Driven from Home: Carl Crawford's Experience

An UNEQUAL contest.

Carl walked on slowly.  He felt encouraged by the prospect of work, for he was sure that Mr. Jennings would make a place for him, if possible.

“He is evidently a kind-hearted man,” Carl reflected.  “Besides, he has been poor himself, and he can sympathize with me.  The wages may be small, but I won’t mind that, if I only support myself economically, and get on.”  To most boys brought up in comfort, not to say luxury, the prospect of working hard for small pay would not have seemed inviting.  But Carl was essentially manly, and had sensible ideas about labor.  It was no sacrifice or humiliation to him to become a working boy, for he had never considered himself superior to working boys, as many boys in his position would have done.

He walked on in a leisurely manner, and at the end of ten minutes thought he had better sit down and wait for Mr. Jennings.  But he was destined to receive a shock.  There, under the tree which seemed to offer the most inviting shelter, reclined a figure only too well-known.

It was the tramp who the day before had compelled him to surrender the ten-dollar bill.

The ill-looking fellow glanced up, and when his gaze rested upon Carl, his face beamed with savage joy.

“So it’s you, is it?” he said, rising from his seat.

“Yes,” answered Carl, doubtfully.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yes.”

“I have cause to remember you, my chicken.  That was a mean trick you played upon me,” and he nodded his head significantly.

“I should think it was you that played the trick on me.”

“How do you make that out?” growled the tramp.

“You took my money.”

“So I did, and much good it did me.”

Carl was silent.

“You know why, don’t you?”

Carl might have denied that he knew the character of the bill which was stolen from him, but I am glad to say that it would have come from him with a very ill grace, for he was accustomed to tell the truth under all circumstances.

“You knew that the bill was counterfeit, didn’t you?” demanded the tramp, fiercely.

“I was told so at the hotel where I offered it in payment for my bill.”

“Yet you passed it on me!”

“I didn’t pass it on you.  You took it from me,” retorted Carl, with spirit.

“That makes no difference.”

“I think it does.  I wouldn’t have offered it to anyone in payment of an honest bill.”

“Humph! you thought because I was poor and unfortunate you could pass it off on me!”

This seemed so grotesque that Carl found it difficult not to laugh.

“Do you know it nearly got me into trouble?” went on the tramp.

“How was that?”

“I stopped at a baker’s shop to get a lunch.  When I got through I offered the bill.  The old Dutchman put on his spectacles, and he looked first at the bill, then at me.  Then he threatened to have me arrested for passing bad money.  I told him I’d go out in the back yard and settle it with him.  I tell you, boy, I’d have knocked him out in one round, and he knew it, so he bade me be gone and never darken his door again.  Where did you get it?”

“It was passed on me by a man I was traveling with.”

“How much other money have you got?” asked the tramp.

“Very little.”

“Give it to me, whatever it is.”

This was a little too much for Carl’s patience.

“I have no money to spare,” he said, shortly.

“Say that over again!” said the tramp, menacingly.

“If you don’t understand me, I will.  I have no money to spare.”

“You’ll spare it to me, I reckon.”

“Look here,” said Carl, slowly backing.  “You’ve robbed me of ten dollars.  You’ll have to be satisfied with that.”

“It was no good.  It might have sent me to prison.  If I was nicely dressed I might pass it, but when a chap like me offers a ten-dollar bill it’s sure to be looked at sharply.  I haven’t a cent, and I’ll trouble you to hand over all you’ve got.”

“Why don’t you work for a living?  You are a strong, able-bodied man.”

“You’ll find I am if you give me any more of your palaver.”

Carl saw that the time of negotiation was past, and that active hostilities were about to commence.  Accordingly he turned and ran, not forward, but in the reverse direction, hoping in this way to meet with Mr. Jennings.

“Ah, that’s your game, is it?” growled the tramp.  “You needn’t expect to escape, for I’ll overhaul you in two minutes.”

So Carl ran, and his rough acquaintance ran after him.

It could hardly be expected that a boy of sixteen, though stout and strong, could get away from a tall, powerful man like the tramp.

Looking back over his shoulder, Carl saw that the tramp was but three feet behind, and almost able to lay his hand upon his shoulder.

He dodged dexterously, and in trying to do the same the tramp nearly fell to the ground.  Naturally, this did not sweeten his temper.

“I’ll half murder you when I get hold of you,” he growled, in a tone that bodied ill for Carl.

The latter began to pant, and felt that he could not hold out much longer.  Should he surrender at discretion?

“If some one would only come along,” was his inward aspiration.  “This man will take my money and beat me, too.”

As if in reply to his fervent prayer the small figure of Mr. Jennings appeared suddenly, rounding a curve in the road.

“Save me, save me, Mr. Jennings!” cried Carl, running up to the little man for protection.

“What is the matter?  Who is this fellow?” asked Mr. Jennings, in a deep voice for so small a man.

“That tramp wants to rob me.”

“Don’t trouble yourself!  He won’t do it,” said Jennings, calmly.