Bernard Brooks' Adventures: The Experience of a Plucky Boy

What’s the matter?” asked the bootblack, noting the swift change in Bernard’s face.

“That man – he is after me!” ejaculated Bernard, preparing to move on.

He knew that it would be disagreeable to have an encounter with Professor Puffer and he thought it better to get out of his way.

Whether he could do so was doubtful, as the professor was close at hand.

“I’ll help you,” said the bootblack, “if you’ll give me a shilling. You be here in an hour.”

“All right,” said Bernard, and he started to run.

But by this time Professor Puffer was only ten feet away. He felt that Bernard was within his grasp.

But he did not reckon for the bootblack. The latter advanced to meet the professor, and managed to stumble in front of him so that Puffer, whose legs were short, fell over him, striking forcibly on his face. Meanwhile Bernard was hurrying away.

Professor Puffer got up in a furious rage.

“What are you running over me for?” he demanded, shaking his fist at the bootblack.

The latter began to rub his knees vigorously.

“What are you runnin’ over me for?” he demanded in an injured tone.

Professor Puffer eyed him suspiciously. He hardly knew whether the encounter was premeditated or not, “Did you see a boy rather taller than you dressed in a dark suit? I think you have been blacking his shoes.”

“Yes, I did, and he run away without payin’ me. Is he your boy?”

“Yes. Where did he go?”

“I dunno. You ran over me so that I couldn’t see. Will you pay for the shine?”

“No; he must pay for it himself. But I’ll give you a sixpence if you’ll find him for me.”

“All right! Give me the money.”

“Not now. I’ll wait till you find him for me.”

“I don’t do business in that way, mister.”

“I believe you’re in league with him,” said the professor suspiciously.

“I dunno what that means,” returned the boy innocently. “Don’t you try your long words on me. If he was your boy, what made him run away from you?”

“Because he is a bad lot. He won’t obey me.”

“Ain’t he bad, though?” said the bootblack virtuously. “And you look like such a kind old man, too. He’d ought to be flogged, that he had.”

“I am not so very old,” said the professor quickly; for, like a good many others, he didn’t care to be considered aged.

“That so! You don’t look more’n sixty.”

“I am not near that,” said Puffer. “But that is of no importance. If you’ll help me you will find it for your advantage.”

“I’ll try. S’pose I do find him, where will I find you?”

The professor took out a card and wrote his address on it.

“I’ll tell you what to do,” he said. “If you find Bernard – ”

“Is that his name?”

“Yes. Bernard Brooks. If you see him, find out where he lives and come and tell me.”

“What will you do to him, if you catch him?” asked the bootblack, with curiosity.

“Never you mind! I will take him back into my charge. I may send him to a boarding-school.”

“I wish some kind gentleman would send me to a boardin’-school,” said the bootblack, with an angelic expression. “Say, mister, won’t you adopt me?”

“I cannot afford it. Besides, I have trouble enough with the boy I have; but I can’t stand waiting here. You are sure you didn’t see where the boy went?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Somehow that boy continually eludes me,” muttered Puffer, as he walked disappointed away. “I begin to hate him.”

Meanwhile Bernard had not gone very far. He had darted into a narrow street, and, himself screened from observation, watched the interview between the professor and the bootblack. Though he could not hear what was said, he judged that his street friend was not betraying him.

“He has an honest face, though a dirty one,” he reflected. “He has earned the money I promised him.”

When Professor Puffer had disappeared from the scene he crossed to where the bootblack was standing.

“Well,” he said, “so he’s gone.”

“Yes.”

“You had quite a talk with him.”

“Yes. I fooled the old man. He’s goin’ to give me sixpence for lettin’ him know where you live.”

Bernard laughed.

“You can tell him any place you like,” he said.

“Then I’ll tell him you’re boardin’ with Queen Victoria at Buckingham Palace.”

“I don’t think he’ll give you sixpence for that.”

“I don’t want any of his money,” said the bootblack contemptuously. “He’s no good.”