CHAPTER III. NICK HOLDEN’S CALL

Philip had never liked Nick Holden. He was a coarse, rough-looking boy, his reddish face one mass of freckles, and about as unattractive as a person could be, without absolute deformity. This, however, was not the ground for Philip’s dislike.

With all his unattractiveness, Nick might have possessed qualities which would have rightly made him popular. So far from this, however, he was naturally mean, selfish, and a bully, with very slight regard for truth.

Will it be believed that, in spite of his homely face, Nick really thought himself good-looking and aspired to be a beau? For this reason he had often wished that he possessed Philip’s accomplishment of being able to play upon the violin.

His conversational powers were rather limited, and he felt at a loss when he undertook to make himself fascinating to the young ladies in the village. If he could only play on the violin like Philip he thought he would be irresistible.

He had therefore conceived the design of buying Philip’s instrument for a trifle, judging that our hero would feel compelled to sell it.

The reader will now understand the object which led to Nick’s call so soon after the funeral of Mr. Gray. He was afraid some one else might forestall him in gaining possession of the coveted instrument.

When Philip saw who his visitor was, he was not overjoyed. It was with reluctance that he rose and gave admission to Nick.

“I thought I would call around and see you, Phil,” said Nick, as he sat down in the most comfortable chair in the room.

“Thank you,” responded Phil coldly.

“The old man went off mighty sudden,” continued Nicholas, with characteristic delicacy.

“Do you mean my father?” inquired Philip.

“Of course I do. There ain’t any one else dead, is there!”

“I had been expecting my poor father’s death for some time,” said Philip gravely.

“Just so! He wa’n’t very rugged. We’ve all got to come to it sooner or later. I expect dad’ll die of apoplexy some time-he’s so awful fat,” remarked Nicholas cheerfully. “If he does, it’s lucky he’s got me to run the business. I’m only eighteen, but I can get along as well as anybody. I’m kinder smart in business.”

“I am glad you are smart in anything,” thought Philip; for he knew that Nick was a hopeless dunce in school duties.

“I hope your father’ll live a good while,” he said politely.

“Yes, of course,” said Nick lightly. “I’d be sorry to have the old man pop off; but then you never can tell about such a thing as that.”

Philip did not relish the light way in which Nick referred to such a loss as he was suffering from, and, by way of changing the subject, said:

“I believe you said you came on business, Nicholas?”

“Yes; that’s what I wanted to come at. It’s about your fiddle.”

“My violin!” said Philip, rather surprised.

“Oh, well, fiddle or violin! what’s the odds? I want to buy it.”

“What for?”

“To play on, of course! What did you think I wanted it for?”

“But you can’t play, can you?”

“Not yet; but I expect you could show me some—now, couldn’t you?”

“What put it into your head to want to play on the violin?” asked Philip, with some curiosity.

“Why, you see, the girls like it. It would be kind of nice when I go to a party, or marm has company, to scrape off a tune or two-just like you do. It makes a feller kinder pop’lar with the girls, don’t you see?” said Nick, with a knowing grin.

“And you want to be popular with the young ladies!” said Philip, smiling, in spite of his bereavement, at the idea being entertained by such a clumsy-looking caliban as Nick Holden.

“Of course I do!” answered Nick, with another grin. “You see I’m gettin’ along-I’ll be nineteen next month, and I might want to get married by the time I’m twenty-one, especially if the old man should drop off sudden.”

“I understand all that, Nicholas—”

“Call me Nick. I ain’t stuck up if I am most a man. Call me pet names, dearest.”

And Nicholas laughed loudly at his witty quotation.

“Just as you prefer. Nick, then, I understand your object. But what made you think I wanted to sell the violin?”

It was Nick’s turn to be surprised.

“Ain’t there goin’ to be an auction of your father’s things?” he said.

“Yes; but the violin is mine, and I am not going to sell it.”

“You’ll have to,” said Nick.

“What do you mean by that, Nicholas Holden?” said Philip quickly.

“Because you’ll have to sell everything to pay your father’s debt. My father said so this very morning.”

“I think I know my own business best,” said Philip coldly. “I shall keep the violin.”

“Maybe it ain’t for you to say,” returned Nick, apparently not aware of his insolence. “Come, now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. My father’s got a bill against yours for a dollar and sixty-four cents. I told father I had a use for the fiddle, and he says if you’ll give it to me, he’ll call it square. There, what do you say to that?”

Nicholas leaned back in his chair and looked at Philip through his small, fishy eyes, as if he had made an uncommonly liberal offer. As for Philip, he hardly knew whether to be angry or amused.

“You offer me a dollar and sixty-four cents for my violin?” he repeated.

“Yes. It’s second-hand, to be sure, but I guess it’s in pretty fair condition. Besides, you might help me a little about learnin’ how to play.”

“How much do you suppose the violin cost?” inquired Philip.

“Couldn’t say.”

“It cost my father twenty-five dollars.”

“Oh, come, now, that’s too thin! You don’t expect a feller to believe such a story as that?”

“I expect to be believed, for I never tell anything but the truth.”

“Oh, well, I don’t expect you do, generally, but when it comes to tradin’, most everybody lies,” observed Nick candidly.

“I have no object in misrepresenting, for I don’t want to sell the violin.”

“You can’t afford to keep it! The town won’t let you!”

“The town won’t let me?” echoed Philip, now thoroughly mystified.

“Of course they won’t. The idea of a pauper bein’ allowed a fiddle to play on! Why, it’s ridiculous!”

“What do you mean?” demanded Philip, who now began to comprehend the meaning of this thick-witted visitor. “What have I got to do with the town, or with paupers?”

“Why, you’re goin’ to the poorhouse, ain’t you?”

“Certainly not!” answered Philip, with flashing eyes.

“I guess you’re mistaken,” said Nick coolly. “Squire Pope was over to our shop this mornin’, and he told dad that the seleckmen were goin’ to send you there after the auction.”

Philip’s eyes flashed angrily. He felt insulted and outraged. Never for a moment had he conceived the idea that any one would regard him as a candidate for the poorhouse.

He had an honorable pride in maintaining himself, and would rather get along on one meal a day, earned by himself in honest independence, than be indebted to public charity even for a luxurious support.

“Squire Pope doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” retorted Philip, who had to exercise some self-restraint not to express himself more forcibly “and you can tell him so when you see him. I am no more likely to go to the poorhouse than you are!”

“Come, that’s a good one,” chuckled Nick. “Talk of me goin’ to the poorhouse, when my father pays one of the biggest taxes in town! Of course, it’s different with you.”

“You’ll have to excuse me now,” said Philip, determined to get rid of his disagreeable companion. “I have something to do.”

“Then you won’t sell me the fiddle, Phil?”

“No, I won’t,” answered our hero, with scant ceremony.

“Then I’ll have to bid it off at the auction. Maybe I’ll get it cheaper.”

And Mr. Nicholas Holden at length relieved Philip of his company.

CHAPTER IV. THE AUCTION

It so happened that Nick Holden met Squire Pope on the village street, and, being rather disappointed at the result of his negotiations with Philip, thought it might be a good idea to broach the subject to the squire, who, as he knew, had taken it upon himself to superintend the sale of Mr. Gray’s goods.

“I say, squire, I’ve just been over to see Phil Gray.”

“Ahem! Well, how does he seem to feel?”

“Kinder stuck up, I reckon. He said he wouldn’t go to the poorhouse, and I might tell you so.”

“I apprehend,” said the squire, in his stately way, “he will be under the necessity of going, whether he likes it or not.”

“Just so; that’s what I told him!” interjected Nick.

“And he should be grateful for so comfortable a home,” continued the public man.

“Well, I dunno,” said Nick. “They do say that old Tucker most starves the paupers. Why his bills with dad are awful small.”

“The town cannot afford to pamper the appetites of its beneficiaries,” said the squire. “Where is Philip now?”

“I guess he’s at home. I offered to buy his fiddle, but he said he was going to keep it. I offered him a dollar and sixty-four cents—the same as dad’s bill against his father, but he wouldn’t take it.”

“Really, Nicholas, your offer was very irregular—extremely irregular. It should have been made to me, as the administrator of the late Mr. Gray, and not to a boy like Philip.”

“Will you sell me the fiddle for dad’s bill, squire?” asked Nicholas eagerly.

“You are premature, Nicholas—”

“What’s that?”

“I mean you must wait till the auction. Then you will have a chance to bid on the instrument, if you want to secure it.”

“Phil says it’s his, and won’t be for sale at the auction.”

“Then Philip is mistaken. He is only a boy. The estate will be settled by those who are older and wiser than he.”

“I guess you’ll find him hard to manage, squire,” said Nick, laughing.

“We shall see—we shall see,” returned the squire.

And, with a dignified wave of the hand, he continued on his walk.

After the visit of Nicholas, Philip thought it most prudent to convey the violin which he prized so much to the house of his friend, Frank Dunbar, where he had been invited to take his meals.

He was willing to have the furniture sold to defray his father’s small debts, but the violin was his own. It had not even been given him by his father. Though the latter purchased it, the money which it cost had been given to Philip by a friend of the family. He rightly thought that he had no call to sell it now.

“Frank,” said he to his boy-friend, “I want you to put away my violin safely, and keep it until after the auction.”

“Of course I will, Phil; but won’t you want to play on it!”

“Not at present. I’ll tell you why I want it put away.”

And Philip told his friend about Nick’s application to purchase it, and the liberal offer he had made.

“Nick’s generosity never will hurt him much,” said Frank, laughing. “What in the world did he want of your violin?”

“He wants to make himself popular with the girls.”

“He’ll never do that, even if he learns to play like an angel!” said Frank. “You ought to hear the girls talk about him. He couldn’t get a single one of them to go home with from singing-school last winter. He teased my sister to go, but she told him every time she was engaged to some one else.”

The two days that intervened between the funeral and the auction passed, and the last scene connecting Philip with the little cottage which had been his home was to take place.

In a country town, an auction-however inconsiderable-draws together an interested company of friends and neighbors; and, though no articles of value were to be sold, this was the case at the present sale.

Philip didn’t at first mean to be present. He thought it would only give him pain; but at the last moment he came, having been requested to do so by Squire Pope, as information might be required which he could give.

The bulk of the furniture was soon disposed of, at low prices, to be sure, but sufficiently high to make it clear that enough would be realized to pay the small bills outstanding.

Philip’s lip quivered when his father’s watch was put up. He would have liked to buy it, but this was impossible; for he had only about a dollar of his own.

Nick Holden’s eyes sparkled when he saw the watch. He had forgotten about that, but as soon as he saw it he coveted it. He had a cheap silver watch of his own, which he had bought secondhand about three years before. He had thought that he might some day possess a gold watch, but he was not willing to lay out the necessary sum of money.

By dint of actual meanness, he had laid up two hundred dollars, which he now had in the savings-bank in the next village, and he could therefore have bought one if he had chosen; but, like Gilpin,

“Though on pleasure bent, he had a frugal mind.”

Now, however, there seemed a chance of getting a gold watch at a low price. Nick reasoned rightly that at an auction it would go much below its value, and it would be a good thing for him to buy it—even as an investment—as he would probably have chances enough to trade it off at a handsome profit.

“I shouldn’t wonder if I could double my money on it,” he reflected.

Accordingly, when the watch was put up, Nick eagerly bid two dollars.

Philip’s lip curled when he heard this generous bid, and he heartily hoped that this treasured possession of his dead father might not fall into such hands.

Nick rather hoped that no one would bid against him, but in this he was destined to be disappointed.

“Five dollars!” was next heard.

And this bid came from Mr. Dunbar, the father of his friend Frank. Philip’s eyes brightened up, for there was no one he would sooner see the possessor of the watch than his kind friend.

Nick looked chopfallen when he heard this large increase on his original bid, and hesitated to continue, but finally mustered up courage to say, in a rather feeble tone:

“Five and a quarter.”

“Five dollars and a quarter bid!” said the auctioneer. “Do I hear more?”

“Six dollars,” said Mr. Dunbar quietly.

The bid was repeated, and the auctioneer waited for a higher one, but Nick retired ignominiously from the contest.

He wasn’t sure whether he could get much over six dollars for it himself, and he foresaw that Mr. Dunbar intended to have it, even if it cost considerable more.

“It’s kinder hard on a feller,” he complained to the man standing next him. “What does Mr. Dunbar want of the watch? He’s got one already.”

“Perhaps he thinks it is a good bargain at the price.”

“It’s what I’ve been wantin’ all along,” said Nick. “He might have let me have it.”

“Why don’t you bid more?”

“I wanted to get it cheap.”

“And the auctioneer wants to get as much as he can for the articles, and so do Philip’s friends,” This was a consideration which, of course, had no weight with Nicholas. However, he had one comfort. He would bid on the violin, and probably no one else would bid against it. He did not see it, to be sure, but concluded, of course, that it would be bid off. When the sale drew near the end, he went to Philip, and said:

“Whereabouts is the fiddle, Phil?”

“It isn’t here,” answered our hero.

“Ain’t it goin’ to be sold?”

“Of course not! It’s mine. I told you that once already.”

“We’ll see!” said Nicholas angrily.

And going up to Squire Pope, he held a brief conversation with that gentleman.

The squire nodded vigorously, and walked over to Philip.

“Philip,” said he, “go and bring your violin.”

“What will I do that for!” asked our hero quietly.

“So that it may be sold.”

“It is not to be sold,” returned Philip quietly. “It belongs to me.”

“Nothing belongs to you except your clothes!” said the squire angrily. “I require you to go and fetch the instrument.”