Betty Gordon in Washington; Or, Strange Adventures in a Great City Read online

  CHAPTER V

  CONSEQUENCES

  "Oh, Bob!" Betty clutched the boy's sleeve in a panic. "And thebalers have come!"

  "So!" began Mr. Peabody, in tones of cold fury. "That's the way youcarry out my orders! Not one forkful of hay pitched down, and the menready to go to work to-morrow. You miserable, sneaking loafer, wherehave you been?"

  "To the vendue," said Bob defiantly.

  "Flatly refuse to mind, do you? Well, I'll give you one lesson youwon't forget!" the man reached over and gripped Bob by his shirtcollar. Struggling violently, he was pulled over the five-barred gate.

  "I'll learn you!" snarled Peabody, raising the whip.

  Betty sprang up on the gate, her eyes blazing.

  "How dare you!" she cried, her voice shaking with anger. "How dareyou strike him! I'll scream till some one comes if you touch him.Those men at the barn won't stand by and see you beat a boy."

  "Hoity toity!" sputtered the amazed farmer, confronting the angrygirl in the middy blouse with the blazing cheeks and tangled darkbraids.

  Bob tried to pull himself free, but was brought up short by a quicktwist.

  "I'm not through with you," Peabody informed him grimly. He glancedquickly toward the barn and observed the men watching him covertly.It was the better part of discretion, something told him, not to flogthe boy before so many witnesses.

  "I'm through with you!" declared Bob through clenched teeth. "I'mgoing! You've had all out of me you're going to get. Let go of me!"

  For answer, Peabody tightened his hold on the worn shirt collar.

  "Is that so?" he drawled. "Let me tell you, Mr. Smarty, you'll goout to that barn and pitch down the hay you were supposed to do thisafternoon or you'll go back to the poorhouse. You can take yourchoice. The county has a place for incorrigible boys, and if you gofar enough you'll land in the reform school. Are you going out to thebarn or not?"

  "I'll go," agreed Bob sullenly.

  "Then see that you do. And you needn't bother to stop for supper--you'veseveral hours' lost time to make up," said Peabody nastily."Now go!"

  He shook the boy till his teeth rattled and then released him with apowerful sling that sent him spinning into the dust. Bruised andshaken, Bob picked himself up and started for the barn.

  "You hold your tongue a bit better, or something'll come your way,"said Peabody shortly, eyeing Betty with disfavor and turning on hisheel at a shout of "Ho, Boss!" from the foreman of the balers.

  "Hateful!" cried Betty stormily, climbing down from the gate. "He'sthe most absolutely hateful man that ever lived! I wonder if he couldsend Bob back to the poorhouse?"

  The same thought was troubling Bob, she found, when after supper shewent out to the barn and climbed the loft ladder to see him. She hadbrought him some bread and water, the latter contributed by thePeabody pump and the bread saved from Betty's own meal.

  "Do you know, Betty," confided the boy, wiping the heavyperspiration from his face with a distressingly hot looking redcotton handkerchief, "I've been thinking over what old Peabody said.He might take it into his head to send me back to the poorhouse. Hereally needs a younger boy, one he can slam about more. I'm gettingso I can fight back. I don't fancy hanging on here till he makes uphis mind to get another boy, and running away from the poorhouseisn't a simple matter. I'd better make the plunge while there's goodswimming."

  It was stifling in the loft, and Betty felt almost giddy. She sat atthe top of the ladder, her feet hanging over the edge of the floorand regarded Bob anxiously.

  "Well, perhaps you had better go early next week," she saidjudiciously. "It would be dreadful if he did return you to thepoorhouse."

  "Therefore, I'm going to-night," announced Bob coolly. "There's aneleven-thirty train from Glenside that will make some sort ofconnection with the southern local at the Junction. Wish me luck,Betty!"

  "To-night!" gasped Betty in dismay. "Oh, Bob! don't go to-night.Wait just one night more, ah, please do!"

  Betty had the truly feminine horror of quick decisions, and she wasfrankly upset by this determination of Bob's. Even as she pleaded sheknew he had made up his mind and that it was useless to ask him tochange it.

  "I don't see how you can go--you're not ready," she arguedfeverishly. "Your shirts are on the line; I saw them. You're deadtired after all this work, and it's a long walk to Glenside. Waitjust till to-morrow, Bob, and I won't say a word."

  "No, I'm going to-night," said Bob firmly. "I haven't so muchpacking to do that it will take me over fifteen minutes. I'll helpmyself to the shirts on the line as I go in. By to-morrow morningI'll be as far away from Bramble Farm as the local can take me."

  "But--but--I'll miss you so!" protested Betty, the catch in hervoice sounding perilously close to tears. "What shall I ever do allalone in this hateful place!"

  "Oh, now, Betty!" Bob put a clumsy hand on her shoulder in an effortto comfort her. "Don't you care--you'll be going to Washington assoon as you get word from your uncle. Maybe I'll be there when youcome, and we'll go sightseeing together."

  "Are you going right to Washington?" asked Betty, drying her eyes."And are you sure you have enough money?"

  "Oceans of cash," Bob assured her cheerfully. "That's right, braceup and smile. Think what it will mean to have one peaceful breakfast,for the last week Peabody has ragged me every meal. Sure I'm going toWashington to dig out a few facts from this Lockwood Hale. Now I'llthrow down a little more hay for good measure and we'll go on in.Mustn't rouse suspicions by staying out too long. Peabody willprobably sit up for me to come in to-night."

  Betty waited till the hay was pitched down, then followed Bob to themain floor of the barn.

  "Couldn't I walk just a little way with you?" she asked wistfully."How soon are you going to start? I could go as far as the end of thelane."

  "I'd rather you went to bed and to sleep," said Bob kindly. "Youcouldn't very well traipse around at night, Betty, and I'm not goingtill it is good and dark. There's no moon to-night, and you mighthave trouble getting back to the house."

  "Well--all right," conceded Betty forlornly. "There doesn't seem tobe anything I can do. Whistle under my window, please do, Bob. I'llbe awake. And I could say good-by. I won't make a fuss, I promise."

  The boy's packing was of the simplest, for he owned neither suitcasenor trunk, and his few belongings easily went into a square of oldwrapping paper. He had earned them, few as they were, and felt nocompunctions about taking them with him.

  After the bundle was tied up he waited a half hour or so, purely asa precaution, for the Peabody household went to bed with the chickensand, with the possible exception of Mrs. Peabody, slumbered heavily.Bob slipped down the stairs, waking no one, unfastened the heavyfront door, never locked and only occasionally, as to-night, boltedwith a chain, and stepped softly around to the bush where hisprecious tin box was buried.

  This box was Bob's sole inheritance from his mother, and he had onlya vague knowledge of the papers entrusted to it. Among the yellowedslips was the marriage certificate of his parents, and he knew thatthere were one or two letters. When Joseph Peabody had taken him fromthe poorhouse, the lad had buried the box for safekeeping, and duringthe three or four years he had been with Mr. Peabody had never takenit up.

  It was not buried very deeply, and he easily uncovered it, smoothingdown the earth to hide the traces of his hasty excavating. He wentaround to Betty's window and whistled softly, half hoping that shemight be asleep.

  "Hello, Bob dear!" she called instantly, leaning from the window,her vivid face so alight with affection and hope for him that it wasa pity he could not see her clearly. "I'm wishing you the best ofluck, and I hope the old bookstore man has splendid news for you. Youwait for me in Washington."

  "I will!" whispered Bob heartily. "And you tell Mr. Bender, won'tyou? He'll understand. I'll write him the first chance I get, and DocGuerin, too. Good-by, Betty--I--I--"

  To his surprise and confusion, Bob suddenly choked.

  "Here's something to take with
you," said Betty softly, dropping alittle packet that landed at his feet. "Good-by, Bob. I just knowthings will turn out all right for you."

  The dark head was withdrawn, and Bob, picking up the little package,turned and began his long walk to the Glenside station. A hoot-owlscreeched at mournful intervals, and the night sounds would havetried a city lad's nerves in that long dark stretch that led himfinally to the station. But Bob could identify every sound, andnature had always proved kind to him, far kinder than many of thepeople he had known. He trudged along sturdily, and, twenty minutesbefore the train was due, found himself the solitary passenger on theGlenside platform.

  He stood under the uncertain rays of the lamp to examine the partinggift Betty had given him. Tucked under half a dozen chocolate waferswas a five dollar bill folded into the tiniest possible wad. Thechoky feeling assailed Bob again.

  "She certainly is some girl!" he thought with mixed gratitude andadmiration.