Luck and Pluck. Alger Horatio Jr.
suppose I ought to consider it lucky that you paid any attention to my words," said Mrs. Oakley.
"I hope I have not failed in proper respect," said John.
"It was very respectful in you to ride off with the horse, when I had told Ben he might use it."
"It was my horse," said John, firmly. "If Ben wanted it, he might ask me."
"Ask you, indeed!" repeated Ben, scornfully; "you won't catch me doing that."
"It was enough that I told him that he might ride. Didn't he tell you that?"
"Yes."
"Then what right had you to refuse?"
"The horse is mine," said John. "It was given me by my father."
"He allowed you to use it."
"He gave it to me. At the same time he gave Ben a watch, which he is wearing now. He has no more right to demand my horse than I have to claim his watch."
"You seem to forget," said Mrs. Oakley, coldly, "that your father saw fit to leave me his property. The horse forms a part of that property, and belongs to me, and it is for me to say who shall ride on it. Ben, you may ride on the horse to-morrow."
"Do you hear that?" demanded Ben, triumphantly, looking towards John.
"I suppose," said John, quietly, "you will order Ben to let me have his watch to-morrow."
"I shall do no such thing," said Mrs. Oakley, sharply, "and it is impudent in you to ask such a thing."
"I don't see why it isn't fair," said John. "It appears to me rather mean in Ben to want both, and leave me neither."
"That is for me to decide," said Mrs. Oakley. "There is one thing more I have to speak to you about. My son tells me you were brutal enough to strike him with the whip. Do you deny that?"
"I never deny what's true."
"Then you did strike him."
"Yes, I struck him twice."
"And you have the impudence to stand there, and say it to my face!"
"You asked me, and I have answered you. I don't see why that should be called impudent."
"You glory in your disgraceful action," said Mrs. Oakley, sharply.
"Did Ben tell you that he struck me first?" asked John.
"I am very glad to hear it. It was what you deserved," said Mrs. Oakley.
"Then," said John, firmly, "I gave him what he deserved. You can't expect me to stand still and be struck without returning it."
"The only fault I find with Ben is, that he did not strike you more than once," said Mrs. Oakley, in an excited tone.
John glanced from the mother to her son, who was evidently pleased with the reproaches John was receiving, and said, quietly:—
"I think Ben had better not attempt it."
"What do you mean by that?" demanded Mrs. Oakley, quickly.
"I don't want to strike Ben, or injure him in any way," said John; "but I mean to defend myself if I am attacked."
And Ben, though he chose to sneer, knew very well that, quietly as John spoke, he was thoroughly in earnest, and would do precisely as he said. He knew very well, too, that, though he was older and taller than John, he would very likely be worsted in an encounter. He preferred, therefore, that his mother should fight his battles for him.
"You hear, mother," he said. "He defies you. I knew he would. You remember what I told you."
Mrs. Oakley did remember very well, and the recollection made her angry.
"John Oakley," she said, "you will find that it won't do to insult me."
"I have no wish to insult you, Mrs. Oakley," said John. "I have not forgotten who you are, and I shall try to treat you accordingly."
"What do you mean by that?" said Mrs. Oakley, turning pale with rage.
She was misled by the statement Ben had made, and she thought John referred to the fact that she had been his father's house-keeper,—a point on which she felt sensitive.
"I mean," said John, a little surprised at this outburst, "that I have not forgotten that you are my father's widow, and as such are entitled to my respect."
"Was that what you meant?" asked Mrs. Oakley, suspiciously.
"Certainly," said John. "What else could I mean?"
Mrs. Oakley turned to Ben, who shrugged his shoulders, intimating that he did not believe it.
"All very fine," said his mother, "but words are cheap. If you think I am entitled to your respect, you will do as I require. Will you promise this?"
"I would rather not promise," said John. "If it is anything I ought to do, I will do it."
"It is something you ought to do," said Mrs. Oakley.
"What is it?"
"I require you immediately to apologize to my son Benjamin, for the blows you struck him with the whip this afternoon."
"I cannot do this," said John, firmly.
"Why can't you do it?"
"Because I had a good reason for striking him. He ought to apologize to me for striking me first."
"Catch me doing it!" said Ben, scornfully.
"I have no fault to find with him for striking you," said Mrs. Oakley. "On the contrary, I think him perfectly justified in doing so. You forced him off the horse after I had given him permission to ride, and I should have been ashamed of him if he had not resisted. I am glad he gave you such a lesson."
Once more John looked at Ben, and was not surprised to see the smile of triumph that rose to his face as he listened to these words of his mother.
"Well," said Mrs. Oakley, impatiently, "what have you to say?"
"What can I say? You are determined to find me in the wrong."
"It is because you are wrong. I demand once more, John Oakley, will you apologize to my son?"
"I will not," said John, firmly.
"Please to remember that you are left dependent upon me, and that your future comfort will be a good deal affected by the way in which you decide."
"Whatever happens," said John, who partly understood the threat, "I refuse to apologize, unless—"
"Unless what?"
"If Ben will say that he is sorry that he struck me, I will say the same to him."
"Ben will do nothing of the kind," said Mrs. Oakley, promptly. "I should be ashamed of him if he did."
"Catch me apologizing to such a whipper-snapper as you!" muttered Ben.
"Then I have no more to say," said John.
"But I have," said Mrs. Oakley, angrily. "You have chosen to defy me to my face, but you will bitterly repent of it. I'll break your proud spirit for you!"
John certainly did not feel very comfortable as he left the room. He was not afraid of what his stepmother could do, although he knew she could annoy him in many ways, but it was disagreeable to him to feel at variance with any one.
"If my poor father had only lived," he thought, "how different all would have been!"
But it was useless to wish for this. His father was no longer on earth to protect and shield him from the malice of Ben and his mother. Trials awaited him, but he determined to be true to himself, and to the good principles which he had been taught.
As for Mrs. Oakley, having once resolved to annoy John, she lost no time in beginning her persecutions. She had a small, mean nature, and nothing was too petty for her to stoop to.
John and Ben had been accustomed to occupy bedrooms on the second floor, very prettily furnished, and alike in every respect. It had been the policy of Squire Oakley to treat the two boys precisely alike, although Ben had no claim upon him, except as the son of the woman whom