The Corner House Girls at School Part 36

"Of that tattling business?" snapped Neale.

"No. Not so much that the paper speaks well of you, but because of your ability to do such a thing," said the oldest Corner House girl. "It isn't every boy that could do it."

"I should hope not!" growled Neale, emphatically. "Let me tell you," he added, angrily, "the reason I can do such things is the reason why I am such an ignorant fellow--and so far behind other chaps of my age."

And that is the nearest Neale had ever come to saying anything directly about his old life. That it had been hard, and unpleasant, and that he had been denied the benefits of schooling were about all the facts the girls had gathered, even now.

After that Neale seemed more afraid than ever of meeting somebody on the public streets. Agnes and Ruth knew that he never went out evenings, save to climb over the fence and come to the old Corner House.

He was spending more time at his books, having earned a nice little sum during the winter taking care of furnaces and shoveling paths. That work was past now, and he said he had enough money to keep him comfortably until the end of the school year.

It was another Sat.u.r.day. Neale had driven out into the country for a neighbor, but had promised to come to the old Corner House about four o'clock. Almost always he took supper Sat.u.r.day evening with the girls.

Mrs. MacCall usually had fishcakes and baked beans, and Neale was extravagantly fond of that homely New England combination.

As it chanced, none of the four Kenways but Ruth went shopping that afternoon. It was warm enough for Tess and Dot to have their dolls out in the summer-house. They had set up house-keeping there for the season and were very busy.

Agnes had found a book that she enjoyed immensely, and she was wrapped up in an old coat and hidden in a crotch of the Baldwin appletree behind the woodshed. She was so deeply absorbed that she did not wake to the click of the gate-latch and did not realize there was a stranger in the yard until she heard a heavy boot on the brick walk.

"h.e.l.lo, my gal!" said a rough voice. "Ain't none of the folks to home?"

Agnes dropped the book and sprang down from the appletree in a hurry.

There at the corner of the shed stood a man in varnished top boots, with spurs in the heels--great, cruel looking spurs--velveteen breeches, a short, dirty white flannel coat, and a hard hat--something between a stovepipe and a derby. Agnes realized that it was some kind of a riding costume that he wore, and he lashed his bootleg with his riding whip as he talked.

He was such a red-faced man, and he was so stout and rough looking, that Agnes scarcely knew how to speak to him. She noted, too, that he had a big seal ring on one finger and that a heavy gold watchchain showed against his waistcoat where the short jacket was cut away.

"Who--who are you?" Agnes managed to stammer at last. "And what do you want?"

"Why, I'm Sorber, I am," said the man. "Sorber, of Twomley & Sorber's Herculean Circus and Menagerie. And my errand here is to git hold of a chap that's run away from me and my partner. I hear he's in Milton, and I come over from our winter quarters, out o' which we're going to git instanter, Miss; and they tells me down to that newspaper office that I kin find him here.

"Now, Miss, where is that 'circus boy' as they call him? Neale Sorber--that's his name. And I'm goin' to take him away with me."

CHAPTER XXIII

TAMING A LION TAMER

Agnes was both frightened and angry as she listened to the man in the topboots. He was such a coa.r.s.e, rude fellow (or so she decided on the instant) that she found herself fairly hating him!

Beside, she was well aware that he referred to Neale O'Neil. He had come for Neale. He threatened to beat Neale with every snap of his heavy riding whip along the leg of his shiny boots. He was a beast!

That is what Agnes told herself. She was quick to jump at conclusions; but she was not quick to be disloyal to her friends.

Nor was she frightened long; especially not when she was angry. She would not tremble before this man, and she gained complete control of herself ere she spoke again. She was not going to deliver Neale O'Neil into his hands by any mistake of speech--no, indeed!

The name of Twomley & Sorter's Herculean Circus and Menagerie struck a cord of memory in Agnes' mind. It was one of the two shows that had exhibited at Milton the season before.

This man said that Neale had run away from this show. He claimed his name was really Neale Sorber!

And all the time Neale had denied any knowledge of circuses. Or, _had_ he done just that? Agnes' swift thought asked the question and answered it. Neale had denied ever having attended a circus as a spectator. That might easily be true!

Agnes' voice was quite unshaken as she said to the red-faced man: "I don't think the person you are looking for is here, sir."

"Oh, yes he is! can't fool me," said the circus man, a.s.suredly. "Young scamp! He run away from his lawful guardeens and protectors. I'll show him!" and he snapped the whiplash savagely again.

"He sha'n't show him in _that_ way if I can help it," thought Agnes. But all she said aloud was: "There is no boy living here."

"Heh? how's that, Miss?" said Sorber, suspiciously.

Agnes repeated her statement.

"But you know where he does hang out?" said Sorber, slily, "I'll be bound!"

"I don't know that I do," Agnes retorted, desperately. "And if I did know, I wouldn't tell you!"

The man struck his riding boot sharply again. "What's that? what's that?" he growled.

Agnes' pluck was rising. "I'm not afraid of you--so there!" she said, bobbing her head at him.

"Why, bless you, Miss!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Sorber. "I should hope not. I wouldn't hurt you for a farm Down East with a pig on it--no, Ma'am! We keep whips for the backs of runaways--not for pretty little ladies like you."

"You wouldn't _dare_ beat Neale O'Neil!" gasped Agnes.

"Ah-ha?" exclaimed the man. "'Neale O'Neil?' Then you do know him?"

Agnes was stricken dumb with apprehension. Her anger had betrayed Neale, she feared.

"So that's what he calls himself, is it?" repeated Sorber. "O'Neil was his father's name. I didn't think he would remember."

"We can't be talking about the same boy," blurted out Agnes, trying to cover her "bad break." "You say his name is Sorber."

"Oh, he could take any name. I thought maybe he'd call himself 'Jakeway.' He was called 'Master Jakeway' on the bills and he'd oughter be proud of the name. We had too many Sorbers in the show. Sorber, ringmaster and lion tamer--that's _me_, Miss. Sully Sorber, first clown--that's my half brother, Miss. William Sorber is treasurer and ticket seller--under bonds, Miss. He's my own brother. And--until a few years ago--there was Neale's mother. She was my own sister."

Agnes had begun to be very curious. And while he was talking, the girl was looking Sorber over for a second time.

He was not all bad! Of that Agnes began to be sure. Yet he wanted to beat Neale O'Neil for running away from a circus.

To tell the truth, Agnes could scarcely understand how a boy could so dislike circus life as to really _want_ to run away from even Twomley & Sorber's Herculean Circus and Menagerie. There was a glitter and tinsel to the circus that ever appealed to Agnes herself!

Personally Mr. Sorber lost none of his coa.r.s.eness on longer acquaintance, but now Agnes noticed that there were humorous wrinkles about his eyes, and an upward twist to the corners of his mouth. She believed after all he might be good-natured.

Could she help Neale in any way by being friendly with this man? She could try. There was a rustic bench under the Baldwin tree.

"Won't you sit down, Mr. Sorber?" suggested Agnes, politely.

"Don't care if I do, Miss," declared the showman, and took an end of the bench, leaving the other end invitingly open, but Agnes leaned against the tree trunk and watched him.