  Twelve o'clock was the dinner hour at Mr. Huxter's. John and he met once more, but the dispute between them was not renewed. John was deliberating as to what course he should pursue. Mr. Huxter was secretly exulting in having defeated John's attempt to communicate with his friends, little suspecting that John knew all about it. So on the whole he was pleasanter than usual, and allowed his young guest to eat in peace. Mrs. Huxter was glad to notice this change in his conduct, though she hardly dared to hope that it would continue. "So you took a walk this morning, Oakley?" said Mr. Huxter. "Yes, sir." "Where did you go?" "I went to the top of the hill behind the tavern." "How do you like our village?" "I can't tell yet. I haven't got sufficiently acquainted." "You'll have chance enough before you get through," said Mr. Huxter, significantly. John understood this very well; but did not see fit to show that he did so. He did not wish to provoke a quarrel. "I am going to write to my sister this afternoon," said Mr. Huxter. "Perhaps you'd like to send a message." "Thank you," said John; "I don't think of any message just at present." "You wouldn't like to send your love to Ben, would you?" asked Mr. Huxter, jocosely. "I don't think I should," said John, quietly. "There isn't much love lost between you two, I reckon." "We are not very good friends," said John, in the same quiet tone. "I'm sure it's no wonder," said Mrs. Huxter; "Ben was always a troublesome, headstrong boy." "Let me tell you, Mrs. Huxter," said her husband, sharply, "it doesn't look very well in you to run down your own relations." Mrs. Huxter thought it prudent not to reply. "Let me see," said Mr. Huxter, as they rose from Here was a disclosure for John. He had understood that he was to board with Mr. Huxter. Now it appeared that the latter intended to set him to work. Had he any authority for doing so, and what was John's duty under the circumstances. He wished earnestly that he were able to consult Squire Selwyn without delay, and this reminded him that his letter had not yet gone. It would be useless to leave it again at the village post-office. It must go from some other. John had all the afternoon before him, and if the next town were not too far off, he determined to walk over and post his letter there. Not wishing Mr. Huxter to have any clue to his plans, he decided to obtain the necessary information, not from Mrs. Huxter, though he did not doubt her willingness to give it, but from some other person. He went out into the road, and began to walk slowly in a direction opposite to that which he had taken in the morning. It was the stage road he knew, and was probably the most direct route to the next town. Our hero had walked about three-quarters of a mile, when he heard a loud clattering sound behind him. "Hallo!" he called out. "Hold on a minute." "Whoa!" shouted the boy, and brought his horse to a stop. "Are you going to the next village?" inquired John. "To Milbank, you mean?" "Yes," said John, who was not quite sure whether he meant it or not, but was willing to take the risk. "Yes, I'm going there. Don't you want a ride?" "That's just what I was going to ask. I'm willing to pay for it." "I don't want any pay," said the boy; "I'd rather have company than go alone." "How far is Milbank?" "It's a pretty good piece,—most five miles." John was glad he had not attempted to walk. "You don't live round here, do you?" asked John's new acquaintance. "No." "I thought I hadn't seen you. Whereabouts are you stayin'?" "At Mr. Huxter's." "Is he a relation of yours?" asked the boy, looking at John with interest. "No, he isn't," said John, hastily, unwilling for a moment to have it supposed that there was any such tie between him and his temporary host. "Are you going to stay long?" John was not surprised at these questions, for in the country, where he had always lived, it was the rule to be inquisitive about other people's affairs, and he felt that he ought to make some return for his ride. "I don't think I shall," he said. He would like to have replied decidedly in the negative; but he felt that he was by no means certain about the length of his stay. "How do you like Huxter?" asked his new acquaintance, with rather a comical look. "I've seen men I liked better," said John, smiling. "Shouldn't wonder," said the other. "He gets awful tight sometimes." "It is a pity," said John, "for Mrs. Huxter seems to be a good sort of a woman, and it must be hard on her." "It would be hard for any woman to have such a husband. I don't know Mrs. Huxter much, but I John, whose curiosity was somewhat excited, gave the required promise. "You see," continued his informant, "I was walking along with George Sprague one afternoon, when we came across old Huxter lying side of the road as drunk as he could be. George is rather a wild boy, and always up to some mischief or other. That afternoon he happened to have a little red paint, which he had got at the painter's shop for his father to use. As soon as we saw old Huxter snoring away, George winked to me, and said, 'Huxter's nose is red, but I've a great mind to make it a little redder. I should like to see how the old fellow will look.' With that he took out his brush, and touched Huxter's nose with it lightly, making it as red as a brick. I was afraid he would wake up and chase us, for he's pretty violent when he's drunk; but he was too far gone, and never stirred. George took the paint home, and then we came out to see if Huxter had gone home. We found he had, and we afterwards heard how the trick came out." "When he got home and went into the kitchen, Mrs. Huxter screamed as soon as she saw him. "'What's the matter with you?' he growled. "'O Mr. Huxter!' she said, clasping her hands, 'I knew that drinking would be the ruin of you.' "'Then you're a fool,' he said. 'Drinking a little now and then don't do me any harm; but you're a woman, and have no more sense than a kitten.' "'You don't believe me, look at your nose,' said his wife. "'What's the matter with my nose?' asked old Huxter, a little surprised. "'Look at it, and you won't be surprised at my words.' "With that Huxter did look, and when he saw his nose glaring red, he was pretty well frightened, I can tell you. He had no more suspicion than his wife that any one had been playing a trick upon him, and he was afraid that his nose would always be so. He got frightened and went to bed, and then asked his wife to go for the doctor." "Did the doctor tell him how it was?" "No; he thought it would do him no harm to be frightened a little; so he lectured him about his habits, but told him that he thought he could cure him this time by using a warm lotion. It was nothing "The fright had such an effect upon him that he didn't drink anything for a whole week. Then he began again, and got bolder by degrees, till now he's as bad as ever." "How did you find out how the doctor treated the case?" "Because George Sprague is the doctor's son. The doctor told all about it at home as a good joke. George heard it all, but never breathed a word to his father about his being the one that painted Huxter's nose. The doctor didn't say anything to George, but he looked at him rather queerly, as if he had some suspicion. It was a good joke,—wasn't it?" "It would have turned out pretty well if it had stopped Mr. Huxter's drinking." "Nothing will do that. He's a pretty hard case But you mustn't say a word about what I've been telling you. It would get George and me into trouble." "No, I won't say anything about it." "Where do you live?" "In Hampton." "Whereabouts is that? Is it far from here?" "About eighty miles, I should think. It lies to the north." "Is it a pleasant place?" "I think so; but then I was born there, you know, and perhaps that is the reason I think so." "Well, I was born in Jackson, but I don't think much of it. I guess we'll move away next spring. Father talks of selling his farm. What is your name?" "My name is John Oakley." "And mine is David Wallace." The boys now felt thoroughly acquainted, and chatted together on a variety of subjects, such as interest boys. While they were in the midst of their conversation, they came to a grist-mill. "I must stop here about ten minutes, to leave my grain," said David. "The village is a mile further on. If you'll wait I'll carry you there afterwards." "I don't want you to go just on my account," said John. "I am going there any way," said David. "There are better stores at Milbank than at home, and mother asked me to buy her two or three things. So you can come as well as not, and ride back too, if you don't want to stay long." "Thank you, David," said John. "I shall be glad to accept your offer. It's rather hot walking, and I shan't want to stop but a few minutes. Shall you go anywhere near the post-office?" "Close by." "I'll just run in there a minute." "Have you got anything else to do?" "No." "You didn't set out to walk just to go to the Milbank post-office, did you?" asked David, in some surprise. "I had a letter to mail." "Couldn't you mail it at our post-office?" "Yes, I could; but it wouldn't go." "Why not?" "I've a great mind to tell you. You told me one secret, and I'll tell you another, but on the same condition,—you won't tell anybody?" "I wish I may have my head chopped off if I do," said David, earnestly. John felt sure that he could trust his new acquaintance, though they had so recently been brought to the knowledge of each other, and he wanted somebody to confide in. So he gave David Wallace a general idea of his story, not mentioning, however, the will, as he could see no advantage in so doing. "So Huxter thinks you don't know anything of his having stopped your letter?" "I am sure he does not." "It's a good joke on him. He will never think of your coming so far to mail a letter." Part of this conversation took place after they had left the mill, and were driving towards Milbank. They were soon in the village. It was a much larger and pleasanter place than Jackson, and much more important also, being the county seat, and therefore having a court-house and a jail. John looked around him with interest, and did not dream how lucky he was in taking this journey on this particular afternoon. |
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