came to some village tavern, with a broad swinging sign, where the driver would pause to water his horses, or, at longer intervals, to exchange them for a fresh supply. Once or twice John descended to stretch his legs, stiff with long sitting. More than once he observed Mr. Huxter enter the tavern, and come out with his nose a little redder than usual.

"I went in to get a glass of bitters," he explained to John, whom he encountered at the door on one of these occasions. "I'll get you some if you want it."

"Thank you," said John. "I don't care for any."

"Well, you're young and strong, and don't need them. When you get to my age, you'll need a little something to stimulate you."

John, who rightly conjectured that the glass of "bitters" was only another name for New England rum, could not help thinking that Mr. Huxter would have been quite as well off without it; but this thought he of course kept to himself.

"The old gentleman is rather fond of 'wetting his whistle,' isn't he?" said the driver, familiarly.

"So it seems," said John, briefly.

He did not care to discuss the conduct of his stepmother's brother with any one, and therefore confined himself to this remark. At twelve o'clock they had travelled forty miles.

"The stage will stop half an hour for dinner," said the driver, as he drew up in front of an old-fashioned country tavern.

"This is as far as I go," said the driver to John. "Do you stop here?"

"No, we go further on."

"I suppose you'll be comin' back this way in a few days?"

"I expect so. By the way, if you see Sam Selwyn to-night, just tell him that I was one of your passengers this morning."

"All right."

"John Oakley!" said Mr. Huxter, from below.

"Here, sir," said John.

"Just get down, and bring that basket with you. We'll go under the trees and have a bite."

John followed directions, and the two sat down together, with the basket between them.

"Travelling is hungry work," said Mr. Huxter. "Let's see what my sister has put up for us."

The basket, being uncovered, proved to be full of sandwiches, with a few doughnuts on top. They were all excellent of their kind; for Mrs. Oakley, whatever might be said of her in other respects, was a good house-keeper, and took care that whatever food was prepared in the house should be good.

"Now, Oakley," said Mr. Huxter, "we needn't have any ceremony here. Just make yourself at home and pitch in."

It may be observed that Mr. Huxter was gradually beginning to treat John with greater familiarity. When first introduced, he had addressed him as "Mr. Oakley." Next it was "John Oakley." Now it was "Oakley," without any prefix. John, who had no inordinate sense of his own dignity, was not much disturbed by this, but continued to treat Mr. Huxter with the same outward respect as at first.

Mr. Huxter followed his own recommendations strictly. He did "pitch in," and with such vigor that he consumed two-thirds of the contents of the basket, while John, whose appetite had also been stimulated by the long ride, was eating the remaining third.

"Well, there aint much left, that's a fact," he said, surveying the empty basket. "The ride's given you a pretty good appetite, Oakley."

"Pretty good," said John, smiling at the unexpected inference drawn from the empty basket.

"That's lucky, for we shan't get anything more till we get home," said Mr. Huxter.

"When will that be?" inquired John.

"Somewhere about seven. It's a long pull; but I guess we can stand it," said Mr. Huxter.

"I think I can," said John.

"The old lady won't be expecting us," said Mr. Huxter. "I told her I might, maybe, be gone a fortnight."

"She'll be glad to see you so soon," said John, who did not think of anything else to say.

"Umph!" said Mr. Huxter, in a tone which might be interpreted as conveying a little doubt on this point. "I feel a little dry," he said, rising and stretching himself. "I think I'll go into the house, and see if I can find a little water."

When Mr. Huxter reappeared, John inferred from his appearance that, if he had been drinking water, it had been largely mingled with a different beverage. He satisfied his own thirst at the pump, where he drank a deep and refreshing draught of clear cold water, purer and better than any liquid which the art of man has devised.

So the afternoon passed. Twice more Mr. Huxter got out of the stage, and entered a wayside tavern, on the same mysterious errand. Each time he reappeared with his nose redder, and his eyes more inflamed. The liquor which he had drunk made him quarrelsome, and so disagreeable to his fellow-passengers. Finally one of them called to the driver in an authoritative voice to stop, and insisted that Mr. Huxter should travel outside for the remainder of the way. With some difficulty he was induced to make the change, and from that time John had the pleasure of his society.

"Who are you?" asked Mr. Huxter, fixing his eyes upon John with a vacant stare.

"I am John Oakley," said our hero.

"Oh, yes, I know. You're the son of old Oakley that my sister Jane married."

It was painful to John to hear his father spoken of as old Oakley, but he understood Mr. Huxter's situation, and felt that it would be idle to resent anything said under such circumstances.