Chapter XV. Pomp Behaves Badly

by Horatio Alger

　　The village of Rossville was distant about five miles from thelong line of railway which binds together with iron bands thecities of New York and Boston. Only when the wind was stronglythat way could the monotonous noise of the railway-train beheard, as the iron monster, with its heavy burden, sped swiftlyon its way.Lately a covered wagon had commenced running twice a day betweenRossville and the railway-station at Wellington. It was startedat seven in the morning, in time to meet the early trains, andagain at four, in order to receive any passengers who might haveleft the city in the afternoon.Occupying a central position in the village stood the tavern--atwo-story building, with a long piazza running along the front.Here an extended seat was provided, on which, when the weatherwas not too inclement, the floating population of the village,who had plenty of leisure, and others when their work was overfor the day, liked to congregate, and in neighborly chat discussthe affairs of the village, or the nation, speculating perchanceupon the varying phases of the great civil contest, which, thoughraging hundreds of miles away, came home to the hearts andhearths of quiet Rossville and every other village and hamlet inthe land.The driver of the carriage which made its daily journeys to andfro from the station had received from his parents the ratheruncommon name of Ajax, not probably from any supposed resemblanceto the ancient Grecian hero, of whom it is doubtful whether hisworthy progenitor had ever heard. He had been at one time adriver on a horse-car in New York, but had managed to find hisway from the busy hum of the city to quiet Rossville, where hewas just in time for an employment similar to the one he hadgiven up.One day, early in November, a young man of slight figure,apparently not far from twenty-five years of age, descended fromthe cars at the Wellington station and, crossing the track,passed through the small station-house to the rear platform."Can you tell me," he inquired of a bystander, "whether there isany conveyance between this place and Rossville?""Yes, sir," was the reply. "That's the regular carriage, andhere's the driver. Ajax, here's a passenger for you.""I have a trunk on the other side," said the young man,addressing the driver. "If you wild go round with me, we willbring it here.""All right, sir," said Ajax, in a businesslike way.The trunk was brought round and placed on the rack behind thewagon. It was a large black trunk, securely bound with brassbands, and showed marks of service, as if it had beenconsiderably used. Two small strips of paper pasted on the sidebore the custom-house marks of Havre and Liverpool. On one endwas a large card, on which, written in large, bold letters, wasthe name of the proprietor, Henry Morton.In five minutes the "express" got under way. The road woundpartly through the woods. In some places the boughs, bending overfrom opposite sides, nearly met. At present the branches werenearly destitute of leaves, and the landscape looked bleak. Butin the summer nothing could be more charming.From his seat, beside Ajax, Henry Morton regarded attentively theprominent features of the landscape. His survey was interruptedby a question from the driver."Are you calc'latin' to make a long stay in our village?"inquired Ajax, with Yankee freedom."I am not quite certain. It is possible that I may.""There isn't much goin' on in winter.""No, I suppose not."After a few minutes' pause, he inquired, "Can you tell me ifthere is a gentleman living in the village named Haynes?""I expect you mean Squire Haynes," said Ajax."Very probably he goes by that name. He was formerly a lawyer.""Yes, that's the man. Do you know him?""I have heard of him," said the young man, non-committally."Then you ain't going to stop there?"An expression of repugnance swept over the young man's face, ashe hastily answered in the negative.By this time they had come to a turn in the road. This broughtthem in view of Chloe's cottage. Little Pomp was on all fours,hunting for nuts among the fallen leaves under the shagbark-tree.Under the influence of some freakish impulse, Pomp suddenlyjumped to his feet and, whirling his arms aloft, uttered a wildwhoop. Startled by the unexpected apparition, the horses gave asudden start, and nearly succeeded in overturning the wagon."Massy on us!" exclaimed an old lady on the back seat, suddenlyflinging her arms round young Morton's neck, in the height of herconsternation."All right, marm," said Ajax reassuringly, after a brief butsuccessful conflict with the horses. "We sha'n't go over thistime. I should like to give that little black imp a goodshaking.""Oh, I've lost my ban'box, with my best bunnit," hastilyexclaimed the old lady. "Le' me get out and find it. It was apresent from my darter, Cynthy Ann, and I wouldn't lose it for akingdom."In truth, when prompted by her apprehension to cling to the youngman in front for protection, Mrs. Payson had inadvertentlydropped the bandbox out of the window, where it met with anunhappy disaster. The horse, quite unconscious of the damage hewas doing, had backed the wagon in such a manner that one of thewheels passed directly over it.When Ajax picked up the mutilated casket, which, with the jewelit contained, had suffered such irreparable injury, and restoredit to its owner, great was the lamentation. Rachel weeping forher children could hardly have exhibited more poignant sorrow."Oh, it's sp'ilt!" groaned the old lady. "I can never wear itarter this. And it cost four dollars and sixty-two cents and ahalf without the ribbon. Oh, deary me!"Then, suddenly waxing indignant with the author of the mischief,she put her head out of the window, and, espying Pomp on theother side of the stone wall, looking half-repentant andhalf-struck with the fun of the thing, she shook her fist at him,exclaiming, "Oh, you little sarpint, ef I only had you here, I'dw'ip you till you couldn't stan'."Pomp was so far from being terrified by this menace that he burstinto a loud guffaw. This, of course, added fuel to the flame ofthe old lady's wrath, and filled her with thoughts of immediatevengeance. Her sympathy with the oppressed black race was at thatmoment very small."Jest lend me your w'ip, driver," said she, "an' I'll l'arn thatsassy imp to make fun of his elders."Ajax, whose sense of humor was tickled by the old lady'speculiarities, quietly took her at her word, and coming round tothe side opened the door of the carriage."There, ma'am," said he, extending the whip. "Don't spare him. Hedeserves a flogging."Mrs. Payson, her eyes flashing from beneath her glasses with avengeful light, seized the proffered whip with alacrity, andjumped out of the wagon with a lightness which could hardly havebeen anticipated of one of her age."Now, look out," she said, brandishing the whip in a menacingway. "I'll git pay for that bunnit in one way, ef I don't inanother."Pomp maintained his position on the other side of the wall. Hewaited till the old lady was fairly over, and then commencedrunning. The old lady pursued with vindictive animosity, crackingthe whip in a suggestive manner. Pomp doubled and turned in amost provoking way. Finally he had recourse to a piece ofstrategy. He had flung himself, doubled up in a ball, at the oldlady's feet, and she, unable to check her speed, fell over him,clutching at the ground with her outstretched hands, from whichthe whip had fallen."Hi, hi!" shrieked Pomp, with a yell of inconceivable delight, ashe watched the signal downfall of his adversary. Springingquickly to his feet, he ran swiftly away."Good for you, you old debble!" he cried from a safe distance.Henry Morton, though he found it difficult to restrain hislaughter, turned to Ajax and said, "I think it's time weinterfered. If you'll overtake the little black boy and give hima shaking up, just to keep him out of mischief hereafter, I'll goand help the old lady."Ajax started on his errand. Pomp, now really alarmed, strove toescape from this more formidable adversary, but in vain. He wasdestined to receive a summary castigation.Meanwhile, the young man approached Mrs. Payson."I hope you're not much hurt, madam," said he respectfully."I expect about every bone in my body's broke," she groaned.Raising her to her feet, it became manifest that the damage waslimited to a pair of hands begrimed by contact with the earth.Nevertheless, the old lady persisted that "something or 'notherwas broke. She didn't feel quite right inside.""I shouldn't keer so much," she added, "ef I'd caught thataggravatin' boy. I'd go fifty miles to see him hung. He'll die onthe gallows, jest as sure's I stan' here."At this moment a shrill cry was heard, which could proceed fromno one but Pomp."Golly, Mass' Jack, don't hit so hard. Couldn't help it, sure.""You'll have to help it the next time, you little rascal!"responded Ajax."Le' me go. I hope to be killed if I ever do it ag'in," pleadedPomp, dancing about in pain."I hope you gin it to him," said the old lady, as the driverreappeared.Ajax smiled grimly. "I touched him up a little," he said."Oh, my poor bunnit!" groaned Mrs. Payson, once more, as her eyesfell upon the crushed article. "What will Cynthy Ann say?""Perhaps a milliner can restore it for you," suggested HenryMorton, with an attempt at consolation.The old lady shook her head disconsolately. "It's all jammed outof shape," she said dismally, "an' the flowers is all mashed up.Looks as ef an elephant had trodden on to it.""As you are the only one of us that has suffered," said the youngman politely, "I think it only fair that your loss should belightened. Will you accept this toward making it good?"He drew from his portemonnaie a five-dollar greenback, as hespoke, and offered it to Mrs. Payson."Are you in airnest?" inquired the old lady dubiously."Quite so.""You ain't robbin' yourself, be you?" asked Mrs. Payson, with alook of subdued eagerness lighting up her wrinkled face."Oh, no; I can spare it perfectly well.""Then I'll take it," she responded, in evident gratification,"an' I'm sure I'm much obleeged to you. I'm free to confess thatyou're a gentleman sech as I don't often meet with. I wouldn'ttake it on no account, only the loss is considerable for me, andCynthy Ann, she would have been disapp'inted if so be as I hadn'tworn the bunnit. I'd like to know who it is that I'm so muchobligated to."Henry Morton drew a card from his card-case and handed it with abow to Mrs. Payson."What's that?" asked the old lady."My card.""Le's see, where's my specs?" said Mrs. Payson, fumbling in herpocket. "Oh, I've got 'em on. So your name's Herod. What made 'emcall you that?""Henry, madam--Henry Morton.""Well, so 'tis, I declare. You ain't related to Nahum Morton, ofGilead, be you; he that was put into the State's prison forbreakin' open the Gilead Bank?"An amused smile overspread the young man's face."I never had any relatives sent to the State's prison," heanswered; "though I think it quite possible that some of them mayhave deserved it.""Jest so," assented the old lady. "There's a good deal ofiniquity that never comes to light. I once know'd a woman thatkilled her husband with the tongs, and nobody ever surmised it;though everybody thought it strange that he should disappear sosuddint. Well, this woman on her death-bed owned up to the tongsin a crazy fit that she had. But the most cur'us part of it," theold lady added rather illogically, "was, that the man was livin'all the while, and it was all his wife's fancy that she'd struckhim with the tongs."By this time the "express" had rumbled into the main street ofRossville, and the old lady had hardly completed her strikingillustration of the truth, that murder will out, before they haddrawn up in front of the tavern."Ain't you a-goin' to carry me to my darter's house?" sheinquired with solicitude. "I can't walk noway.""Yes, ma'am, ' answered Ajax, "directly, just as soon as thisgentleman's got out, and they've taken the mail."He tossed the mail-bag to a small boy who stood on the piazza inwaiting to receive it, and then, whipping up his horses, speedilyconveyed Mrs. Payson to her destination."He's a very nice, obleeging young man," said the old lady,referring to Henry Morton. "I wonder ef his mother was a Bent.There's old Micajah Bent's third daughter, Roxana Jane, married aMorton, or it might have been a Moulton. Ever see him afore?""No, ma'am. Here you are.""So I be! and there's Reuben at the gate. How are ye all? Jesttake this carpetbag, will ye, and I'll give you a cent some timeor 'nother."Reuben did not appear much elated by this promise. It had beenmade too many times without fulfilment.The old lady having reached her destination, we take leave of herfor the present, promising to resume her acquaintance insubsequent chapters.