Paul Prescott's Charge by Jr. Horatio Alger (best short novels of all time .txt) 📖

Delighted with the complete success of his practical joke, Ben took his way homeward with the sheet under his arm. By the time he reached his father's house it was ten o'clock. The question for Ben to consider now was, how to get in. If his father had not fastened the front door he might steal in, and slip up stairs on tiptoe without being heard. This would be the easiest way of overcoming the difficulty, and Ben, perceiving that the light was still burning in the sitting-room, had some hopes that he would be able to adopt it. But while he was only a couple of rods distant he saw the lamp taken up by his father, who appeared to be moving from the room.

“He's going to lock the front door,” thought Ben, in disappointment; “if I had only got along five minutes sooner.”

From his post outside he heard the key turn in the lock.

The 'Squire little dreamed that the son whom he imagined fast asleep in his room was just outside the door he was locking.

“I guess I'll go round to the back part of the house,” thought Ben, “perhaps I can get in the same way I came out.”

Accordingly he went round and managed to clamber upon the roof, which was only four feet from the ground. But a brief trial served to convince our young adventurer that it is a good deal easier sliding down a roof than it is climbing up. The shingles being old were slippery, and though the ascent was not steep, Ben found the progress he made was very much like that of a man at the bottom of a well, who is reported as falling back two feet for every three that he ascended. What increased the difficulty of his attempt was that the soles of his shoes were well worn, and slippery as well as the shingles.

“I never can get up this way,” Ben concluded, after several fruitless attempts; “I know what I'll do,” he decided, after a moment's perplexity; “I'll pull off my shoes and stockings, and then I guess I can get along better.”

Ben accordingly got down from the roof, and pulled off his shoes and stockings. As he wanted to carry these with him, he was at first a little puzzled by this new difficulty. He finally tied the shoes together by the strings and hung them round his neck. He disposed of the stockings by stuffing one in each pocket.

“Now,” thought Ben, “I guess I can get along better. I don't know what to do with the plaguy sheet, though.”

But necessity is the mother of invention, and Ben found that he could throw the sheet over his shoulders, as a lady does with her shawl. Thus accoutered he recommenced the ascent with considerable confidence.

He found that his bare feet clung to the roof more tenaciously than the shoes had done, and success was already within his grasp, when an unforeseen mishap frustrated his plans. He had accomplished about three quarters of the ascent when all at once the string which united the shoes which he had hung round his neck gave way, and both fell with a great thump on the roof. Ben made a clutch for them in which he lost his own hold, and made a hurried descent in their company, alighting with his bare feet on some flinty gravel stones, which he found by no means agreeable.

“Ow!” ejaculated Ben, limping painfully, “them plaguy gravel stones hurt like thunder. I'll move 'em away the first thing to-morrow. If that confounded shoe-string hadn't broken I'd have been in bed by this time.”

Meanwhile Hannah had been sitting over the kitchen fire enjoying a social chat with a “cousin” of hers from Ireland, a young man whom she had never seen or heard of three months before. In what way he had succeeded in convincing her of the relationship I have never been able to learn, but he had managed to place himself on familiar visiting terms with the inmate of 'Squire Newcome's kitchen.

“It's only me cousin, sir,” Hannah explained to the 'Squire, when he had questioned her on the subject; “he's just from Ireland, sir, and it seems like home to see him.”

On the present occasion Tim Flaherty had outstayed his usual time, and was still in the kitchen when Ben reached home. They did not at first hear him, but when he made his last abortive attempt, and the shoes came clattering down, they could not help hearing.

“What's that?” asked Hannah, listening attentively.

She went to the door to look out, her cousin following.

There was nothing to be seen.

“Perhaps you was dramin' Hannah,” said Tim, “more by token, it's time we was both doin' that same, so I'll bid you good-night.”