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Pony Rider Boys in New England

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<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> <h3>PAYING THE FIDDLER</h3> "One hundred and twenty-five dollars!" groaned Tad. "It's outrageous," muttered Professor Zepplin. "Squire, there's a little matter of three dollars and a half for board of the young man at my house that I reckon you've forgotten to figure in," reminded Jed Whitman. "I will take account of that," answered the justice, making a calculation on the table-top. "The total figure will be one hundred twenty-eight dollars and fifty cents," he announced. Chunky turned a smiling face towards the Professor. "Professor, can you cross my palm for one-twenty-eight fifty?" he asked. "I don't have the amount with me at the moment." The Pony Rider Boys gazed at each other with troubled eyes. "Sir, will you permit us to retire to another room to talk this matter over?" asked the Professor. "Yes, but be brief. I can't afford to waste more time on this case. Mr. Whitman, will you conduct the prisoner and his friends to the back room? You will be responsible for Brown. See to it that he doesn't get away." The party filed solemnly into the back room, which proved to be a store-room. There were empty cases, an old drum stove and a lot of rubbish, but no chairs. The boys sat down on the boxes, and fixed their eyes expectantly on Professor Zepplin. "Thank goodness that business is over," exclaimed Stacy Brown. "Young man, don't be in too great a hurry to congratulate yourself. The 'business' may not be ended. That remains to be seen," said the Professor. "Wha—what do you mean?" questioned Stacy apprehensively. "We have to pay the fiddler first. Let us see if we are going to be able to do so." Professor Zepplin thrust a hand under his outside belt, drawing from his money belt a small package of folded bills. These he counted in the faint light from a dirty window. He counted the bills over a second time, then a third, growing more agitated with each count. "Haven't you enough?" asked Tad, stepping over to the Professor. "I have only seventy-five dollars," answered the Professor. "I have some money," offered Tad. "How much?" Tad emptied his pockets with the result that he was able to hand over fifteen dollars. "That leaves a balance of thirty-eight dollars to be raised," announced the Professor. "And fifty cents," added Ned. "I think I may be able to scrape up a few dollars." "So can I," added Walter Perkins. Between them they were able to make the sum total one hundred dollars, leaving twenty-eight dollars and fifty cents still to be raised. The boys groaned. "There is one way out of it," spoke up Tad. "What is that?" questioned the Professor, brightening. "Let Stacy go to jail," answered Butler. "I—I don't want to go to jail. I won't go to jail," wailed the fat boy indignantly. "You will unless we can raise the money," answered the Professor sternly. "Were it not for the disgrace of it, I should be in favor of letting you do that very thing. It might teach you a useful lesson." "I don't need the lesson. How would you like that kind of a lesson?" demanded Chunky belligerently. "Like yourself I hardly think I need it," grinned the Professor. "Wait," said Tad. "I will see what I can do." Stepping to the door he called Jed Whitman. "Mr. Whitman," said Tad, "We find ourselves rather hard pressed for money just now. You see, we had not looked for anything of this sort." "How much have you?" asked the Warden. "We have a hundred dollars. If you will trust us for the balance we give you our word that it will be sent as soon as we can get our next remittance from home." "Can't do it," replied Jed, with an emphatic shake of the head. "Oh, yes you can. You only think you can't. Nothing is impossible." "If that's so, then you git out and raise the money," grinned the game Warden. Even this did not stop Tad Butler. The freckles were glowing on Tad's flushed face, but the boy was not in the least disconcerted. "Please ask the justice if he will trust us for the balance, provided we pay him a hundred dollars?" Whitman considered briefly, then stepped out into the other room. He returned very shortly with the information that Squire Halliday said the entire amount must be paid or the accused would have to go to jail. Stacy would be sent down to Bangor that very day. "If he is, there will be all uproar in this town that will be heard all the way down the line, ending in the governor's mansion," warned Tad Butler significantly. "Say, young fellow, what are you getting at?" demanded Whitman. "A settlement of this business. We have a hundred dollars, the full amount of the outrageous fine imposed upon Stacy Brown. We have offered to make good the costs as soon as we can get a remittance from home. But I have a proposal to make to you." "What is it?" "We will pay the money, the fine, turning over one of our ponies to you to be held as security until our remittance gets here from home. If you will take my advice you will make this deal with Squire What's-His-Name and give Brown his discharge." Once more the warden considered, pondering over all that Tad Butler had said to him. Perhaps these boys might raise an unpleasant rumpus at headquarters. Yes, there could be no harm in accepting the proposition provided the squire were willing. It seemed that the squire was open to argument as presented by Jed Whitman, and the latter returned quickly with the welcome information that Tad's proposal had been accepted. "Make out a receipt for the hundred," he said. "Tad, you are a much better businessman than am I," approved the Professor. "Am I free?" asked Stacy. "For the present," answered Tad. "We are going to turn your pony over to Mr. Whitman to hold until we can pay the rest of the money." "Give my pony to him?" cried the fat boy. "No, you don't! I guess I won't let you do that—not if I am able to fight. That pony stays with me, and don't you forget it." "Chunky, now don't you get excited. You might get something you wouldn't like." "You threatening me?" demanded Stacy belligerently. "You know I am not. It is a question of your doing as you are told, or of accompanying Mr. Whitman to jail. Which shall it be?" "I don't want to go to jail, but I want my pony." "You are the most unreasonable boy I ever knew. But we won't argue it." "Why don't you let him have your horse!" demanded Stacy. "I would if it were my case. You got into this difficulty. You must do your share towards getting out of it. Wait, I will give Mr. Whitman an order for the pony." This done, Jed strode away through the village, and the boys filed out from the office of the justice of the peace. The villagers had departed, leaving Squire Halliday alone in his office. He did not even look up when the party passed through his room. Stacy halted when they reached the street. "I guess I'll go into the hotel and get some breakfast now. I haven't had anything to eat this morning." "Have you the price?" questioned Tad. "No, I guess you will cross my palm for my breakfast, won't you?" "I guess not," answered Butler with emphasis. "I haven't a cent." "But I'm hungry. I want something to eat." "I have ten cents," announced Walter. "Stacy may have that if he wants it." "Let me have it," commanded Tad. "I don't dare trust him with all that money for fear he will overload his stomach. You walk on, Stacy, while I get something for you." Tad returned with two sandwiches, which Stacy snatched from his hand, and, sitting right down on the edge of the boardwalk, he began greedily devouring them. "Where do we come in on the eat question?" demanded Rector. "We don't come in," replied Tad. "We shall have to fast until we get a remittance from home." "Isn't there anything to eat in the camp?" "Coffee and about enough other stuff to take care of Charlie John. He mustn't know what a predicament we are in." "How—how long have we got to fast?" stammered Walter. "I should say about a week, perhaps a little longer," answered Tad Butler, with a mirthless smile. A groan went up from the Pony Rider Boys. "That means we shall all starve to death," growled Ned Rector. "We can't stand it. I'm going to look for a job." "A fine mess you have gotten us into, Stacy Brown," complained Walter. The Professor cleared his throat. His opportunity was at hand. "Stacy, I wish you to come here—in fact, I wish you boys to listen to what I have to say." The Professor's face wore a grave expression as the boys gathered about him. "Now, Stacy," began Professor Zepplin not unkindly, "I have been much concerned for some time over your wicked habit of exaggerating—or to put it more bluntly—your habit of lying." "Why, Professor, I—" began Stacy. The Professor raised a hand for silence. "None of us believed you told the exact truth about killing the moose. It is doubtful if you have yet told the whole truth concerning it. You can see one evil effect of your falsehoods in the bitter experience we have just gone through. I have no doubt that if you had simply said that you killed the animal in self-defense and explained exactly how you did it, you would have been free of any fine. Besides, had we not been here, you would have gone to jail. Still, the trouble you have put us to is a trifle when compared to the evil you are doing. You may think these exaggerations are all very funny, and, while I don't believe you intended to do any harm, you must remember that a lie is a lie. Give up this abominable habit, Stacy. That is all I have to say at present. Next time I probably shall act, and with less consideration for your feelings," finished the Professor. For the moment Stacy Brown seemed impressed, and nodded as if he were resolved to break his bad habit, but none of his companions believed the resolution would be very long remembered by the fat boy. Stacy's companions were right in their estimate of him. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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