Bernard Brooks' Adventures: The Experience of a Plucky Boy. Horatio Alger Jr.

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      “There is one boy staying here, but he came with a gentleman whom I took for his guardian.”

      “What’s his name? Let me look at your book.” Ezekiel Snowdon ran down the page with his lean forefinger. Finally he came to the following entries:

      William Penrose, Buffalo.

      Bernard Brooks.

      Bernard had not registered himself from any place in particular, feeling that as yet he had no special local habitation.

      “There it is!” said Mr. Snowdon triumphantly. “That’s the boy – Bernard Brooks.”

      “And he is one of your pupils?”

      “Yes, he ran away from my school – the Snowdon Institute – this morning.”

      “He seemed to be traveling with Mr. Penrose. He came with him in a carriage.”

      “I can’t help that. The man must have abducted him.”

      “Don’t you think they had met before? They seemed to be well acquainted.”

      “I don’t know about that. Now, Mr. Wilson, I want that boy given up to me. I want to take him home.”

      “I have no authority over him, Mr. Snowdon. I can’t deliver him into your hands. I can’t take any responsibility.”

      “I’ll take the responsibility,” said Mr. Snowdon impatiently. “Just show me to his room.”

      “He isn’t in his room.”

      “Where is he, then?”

      “He went out to walk with Mr. Penrose directly after breakfast.”

      “Is that a good while since?”

      “About two hours.”

      “Then I will wait for him. He can’t be out much longer.”

      “That’s right, pa,” said Septimus. “You’d ought to take him back with you. If he makes any trouble, I’ll help you.”

      The landlord regarded Septimus with a glance by no means flattering.

      “Who is that boy, Mr. Snowdon?” he asked. “Is he one of your pupils?”

      “That is my son, Septimus Snowdon,” answered Ezekiel, with an inflection of pride. It is strange that any one should be proud of such an unfledged cub as Septimus, but Mr. Snowdon was influenced by parental partiality.

      Finally the landlord, whose eyes commanded the road outside, saw through the door the approach of Mr. Penrose.

      “There’s Mr. Penrose,” he said, “the gentleman your pupil came with, but he is alone.”

      “Alone!” repeated Snowdon. “Isn’t the boy with him?”

      “No, it seems not. However, he will be here in a minute and you can talk with him.”

      Mr. Snowdon advanced to the door, and met Mr. Penrose half way.

      “Is this Mr. Penrose?” he asked stiffly.

      “The same, Mr. Snowdon.”

      “Ha, you know my name?”

      “Yes, and I know you. I was once a pupil of yours.”

      “Is that so? Where?”

      “Out in a town in Illinois. You remember that the big boys rode you out of town on a rail.”

      “Is that so, pa?” gasped Septimus in horror-struck amazement, “I don’t remember anything of the kind,” said Mr. Snowdon, disconcerted. “You must have mistaken the person.”

      “Not at all. No one who had once met you would be likely to forget you, Mr. Snowdon.”

      “We will drop this subject, if you please,” said Snowdon peevishly. “Where is the boy that went out with you this morning?”

      “I really cannot say.”

      “That answer is not satisfactory. Do you know who that boy is?”

      “He says his name is Bernard Brooks.”

      “That is true, and he is a pupil of mine.”

      “Was a pupil of yours, like myself?”

      “He is still my pupil. He was placed with me by his guardian. I charge you with abducting him, Mr. Penrose.”

      “Really, this is amusing.”

      “You won’t find it an amusing matter. I demand, where is the boy?”

      “He went out to walk, and he left me.”

      “Is he coming back to the hotel soon?”

      “I can’t say. I have no authority over him.”

      “Can’t you give me a clue as to his whereabouts?”

      “I might, but I don’t choose to.”

      “Mr. Wilson, you hear this? You understand that this gentleman is conniving at the escape of my pupil.”

      “I have nothing to do with the matter,” said the landlord.

      “By the way, Mr. Snowdon,” asked Mr. Penrose, “why did the boy Bernard run away from you?”

      “Because he’s a bad lot.”

      “Did you treat him kindly?”

      “I always treat my pupils kindly,” answered Mr. Snowdon stiffly.

      “You didn’t when I was a pupil of yours, five and twenty years ago. However, the boys didn’t treat you kindly. It makes me laugh whenever I think of you being ridden out of town on a rail.”

      “Septimus, go outside!” said Mr. Snowdon, who felt sensitive about having this unpleasant episode in his early life made known to his son and heir.

      “I want to stay here, pa.”

      “Go out at once or I’ll horsewhip you.”

      Much against his will, Septimus left the room. He was very curious to learn more about his father’s adventure with the big boys.

      Mr. Snowdon waited an hour in the hope that Bernard would appear, but in vain. Finally he summoned Septimus reluctantly and started for home. He had ridden about two miles when he met an open carriage holding three gentlemen. They stopped their carriage and hailed Mr. Snowdon.

      “Have you seen anything of a man about five feet eight inches in height, rather slender,” began one, and continued with an accurate description of Mr. Penrose.

      “Is his name Penrose?” asked Ezekiel.

      “Yes.”

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