John took his place at the supper-table as usual; but neither Mrs. Oakley nor Ben, though they spoke freely to each other, had a word to say to him. If John had been conscious of deserving such neglect, he would have felt disturbed; but as he felt that all the blame for what had occurred rested with Ben and his mother, he ate with his usual appetite, and did not appear in the least troubled by their silence, nor by the scornful looks which from time to time Mrs. Oakley directed towards him. After supper he went up into his little room, and prepared his lesson in Virgil for the next day. He was at the head of his class, and was resolved to let no troubles at home interfere with his faithful preparation of his lessons.

Ben did not attend school. In fact, he was not very partial to study, and though Squire Oakley had offered to bear his expenses at the academy, and afterwards at college, Ben had persuaded his mother that his health was not firm enough to undertake a long course of study. While, therefore, John was occupied daily for several hours at the academy, Ben had lived like a gentleman of leisure, spending considerable time at the billiard rooms in the village, and in lounging on the hotel piazza. He managed to get through considerable money, but his mother had always kept him well supplied.

Although he did not wish to go to college himself, he did not fancy the idea of John's going, since this would increase the superiority of the latter over him. He knew very well that a liberal education would give John a certain position and influence which he was not likely to attain, and he determined to prevent his obtaining it. When, therefore, John had gone to school the next morning, Ben attacked his mother on the subject.

"Are you going to send John to college, mother?" he asked.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I don't want him to go."

"Why not?"

"He'll put on no end of airs if he goes, and turn up his nose at me, because I don't happen to know so much about Latin and Greek, and such rigmarole."

"I wish you would make up your mind to go to college, Ben," said his mother, earnestly, for she was very ambitious for her son.

"It's of no use, mother. I'm seventeen, and it would take three years to get ready, and hard study at that."

"You have studied Latin already."

"I don't remember anything about it. I should have to begin all over again."

"Well," said Mrs. Oakley, reluctantly giving up the idea, "you might study law without going to college."

"I don't think I should like to be a lawyer. It's too hard work."

"You needn't be, but you could go to the Law School, and study long enough to get a degree. You would make some aristocratic acquaintances, and it would be an honorable profession to belong to."

"Well," said Ben, "I don't know but I'll enter the Law School in a year, or two. There is no hurry. I suppose you'll give me enough money so that I won't have to earn my living? I say, mother, how much property did old Oakley leave?"

Considering the obligations under which Mrs. Oakley was placed to her late husband it might have been supposed that she would reprove Ben for the disrespectful manner in which he spoke of him; but, as may be guessed, she cared nothing for her husband, except for what she could get out of him, and was not in the least disturbed by the manner in which Ben referred to him.

"This house and the land around it," she said, "are estimated at ten thousand dollars. There are, besides, stocks, bonds, and mortgages to the amount of fifty thousand dollars."

"Sixty thousand dollars in all!" exclaimed Ben, his eyes sparkling. "You're quite a rich woman, mother."

"Yes," said Mrs. Oakley, complacently, "I suppose I am."

"It's a little different from when you came here four years ago on a salary of twenty dollars a month. You were pretty hard up, then."

"Yes, Ben, but we can hold up our heads with anybody now."

"I say, mother," said Ben, persuasively, "as I'm your only son, I think you might give me ten thousand dollars right out. You'd have fifty thousand left."

Mrs. Oakley shook her head.

"You're too young, Ben," she said. "Some time or other you shall be well provided for."

"I'm seventeen," grumbled Ben. "I'm old enough to look after property."

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Ben," said Mrs. Oakley. "I will give you an allowance of ten dollars a week from now till you are twenty-one. Then, if you behave well, I will make over to you twenty thousand dollars."

"You might say thirty. You're not saving a third for John Oakley, are you?"

Mrs. Oakley's face hardened.

"No," she said; "he's been too insolent to me. I suppose I must give him something, but he shall never have a third."

"Five hundred dollars will be enough for him," said Ben, with contemptible meanness, considering that but for the accident of his father's second marriage the whole property—one hundred and twenty times as much—would have gone to John.

"I can't tell you how much he will get," said Mrs. Oakley. "It depends on how he behaves. If he had treated us with greater respect, his chances would be a great deal better."

"He's a proud upstart!"

"But his pride shall be broken. I'm determined upon that."

"Then you won't send him to college? That would make him prouder still. Besides," added Ben, his habitual meanness suggesting the thought, "it costs a good deal to keep a fellow at college."

"No," said Mrs. Oakley, "he shan't go to college."

"Good!" said Ben, his eyes sparkling; "that will be a bitter pill for him, for he wants to go."

"How soon would he be ready?"

"In about a year."

"You may set your mind at rest on that point. He shan't go."

"All right, mother. When are you going to pay me my allowance?" he said, insinuatingly.

Mrs. Oakley took out her purse, and placed a ten-dollar bill in his hand.

"That's for the first week," she said.

"Couldn't you make it fifteen, mother?"

"No, ten must do for the present."

"Are you going to allow John anything?"

"He doesn't deserve anything. When he does, I will allow him fifty cents a week."

Ben strolled over to the billiard rooms, and spent the forenoon playing billiards with another young fellow as idle and unpromising as himself. He then walked over to the hotel, and bought a dozen cigars, one of which he began to smoke. At one o'clock he returned home to dinner. John was not present at this meal. The intermission between morning and afternoon schools at the academy was but an hour, and he had been accustomed to carry his lunch with him. He was not released until four o'clock in the afternoon.

"Well, mother," said Ben, "how about the horse? Are you going to give up to John?"

"Certainly not; you may consider the horse yours," said Mrs. Oakley.

"John'll make a fuss."

"Let him," said Mrs. Oakley. "He'll find that I can make a fuss too."

"I'll go out to ride this afternoon," said Ben, with satisfaction. "I'll get started just before four o'clock, so as to meet John on his way from school. He'll look mad enough when he sees me;" and Ben laughed, as he fancied John's looks.

"It is a very good plan," said Mrs. Oakley, approvingly. "We'll see if he dares to interfere with you again."

The more Ben thought of it, the better he was pleased with this plan. All the academy boys knew that the horse was John's, and they would now see him upon it. He would be likely to meet many of them, and this would make John's humiliation the greater. At half-past three he went out to the barn.

"Mike," he said, to the hostler, "you may saddle Prince. I am going to ride out."

"Master John's horse?"

"No, my horse."

"Your horse, sir? Prince belongs to Master John."

"How dare you stand there contradicting me?" said Ben, haughtily. "The horse is mine. My mother has given it to me."

"It's a shame, then," said Mike to himself, "for Master John sets a sight by that horse. The old woman's mighty queer."

It was lucky for Mike that Mrs. Oakley was not aware of the disrespectful term applied to her in Mike's thoughts, or he would probably have been discharged at short notice. But the fact was, that none of the servants liked her. Feeling a little doubtful of her own position, she always spoke to them in a haughty tone, as if they were far beneath her, and this, instead of increasing their respect, only diminished it.

Mike saddled Prince, and led him out into the yard.

"You must be careful, Master Ben," he said. "The horse has got a spirit of his own, and he isn't used to you."

Ben was a poor horseman, and he knew it; but he was too proud to admit it to Mike.

"Don't trouble yourself," he said, haughtily. "If John can manage him, I can."

"He's used to Master John."

"Well, he's got to get used to me," said Ben. "If he don't behave well it will be the worse for him. You haven't given me the whip."

"You'd better not use it much, Master Ben. He won't stand a whip very well."

"Keep your advice till it is asked for," said Ben.

"All right, sir," said Mike, and handed him the whip. He followed him with his eyes as he rode out of the yard. "He don't sit like Master John. It wouldn't take much to throw him off. However, I've warned him, and he must have his own way if he breaks his neck."

Although Ben had spurned Mike's warning with so much disdain, he thought of it as he rode up the street, and let Prince take his own gait. The truth was, he did not feel very secure in his seat, and did not feel very much confidence in his own horsemanship. Indeed, he would not have cared to ride out this afternoon, but for the anticipated pleasure of mortifying John.

He rode leisurely along, taking the direction of the academy, which was nearly a mile distant. He looked at his watch, and estimated that he would meet the pupils of the academy as they emerged from school.

He was right in his reckoning. At precisely four o'clock there was a bustle about the doors, and with merry shouts the boys poured out into the street. Among them were John Oakley and Sam Selwyn, who, as intimate friends and classmates, generally were found in company. They turned up the street which led by Mr. Selwyn's office, and in the direction of John Oakley's home.

"John," said Sam, suddenly, "I do believe that is Ben Brayton riding on your horse."

John looked up the street, and saw that Sam was right.

"You are right, Sam," he said.

"Did you tell him he might ride on it?"

"No."

"Then what business has he with it?"

"His mother told him he might take it. She has taken it from me."

"She's an old—"

"Don't call names, Sam. I'll tell you more about it another time."

Meanwhile Ben had seen the boys coming from the academy. Among others he recognized John and Sam, and his eyes flashed with anticipated triumph. Hitherto he had been content to let the horse go on at his own rate, but now he thought it was time to make a display. He thought it would annoy John to have him dash by at gallant speed, while he, the rightful owner, was obliged to stand out of the path, unable to interfere. He therefore brought the whip down with considerable emphasis upon Prince's side. Unfortunately he had not foreseen the consequences of the blow. Prince took the bit between his teeth, and darted forward with reckless speed, while Ben, seeing his mistake too late, pale and terrified, threw his arms around the horse's neck, and tried to keep his seat.

John started forward, also in alarm, for though he had no reason to like Ben, he did not want him to be hurt, and called "Prince!"

The horse recognized his master's voice, and stopped suddenly,—so suddenly that Ben was thrown off, and landed in a puddle of standing water in a gully by the side of the road. Prince stopped quietly for his master to come up.

"Are you hurt, Ben?" asked John, hurrying up.

Ben rose from the puddle in sorry plight. He was only a little bruised, but he was drenched from head to foot with dirty water, and patches of yellow mud adhered to his clothes.

"You did this!" he said, furiously to John.

"You are entirely mistaken. I hope you are not hurt," said John, calmly.

"You frightened the horse on purpose."

"That's a lie, Ben," said Sam, indignantly. "It's a lie, and you know it."

"I understand it all. You don't deceive me," said Ben, doggedly.

"Will you ride home?" asked John.

Ben refused. In fact, he was afraid to trust himself again on Prince's back.

"Then I suppose I must." And John sprang lightly upon the horse's back, and rode towards home, followed by Ben in his soiled clothes.

Mrs. Oakley, looking from her window, beheld, with wondering anger, John riding into the yard, and her son following in his soiled clothes.

"What's he been doing to Ben?" she thought, and hurried downstairs in a furious rage.