Paul Prescott's Charge by Jr. Horatio Alger (best fiction novels to read TXT) 📕

John lounged along, appearing to be very busily engaged in making a whistle from a slip of willow which he had a short time before cut from the tree. He purposely kept in the middle of the road, apparently quite unaware of the approach of the vehicle, until he was aroused by the sound of a voice behind him.

“Be a little more careful, if you don't want to get run over.”

John assumed a look of surprise, and with comic terror ran to the side of the road.

Mr. Mudge checked his horse, and came to a sudden halt.

“I say, youngster, haven't you seen a boy of about your own size walking along, with a bundle in his hand?”

“Tied up in a red cotton handkerchief?” inquired John.

“Yes, I believe so,” said Mr. Mudge, eagerly, “where did you——”

“With a blue cloth cap?”

“Yes, where——”

“Gray jacket and pants?”

“Yes, yes. Where?”

“With a patch on one knee?”

“Yes, the very one. When did you see him?” said Mr. Mudge, getting ready to start his horse.

“Perhaps it isn't the one you mean,” continued John, who took a mischievous delight in playing with the evident impatience of Mr. Mudge; “the boy that I saw looked thin, as if he hadn't had enough to eat.”

Mr. Mudge winced slightly, and looked at John with some suspicion. But John put on so innocent and artless a look that Mr. Mudge at once dismissed the idea that there was any covert meaning in what he said. Meanwhile Paul, from his hiding-place in the bushes, had listened with anxiety to the foregoing colloquy. When John described his appearance so minutely, he was seized with a sudden apprehension that the boy meant to betray him. But he dismissed it instantly. In his own singleness of heart he could not believe such duplicity possible. Still, it was not without anxiety that he waited to hear what would be said next.

“Well,” said Mr. Mudge, slowly, “I don't know but he is a little PEAKED. He's been sick lately, and that's took off his flesh.”

“Was he your son?” asked John, in a sympathizing tone; “you must feel quite troubled about him.”

He looked askance at Mr. Mudge, enjoying that gentleman's growing irritation.

“My son? No. Where——”

“Nephews perhaps?” suggested the imperturbable John, leisurely continuing the manufacture of a whistle.

“No, I tell you, nothing of the kind. But I can't sit waiting here.”

“Oh, I hope you'll excuse me,” said John, apologetically. “I hope you won't stop on my account. I didn't know you were in a hurry.”

“Well, you know it now,” said Mr. Mudge, crossly. “When and where did you see the boy you have described? I am in pursuit of him.”

“Has he run away?” inquired John in assumed surprise.

“Are you going to answer my question or not?” demanded Mr. Mudge, angrily.