CHAPTER XXV.

THE PRESIDENT IN TROUBLE.

I had not waited to ascertain the condition of Tommy Toppleton. I had seen the stout stranger pitch him down the bank. The gentlemanly conductor had rushed down after him, to render whatever assistance he might require. Lewis Holgate had left the engine to sympathize with his powerful young friend. My occupation was gone; but I felt a certain pride and satisfaction in having stood up for my rights. I had not allowed Tommy to tread upon me this time, and I felt more like a man than I had ever felt before.

I wish to add, to some of my unreasoning young friends, that I felt an equal pride and satisfaction in the fact that I had so often submitted. I had not made haste to get into a row, and it was just as pleasant to think of what I had endured, as of the resistance I had made to oppression. If Tommy had been even tolerably reasonable, there could have been no trouble. It was a very agreeable reflection that I had not been forward in making issue with my imperious young master. If he had not been laboring to ruin me, I think I could even have borne his insults.

I was very curious to know what construction Major Toppleton would put upon my conduct. My gratitude to him made me anxious to retain his good opinion, and I had submitted to much for his sake. He certainly could not blame me for what I had done. I had merely refused to be put out of the cars after I had paid my fare. I had simply rebelled against an exhibition of petty malice, as contemptible as it was unreasonable. But, after all, it was not safe to predict what the magnate of Middleport would do when his son was involved in the affair, for the father was quite as much a victim of the young gentleman’s tyranny as I was.

The stout stranger was on his way to Hitaca, and he went on board the steamer to continue his journey. Of course there was a great deal of excited talk about the incident of the day, and of the dozen Middleporters on board, those who had the courage to say anything condemned Tommy and upheld me. I thought I was safe enough; and perhaps I should have been, if exciting news had not come down from the scene of the affair.

The engineer who had taken possession of the locomotive let off the steam; and being on his way up the lake, he abandoned the machine. As there was no one to take charge of it, Wetherstane, the superintendent, asked me to run it into the engine-house, which I did. I had been duly discharged, and it was not proper for me to do anything more. I walked home with Tom Walton; and we discussed the matter as thoroughly as the occasion required.

“How do you suppose it’s coming out, Wolf?” asked Tom, as good-naturedly as ever, but still anxiously.

“I haven’t the least idea,” I replied. “I have yielded as long as I could, and I am willing to take the consequence.”

I felt that I was not likely to be a martyr as long as Colonel Wimpleton kept his offer of a place on the new steamer open to me, with the promise of a man’s wages.

“If I were the major, I should rebel against Tommy a little, just to see how it would seem,” laughed Tom Walton. “Don’t it look strange that a great man like him--I mean the major--should be such a fool as to let his son have his own way?”

“It is strange; but I have learned that Major Toppleton is more afraid of Tommy than of all the rest of the world.”

“If my mother should let me have my own way like that, I couldn’t respect her. I should think the major would turn over a new leaf, and be a free man.”

“He is his own master--”

“Not much!” exclaimed Tom, interrupting me; “Tommy is master here.”

“Well, he has the right to obey his son, if he chooses to do so,” I added. “I don’t know, but I can’t help thinking that this matter has come to a head now. Major Toppleton wants me to run the engine, and Tommy don’t want me to do it. I hope the thing will be settled to-day.”

It was settled that day.

I went home, and pretty soon my father came to his dinner. He had, of course, been my confidant in all the matters relating to my quarrel with Tommy. I told him all about the stirring events of the morning, after we sat down to dinner; and he was so interested that he neglected to touch the food before him till he had heard the whole of it.

“Have I done wrong, father?” I asked.

“Certainly not. You couldn’t have done anything else. You live here, and the railroad is now the only way for you to come up the lake. You paid your fare, and they had no more right to put you off the cars than they had to throw you into the lake,” he replied, warmly.

I ought to add here, that my relations with the road had been discussed every day, and often two or three times a day. My father, and my mother especially, had cautioned me not to be impulsive, and not to resist while it was decent to submit. Our obligations to Major Toppleton were acknowledged, and all of us were very anxious to keep the peace with him.

“I don’t see how Major Toppleton can uphold that boy any longer,” added my mother.

“I don’t see how he ever could do it,” said my father. “But that is his business, not mine. I don’t think we make much, however, by trying to keep on the right side of these rich men by sacrificing our own self-respect. I am thankful that the major does not hold the mortgage on my house.”

“I suppose he could get it, if he wanted it,” suggested my mother.

“Well, it has two years to run, whoever has it; and as long as I pay the interest, we shall be safe enough,” continued my father. “I am thankful we are not in such a scrape as we were on the other side of the lake.”

We ate our dinner in peace, in spite of the storm which had raged without. My father was in deep thought, and it was not difficult to conjecture the subject of his meditations. Doubtless he congratulated himself most heartily that it was not in the power of either of the magnates to harass and annoy him. The major could discharge us both, and even make Middleport too warm to contain us; but the colonel was ready to receive us both with open arms. It seemed just as though I was a shuttlecock, to be batted back and forth from one side of the lake to the other at the will and pleasure of the mighty men who ruled the neighborhood.

But I had some hope that Major Toppleton would sustain me, or at least that he would not persecute our family, even if he yielded to the caprices of his son. Whatever mischief had been done, I had not done it, though I had been the indirect cause of it. I had not stopped the train; I had not put Tommy out of the car; I had not pitched him down the bank. If these things had been done on my behalf, I had no agency in them. The indignant passengers, who were detained by the whim of the little president, had been the responsible actors, and I had no doubt the stout stranger was ready to answer for his conduct. Whether he was or not, this was not my affair. I had his card in my pocket; but so far as I could ascertain, no one knew anything about him. I regarded him as a person of some consequence.

We finished our dinner, and my father was on the point of returning to the mill, when Tom Walton rushed into the kitchen, out of breath with running. His appearance indicated that some unusual event had occurred, for my friend was one of the cool sort, and not easily stirred by small matters.

“The dummy has just come in,” exclaimed Tom, in the intervals between his rapid breathing.

“Well, what of it?” I inquired, not deeming this very startling intelligence.

“Tommy Toppleton’s leg is broken,” gasped Tom.

“Broken!” I exclaimed.

“Snapped off, like a pipe-stem, below the knee, they say.”

“I am sorry for that,” I added; and I almost wished it had been my leg, instead of the little tyrant’s.

“His father is the maddest man that ever drew the breath of life.”

“I dare say,” said my father, shaking his head.

“How did it happen?” I inquired.

“Why, that stout man did it when he pitched him down the bank,” answered Tom. “I’ll bet it will cost that man a penny or two. That’s what they say up to the station.”

“I will go up and see about it,” I added, taking my hat.

“You!” ejaculated Tom, with a stare of astonishment.

“Why not?”

“If you know what you are about, you will keep out of the way,” suggested Tom, with significant emphasis.

“I haven’t done anything that I am ashamed of,” I replied. “I am not afraid to see the major, and tell him the whole story. I’m sorry for Tommy’s misfortune, but it is all his own fault.”

“Face the music, Wolf,” said my father. “No one ever makes anything by skulking in the dark. You have a tongue, and you can explain your own conduct better than any one can do it for you.”

“But they are all down upon you like a hundred of brick, Wolf,” continued Tom, who was fearful that I might be lynched in the excitement which he said prevailed in the vicinity of the major’s house.

“I can’t help it. When I was insulted, I did not resist nor make any row.”

“But you left your train at the time it ought to have started,” said Tom.

“I should not have done so if the president had not taken that time to insult me. It was not necessary for him to discharge my fireman at such a time. But no matter for all this; I am going up to Major Toppleton’s house. It he chooses to kick me out, he may do so.”

I could not help feeling that my chances of a fair hearing at such a time were very small, but I could not have kept away from the centre of the excitement if I had tried. I must know my fate, whatever it might be.