Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience by Jr. Horatio Alger (book club books .txt) 📕
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- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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“Did you ever see such a vain, conceited boy, Mr. Crawford?”
“Of course you know him better than I do.”
“Come, Carl; it’s too bad for you, too, to join against me. However, I will forget and forgive. Jule, my friend, Carl, has accepted my invitation to make us a visit.”
“I am very glad, I am sure,” said Julia, sincerely.
“And I want you to take him in, bag and baggage, and convey him to our palace, while I speed thither on my wheel.”
“To be sure I will, and with great pleasure.”
“Can’t you get out and assist him into the carriage, Jule?”
“Thank you,” said Carl; “but though I am somewhat old and quite infirm, I think I can get in without troubling your sister. Are you sure, Miss Vance, you won’t be incommoded by my gripsack?”
“Not at all.”
“Then I will accept your kind offer.”
In a trice Carl was seated next to Julia, with his valise at his feet.
“Won’t you drive, Mr. Crawford?” said the young lady.
“Don’t let me take the reins from you.”
“I don’t think it looks well for a lady to drive when a gentleman is sitting beside her.”
Carl was glad to take the reins, for he liked driving.
“Now for a race!” said Gilbert, who was mounted on his bicycle.
“All right!” replied Carl. “Look out for us!”
They started, and the two kept neck and neck till they entered the driveway leading up to a handsome country mansion.
Carl followed them into the house, and was cordially received by Mr. and Mrs. Vance, who were very kind and hospitable, and were favorably impressed by the gentlemanly appearance of their son’s friend.
Half an hour later dinner was announced, and Carl, having removed the stains of travel in his schoolmate’s room, descended to the dining-room, and, it must be confessed, did ample justice to the bounteous repast spread before him.
In the afternoon Julia, Gilbert and he played tennis, and had a trial at archery. The hours glided away very rapidly, and six o’clock came before they were aware.
“Gilbert,” said Carl, as they were preparing for tea, “you have a charming home.”
“You have a nice house, too, Carl.”
“True; but it isn’t a home—to me. There is no love there.”
“That makes a great difference.”
“If I had a father and mother like yours I should be happy.”
“You must stay here till day after tomorrow, and I will devote to-morrow to a visit in your interest to your home. I will beard the lion in his den—that is, your stepmother. Do you consent?”
“Yes, I consent; but it won’t do any good.”
“We will see.”
CHAPTER III. INTRODUCES PETER COOK.
Gilbert took the morning train to the town of Edgewood Center, the residence of the Crawfords. He had been there before, and knew that Carl’s home was nearly a mile distant from the station. Though there was a hack in waiting, he preferred to walk, as it would give him a chance to think over what he proposed to say to Dr. Crawford in Carl’s behalf.
He was within a quarter of a mile of his destination when his attention was drawn to a boy of about his own age, who was amusing himself and a smaller companion by firing stones at a cat that had taken refuge in a tree. Just as Gilbert came up, a stone took effect, and the poor cat moaned in affright, but did not dare to come down from her perch, as this would put her in the power of her assailant.
“That must be Carl’s stepbrother, Peter,” Gilbert decided, as he noted the boy’s mean face and turn-up nose. “Stoning cats seems to be his idea of amusement. I shall take the liberty of interfering.”
Peter Cook laughed heartily at his successful aim.
“I hit her, Simon,” he said. “Doesn’t she look seared?”
“You must have hurt her.”
“I expect I did. I’ll take a bigger stone next time.”
He suited the action to the word, and picked up a rock which, should it hit the poor cat, would in all probability kill her, and prepared to fire.
“Put down that rock!” said Gilbert, indignantly.
Peter turned quickly, and eyed Gilbert insolently.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“No matter who I am. Put down that rock!”
“What business is it of yours?”
“I shall make it my business to protect that cat from your cruelty.”
Peter, who was a natural coward, took courage from having a companion to back him up, and retorted: “You’d better clear out of here, or I may fire at you.”
“Do it if you dare!” said Gilbert, quietly.
Peter concluded that it would be wiser not to carry out his threat, but was resolved to keep to his original purpose. He raised his arm again, and took aim; but Gilbert rushed in, and striking his arm forcibly, compelled him to drop it.
“What do you mean by that, you loafer?” demanded Peter, his eyes blazing with anger.
“To stop your fun, if that’s what you call it.”
“I’ve a good mind to give you a thrashing.”
Gilbert put himself in a position of defense.
“Sail in, if you want to!” he responded.
“Help me, Simon!” said Peter. “You grab his legs, and I’ll upset him.”
Simon, who, though younger, was braver than Peter, without hesitation followed directions. He threw himself on the ground and grasped Gilbert by the legs, while Peter, doubling up his fists, made a rush at his enemy. But Gilbert, swiftly eluding Simon, struck out with his right arm, and Peter, unprepared for so forcible a defense, tumbled over on his back, and Simon ran to his assistance.
Gilbert put himself on guard, expecting a second attack; but Peter apparently thought it wiser to fight with his tongue.
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