Under Fire: A Tale of New England Village Life

"Well, Dave, it was a close game, but we managed to save ourselves after all their talk," said Tom Martin, referring to a baseball match of the previous day.

"Yes, but thanks to our lucky stars that Fred Worthington was with us. If John Rexford had kept him at the store, as I was afraid, we should have been badly beaten."

"He didn't play the whole game, did he?" asked Tom sarcastically.

"Of course not," retorted Dave Farrington, with some warmth, "but you know very well we should have lost it, if it had not been for him. If he saved us from defeat, why not be fair and give him credit for it? I am sure he would do as much for you if the case were reversed."

"I didn't say anything against him."

"No; but you don't appear to say anything for him."

"Why should I?"

"Well, I can say frankly that his playing was equal to that of some professionals that I have seen. The factory boys couldn't get the hang of his pitching, and the best batters fouled nearly every ball."

"Don't you want some credit for catching?" asked Tom, with a view to turning the conversation from Fred.

"Yes, but--" Here the conversation was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Matthew De Vere, a rather foppishly dressed boy, who showed very clearly by his manner that he considered himself the "swell young man" of the town.

"Oh, boys, I have a bit of good news for you," he cried. "Guess what it is."

"Anything startling?" asked Tom.

"No; but it is something you and Dave will both like."

"Tell us what it is. We give it up, don't we, Dave?"

"Grace Bernard is going to have a party-a birthday party."

"A party?" echoed Dave. "Who told you?"

"My sister Annie just came from Mr. Bernard's and said so."

"When is it to be?" chimed in both boys eagerly.

"Next Thursday evening," answered their informant.

"Well, that strikes me about right," replied Tom, with evident pleasure at the prospect. "How old is Grace, I wonder?"

"She will be sixteen next Thursday," returned Matthew.

"I'm glad some one has life enough to wake us up a little. I'm hungry for a 'racket,'" put in Dave. "The evenings are getting long, and it is too cold to rove about much. Three cheers, I say, for Grace Bernard! I speak for the first waltz with her."

The cheers were given with a will, for the mere mention of a party, the first one of the season, was sufficient to make the boys enthusiastic.

"I wonder who will be invited," said Matthew; and then added, with a scowl, "well, I don't care who is if Fred Worthington only gets left; I hate him. He tries to push himself ahead too much for a fellow in his circumstances, and since he has gone into John Rexford's store he is worse than ever."

"I don't know why he should not be invited as well as any of us," said Dave Farrington. "He is certainly one of the smartest boys in the village, both at his books and at whatever else he undertakes; and the fact that his father is a poor man ought not to be against him;" then, with a sly wink at Tom, he added, "and you may be certain he won't be overlooked, for he and Nellie Dutton are getting to be very good friends, and of course Grace Bernard will ask him on her account, if for no other reason."

Now Matthew liked Nellie Dutton himself, and like most rich boys (his father was a retired sea captain and president of the Mapleton National Bank), could ill bear the deprivation of anything which his fancy craved. Therefore the thought that a poor fellow, like Fred Worthington, might come between him and the object of his fancy was exceedingly disagreeable.

This was one reason why he "hated" Fred; the other was, he could not lord it over him, as he did over most of the Mapleton boys, for Fred had a will of his own, as well as a perfect physical development, which convinced Matthew, bully as he was, that it would not be well to grapple with him.

Dave's remark was a sharp one, and had the effect of bringing the color to Matthew's face, though he strove hard to hide his confusion.

Both boys noticed this, and Tom, who was always ready for fun, even at the expense of a friend, said:

"Yes, I saw Fred walk home with Nellie from Sunday school last week; and it seems to me he has to go up to her father's rather often with goods from the store. I guess the doctor will have quite a bill to pay at Rexford's, unless Fred makes two or three trips up there to carry what he might take in one. But never mind, Matthew, school will soon commence; then you will have the advantage of him, for he will be in the store."

Matthew grew decidedly angry at these remarks, and said somewhat savagely:

"I'll have the advantage of him without waiting for school, now you mark my words."

"How are you going to get it?" asked Tom.

"You just wait and you will see. I don't tell everything I know."

"Fred has a big muscle," suggested Tom, "and they say he can use his hands pretty lively, too."

"There is no need of informing De Vere on that point," remarked Dave, "for it isn't very long since he and Fred gave a little exhibition at school."

"Come, Mat, tell us all about it," said Tom. "I never heard of that before."

"I won't tell you anything," answered De Vere gruffly; "he can't put on airs with me any more; and if he goes to that party and pays any attention to Nellie Dutton, he will get into trouble."

"If Nellie wants his attention she will be pretty sure to have it, for you can't frighten him-he isn't easily scared," remarked Dave, in a way that irritated Matthew.

"I should say not," said Tom, with a sly wink at Dave, "and judging from appearances Nellie is as pleased with his attentions as he is with her company."

But Matthew possessed a good share of conceit, and knowing Nellie to be quite friendly to himself, he imagined that his advantage over Fred would be so great that he could readily monopolize the attention of the young lady in question, and therefore replied with more assurance:

"There is no fear of her bothering with him, for I propose to take up her time pretty well myself;" and then he added in language that was a perfect index to his character, "say, boys, if Worthington should be there, let's make it so uncomfortable for him that he will never show himself again at one of our parties. We can occupy the attention of the girls, so they will leave him alone to slink into the corner and hate himself, while we enjoy the waltz and make fun of him. If you will only do this, I hope he will be there, just to let all see how awkward he is among his betters."

Some other boys here joined the group, and the conversation was broken off. But Dave Farrington took occasion to remark in an undertone to Tom:

"If Mat De Vere and a dozen more just like him should try to keep the girls away from Fred Worthington, they'd find a big contract on their hands; and the one who 'hated himself' would not be Fred, either. Just wait till the party comes off, then look out for fun."

* * *

Mapleton is a good type of a New England village, showing everywhere plentiful evidences of thrift and energy.

Of course it has a manufacturing industry of some sort, or it could hardly be a New England village; and the chief building of Mapleton, in this line, is a large woolen factory that employs about three hundred hands. There are also a number of minor industries, together with stores, churches, and school houses. It is not a large town, there being, perhaps, three thousand inhabitants all told.

Among so small a number one might suppose that the people would mingle freely, and that exclusiveness would not thrive. At the time of which I am writing it did not thrive to any great extent; still, it was there, and showed itself principally in the refusal of the "town's people," so called, to associate with the "factory folks."

Exceptions were made, however, in the case of the head officers of the company, and the overseers of certain departments of the mill, who, by virtue of their positions, which brought them in a liberal salary, were graciously welcomed to the homes of the villagers.

These two branches of society had their different "sets." That of the "villagers" was made up, as is usually the case, by the drawing together of the well to do, the influential, and the better educated citizens, while the others were left to form such social connections as their opportunities afforded.

Fred Worthington's parents mingled with the latter class, for they were far from rich. His father was a shoemaker, and earned only a small sum weekly; but through the excellent management of his mother, they had a neat and comfortable home.

During Fred's younger days he thought nothing of these dividing lines of society; but as he had grown to be, as he considered, a young man-and, indeed, he really did possess more of that enviable bearing than most boys at the age of sixteen-he had come to realize that there was such a thing as a social difference between men whose Maker created them equal.

This fact impressed him more forcibly since he found that some of his companions with whom he had grown up, played, and studied side by side in school for years, were now apparently beginning to ignore him.

"Is there any reason for this?" he often asked himself. "Have they suddenly accomplished some great thing, or done some heroic deed which gives them distinction? Or is the trouble with me? If so, where does it lie? Surely I stood among the very first in my class at school-far ahead of Matthew De Vere and his sister, and some of the others who treat me so coolly. I wonder if clerking in a store is disgraceful? I always thought it an honorable thing to be a merchant. Merchants are everywhere among our most influential men.

"I have always kept good company," he reflected, "and never had trouble with any of the boys, except Matthew De Vere, just before I left school, and that wasn't my fault. I taught him a lesson, though, that I think he will remember, and ever since then he has been trying to pay me for it by turning the girls and boys against me; but only a few of them have shown any change.

"I know my father and mother do not belong to the same 'set' as theirs, but that is no reason why they should slight me, and it shall not be. I will work my way up and make them acknowledge me if it takes years to do it. But as long as Nellie Dutton and some others are friendly, I don't care so much."

When Fred heard of the party to be given by Grace Bernard, he was in a feverish state of suspense, wondering whether he would be invited or not. He felt that this was a crisis with him.

He had left school, but he argued that if he were only fortunate enough to attend this party, he would be placed on a good social footing, one that he could maintain as he gradually built himself up in the store; but should luck now go against him, he would be practically separated from many of his school companions, and separation meant disaster to a certain friendship that he prized more highly than all the rest, and which, as he believed, it would not be well to leave uncultivated even for a short time.

"Hello, Fred, got your invitation yet?" asked Dave, a few days before that fixed upon for the party.

"No, I haven't seen anything of it. Have you had yours?"

"Oh, yes; got it yesterday. I don't see where yours is though."

"It looks as if I were to be left out, Dave," replied Fred, with an assumed air of cheerfulness.

"That can't be. There is plenty of time. Don't worry."

This was a little reassuring, and Fred tried to believe it to be so-tried hard-but it looked to him, nevertheless, as if his case were a hopeless one.

For he reflected that the unfed fire soon dies, while that which is kept alive even by the smallest spark may at some time become a glowing blaze. But his fears were all for nothing, as in due time the much looked for invitation arrived.

On the eventful night our hero dressed with care and taste, giving his youthful locks especial attention, as all boys of his age do whenever they go into company, and then hastened to Dave's home to go with him to the party.

The large double parlors of Mr. Bernard's house were well filled with girls, about Grace's own age, when the two boys arrived. After the latter had disposed of their coats and hats, and had taken a final look to see that each particular hair was in its proper place, they entered the main parlor rather shyly.

"Good evening, Dave," said Grace. "I'm glad you came early, for nearly all the girls are here, and I hope you will help entertain them; and here is Fred," she added, extending her hand to him. "I am very glad you came. I have hardly spoken with you since you left school, but I see the store life has not taken away your color yet."

If Fred had a good share of color to begin with, it was not lessened by this remark. However, he managed to keep his presence of mind, and replied heartily:

"No, I hope not, but allow me to congratulate you on your birthday, for you are looking your best. I hope you may have many happy returns of the occasion."

Some one else blushed now, and evidently enjoyed the compliment, which Fred had managed very well, as indeed he ought to have done, for he had repeated it to himself at least forty five times that afternoon.

"I didn't know you could say such nice things, Fred, but I don't half believe you mean it," rejoined Grace. "But there is Nellie all alone on the sofa. Come with me and take a seat beside her; you two must entertain each other while I receive Matthew and Tom, and some others who I see have just come in."

"I was afraid something would happen so that you couldn't come," said Nellie, as he took her proffered hand.

"I couldn't very easily stay away," he replied, sitting down beside her.

"Why, how funny! And why not?" she inquired, trying to suppress a blush.

"The evening promised to be such an enjoyable one," he answered; "and yet I hardly dared to anticipate such good fortune as I have met with thus far."

"Oh, Fred, you are learning to flatter, I do believe! I didn't think that of you."

"If flattery is saying what one truly means, then I am flattering you; for if I had arranged my own program, you and I would occupy about the same positions as we do now. It couldn't suit me better, and I only hope you are as well pleased," he added.

"I believe you and Grace arranged this together," she answered evasively, "without saying anything to me. I must scold her;" and she partially covered her face with her fan, which seemed to mean that she was well satisfied.

"I am sure I had nothing to do with the arrangement. I must thank Grace for it, and I hope you won't scold her very hard, as this is her birthday; but before it is too late let me ask you if you will favor me with the first dance?"

"Oh, with pleasure," she replied, but at the same time she wondered if he knew the dance. She had never heard of his dancing, but the first part of the opening one was to be a march, and she knew he could take part in that, even if they had to drop out of the waltz later on.

"Good evening, Nellie," said Matthew, who now came up and extended his hand, adding, with an air of assurance, "I see the music is ready to start, shall we not lead the march?"

"Thank you, but I am already engaged for that," she returned, casting her eyes towards Fred.

"Then you won't march with me?" he asked, flushing with evident anger at the rebuff.

"I must keep my engagement," she replied.

"Keep your engagement with a stick," he rejoined, and walked away with a look of contempt on his face.

The last remark made young Worthington's blood boil, but he had the good sense to take no apparent notice of it, though he fixed it well in his memory for future use.

De Vere seated himself in a remote corner-the place he had expected to see Fred occupy-and looked sullenly on as the march progressed, but evidently with some degree of pleasure at the utter failure he felt sure our hero would make. In this again he was doomed to disappointment; for to his surprise and chagrin he found his rival quite at home in the waltz. He and Nellie were unmistakably the most graceful as well as the best looking couple on the floor.

But Matthew was not the only surprised one present. Dave looked on with amazement, and Nellie hardly seemed to believe her own senses.

"Why, Fred, when did you learn to dance so well?" she asked, as they walked around the room arm in arm. "I never had a better partner."

"Thank you, Nellie, for the compliment," he replied, with a slight blush. "I only hope I managed to get through without exhausting your patience. I was so afraid I should prove very stupid, I know so little about the waltz."

"Oh, no, you were far from stupid, and I never enjoyed a dance more; but I am awfully curious to know where you learned so much without attending dancing school."

"'Never enjoyed a dance more,' and with me, too," thought Fred, with a delight which he could not conceal.

"My cousin from Boston, the young lady who spent the summer at my home, taught me all I know about it," he replied.

"And have you never had any other practice?"

"No, that was all."

"Well, she must have been an excellent teacher, and you as good a scholar as you always were at school."

Presently the music ceased, and Dave, Grace, and others came up and congratulated Fred upon his waltzing, and Nellie on her partner.

The party as a whole was a great success, and passed off gayly. It had no feature to distinguish it from others of its kind in country towns. This particular event has been briefly referred to, because, as a consequence of it, something occurred that most cruelly clouded Fred Worthington's young days, and changed the whole course of his life.

* * *

De Vere saw plainly that, in spite of his endeavors to injure Fred, the latter was more of a favorite than himself. He supposed that he had accomplished something of his design before the party took place, but there he found that the result of his malicious endeavors practically extended only as far as his sister.

Indeed, he almost fancied that his thrusts had been turned against himself, for no one seemed to care for him especially. He was very moody and sulky at his disappointment. He had overestimated his strength and importance, as boys of his stamp always do; moreover, he thought Nellie treated him very coolly, and it is just possible that she did, as her time was fully taken up by another person, and the mere absence of attention on her part was sufficient to make Matthew sullen and disagreeable.

This sourness was noticed by all, and they left him to himself, pretty much as he had hoped to see them treat his rival. The tables were fairly turned upon him, as he could not fail to see. But he had intimated that if Fred attended this party, and matters went a certain way, he would have his revenge.

He resolved to carry out this threat, and so passed a great part of the evening in mischievous plotting.

When it was time for the party to break up, notwithstanding the fact that he had behaved so rudely and had not participated in any of the games, or other forms of amusement, he gathered himself together, approached Miss Nellie, and proposed to serve as her escort.

But Nellie answered, with a demure look and a twinkle in her eye, that another young gentleman had kindly offered to do her that favor.

It is said that under certain conditions even a straw may break a camel's back, but this refusal of Nellie's was no straw to Matthew. It was rather a sledge hammer blow, which brought bad temper and made him desperately angry.

He seized his hat, and without further conversation with any one, left the house and strode sullenly down the street. At the first corner he turned up a by path, and then ran across lots to the main street, and entered a drinking saloon.

"Why did you play, then?" the bartender was asking savagely, addressing a rough looking boy, Tim Short by name. "You have owed me for two months, and now here is another game of billiards to charge."

"I thought I should beat," said Tim, with a discouraged and demoralized look.

"That's what you've thought every time, but that don't pay me. I'm going to have my money now. If you don't pay, I will get it from your father; so come, square up, and be quick about it."

"I will settle on pay day."

"No, that won't do; you have promised that before. Either give me something for security or I will see your father tomorrow."

"How much is the whole bill?" asked Matthew.

"One dollar," replied the bartender.

"Here, Tim, is the dollar. I will lend it to you. Pay him and come with me."

Young Short clutched the dollar eagerly, and turned it over to his creditor with evident reluctance.

"Come, Tim," went on Matthew, "let us go home; it is late for us to be out."

The latter looked upon Matthew as his benefactor, and followed him promptly into the street. When the two were quite alone by themselves, De Vere took his companion by the arm and said:

"I'm in luck finding you, Tim. I rushed down to the saloon, but I was afraid you had gone home, it is so late."

"And I'm better off than you to have my bill paid. How is it you are in luck, and paying out money so free?"

"Never mind the money, Tim," De Vere replied nervously. "I want you to do me a favor. Will you?"

"Will I? Well, I should think I would."

"Will you promise never to mention what I say to any one?"

"I promise."

"It would get us both into trouble if you should, Tim."

"But it ain't nothin' so awful bad, is it, Matthew?" asked Tim, with a tremor of alarm in his voice.

"I think I can trust you, Tim," replied De Vere, ignoring his companion's question.

"I know you can, after all you have done for me," replied Tim gratefully.

De Vere drew young Short close to him as they turned into a dark, narrow street.

"Tim," said he, in suppressed agitation, "you know those tall oak trees on the old Booker road?"

"What, them by the cave in the big rock, do you mean?"

"Yes, that's the place."

Young Short commenced to breathe fast with excitement.

"You know, Tim," said De Vere, scarcely above a whisper, "you know the bushes and rock together furnish a good hiding place."

"I should think they would," responded Tim dubiously.

"We've got some work to do there."

"What, not tonight?"

"Yes, as soon as we can get there, or it will be too late."

"Don't you think it's too late now, Matthew?" suggested Tim.

"I tell you to come along," commanded De Vere in anything but a pleasant mood.

"You didn't tell me what you are going there for."

"I have good reasons for going there. I want to get square with a fellow," responded Matthew, with a ring of revenge in his voice.

"But couldn't you do it just as well alone?"

"No, I couldn't."

"Afraid?" queried Tim.

This question did not have a good effect upon Matthew's nerves, but he was too prudent to fly into a passion with Tim at this time.

"Who is this fellow?" asked young Short doggedly, after a little silence.

"Fred Worthington," answered De Vere bitterly. "I'll show him that he can't interfere with me."

"Fred Worthington!" echoed Tim; and he stopped short where he was.

"I think we had better get some good clubs," said De Vere.

"And then we will get the worst of it," replied Tim. "I know Fred Worthington too well to take any chances on him."

"But we will jump out upon him when he is not expecting us," urged Matthew.

It was hard work to screw Tim's courage up to the necessary point, but his sense of obligation to Matthew finally overcame his well founded fears of Fred Worthington's strong arms, and he promised to take part in the disappointed rival's dastardly plot.

The point to which De Vere led his rascally associate was close beside the path along which Fred Worthington would have to pass on his way home from Dr. Dutton's. Although not far beyond the limits of the village, it was a lonely spot, with no houses near by, and the two young highwaymen could not have found a more suitable place to put their cruel design into execution.

Crouching behind the bushes, the cowardly pair lay in wait, each grasping a heavy stick in his hand, ready to dart out and rain revengeful blows upon their innocent victim.

* * *