CHAPTER II. OPEN REVOLT.

B ENJAMIN Kenyon, the father of Roland and Oliver's step-father, was a man of fifty or more. He had a high narrow forehead, small eyes, and a scanty supply of coarse black hair rimming a bald crown with a fringe in the shape of a horse-shoe. His expression was crafty and insincere. A tolerable judge of physiognomy would at once pronounce him as a man not to be trusted.

He turned upon Oliver with a frown, and said harshly:

"How dared you assault my son Roland!"

"It was he who assaulted me, Mr. Kenyon," answered Oliver quietly.

"Do you deny that you felled him to the earth twice?"

"I threw him over twice, if that is what you mean, sir."

"If that is what I mean! Don't be impertinent, sir."

"I have not been—thus far."

"Do you think I shall allow you to make a brutal assault upon my son, you young reprobate?"

"If you call me by that name again I shall refuse to answer you," said Oliver with spirit.

"Do you hear that, father?" interrupted Roland, anxious to prejudice his father against his young enemy.

"I hear it," said Mr. Kenyon; "and you may rely upon it that I shall take notice of it, too. So you have no defence to make, then?"

This last question was, of course, addressed to Oliver.

"I will merely state what happened, Mr. Kenyon. Roland had batted his ball far out on the road. He ordered me to go for it, and I refused."

"You refused?"

"Yes, sir."

"And why?"

"Because I am not subject to your son's orders."

"It is because you are selfish and disobliging."

"No, sir. If Roland had asked me, as a favor, to get the ball, I would have done it, being nearer to it than he, but I did not choose to obey his orders."

"He has a right to order you about," said Mr. Kenyon, frowning.

"I don't admit it," said Oliver.

"Is he not older than you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you must obey him?"

"I am sorry to differ with you, Mr. Kenyon, but I cannot see it in that light."

"It makes very little difference in what light you see it," sneered Mr. Kenyon. "I command you to obey him!"

Roland listened with triumphant malice, and nodded his head with satisfaction.

"Do you hear that?" he said insolently.

Oliver eyed him calmly.

"Yes, I hear it," he said.

"Then you'd better remember it next time."

"Where is the ball now?" asked Mr. Kenyon.

"In the street."

"Oliver, you may go and get it, and bring it to Roland."

Roland laughed—a little low, chuckling laugh that was very exasperating to Oliver. Our hero's naturally pleasant face assumed a firm and determined expression. He was about to make a declaration of independence.

"Do you ask me to go for this ball as a favor?" he asked, turning to his step-father.

"No," returned the latter harshly. "I command you to do it without question, and at once."

"Then, sir, much as I regret it, I must refuse to obey you."

Oliver was pale but firm.

Mr. Kenyon's face, on the contrary, was flushed and angry.

"Do you defy me?" he roared furiously.

"I defy no one, sir, but you require me to do what would put me in the power of your son. If I consented, there would be no end to his attempts to tyrannize over me."

"Are you aware that I am your natural guardian, sir—that the law delegates to me supreme authority over you, you young reprobate?" demanded Mr. Kenyon, working himself into an ungovernable passion.

Oliver did not reply.

"Speak, I order you!" exclaimed his step-father, stamping his foot.

"I did not speak sooner because you called me a young reprobate, sir. I answer now that I will sooner leave your house and go out into the world to shift for myself than allow Roland to trample upon me and order me about like a dog."

"Enough of this! Roland, go downstairs and get my cane."

"I'll go," said Roland, with alacrity.

It was a welcome commission. Smarting with a sense of his own recent humiliating defeat, nothing could be sweeter than to see his victorious adversary beaten in his own presence. Of course he understood that it was for this purpose his father wanted the cane.

There was silence in the room while Roland was gone. Oliver was rapidly making up his mind what he would do.

Roland ran upstairs with the cane.

"Here it is, father," he said, extending it to Mr. Kenyon.

"I will give you one more chance, Oliver," said his step-father. "You have insulted my son and rebelled against my authority, but I do not want to proceed to violence unless I am absolutely obliged to. I command you once more to go and get Roland's ball."

"If you command me, sir, I must answer as I did before—I must refuse."

Roland looked relieved. He feared that Oliver would yield, and so escape the beating he was anxious to witness.

"Aint he impudent!" he ejaculated. "Are you going to stand that, father?"

"No, I am not," said Mr. Kenyon grimly. "I will make him repent bitterly his rebellious course. Come here, sir—or no," and a smile lighted up his face, "it is more befitting that your punishment should come from the one whom you have insulted. Roland, take the cane and give Oliver a dozen strokes with it."

"You'll back me up, won't you?" asked Roland cautiously.

"Yes, I will back you up. There is nothing to fear."

"I guess father and I'll be a match for him," thought the brave Roland.

He took the cane and advanced toward Oliver with it uplifted.

"If you touch me it will be at your peril!" said Oliver, pale but firm.

Roland looked at his father, and received a nod of encouragement.

He hesitated no longer, but, with a look of triumphant spite, lifted the cane and rushed toward Oliver. It did not fall where it was intended, for, with a spring, Oliver wrested it from his grasp and threw it out of the window. Then, without a word, leaving father and son gazing into each other's faces with mingled wrath and dismay, he left the room.

"Are you going to allow this, father?" asked Roland in a tone of disappointment. "Oliver doesn't pay you the least respect."

Mr. Kenyon was not a brave or a resolute man. He was a man capable of petty tyranny, but one to be cowed by manly opposition. It occurred to him that in seeking to break Oliver's spirit, he had undertaken a difficult task. So he hardly knew what to say.

"Shall I run after him?" asked Roland.

"No," said his father. "I will take a little time to consider what is to be done with him. I'll make him rue this day, you may depend upon it."

"I hope you will," said Roland. "I don't mind so much about myself," he added artfully, "but I hate to see him treat you so."

"I'll break his proud spirit," said Mr. Kenyon, biting his lip. "I'll find a way, you may depend upon it."