Philip, feeling ashamed of his burden, came out with the bottle and set out on his return home. He had been delayed by the conversation at the door, and he had also had to wait to have the bottle filled, there being several customers to attend to before him. So it happened that when he got back Mr. Sprague and Oscar were awaiting him impatiently.
"There the boy comes at last, father," said Oscar. "He's creeping like a snail."
Whisky was Mr. Sprague's one extravagance, and he had waited longer than usual for his customary drink. This made him irritable.
"Why don't you come along faster, you young beggar?" he called out harshly.
"I'll start him up, dad," said Oscar with alacrity.
"Do so!"
Oscar started down the road with a cruel light in his eyes. He liked nothing better than to ill-treat the unfortunate boy who had been left to the tender mercies of his father.
Philip did not understand what Oscar's coming portended till the older boy seized him violently by the shoulders.
"Why don't you hurry up?" he demanded. "Don't you know any better than to waste your time playing on the street?"
"I didn't waste any time. I couldn't get waited on at first."
"That's too thin! You were walking like a snail any way. I'll see if I can't make you stir your stumps a little faster."
Oscar pushed Philip so violently that the little fellow stumbled, and then came a catastrophe! He was thrown forward. The bottle came in contact with a stone, and of course broke, spilling the precious contents, as Nahum Sprague thought them.
"Now you've done it!" exclaimed Oscar. "I wouldn't be in your shoes, young man. Pa will flog you within an inch of your life."
"See what Philip has done, pa!" said Oscar, pointing to the broken bottle.
Nahum Sprague absolutely glared at the unfortunate boy. His throat was dry and parched, and his craving for whisky was almost painful in its intensity. And now to have the cup dashed from his lips! It would take time to get a fresh supply, not to count the additional cost. His wrath was kindled against the poor boy.
"What made you break the bottle, you young rascal?" he demanded harshly.
"I didn't mean to," answered Philip, pale with fright.
"You didn't mean to? I suppose it fell of itself," retorted Mr. Sprague with sarcasm.
"Oscar pushed me," exclaimed Philip. "He pushed me very hard, or I wouldn't have dropped it."
"Now he wants to throw it all upon me, pa. Ain't you ashamed of yourself?"
"It's true, Oscar, and you know it," returned Philip with a show of spirit. "You said I didn't move fast enough."
"It's a wicked lie. I just touched you on the shoulder, and you broke the bottle out of spite."
"I have no doubt Oscar is right," said Nahum Sprague severely. "You have destroyed my property. You have broken the bottle as well as wasted the whisky. You are a wicked and ungrateful boy. Here I have been keeping you out of charity because your lazy and shiftless father left you nothing."
"Don't you say anything against my father," said Philip, his meek spirit aroused by this cruel aspersion of the only human being who had cared for him since his mother's death.
"Hoity, toity! Here's impudence! So I am not to say anything against your father after caring for him through his sickness and burying him at my own expense."
"I'll pay you back, Mr. Sprague, indeed I will," said Philip, his lip quivering.
"You'll pay me back, you who are nothing but a beggar. Well, here's cheek. You talk as if you were rich instead of a pauper."
"I'll pay you some time—I have no money now—but I'll work day and night when I am a man to pay you."
"That all sounds very well, but it don't pay me for the bottle of whisky. I must give you a lesson for your carelessness. Oscar, go and get the horsewhip."
"I'll do it, dad," said Oscar joyfully.
He was naturally a cruel boy, and the prospect of seeing Philip flogged gave him the greatest pleasure.
There was a small outbuilding near the house which had once been used for a stable when Mr. Sprague kept a horse, but the last poor animal having pined away and died, as it was believed from insufficient food, it was no longer in use except as a store house for various odds and ends. The horsewhip was saved over from the time when it was needed for its legitimate purpose.
"Oh, don't whip me, Mr. Sprague!" pleaded Philip, frightened at the last words of his cruel guardian.
He was a sensitive boy, one of the kind that thrives under kind influences, and droops under ill-treatment. He had a delicate physical organization that shrank from pain, which some boys bear with stoical fortitude.
It was not merely pain, but the humiliation of a blow that daunted him.
Mr. Sprague did not make any reply to his pleadings, but waited impatiently for Oscar to appear.
This was not long. Sent on a congenial errand Oscar wasted no time, but came out of the building promptly with the horsewhip in his hand.
"Here it is, dad!" he said, handing it to his father.
All this happened in open view of the house and of the public road. Mr. Sprague was so intent upon his plan of punishing Philip that he did not notice the approach of two men walking with unsteady steps along the highway and now close at hand. They were the two men who had talked with Philip in front of the drinking saloon. They had been drinking, but had not reached the stage of helplessness.
"I say, Joe," said one, looking towards Nahum Sprague's house, "there's where old Sprague lives."
"He's a mean rascal," hiccoughed the other. "I'd like to thrash him."
"There's the kid—the one he sent to buy some drink. And there's old Sprague with a whip in his hand. I'll be dog-goned if he ain't goin' to lick him. It's a beastly shame. I say, suppose we take a hand."
"All right, Bill."
Meanwhile Nahum Sprague, quite unaware that he was likely to be interfered with, took the whip from the hand of his son. He looked at Philip very much as a cat looks at a mouse whom she is preparing to swallow.
"Now you're going to catch it," he announced, with a cruel gleam in his eyes. "Now you're going to see what you get for spilling my whisky. I'll learn you!"
"Oh, please don't whip me, Mr. Sprague!" pleaded Philip. "Indeed. I didn't mean to break the bottle."
"Nahum brought the whip down with a swish on Philip's
legs."—Page 285.
Mark Mason's Victory.
"Nahum brought the whip down with a swish on Philip's legs."—Page 285.
Mark Mason's Victory.
"That's too thin! You didn't want to go for the whisky in the first place. You said your papa," with a mocking sneer, "didn't like to have you go to a saloon."
"That's true, but I went."
"Because you had to. You are lazy and put on airs, just as if you wasn't a beggar dependent on me for the bread you eat and the clothes you wear."
"My father bought me these clothes," said Philip.
"Suppose he did? When you have worn them out you'll expect me to buy you some more."
"What are you waiting for, pa?" asked Oscar impatiently. "If you're going to lick him, why don't you do it?"
"I'm going to," said Nahum, and, raising the whip he brought it down with a swish around the legs of the poor boy.
Philip cried with pain, dancing up and down, and Oscar went into a fit of laughter at what he thought an amusing spectacle.
"That's the talk, dad!" exclaimed Oscar. "You gave it to him good. Give it to him again."
"I mean to," said Nahum grimly, and he raised the whip a second time.
"Say, Joe, are we going to stand this?" asked Bill.
"Not by a long shot! Follow me, pard."
Mr. Sprague's back was turned to the street, and he did not see the quick approach of the two miners. He was just about to bring down the whip again upon poor defenseless Philip when he thought he was struck by a cyclone.
Bill seized him by the collar, while Joe snatched the whip from his hand.
"Why, why, what's all this?" asked the astonished man in dismay.
"Two can play at your little game," answered Joe. "You can stand it better than the kid," and he lashed the unfortunate Nahum across the legs just as Philip had suffered a short time before.
"Stop, stop!" yelled Nahum, who was a coward at heart. "What do you mean? I'll have the law of you."
"That's what you were doing to the kid. I'll give you a dose of your own medicine," and Mr. Sprague received a second stroke.
"Give me the whip, Joe!" cried Bill. "Give me a chance at him! Don't keep all the fun to yourself."
"All right! Here it is."
Bill used the whip quite as effectively as his friend Joe.
"You stop licking my pa!" exclaimed Oscar, not daring, however, to approach the scene of conflict.
"I say, kid, what was he licking you for?" asked Bill after the first blow.
"He said I broke the bottle and spilled the whisky."
"And did you?"
"Yes, but Oscar pushed me and made me do it."
"Who's Oscar?"
"That boy there."
"Oho! so he's to blame for it."
"It's a lie!" retorted Oscar.
"It isn't. I know the kid's telling the truth. He deserves a dose, too. Bring him here, Joe."
Joe advanced upon Oscar, and after a short chase seized him by the collar, and brought him up to the self-appointed dispenser of justice.
"Hold him tight, Joe!"
Then Oscar felt the whip lash coiling around his legs.
"You quit that!" he howled in anger and dismay.
"One more will do you good. You're bigger than the kid and you can stand it better."
A second time the lash descended with even greater force, and Oscar jumped and danced as Philip had done before him, but somehow it didn't seem to impress him as so funny.
"You'd better give the old man more and then we'll let him go," said Joe.
"I'll have you arrested!" shrieked Nahum Sprague, but in spite of his threat he received another dose of the same medicine.
"When you want some more call on us!" said Bill.
As he spoke he flung the whip out into the street, and the two ministers of justice went off laughing.
"If they try to lick you again, kid, come and tell us," Joe called back.