Boys -- Juvenile fiction; New England -- Juvenile fiction
The car filled up soon after this, and I wondered if there was anything
in my mien that would lead the other passengers to suspect I was a boy
who had run away and was being brought back.
A man in front of us--he was near-sighted, as I discovered later by his
reading a guide-book with his nose--brought the blood to my cheeks by
turning round and peering at me steadily. I rubbed a clear spot on the
cloudy window-glass at my elbow, and looked out to avoid him.
There, in the travellers' room, was the severe-looking young lady piling
up her blocks of sponge-cake in alluring pyramids and industriously
intrenching herself behind a breastwork of squash-pie. I saw with
cynical pleasure numerous victims walk up to the counter and recklessly
sow the seeds of death in their constitutions by eating her doughnuts. I
had got quite interested in her, when the whistle sounded and the train
began to move.
The Admiral and I did not talk much on the journey. I stared out of the
window most of the time, speculating as to the probable nature of the
reception in store for me at the terminus of the road.
'What would the Captain say? and Mr. Grimshaw, what would he do about
it? Then I thought of Pepper Whitcomb. Dire was the vengeance I meant to
wreak on Pepper, for who but he had betrayed me? Pepper alone had been
the repository of my secret--perfidious Pepper!
As we left station after station behind us, I felt less and less like
encountering the members of our family. Sailor Ben fathomed what was
passing in my mind, for he leaned over and said:
“I don't think as the Capen will bear down very hard on you.”
But it wasn't that. It wasn't the fear of any physical punishment that
might be inflicted; it was a sense of my own folly that was creeping
over me; for during the long, silent ride I had examined my conduct from
every stand-point, and there was no view I could take of myself in which
I did not look like a very foolish person indeed.
As we came within sight of the spires of Rivermouth, I wouldn't have
cared if the up train, which met us outside the town, had run into us
and ended me.
Contrary to my expectation and dread, the Captain was not visible when
we stepped from the cars. Sailor Ben glanced among the crowd of faces,
apparently looking for him too. Conway was there--he was always hanging
about the station--and if he had intimated in any way that he knew of my
disgrace and enjoyed it, I should have walked into him, I am certain.
But this defiant feeling entirely deserted me by the time we reached the
Nutter House. The Captain himself opened the door.
“Come on board, sir,” said Sailor Ben, scraping his left foot and
touching his hat sea-fashion.
My grandfather nodded to Sailor Ben, somewhat coldly I thought, and much
to my astonishment kindly took me by the hand.
I was unprepared for this, and the tears, which no amount of severity
would have wrung from me, welled up to my eyes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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