Glengarry Schooldays [39]
Hughie.
"Whose is it, then?"
"I don't know. I guess it's mother's. I found it on the kitchen floor, and I know it's mother's."
"How do you know?"
"I know well enough. She often puts money on the window, and it fell down. Give me that, I tell you!" Hughie's eyes were blazing dangerously, and Foxy handed back the half-dollar.
"O, all right. You're a pretty big fool," he said, indifferently. "'Losers seekers, finders keepers.' That's my rule."
Hughie was silent, holding his precious half-dollar in his hand, deep in his pocket.
"Say," said Foxy, changing the subject, "I guess you had better pay up for your powder and caps you've been firing."
"I haven't been firing much," said Hughie, confidently.
"Well, you've been firing pretty steady for three weeks."
"Three weeks! It isn't three weeks."
"It is. There's this week, and last week when the ink-bottle bust too soon and burnt Fusie's eyebrows, and the week before when you shot Aleck Dan, and it was the week before that you began, and that'll make it four."
"How much?" asked Hughie, desperately, resolved to know the worst.
Foxy had been preparing for this. He took down a slate-pencil box with a sliding lid, and drew out a bundle of crumbled slips which Hughie, with sinking heart, recognized as his own vouchers.
"Sixteen pennies." Foxy had taken care of this part of the business.
"Sixteen!" exclaimed Hughie, snatching up the bunch.
"Count them yourself," said Foxy, calmly, knowing well he could count on Hughie's honesty.
"Seventeen," said Hughie, hopelessly.
"But one of those I didn't count," said Foxy, generously. "That's the one I gave you to try at the first. Now, I tell you," went on Foxy, insinuatingly, "you have got how much at home?" he inquired.
"Six pennies and two dimes." Hughie's tone indicated despair.
"You've got six pennies and two dimes. Six pennies and two dimes. That's twenty--that's thirty-two cents. Now if you paid me that thirty-two cents, and if you could get a half-dollar anywhere, that would be eighty-two. I tell you what I would do. I would let you have that pistol for only one dollar more. That ain't much," he said.
"Only a dollar more," said Hughie, calculating rapidly. "But where would I get the fifty cents?" The dollar seemed at that moment to Hughie quite a possible thing, if only the fifty cents could be got. The dollar was more remote, and therefore less pressing.
Foxy had an inspiration.
"I tell you what. You borrow that fifty cents you found, and then you can pay me eighty-two cents, and--and--" he hesitated--"perhaps you will find some more, or something."
Hughie's eyes were blazing with great fierceness.
Foxy hastened to add, "And I'll let you have the pistol right off, and you'll pay me again some time when you can, the other dollar."
Hughie checked the indignant answer that was at his lips. To have the pistol as his own, to take home with him at night, and to keep all Saturday--the temptation was great, and coming suddenly upon Hughie, was too much for him. He would surely, somehow, soon pay back the fifty cents, he argued, and Foxy would wait for the dollar. And yet that half-dollar was not his, but his mother's, and more than that, if he asked her for it, he was pretty sure she would refuse. But then, he doubted his mother's judgment as to his ability to use firearms, and besides, this pistol at that price was a great bargain, and any of the boys might pick it up. Poor Hughie! He did not know how ancient was that argument, nor how frequently it had done duty in smoothing the descent to the lower regions. The pistol was good to look at, the opportunity of securing it was such as might not occur again, and as for the half- dollar, there could be no harm in borrowing that for a little while.
That was Foxy's day of triumph, but to Hughie it was the beginning of many woeful days and nights. And his misery came upon him swift and sure, in the very moment that he turned in from the road at the manse gate, for he knew that at the end of the
"Whose is it, then?"
"I don't know. I guess it's mother's. I found it on the kitchen floor, and I know it's mother's."
"How do you know?"
"I know well enough. She often puts money on the window, and it fell down. Give me that, I tell you!" Hughie's eyes were blazing dangerously, and Foxy handed back the half-dollar.
"O, all right. You're a pretty big fool," he said, indifferently. "'Losers seekers, finders keepers.' That's my rule."
Hughie was silent, holding his precious half-dollar in his hand, deep in his pocket.
"Say," said Foxy, changing the subject, "I guess you had better pay up for your powder and caps you've been firing."
"I haven't been firing much," said Hughie, confidently.
"Well, you've been firing pretty steady for three weeks."
"Three weeks! It isn't three weeks."
"It is. There's this week, and last week when the ink-bottle bust too soon and burnt Fusie's eyebrows, and the week before when you shot Aleck Dan, and it was the week before that you began, and that'll make it four."
"How much?" asked Hughie, desperately, resolved to know the worst.
Foxy had been preparing for this. He took down a slate-pencil box with a sliding lid, and drew out a bundle of crumbled slips which Hughie, with sinking heart, recognized as his own vouchers.
"Sixteen pennies." Foxy had taken care of this part of the business.
"Sixteen!" exclaimed Hughie, snatching up the bunch.
"Count them yourself," said Foxy, calmly, knowing well he could count on Hughie's honesty.
"Seventeen," said Hughie, hopelessly.
"But one of those I didn't count," said Foxy, generously. "That's the one I gave you to try at the first. Now, I tell you," went on Foxy, insinuatingly, "you have got how much at home?" he inquired.
"Six pennies and two dimes." Hughie's tone indicated despair.
"You've got six pennies and two dimes. Six pennies and two dimes. That's twenty--that's thirty-two cents. Now if you paid me that thirty-two cents, and if you could get a half-dollar anywhere, that would be eighty-two. I tell you what I would do. I would let you have that pistol for only one dollar more. That ain't much," he said.
"Only a dollar more," said Hughie, calculating rapidly. "But where would I get the fifty cents?" The dollar seemed at that moment to Hughie quite a possible thing, if only the fifty cents could be got. The dollar was more remote, and therefore less pressing.
Foxy had an inspiration.
"I tell you what. You borrow that fifty cents you found, and then you can pay me eighty-two cents, and--and--" he hesitated--"perhaps you will find some more, or something."
Hughie's eyes were blazing with great fierceness.
Foxy hastened to add, "And I'll let you have the pistol right off, and you'll pay me again some time when you can, the other dollar."
Hughie checked the indignant answer that was at his lips. To have the pistol as his own, to take home with him at night, and to keep all Saturday--the temptation was great, and coming suddenly upon Hughie, was too much for him. He would surely, somehow, soon pay back the fifty cents, he argued, and Foxy would wait for the dollar. And yet that half-dollar was not his, but his mother's, and more than that, if he asked her for it, he was pretty sure she would refuse. But then, he doubted his mother's judgment as to his ability to use firearms, and besides, this pistol at that price was a great bargain, and any of the boys might pick it up. Poor Hughie! He did not know how ancient was that argument, nor how frequently it had done duty in smoothing the descent to the lower regions. The pistol was good to look at, the opportunity of securing it was such as might not occur again, and as for the half- dollar, there could be no harm in borrowing that for a little while.
That was Foxy's day of triumph, but to Hughie it was the beginning of many woeful days and nights. And his misery came upon him swift and sure, in the very moment that he turned in from the road at the manse gate, for he knew that at the end of the