Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Young Musician; Or, Fighting His Way by Jr. Horatio Alger (i have read the book TXT) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «The Young Musician; Or, Fighting His Way by Jr. Horatio Alger (i have read the book TXT) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“You may as well pay us now, Professor Riccabocca,” said the landlord dryly.
“I hope you don't suspect my honor or integrity,” said Riccabocca, appearing to be wounded at the thought.
“Never mind about that,” said Mr. Gates shortly. “Actions speak louder than words.”
“I am quite ready to settle—quite,” said the professor. “The money is in my room. I will go up and get it.”
There seemed to be no objection to this, and our two friends saw him ascend the staircase to the second story. Philip felt pleased to think that he had succeeded in his quest, for his share of the concert money would be nearly seventy dollars. That, with the balance of the money; received from Farmer Lovett, would make over a hundred dollars.
They waited five minutes, and the professor did not come down.
“What can keep him?” said Philip.
Just then one of the hostlers entered and caught what our hero had said.
“A man has just run out of the back door,” he said, “and is cutting across the fields at a great rate.”
“He must have gone down the back stairs,” said the clerk.
“In what direction would he go?” asked Philip hastily.
“To the railroad station. There is a train leaves in fifteen minutes.”
“What shall we do, Mr. Gates?” asked Philip, in dismay.
“Jump into my buggy. We'll get to the depot before the train starts. We must intercept the rascal.”
CHAPTER XXXII. THE RACE ACROSS FIELDS.
It so happened that Professor Riccabocca had once before visited Knoxville, and remembered the location of the railroad station. Moreover, at the hotel, before the arrival of Philip, he had consulted a schedule of trains posted up in the office, and knew that one would leave precisely at ten o'clock.
The impulse to leave town by this train was sudden. He had in his pocket the wallet containing the hundred and fifty dollars, of which a large part belonged to Philip, and could have settled at once, without the trouble of going upstairs to his room.
He only asked leave to go up there in order to gain time for thought. At the head of the staircase he saw another narrower flight of stairs descending to the back of the house. That gave him the idea of eluding his two creditors by flight.
I have said before that Professor Riccabocca was not a wise man, or he would have reflected that he was only postponing the inevitable reckoning. Moreover, it would destroy the last chance of making an arrangement with Philip to continue the combination, which thus far had proved so profitable.
The professor did not take this into consideration, but dashed down the back stairs, and opened the back door into the yard.
“Do you want anything, sir?” asked a maidservant, eyeing the professor suspiciously.
“Nothing at all, my good girl,” returned the professor.
“You seem to be in a hurry,” she continued, with renewed suspicion.
“So I am. I am in a great hurry to meet an engagement.”
“Why didn't you go out the front door?” asked the girl.
“Oh, bother! What business is it of yours?” demanded the professor impatiently.
And, not stopping for further inquiries, he vaulted over a fence and took his way across the fields to the station.
“Here, Sam,” called the girl, her suspicions confirmed that something was wrong, “go after that man as fast as you can!”
This was addressed to a boy who was employed at the hotel to go on errands and do odd jobs.
“What's he done?” asked Sam.
“I don't know; but he's either run off without paying his bill, or he's stolen something.”
“What good'll it do me to chase him?” asked Sam.
“If he's cheated master, he'll pay you for catching the man.”
“That's so,” thought Sam. “Besides, I'll be a detective, just like that boy I read about in the paper. I'm off!”
Fired by youthful ambition, Sam also vaulted the fence, and ran along the foot-path in pursuit of the professor.
Lorenzo Riccabocca did not know he was pursued. He felt himself so safe from this, on account of the secrecy of his departure, that he never took the trouble to look behind him. He knew the way well enough, for the fields he was crossing were level, and half a mile away, perhaps a little more, he could see the roof of the brown-painted depot, which was his destination. Once there, he would buy a ticket, get on the train, and get started away from Knoxville before the troublesome acquaintances who were waiting for him to come down-stairs had any idea where he was gone.
The professor ran at a steady, even pace, looking straight before him. His eyes were fixed on the haven of his hopes, and he did not notice a stone, of considerable size, which lay in his path. The result was that he stumbled over it, and fell forward with considerable force. He rose, jarred and sore, but there was no time to take account of his physical damages. He must wait till he got on the train.
The force with which he was thrown forward was such that the wallet was thrown from his pocket, and fell in the grass beside the path. The professor went on his way, quite unconscious of his loss, but there were other eyes that did not overlook it.
Sam, who was thirty rods behind, noticed Professor Riccabocca's fall, and he likewise noticed the wallet when he reached the spot of the catastrophe.
“My eyes!” he exclaimed, opening those organs wide in delight; “here's luck! The old gentleman has dropped his pocketbook. Most likely it's stolen. I'll carry it back and give it to Mr. Perry.”
Sam very sensibly decided that it wasn't worth while to continue the pursuit, now that the thief, as he supposed Riccabocca to be, had dropped his booty.
Sam was led by curiosity to open the wallet. When he saw the thick roll of bills, he was filled with amazement and delight.
“Oh, what a rascal he was!” ejaculated the boy. “I guess he's been robbing a safe. I wonder how much is here?”
He was tempted to sit down on the grass and count the bills, but he was prevented by the thought that the professor might discover his loss, and
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