The young master of Hyson Hall

Strange to say, Phil felt at this moment as if he were the real master of the house. Ten minutes before he would have supposed that such a feeling would never come to him again.

He looked down at the gun, he looked at Susan, and then he looked at the stairway, up which Emile had fled. He did not say anything, and Susan stood silent. As for Jenny, she retired into the dining-room, where, through the open door, she watched the scene.

Raising the hammers of the gun, Phil took off the caps, which he put into his vest-pocket; then, carefully letting down the hammers again, he handed Old Bruden to the housekeeper.

“Susan,” said he, “will you take this gun and hang it up in the gun-room? And I would like you to lock the door and bring me the key.”

“I’ll do it,” said Susan, promptly; “and if you’ll wait here, I’ll bring you the key in a minute.”

“Knocked under,” said Jenny, softly, to herself. “I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it!”

When Susan came down-stairs and put the gun-room key into Phil’s hands, he received it with a feeling of positive exaltation. One of his great troubles was at an end. Putting on his hat, he walked cheerfully down to the stables. For a time, the effect of the French boy’s story and threat had passed from his mind.

As soon as Phil was well out of the house, Emile came cautiously down-stairs. Seizing his hat from the rack, he clapped it on, went out and walked down the shaded roadway.

He was very angry, not only with everybody around him, but with himself. He had suffered himself, in a measure, to be beaten, and had run away.

Nothing could more thoroughly exasperate a person of his nature than to think that he had done a thing like this. He walked on for some distance, storming inwardly and occasionally shaking his fist, until, when he had nearly reached the outer gate, he saw Phœnix Poole approaching.

Phœnix had come, by appointment with Chap, to talk over plans in regard to the wreck, but Chap, that afternoon, had been detained at home.

The sight of Phœnix still further enraged Emile. He was the boy who had suspected the motive of his single dive from the scow, and had tried to find out what he had been doing under water.

“What do you want here?” cried Emile, as soon as he came within speaking distance of the other.

“What’s that to you?” asked Phœnix, a little surprised.

“You go home!” cried Emile. “Nobody wants you here.”

“I won’t go home till I’m ready,” said Phœnix.

“Zen you be ready now!” cried the excited French boy. “What you come here for, anyhow, you little schneak?”

Phœnix turned around and walked to the side of the road. He took off his hat and coat and laid them on the grass. Then he came back to Emile and gave him a tremendous thrashing.

It was of no use for the French boy to struggle or resist. Phœnix Poole was the strongest boy in that part of the country, and he did not stop till he felt that his work was thoroughly done. Then he put on his hat and coat and walked up to the house.

In all his life Emile had never been thoroughly thrashed before, and, among his other sensations, that of astonishment was very strong. How such a little fellow could whip him he could not understand. But, although Phœnix was short, he was not little. Emile had never taken enough interest in him to notice how thick-set and muscular he was.

The French boy, who but a short time ago had felt and acted as the master of Hyson Hall, was now so thoroughly cowed that he was afraid to go back to the house. He was just as angry at everybody as he had been before, but even his temper could not give him courage enough to meet that horrible short boy again.

Phœnix did not find Philip in the house, so he went down to the stables.

“Chap has not been here yet?” said he.

“No,” said Phil. “He isn’t keeping as good a watch over his Emily as he used to. If he isn’t careful, that wreck will be blown up before he knows it.”

After a short silence, in which he occupied himself examining the points of Jouncer, who was being rubbed down by Joel, Phœnix remarked,—

“I met that French boy as I was coming here.”

“You did?” said Phil, who did not consider this statement of any importance.

“Yes,” continued Phœnix, “and I licked him.”

At these words Phil turned round in utter amazement; Joel stopped his work, and even Jouncer turned his head, as if to listen to what was coming next.

Phœnix was such a very quiet, peaceable boy that no one ever thought of his engaging in a fight. This was certainly something very extraordinary.

“What in the world put you up to that?” cried Phil. “Did he give you any of his impudence?”

“Well,” said Phœnix, slowly, “he did rub my hair up the wrong way.”

“He must have rubbed pretty hard,” said Phil, laughing, “to make you fight him.”

“It wasn’t altogether what he said,” remarked Phœnix; “but from what I had seen of him, and from what you and Chap told me, I considered it a sort of duty to lay him out.”

Joel burst out laughing at this, and went to work with great vigor upon Jouncer, while Phœnix, a little confused, put his hands in his pockets, and said he guessed he’d look round and see if Chap was coming.

Chap did arrive soon, and the three boys went to the shady front porch to talk over matters.

When Chap heard what had happened to Emile he fairly danced with glee, and he gave Phœnix no rest until he had told the story with great minuteness.

Phil had made up his mind that he would tell Chap of the new trouble which threatened him, and he now concluded to take Phœnix also into his confidence. A fellow who had done what he had deserved to know all that was going on.

The dreadful revelation of the real object of Emile Touron’s visit, and the mortgage held by his father, took all the cheerfulness out of Chap, and made Phœnix look blank indeed.

At first the boys did not believe the story, but Phil was certain that such a thing would not be trumped up without any ground whatever.

“Of course, my uncle knows what he is about,” he said, “and intends to make everything all right: but he could have had no idea the Tourons would come down suddenly this way. If I could only let him know what is in the wind, he’d be back in no time, and put a stop to this foolery.”

Phil felt bound to speak as cheerfully and hopefully as he could, but the more he talked and thought upon the subject, the more doleful he felt. Both his friends agreed that the best thing he could do was to see somebody as soon as he could, and they supposed the right person to see was Mr. Welford.

Phil could not help agreeing with them; and, although he did not care to see Mr. Welford again after the way in which he had been treated by that gentleman in his last interview, he made up his mind to pay him a visit early the next morning. The matter was very urgent, and there was no one else with whom he could consult.

Joel now appeared upon the porch.

“That young French gentleman,” said he, “wants his clothes and things. He’s going away. He asked me to pack them up in his little trunk and bring it out to him. He says the people here haven’t been polite to him,”—and here Joel burst into a laugh at the thought of Phœnix’s impoliteness,—“and that he don’t care about coming to the house.”

“Where is he going?” cried Phil. “He oughtn’t to leave like this. I’ll go and see him.”

“You’d better not,” said Joel. “He’s just white mad; and Susan’s been telling me you’ve had one scrimmage to-day. He’s going to town, and wants me to take him in the buggy. He’s an ugly customer, and you’d better let him go. I suppose I can take the buggy?”

Phil thought a moment, and then concluded that, as Emile would certainly go, it would be better to let him do so without further words.

“All right,” said he to Joel. “You can bring down his trunk, and drive him to town.” And then, turning to the housekeeper, who was crossing the hall, he said, “Susan, will you please go up-stairs and pack Emile’s trunk? You can gather up all his things and put them into it, and then Joel will come and get it when he has hitched the horse to the buggy.”

“Certainly,” said Susan; “and I’ll be glad enough to do it.”

And she promptly went up-stairs.

No more astonished boy than Chap ever stood upon a porch. The story of the three brothers, the account of Emile’s thrashing, even the astounding news in regard to the Touron mortgage, had not had such an effect upon him as this obedience on the part of Susan. He stood with his mouth open, not knowing what question to ask first.

“You see Susan has come round all right,” said Phil, who had noticed his friend’s amazement.

“What did you do to her?” gasped Chap. “Did you squirt kerosene into her room—I thought of that myself, and I knew she wouldn’t be able to stand it long—or did you pay her up?”

“I didn’t do anything,” said Phil. “She just came round naturally.”

“I didn’t believe it was in her,” said Chap, solemnly. “Upon my word, Phil, I didn’t believe it was in her!”

“I tell you what it is, Phil,” said Phœnix, a short time afterwards, as Joel came down-stairs with Emile’s trunk upon his shoulder, “you’d better look out for that Frenchman. He’ll be worse now than ever. If I’d known what a regular out-and-out scamp he was, I don’t know that I would have licked him. It’s some satisfaction to lick a fellow with some good in him, but it don’t help a chap like that a bit,—it only makes him worse.”

“That’s so!” cried Chap. “A thrashing only packs his villany, and rams down his—his—bloody intentions. We must look out for him, boys, and consider ourselves in a regular state of siege. Every approach must be guarded. I’ll get my folks to let me stay here now. It’s absolutely necessary. Mother asked me to get her some summer apples this afternoon, and I couldn’t come over as soon as I wanted to. But I tell you I climbed that tree with a spy-glass in one hand, and I kept a lookout on the wreck. I wasn’t going to let Emily get ahead of me because I had to stay at home a little while. But things will be worse now, boys, and we must stick to our posts.”