Tattered Tom. Alger Horatio Jr.

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      “Are you goin’ to lick Tom?”

      “None of your business! Bring it up, or I’ll lick you too.”

      “No, you don’t!” answered Tim. “You must come for it yourself if you want it.”

      Granny began to find that she must do her own errands. It was an undertaking to go down three flights of stairs to the court and return again, especially for one so indolent as herself; but there seemed to be no other way. She inwardly resolved to wreak additional vengeance upon Tom, and so get what satisfaction she could in this way. Muttering imprecations which I do not care to repeat, she started downstairs, determined to try the stick first upon Tim. But when she reached the court Tim had disappeared. He had divined her benevolent intentions, and thought it would be altogether wiser for him to be out of the way.

      Granny picked up the stick, and, after a sharp glance around the court, commenced the ascent. She did not stop to rest, being spurred on by the anticipated pleasure of flogging Tom. So, in a briefer space of time than could have been expected, she once more arrived at her own door.

      But Tom had not been idle.

      No sooner was the door closed than Tom turned the key in the lock, making herself a voluntary prisoner, but having in the key the means of deliverance.

      Granny tried the door, and, to her inexpressible wrath, discovered Tom’s new audacity.

      “Open the door, you trollop!” she screamed.

      “You’ll lick me,” said Tom.

      “I’ll give you the wust lickin’ you ever had.”

      “Then I shan’t let you in,” said Tom, defiantly.

      CHAPTER IV

      THE SIEGE

      “Open the door,” screamed granny, beside herself with rage, “or I’ll kill you.”

      “You can’t get at me,” said Tom, triumphantly.

      The old woman grasped the knob of the door and shook it vigorously. But the lock resisted her efforts. Tom’s spirit was up, and she rather enjoyed it.

      “Shake away, granny,” she called through the key-hole.

      “If I could only get at you!” muttered granny.

      “I won’t let you in till you promise not to touch me.”

      “I’ll skin you alive.”

      “Then you can’t come in.”

      The old woman began alternately to pound and kick upon the door. Tom sat down coolly upon a chair, her dark eyes flashing exultingly. She knew her power, and meant to keep it. She had not reflected how it was to end. She supposed that in the end she would get a “lickin’,” as she had often done before. But in the mean while she would have the pleasure of defying and keeping the old woman at bay for an indefinite time. So she sat in placid enjoyment in her stronghold until she heard something that suggested a speedy raising of the siege.

      “I’m goin’ for a hatchet,” said granny, through the key-hole.

      “If you break the door, you’ll have to pay for it.”

      “Never you mind!” said the old woman. “I know what I’m about.”

      She heard the retreating steps of granny, and, knowing only too well her terrible temper, made up her mind that she was in earnest. If so, the door must soon succumb. A hatchet would soon accomplish what neither kicks nor pounding had been able to effect.

      “What shall I do?” thought Tom.

      She was afraid of something more than a lickin’ now. In her rage at having been so long baffled, the old woman might attack her with the hatchet. She knew very well that on previous occasions she had flung at her head anything she could lay hold of. Tom, brave and stout-hearted as she was, shrunk from this new danger, and set herself to devise a way of escape. She looked out of the window; but she was on the fourth floor, and it was a long distance to the court below. If it had been on the second floor she would have swung off.

      There was another thing she could do. Granny had gone down below to borrow a hatchet. She might unlock the door, and run out upon the landing; but there was no place for hiding herself, and no way of getting downstairs without running the risk of rushing into granny’s clutches. In her perplexity her eyes fell upon a long coil of rope in one corner. It was a desperate expedient, but she resolved to swing out of the window, high as it was. She managed to fasten one end securely, and let the other drop from the window. As it hung, it fell short of reaching the ground by at least ten feet. But Tom was strong and active, and never hesitated a moment on this account. She was incited to extra speed, for she already heard the old woman ascending the stairs, probably provided with a hatchet.

      Tom got on the window-sill, and, grasping the rope, let herself down rapidly hand over hand, till she reached the end of the rope. Then she dropped. It was rather hard to her feet, and she fell over. But she quickly recovered herself.

      Tim, the recipient of her dinner, was in the court, and surveyed her descent with eyes and mouth wide open.

      “Where’d you come from, Tom?” he asked.

      “Can’t you see?” said Tom.

      “Why didn’t you come downstairs?”

      “’Cause granny’s there waitin’ to lick me. I must be goin’ before she finds out where I am. Don’t you tell of me, Tim.”

      “No, I won’t,” said Tim; and he was sure to keep his promise.

      Tom sped through the arched passage to the street, and did not rest till she had got a mile away from the home which had so few attractions for her.

      Beyond the chance of immediate danger, the young Arab conjured up the vision of granny’s disappointment when she should break open the door, and find her gone; and she sat down on the curbstone and laughed heartily.

      “What are you laughing at?” asked a boy, looking curiously at the strange figure before him.

      “Oh, it’s too rich!” said Tom, pausing a little, and then breaking out anew.

      “What’s too rich?”

      “I’ve run away from granny. She wanted to lick me, and now she can’t.”

      “You’ve been cutting up, I suppose.”

      “No, it’s granny that’s been cuttin’ up. She’s at it all the time.”

      “But you’ll catch it when you do go home, you know.”

      “Maybe I won’t go home.”

      It was not a street-boy that addressed her; but a boy with a comfortable home, who had a place in a store near by. He did not know, practically, what sort of a thing it was to wander about the streets, friendless and homeless; but it struck him vaguely that it must be decidedly uncomfortable. There was something in this strange creature—half boy in appearance—that excited his interest and curiosity, and he continued the conversation.

      “What СКАЧАТЬ