Work and Win; Or, Noddy Newman on a Cruise, Oliver Optic [books to read as a couple .TXT] 📗

the world, was too[89] absurd, in his estimation, to be entertained for a moment. He had heard the squire speak to Mr. Grant about thirty thousand dollars; but such a sum was beyond his comprehension. He did not believe any man, not even the owner of Woodville, had so much money; and of course it was nothing to him.

The constables got out of patience at last; and though they showed no signs of anger or malice, they exhibited an intention to catch him, which was much worse. One of them commenced the ascent of the pole in the centre of the tent. The circus people, who seemed to be in full sympathy with Noddy, remained neutral, for the intruders were officers of the law, and it was not prudent to oppose them.

Noddy perceived the object of his pursuers, and grasping one of the tent-ropes, he scrambled up to the very apex of the canvas structure, and crawled through the aperture around the pole. From this point he slid down to the short poles, and then dropped upon the ground, before the man in the ring could pass round to the outside of the tent. Dodging under the curtains, he reached the place which served as a dressing-room. Removing his "trunks," he hurried on his clothes, and rushed out into the open air again.[90]

His persecutors were not in sight, and he did not lose a moment in putting a safe distance between himself and them. Precisely as a well-educated duck or other water-fowl would have done, he hastened to the river, as his most natural element. He had made a complete circuit of the town in his flight. He did not dare to show himself to a living being; for it seemed to him just as though the whole country was after him. When he reached the river, he sat down on the bank, exhausted by his efforts and by the excitement of the afternoon.

"I reckon I've got about circus enough," said he to himself,—for there was no one else to whom he could say it. "That Whippleby is worse than a heathen. I don't like any of them."

He rubbed his legs, which were not yet done smarting; and the pain seemed to be an emphatic protest against circuses in general, and the "Great Olympian Circus" in particular. But whether he liked the circus or not, it was no longer safe for him to remain with the company. He had taken "French leave" of the manager, and had cheated him out of the tights which enveloped his body from neck to heels. This thought reminded him that they did not feel at[91] all comfortable, and he wished the manager had his own again.

Having abandoned the circus profession in disgust, he wondered what he should do next. It was useless for him to stay in the vicinity of Woodville; and the only safe plan for him to adopt was, to go away to some other part of the country, or go to sea at once. He could not tolerate the idea of leaving without letting Bertha know where he was. The officers were on his track, and he could not hope always to escape them. The court-house was terrible, and prompt action was necessary.

He must have a sight of Bertha, even if he did not speak to her; and at the risk of being captured, he determined to stay in the neighborhood of Woodville till the next morning. Near the place where he sat there was a skiff moored to the bank. He hauled it in, and took up the oars. He did not mean to steal it, only to borrow it till the next morning. With this comfortable reflection he cast off the painter, and pulled over to the other side of the river.

It was now quite late in the evening. He had not eaten any supper, and, like other boys, he was always hungry at meal times. He wanted something to eat; and it occurred to him that there were generally[92] some crackers and cheese in the locker of the Greyhound, and he rowed down to her moorings. He found what he wanted there, and made a hearty supper. He was satisfied then, and soon went to sleep in the stern-sheets of the sail-boat.

Fortunately for him he waked up about daylight, and was not seen by any of the early risers at Woodville. Appropriating the rest of the crackers and cheese for his breakfast, he got into the skiff and rowed up to the Glen, where he hoped, in the course of the forenoon, to see Bertha.[93]

CHAPTER VIII. GOOD-BYE TO WOODVILLE.

Bertha often walked to the Glen before breakfast, and Noddy expected to find her there on the present occasion. As she did not appear, he followed the path toward Woodville, and actually reached the lawn which surrounded the mansion before he thought of the danger he incurred. But it was breakfast time in the servants' quarters, and he was not seen.

Keeping on the outskirts of the lawn, where he could make good his retreat in case of necessity, he walked nearly around to the pier, and was so fortunate as to discover Bertha at the turn of a winding path, near his route. The sight of her filled him with emotion, and brought to his mind the remembrance of the many happy days he had spent in her presence. He could hardly restrain the tears which the thought of leaving the place brought to his eyes,[94] though Noddy was not given to the feminine custom of weeping.

"Miss Bertha," said he, as she approached the spot where he stood.

She started back with alarm; but he stepped forward from the concealment of the bushes, and with a smile of pleasure she recognized him.

"Why, Noddy, is that you?" said she, walking towards the spot where he stood.

"It's me, Miss Bertha; but I suppose you don't want to see me now."

"I am very glad to see you. What did you go away for?"

"Because they were going to put me in the court-house."

"In the court-house!" exclaimed Bertha, who was better acquainted with legal affairs than her pupil.

"Yes, for setting the boat-house afire."

"I don't think they intended to take you to the court-house."

"O, I know they did. I have had two constables after me; but I got away from them. Besides, I heard Squire Wriggs say they were going to take me to the court-house. I heard him say so myself."

"Perhaps it is so," said Bertha, musing. "Squire[95] Wriggs came to see father yesterday morning. They went out together, and were speaking of you as they left the house."

"I'm glad you didn't have anything to do with it," said Noddy, delighted to find that Bertha was not one of his persecutors.

Then, with the utmost simplicity, and apparently with the feeling that he was a persecuted youth, he told her everything that had occurred from the time he first saw Mr. Grant and Squire Wriggs on the lawn.

"I don't know what my father's plans are," said Bertha, sadly; "but he thinks it is no longer safe to permit you to roam about the place. He is afraid you will set the house on fire, or do some other terrible thing."

"But I wouldn't, Miss Bertha," protested Noddy.

"Why did you do such a wicked thing?"

"I couldn't help it."

"Yes, you could, Noddy. That's only making a bad matter worse. Of course you could help setting a building on fire."

"It wasn't my fault, Miss Bertha," stammered he; "I can't explain it now—perhaps some time I may;[96] and when you understand it, you won't think so bad of me."

"If there is anything about it I don't know, why don't you tell me?" added Bertha, mystified by his strange remark.

"I can't say anything now. Please don't ask me anything about it, Miss Bertha. I'm not half so much to blame as you think I am; but I set the fire, and they are after me for it. They have used all sorts of tricks to catch me; but I'm not going into any court-house, or any tinker's shop."

"What tricks do you mean?"

"They said they had a lot of money for me, and that Squire Wriggs wouldn't do me any harm."

"Well, I don't know anything about that. Father went over to Whitestone with Squire Wriggs, after you ran away. He went over again last night, after he came from the city, and I haven't seen him for more than a moment since."

"He is going to send me to the court-house," said Noddy, fully satisfied that Bertha knew nothing about the proceedings of her father. "I am going to sea, now."

"To sea, Noddy?"[97]

"Yes, I'm going to work and win, as you told me, and when I come back I shall be respectable."

Bertha had her doubts on this point. She had almost lost all hope of her protégé, and she did not think that a voyage in the forecastle of a ship would be likely to improve his manners or his morals.

"I can't let you go, Noddy," said she.

"I must go; if I stay here they will put me in prison. You don't want to see me put in prison, Bertha."

"I don't."

"Then what can I do? The officers are after me this moment."

"But I shall have to tell my father that I have seen you."

"You may do that; and you may tell him, too, that it won't be any use for him to try to find me, for I shall keep out of the way. If they catch me they will be smarter than I am," added Noddy, confidently.

"I want to see you again, Noddy, after I have talked with father about you. I don't believe he intends to send you to prison."

"I know he does. I come over here to see you before I went away. I couldn't go without seeing you,[98] or I shouldn't have come. I may never see you again, for I shan't run any more risks after this."

Bertha said all she could to induce him to meet her again; but the cunning youth was afraid that some trap might be set to catch him, and he assured her that this was positively his last appearance at Woodville for the present. He was satisfied that Mr. Grant had taken the case into his own hands, and that she could not save him if she would.

"Now, good-bye, Miss Bertha," said he, wiping a tear from his face.

"Don't go, Noddy," pleaded she.

"I must."

"You haven't any clothes but those you have on, and you have no money."

"I don't want any. I can get along very well. Won't you shake hands with me before I go?"

"Certainly, I will," replied she, giving him her hand. "You will not let me do anything for you now?"

"You have done more than I deserve. Good-bye, Miss Bertha," said he, pressing the hand he held.

"Good-bye, Noddy," replied she. "Good-bye, if you must go."

"There comes your father," exclaimed he, as he[99] bounded off into the grove with the speed of an antelope.

"Was that Noddy?" asked Mr. Grant, as he joined Bertha a few minutes later.

"Yes, father."

"Why didn't you tell me he was here, Bertha?"

"He came but a few moments ago. He came to bid me good-bye."

"Where is he going?"

"He is going to sea. He says you intend to take him to the court-house."

"This is very unfortunate. A most remarkable event in regard to the boy has occurred, which I haven't time to tell you about now. It is very important that I should find him at once."

"I don't think you can catch him. He is very much afraid of being sent to prison."

"I had no intention of sending him to prison," laughed Mr. Grant.

"But he heard Squire Wriggs say he must take him over to the court."

"That was for another matter—in a word, to have a guardian appointed, for Noddy will be a rich man when he is of age."

"Noddy?" exclaimed Bertha.[100]

"Yes; but I haven't a moment to spare. I have been at work on his affairs since yesterday morning. They are all right now; and all we want to enable us to complete the business is the presence of the boy."

"Poor fellow! He is terribly worked up at the idea of going to the court-house, or even to a tinker's shop, as he calls it."

"Well, he is running away from his own fortune and happiness; and I must find him."

"I hope you will, father," said Bertha, earnestly, as Mr. Grant hastened away to organize a pursuit of the refugee.

All the male servants on the place were summoned, and several started off in the direction in which Noddy had retreated. The boatman and others were sent off in the boats; and the prospect was, that the fugitive would be captured within a few hours. As our story relates more especially to the runaway himself, we shall follow him, and leave the well-meaning people of Woodville to pursue their investigations alone.

When Noddy discovered Mr. Grant, he was satisfied that the