“Thank you, squire. With such an impartial advocate I will continue to do my duty and fear nothing.”
As Squire Pope left the almshouse, Mr. Tucker winked at himself in the glass, and said quizzically:
“I guess I’m all right now. The vain old fool thinks he’s a second Solomon, and thinks I regard him as such. Oh, it takes me to get round him!”
Squire Pope wrote an elaborate report, in which he stated that, after searching investigation, he had ascertained that the complaints of Ann Carter were absolutely groundless, and gave it as his conviction that Mr. Tucker’s treatment of her and her associate paupers was characterized by remarkable consideration and humanity.
Such officials as he have much to answer for, and yet there are plenty just as false to their responsibilities as he.
It was two days after Squire Pope’s ineffectual attempt to possess himself of Philip’s violin, that our hero was walking along a country road, on his return from an errand which, he had undertaken for his friend’s father, when his attention was drawn to the yelping of a small dog, that seemed in fear or pain.
Looking over the stone wall, Philip saw Zeke Tucker amusing himself by thrusting the dog’s head into a pool of dirty water, and holding it there till the animal was nearly strangled. The dog’s suffering appeared to yield the most exquisite amusement to the boy, who burst into peal after peal of rude laughter as he watched the struggles of his victim.
Philip, like every decent boy, had a horror of cruelty, and the sight stirred him to immediate anger and disgust.
“What are you doing there, Zeke Tucker?” he demanded sternly.
“None of your business!” answered Zeke, frowning.