Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's ExperienceAlger, Horatio, Jr.
General
Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience
Alger, Horatio, Jr.
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Didactic fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Juvenile fiction; Runaway teenagers -- Juvenile fiction
“I hate that boy! He has twice subjected me to mortification,” thought
Mrs. Crawford.
“You know very well,” she said, turning to her husband, “that I have
grounds for my request. I blush to mention it, but I have reason to
believe that your son took a wallet containing twenty-five dollars from
my bureau drawer.”
“I deny it!” said Gilbert.
“What do you know about it, I should like to ask?” sneered Mrs.
Crawford.
“I know that Carl is an honorable boy, incapable of theft, and at this
moment has but thirty-seven cents in his possession.”
“So far as you know.”
“If the money has really disappeared, madam, you had better ask your own
boy about it.”
“This is insufferable!” exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, her light eyes emitting
angry flashes. “Who dares to say that Peter took the wallet?” she went
on, rising to her feet.
There was an unexpected reply. Jane entered the room at this moment to
ask a question.
“I say so, ma’am,” she rejoined.
“What?” ejaculated Mrs. Crawford, with startling emphasis.
“I didn’t mean to say anything about it till I found you were charging
it on Master Carl. I saw Peter open your bureau drawer, take out the
wallet, and put it in his pocket.”
“It’s a lie!” said Mrs. Crawford, hoarsely.
“It’s the truth, though I suppose you don’t want to believe it. If you
want to know what he did with the money ask him how much he paid for the
gold ring he bought of the jeweler down at the village.”
“You are a spy--a base, dishonorable spy!” cried Mrs. Crawford.
“I won’t say what you are, ma’am, to bring false charges against Master
Carl, and I wonder the doctor will believe them.”
“Leave the house directly, you hussy!” shrieked Mrs. Crawford.
“If I do, I wonder who’ll get the dinner?” remarked Jane, not at all
disturbed.
“I won’t stay here to be insulted,” said the angry lady. “Dr. Crawford,
you might have spirit enough to defend your wife.”
She flounced out of the room, not waiting for a reply, leaving the
doctor dazed and flurried.
“I hope, sir, you are convinced now that Carl did not take Mrs.
Crawford’s money,” said Gilbert. “I told you it was probably Peter.”
“Are you sure of what you said, Jane?” asked the doctor.
“Yes, sir. I saw Peter take the wallet with my own eyes.”
“It is his mother’s money, and they must settle it between them I am
glad Carl did not take it. Really, this has been a very unpleasant
scene.”
“I am sorry for my part in it. Carl is my friend, and I feel that I
ought to stand up for his rights,” remarked Gilbert.
“Certainly, certainly, that is right. But you see how I am placed.”
“I see that this is no place for Carl. If you will allow me, I will send
an expressman for the trunk, and take it with me to the station.”
“Yes, I see no objection. I--I would invite you to dinner, but Mrs.
Crawford seems to be suffering from a nervous attack, and it might not
be pleasant.”
“I agree with you, sir.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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