Luck and Pluck

"Thank you, Squire Selwyn," said John. "I did not know what you just told me; but I did know that my father looked upon you as one of his most valued friends."

"Well, John, good-by," said the lawyer, kindly, extending his hand. "Keep up a good heart, and something may turn up which may set matters right. Be sure to keep me apprised of your movements, and rely upon me to do what I can for you in Hampton."

John left the court-house much encouraged by the friendly words of Squire Selwyn. He felt that he would prove a powerful friend, and his burden of care was diminished now that he had communicated his situation to such a friend.

Just then David Wallace drove up to the gate in his wagon.

"Have you got through your talk?" he asked.

"Just finished."

"Jump aboard then, and we'll be getting home."

"I've been pretty lucky to-day, David," said John.

"How's that?"

"In the first place, in finding my letter by the side of the road. But for that I should have thought it had gone straight. Next in meeting you, and being saved a hot walk; and again in just meeting the very man I wanted most to see."

"There's one thing you forgot," said David, roguishly.

"What's that?"

"The affectionate welcome you'll get from old Huxter when you reach home."

"I don't count much on that," said John, smiling in return.

"I'm glad you've overreached the old fellow," said David.

"He thinks he's overreached me."

"I know it. That makes it all the better."

John reached his temporary home about four o'clock. Mr. Huxter was not at home when he arrived, and remained ignorant of the important interview which had taken place between John and Squire Selwyn.

CHAPTER XIX.

ON THE TRACK

When the stage which conveyed John and Mr. Huxter was fairly out of sight Mrs. Oakley entered the house with a great feeling of relief. She realized for the first time how she had been constrained by the presence of her stepson. Though he had always been respectful, there was an unuttered reproach in his frank, fearless glance, which made her uncomfortable. It was the tribute which a mean and wicked nature pays to one of greater nobility, though Mrs. Oakley did not acknowledge that. She only felt glad that John was out of the way.

She had been so fearful that something might happen to prevent the success of her plan, that she had been careful not to make Ben acquainted with it. She was apprehensive that Ben would, in his exultation, lead John to suspect what was going on, and so cause him to refuse going. Now that he was fairly off she would tell her son the good news.

Ben came down to breakfast late. He generally had his way now, and was seldom present at the regular breakfast hour. It was different when Squire Oakley was alive; but then many other things were different also.

"Benjamin is delicate," she said, one morning in presence of the servant. "He needs more sleep than the rest of us."

"Maybe it's smoking cigars makes him delicate," suggested the servant, who did not particularly admire Ben, or care to join his mother in making allowances for him.

Her mistress silenced her with some asperity; but nevertheless took an opportunity to speak to Ben on the subject. But that young gentleman only laughed at her remonstrances.

"It does me good, mother," he said. "I always feel better after smoking a good cigar."

"It seems to me you are growing pale," said Mrs. Oakley, whose heart was full of tenderness where Ben was concerned.

"That's all nonsense," said Ben. "I'm not as red as a beet, and I don't want to be. But as to being pale, I'm healthy enough. Don't worry yourself."

With this Mrs. Oakley had to be contented, for Ben, though a coward with his equals, had sense enough to take advantage of his mother's weak partiality, and take his own way.

When Ben came down to breakfast on the morning of his uncle's departure, he said in an indifferent tone:—

"Has that man gone?"

"Do you refer to your uncle, Benjamin?" asked Mrs. Oakley, not altogether pleased to hear Mr. Huxter spoken of in that style, though she felt no very warm attachment for him herself.

"I mean Mr. Huxter," said Ben, carelessly, breaking an egg as he spoke.

"He is your uncle."

"I don't mean to call him so. I'm ashamed of the relationship."

"He is my brother."

"That's your misfortune," said Ben. "All I know is, that I hope he won't darken our doors again."

"What have you against him?"

"He's a coarse, low man. He isn't a gentleman. You're a rich woman now, mother. You'd better cut his acquaintance. He won't do us any credit. You haven't invited him to come again, I hope."

"I don't think he will come again very soon."

"He'd better not. How can you expect people to forget that you were the late Mr. Oakley's house-keeper if you show them such a man as that as your brother?"

This argument had weight with Mrs. Oakley. She wanted to be looked upon as a lady, and she acknowledged to herself that Mr. Huxter's relationship would be no credit to her. He was coarse and low, as Ben said,—not because he was poor. Wealth would have made no difference in him, except that it might have enabled him to dress better. It would not have diminished the redness of his nose, for instance, or refined his manners. Mrs. Oakley, however, made no comment on what Ben had said, but remarked:—

"At any rate, Ben, your uncle has done us a good turn."

"What is that, mother?" asked Ben.

"John has gone with him."

"Gone home with him?"

"Yes."

"How long is he going to stay?"

"For good."