Randy of the River Part 6

"I do."

"Have you got the best of him?"

"Well, I have--ahem--carried my point and the iron works will be absorbed by the concern in Springfield."

"And Jack Bartlett's father won't like that?"

"No. In fact, I am afraid he will fight it. But he can do nothing, absolutely nothing," went on Amos Bangs. "I hold the whip hand--and I shall continue to hold it."

"I hate the Bartletts and I hope you do get the best of them."

"This will make Mrs. Bartlett take a back seat," said Mrs. Bangs, maliciously.

"Maybe you mean that seat in church," said Bob, slyly.

"Not that particularly, although it is time they went to the rear--they have had a front seat so long. Amos, we must take a front seat now."

"As you please, Viola."

"And I must have some new dresses."

"You shall have them, my dear."

"You dear, good man!" cried the fas.h.i.+onable wife; and then the whole family went in to supper. Bob felt particularly elated. He had gotten three dollars for spending money and he felt sure that the Bartletts, including Jack, would have to suffer.

"I wish dad could do something to injure the Thompsons," he said to himself. "But Mr. Thompson is only a carpenter. I must watch my chance and get square with Randy on my own account."

CHAPTER IV

RANDY AT HOME

All unmindful of the trouble that had already come to the Bartletts, and of the trouble Bob Bangs was hatching out for him, Randy divided the mess of fish with Jack and hurried home.

"See what a fine mess I've got, mother!" he cried, as he entered the kitchen, where his mother had just started to prepare the evening meal.

"Aren't they real beauties?"

"They are, Randy," answered Mrs. Thompson, and smiled brightly. "Did Jack do as well?"

"Almost as well as I did, and we divided evenly, because, you see, he furnished the boat. And, mother, I've found out where we can get a fine lot of blackberries. If you want me to, I'll go for them to-morrow."

"I wish you would, Randy. Your father loves blackberry pie and blackberry pudding."

"And so do I."

"I've got time to fry some of these fish for supper," went on Mrs.

Thompson. "And we can have some more to-morrow, too. But I don't think we can use them all."

"I was thinking we might give Mrs. Gilligan a couple."

"That will be very nice. If you will, take them over at once."

Mrs. Gilligan was a poor Irishwoman who took in was.h.i.+ng and ironing for a living. She was alone in the world and often had a struggle to make both ends meet.

"Just to look at that now!" she cried, as Randy held up the fish. "Sure an' ye air a great fisher b'y, Randy, so ye air!"

"I got so many I thought I'd bring you a couple," said our hero.

"Now that's rale kind of ye," answered Mrs. Gilligan, as she dried her hands and took the fish. "Just loike my Pat used to catch afore he was kilt on the railroad."

"I caught them this afternoon, so you can be sure they are fresh."

"I'm much obliged to ye, I am indade," said Mrs. Gilligan. She drew a long breath. "Sure an' the Lord is good to us after all. I was just afther thinkin' I had nothin' but throuble, whin in comes these iligant fish."

"Is something wrong?" asked Randy, curiously.

"It's not a great dale, yet it's enough fer a poor woman loike me. It's Mrs. Bangs' wash, so it is. Nothin' suits that lady, an' she always wants to pay less than she agreed."

"You mean Bob Bangs' mother?"

"Th' same, Randy. Oh, they are a hard-hearted family, so they are!"

"I believe you. And yet Mr. Bangs is rich."

"It's little enough I see of his money," sighed Mrs. Gilligan.

"Although I do me besht wid the was.h.i.+n' an' ironin', so I do!"

"It's a wonder Mrs. Bangs don't make the servant do the was.h.i.+ng and ironing."

"She did make the other wan do that same. But the new one can't iron an' won't try, so I have the work, an' the girrul gits less wages,"

answered the Irishwoman.

When Randy returned home he found supper almost ready. The appetizing odor of frying fish filled the air. A few minutes later Mr. Thompson came in.

Louis Thompson was a man a little past middle age, tall and thin and not unlike Randy in the general appearance of his face. He was not a strong man, and the winter before had been laid up with a severe attack of rheumatism.

"That smells good," he said, with a smile, as he kissed his wife. "I like fish."

"Randy just caught them."

"Good enough."

"You look tired, Louis," went on Mrs. Thompson. "Was the work extra hard?"

"Not much harder than usual, Lucy, but I was working on a cellar part.i.tion and it was very damp. It brought back a bit of the rheumatism."