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Ben Pepper

<h2>VII</h2> <h3>"WHERE'S PIP?" AND JASPER TURNED BACK</h3> "Something is the matter!" cried Polly, hoarsely. "Oh, Ben, I know there is!" She rushed up to him in the hall and seized his arm. "Nonsense!" said Ben, but his cheek paled, and his blue eyes, usually so steady, didn't look at her. If Polly were frightened, something dreadful must have happened. "There is, there is," repeated Polly, quite wildly, "for Aunty Whitney has gone to Grandpapa. And there's a telegram come,—and, oh, Ben, can it be Jasper?" With that Polly held so tightly to the sturdy arm she had grasped that at another time Ben would have cried, "Hands off, Polly!" This time he didn't even feel it. "Oh, no, Polly," was all he could say reassuringly, yet his knees knocked together and everything for a moment seemed to swim before his eyes. "I saw it myself. It was a telegram that Jane had," Polly was saying, between little sobs that cut Ben through and through like a knife. "And Christmas—" and she could get no farther. "See here, Polly," Ben came to his senses enough to shake himself free, then he threw his arms around her and held her fast, "don't let us act like this until we know for sure. I'm going to find out" With that he rushed off, and Polly, too wild with distress to be left alone, stumbled after him down the hall, as he hurried to find Jane. That individual was huddled down in a corner of the back hall which she fondly supposed cleverly concealed her, her apron up to her eyes, and mumbling something behind it to herself. Ben precipitated himself so suddenly upon her that there was no time for recovery of her composure. She dashed down the apron to look up at him and also see Polly at his heels. "O my!" she began, dreadfully frightened at the sight of the two she most dreaded to meet at this moment. "You might as well tell us, Jane," said Ben, swallowing very hard, and he reached out and seized Polly's hand, "because we know some bad news came. Now, what is it?" If Polly had pinched his arm in her fright, it was nothing to the grip he now gave her fingers, without his knowing it, while she threw her arm around his neck and held on. "O my gracious!" Jane shook with fright, but she saw no way out of it but to tell, so she added, twisting her apron-end into a ball, "Yes, it did come, O me, O my!" "It is about Jasper," said Ben, quietly. "How'd you know, Master Ben?" cried Jane, in astonishment, remembering how she had become possessed of the news which yet couldn't have travelled through the house. "Never mind, what is it?" demanded Ben, sharply. "Be quick now, Jane; you might as well tell us first as last." "O me!" cried Jane, deserting the apron-end to wring her hands desperately, "I wish I hadn't listened. Oh, I can't tell you, don't make me!" "Jane," Ben leaned over her as well as he could for Polly hanging to him, "you've just got to tell us, so you might as well be quick about it. Don't you see you're only making us feel worse?" As Ben wasn't given to long speeches, Jane had time to look up in surprise at his face, and then she made up her mind to tell the whole story. "If you must know—but don't let 'em blame me 'cause I told you," she burst out. "You shan't be blamed," promised Ben. "Go on." "Well, there's been a fire at the school, and Master Jasper's hurt, burned, I guess, and—" "Ben!" a voice rang through the hall. "O mercy me!" Jane bounded to her feet, seized her feather duster, which implement she had been wielding when the fatal telegram had been handed in, and scuttled down the back hall. "Ben, Ben! Does any one know where he is?" It was Aunty Whitney, whose gentle voice was never heard on such a key, and she was actually running down the hall, her pretty face all streaked with tears. "Oh, Ben, there isn't a moment to lose. Father wants you to go with him to Jasper. I can't tell you what for." "I know," said Ben, quietly, while Polly stuffed her fingers into her mouth to keep from screaming. Mrs. Whitney didn't stop to express any surprise, but her face looked relieved that he had heard the news. "And you must catch the next train," she hurried on, her voice breaking; "oh, Ben, you must." "I'm ready," cried Ben. He gave Polly one kiss, then pulled her arms away from his neck. "Your mother says you can go, and she is getting your things together." "I'll—I'll help put them up," said Polly, blindly staggering off after him as he rushed down the hall. "No, no, Polly," cried Mrs. Whitney, "your mother said you must stay with me,—and Polly, I need you so badly." She opened her arms and Polly ran into them, and though there wasn't very much comforting done, it was good to be together. And Thomas whirled up to the door, and Mr. King and Ben and Mr. King's valet got into the carriage, into which portmanteaus were thrown, and away the horses sprang in a mad rush to make the train. And it was all done in such bewildering haste that the group in the hall scarcely knew or understood anything until the big front door shut with a clang, and they were alone. And nothing to tell of it all but that dreadful yellow telegram lying on Mr. King's writing-table just where it had been thrown. <blockquote>"Fire at school dormitory early this morning. Your son Jasper hurt. Come at once. "Jacob A. Presbrey." </blockquote> Polly never knew for long weeks afterward just how she got through that dreadful day, except that Joel and David had to be soothed, no one being able so well as herself to stop the howls of the former, who, on hearing the news, threw himself flat on the floor in a corner of Grandpapa's writing room, refusing all comfort. Little David crouched closely to him, and with never a word laid his head on his shoulder. And afterward Polly found herself installed as Mrs. Whitney's little nurse, sitting upon the bed most of the time, and smoothing the soft, fair hair, as it lay on the pillow, with a trembling hand. "You can't know what a comfort you are to me, Polly," every once in a while Mrs. Whitney would say, and reaching up a hand to feel for Polly's fingers. "Am I?" said Polly, careful not to let the tears drop where they could be seen. "Yes, indeed! And oh, Polly, I don't really believe that we ought to think the worst. God wouldn't let anything happen to our Jasper. He wouldn't, Polly." But Mrs. Whitney clutched the pillow, and turned her face into it and sobbed. And Polly smoothed her hair, and said not a word. And all those terrible hours passed away—how, no one could tell. Outside they could hear Phronsie, who, of course, knew nothing of the blow that had fallen upon the household, gayly laughing and chattering away. She had been told that Grandpapa had gone away and that she must not go into his room; so she hadn't seen Joel and David. But Mother Fisher had hard work to keep the incessant calls for Polly from being sounded over the halls and stairs, and at last she took Phronsie into her room and closed the door. "Now, Mother's baby," said Mrs. Fisher, seating herself on the wide haircloth sofa, and drawing Phronsie into her lap. How often had Jasper sat on this old sofa and told her his boyish confidences the same as her own children! She gave a groan at the thought of what might be happening now at that distant school. "What is it, Mamsie?" asked Phronsie, in gentle surprise, and lifting a soft little hand to her mother's cheek. "Oh, my pet," Mrs. Fisher drew Phronsie quickly to her breast, "you mustn't mind Mamsie." "But you made a funny noise here, Mamsie," and Phronsie touched her mother's throat. "Did I? Well, never mind, dear. Now I must tell you, you cannot have Polly to-day, Phronsie." "But I want Polly," said Phronsie, regarding her mother with grave displeasure. "Yes, I know, dear. But you cannot have her just to-day. Mother does not think it is best." Phronsie's lip quivered and her brown eyes closed to squeeze the tears back. But despite all her efforts they would come, and two big ones rolled down her cheeks. "And Mamsie will be very much disappointed in her little girl if she cries," went on Mrs. Fisher, "for Aunty Whitney needs Polly to-day. So Phronsie must be brave and let Polly stay with her." "Is Aunty Whitney sick?" asked Phronsie, with sudden interest, her eyes flying open at once. For any one to be sick was to enlist her sympathy, and she at once gave up all thoughts of having Polly to herself. "Yes, that is, she will be, I am afraid, if Polly does not stay with her," said Mother Fisher; "so you must be a good child, and not call for Polly." "I will be good," said Phronsie, sliding down from her mother's lap, and folding her hands. "I will be good." She bobbed her yellow head. "And Aunty Whitney will get all well, because Polly is there." Meanwhile the train bearing Mr. King and Ben was speeding swiftly on its way. For the first hour the old gentleman sat erect on his chair, gazing straight before him at the flying landscape, and with never a word for his companion. Then he suddenly turned with a little groan, and laid his hand on Ben's shoulder. "You are such a comfort to me," he said brokenly. "Am I?" said Ben, all the color rushing to his face. He a comfort to Grandpapa! He hadn't gotten over wondering what had given him this honor of being allowed to go with him,—and now, to think of being a comfort! "What I should have done without you, Ben, I cannot tell," Grandpapa was saying, his hand slipping down until it rested on Ben's woollen glove, "but, oh, my boy, I am so glad I have you." Ben said never a word; he couldn't have spoken, it seemed to him, to save his life, but he lifted his blue eyes to the white, drawn face, and old Mr. King did not seem to feel anything lacking. And so, on and on; the revolutions of the wheels, the flashing in and out of strange cities, the long, steady, tireless plunge of the heavily laden express, by river and lake, hill-top and plain, only rang one refrain through every heart-throb, over and over, loud and clear above the reverberation of the train,—"What shall we find at our journey's end?" And when it was reached at nightfall, Grandpapa still had Ben's fingers in his grasp; the valet rushed into the Pullman from another car, gathered up the luggage, and out all the passengers poured from the train. There on the platform was Dr. Presbrey himself. "It is not so bad as we feared," were his first words, as he reached Mr. King's side; and, without waiting for a word, for he saw the old gentleman was beyond it, he led the way to his carriage. "Stop a bit," Grandpapa made out to say through white lips, "a telegram—tell them at home." He looked at Ben, but Dr. Presbrey sprang back into the station, wrote it, sent it off, and was with them once more; and then it was only a matter of moments and Jasper was reached, at the master's house, where he had been carried after the fire. "Don't go in," said one of a crowd of boys, who surrounded Ben on the steps, old Mr. King being in advance, a medical man and one or two teachers coming out of the house to meet the party. "Don't go in," he repeated, laying detaining hands on him; "it's perfectly awful in there; everybody's crying." "He may want me," said Ben, hoarsely, nodding toward the white-haired old gentleman ahead, and trying to free himself. The other boys closed in around him. "Oh, Dr. Smith won't let you get near him," volunteered one boy; "catch him!"—which proved to be true. Old Mr. King was just at the moment being ushered into the front parlor, and the medical man followed and closed the door with such a snap that it was impossible for any one else to even dream of entering. "Now, what did I tell you?" said the boy, triumphantly. "You're Ben, aren't you?" asked the first boy, who hadn't relinquished his hold, the other boys drawing up. "Yes," said Ben. "Well, we've heard all about you, and the rest of you. King talked just whole packs about you all." "Don't," said Ben, and he put up his hand; everything seemed to turn suddenly dark. "Hush up, Grayson, can't you have some sense?" said a tall, dark-haired boy, angrily, and by a speedy movement he had rescued Ben from the first grasp. "Now, then, come over to my room," he pointed to a long building on the west, "and I'll tell you all about it." But Grayson had no mind to be so easily pushed off. "That's no fair," he cried; "I had him first." "No, sir, take your hands off, I'm—" and he clutched Ben again, determined to fight to the end for possession. "That's right. Get out, Tim," a dozen voices took it up in a subdued tone, it is true, but equally determined to see fair play. And the tall, dark-haired boy, being shouldered off the steps, Ben soon found himself sitting down in the midst of Jasper's school companions, Grayson still hanging like a leech to him. "You see we can't do anything but hang around here," one of the boys was saying, "and when anybody comes out, why, we hear a bit how he is." "And to think it needn't have happened only for Pip,—O dear!" said a stout, chubby-cheeked boy, who didn't look as if he ever did anything but laugh and eat. "Pip! He wasn't worth saving, little rat," exploded Tim, who, being on the outskirts of the crowd, had to vent his vexation over somebody. "You'd better let King hear you say that," cried a boy, with a belligerent glance over at Tim. Then, as he remembered how little prospect there might be of Jasper's ever being troubled by the remark, he ground his teeth together to keep from saying more before Ben. "See here, fellows." Grayson, having made first capture, deemed it his further duty to do the right thing by Ben. "We ought to tell him all about it. And I'll begin," and without more ado, he started off. Ben clasped his woollen gloves tightly together, and looked over the heads of the boys up to the sky. Was it possible that the stars had ever twinkled in friendly fashion at them, as Polly and the other children had run out of the little brown house with him at such fortunate times when their mother had let them sit up; and the moon had beamed down on them too, so sociably that Polly made up little stories about their shining light, so that they had all grown to love them very dearly. Now, it seemed as if great tears were dropping out of the sky, and Ben shivered and listened, and gripped his hands tighter together than ever. "You see, it began—well, no one knows how it did begin," Grayson was rushing on; "I think Beggins was drunk." "What stuff!" ejaculated another boy, contemptuously. "Beggins never got off the handle; the Doctor would have fired him long ago." "There must always be a first time," said Grayson, nowise discomfited. "Beggins is the night watchman," he explained to Ben. "Well, anyway,—hush up, fellows,—the fire broke out, we don't any of us know how. It doesn't signify. What we do know is that in about five minutes from the first alarm it got too hot for us in there." He hopped to his feet and pointed to the broken outline of a long building. Even in the dim light, Ben, dropping his gaze from the sky, could see the ruined chimney, the ragged side wall, and the blackened, crushed windows. "And it was every one to save his skin. Great Scott! I'll never forget that yell that Toddy sent up. He's the teacher on our hall, Todd is," Grayson explained again, as he dropped into his seat beside Ben. "Nor the bell clanging," put in another boy; "Christopher Columbus, I thought it was all day with us then!" "And I couldn't find my clothes!" "Well, 'twas no worse for you than for any of us," retorted the boy the other side of Grayson. "There wasn't a rag for any of us to get into but blankets, and sheets, and—" "You see we were waked up out of a sound sleep; it was about three o'clock this morning," Grayson took the words out of any mouth that might be intending to explain, "so we just vamosed the ranch. I tell you, there was some tall sprinting. And King was with us; I remember seeing him. But he was last, and he looked back; then somebody sang out, 'Where's Pip?'" "Pip?" Ben found his tongue, that had seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth, enough for that one syllable. "Oh, it isn't his real name," said Grayson, in a hurry to explain again before any one else could put in a word; "his own was so ridiculously long,—Cornelius Leffingwell,—only think, for such a mite of a chap,—so we had to call him Pip, you see. Well, somebody was fool enough to scream out, 'Where's Pip?' and Jasper turned back." Ben clenched both hands tightly together in a grip that would have hurt but for the woollen gloves. "And I roared out, 'Come along, King—'" "And so did I." "And I." The voices took it up, one after another. "For it wasn't the time to look out for any skin but your own; it was as much as your life was worth to turn back," cried Grayson, bearing down on the other voices. "Boys!" The big door back of them burst open suddenly, and a teacher's head appeared, making them all jump as if shot. "Go right away from these steps!" "How is he?" Nothing seemed to dash Grayson, and he took time to ask this quite comfortably, still holding to Ben, while the other boys moved off the steps and around the corner of the master's house. "Somewhat better. Be off with you!" The teacher waved his hand, and closed the door. "That old Sterrett,—well, he's a dragon," declared Grayson, between his teeth, and, dragging Ben to a convenient angle, where the other boys soon gathered, the narrative was taken up where it had been dropped. "I grabbed King, but you might as soon try to hold an eel. He would go." Ben groaned, and this time so heavily that Grayson pulled himself up short. "See here, I won't tell any more; you're going to keel over." For answer he was in an instant whirled completely around on his two feet, and instead of his having any sort of a grasp on Ben, it was the visitor who held his coat collar in a woollen-gloved hand in such a way that it didn't seem as if Grayson were ever to be free again. "Now tell everything you know! I can't wait! Be quick about it!" It was the same face he had shown to Jane, and, just as she had done, Grayson made all possible haste to answer, "Oh, I will, I will!" the other boys in their astonishment staring silently at the two. "Pip couldn't be found. He slept in the north wing, but he'd run into another boy's room, so King lost time, and if he hadn't screeched,—Pip, I mean,—why, he never would have got out. And there King—oh, well, he crawled under the bed,—Pip, I mean, nasty little beggar,—and there King found him, and dragged him out. He told us all about it,—Pip, I mean,—and King slung him on his back, and by that time it was no use to try for the stairs; the flames were roaring up like mad, so King tried for the roof of the 'Lab.' Had to go through Toddy's room, and jumped out of one of the windows. And he made it.—Oh, don't hang on to a fellow so!—And there we saw him, and the firemen got a ladder up, and, oh—" Here Grayson gave out and actually blubbered. Ben looked around for some one to take up the tale. And the tall, dark-haired boy they had called "Tim," now seeing his opportunity, pushed up. "It's better you should have the whole," he said; "without a bit of warning we saw the roof overhanging the 'Lab'—laboratory, of course, I mean—waver, and then fall, and we screamed to King to look out; it wouldn't have done any good if he had heard, for the chimney toppled, and some bricks knocked him over, and then he saw it coming and kept Pip underneath." Ben's hand had fallen from the jacket collar to his side, and he didn't seem to breathe. "You are to come. Mr. King wants you." Somebody reached through the crowd of boys, and drew him off and away. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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