The Errand Boy | Page 4

like her as can be.
Well, it won't make matters much worse than they have been."
Phil concluded not to go home at once, but to allow a little time for the
storm to spend its force after Jonas had told his story. So he delayed
half an hour and then walked slowly up to the side door. He opened the
door, brushed off the snow from his boots with the broom that stood
behind the door, and opening the inner door, stepped into the kitchen.
No one was there, as Phil's first glance satisfied him, and he was
disposed to hope that Mrs. Brent-- he never called her mother--was out,
but a thin, acid, measured voice from the sitting-room adjoining soon
satisfied him that there was to be no reprieve.
"Philip Brent, come here!"
Phil entered the sitting-room.
In a rocking-chair by the fire sat a thin woman, with a sharp visage,
cold eyes and firmly compressed lips, to whom no child would
voluntarily draw near.
On a sofa lay outstretched the hulking form of Jonas, with whom he
had had his little difficulty.
"I am here, Mrs. Brent," said Philip manfully.
"Philip Brent," said Mrs. Brent acidly, "are you not ashamed to look me
in the face?"
"I don't know why I should be," said Philip, bracing himself up for the
attack.
"You see on the sofa the victim of your brutality," continued Mrs.
Brent, pointing to the recumbent figure of her son Jonas.

Jonas, as if to emphasize these words, uttered a half groan.
Philip could not help smiling, for to him it seemed ridiculous.
"You laugh," said his step-mother sharply. "I am not surprised at it.
You delight in your brutality."
"I suppose you mean that I have treated Jonas brutally."
"I see you confess it."
"No, Mrs. Brent, I do not confess it. The brutality you speak of was all
on the side of Jonas."
"No doubt," retorted Mrs. Brent, with sarcasm.
"It's the case of the wolf and the lamb over again."
"I don't think Jonas has represented the matter to you as it happened,"
said Phil. "Did he tell you that he flung a snow-ball at my head as hard
as a lump of ice?"
"He said he threw a little snow at you playfully and you sprang upon
him like a tiger."
"There's a little mistake in that," said Phil. "The snow-ball was hard
enough to stun me if it had hit me a little higher. I wouldn't be hit like
that again for ten dollars."
"That ain't so! Don't believe him, mother!" said Jonas from the sofa.
"And what did you do?" demanded Mrs. Brent with a frown.
"I laid him down on the snow and washed his face with soft snow."
"You might have given him his death of cold," said Mrs. Brent, with
evident hostility. "I am not sure but the poor boy will have pneumonia
now, in consequence of your brutal treatment."

"And you have nothing to say as to his attack upon me?" said Phil
indignantly.
"I have no doubt you have very much exaggerated it."
"Yes, he has," chimed in Jonas from the sofa.
Phil regarded his step-brother with scorn.
"Can't you tell the truth now and then, Jonas?" he asked
contemptuously.
"You shall not insult my boy in my presence!" said Mrs. Brent, with a
little spot of color mantling her high cheek-bones. "Philip Brent, I have
too long endured your insolence. You think because I am a woman you
can be insolent with impunity, but you will find yourself mistaken. It is
time that you understood something that may lead you to lower your
tone. Learn, then, that you have not a cent of your own. You are wholly
dependent upon my bounty."
"What! Did my father leave you all his money?" asked Philip.
"He was NOT your father!" answered Mrs. Brent coldly.

CHAPTER II.
A STRANGE REVELATION.
Philip started in irrepressible astonishment as these words fell from the
lips of his step-mother. It seemed to him as if the earth were crumbling
beneath his feet, for he had felt no more certain of the existence of the
universe than of his being the son of Gerald Brent.
He was not the only person amazed at this declaration. Jonas, forgetting
for the moment the part he was playing, sat bolt upright on the sofa,
with his large mouth wide open, staring by turns at Philip and his
mother.

"Gosh!" he exclaimed in a tone indicating utter surprise and
bewilderment.
"Will you repeat that, Mrs. Brent?" asked Philip, after a brief pause, not
certain that he had heard aright.
"I spoke plain English, I believe," said Mrs. Brent coldly, enjoying the
effect of her communication.
"I said that Mr. Brent, my late husband, was not your father."