The Young Musician; Or, Fighting His Way, Jr. Horatio Alger [best contemporary novels .txt] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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“I suppose it's no use to ask you to do me a favor, Zeke?” he said.
“Do you want me to tell Frank Dunbar where you are?”
“Yes, I wish you would.”
“Then I'll do it.”
“You're a better fellow than I thought you were, Zeke,” said Philip, surprised.
“No, I ain't! Do you want to know why I'm willin' to go?”
“Why?”
“I know Frank Dunbar'll feel bad, and I hate him.”
“So that is your object, is it, Zeke?”
“You've got it.”
“Well, whatever your motive may be, I shall be much obliged to you if you go. Here's ten cents for you!”
Zeke grasped at the coin with avidity, for his father was very parsimonious, and his mother no less so, and he seldom got any ready money.
“Thank you!” said Zeke, with unusual politeness. “I'll go right off. But, I say, don't you tell dad where I've gone, or he might prevent me, and don't you let on you've given me this dime, or he'd try to get it away.”
“No, I won't say anything about it,” answered Philip.
“A curious family this is!” he thought, “There doesn't seem to be much confidence in each other.”
Zeke sauntered away carelessly, to avert suspicion but when he had got round a bend of the road he increased his speed, never looking back, lest he should see his father signaling for him.
Philip breathed a sigh of relief.
“I've got a messenger at last,” he said. “Now my friends will know what has become of me when I don't come home to supper.”
He was a little curious to learn what they were going to do with him, but he was not long kept in suspense.
CHAPTER X. BAD TIDINGS.
Leaving Philip for a short time in the hands of his captor, we will follow Zeke on his errand. He didn't have to go as far as Mr. Dunbar's house, for he met Frank Dunbar about a quarter of a mile this side of it.
Now, between Frank Dunbar and Zeke Tucker there was no love lost. There had been a difficulty between them, originating at school, which need not be particularly referred to. Enough that it led to Zeke's cordially disliking Frank, while the latter, who was a frank, straightforward boy, could not see anything in Mr. Tucker's promising son to enlist either his respect or his liking.
There was a small river running through Norton, which crossed the main thoroughfare, and had to be bridged over. Frank Dunbar, fishing-line in hand, was leaning over the parapet, engaged in luring the fish from their river home. He looked up, when he saw Zeke approaching him. Not having any particular desire to hold a conversation with him, he withdrew his eyes, and again watched his line. Zeke, however, approached him with a grin of anticipated enjoyment, and hailed him in the usual style:
“Hello, Frank!”
“Oh, it's you, is it?” said Frank Dunbar indifferently.
“Yes it's me. I suppose you thought it was somebody else,” chuckled Zeke, though Frank could see no cause for merriment.
“Well, I see who it is now,” he responded.
“Where is Phil Gray?” inquired Zeke, chuckling again.
“Do you want to see him?” asked Frank, rather surprised.
“Oh, no! I shall see him soon enough.”
And again Zeke chuckled.
Frank looked up.
He was expecting Philip to join him, and was, in fact, waiting for him now. Zeke's mysterious merriment suggested that he might have met Philip—possibly bore some message from him.
“Do you know anything about Phil?” asked Frank, looking fixedly at his visitor.
“I reckon I do. I know all about him,” said Zeke, with evident enjoyment.
“Well. If you have any message from him, let me hear it.”
“You can't guess where he is,” blurted out Zeke.
“He isn't in any trouble, is he?” asked Frank quickly.
“No; he's safe enough. But you needn't expect to see him tonight.”
“Why not?” demanded Frank, not yet guessing what was likely to detain his friend.
“Because he's at our house,” chuckled Zeke. “Dad and Squire Pope have carried him to the poorhouse, and he's goin' to stay there for good.”
This was a surprise. In his astonishment, Frank nearly let go his rod. He was eager now to question Zeke further.
“You don't mean to say Phil has been carried to the poorhouse against his will?” he exclaimed.
“I reckon he was anxious to go,” said Zeke.
“Where was he when your father and Squire Pope committed this outrage?” said Frank indignantly.
“I thought you'd be mad,” said Zeke, with the same unpleasant chuckle.
“Answer my question, or I'll pitch you into the river,” said Frank sternly.
He did not mean what he said, but Zeke drew back in alarm.
“Quit now! I didn't have nothin' to do with it,” said Zeke hastily. “Me and him was over in Haywood's pasture when dad come along with the squire in his wagon. Well, they made Phil get in, and that's all of it, except I promised I'd come and tell your folks, so you needn't get scared or nothin' when he didn't come back to-night.”
“He will come back to-night,” said Frank. “He won't stay in the poorhouse.”
“Yes, he will. He can't help himself. Dad's goin' to lock him up in the attic. I guess he won't jump out of the window. Where you go-in'! You ain't got through fishin', be you?”
“Yes, I'm through,” answered Frank, as he drew his line out of the water. “Just tell Phil when you go home that he's got friends outside who won't see him suffer.”
“Say, ain't you goin' to give me nothin' for comin' to tell you!” asked Zeke, who was always intent on the main chance.
Frank flung a nickel in his direction, which Zeke picked up with avidity.
“I guess
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