Paul Prescott's Charge Part 23

Paul took good care of this. He knew how to play as well as to study, and his laugh on the playground was as merry as any. His cheerful, obliging disposition made him a favorite with his companions. Only George Dawkins held out; he had, for some reason, imbibed a dislike for Paul.

Paul's industry was not without effect. He gradually gained position in his cla.s.s.

"Take care, Dawkins," said one of his companions--the same one who had before spoken to Paul--"Paul Prescott will be disputing your place with you. He has come up seventeen places in a month."

"Much good it'll do him," said Dawkins, contemptuously.

"For all that, you will have to be careful; I can tell you that."

"I'm not in the least afraid. I'm a little too firm in my position to be ousted by Young Stupid."

"Just wait and see."

Dawkins really entertained no apprehension. He had unbounded confidence in himself, and felt a sense of power in the rapidity with which he could master a lesson. He therefore did not study much, and though he could not but see that Paul was rapidly advancing, he rejected with scorn the idea that Young Stupid could displace him.

This, however, was the object at which Paul was aiming. He had not forgotten the nickname which Dawkins had given him, and this was the revenge which he sought,--a strictly honorable one.

At length the day of his triumph came. At the end of the month the master read off the cla.s.s-list, and, much to his disgust, George Dawkins found himself playing second fiddle to Young Stupid.

XVII.

BEN'S PRACTICAL JOKE.

Mrs. Mudge was in the back room, bending over a tub. It was washing-day, and she was particularly busy. She was a driving, bustling woman, and, whatever might be her faults of temper, she was at least industrious and energetic. Had Mr. Mudge been equally so, they would have been better off in a worldly point of view. But her husband was const.i.tutionally lazy, and was never disposed to do more than was needful.

Mrs. Mudge was in a bad humor that morning. One of the cows had got into the garden through a gap in the fence, and made sad havoc among the cabbages. Now if Mrs. Mudge had a weakness, it was for cabbages. She was excessively fond of them, and had persuaded her husband to set out a large number of plants from which she expected a large crop. They were planted in one corner of the garden, adjoining a piece of land, which, since mowing, had been used for pasturing the cows. There was a weak place in the fence separating the two inclosures, and this Mrs. Mudge had requested her husband to attend to. He readily promised this, and Mrs. Mudge supposed it done, until that same morning, her sharp eyes had detected old Brindle munching the treasured cabbages with a provoking air of enjoyment. The angry lady seized a broom, and repaired quickly to the scene of devastation. Brindle scented the danger from afar, and beat a disorderly retreat, trampling down the cabbages which she had hitherto spared. Leaping over the broken fence, she had just cleared the gap as the broom-handle, missing her, came forcibly down upon the rail, and was snapped in sunder by the blow.

Here was a new vexation. Brindle had not only escaped scot-free, but the broom, a new one, bought only the week before, was broken.

"It's a plaguy shame," said Mrs. Mudge, angrily. "There's my best broom broken; cost forty-two cents only last week."

She turned and contemplated the scene of devastation. This yielded her little consolation.

"At least thirty cabbages destroyed by that scamp of a cow," she exclaimed in a tone bordering on despair. "I wish I'd a hit her. If I'd broken my broom over her back I wouldn't a cared so much. And it's all Mudge's fault. He's the most shiftless man I ever see. I'll give him a dressing down, see if I don't."

Mrs. Mudge's eyes snapped viciously, and she clutched the relics of the broom with a degree of energy which rendered it uncertain what sort of a dressing down she intended for her husband.

Ten minutes after she had re-entered the kitchen, the luckless man made his appearance. He wore his usual look, little dreaming of the storm that awaited him.

"I'm glad you've come," said Mrs. Mudge, grimly.

"What's amiss, now?" inquired Mudge, for he understood her look.

"What's amiss?" blazed Mrs. Mudge. "I'll let you know. Do you see this?"

She seized the broken broom and flourished it in his face.

"Broken your broom, have you? You must have been careless."

"Careless, was I?" demanded Mrs. Mudge, sarcastically. "Yes, of course, it's always I that am in fault."

"You haven't broken it over the back of any of the paupers, have you?"

asked her husband, who, knowing his helpmeet's infirmity of temper, thought it possible she might have indulged in such an amus.e.m.e.nt.

"If I had broken it over anybody's back it would have been yours," said the lady.

"Mine! what have I been doing?"

"It's what you haven't done," said Mrs. Mudge. "You're about the laziest and most shiftless man I ever came across."

"Come, what does all this mean?" demanded Mr. Mudge, who was getting a little angry in his turn.

"I'll let you know. Just look out of that window, will you?"

"Well," said Mr. Mudge, innocently, "I don't see anything in particular."

"You don't!" said Mrs. Mudge with withering sarcasm. "Then you'd better put on your gla.s.ses. If you'd been here quarter of an hour ago, you'd have seen Brindle among the cabbages."

"Did she do any harm?" asked Mr. Mudge, hastily.

"There's scarcely a cabbage left," returned Mrs. Mudge, purposely exaggerating the mischief done.

"If you had mended that fence, as I told you to do, time and again, it wouldn't have happened."

"You didn't tell me but once," said Mr. Mudge, trying to get up a feeble defence.

"Once should have been enough, and more than enough. You expect me to slave myself to death in the house, and see to all your work besides.

If I'd known what a lazy, shiftless man you were, at the time I married you, I'd have cut off my right hand first."

By this time Mr. Mudge had become angry.

"If you hadn't married me, you'd a died an old maid," he retorted.

This was too much for Mrs. Mudge to bear. She s.n.a.t.c.hed the larger half of the broom, and fetched it down with considerable emphasis upon the back of her liege lord, who, perceiving that her temper was up, retreated hastily from the kitchen; as he got into the yard he descried Brindle, whose appet.i.te had been whetted by her previous raid, re-entering the garden through the gap.

It was an unfortunate attempt on the part of Brindle. Mr. Mudge, angry with his wife, and smarting with the blow from the broomstick, determined to avenge himself upon the original cause of all the trouble.

Revenge suggested craft. He seized a hoe, and crept stealthily to the cabbage-plot. Brindle, whose back was turned, did not perceive his approach, until she felt a shower of blows upon her back. Confused at the unexpected attack she darted wildly away, forgetting the gap in the fence, and raced at random over beds of vegetables, uprooting beets, parsnips, and turnips, while Mr. Mudge, mad with rage, followed close in her tracks, hitting her with the hoe whenever he got a chance.

Brindle galloped through the yard, and out at the open gate. Thence she ran up the road at the top of her speed, with Mr. Mudge still pursuing her.

It may be mentioned here that Mr. Mudge was compelled to chase the terrified cow over two miles before he succeeded with the help of a neighbor in capturing her. All this took time. Meanwhile Mrs. Mudge at home was subjected to yet another trial of her temper.

It has already been mentioned that Squire Newcome was Chairman of the Overseers of the Poor. In virtue of his office, he was expected to exercise a general supervision over the Almshouse and its management.

It was his custom to call about once a month to look after matters, and ascertain whether any official action or interference was needed.