HOW TOM PRIMROSE PROTECTED HIS FATHER.
BY SYDNEY DAYRE.
Mr. Primrose arrived at home one morning just as his family were gathering for breakfast. He had been for two days at a small town about thirty miles distant, to which he had been summoned to assist in the trial of a pair of noted criminals.
"You look tired out," said Mrs. Primrose.
"Tired enough," he said. "I have been up nearly all night."
"How did that happen?"
"Well, it was partly my own fault. I met my old friend Philip Sanford up there; he was on the defense in the case I was prosecuting. We had a grand tilt over it—fought each other vigorously all the way through. The chief criminal shook his fist at me when I was making the closing speech. I began to see that the case was going against me, and I pressed the rascals pretty hard."
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Primrose, with an anxious face. "I am always in fear of some of those desperate characters doing you some injury out of revenge."
The gentleman laughed. "Don't worry yourself, dear," he said. "There is much more to be feared from the rogues who go uncaught than from those who feel the strong grasp of the law. But, as I was telling, the case went to the jury about nine last night, and then Sanford and I got down to a game of chess. If I didn't beat him at law, I beat him well at the game, and it was one o'clock before we took heed of the time. Then, as my train was due at three, it was not worth while to go to bed, so we played and talked on. When I got to the station, I found the train was behind time, so I lay on a bench till it came, at five, and here I am."
"You will take a rest now?"
"Not a bit," he said, opening some letters he had found waiting for him. "Business is pressing just now. Ha! ha!" he exclaimed, "this is good news. We'll have those rogues in the penitentiary yet."
"What is it?" asked Mrs. Primrose.
"Why, I told you just now that I feared the jury would not convict on the evidence, although it was convincing to me. Here is a letter from the sheriff of Hancock County, who wishes that these same fellows be held to answer to a charge of complicity in a bank robbery which took place in that county some months since. If the jury fails to convict, the prisoners must be re-arrested the moment they are discharged."
"Rather a damper on them, I should say," said Frank, with a chuckle.
"You'd be astonished to see what decent-looking men they are," continued his father. "The chief criminal would impress you as having been trained for a gentleman, and his accomplice is not much more than a boy; both are well dressed. The daintiest little pearl-mounted revolver I ever saw was displayed in court as the instrument used in their last scrape; Frank, you must take a run up to Homer on the nine train."
"He can not," said Mrs. Primrose. "I'm sorry, but he sprained his foot yesterday, and must keep quiet for a few days."
"That's bad—for the boy and for me. I must hurry down town and send some one else."
"Oh, papa, let me go!" said Tom. "Please do, sir. I've been up there twice with you, you know, and I'd know just where to go, and you could tell me just what to do."
"Ho! ho!" laughed Frank. "'Heedless Tom' on important business! Why, he would be sure to have the judge and sheriff under arrest, and the burglars at large. He can't help doing everything backward, you know."
"Come, Frank, don't be so sharp," said his mother. "Tom is trying to be more careful lately, I think."
"Yes," said Mr. Primrose, in a teasing tone, "he is not at all like the boy I sent from the office last week to buy a pamphlet called 'Westward Ho!' and who brought me instead a garden hoe."
There was a laugh at Tom's expense, but he persisted, coaxingly:
"Do let me go, papa. You know I wouldn't be careless about your business."
"I guess you may go, Tom. Now listen. Find Sheriff Carroll either at his house or at the court-house, and give him this letter. Take the twelve train home, and be sure you are on time. There is money for your fare."
So Mr. Primrose departed, while Tom, highly delighted at the prospect of such an unexpected little jaunt, went to get ready. He meant to act through the whole matter with such caution and judgment as to fully convince his father of the propriety of intrusting him with the weightiest concerns. And his first care was to leave for the station in such good time as to put all fear of his missing the train out of the question.
Alas, poor Tom!
"Now, where's my hat?"
This inquiry was a sound of dismay in the Primrose household. Tom's hat was always missing. There was no spot in the house, yard, barn, or garden where it might not be hopefully searched for.
"Where did you have it last?" some one asked. Some one was always sure to ask that.
"I don't know—yes, I remember putting it on Rover's head, and he ran away with it. No, I found it after that behind the coal-house. I had it when we were playing hide-and-seek last evening."
Tom was usually left to do his own hunting, but in such an emergency as this all the family energy was aroused. Uneasiness gathered in every face as time went on.
"Let me see your old hat," said his mother at last. But the old hat proved to be too shabby to be thought of. Then his brother's hat was tried, but Frank was three years older, and it would not do.
"Wear it down to Mr. Ramsay, the hatter's," said his mother. "Tell him of your difficulty, and he will lend you a hat for a few hours." But Tom did not like to do this, and he continued his hunt longer than was prudent. At length his little sister came from the barn with a note of triumph and the missing hat. It had been lying in a corner of the hay-loft, where he had hidden the evening before. He seized it gratefully, and was off like the wind.
The locomotive was hissing in the station as Tom, hot and out of breath, asked for a ticket to Homer. Then he felt for his pocket-book in one pocket and then another, growing hotter as he failed to find it. After thorough search he concluded, with intense dismay, that his run must have shaken it from his pocket. He knew he had no time for thought. At the distance of about half a block was situated the office of one of his father's friends. He rushed over to it and told his trouble in a few words.
"Hurry, Tom, hurry," said the gentleman, as already the premonitory puff of the engine sounded. "Don't stop for a ticket, but board the train—if you can; but—Stop, boy! Hallo, there!" he shouted; "don't let that boy jump on that train!"
He ran after Tom as he flew toward the now-moving train, which the boy was fully resolved to board. But he was seized by friendly hands.
"You can't do that, my boy—no, sir," as Tom struggled. "Have you no concern for your life or limbs?"
"I must go on that train; I will," cried poor Tom, in utter despair. But it moved pitilessly on, while a few men gathered near to inquire into his trouble.
"It was about some business for my father," he explained, hardly able to force back his tears, as he realized what a terrible failure he had made at the very outset. "It was very important, and what shall I do?"
"There's a freight train going up," said a brakeman.
"When?" asked Tom, eagerly.
"In about half an hour. It'll be slow, though. You'll get to Homer about eleven, if that'll do you."
Tom could only hope it might.
After a ride made long by anxiety he stood at last before Sheriff Carroll, and presented his letter, waiting breathlessly to hear what he might say.
"Too bad! too bad! I discharged those scamps not more than an hour ago. Tell your father, though, that we may stand a chance of nabbing them yet. I'll have all the trains watched, and send out on the country roads. That sort are very apt to strike across country." He bustled away to set things moving, while Tom, full of bitter mortification, slowly walked back to the station.
He watched eagerly as the return train came in, in hope of seeing some kind of a "scrimmage," as he mentally expressed it, which might look like an arrest. But nothing of the sort occurred. He did not even see a force of policemen drawn up with threatening aspect, as he had expected, and made up his mind that Carroll was not up to his duty in this matter. His inexperienced gaze failed to take note of two or three keen-eyed men standing carelessly around in plain clothes, who would certainly have pressed the hospitalities of the village of Homer upon any stray criminals so warmly as to enable them to arrive at a speedy decision to travel no further at present.
As Tom rode along, he felt too much depressed at first by the very bad result of his undertaking to pay much heed to what was going on around him. But he suddenly jerked himself from the corner into which he had settled, and sat up with every sense on the alert.
"I told Primrose—revenged on him—jury agreed—got off—that I would go down—have it out with him—"
This was what came to his ears, mingled with the rattle of the cars. The words were spoken by one of two men who occupied the seat behind him. Tom ventured a peep over the back of his seat. They certainly did not look like desperate characters; but what was he to think of what he had heard? His father had made special mention of the very respectable appearance of the two men he had been prosecuting.
The older man had such a pleasant face that Tom was beginning to feel ashamed of his suspicions, when he suddenly bobbed down in his seat, with a cold chill at his heart. The man was examining something he held in his hand—a thing so small and delicate that at first glance Tom had taken it for a pocket-knife, but it was a pearl-mounted revolver. The full gravity of the situation now forced itself upon his excited mind. This was the Chief Criminal spoken of by his father, the younger man being, of course, the Accomplice. They were handling the very revolver which had been shown during the trial. This man's fierce anger had been excited by his father's vigorous attempt to consign him to merited punishment, and his words fully indicated that he was now on his way to seek revenge. How? Poor Tom fairly writhed in his seat as all the fearful possibilities of the case came before him, and he was obliged to own to himself that but for his petty acts of carelessness these men would now be safe under lock and key.
He left the car, full of the one idea of using any and every means of insuring his father's safety. Hastening to his office, he learned that he had been absent from it most of the day. It was supposed that he had been called out of town again. Reaching home, hoping to find him there, Tom learned that he had not been up to dinner, but was still expected, though it was long after the usual hour. Hot, tired, and anxious, Tom made but a poor attempt at the dinner urged upon him, and took his way to the front part of the house to watch for his father. He established himself on a sofa near a bay-window in the parlor, with a very heavy pressure of care on his heart. He knew it would not do to tell his nervous mother: even poor, heedless Tom was thoughtful of her comfort. And he did not want Frank to know anything about it if he could help it. It might all come out right yet, and then only his father need know.
"Tell him not to hurry—we can wait," said a voice in the room. Tom rubbed his eyes and stared about, as the maid showed in two strangers. He was wide awake in a moment, and drew himself into a corner of the sofa where he was nearly concealed by a curtain which divided the bay-window from the room. The maid drew aside the curtains of another window, and threw it open. And there, in the bright sunlight, Tom saw, with fright and horror, which at first took from him the power to move or speak, the Chief Criminal and the Accomplice seat themselves comfortably in his father's house.
What now? With a desperate effort at self-control he tried to think what it was best to do. It rested on him now not only to insure his father's safety, but to prevent the escape of these men.
He presently got up, and going quietly to a door which led into another room, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. Then he turned to the window near which the men sat. The older one addressed him pleasantly.
"You are a son of Mr. Primrose?" he said, offering his hand.
Tom bowed slightly, but took no notice of the extended hand. He lowered the window and fastened it, hoping that the burglars, if they tried to open it, might not at first understand the catch, thus giving more time. He then passed into the hall, noiselessly locking that door also.
Frank was nursing his sprained foot on the back piazza. In answer to Tom's excited inquiries he told him their father had returned home a short time since, had dined, and gone to his room. His mother was in the kitchen canning fruit. Glad not to meet her, Tom sprang up the stairs, and knocking at his father's door, begged to be let in.
"I am bathing, Tom," was the answer; "wait a little."
"Oh, father," pleaded Tom, "do let me speak to you just one minute."
Tom's claims to be heard were usually urgent, so his father only said, "Have a little patience, my boy; in ten minutes I'll hear all you have to say."
Ten minutes! What might not happen in ten minutes! If he waited up there, the criminals might, finding themselves shut in, guess that they were under suspicion, and make good their escape. If he went to call help, his father might, in his absence, run into the very danger he was seeking to save him from.
A bright thought came to him. So long as his father remained in his room he must be safe. Tom turned the key in the door, and locked him in. Then, with all the speed which terror could lend to a boy's nimble feet, he ran to the police station, a few blocks distant, reaching it in a condition which only left him able to convey a general idea that something dreadful was going on at Mr. Primrose's. Two policemen were there. First sending a message to head-quarters for further force, they followed Tom in all haste, a small crowd of by-standers falling into line, and gathering strength as they neared the Primrose domicile. As they came to the gate Tom saw the Accomplice trying to open the window.
"See! they're getting away!" he cried. And the policemen bounded into the house and seized the two men. At this moment a heavy pounding was heard overhead. Tom turned paler than before.
"There must be more of them up stairs," he shrieked; "they are getting after my father."
He tore up the stairs, and found the room still locked; but the pounding kept on. He turned the key with a trembling hand.
"Who locked me in?" exclaimed his father. "Such foolery—" He stopped in surprise as half a dozen men tramped hastily up stairs.
"Are you hurt, Mr. Primrose? Are the rascals in there?"
"Hurt? No. What's the matter? what is all this fuss about?" He stared in amazement at the crowd pressing into the hall. "Is the house on fire?"
"Not a bit, sir; but we've got two of the men in there."
He pushed his way down stairs, and was met by several policemen, who had made their way through the crowd outside. As the principal excitement seemed in the parlor, he turned that way. The eyes of all there were fixed upon two quiet-looking men, who stood with a policeman's hand on a shoulder of each.
"Philip Sanford! What does all this mean?"
"I must ask you that," was the answer. "I came to your house on a friendly visit, and to introduce my nephew, who is desirous of becoming a law student in your office"—motioning toward the younger man—"and I find myself under arrest."
The policemen dropped their hands and looked toward Mr. Primrose. Mr. Primrose looked at them.
"Why are you here, men?" he asked.
"The little chap wanted us pretty badly," said one of them, turning to Tom with a laugh.
"I—thought they were the criminals, papa—had come to hurt you, and I couldn't speak to you, and I locked you up. I didn't know what to do—and you said the burglars were such nice-looking men." A laugh arose at this.
"Go on," said his father; "I don't understand yet."
"The burglars were gone when I got to Homer; they sat behind me on the cars, and talked about being revenged on you, papa; and one of them had that revolver." Tom's voice broke, and he seized his father's hand.
The two criminals laughed heartily.
"I believe I see into it now," said Mr. Sanford. "I said I was coming here to get revenge for the beating you gave me at chess. This revolver"—he took it from his pocket—"was given me this morning by the burglar I have been defending, as a token of his gratitude, as he expressed it, for the able manner in which I had conducted his case. And this poor little fellow"—looking kindly at Tom—"has been suffering agonies of fear for his father's safety ever since I showed it in the cars."
"So, friends," said Mr. Primrose, looking around, "I thank you all for coming to my protection, but you see I do not need it."
The police led the way out, and others followed, with increasing merriment at the mistake which had been made. A shout arose also from the crowd outside as it left the premises.
"I beg your pardon, sir; and yours," faltered poor Tom, with his strongest effort to keep back the tears of mortification at the terrible blunder he had committed.
"No pardon is necessary," said Mr. Sanford. "If my own small boy lives to your age, the best I can wish for him is that he may be as brave and energetic as you have been to-day, and as faithful in watching for his father's safety, even if it sometimes leads him into a mistake. You'll take my hand now, my boy, won't you?"
Tom grasped it, and then escaped to his room. There lay his pocket-book, just where he had left it when he changed his clothes in the morning. He threw himself on the bed and cried till sleep came to relieve his troubles.
When he awoke it was twilight, and his mother was beside him.
"Come, dear," she said, "they are all waiting for you. Yes, you must go down," as Tom shook his head: "they will not go to tea till you go down. And look at this—your father received it about an hour ago."
It was a telegram from Homer, and read thus:
"Have caught the men, and shipped to Hancock County.
"Carroll."
"THE HUNT IS UP, THE MORN IS BRIGHT AND GRAY."—Shakspeare.