Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience. Alger Horatio Jr.

don’t, please don’t, Mr. Rogers!” implored Peter, quite panic-stricken.

      “Will you promise never to stone another cat?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Then go about your business.”

      Peter lost no time, but scuttled up the street with his companion.

      “I am much obliged to you for protecting Flora’s cat,” then said the constable to Gilbert.

      “You are quite welcome, sir. I won’t see any animal abused if I can help it.”

      “You are right there.”

      “Wasn’t that boy Peter Cook?”

      “Yes. Don’t you know him?”

      “No; but I know his stepbrother, Carl.”

      “A different sort of boy! Have you come to visit him?”

      “No; he is visiting me. In fact, he has left home, because he could not stand his step-mother’s ill-treatment, and I have come to see his father in his behalf.”

      “He has had an uncomfortable home. Dr. Crawford is an invalid, and very much under the influence of his wife, who seems to have a spite against Carl, and is devoted to that young cub to whom you have given a lesson. Does Carl want to come back?”

      “No; he wants to strike out for himself, but I told him it was no more than right that he should receive some help from his father.”

      “That is true enough. For nearly all the doctor’s money came to him through Carl’s mother.”

      “I am afraid Peter and his mother won’t give me a very cordial welcome after what has happened this morning. I wish I could see the doctor alone.”

      “So you can, for there he is coming up the street.”

      Gilbert looked in the direction indicated, and his glance fell on a thin, fragile-looking man, evidently an invalid, with a weak, undecided face, who was slowly approaching.

      The boy advanced to meet him, and, taking off his hat, asked politely: “Is this Dr. Crawford?”

      CHAPTER IV

      AN IMPORTANT CONFERENCE

      Dr. Crawford stopped short, and eyed Gilbert attentively.

      “I don’t know you,” he said, in a querulous tone.

      “I am a schoolmate of your son, Carl. My name is Gilbert Vance.”

      “If you have come to see my son you will be disappointed. He has treated me in a shameful manner. He left home yesterday morning, and I don’t know where he is.”

      “I can tell you, sir. He is staying—for a day or two—at my father’s house.”

      “Where is that?” asked Dr. Crawford, his manner showing that he was confused.

      “In Warren, thirteen miles from here.”

      “I know the town. What induced him to go to your house? Have you encouraged him to leave home?” inquired Dr. Crawford, with a look of displeasure.

      “No, sir. It was only by chance that I met him a mile from our home. I induced him to stay overnight.”

      “Did you bring me any message from him?” “No, sir, except that he is going to strike out for himself, as he thinks his home an unhappy one.”

      “That is his own fault. He has had enough to eat and enough to wear. He has had as comfortable a home as yourself.”

      “I don’t doubt that, but he complains that his stepmother is continually finding fault with him, and scolding him.”

      “He provokes her to do it. He is a headstrong, obstinate boy.”

      “He never had that reputation at school, sir. We all liked him.”

      “I suppose you mean to imply that I am in fault?” said the doctor, warmly.

      “I don’t think you know how badly Mrs. Crawford treats Carl, sir.”

      “Of course, of course. That is always said of a stepmother.”

      “Not always, sir. I have a stepmother myself, and no own mother could treat me better.”

      “You are probably a better boy.”

      “I can’t accept the compliment. I hope you’ll excuse me saying it, Dr. Crawford, but if my stepmother treated me as Carl says Mrs. Crawford treats him I wouldn’t stay in the house another day.”

      “Really, this is very annoying,” said Dr. Crawford, irritably. “Have you come here from Warren to say this?”

      “No, sir, not entirely.”

      “Perhaps Carl wants me to receive him back. I will do so if he promises to obey his stepmother.”

      “That he won’t do, I am sure.”

      “Then what is the object of your visit?”

      “To say that Carl wants and intends to earn his own living. But it is hard for a boy of his age, who has never worked, to earn enough at first to pay for his board and clothes. He asks, or, rather, I ask for him, that you will allow him a small sum, say three or four dollars a week, which is considerably less than he must cost you at home, for a time until he gets on his feet.”

      “I don’t know,” said Dr. Crawford, in a vacillating tone. “I don’t think Mrs. Crawford would approve this.”

      “It seems to me you are the one to decide, as Carl is your own son. Peter must cost you a good deal more.”

      “Do you know Peter?”

      “I have met him,” answered Gilbert, with a slight smile.

      “I don’t know what to say. You may be right. Peter does cost me more.”

      “And Carl is entitled to be treated as well as he.”

      “I think I ought to speak to Mrs. Crawford about it. And, by the way, I nearly forgot to say that she charges Carl with taking money from her bureau drawer before he went away. It was a large sum, too—twenty-five dollars.”

      “That is false!” exclaimed Gilbert, indignantly. “I am surprised that you should believe such a thing of your own son.”

      “Mrs. Crawford says she has proof,” said the doctor, hesitating.

      “Then what has he done with the money? I know that he has but thirty-seven cents with him at this time, and he only left home yesterday. If the money has really been taken, I think I know who took it.”

      “Who?”

      “Peter Cook. He looks mean enough for anything.”

      “What right have you to speak so of Peter?”

      “Because I caught him stoning a cat this morning. He would have killed the poor thing if I had not interfered. I consider that worse than taking money.”

      “I—I don’t know what to say. I can’t agree to anything till I have spoken with Mrs. Crawford. Did you say that Carl had but thirty seven cents?”

      “Yes, sir; I presume you don’t want him to starve?”

      “No, of course not. He is my son, though he has behaved badly. Here, give him that!” and Dr. Crawford drew a ten-dollar bill from his wallet, and handed it to Gilbert.

      “Thank you, sir. This money will be very useful. Besides, it will show Carl that his father is not wholly indifferent to him.”

      “Of course not. Who says that I am a bad father?” asked Dr. Crawford, peevishly.

      “I don’t think, sir, there would be any difficulty between you and Carl if you had not married again.”

      “Carl has no right to vex Mrs. Crawford. Besides, he can’t agree with Peter.”

      “Is that his fault or Peter’s?” asked Gilbert, significantly.

      “I