Running To Waste. Baker George Melville
Aunt Hulda; don’t bring up that matter now,” said Mrs. Sleeper.
“Why not?” said Aunt Hulda, whose neuralgia was working her temper up to a high pitch. “When folks come to other folks’s houses to tell ’em how to train up their children, it’s high time they looked to home.”
“I brought up my son to obey his father in everything, and there wasn’t a better boy in the town.”
“I want to know! He was dreadful nice when you had him under your thumb, for you was so strict with him he darsn’t say his soul was his own; but he made up for it when he got loose. Sech capers! He made a tom-boy of our Becky, and was jest as full of mischief as he could stick.”
“No matter about my son, Hulda Prime; he’s out of the way now.”
“Yes; cos you wanted to put him to a trade after he’d been through the academy. He didn’t like that, and started off to get a college education, and you shut the door agin him, and you locked up your money, and vowed he should starve afore you’d help him. But they do say he’s been through Harvard College in spite of yer.”
“Hulda Prime, you’re a meddlin’ old woman,” roared the captain, thoroughly enraged, “and it’s a pity somebody didn’t start you off years ago – hangin’ round where you ain’t wanted.”
“I never hung round your house much – did I, cap’n?” cried Aunt Hulda, with a triumphant grin, which evidently started the neuralgic pains, for she sank back with a groan.
While this passage of tongues was going on inside the house, Miss Becky appeared in the road, mounted on Uncle Ned, who looked rather jaded, as though he had been put to a hard gallop. Flinging herself from his back she entered the door, when the form of Captain Thompson, braced in the kitchen door-way, – which position he had not forsaken even in the height of debate, – met her eyes. Her first thought was to regain the safe companionship of Uncle Ned; but a desire to know what was going on overcame her sense of danger, and she gently lifted the latch of the door which opened to the garret stairs, and stepped inside. The warlike parties in the kitchen covered her retreat with the clamor of their tongues.
“Now, Delia, I want you to listen to reason,” continued the captain, turning from the vanquished spinster to the silent woman, who had kept busily at work during the combat. “You’re too easy with them children. They want a strong hand to keep them in line. Now you know I’m a good friend to you and yours; and though Cyrus Sleeper treated me rather shabbily – ”
“My gracious! hear that man talk!” blurted out Aunt Hulda. “It’s no such thing, and you know it. You made more money out of his Californy speculation with that air ship than you ever made afore in your life.”
“Will you be quiet, woman?” roared the captain. “I ain’t talkin’ to you, and don’t want any of your meddlin’.”
“Aunt Hulda, don’t interrupt, please,” said Mrs. Sleeper; “let’s hear what the captain has to say.”
“Then let him talk sense. The idea of Cyrus Sleeper’s ever treating anybody shabby! It’s ridikerlous!” growled Aunt Hulda, as she returned to her neuralgic nursing.
“The young ones want a strict hand over ’em,” continued the captain, when quiet was restored again. “I’m willing to take part charge of them, if you’ll let me. They must be sent to school.”
“I can’t afford it, captain. I couldn’t send ’em last year. You know the money’s most gone,” said Mrs. Sleeper.
“I know its all gone, Delia. What you’ve been drawing the last year is from my own pocket. But no matter for that. Drinkwater opens the school Monday. I’ll send the children there, and pay the bills. It’s time something was done for their education; and I’ll be a father to them, as they’re not likely to have another very soon.”
“Don’t say that, don’t say that! Cyrus will come back – I know he will.”
“If he’s alive. But don’t be too hopeful. There’s been a heap of mortality among the miners; and if he’s alive, we should have heard from him afore this. Chances are agin him. So you’d better be resigned. Yes, you’d better give him up, put on mourning for a year, and then look round, for the money’s gone.”
“Give up my husband!” cried Mrs. Sleeper, with energy. “No, no. He will come back; I feel, I know he will. He would never desert me; and if he died, – O, Heaven, no, no! – if he died, he would find some way to send his last words to me. No, no, don’t say give him up. I cannot, I cannot!” and the poor woman burst into tears.
“Wal, I never!” cried Aunt Hulda. “Look round, indeed! Why, it’s bigamy, rank bigamy!”
“Well, well,” said the captain, quickly, anxious to avoid another battle, “do as you please about that; but let’s give the children a good bringing up. They’ve got to earn their own living, and the sooner they get a little learning the better.”
“The children should go to school, captain, I know,” said Mrs. Sleeper; “but I’m afraid they will not take kindly to the change.”
“I’ll make ’em, then. It’s time they were broke, and I flatter myself I’m able to bring ’em under control. But make no interference with my plans. Once begun, they must stick to school. It’s for their good, you know.”
“Very well, captain; I consent; only be easy with them at first.”
“O, I’ll be easy enough, never fear, if they mind me; if not, they must take the consequences. So, next Monday fix ’em up, and I’ll take ’em over, and talk to Drinkwater.”
“I’ll have them all ready, captain, and thank you for the trouble you’re taking,” said Mrs. Sleeper.
“Now, mind! no interference from you or Hulda. If there is – ”
“Don’t fret yourself about me, cap’n. Mercy knows I’ve trouble enough of my own. I declare, there’s that lumbago comin’ on agin,” groaned Aunt Hulda.
The captain seemed highly delighted at the prospect of a change in the condition of his enemy, and, with a triumphant smile, backed into the entry.
“Hallo! there’s my horse, reeking with sweat. Where is that imp of mischief?” thundered the exasperated captain. “If I catch her – ”
“Here I am, cap’n. Clear the coast! Ha, ha, ha! Hooray!”
The voice came from the garret. There was a thundering racket on the stairs, a crash against the door, which flew open, and Becky, seated in an old cradle without rockers, burst into the entry. Tired of listening, she had searched the garret for sport, had dragged this old emblem of infancy from its hiding-place to the head of the stairs, seated herself in it, and, regardless of consequences, started for a slide.
It was a reckless act. As the door flew open, the cradle struck the captain’s shins, throwing him backwards, and pitching Becky out of the front door on to the grass. The captain scrambled to his feet, furious with pain and choler. Becky regained hers quickly and started for the barn, the captain in hot pursuit. Another stern chase. The captain soon desisted, mounted his horse, and rode away, while Miss Becky perched herself on the rickety fence, and saluted the captain’s ears, as he rode down the hill, with the refrain of the well-known song, “O, dear, what can the matter be?”
CHAPTER III.
MRS. THOMPSON’S CROSS
The captain cantered home in no enviable state of mind. His mission had been successful, in as much as he had gained Mrs. Sleeper’s consent to his plan for “tying up” her children. Otherwise he felt unhappy regarding the events of the day. There were still stinging pains in his ankles and back to remind him of Miss Becky’s exploit, and the shrill, sarcastic voice of Hulda Prime still rang in his ears. That so miserable a creature as he considered her should have dared to criticise his conduct was peculiarly mortifying to his pride. Aunt Hulda had, indeed, spoken boldly. He was, undoubtedly the greatest man in Cleverly. Senior deacon in the church, moderator at town meetings,