Andy Gordon

CHAPTER XV.

AN EXCITING SCENE

Hogan had not given it up as a bad job. Andy’s unexpected resistance only made him the more determined to effect his object. Besides the natural desire to obtain so large a booty, he thirsted for revenge upon Andy.

“The boy’s plucky!” he muttered, as he descended from the roof; “but I’ll be even with him yet.”

He had to descend cautiously, for the shingles were slippery, but he finally reached the lowest point and jumped down.

“If I could only find an ax or a hatchet,” he said to himself, “I would make short work of the window. I don’t believe the boy will dare to shoot.”

He searched for the articles he had named, but in vain.

“What can I take?” he thought, perplexed.

His eyes fell upon a thick club, not unlike a baseball bat, and this seemed to him suitable for his purpose. He took it and commenced reascending to the roof again. There was a fence, which helped him as a stepping-stone, otherwise he would have found it difficult to get a footing upon it. Meanwhile Andy had not been idle.

First of all, he saw that it was unsafe to have the money any longer in his custody. His assailant might be successful in the new attempt he would probably make, and he must not find the bank bills.

Andy did not like to frighten the ladies, but he thought it necessary, under the circumstances. He went to the door of the parlor chamber, which the two sisters occupied, and rapped loudly on the door.

The knock was heard, and it excited dismay. The timid ladies thought it might be the burglar of whom they were so much in fear.

“Who’s there?” asked Miss Susan, in trembling accents, through the keyhole.

“It’s me – Andy. Please open the door – quick!”

“What has happened?” demanded Miss Susan, in agitation.

“I want to hand you the trunk,” answered Andy.

“What for? Is there any burglar in the house?”

“No; but there’s one trying to get into my room.”

“Oh, heavens! what shall we do?” ejaculated both ladies, in chorus.

“Take the tin trunk, and I’ll manage him,” said Andy.

The door was opened a crack and the trunk taken into the trembling hands of the agitated spinster.

“Where is the burglar?” answered Susan.

“Gone to find something to break through the window.”

“Oh, dear, he will murder us all!”

“No, he won’t,” said Andy. “I won’t let him!”

“You’d better hide,” said Susan. “Is he a big man?”

“Pretty large. He looks as if he was just out of jail.”

“He mustn’t hurt you. I’d rather he had the money. Take it and give it to him and ask him to go.”

“Not much!” answered Andy, stoutly. “But I must go. He’ll soon be at the window again. Is there any hot water in the house?”

“Yes; we keep a fire all night in the kitchen, and the teakettle is full.”

“All right!” said Andy, and he dashed downstairs.

“What’s he going to do?” ejaculated Susan, in surprise.

“Heaven only knows! How can he talk of hot water when there’s a burglar in the house? Lock the door, Sister Susan.”

“I don’t like to shut out poor Andy,” said Susan, in a distressed voice. “It’s my belief we shall find him a mangled corpse to-morrow morning, when we go downstairs.”

“I shan’t dare to go down at all. Oh, Susan, this is awful!”

Leaving the agitated spinsters in their trouble and terror, we must look after Andy.

He ran downstairs, seized the teakettle from the stove, grabbed a tin dipper, and then ran up to his chamber again.

He was just in time.

There, before the window, stood Mike Hogan, with the club in his hand and a look of triumph on his face. In the dim light, he did not see the teakettle.

“Well, my little bantam,” said he, “here I am again!”

“So I see,” said Andy, coolly.

“Once more, and for the last time, I ask you to open that window.”

“I would rather not.”

“You will, if you know what is best for yourself. Do you see this club?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you know what it is for?”

“Suppose you tell me.”

“It is to break open the window.”

“That is what I thought.”

“Comfound the boy! He’s a cool customer,” thought Hogan. “Bah! he must be a fool. Open that window, and I’ll give you ten dollars of the money,” he said, preferring, if possible, to avoid all trouble.

Of course, when he was fairly in possession of the money, he could break his promise and give Andy a beating, and he proposed to do both.

“A little while ago you offered me half the money,” said Andy.

“Things were different then. I didn’t have this club. What do you say?”

“That I am not a thief, and don’t mean to make a bargain with a thief!” answered Andy, resolutely.

“Then you may take the consequences, you young rascal!” exploded the burglar, garnishing his speech with an oath.

“In two minutes, I shall have you in my clutches!”

He swung back the club and brought it down with full force upon the window frame. Of course, the panes were shivered and the frail wooden sticks which constituted the frame were demolished. Another blow and the window lay in ruins on the carpet of Andy’s chamber.

“He’s killing Andy!” ejaculated the terrified spinsters, as the loud noise came to their ears. “What shall we do?”

They debated whether they should leave their chamber, and, seeking the scene of the tragedy, fall down on their knees before the terrible burglar and implore him to spare the life of their young defender. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak, and in terrible agitation they remained in their sanctuary.

“The crisis has come,” thought Andy, his nerves quivering with excitement.

And, unobserved by the triumphant burglar, he poured out the scalding hot water from the teakettle into the tin dipper.

Mike Hogan was in the act of scaling the window-sill, over the debris of the broken glass and wood, when Andy dashed the contents of the tin dipper into his face.

There was a fearful yell as the hot water deluged his face and neck, and the scalded burglar, losing his hold on the sill, blinded and maddened by pain, lost his footing and slipped down the sloping roof with ever-increasing rapidity. He rolled over at the eaves, and fell upon his back with a violence which lamed, though it did not disable him – a thoroughly demoralized burglar.

There was a pump and a trough in the yard. Hogan jumped up and ran hastily to it. He dipped his scalded face in the stream of water, and gained temporary relief. But the pain was altogether too great to allow him to think of anything else except that. To a man in his condition, money had no charms. A relief from pain was all he could think of. Again and again he dipped his face in the cool water, and his pain was somewhat abated.

“Oh, the young villain!” he groaned. “I wish I had him here. I’d tear him limb from limb.”

“Poor fellow!” thought Andy, pitying the poor wretch, though the imminent danger had forced him to inflict suffering upon him. “I am sorry for his pain, but I couldn’t defend myself in any other way. He won’t try to get in again, I’m thinking.”

He locked the door of the room from the outside, and decided to spend the rest of the night upon the sofa in the sitting-room. First, however, he went to the room of the old ladies, to tell them that the danger was past.

CHAPTER XVI.

EXCITEMENT IN THE VILLAGE

For the remainder of the night, Andy, as the saying is, slept with one eye open. The burglar had enough to think of, and it seemed very unlikely that he would make another attempt to enter the house. Still, Andy thought it best to watch him.

Through the window he could see Hogan dipping his face again and again in the trough. This continued for perhaps half an hour. Then he slowly left the yard, but not without shaking his fist at the house which contained the young hero who had balked him in his unlawful designs. To be brief, for the remainder of the night the house had rest.

Early in the morning the two sisters came downstairs. Andy, who had dressed himself, to be prepared for an emergency, was lying on the sofa, sleeping peacefully.

“Poor boy!” murmured Susan. “What a terrible night he must have passed!”

“And all in our defense, too. I never dreamed that he was so brave.”

“It’s a mercy the burglar didn’t carry him off.”

“It was the money he wanted, sister.”

“But he might have killed Andy.”

“That is true. It seems to me, sister, we ought to pay him handsomely for what he has done.”

“I am quite of your opinion, Sister Sally. How much do you think we ought to give him?”

“I wouldn’t do what he did for fifty dollars.”

“Shall it be fifty dollars, then?”

“If you are willing.”

“I am quite willing. Do you dare to go up with me into the chamber overhead?”

“I don’t know. It makes me tremble to think of it.”

Finally the two sisters mustered the necessary courage and cautiously crept upstairs, and paused before the door, which was locked upon the outside.

“Suppose the wicked man is inside?” suggested Susan, trembling.

“Oh, there is no fear! He wouldn’t care to stay after he found the money gone.”

With some apprehension, they opened the door. When they saw the wreck of glass and wood upon the carpet, they raised their hands in dismay.

“What a terrible fight poor Andy must have had!” said Susan.

“He has done better than a man,” exclaimed Sally, enthusiastically.

I am inclined to think that Miss Sally was right, and that many men would have displayed less boldness and shrewdness than our young hero.

“Why, here is the teakettle!” said Sally. “How in the world did it come here?”

“And here is the tin dipper. Well, Andy will tell us when he wakes up. We must give him a good breakfast. He deserves it, after all he has done.”

At eight o’clock, Andy sat down to a nice breakfast. It seemed that neither of the two ladies could express sufficient gratitude, or induce him to eat enough.

“But for you, Andy, we might have been murdered in our beds.”

“I don’t think so,” answered Andy, modestly; “but I think you would have lost your money.”

“That we should! Now tell us all about it.”

So Andy told the story, amid exclamations of wonder and admiration from the two sisters.

“How in the world could the man know we had so much money in the house?” said Susan, in wonder.

“He seemed to know just how much there was,” said Andy. “He mentioned the amount. I think he must have overheard one of you speaking of it.”

“I didn’t really suppose there was any burglar about,” said Sally. “How lucky it was that we engaged you to come and stay here!”

Andy was modest, but he could not, with truth, disclaim this praise. He knew very well that he had been instrumental, under Providence, in saving the old ladies from being robbed.

“I don’t know whether you would be willing to stay here to-night, Andy, after the experience you had last night,” said Sally.

“Oh, yes!”

“And you are not afraid?”

“I don’t think the man will come again,” said Andy, laughing. “I don’t believe he liked the reception I gave him. He knows how it feels to get into hot water.”

It is needless to say that the news of the midnight attack upon the house of the Peabody sisters spread like wildfire through the village.

Probably not less than a hundred persons called to see the demolished window, and Andy had to tell the story over and over till he was weary of it.

Among those who were interested was Herbert Ross. He suspected, and rightly, that it was the same man who had stopped at his father’s gate, and nearly strangled his dog Prince.

He felt that if this was so, a part of the public interest would center upon him, and accordingly, forgetting his recent difficulty with Andy, he cross-questioned our hero as to the appearance of the burglar.

“Did he have black hair?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And a face that had not been shaved for a week?”

“Yes; as well as I could see in the dim light.”

“And wasn’t very tall?”

“No; he was rather short and thickset, with a ragged suit of clothes.”

“It’s the very man that called at our house!” exclaimed Herbert, in excitement.

Of course, he was questioned, and gave an account of the call of Hogan, in which he appeared to considerably greater advantage than he had actually done.

“He was very impudent,” said Herbert, boastfully; “but I gave him to understand that I would have him arrested if he didn’t leave pretty quick.”

“Did that frighten him?” asked a neighbor, with a queer smile.

“Oh, yes,” said Herbert. “He saw that he had hold of the wrong customer, and tramped off in a different direction.”

“What would you have done if you had been in Andy’s place last night?”

“I wouldn’t have let him in.”

“But do you think you could have driven him off?”

“Certainly,” answered Herbert, confidently. “Andy did very well,” he added, condescendingly; “but I should have succeeded as well in keeping the rascal out of the house.”

“Why don’t you offer to stay at the house to-night? No doubt, Andy will be glad to rest?”

“I don’t let myself out for any such purpose,” said Herbert, hastily. “He is a poor boy, and needs the money. You wouldn’t expect a gentleman’s son to engage in any such business?”

“Andy is a gentleman’s son. If ever there was a gentleman, Mr. Gordon was one.”

“No doubt he was a very worthy man,” said Herbert, patronizingly; “but that isn’t what I mean.”

Herbert succeeded in his wish to draw attention to himself, and told the story of his encounter with the tramp and burglar many times – adding a little every time – till, by dint of repetitions, he persuaded himself that he had acted a very heroic part, and was entitled to share the honors of the day with Andy.

Unlike our hero, he was perfectly willing to tell the story over and over as many times as he could obtain a fresh auditor.

On Monday morning, Andy’s guard was over; but there was still a service which the old ladies desired of him.

The money was to be deposited in the Cranston Bank, located six miles away. There was no railroad connecting the two places, and the road was a lonely one, extending part of the way through the woods.

On previous occasions, the ladies had themselves gone to the bank, when they had occasion to deposit money, but the recent attempt at burglary had so terrified them that they felt afraid to venture.

In their emergency, they thought of Andy, and asked him if he would be willing to drive over and carry the money with him.

“Oh, yes!” answered Andy, who was fond of driving. “I couldn’t go till I had attended to my duties at the academy, but I should be through by nine o’clock.”

“That would be early enough. But you would lose school.”

“Only for half a day, and Dr. Euclid would excuse me.”

So it was arranged that Andy was to carry the five hundred dollars to the Cranston Bank.

CHAPTER XVII.

PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY

Cranston was six miles away – too far to walk. The Misses Peabody did not keep a horse. Indeed, one would have been of very little use to them, for both were timid, and neither would have been willing to drive.

“You are not afraid to drive to Cranston, Andy?” said Miss Sally.

“No; what should I be afraid of?” asked our hero.

“You are not timid about horses, then?”

Andy laughed.

“I should think not,” he replied. “I only wish mother could afford to keep a horse.”

“I think they are terrible creatures. They are so strong, and sometimes they are so contrary,” said Miss Susan, with a shudder.

“Then you should use the whip on them, Miss Susan.”

“I wouldn’t dare to.”

“Well, I’m not afraid. I only wish I were in Add Bean’s place. He is driving around every day with his father’s horse.”

The boy referred to – Addison Bean, called Add, for short – was one of Andy’s schoolmates at the academy, and was quite as fond of driving as Andy himself.

“I wonder if we couldn’t engage Mr. Bean’s horse and carriage? Will you see?”

“Yes; it is a good one, and I should like to drive it.”

Andy called at Mr. Bean’s and succeeded in his errand. The horse was to be ready for him at nine o’clock.

“What are you going to Cranston for, Andy?” asked Mr. Bean.

“To the bank, for the Peabody girls.”

That’s what all the villagers call them, in spite of their age.

“Then I suppose you will carry money with you?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t let anybody know your errand, then.”

“Do you think there is any danger?”

“There is always danger when a man is supposed to be carrying money. A boy is still more in danger.”

“I won’t tell anybody my errand.”

“You haven’t seen anything of that burglar you scalded the other night?”

“No.”

“I should like to have been near at the time.”

“I wish you had,” said Andy.

Mr. Bean was a deputy sheriff, and a strong, powerful man, who had more than once been called upon to arrest noted criminals.

Mr. Bean gave Andy another suggestion, which proved of value to him. What it was, the reader will ascertain in due time.

Andy got into the carriage – a buggy – and drove round to the house of the maiden ladies. He fastened the horse at the fence, and, opening the gate, went in.

“Have you got the money ready, Miss Peabody?” he asked, addressing Miss Susan.

“Here it is, Andy – four hundred and fifty dollars.”

“But I thought,” said Andy, in surprise, “that there were five hundred dollars?”

The two sisters looked at each other significantly.

“We have another use for fifty dollars,” said Miss Sally.

“All right!” said Andy, who did not suppose that this was a matter with which he had anything to do.

“In fact,” she continued, “we are going to give it to you.”

“Going to give me fifty dollars?” Andy exclaimed, in amazement.

“Yes.”

And here Miss Susan spoke.

“We feel that it is due to you on account of the bravery you showed the other night.”

“I thank you very much!” said Andy, quite overwhelmed at this munificence; “but it is altogether too much for me to receive.”

“We are the judges of that. You can make good use of the money, or your mother can, and we shan’t miss it.”

Andy knew that both these statements were quite true, and he thankfully accepted the generous gift. It was arranged that he should call and get it on his return from the bank.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE RIDE TO CRANSTON

Andy set out on his trip in high spirits. It was a fine morning. The air was pleasant and bracing, and the sun shed a flood of glory over the landscape.

Andy enjoyed school and school studies, but nevertheless it did seem to him that there was more pleasure in riding over the hills to Cranston than in poring over the pages of Virgil in Dr. Euclid’s classroom.

Then again, it was a rare pleasure for him to have the guidance of a horse. His mother had never been able to keep one, and though now and then he got a chance to ride with a neighbor, it occurred but seldom. Sometimes his friend and schoolmate, Add Bean, took him in, but was generally reluctant to yield the reins, being fond of driving himself.

There was another cause for his high spirits. The handsome present which he had just received he looked upon as a veritable windfall. Fifty dollars in his mother’s economical establishment would go a good way. It would enable them to buy some necessary articles which otherwise must be dispensed with. For instance, Andy himself needed a new suit very much, but he had not troubled his mother with asking for one, because he didn’t know where the money was to come from to buy it.

When the money contained in his father’s wallet arrived, he was somewhat encouraged, but now with this fresh supply there was no doubt that he would feel justified in spending a part for the needed suit.

“I wonder what has become of the burglar?” thought Andy, as he rode smoothly along the road. “Wouldn’t he like to know where I am going, and on what errand? He would find it easier to master me here than he did the other night.”

Scarcely had this thought passed through his mind when he was hailed by a stranger whom he had just passed on the road.

It was a young man, slender and well dressed, with a ready smile and a set of dazzling white teeth. He would be considered good looking, but his face was not one to inspire confidence in a thoughtful observer.

“My young friend, are you going to Cranston?”

“Yes,” answered Andy.

“So am I. Is it far?”

“About five miles from here.”

Andy had already gone a mile on his way.

“Five miles! Whew! that is a distance. I say, haven’t you got room for one more?”

Ordinarily Andy would have been entirely willing to take in a passenger, being naturally sociable and obliging, but now he was made cautious by the nature of his errand and the knowledge of the large sum of money which he was carrying. He halted his horse and looked perplexed.

“Come, be obliging,” said the stranger, with affected frankness.

“You are a stranger,” said Andy, hesitatingly.

“Well, suppose I am. I haven’t got the smallpox or any other contagious disorder,” laughed the young man.

“I wasn’t thinking of that.”

“Come, you don’t mind making a little money. I’ll give you a dollar if you’ll give me a ride.”

“It isn’t worth a dollar,” said Andy, honestly.

“Oh, I don’t insist upon paying so much! If you’ll take me for fifty cents, all the better.”

“I might as well,” thought Andy. “Of course, he can know nothing of my errand, and it’s an easy way to earn fifty cents. I don’t want to be too cowardly.” “Well,” he said, after a pause, “I’ll take you. Jump in!”

“Enough said,” returned the other.

And he lost no time in availing himself of the invitation.

They talked together on indifferent topics till Andy reached the lonely part of the road already referred to, when a sudden change came over his companion.

“Now to business!” he said, in a quick, stern voice. “Give me that money you have in your pocket, and be quick about it!”

Turning hastily, Andy confronted a pistol in the hands of his companion. It was held within six inches of his head, and might well have startled an older person than Andy.

CHAPTER XIX.

FOILING A HIGHWAYMAN

Of course Andy was startled when he saw the pistol in close proximity to his head. I feel no hesitation in admitting that he felt far from comfortable. Some heroes are represented as startled by nothing, and afraid of nothing; but though Andy was unusually self-possessed for his years, he was not above the ordinary emotions of humanity.

Still, he did not lose his presence of mind utterly, nor was he willing to surrender at discretion, though it did occur to him that he was in an uncommonly tight place.

More for the sake of gaining time to think than because he really needed the information, he asked, with a calmness which he did not feel:

“What do you mean, sir?”

“What do I mean?” repeated his companion, with a sneer. “If you are not a fool, you ought to know what I mean.”

“I suppose you are playing a joke on me,” said Andy, innocently.

“Does this look like a joke?” asked the young man, with a significant nod at the pistol which he held in his hand.

“Is it loaded?” asked Andy.

“Loaded?” retorted the other. “I could blow off the roof of your head with it.”

“I hope you won’t, then,” said our hero, looking anxiously in advance, hoping to see some approaching vehicle.

If so, he would be safe, for his companion, desperate though he might be, would not venture in that case to risk capture and the long term of imprisonment to which such a daring attempt at highway robbery would expose him to.

“I have no time for fooling!” said the young man, sharply. “Give me that money you have in your possession, or it will be the worse for you.”

“What money?” asked Andy.

“The money you are carrying to Cranston to deposit in the bank for the old women in Hamilton.”

“Where could he have found out about it?” thought Andy. “I wish somebody would come along.”

Anything to gain time!

“Pray don’t take it from me, Mr. Robber!” said Andy, pretending to be overcome with terror. “They will think I took it.”