CHAPTER IX

THE SQUIRE’S PERPLEXITY AND JACK’S STRATAGEM.

A LITTLE calm reflection opened the squire’s mind to a ray of light which would certainly have dawned upon it before, had not his wits been clouded by passion. “Boy!” he suddenly exclaimed, “I believe every dollar of that money is bogus.”

“Then what’s the use of making a row over it?” was the boy’s cool retort.

“It’s the business of a magistrate to look after counterfeiters and counterfeit money,” said Peternot. But at the same time he thought, “_He_ has satisfied himself that it _ain’t_ counterfeit; his whole conduct shows it.” And the avaricious old man still laid siege to the basket.

Half an hour passed, during which time very little was said. Jack took out his knife and began to whittle a stick; perhaps he was not unwilling to show the squire that he was armed. He also put on his coat, and then his shoes, after emptying their contents into the basket.

Peternot grew more and more impatient, as he saw the afternoon gliding away. Another half-hour, and the situation still remained unchanged. “I may set here till night,” thought he, “and all night, and all day to-morrow, fur’s I know,—but what’s the use? He’ll stick as long as I do. He’s tough; he can stand anything; ye can’t starve a canal-driver. Sakes!” he exclaimed, half aloud, suddenly putting his hand into his pocket, remembering that the key of his kitchen door was there.

On leaving home he had carefully made fast all the doors and windows of his house,—his wife and nephew having gone to meeting that afternoon; and now, should they return before he did, they would find themselves locked out!

Still the old man’s cupidity would not suffer him to raise the siege.

He was taken by a fit of coughing; and, fearing to catch cold by sitting on the damp log, he got up and walked about,—frowning and striking his cane upon the ground in huge dissatisfaction and disgust. “You’re the most obstinate, unreasonable boy I ever see!” he exclaimed angrily.

“Am I?” laughed Jack. “You haven’t begun to see how obstinate I am. Wonder what you’ll think to-morrow at this time? or the next day?” And what, he might have added, would the wife and nephew think?

“Hush!” whispered the old man. “What boys are those?”

There was a crackling of sticks in a not very distant part of the woods, occasioned by a gang of four or five boys climbing Peternot’s brush fence. Jack jumped upon the log and looked.

“It’s the Huswick tribe,” said he. “There’s Dock, there’s Hank, there’s Cub,—there they all are, going over your fence like a flock of sheep!”

“The Huswicks, Cub and Dock,—Hank with ’em!” ejaculated the squire, in great excitement. “They’re the wust set of boys in town!”

“Yes, and they’re putting straight towards your house,” observed Jack.

“They’re after my melons!” said Peternot, brandishing his cane. “The rogues! I’ll larn ’em!” With a limping stride he started in pursuit, but turned back immediately. “Promise me you’ll stay here!”

Jack couldn’t help laughing at the old man’s simplicity. “Do you think I’m such a fool as to make that promise? Or even if I should, would you trust me to keep it? Come!” cried Jack, “you must have a better opinion of me than you pretend.”

“I know you have some good traits—the rogues will destroy all my melons—if I could borrow your dog—leave your basket and go with me—we’ll settle our diffikilty when we come back,” said the agitated squire.

“I’ll take care of my basket; you can look after your melons,” retorted Jack.

“I’d as lives have a passel o’ pigs in my melon-patch!” cried Peternot, striding to and fro. “Boy! I’m sure this money is bogus!—I wish I had called to ’em ’fore they got out o’ hearin’!”

“Why didn’t ye?” asked Jack.

“That might ’a’ led ’em to come here, and we don’t want anybody by the name o’ Huswick to have a hand in this business. But my melons!—Boy, be reasonable!”

“Be reasonable yourself, Squire Peternot! You’re sure this money is bogus; then why don’t you leave it and go for your melons?”

“I _ain’t_ sure,” replied the squire. “But _you_’re sure it’s good money; I see that, and you’re no fool.”

“Thank ye, sir,” said Jack, politely. And, seeing that the old man’s cupidity made him ready to believe almost anything, he added, “Now look here! If I’ll give you what money there is in the basket, will you be satisfied?”

Peternot started. “Satisfied? Sartin—I can’t tell—explain!”

“Will you take this, and leave me what there is still in the log? That’s what I mean,” said Jack, with an air of candor.

Peternot, astonished by this strange proposition, but afraid of being cheated out of a few dollars, asked, “How much is there in the log?” at the same time stooping with difficulty and peeping into the cavity.

“That’s my risk. Come, is it a bargain?”

“I thought you didn’t make bargains on the Sabbath day!”

“Well, I don’t,” laughed Jack, “unless some good man sets me the example. I’m only a boy,—it’s easy to corrupt me.”

“Corrupt you! you sassy, profane—”

“Sabbath-breaker,” suggested Jack, as Peternot hesitated for a word bad enough. “What do you say to my offer?”

“I say, if there’s money in the log, it belongs to me, the same as this belongs to me.” And the squire, impressed by the importance of having some accurate knowledge on that point, vigorously thrust in his cane.

“Your stick can’t give ye much information,” said Jack. “You’ll have to go in yourself.”

“I’m going in myself!” exclaimed the squire, sharply. “Move out of my way here.”

Jack readily made room for him, tickled to the heart’s core at the thought of the stiff-jointed old man’s going into the log.

“Grin, will ye?” said Peternot. “I s’pose you think the minute I’m in there you’ll start to run with your basket. But you can’t run fur with that weight to carry; I shall ketch ye!”

He leaned his cane by the log, laid his hat beside it, and put his head and one arm into the cavity. Then he put in his shoulders and both arms. “I can hear ye, if ye stir to move!” he cried from the hollow depths, which muffled his voice; and in his body went, leaving only the long Peternot legs sticking out.

Jack was convulsed with laughter. But all at once the idea occurred to him that practical advantage might be taken of the squire’s ludicrous situation. Up he jumped, and seizing the largest of the sticks with which he had previously stopped the mouth of the log, began to thrust them in after the squire.

“Here! oh! oh! murder!” cried the voice, now more muffled than ever, while the old man struggled violently to get out. “Oh! oh!”

“Good by!” screamed Jack, holding him, and thrusting in more sticks. “_You_ may have what’s in the log, and _I_’ll take the basket.”

“Help! ho! I’m killed!” said the voice, growing fainter and fainter.

“And buried!” Jack yelled back, laughing with wild excitement. “But you kick well, for all that!” And in went more rubbish about the old man’s heels. “How do ye like your bargain? You’ll have plenty of time to count your dollars before I send Pipkin over to help you out.”

And, having got the old man wedged so tightly into the log that he could not even kick, Jack, inspired with extraordinary strength for the occasion, caught up his basket of coin and started to run, followed by Lion.