



Produced by Annie McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, AUGUST 27, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVI.--NO. 826. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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[Illustration]

OAKLEIGH.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.


CHAPTER X.

Tony Bronson was the son of a man who had made a great deal of money in
a doubtful line of business by rather shady proceedings. In other words,
he was not strictly honest, and had amassed a large fortune in a manner
that would not bear investigation.

Of this Tony, of course, was ignorant; but he inherited from his father
a mean spirit and a determination to turn every circumstance to his own
account. He had been sent early to St. Asaph's School that he might
associate with the sons of gentlemen and become a gentleman himself, but
he had acquired only the outward veneering. His manners were most
courteous, his language carefully chosen, and he had sufficient wit to
enable him to readily adapt himself to his companions, but he had not
the instincts of a true gentleman. He was mean, he was something of a
coward, and he was very much of a bully.

Years ago, soon after the two boys first met at St. Asaph's, Neal
detected Tony in a cowardly, dishonorable action, and had openly accused
him of it. Tony never forgave him, but he bided his time. With an
unlimited amount of pocket-money of his own, he soon discovered that
Neal was running short. When a convenient opportunity came he offered to
lend him a small sum. Neal, after a moment's hesitation, weakly accepted
the money, assuring himself that it was only for a short time, and that
he could easily repay it, and then have no more to do with Bronson. It
saved him trouble.

Thus it had gone on. The time never came when Neal felt able to pay the
debt; on the other hand, he borrowed more, and now it had reached
alarming proportions. His monthly allowance, when it arrived, was gone
in a flash, for Neal had never been in the habit of denying himself. It
would have been hard for him to explain why he did not go frankly to his
sister, tell her the whole story, and ask for her help, except that he
was thoroughly ashamed of having placed himself in such straits and did
not want to acknowledge it.

Tony Bronson had become intimate with Tom Morgan at St. Asaph's, Tom not
being particular in his choice of friends. In that way he had come to
visit the Morgans in Brenton. His handsome face and apparently perfect
manner attracted many to him who could not see beneath the surface, and
his languid man-of-the-world air made an impression.

He cultivated this to the last degree. He was not naturally so lazy, but
he thought it effective.

When he said to Edith that he wished to tell her something about Neal
Gordon, she looked at him in still greater surprise.

"I want to ask your help, Miss Franklin. A girl can manage these things
so much better than a fellow. I like Gordon immensely, and I want to do
all I can to help him out of a scrape."

"Does he know that you are speaking to me about him?"

"No, of course not. The fact is--"

"Then I think, Mr. Bronson," interrupted Edith, gently, but with
decision, "that perhaps it would be better for us not to discuss him."

"But you quite misunderstand me, Miss Franklin. I am speaking only for
his own good. I can't bear to see a fellow going straight to the bad, as
I really am very much afraid he is, and not lift a finger to help him. I
thought if I told you that perhaps you might speak to his sister--"

Edith interrupted him again, with heightened color. "I can do nothing of
the sort. Nothing would induce me to speak to Mrs. Franklin on the
subject. I--I couldn't possibly."

Bronson looked at her compassionately.

"Ah, it is as I thought! You and Mrs. Franklin are not congenial. I am
so sorry."

Edith said nothing. She knew that he should not make such a remark to
her, a perfect stranger. She felt that he did not ring true. And yet she
could not bring herself to administer the reproof that Cynthia would
have given under like circumstances.

"I am afraid I have offended you," said Bronson, presently; "do forgive
me! And if you like I will say no more about the bad scrape Gordon is
in. I thought perhaps I could prevent a letter coming from the faculty,
but I see it's of no use. I'm awfully sorry for the fellow. You don't
really think you could do anything to influence his sister?"

At last Edith found her voice.

"I don't think I can. And if you don't mind I would rather not discuss
the Gordons--I mean, Mrs. Franklin and her brother."

"Certainly not, if you don't wish, and you won't repeat what I said, of
course. If we can't help him, of course we had better not let it get out
about Gordon any sooner than necessary. But holloa! What's this? The
carpet seems to be getting damp."

It undoubtedly was, and gave forth a most unpleasantly moist sound when
pressed. Upon investigation they found that the bottom of the canoe was
filled with water. They had sprung a leak.

"We had better get back as quickly as possible," said Edith, rather
relieved to have the conversation come to an end. "Is there a sponge
there? I can bail if it gets any worse."

But no sponge was to be found, and it rapidly grew worse; Edith's skirts
were damp and draggled. Presently there was an inch of water above the
carpet.

"We shall sink if this goes on," she said.

"Oh, I fancy not," returned Bronson, easily; "we haven't very far to
go."

But their progress was not rapid, and the pool in the canoe grew deeper.

"Perhaps you will lend me your cap," said Edith; "I can use it as a
dipper." He did so, and she bailed vigorously. "It must be a very large
leak. I suppose we got it on that rock in the rapids, and we scraped
again just before we tied up, which made it worse. If it were our boat I
would not care, but I think it is Neal's."

She was so occupied that she did not see Bronson smile. His smile was
not attractive, though his teeth were perfect.

Matters would have gone badly with them if they had not at this moment
met Jack and Kitty Morgan in the Franklins' canoe.

"What's the row?" called Jack.

"Nothing much," said Bronson. "We've sprung a little leak, that's all."

"A little leak! I should think so. My eye! Why, man, you must have a
regular hole for the water to come in like that. Where have you been,
anyhow? You had better put in here at this little beach and step over
into my boat."

"What's the matter with stepping over right where we are? No need of
going to shore."

Jack eyed him with curiosity and contempt. He looked so much like
Cynthia that Bronson felt withered. He did not care for Cynthia, for he
knew that she did not like him.

Jack did not speak at once, but paddled towards the bank. Then he said:

"You won't try stepping from one canoe to another in mid-stream if I
have anything to say about it."

The change was safely accomplished, and they proceeded down the river
towing the injured boat, the carpet and cushions having been transferred
with the passengers. Relieved of the weight it did not fill as rapidly,
and they at last reached the picnic-ground.

Bronson was mortified at coming back in such ignominious plight, but he
made the best of it.

"I am awfully sorry, Gordon, if it is your canoe. It must have been
pretty frail, though, to go to pieces at a mere scratch."

"She's the finest cedar canoe to be found in the city of Boston, and it
would take more than a mere scratch to do her up this way. From
appearances I should say you had pounded round on the rocks pretty
freely," growled Neal, who had turned the boat upside down, and was
examining it carefully.

Bronson stooped over him. For the moment they were alone.

"Of course I would feel worse about it if it were any one's but yours.
As it is, we'll just call ten off that fifty still owing. That will go
towards repairs. More than cover them, I should say."

Then he sauntered off, his hands in his pockets.

"What a cad the fellow is!" muttered Neal. "It would give me real
pleasure to knock him down."

"I heard him," said Cynthia. Her cheeks were red and her blue eyes had
grown very dark. "He is an odious, hateful creature, and I _de-spise_
him!"

Having delivered herself of this, Cynthia felt better.

They all went home soon afterwards, Edith leaving earlier in the
carriage with Mrs. Franklin, for her shoes and skirts were too wet for
her to wait for the slower movements of the canoes. It was an
unfortunate ending to the day, and Edith was uncomfortable also about
her conversation with Bronson. She knew that she ought not to have
listened to a word of it.

She wondered if it were really true that Neal was in difficulty. She
thought she must talk it over with Cynthia that night. Of course Cynthia
would stand up for Neal, that went without saying, but it was always a
relief to Edith to talk things over with her.

It was a rather silent drive home, and Mrs. Franklin sighed to herself
when Edith barely replied to her remarks. It seemed perfectly hopeless;
she and Edith would never grow any nearer to each other; but there was
nothing to be done.

That night, when the girls went to their room, Edith was spared the
necessity of opening the subject, for Cynthia began at once.

"What a perfectly hateful creature that Bronson is! I don't see how you
could go on the river with him, Edith. I think you got well paid for
it."

"I don't see why you dislike him so, Cynthia. You take such tremendous
prejudices. He is awfully handsome."

"Handsome! I don't admire that style. That
la-da-da-it-is-I-just-please-look-at-me kind doesn't go down with me."

Cynthia thrust her hands into imaginary pockets, leaned languidly
against the bedpost, and rolled her eyes.

"Er--Miss Franklin--carn't I persuade you to go out on the rivah?" she
said, with an exaggerated manner and accent, and a throaty voice.

Edith laughed. Cynthia was a capital mimic.

"I like a broad A, and, of course, I never would use anything else
myself, but his is broader than the Mississippi. It just shows it isn't
natural to him. To hear him talk about 'darmp grarss,' and he'd just
come from 'South_armp_ton.' He is a regular _sharm_ himself. I dare say
he was brought up to say 'ca'm' and 'pa'm' and 'hain't' and 'ain't.'"

"Cynthia, what a goose you are!"

"Well, I can't bear him, and neither can Neal. Jack doesn't like him
either."

"There, that is just it. You are so influenced by Neal and Jack. Tony
Bronson spoke very nicely of Neal, as if he were a true friend of his."

"Pooh! Much friend he!"

"Well, he did, Cynthia, and that is just what I want to talk over with
you. Neal must be in some terrible scrape."

"Has that Bronson been telling you about that?" cried Cynthia,
indignantly.

"Oh, then it is really true! I thought it must be."

"No, it isn't--at least, not what Bronson told you. I am just certain
that whatever he told you wasn't true," said Cynthia, who felt that she
had said more than she should. "I shouldn't think you would have
discussed Neal with him. Neal is one of our family."

"I didn't," said Edith, somewhat curtly, "though I don't exactly see why
you should speak of Neal Gordon as one of our family. I told Mr. Bronson
I preferred not to talk about him. But he spoke so nicely of Neal, and
said he wanted to help him, and he was afraid the faculty would write
about him, and he wanted to get him out of the