Try and Trust | Page 8

to
lend their aid.
"Pretty bad accident," remarked one of them. "That 'ere wheel'll need
considerable tinkering afore it's fit for use. How came you to get it
broke so, squire?"
"A little rascal had the impudence to dispute the road with me, and
would not turn out at my bidding," said Mr. Holden, in a tone of
exasperation, which showed that his temper had been considerably
soured by the accident.
"Wouldn't turn out? Seems to me from the marks of the wheels, you
must have been drivin' along in the middle of the road. I guess you
didn't take the trouble to turn out, yourself."
"Well, there was room enough for the boy to turn out one side," said
Holden, doggedly.
"You are slightly mistaken, stranger," said the other, who was disgusted
at the traveler's unreasonableness. "There wasn't room; as anyone can
see that's got eyes in his head. Didn't the youngster turn out at all?"
"Yes," snapped Holden, not relishing the other's free speech.
"Then it seems you were the one that would not turn out. If you had
been a leetle more accommodating, this accident couldn't have
happened. Fair play's my motto. If a feller meets you halfway, it's all
you have a right to expect. I reckon it'll cost you a matter of ten dollars
to get that 'ere buggy fixed."
Holden looked savagely at the broken wheel, but that didn't mend
matters. He would have answered the countryman angrily, but, as he
stood in need of assistance, this was not good policy.

"What would you advise me to do about it?" he inquired.
"You will have to leave the buggy where it is just now. Where did you
get it?"
"Over at the mill village."
"Well, you'd better lead the horse back--'tain't more'n a mile or so-- get
another wagon, and tell 'em to send for this."
"Well, perhaps that is the best way."
"Where was you goin'?"
"Over to Waverley."
"That's where the boy came from."
"What boy?"
"The boy that upset you."
"What is his name?" asked Abner Holden, scowling.
"His name is Herbert Mason, son of the Widder Mason that died two or
three weeks since. Poor boy, he's left alone in the world."
"Where's he stopping?" asked Holden, hardly knowing why he asked
the question.
"Dr. Kent took him in after the funeral, so I heard; but the selectmen of
Waverley are trying to find him a place somewheres, where he can earn
his own livin'. He's a smart, capable boy, and I guess he can do 'most a
man's work."
Abner Holden looked thoughtful. Some plan had suggested itself to
him which appeared to yield him satisfaction, for he began to look
decidedly more comfortable, and he muttered to himself: "I'll be even
with him YET. See if I don't."

"How far am I from Waverley?" he asked, after a slight pause.
"Well, risin' three miles," drawled the other.
"If I could get somebody to go back with this horse, I don't know but
what I'd walk to Waverley. Are you very busy?"
"Well, I don't know but I could leave off for a short time," said the
other, cautiously. "Work's pretty drivin', to be sure. What do you
cal'late to pay?"
"How much would it be worth?"
"Well, there's the walk there and back, and then again there's the time."
"You can mount the horse going."
"I guess fifty cents'll about pay me."
Mr. Holden took out his pocketbook and paid the required sum.
"By the way," he said, as if incidentally, "who is the chairman of the
selectmen in the village of Waverley?" "You ain't thinkin' of takin' that
boy, be you?" said the other, curiously.
"I've had enough to do with him; I don't want ever to lay eyes on him
again."
"Well, I dunno as I should, if I was you," said the countryman, rather
slyly.
"You haven't answered my question yet," said Holden, impatiently.
"Oh, about the cheerman of the selectmen. It's Captain Joseph Ross."
"Where does he live?"
"A leetle this side of the village. You'll know the house, well enough.
It's a large, square house painted white, with a well-sweep in front."

Without a word of thanks for the information, Abner Holden turned,
and began to walk toward Waverley. Perhaps his object in making
these inquiries has been guessed. It happened that he needed a boy, and,
for more reasons than one, he thought he should like to have Herbert
bound to him. Herbert, as he had noticed, was a stout boy, and he
probably could get a good deal of work out of him. Then, again, it
would be gratifying to him to have our hero in subjection to him. He
could pay him off then, ten times over, for his insolence, as he chose