The Young Musician; Or, Fighting His Way by Jr. Horatio Alger (i have read the book TXT) 📖

A depressing feeling of loneliness came to Phil after he had parted with Frank. He was going out into the world with no one to lean upon, and no one to sympathize with him or lend him a helping hand. No wonder he felt friendless and alone. But this mood did not last long.

“I shall find friends if I deserve them,” he reflected, “and I don't mean to do anything dishonorable or wrong. I am willing to work, and I believe I can make a living.”

Leaving him to proceed, we go back to the poor-house, where his absence was not noticed till morning.

Joe Tucker, in spite of the blow which his nasal organ had received, slept pretty comfortably, and was awakened at an early hour by his vigilant spouse.

“You'd better go up and wake that boy and set him to work, Mr. Tucker,” she said. “There are plenty of chores for him to do.”

“You are right, Abigail,” said Mr. Tucker, with approval. He reflected that he could assign to Philip some of the work which generally fell to himself, and the reflection was an agreeable one. He had tried to get work out of Zeke, but he generally found that it was harder to keep him at work than it was to do the job himself.

After he had made his toilet—not a very elaborate one—Mr. Tucker went up-stairs to arouse his young prisoner. He found the key in the outside of the door. Everything seemed right.

“I wonder how he feels this morning?” chuckled Mr. Tucker. “Wonder whether he's tamed down a little?”

He turned the key in the lock and threw open the door. He glanced at the bed, started in amazement to find that it had not been slept in, and then his wonder ceased, for the telltale rope explained how the boy had escaped.

He ran down-stairs in anger and excitement.

“What's the matter with you, Joe Tucker?” demanded his wife. “Are you drunk or crazy?”

“Enough to make me both, wife,” he answered. “The boy's gone!”

“Gone!” exclaimed Mrs. Tucker, stopping short, with a saucepan in her hand.

“Gone!” ejaculated Zeke, his mouth wide open.

“I don't believe it,” said Mrs. Tucker positively. “He couldn't go. He'd have to jump out of the third-story window.”

“Sure enough!” said Zeke.

“I can't help it—he's gone,” declared Mr. Tucker. “He tied a clothesline to the bedstead and let himself down from the window. Now, I want to know who left a clothesline in the room?”

“There wasn't any,” said Mrs. Tucker.

“Maybe he had one in his pocket,” suggested Zeke.

But this suggestion was not considered worthy of notice by his parents.

“Now I know who hit me in the nose!” exclaimed Mr. Tucker, light flashing upon him. “There was two of 'em—the ones I took for burglars.”

“Then the other one must have been Frank Dunbar,” said Mrs. Tucker.

“Zeke,” said his father, “go right off and tell Squire Pope that Philip Gray has escaped. Ask him if I can't have him arrested for assault and battery. It's likely he's at Frank Dunbar's now. We'll have him back before the day is out, and then I'll see he don't get out!”

“All right, dad! As soon as I've had breakfast I'll go.”

The result of Zeke's message was that Squire Pope hurried over to the poorhouse and held a conference with Mr. and Mrs. Tucker.

The next step was that he and Joe rode over to Mr. Dunbar's, to demand the return of the fugitive.

They found Frank splitting wood in the yard. To him they made known their errand, requesting him to call Philip out.

“He isn't here,” answered Frank.

“Isn't here? I don't believe it!” said the squire hastily.

“Sorry you doubt my word, Squire Pope, but it's just as I say.”

“Where is he, then?” demanded the squire suspiciously.

“He has left town.”

“Left town?” repeated the squire and Joe Tucker, in dismay. “Where is he gone!”

“He's probably ten miles away by this time,” answered Frank, enjoying their perplexity. “I guess you'd better wait till he comes back.”

Joe