Jed, the Poorhouse Boy. Alger Horatio Jr.

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СКАЧАТЬ and if it continues I shan't sleep another wink."

      "Well, go up and stop it."

      "It is more suitable for you to go, Mr. Fogson. I do believe the boy is snoring out of spite."

      Even Fogson laughed at this idea.

      "He couldn't do that unless he snored when he was awake," he replied. "It isn't easy to snore when you are not asleep. If you don't believe it, try it."

      "I am ashamed of you, Simeon. Do you think I would demean myself by any such low action? If that snoring isn't stopped right off I shall go into a fit."

      "I wouldn't like to have you do that," said Fogson, rather amused. "It would be rather worse than hearing Jed snore."

      About this time there was an unusual outburst on the part of the sleeper.

      "A little hot water would fix him," said Fogson. "It is a pity you had not saved your hot water till to-night."

      "Cold water would do just as well."

      "So it would. Mrs. F., that's a bright idea. I owe the boy a grudge for giving his money to Dr. Redmond. I'll go down stairs and get a clipper of cold water, and I'll see if I can't stop the boy's noise."

      Mr. Fogson went down stairs, chuckling, as he went, at the large joke he was intending to perpetrate. It would not be so bad as being scalded, but it would probably be very disagreeable to Jed to be roused from a sound sleep by a dash of cold water.

      "I hope he won't wake up before I get there," thought Mr. Fogson, as he descended to the kitchen in his stocking feet to procure the water.

      He pumped for a minute or two in order that the water might be colder, and then with the dipper in hand ascended two flights of stairs to the attic.

      Up there it was still profoundly dark. There was but one window, and that was screened by a curtain. Moreover, it was very dark outside. Mr. Fogson, however, was not embarrassed, for he knew just where Jed's bed was situated, and, even if he had not, the loud snoring, which still continued, would have been sufficient to guide him to the place.

      "It beats me how a boy can snore like that," soliloquized Fogson. "He must have eaten something at Dr. Redmond's that didn't agree with him. If I didn't know it was Jed I should feel frightened at such an unearthly hubbub. However, it won't continue long," and Fogson laughed to himself as he thought of the sensation which his dipper of water was likely to produce.

      He approached a little nearer, and in spite of the darkness could see the outlines of a form on the bed, but he could not see clearly enough to make out the difference between it and Jed's.

      He poised himself carefully, and then dashed the water vigorously into the face of the sleeping figure.

      The results were not exactly what he had anticipated.

      CHAPTER VIII.

      MR. FOGSON IS ASTONISHED

      The sleeper had already slept off pretty nearly all the effects of his potations, and the sudden cold bath restored him wholly to himself. But it also aroused in him a feeling of anger, justifiable under the circumstances, and, not belonging to the Peace Society, he was moved to punish the person to whom he was indebted for his unpleasant experience.

      With a smothered imprecation he sprang from the bed and seized the astonished Fogson by the throat, while he shook him violently.

      "You—you—scoundrel!" he ejaculated. "I'll teach you to play such a scurvy trick on a gentleman."

      Mr. Fogson screamed in fright. He did not catch his late victim's words, and was still under the impression that it was Jed who had tackled him.

      Meanwhile the intruder was flinging him about and bumping him against the floor so forcibly that Mrs. Fogson's attention was attracted. Indeed, she was at the foot of the stairs, desiring to enjoy Jed's dismay when drenched with the contents of the tin dipper.

      "What's the matter, Simeon?" she cried.

      "Jed's killing me!" called out Fogson in muffled tones.

      "You don't mean to say you ain't a match for that boy!" ejaculated Mrs. Fogson scornfully. "I'll come up and help you."

      Disregarding her light attire she hurried up stairs, and was astonished beyond measure when she saw how unceremoniously her husband was being handled. She rushed to seize Jed, when she found her hands clutching a mustache.

      "Why, it ain't Jed!" she screamed in dismay.

      "No, it ain't Jed," said the intruder. "Did you mean that soaking for Jed, whoever he is?"

      "Yes, yes, it was—quite a mistake!" gasped Fogson.

      "I am glad to hear you say so, for I meant to fling you down stairs, and might have broken your neck."

      "Oh, what a dreadful man!" ejaculated Mrs. Fogson. "How came you here and where is Jed?"

      "I am here!" answered Jed, who had waked up two or three minutes previous and was enjoying the defeat of his persecutor.

      "Did you bring in this man?" demanded Mrs. Fogson sternly.

      "No. I walked in myself," answered the intruder. "I was rather mellow—in other words I had drunk too much mixed ale, and I really didn't know where I was. I had an idea that this was a hotel."

      "You made a mistake, sir. This is the Scranton poorhouse."

      "So the boy told me when he came in. I wouldn't have taken a bed here if I had known your playful way of pouring cold water on your guests."

      "Sir, apart from your assault on me, me, the master of the poorhouse," said Fogson, trying to recover some of his lost dignity, "you committed a trespass in entering the house without permission and appropriating a bed."

      "All right, old man, but just remember that I was drunk."

      "I don't think that is an excuse."

      "Isn't it? Just get drunk yourself, and see what you'll do."

      "I don't allow Mr. Fogson to get drunk," said his wife with asperity.

      "Maybe my wife wouldn't let me, if there was any such a person, but I haven't been so fortunate as Mr. Fogson, if that is his name."

      "Mrs. F.," said her husband with a sudden thought, "you are not dressed for company."

      Mrs. Fogson, upon this hint, scuttled down stairs, and the intruder resumed: "If I've taken a liberty I'm willing to apologize. What's more, I'll pay you fifty cents for the use of your bed and stay the night out."

      He was appealing to Mr. Fogson's weak point, which was a love of money.

      "I see you're ready to do the square thing," he said in softened accents. "If you'll say seventy-five–"

      "No, I won't pay over fifty. I don't care to take it another night on those terms, if I am to be waked up by a dipper of water. You've wet the sheet and pillow so that I may take my death of cold if I sleep here any longer."

      "I'll bring you a comforter which you can lay over the wet clothes."

      "All right! Bring it up and I'll hand СКАЧАТЬ