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The Grammar School Boys of Gridley, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 23. Dick Makes His Stand For Honor |
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_ CHAPTER XXIII. DICK MAKES HIS STAND FOR HONOR Ab. Dexter's harsh voice jarred on the air. "Welcome to our city, Prescott," he laughed. Dick's first discovery was that the gag was gone from his mouth. He made an effort to use his hands, but discovered that these were more securely tied than ever. "I hope you'll enjoy this little visit with us," laughed Dexter, changing his voice, which now sounded almost pleasant. "I'd enjoy it a lot more," retorted Dick dryly, "if I had my chums here with me." "I, too, wish we had them here," nodded Dexter. "But they'd be tied up, just as you are. You don't seem a bit curious as to why you're here." "No," Dick admitted. "Marvelous youth, in whom the instinct of curiosity is dead!" "Whatever your game in bringing me here, I can guess that it's one that wouldn't interest honest men." "Oh, you're going to turn 'fresh,' are you?" Dick did not reply. Dexter drew a cigar out from a vest pocket, as he stood leaning against a decaying mantel, and lighted it. This imitation of a man smoked in silence for a few moments, during which Prescott did not offer to speak. Going over to the table, and drawing a newspaper from one of his pockets, Dexter sat down to read. He did not take off his coat, for the room was chilly. Dick did not move, nor did he offer to speak. In his present bad plight he would have been glad enough to talk with anything living, even with so despicable a human object as Ab. Dexter. "But he'd only torment me, and try to scare me, too, probably," thought Dick. "I won't give him any chance that I can help." It was wholly natural that the boy's obstinate silence, which endured for the next hour, should anger the man. At last, after having consumed two cigars and read a lot of stuff in the paper in which he was not interested, Dexter rose and stepped over to the boy. "Having pleasant thoughts, eh?" he demanded. "Better than yours, I'm sure," retorted the boy dryly. "Yes?" "Yes; because my thoughts, at least, are clean and honest ones." "Oh, you little saint!" jeered Ab. "I'm hardly a saint, and am not sure that I'd care to be one. But at least I'm happier and better off than a bigger fellow who'd be a big scoundrel if he weren't too big a coward!" "You mean that for me, do you?" snarled Dexter. "You may have it if you like it!" "You insolent little puppy!" snapped Ab., giving emphasis to his wrath by kicking him. "I see that I was wrong," said Prescott quietly. "I intimated that you are a coward. I apologize. Only a brave man would kick a helpless boy." The quiet irony of the speech made even Ab. Dexter flush. "Well, I wasn't kicking a boy. I was kicking his freshness," explained Dexter, in a harsh voice. "And I'll kick a lot more of that freshness, if I have to." "I don't doubt it. Women and boys are your choice for fighting material. And, if I had some of my chums here, you'd find kicking boys too perilous a sport." "You won't have them here," laughed Ab. coarsely. "You're the only one of the six that I want, so the others can stay in Gridley." "But they won't," declared Dick. "At least, not long, after they discover that I'm missing." "They'll never discover you, unless you go back to town by my permission," jeered Dexter. "Here, I'll show you something." Bending over, he seized the boy by his coat collar, next lifting and dragging Dick to a window at the rear. "Look out, and tell me what you see," commanded the jailer. "I see the woods, and a few other things," Dick replied. "And--yes, I know where I am. This is the house at Bannerman's old mill. I was up this way last year after nuts." "You know, then, that you're a good way from where folks would look for you." "Oh, I'm not so sure of that, Dexter. Dave Darrin and the rest of the fellows know all of this country. We've all tramped through here before. They're very likely to think of this place within the next day or two." "If they don't get here before dark, and if you haven't done, by that time, what I brought you here to do, then they won't find you." "No?" challenged Dick Prescott. "Look again, and tell me what you see outside. Do you see that place where Driggs has been digging? Do you see the hole he started, and the shovel beside it? Can you guess how we could dig that hole deeper, and put something away in it?" There was a derisive smile on young Prescott's face as he started to look. Then his expression changed. He did not start, cry out nor turn pale, but that smile vanished. "You see it, don't you?" demanded Ab. Dexter, watching the boy's face. "You want to scare me about that hole, I suppose?" "Yes; if you haven't gotten around completely to my way of thinking before dark to-night Driggs may have to finish his digging." "Does he need exercise?" "You've guessed what I mean," declared Dexter, "although you pretend to misunderstand me." "Humph!" "Look out, Prescott, that you don't put us in an ugly temper." But Dick had found his courage by this time. He laughed merrily, though it was forced. "What are you laughing at?" asked the other. "At the very idea, Dexter, of your having nerve enough to do a thing like that! Why, there are boys in the primary school in Gridley who have more real sand than you have." For answer the scoundrel seized the boy, hurling him across the room. Dick tottered. Being unable to use his hands to aid himself, he fell to the floor and lay there. "Do you know what you ought to be doing, Dexter?" inquired Dick, as soon as he had smothered his wrath a bit. "Well?" "You ought to be training puppies for the dog circus. Not by fear, you know, for you really couldn't scare anything. But, in training puppies by the golden rule you'd be at your best!" "I'll train you before I get through with you," snarled the rascal. "There's only one thing you need to make you rather funny," remarked Dick. "What is that?" "All you need to make you funny, Dexter, is a little more wit." Ab. stepped over and administered another kick. "Thank you," acknowledged Prescott politely. "Much obliged, are you?" "Yes; a kick from you is an honor. Only a handshake or a compliment would hurt." Dexter's face showed his wrath. He would have retorted, but he felt his helplessness in a battle of wits alone against Dick Prescott. For a moment or two Ab. left the room. Dick began immediately to test the security of the cords at his wrists. He found himself only too well tied. Dick glanced searchingly about, intent on finding something that promised help or escape. But Ab. came back, carrying an oil heater and a book. Placing the lighted heater beside the table Dexter sat down and opened the book. "I knew you had cold feet," laughed Dick. "I've been waiting for you to seek some way of warming up." Ab. scowled, but went on reading his book. This time the silence was an extremely long one. It was not broken, in fact, until Dick had lost all track of time, and knew only that there was still some daylight left. At last a whistle sounded outside. Dropping the book, Dexter made his way out into the hall, and thence downstairs. Again Dick began to tug at the cords around his wrists. Then Dexter came into the room, followed by Driggs. "Well," asked Driggs, "has the young cub come to his senses yet?" "I haven't tried him," responded Ab. sourly. "You can take him in hand if you want, Driggs." "You hain't told him what we want?" "Not a word," Ab. answered. "You can take him in hand. Don't stand any nonsense, either." "It ain't exactly my way to stand nonsense," growled Driggs, who was a good deal more courageous than Dexter. "As a first step I'll untie his hands. The boy can't make any fight against the two of us." Instead of untying, however, Driggs opened his clasp knife, and cut the cords at Dick's wrists, after which he untied the big handkerchief that had also been tied there. "Now, get on your feet, Prescott." Dick obeyed, taking his time about it. No matter what was about to happen Dick knew that he could take better care of himself standing up. "Exercise your hands and arms a bit, if you want to," continued Driggs. "You may find that circulation has been stopped." This Dick knew well enough. As his hands might be of extreme use to him in the very near future he followed the last bit of advice. "Go get your writing materials," said Driggs, turning to Ab. Dexter left the room, soon returning with paper, envelopes and a pen thrust down into a bottle of ink. "Now, I'll tell you what you've got to do, boy," Driggs continued. "Or maybe you can tell him that better, Dexter." "You're going to write a letter to Mrs. Dexter," stated Ab. "In that letter you're going to tell her that you're hopelessly in my power, and that you realize how foolish it is for her to refuse my demands any longer. So you're to advise her that the best thing for her--and the only hope of saving your life as well as hers--is for her to pay me that forty thousand dollars----" "You've gone up ten in your price, haven't you?" asked Dick with a momentary lack of caution. "So-ho!" muttered Ab. "Mrs. Dexter did tell you about my last letter when you were talking on Main Street last Saturday. And I suppose you advised her to go back to the 'Blade' office and withdraw the advertisement that my letter had frightened her into paying for." Dick bit his lips in silence. "Did you advise her that way, or didn't you?" insisted Ab. angrily. "Whatever she and I may have said to each other is not going to be repeated here," Prescott answered. "Oh, it isn't Mr. High-and-mighty?" sneered Driggs, going closer to the boy and laying a hard hand on him. "See here, youngster, you may have an idea that Dexter isn't very dangerous. You'll have a different notion about me, if I turn myself loose on you. Now, you get suddenly respectful. Answer straight, and do just what we tell you--or I'll take you in hand." "I won't write any such letter as you order me to," retorted Dick stubbornly. "You won't? I tell you you will!" roared Driggs, gripping Prescott by the collar. "Sit down at that table." "I won't!" "You will!" Driggs lifted Dick fairly off his feet, shaking him roughly. A thirteen-year-old boy didn't have much chance against a brute of Driggs's strength. The latter slammed the boy into a seat at the table. "Now, pick up that pen!" Dick picked it up, but aimed it at the wall opposite, hurling it forcibly. With an oath Ab. Dexter went over and picked up the pen. "He's broken the nibs," growled Ab., coming back with the pen. "No matter, I have a pencil. If he breaks the point of that it can be sharpened again. Here's the pencil." "Now, pick up that pencil," commanded Driggs hoarsely, "and write just what Dexter tells you to write. When you've written it you'll sign it. Then Dexter will enclose it with a letter from himself in which he'll tell Mrs. Dexter just where to meet him and pay over the money. If it ain't paid over, then slam you go into the hole that I've dug for you out back of here, and the dirt will go falling in on your face. Now--write!" However slight a notion Dick might have concerning Dexter's nerve, he did not doubt that Driggs was really "bad." Here was a brute who might very likely carry out his threats. Yet Dick, in addition to possessing an amazing lot of grit for a boy of his age, had also a great amount of stubbornness about doing the right thing and not doing a wicked one. "I don't know what you'll do to me, Driggs," the boy retorted, "and probably I can't hinder you any. But if you think I'm going to obey nasty loafers like you two, then you've made a poor guess." "What's that?" roared Driggs. "I'll teach you!" He caught Dick Prescott up with both hands, shaking the boy until it seemed as though all the breath had left the youngster's body. Next, Driggs held his victim with one hand while with the other he struck blows that all but rendered the Grammar School boy unconscious. "Here, don't kill the boy just yet, Driggs," ordered Dexter. "You mind your own business, now, Ab.," retorted Driggs, his face purple with passion. "Your milk-and-water way doesn't do any good. I'm in charge, now, and I'm sole boss as to what shall be done to this baby if he doesn't take our orders!" Again Dick received a severe mauling. He tried to fight back, but Driggs held him off at arm's length. At last Driggs lifted the boy once more by his coat collar. "Now, I'll finish you!" roared the brute. "That is, unless you holler out, mighty quick, that you're ready to write all that we tell you to write." "That won't happen this year!" Dick flashed back recklessly. "Oh, it won't, eh? Then so much the worse for you. I won't waste another second's time in coaxing you. Do you want to change your mind before I start?" "No!" the Grammar School boy retorted doggedly. _ |
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