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Mark Mason's Victory: The Trials and Triumphs of a Telegraph Boy
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It was a poor enough provision for a hungry boy, but Phil ate them with relish, Oscar looking on with an amused smile.
"Is that all I am to have?" asked Phil.
"Yes; it is all you deserve."
"I don't know what I have done."
"You don't, hey? You broke the bottle and spilled the whisky."
"I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't pushed me."
"There you go, laying it off on me. You'd better not."
"But it's true, Oscar."
"No, it isn't. You broke the bottle to spite pa."
"I wouldn't have dared to do it," said Philip.
"You dared a little too much, anyway. Didn't you get those men to follow you and interfere with what was none of their business?"
"No, I didn't."
"Hadn't you spoken with them at the saloon?"
"Yes."
"I thought so."
"They asked me who sent me for the whisky and I told them."
"You didn't need to tell them. If it hadn't been for that they wouldn't have come round to our place and assaulted pa and me. They'll catch it, pa says. Shouldn't wonder if they'd be put in prison for five years."
Young as he was Phil put no faith in this ridiculous statement, but he thought it best not to make any comment.
"How long is your father going to keep me here?" he asked.
"Maybe a month."
This opened a terrible prospect to poor Phil, who thought Mr. Sprague quite capable of inflicting such a severe punishment.
"If he does I won't live through it," he said desperately.
"You don't mean to kill yourself?" said Oscar, startled.
"No, but I shall starve. I am awfully hungry now."
"What, after eating two slices of bread?"
"They were very thin, and I have exercised a good deal."
"Then I advise you to make it up with pa. If you get down on your knees and tell him you are sorry, perhaps he will forgive you, and let you out."
Phil did not feel willing to humiliate himself in that way, and remained silent.
"There ain't any bed for me to sleep on," he said, looking around.
"You will have to sleep on the floor. I guess you'll get enough of it."
Oscar locked the door on the outside and went down-stairs. Disagreeable as he was Phil was sorry to have him go. He was some company, and when left to himself there was nothing for him to do. If there had been any paper or book in the room it would have helped him tide over the time, but the apartment was bare of furniture.
There was one window looking out on the side of the house. Phil posted himself at this, and soon saw Oscar and his father leave the premises and go down the street. Nahum had a bottle in his hand, and Phil concluded he was going to the drinking saloon to get a fresh bottle of whisky.
Phil continued to look out of the window.
Presently he saw a boy pass whom he knew – a boy named Arthur Burks.
He opened the window and called out eagerly, "Arthur!"
Arthur turned round and looking up espied Philip.
"Hello!" he cried. "What are you doing up there?"
"I am locked in."
"What for?"
"I accidentally dropped a bottle of whisky, and spilled it. Mr. Sprague got mad and locked me up here."
"That's a shame. How long have you got to stay?"
"Oscar says he may keep me here a month."
"He's only frightening you. Old Sprague wouldn't dare to do it."
"That isn't all. I am half starved. He only gave me two small slices of bread for dinner."
"He's a mean old hunks. I just wish you could come round to our house. We'd give you enough to eat."
"I wish I were there now," sighed Philip.
"I've got an idea," said Arthur, brightening up. "What time do Mr. Sprague and Oscar go to bed?"
"Very early. About nine o'clock."
"Would you run away if you could?"
"Yes."
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Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее