Though the boys had made as little noise as possible, conversing in an undertone, they had been heard by Mrs. Tucker. Her husband, as was his custom, had gone to sleep; but Mrs. Tucker, who, during the day, had discovered the loss of ten cents from her bureau drawer in which she kept her savings, had been kept awake by mental trouble. Some of my readers may think so small a loss scarcely worth keeping awake for, but Mrs. Joe Tucker was a strictly economical and saving woman—some even called her penurious—and the loss of ten cents troubled her.
She would have laid it to one of “them paupers,” as she was wont contemptuously to refer to them, except that she never allowed one of them to enter the sacred precincts of her chamber.
A horrible thought entered her mind. Could it be Zeke, the boy whom she thought such a paragon, though no one else had been able to discover his virtues or attractions? She did not like to think of it, but it did occur to her that Zeke, the previous day, had asked her for ten cents, though he would not own the purpose for which he wanted it. The boy might have been tempted to take the money. At any rate, she would go and see.
Zeke slept in a small room adjoining. When his mother entered, with a candle in her hand, he was lying asleep, with his mouth wide open, and one arm dropped over the side of the bed.
Mrs. Tucker took a look at him, and saw that he was wrapped in slumber and unable to notice what she proposed to do. His clothes were thrown down carelessly on a chair near-by.
Mrs. Tucker searched first in the pockets of his pants, and, though she discovered a large variety of miscellaneous articles, “of no use to any one except the owner,” she didn’t discover any traces of the missing dime. She began to hope that he had not taken it, after all, although, in that case, the loss would continue to be shrouded in obscurity. But, on continuing her search, she discovered in one of the pockets of his vest a silver ten-cent piece.
Mrs. Tucker’s eyes flashed, partly with indignation at Zeke’s dishonesty, partly with joy at the recovery of the missing coin.
“I’ve found you out, you bad boy!” she said, in a low voice, shaking her fist at the sleeping boy. “I wouldn’t have believed that my Zeke would have robbed his own mother. We must have a reckoning to-morrow.”
She was half-inclined to wake Zeke up and charge him with his crime, confronting him with the evidence of it which she had just discovered; but on second thoughts she decided that she might as well let him sleep, as the next day would do just as well.
Poor Zeke! he was not guilty, after all, though whether his honesty was strict enough to resist a powerful temptation, I am not sure.
The dime which Mrs. Tucker had discovered was the same one that Philip had given to Zeke in return for his service in notifying Frank Dunbar of his captivity. In another pocket was the five-cent piece given him by Frank, but that had escaped his mother’s attention.
The reader will understand now how it happened that Mrs. Tucker was kept awake beyond her usual time. She was broad awake when Frank Dunbar arrived, and she heard something through the partially open window of the conference between the two boys. She heard the voices that is to say, but could not tell what was said.
With her mind dwelling upon Zeke’s supposed theft, however, she was more easily frightened than usual, and immediately jumped to the conclusion that there were burglars outside, trying to get in.
The absurdity of burglars attempting to rob the town poorhouse did not occur to her in panic. She sat up in bed, and proceeded to nudge her husband in no gentle fashion.
“Mr. Tucker!” she exclaimed.
Her husband responded by an inarticulate murmur, but did not wake.
“Mr. Tucker!” she exclaimed, in a louder voice, giving him a still more vigorous shake.
“Eh! What! What’s the matter?” said Tucker, opening his eyes at last, and staring vacantly at his wife.
“What’s the matter!” retorted his wife impatiently. “The matter is that there’s burglars outside!”
“Let ’em stay outside!” said Joe Tucker, in a sleepy tone.
“Did any one ever hear such a fool?” exclaimed Mrs. Tucker, exasperated. “They’re trying to get in. Do you hear that, Mr. Tucker?”
“Trying to get in! Is the door locked?” asked Joe, a little alarmed.
“You must get up and defend the house,” continued Mrs. Tucker.
Now, Mr. Tucker was not a brave man. He had no fancy for having a hand-to-hand conflict with burglars, who might be presumed to be desperate men. It occurred to him that it would be decidedly better to stay where he was and run no risk.
“Never mind, Abigail,” he said, soothingly. “The burglars can’t do us any harm. They can’t do any more than carry off a pauper or two, and I don’t, believe they’ll do that.”
“I wouldn’t mind that, Mr. Tucker; but I’ve left the spoons down-stairs!” answered his wife.
“How many are there!”
“Six. I want you to go down and get them and bring them up here, where they will be safe.”
“But suppose I should meet some of the burglars!” suggested Tucker, trembling.
“Then you must defend yourself like a man!”
“You might find me in the morning weltering in my gore!” said Joe, with an uneasy shudder.
“Are we to have the spoons stolen, then!” demanded Mrs. Tucker sharply.
“If you care so much for the spoons, Abigail, you’d better go down-stairs yourself and get ’em. I don’t value them as much as my life.”
“I don’t know but I will, if you’ll look out of the window and see whether you can see any of the burglars outside,” responded Mrs. Tucker. “If they haven’t got in yet, I’ll take the risk.”
“Where did you hear ’em, Abigail?”
“Right outside. Open the window and look out, and you may see ’em.”
Mr. Tucker was not entirely willing to do this, but still he preferred it to going down-stairs after the spoons, and accordingly he advanced, and, lifting the window, put his head out, as described at the close of the last chapter.
Philip and Frank were just ready to go when they heard the window rising, and naturally looked up in some trepidation.
“It’s old Tucker!” said Frank, in a low voice.
Philip looked up, and saw that his friend was right.
Mr. Tucker had not yet discovered them, but the whisper caught his ear, and looking down he caught sight of the two boys.
In his alarm, and the obscurity of the night, he did not make out that they were boys and not men, and was about to withdraw his head in alarm, when a mischievous impulse seized Frank Dunbar.
“Give me the ball, Philip!” he said quickly.
Philip complied with his request, not understanding his intention.
Now, Frank belonged to a baseball club, and had a capital aim. He threw up the ball and struck Mr. Tucker fairly in the nose. The effect upon the terrified Joe was startling.
Full as his mind was of burglars, he fancied that it was something a great deal more deadly that had struck him.
“Oh, Abigail! I’m shot through the brain!” he moaned in anguish, as he poked in his head and fell back upon the floor.
“What do you mean, Joe?” asked his wife, in alarm, as she hastened to her prostrate husband, whose hand was pressed convulsively upon the injured organ, which, naturally ached badly with the force of the blow.
“I’m a dead man!” moaned Mr. Tucker; “and it’s all your fault. You made me go to the window.”
“I don’t believe you’re shot at all! I didn’t hear any report,” said Mrs. Tucker. “Let me see your face.”
Mr. Tucker withdrew his hand mournfully.
“You’ve only been struck with a rock or something,” said she, after a careful examination.
“It’s bleeding!” groaned Joe, seeing a dark stain on his night-dress.
“Suppose it is—it won’t kill you. I’ll look out myself.”
But she saw nothing. Philip and Frank had immediately taken to flight, and vanished in the darkness.
“They’ve run away!” announced Mrs. Tucker. “My spoons are safe.”
“But my nose isn’t,” groaned Mr. Tucker.
“You won’t die this time,” said Mrs. Tucker, not very sympathetically. “Soak your nose in the wash-basin, and you’ll be all right in the morning.”
The two boys were destined to have another adventure that night.
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