CHAPTER XI.
FITZ AND HIS COUSIN.
The next morning at eight the boys began to gather in the fieldbeside the Seminary. They began to play ball, but took littleinterest in the game, compared with the "tragedy in real life," asTom jocosely called it, which was expected soon to come off.
Fitz appeared upon the scene early. In fact one of the boys calledfor him, and induced him to come round to school earlier than usual.Significant glances were exchanged when he made his appearance, butFitz suspected nothing, and was quite unaware that he was attractingmore attention than usual.
Punctually at half-past eight, Abner Bickford with his tin-cartappeared in the street, and with a twitch of the rein began to ascendthe Academy Hill.
"Look there," said Tom Carver, "the tin-pedler's coming up the hill.Wonder if he expects to sell any of his wares to us boys. Do youknow him, Fitz?"
"I!" answered Fitzgerald with a scornful look, "what should I know ofa tin-pedler?"
Tom's mouth twitched, and his eyes danced with the anticipation offun.
By this time Mr. Bickford had brought his horse to a halt, andjumping from his box, approached the group of boys, who suspendedtheir game.
"We don't want any tinware," said one of the boys, who was not in thesecret.
"Want to know! Perhaps you haven't got tin enough to pay for it.Never mind, I'll buy you for old rags, at two cents a pound."
"He has you there, Harvey," said Tom Carver. "Can I do anything foryou, sir?"
"Is your name Fletcher?" asked Abner, not appearing to recognize Tom.
"Why, he wants you, Fitz!" said Harvey, in surprise.
"This gentleman's name is Fletcher," said Tom, placing his hand onthe shoulder of the astonished Fitzgerald.
"Not Fitz Fletcher?" said Abner, interrogatively.
"My name is Fitzgerald Fletcher," said the young Bostonian,haughtily, "but I am at a loss to understand why you should desire tosee me."
Abner advanced with hand extended, his face lighted up with anexpansive grin.
"Why, Cousin Fitz," he said heartily, "do you mean to say you don'tknow me?"
"Sir," said Fitzgerald, drawing back, "you are entirely mistaken inthe person. I don't know you."
"I guess it's you that are mistaken, Fitz," said the pedler,familiarly; "why, don't you remember Cousin Abner, that used to trotyou on his knee when you was a baby? Give us your hand, in memory ofold times."
"You must be crazy," said Fitzgerald, his cheeks red withindignation, and all the more exasperated because he saw significantsmiles on the faces of his school-companions.
"I s'pose you was too young to remember me," said Abner. "I haintseen you for ten years."
"Sir," said Fitz, wrathfully, "you are trying to impose upon me. Iam a native of Boston."
"Of course you be," said the imperturbable pedler. "CousinJim--that's your father--went to Boston when he was a boy, and theydo say he's worked his way up to be a mighty rich man. Your fatheris rich, aint he?"
"My father is wealthy, and always was," said Fitzgerald.
"No he wasn't, Cousin Fitz," said Abner. "When he was a boy, he usedto work in grandfather's store up to Hampton; but he got sort ofdiscontented and went to Boston. Did you ever hear him tell of hiscousin Roxanna? That's my mother."
"I see that you mean to insult me, fellow," said Fitz, pale withpassion. "I don't know what your object is, in pretending that I amyour relation. If you want any pecuniary help--"
"Hear the boy talk!" said the pedler, bursting into a horse laugh."Abner Bickford don't want no pecuniary help, as you call it. Mytin-cart'll keep me, I guess."
"You needn't claim relationship with me," said Fitzgerald,scornfully; "I haven't any low relations."
"That's so," said Abner, emphatically; "but I aint sure whether I cansay that for myself."
"Do you mean to insult me?"
"How can I? I was talkin' of my relations. You say you aint one of'em."
"I am not."
"Then you needn't go for to put on the coat. But you're out of yourreckoning, I guess. I remember your mother very well. She was SusanBaker."
"Is that true, Fitz?"
"Ye--es," answered Fitz, reluctantly.
"I told you so," said the pedler, triumphantly.
"Perhaps he is your cousin, after all," said Henry Fairbanks.
"I tell you he isn't," said Fletcher, impetuously.
"How should he know your mother's name, then, Fitz?" asked Tom.
"Some of you fellows told him," said Fitzgerald.
"I can say, for one, that I never knew it," said Tom.
"Nor I."
"Nor I."
"We used to call her Sukey Baker," said Abner. "She used to go tothe deestrict school along of Mother. They was in the same class. Ihaven't seen your mother since you was a baby. How many children hasshe got?"
"I must decline answering your impertinent questions." saidFitzgerald, desperately. He began to entertain, for the first time,the horrible suspicion that the pedler's story might be true--that hemight after all be his cousin. But he resolved that he never wouldadmit it--NEVER! Where would be his pretentious claims toaristocracy--where his pride--if this humiliating discovery weremade? Judging of his school-fellows and himself, he feared that theywould look down upon him.
"You seem kind o' riled to find that I am your cousin," said Abner."Now, Fitz, that's foolish. I aint rich, to be sure, but I'mrespectable. I don't drink nor chew, and I've got five hundreddollars laid away in the bank."
"You're welcome to your five hundred dollars," said Fitz, in what wasmeant to be a tone of withering sarcasm.
"Am I? Well, I'd orter be, considerin' I earned it by hard work.Seems to me you've got high notions, Fitz. Your mother was kind offlighty, and I've heard mine say Cousin Jim--that's your father--wasmighty sot up by gettin' rich. But seems to me you ought not to denyyour own flesh and blood."
"I don't know who you refer to, sir."
"Why, you don't seem to want to own me as your cousin."
"Of course not. You're only a common tin-pedler."
"Well, I know I'm a tin-pedler, but that don't change my bein' yourcousin."
"I wish my father was here to expose your falsehood."
"Hold on there!" said Abner. "You're goin' a leetle too far. Idon't let no man, nor boy neither, charge me with lyin', if he is mycousin, I don't stand that, nohow."
There was something in Abner's tone which convinced Fitzgerald thathe was in earnest, and that he himself must take care not to go toofar.
"I don't wish to have anything more to say to you," said Fitz."
"I say, boys," said Abner, turning to the crowd who had now formed acircle around the cousins, "I leave it to you if it aint mean forFitz to treat me in that way. If he was to come to my house, thataint the way I'd treat him."
"Come, Fitz," said Tom, "you are not behaving right. I would nottreat my cousin that way."
"He isn't my cousin, and you know it," said Fitz, stamping with rage.
"I wish I wasn't," said Abner. "If I could have my pick, I'd ratherhave him," indicating Tom. "But blood can't be wiped out. We'recousins, even if we don't like it."
"Are you quite sure you are right about this relationship?" askedHenry Fairbanks, gravely. "Fitz, here, says he belongs to one of thefirst families of Boston."
"Well, I belong to one of the first families of Hampton," said Abner,with a grin. "Nobody don't look down on me, I guess."
"You hear that, Fitz," said Oscar. "Be sensible, and shake handswith your cousin."
"Yes, shake hands with your cousin!" echoed the boys.
"You all seem to want to insult me," said Fitz, sullenly.
"Not I," said Oscar, "and I'll prove it--will you shake hands withme, sir?"
"That I will," said Abner, heartily. "I can see that you're a younggentleman, and I wish I could say as much for my cousin, Fitz."
Oscar's example was followed by the rest of the boys
, who advanced inturn, and shook hands with the tin-pedler.
"Now Fitz, it's your turn," said Tom.
"I decline," said Fitz, holding his hands behind his back.
"How much he looks like his marm did when she was young," said Abner."Well, boys, I can't stop no longer. I didn't think Cousin Fitzwould be so stuck up, just because his father's made some money.Good-mornin'!"
"Three cheers for Fitz's cousin!" shouted Tom.
They were given with a will, and Mr. Bickford made acknowledgment bya nod and a grin.
"Remember me to your mother when you write, Cousin Fitz," he said atparting.
Fitz was too angry to reply. He walked off sullenly, deeplymortified and humiliated, and for weeks afterward nothing would moresurely throw him into a rage than any allusion to his cousin thetin-pedler. One good effect, however, followed. He did not ventureto allude to the social position of his family in presence of hisschool-mates, and found it politic to lay aside some of his airs ofsuperiority.