.dt Strive And Succeed, by Horatio Alger, Jr.--A Project Gutenberg eBook
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STRIVE AND SUCCEED
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OR
THE PROGRESS OF WALTER CONRAD
BY
HORATIO ALGER, Jr.
AUTHOR OF “ERIE TRAIN BOY,” “YOUNG ACROBAT,”
“ONLY AN IRISH BOY,” “BOUND TO RISE,”
“STRONG AND STEADY,” “JULIUS,
THE STREET BOY,” ETC.
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NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
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ALGER SERIES FOR BOYS.
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
By HORATIO ALGER, Jr.
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Adrift in New York.
A Cousin’s Conspiracy.
Andy Gordon.
Andy Grant’s Pluck.
Bob Burton.
Bound to Rise.
Brave and Bold.
Cash Boy.
Chester Rand.
Do and Dare.
Driven from Home.
Erie Train Boy.
Facing the World.
Five Hundred Dollars.
Frank’s Campaign.
Grit.
Hector’s Inheritance.
Helping Himself.
Herbert Caster’s Legacy.
In a New World.
Jack’s Ward.
Jed, the Poor House Boy.
Joe’s Luck.
Julius, the Street Boy.
Luke Walton.
Making His Way.
Mark Mason.
Only an Irish Boy.
Paul, the Peddler.
Phil, the Fiddler.
Ralph Raymond’s Heir.
Risen from the Ranks.
Sam’s Chance.
Shifting for Himself.
Sink or Swim.
Slow and Sure.
Store Boy.
Strive and Succeed.
Strong and Steady.
Struggling Upward.
Tin Box.
Tom, the Bootblack.
Tony, the Tramp.
Try and Trust.
Wait and Hope.
Walter Sherwood’s Probation.
Young Acrobat.
Young Adventurer.
Young Outlaw.
Young Salesman.
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Price, Post-Paid, 35c. each, or any three books for $1.00.
HURST & COMPANY
Publishers, New York.
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TO
MY YOUNG FRIENDS,
ISABELLA AND EDWIN,
THIS VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
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PREFACE.
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“Strive and Succeed” is reprinted from the
pages of Young Israel, a New York juvenile
magazine, to which it was contributed as a
serial. It is complete in itself, and can be
read independently; but those who have read
its predecessor, “Strong and Steady,” may be
interested to learn that it traces the subsequent
career of Walter Conrad, showing how
he continued to paddle his own canoe, and
chronicles the adventures of Joshua Drummond
after his flight from home.
As Walter’s success as a teacher at the
West may seem to some improbable, in view
of his youth, I am led to say that I know of
more than one case equally remarkable, in
particular that of a gentleman since prominent
as a politician. The moral of the book
is contained in the title. As a rule of action,
I recommend it confidently to all my young
readers.
New York, Oct. 1, 1872.
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STRIVE AND SUCCEED.
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CHAPTER I || WALTER CONRAD’S MISSION.
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A long train was running at moderate
speed over a Wisconsin railroad. Among the
passengers was a stout, gentlemanly-looking
boy, who looked much more than sixteen, although
he had not yet reached that age. On
the seat beside him was a large carpetbag,
which contained all the clothing he carried
with him. As the conductor passed through
the car, the boy asked:
“Are we near Benton?”
“It is the next station.”
“Is that the place to take the stage for Portville?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me how far I shall have to
ride in the stage?”
“A matter of ten miles or thereabouts.”
“Thank you.”
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The conductor passed on, and the boy began
to shake the dust from his coat, and, opening
his carpetbag, deposited therein a copy of
Harper’s Magazine which he had been reading.
I may as well introduce him at once to
the reader as Walter Conrad, whose previous
adventures have been related in “Strong and
Steady.” For the benefit of such of my present
readers as have not read this volume, I will
sketch his history in brief.
Walter Conrad, then, not quite a year since,
had received, when at boarding school, the
unexpected intelligence of his father’s serious
illness. On reaching home, he found his parent
dead. Subsequently he learned that his
father had bought shares to the extent of a
hundred thousand dollars in the Great Metropolitan
Mining Company, and through the
failure of this company had probably lost
everything. This intelligence had doubtless
hastened his death. Walter was, of course,
obliged to leave school, and accepted temporarily
an invitation from Mr. Jacob Drummond,
of Stapleton, a remote kinsman, to visit
him. In extending the invitation Mr. Drummond
was under the illusion that Walter was
the heir to a large property. On learning the
truth, his manner was changed completely,
and Walter, finding himself no longer welcome
as a guest, proposed to enter Mr. Drummond’s
store as a clerk. Being a strong and capable
boy, he was readily received on board wages.
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The board, however, proved to be very poor,
and his position was made more disagreeable
by Joshua Drummond, three years older than
himself, who, finding he could get nothing out
of him, took a dislike to him. Walter finally
left Mr. Drummond’s employ, and, led by his
love of adventure, accepted an offer to travel
as a book agent in Ohio. Here he was successful,
though he met with one serious adventure,
involving him in some danger, but
was finally led to abandon the business at the
request of Clement Shaw, his father’s executor,
for the following reason:
The head of the Great Metropolitan Mining
Company, through whom his father had been
led to invest his entire fortune in it, was a
man named James Wall, a specious and plausible
man, through whose mismanagement it
was believed it had failed. He was strongly
suspected of conspiring to make a fortune out
of it at the expense of the other stockholders.
He had written to Mr. Shaw, offering the sum
of two thousand dollars for the thousand
shares now held by Walter, an offer which the
executor did not feel inclined to accept until
he knew that it was made in good faith. He,
therefore, wrote to Walter to change his name
and go on to Portville, the home of Mr. Wall,
and there use all his shrewdness to discover
what he could of the position of the mining
company, and Mr. Wall’s designs in relation
thereto. It may be added that after selling the
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balance of the estate, Walter was found
entitled to five hundred dollars. He had, besides,
cleared eighty-seven dollars net profit
on his sales as book agent.
Such is Walter’s story, though, for the present,
we shall have to call our hero Gilbert
Howard--an assumed name, which he had
adopted at the executor’s suggestion, lest his
real name might excite the suspicions of Mr.
Wall and so defeat the purpose of his journey.
Walter had scarcely made his preparations
to leave the cars, when the whistle sounded,
and the train, gradually slackening its speed,
came to a stop.
“Benton!” called the conductor, rapidly,
half opening the door.
“I am near my journey’s end,” thought Walter.
Several passengers descended from the train
and gathered on the platform. Among them,
of course, was our hero.
A shabby-looking stage stood just beside the
station house. Knowing that it was a ten
miles’ journey, and important to get a comfortable
seat, Walter passed through the
building, and took a seat inside. Several
other passengers followed leisurely until the
carriage was nearly full. While Walter was
wondering how soon they would start, a gentleman,
accompanied by a boy of about Walter’s
age, approached the driver, who was
about to take his seat.
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“Didn’t you see anything of my carriage,
Abner?”
“No, General Wall,” said Abner, respectfully.
“I didn’t see it anywhere on the road.”
“That is very strange,” muttered Mr. Wall,
discontentedly. “I told Henry to drive over
for me. Are you sure you might not have
passed without seeing it?”
“I’d have seed it if it had been on the road,”
said Abner, with more emphasis than strict
adherence to grammatical rules.
“I suppose we must ride with you, then,”
said Mr. Wall. “Can you give us seats inside?”
The driver came to the door, and, opening
it, looked in.
“There’s one seat,” he said. “Your son can
ride outside with me.”
John Wall evidently did not fancy this arrangement.
The fact was that it was beginning
to sprinkle, and, being nicely dressed, he
did not want to get wet.
“I want to ride inside,” he said.
“I’d like to accommodate you,” said the
driver, “but there’s only room for one.”
“I don’t see why I haven’t as good right to
a seat inside as anybody else,” said John, in
a grumbling tone.
John Wall was rather a stout, freckle-faced
boy, dressed with some pretension to style,
and sporting a pair of kid gloves. He secretly
considered himself to be unusually good-looking,
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and on the strength of his father’s wealth
gave himself airs of superiority to which he
was not entitled. His manners were decidedly
arrogant and overbearing, and he was
far from being a favorite in Portville, although
a great many things, which would not
have been excused in another less favored by
fortune, were forgiven him on account of his
father’s wealth.
“I’d like to stretch the inside of the stage
if I could,” said Abner, good-naturedly, “but
that ain’t easy.”
“You may sit in my lap, John,” said his
father.
“I’d rather not,” said John, sullenly.
“Then I think you will have to make up
your mind to sit with Abner.”
“I ain’t going to spoil my clothes,” growled
the discontented boy.
“Here is an umbrella for you,” said his
father.
Meanwhile John had been peering into the
coach and espied Walter on the back seat.
Accustomed to regard his own convenience
as a matter of more importance than that of
anybody else, he was led to make a very selfish
proposal.
“There’s a boy inside,” he said. “Perhaps
he’ll get outside and give me his seat.”
This proposal struck Walter as refreshingly
cool, but having a sense of what was due to
himself, and always having been in the habit
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of standing up for his rights, he did not propose
to gratify John.
“Thank you,” said he, dryly; “I’d rather
keep my seat.”
“But I don’t want to get wet.”
“Nor I,” said Walter.
“I don’t see why I haven’t as much right to
ride inside as he,” grumbled John, turning to
the driver.
“So you would, and better, too, if you’d got
in first,” said Abner, rather disgusted at
John’s selfishness. “But I must be starting.
So if you’re going along with me, you’d better
climb up.”
“I’ll give you twenty-five cents if you’ll give
me your seat,” said John, making a last appeal
to Walter.
“Thank you,” said Walter, coldly; “I’m not
in want of money.”
“Get up without any more fuss, John,” said
his father, impatiently.
Very discontentedly John climbed up to the
box and took his seat beside the driver. He
felt very angry with our hero for declining to
sacrifice his own convenience to him. It appeared
to him that, as the son of General
Wall, the richest man in Portville, he had a
right to the best of everything.
“Do you know who that boy is, that
wouldn’t give me his seat?” he asked of
Abner.
“Never saw him before,” said the driver.
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“Is he going to Portville?”
“Yes, so he told me.”
“Do you know where he is going to stop?”
“No, he didn’t tell me.”
“Do you think it’s going to rain much?”
“I reckon it will be a smart sprinkle. You’d
better take off them kid gloves of your’n if
you don’t want them spoiled.”
“I don’t see why that boy wouldn’t give me
his seat. He hasn’t got on as good clothes as
I have,” grumbled John.
“Well, if your clothes are spoiled your
father’s got money enough to buy you some
new ones,” said Abner.
“That’s true,” said John, with an air of
importance. “My father’s very rich.”
“I expect you’ll be rich, too, some day,”
said Abner.
“I expect I shall,” said John, complacently.
“I’m going to be a lawyer.”
“All right,” said the driver, jocosely; “I’ll
give you all my law business.”
“Oh, I shan’t settle down here,” said John,
loftily. “I’m going to Detroit or Chicago. I
want to be in a big place.”
“I reckon you’ll be too smart for Portville,”
said Abner, with sly sarcasm.
“I guess I can do as well as any of the city
lawyers,” said John. “I am reading Cæsar
already.”
“Who’s he?”
“A Latin author.”
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“You don’t say! You must know a mighty
lot.”
“Oh, it ain’t hard when you’re used to it,”
said John, condescendingly.
The rain subsided, and John had the satisfaction
of saving his clothes from injury, so
that he ended the journey in a more amiable
frame of mind than could have been anticipated.
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CHAPTER II || THE SON OF GENERAL WALL.
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Mr. Wall, or General Wall, as he was commonly
designated in Portville, as a kind of
tribute to his wealth, for he had no other
right to the title, took a seat opposite Walter.
Our hero examined him with some attention.
This, then, was the man who had ruined his
father by his plausible misrepresentations--who
even now, perhaps, was conspiring to defraud
him, and probably others. Under ordinary
circumstances he would have been
favorably impressed by his appearance. He
had a popular manner, and was quite a good-looking
man, much more agreeable than his
son, who, it was safe to predict, would never
win popularity unless his manners were
greatly changed for the better.
“Well, general,” said one of the passengers,
“have you been on a journey?”
“Only to the county town. I had some business
at the probate office.”
“Been buyin’ any real estate?”
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“I have just purchased Mr. Newton’s place.
I had a mortgage on it, and we agreed to make
a bargain.”
“I wonder whether he bought it with my
father’s money,” thought Walter, rather bitterly,
for he felt that the man opposite was
responsible not alone for his loss of fortune,
but for his father’s sudden death.
“It’s a nice place,” said the other.
“Yes, a pretty good place. I didn’t need it,
but Mr. Newton wanted to sell, and I accommodated
him.”
“How’s that mining company coming out?”
was the next question. Walter listened
eagerly for the answer.
“Why,” said Mr. Wall, cautiously, “that
isn’t easy to say just yet. We may realize five
per cent. I can’t tell yet.”
Five per cent.! In the letter containing the
offer General Wall had only hinted at two per
cent., and based his offer upon this. Supposing
only five per cent. were saved out of the
wreck, that on Walter’s thousand shares
would amount to five thousand dollars, instead
of two--a very material increase.
“I am already paid for my journey by this
intelligence,” thought Walter. “I shouldn’t
wonder if I got considerably more out of it
in the end.”
“What was the cause of the break-up?”
asked the other passenger, who seemed to be
propounding questions in Walter’s interest.
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“Why,” said General Wall, slowly, “it cost
a good deal more to work the mine than we
expected, and the first indications promised
much better than the mine afterward realized.”
“Have they stopped working it?”
“Well, yes, for the present. But there’s a
prospect of selling it out to a new company
with larger means. Of course, we shan’t realize
much. I shall be a heavy loser myself.”
“I don’t believe that,” thought Walter.
“You ain’t often bit, I reckon, general,”
said his questioner.
“Well, I lay claim to a fair share of judgment,”
said General Wall, “but you know we
are all liable to be deceived. I’ve lost nigh on
to thirty thousand dollars, I reckon, by this
affair. However, I expect to keep my head
above water,” he added, complacently. “I
mean to come out of it as well as I can.”
“’Tain’t every man that can lose thirty
thousand dollars and think no more of it,”
said the other, who appeared to act as a sort
of toady to the great man, so much influence
does wealth exert even over those who don’t
expect to gain anything by their subservience
to it.
“Why, no, I suppose not,” said Wall, in the
same complacent tone. “I shall be left tolerably
well off, even if I do lose the full value of
my stock. I’ve been luckier in some of my investments.”
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“Well, I haven’t lost anything, because I
hadn’t got anything to lose,” said his fellow-passenger;
“that is, outside of my farm. Me
and the old woman manage to pick up a living
off that, and that’s all we reckon on. There
ain’t much money in farmin’.”
“Suppose not,” said the general. “Still,
Mr. Blodgett,” he added, patronizingly, “you
farmers are not subject to so many cares and
anxieties as we men of business. You are
more independent.”
“It’s hard work and poor pay,” answered
the farmer. “It ain’t easy to get forehanded.”
“If you ever have a small surplus to invest,
Mr. Blodgett, I may be able to put you in the
way of making something out of it.”
“Thank you, General Wall. Maybe I’ll remind
you of it some day. I might have a little
over.”
“No matter how little. I can add it to
some of my own funds. I should like to help
you to make a little something.”
“Thank you, general. I’m much obliged to
you. I’ll talk to Betsy about it, and maybe
I’ll see you again.”
“Any time, Mr. Blodgett. It’s no object to
me, of course, but I like to see my neighbors
prosperous.”
The conversation now took another turn, in
which Walter was not so much interested.
He wondered whether General Wall really
meant honestly by the farmer, or whether he
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only wanted to get his money into his possession.
He was not naturally suspicious, but knowing
what he did of Wall he felt inclined to
doubt whether he was quite as disinterested
as he appeared.
They had a little more than half completed
the ten miles which separated them from
Portville, when a passenger got out. This left
a vacancy, and John Wall, descending from
his elevated perch, made his appearance at
the door of the coach.
“Did you get much rain, John?” asked his
father.
“My kid gloves are spoiled,” grumbled John.
“Why didn’t you take them off? Didn’t
you have another pair in your pocket?”
“I don’t like to wear woollen gloves. They
ain’t stylish.”
“I am afraid, John, you are getting a little
aristocratic,” said his father.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” said John.
“Now I am perfectly willing to wear woollen
gloves,” said the general, who wanted to be
popular, and so avoided putting on airs, “or
no gloves at all,” looking around to observe
the effect of his republican speech. “Kid
gloves do not make a man any better.”
Meanwhile John had taken the vacant
place. But it happened to be on the front
seat, and so, of course, he had to ride backward.
Now John fancied that he should prefer
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to sit on the back seat, as it would enable
him to look out of the window, besides being
on the whole more agreeable. Walter, having
his choice of seats, had on entering taken one
of the back ones. John conceived the idea of
exchanging with him, without considering
that our hero might possibly prefer to retain
his, to which he was fairly entitled by prior
possession.
“I don’t like to ride backward,” said John.
“Why not?” asked his father.
“I can’t look out of the window.” Then,
addressing Walter, “Change seats with me,
will you?”
“That is pretty cool,” thought Walter.
“Thank you,” he answered, coldly, “but I
prefer to remain where I am.”
“But I don’t like to ride backward,” grumbled
John.
“Nor do I,” returned Walter.
John was indignant at the refusal. That
he, the son of General Wall, should have to sit
in an inferior seat, while a boy who did not
wear kid gloves occupied a better one, was
very vexatious. He frowned at Walter, but
the latter was by no means annihilated by the
frown. Indeed, from what he was able to
judge of John Wall, he felt a degree of satisfaction
in disappointing him.
“I will change seats with you, John,” said
his father, “if you are so anxious to look out
of the window.”
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“I’ll give him my seat,” said the farmer.
“I don’t mind riding backward; and, as for
seein’ out, I know the road by heart.”
Without a word of thanks John took the
proffered seat, and this brought him next to
Walter. He eyed our hero attentively, but
could not make up his mind as to his social
position. Walter was well dressed in a neatly
fitting suit, but the cloth was not as fine as
his. John glanced at his hands, which were
encased in a pair of woollen gloves. On the
other hand, our hero wore a gold watch and
chain--his father’s--and so he might be
worth noticing.
“What’s your name?” asked John.
“You may call me Gilbert Howard.”
“Are you going to Portville?”
“Yes.”
“Have you got any relations there?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Are you going to stay long?”
“That depends on circumstances.”
“Where are you going to stop?”
“At the hotel, I suppose. There is one, isn’t
there?”
“Yes. It is called the Portville House.”
“Then I shall go there.”
John was about to continue his questions
when Walter thought it was his turn.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“John Wall,” replied John. “My father is
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General Wall,” he added, in a tone of some
importance.
“Do you live in Portville?”
“Yes.”
“Where have you been?”
“On a journey,” answered John, stiffly,
thinking to himself that Walter was very impertinent.
It did not occur to him that it is
a poor rule that will not work both ways.
“What is your business?” John asked, preferring
to question rather than be questioned.
“Are you a peddler?”
“No,” said Walter, coolly. “Are you?”
John glared at his questioner feeling deeply
insulted, and did not deign a reply. That he,
the son of General Wall, the richest man in
Portville, should be asked if he were a peddler
was something his pride could not brook.
Walter ought to have been annihilated by his
look, but he stood it unflinchingly, secretly
amused at the effectual manner in which he
had silenced his questioner.
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CHAPTER III || UNDER AN ASSUMED NAME.
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At length the stage reached its destination.
With a flourish the driver drew up in front
of the Portville House, a hotel of moderate
size, yet large enough to accommodate all the
travelers likely to stand in need of shelter.
Walter got out, and taking his carpetbag,
which was handed down from the roof, where
it had been stored with other parcels, entered
the inn. General Wall and his son retained
their places, and the driver, after a short
pause, set out to leave them at their own
house.
Walter entered the barroom, which was at
the same time the office, and asked if he could
be accommodated with a room.
“You can have your choice of half a dozen,”
said the landlord. “We ain’t crowded just at
present.”
“Put me in any. I am not particular as
long as it’s comfortable.”
“Will you go up now?”
“Yes, I think so. How soon will supper be
ready?”
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“In half an hour.”
“Very well, I’ll be down.”
Walter entered himself in the hotel register
as Gilbert Howard, the name he had assumed.
It was the name of a schoolmate at the Essex
Classical Institute, and the first one that had
occurred to him. It was not altogether agreeable
to Walter to pass under an assumed
name. It seemed like sailing under false
colors. He had, however, a great respect for
the judgment of Mr. Shaw, and the circumstances
seemed to require it. Under his own
name he realized that it would be impossible
to learn anything of Mr. Wall’s fraudulent
purposes. Now there seemed a very good
chance of doing so. Indeed, he had already
learned something from the conversation he
had overheard in the stage.
After washing his face and hands, he descended
to the public room, and in a short
time supper was ready. It was not a luxurious
supper, but a good, plain meal, to which
his appetite enabled him to do full justice.
There were five other guests besides himself.
These, however, were regular boarders. On
the opposite side of the table were a man of
middle age and his wife. These Walter
learned were Mr. and Mrs. Carver. The
former had something to do with a manufacturing
establishment recently opened, and
was boarding at the hotel with his wife, until
he could find a suitable house. There were
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also a young man, employed as clerk in one of
the village stores, and his sister. His name
was Jones--a young man with nothing striking
about him. His sister wore ringlets, and
doted on the poets, of whom she did not know
much. The fifth guest was a tall young man,
of sickly appearance. He was narrow-chested
and had inherited a consumptive tendency.
His lungs being weak, he had left Vermont for
the West, in the hope that the more equable
climate might be favorable to his health. Unfortunately
it did not produce the desired
effect. He coughed at intervals during the
meal, and the hard, dry cough had an alarming
sound.
“You have a hard cough,” said Walter, who
sat beside him at the table.
“Yes, it seems to be getting worse,” said the
young man. “I came out here, thinking I
might be benefited by the change of climate.”
“Then you are not a native of Wisconsin?”
“I was born and brought up in Vermont.”
“And I am from the State of New York.”
“Indeed. Have you just arrived from the
East?”
“It is several months since I left home. I
have been traveling in Ohio.”
“I am glad to meet one who comes from
near home. Will you come up into my room
after supper?”
“I shall be glad to do so. I have no friends
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or acquaintances here, and I might be rather
dull by myself.”
“What may I call you?”
“Gilbert Howard.”
“My name is Allen Barclay.”
“Have you boarded at this hotel long?”
“Ever since I came to Portville. That is
four months since. By way of further introduction,
I will mention that I am a teacher,
and keep the grammar school in the village.”
Walter was glad to hear this. He felt that
he should take more pleasure in his companion’s
society since their tastes were probably
somewhat similar. Though his life for a few
months had been an active one, he had by no
means lost his relish for study, nor had he
given up his intention of resuming his studies
at some time. In case he should realize five
per cent. on the mining shares, this would
amount to five thousand dollars, a sum with
which he would be justified in continuing his
preparation for college, and a four years’ collegiate
course. He estimated that his expenses
as a student would not average more than five
hundred dollars a year, and as the interest
would amount to considerable--three hundred
dollars the first year--he concluded
that he could educate himself, and have considerably
more than half his capital left to
start in life with, when his education was
complete. I mean, of course, his college education,
for, strictly speaking, one’s education
.bn 028.png
.pn +1
is never complete, and those who attain eminence
in any branch are willing to confess
themselves perpetual learners.
But, while these speculations were very
pleasant, the five thousand dollars were not
yet in his possession. To gain them he must
learn more of General Wall and his schemes,
and to this object he resolved to devote himself
in earnest. He had no settled plan. Indeed,
without considerably more knowledge
of how the land lay it was impossible to decide
upon any. He must be guided by circumstances,
ready to avail himself of any favorable
turn which affairs might take.
“This way, please,” said Allen Barclay,
leading the way out of the dining-room.
His room was on the second floor, and
though hotel chambers are in general--at any
rate, in country towns--the reverse of pleasant
or comfortable, this room looked both.
There was an open fire in the grate which
blazed pleasantly. Before the fire a cosy armchair
was drawn up. Next to it was a table
covered with books. Two or three pictures
hung on the walls, and books and pictures
do a great deal to give a homelike appearance
to an apartment.
“You look very comfortable here, Mr. Barclay,”
said Walter.
“Yes, I have made the room pleasant. The
books and pictures I brought with me, and the
armchair I bought in the village. I am sensitive
.bn 029.png
.pn +1
to cold, and so of late, as the weather
has become colder, I have had a fire lighted
just before I come home in the afternoon.”
“Have you any scholars in Latin?” asked
Walter, seeing a copy of “Cæsar’s Commentaries”
on the table.
“One--John Wall, the son of General Wall,
the most prominent man in Portville.”
“I have already made the young gentleman’s
acquaintance,” said Walter, smiling.
“Indeed!” returned Allen Barclay, in surprise.
“I met him in the stage. I don’t think we
were either of us very favorably impressed
with the other.”
Here he gave a brief account of the altercation
between himself and John.
“What you say does not surprise me,” said
the teacher. “John is a thoroughly selfish,
disagreeable boy, with a very lofty idea of
himself and his position as the son of a rich
man. He considers himself entitled to the
best of everything. I am glad you did not
give way to him.”
“I am too independent for that,” answered
Walter. “I don’t allow myself to be imposed
upon if I can help it, though I hope I am not
often disobliging.”
“You had no call to yield to him to-day.”
“So I thought. What sort of a scholar is
he?”
“John Wall? Very poor. He will never
.bn 030.png
.pn +1
set the river on fire with his learning or talents.
In fact, if he were a better scholar, I
might feel different about teaching him. I
have only had an academy education, and have
not been beyond Cæsar myself. However, I
have no trouble in keeping ahead of John.”
Here Mr. Barclay was seized with a violent
attack of coughing, which seemed to distress
him.
“I don’t think I shall be able to keep on
teaching,” he said, when the fit was over.
“The climate does not agree with me, and I
shall not be willing to run the risk of wintering
here. If I could only find some one to
take my place as teacher, I would leave at
once. It is the middle of the term, and I don’t
want the school closed.”
An idea came to Walter. He was a good
English scholar--had been as far in Latin as
his companion--and was probably qualified
to teach any scholars he was likely to have.
It was desirable that he should have something
to do, which would serve as a good excuse
for remaining in Portville. Why should
he not offer to supply Barclay’s place, since
he thought it necessary to resign?
.bn 031.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IV || PORTVILLE.
.sp 2
“How many scholars have you, Mr. Barclay?”
inquired Walter.
“About fifty.”
“Are they mostly boys?”
“There are about thirty boys--rather more
than half.”
“How do they vary in age?”
“From ten to eighteen. I have three boys,
or young men I might almost call them, of
eighteen, two of seventeen, and three girls of
sixteen and upwards.”
“Are they hard to manage?”
“The older ones? No; the most troublesome
age is from thirteen to fifteen. Those
who are older generally come to school for improvement,
and are inclined to obey the rules
of the school.”
This was reassuring. Walter knew that, in
case he should be accepted as a teacher, he
could not hope to cope with those two or three
years older than himself. But if he could rely
.bn 032.png
.pn +1
on the co-operation of the older pupils, he
might get along.
“Mr. Barclay,” said he, after a moment’s
thought, “do you think I would be too young
to undertake the school?”
“You look pretty young,” answered the
teacher. “You are not yet seventeen, I suppose?”
“I am not yet sixteen.”
“That is pretty young for a teacher. But
then I was not much older than that when I
commenced teaching.”
“Where did you teach?”
“In my native town, in Vermont. It was a
winter district school of about forty scholars.”
“How did you get along?”
“Pretty well. I got the good will of the
scholars, and they saw that I wanted to help
them on as fast as possible.”
“I think I know enough to pass the examination,”
said Walter, “and I am in search of
some business to employ my time. If you
want to give up the school, and recommend
me to try it, I will offer myself to the school
trustees.”
“What sort of a fellow are you, Mr. Howard--excusing
the term I accidentally used--but
have you got grit? Do you generally succeed
in what you undertake?”
“I think I do,” said Walter, smiling. “I
wouldn’t give it up, unless I was obliged to.”
“I asked the question,” said the young man,
.bn 033.png
.pn +1
“because grit weighs heavily in this world. I
have noticed that successful men are generally
plucky, which is about the same thing.”
“I haven’t had much chance to tell yet,”
said Walter. “Until a few months since
everything was done for me, my father being
rich; then I was thrown upon my own resources,
and so far I have been successful.”
Here he gave an account of his adventures
as book agent, and detailed the experiences of
the night he passed in the cabin in the woods.
But one thing he thought it best not to mention--his
father’s business connection with
General Wall, and the object of his present
visit to Portville. He would have been as
willing to confide in Allen Barclay as any one,
but he thought his best course would be to
make a confidant of no one, but to work out
his plans by himself.
“From what you have told me,” said Allen
Barclay, “I think you have a chance of succeeding,
in spite of your youth. I shall be
really glad to be relieved of the school, for I
feel that every day I spend here is injurious
to my health. I didn’t like to have the school
closed, however, in the middle of the term.”
“Are teachers so scarce about here,” asked
Walter, “that you could not find a substitute?”
“No, there is a good supply of teachers who
can teach the ordinary English branches; but
General Wall insists upon a teacher who can
.bn 034.png
.pn +1
teach Latin, chiefly on account of his son,
John.”
“Is John Wall the only boy who studies
Latin in school?”
“No, there is a class of four beginners, who
have just commenced reading easy sentences.
This class consists of two girls and two boys.”
“I don’t claim to be a very good Latin
scholar,” said Walter, “but from what you
say I think I know enough to teach John
Wall.”
“How much have you read?”
“I was in the sixth book of Cæsar when I
left the Essex Classical Institute.”
“Then you have read more than I have, and
I have had no difficulty in teaching John. He
is just commencing the second book.”
“I think I shouldn’t have any trouble, especially
as I read the Latin Reader through
before commencing Cæsar. My father meant
me to enter Columbia College.”
“I will tell you what you had better do, Mr.
Howard,” said the young man. “Come and
visit the school to-morrow, and stay all the
forenoon. The Latin recitations come then.
Thus you will see the scholars, and become
acquainted with my way of management, and
can form a better idea of whether you would
like to undertake it.”
This struck Walter as an excellent suggestion,
and he at once accepted the invitation.
“That will be much the best way,” he replied.
.bn 035.png
.pn +1
“I suppose the school commences at
nine o’clock.”
“Yes, that is the usual time all over the
country, I think.”
The conversation now passed to other subjects,
and Walter spent quite a pleasant evening
with his new acquaintance. At half-past
nine he rose to withdraw.
“Don’t be in a hurry, Mr. Howard,” said
Allen.
“Thank you, I don’t think I have been. I
should have felt quite lonely but for your kind
invitation. I feel a little tired with traveling,
and shall go to bed as soon as I get to my
room.”
“Good-night, then. We shall meet at breakfast,
I suppose?”
“Yes, unless I oversleep myself,” said Walter,
laughing.
Walter found his bed a comfortable one,
and slept soundly. In the morning he felt
thoroughly refreshed, and was prepared to do
justice to a plentiful breakfast.
“At what time do you start?” he asked of
Allen Barclay, who was again seated next to
him.
“At fifteen minutes of nine. The schoolhouse
is only five minutes distant, and this
allows me plenty of time.”
“It will seem like going to school again myself.
I can almost fancy myself back again at
the institute.”
.bn 036.png
.pn +1
“You will hardly find the scholars as far
advanced,” said Barclay, “or the teacher,” he
added, with a smile.
“That would certainly be true if I were
teacher,” returned Walter.
“What do you say to a little walk before it
is time to go to school?” asked the teacher.
“I generally walk for half an hour or more,
as an offset to the long confinement of school.”
“I shall be very glad to accompany you, Mr.
Barclay.”
The two put on their hats, and walked up
the road slowly.
Portville contained about two thousand inhabitants.
Of these the majority lived in the
village, while perhaps two-fifths were scattered
about within a radius of three miles. It was
rather a flourishing place on the whole, and
most of the houses were neat and comfortable.
There were several shops or stores, of different
kinds; for farmers came from ten miles
around to trade in Portville.
“It seems like a pleasant village,” said Walter
to his companion.
“Yes,” said the teacher, “the town is pleasant,
and I have found most of the people pleasant
also. I should be very well satisfied to remain
if my health would allow.”
“Whose house is that?” asked Walter,
pointing to a residence larger and more pretentious
than he had yet seen.
“That is the nicest house in town, and it belongs
.bn 037.png
.pn +1
to the man who is reputed to be the richest
man in town.”
“General Wall?” said Walter, inquiringly.
“The same.”
“What sort of a man is he?”
“You have seen him, so that I need not describe
his personal appearance. He is a popular
man, and I think tries to make himself
agreeable in order to gain influence.”
“You say he is rich?”
“He is thought to be.”
“How did he gain his wealth?”
“He has been connected with mines, banks,
real estate speculations, and, in fact, with
whatever has money in it. He is something of
a politician, and I hear that he hopes some
day to go to Congress. In fact, he is a pushing
man, and likely to make his influence
felt.”
“Is his son like him?”
“He will never be as popular as his father.
General Wall may be as selfish as his son, but
he is too wise to show it as openly. John is
disagreeable by nature. He wouldn’t trouble
himself to appear agreeable.”
“From what I saw of him,” said Walter, “I
should think it would be a good deal of trouble
for him to be agreeable.”
“I have no doubt you got the correct impression
of him. I like him as little as any
of my scholars.”
While they were thus speaking, General
.bn 038.png
.pn +1
Wall opened the front door of his house, and
they met him at a short distance from his
front gate. He bowed, as Walter thought,
with an air of condescension, and said to the
teacher, “Good-morning, Mr. Barclay. You
are taking an early walk, I see.”
“Not very early, sir. I always take a short
walk before school.”
“And how is the school? Is John getting
on well with his Latin?”
“Tolerably well, General Wall.”
“Push him, Mr. Barclay, push him! I want
my son to have a good education.”
“I will do my best.”
General Wall walked on with a self-satisfied
air, as if he took a good deal of credit to
himself for honoring the poor teacher with
so much notice. He glanced at Walter, whom
he recognized as his fellow-traveler of the
night before, and concluded, from seeing him
with Allen Barclay, that he was a friend or
relative of the teacher.
.bn 039.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER V || A LATIN EXERCISE.
.sp 2
It was five minutes of nine when Allen Barclay,
accompanied by Walter, approached the
schoolhouse. It was a plain wooden building
of two stories, painted white. Beside it was
a good-sized playground, on which from a
dozen to twenty boys were engaged in a game
of ball. As Walter saw the ball flying across
the field, impelled by a hard knock from the
bat, he felt a strong impulse to join in the
game. When a student at the Essex Institute
he had played ball a good deal, and was considered
quite a superior player. But since his
departure he had not joined in a game. Now
as he witnessed the game of the Portville boys,
he wished himself again a scholar, and a
sharer in their fun.
“Do you ever play ball, Mr. Barclay?” he
asked.
“No; the physician has forbidden all violent
exercise as likely injurious to my health.
It increases my cough. For that matter, however,
.bn 040.png
.pn +1
I don’t think I should play if I were able.
I tried it sometimes as a boy, but I never succeeded
very well. Do you play?”
“I used to play considerably, but for several
months I have not touched a bat.”
“There’s the master,” called out one of the
players.
“Give me another ball,” said the boy at the
bat. “The bell won’t ring just yet.”
So the game continued.
Among those who were watching the game,
Walter noticed John Wall. John was more
carefully dressed than any of the other boys,
many of whom had taken off their coats, and
were playing in their shirt sleeves.
“That is John Wall, isn’t it?” asked Walter.
“Does he play ball?”
“Not often. He isn’t much of a player.
Besides, he doesn’t like to run the risk of soiling
his clothes. He is something of a dandy.”
“So I should think. He wore kid gloves
the other day in the rain.”
“He is partial to kid gloves. He thinks
they distinguish him as the son of a gentleman
from his more plebeian companions. But
come in, Mr. Howard.”
Walter followed the teacher into the schoolroom.
It was about forty feet by fifty in size,
and well supplied with desks. The girls sat
upon one side, the boys on the other. Some
were already in their seats, while others were
grouped near the teacher’s desk. They separated
.bn 041.png
.pn +1
on the entrance of Allen Barclay, and
repaired to their seats, not without curious
glances at Walter.
There was a larger desk for the teacher,
with a chair drawn up behind it. There was
another chair in the room, which the teacher
drew up near his own.
“That is the company chair, Mr. Howard,”
said he, smiling. “Will you occupy it?”
“Thank you,” said Walter.
All his associations with schools were in the
character of a scholar, and he felt a little out
of place. It seemed to him that he ought to
be seated at one of the desks.
“Julius, will you ring the bell?” said Mr.
Barclay.
A boy of twelve advanced to the teacher’s
desk, and took from his hand a large bell, with
which he went out into the entry and rang
with emphasis, as if he enjoyed it. Soon, in
answer to the sonorous summons, came trooping
in the boys from the playground, flushed
with exercise, some of them drawing on their
coats as they walked to their desks. John
Wall alone looked as if he were fresh from a
bandbox, his hair plastered down with pomatum,
and his clothes innocent of dust or
wrinkle.
“If he cared less for his appearance he
would have a good deal more fun,” thought
Walter, judging from a boy’s standpoint.
At last all were in their seats. After the
.bn 042.png
.pn +1
preliminary exercises, the recitations commenced.
The first were in arithmetic. Walter
listened attentively to the recitations of
the different classes, and concluded that he
would have no difficulty in instructing any
of them. The mathematical teacher at the
Essex Institute was well fitted for his duties,
and had a remarkably clear and simple way
of explaining the leading principles of arithmetic.
Allen Barclay, as Walter quickly perceived,
was deficient in the art of teaching.
He did not know how to explain difficulties in
a plain, simple way. Walter felt desirous
more than once of coming to his assistance,
but of course could not do so.
“I believe I should like to teach,” he thought
to himself. “It must be interesting.”
At last the classes in arithmetic finished
their recitations.
“You will now have a chance to hear John
Wall recite,” said the teacher, in a low voice.
Walter’s interest was at once enlisted, partly
because he was fond of Latin, and partly because
he knew something already of John, and
wished to see how he would acquit himself.
“The class in Cæsar,” said the teacher.
John rose slowly from his seat, and, book
in hand, advanced pompously to the bench occupied
by classes reciting. There was no
other scholar so far advanced in Latin, and he
looked down from his superior place of knowledge
with calm contempt upon his fellow-pupils.
.bn 043.png
.pn +1
His manner, as he advanced to recite,
seemed to say, “Look at me! I am going to
recite in Cæsar! I am a long way ahead of
everybody else in school. They can’t any of
them hold a candle to me.”
“Where does your lesson commence, Mr.
Wall?” asked the teacher.
“At the beginning of the second book.”
“Very well. You may read and translate.”
John read the first line as follows, pronouncing
according to a method of his own,
Cum esset Cæsar in citeriore Gallia in hibernis,
and furnished the following translation:
“He might be with Cæsar in hither Gaul in
the winter.”
“I don’t think that is quite correct, Mr.
Wall,” said the teacher.
“It makes good sense,” said John, pertly.
“It doesn’t make the right sense. Cum is
not a preposition, and if it were it could not
govern Cæsar in the nominative case.”
“I don’t see what else you can make of it.”
“It is a conjunction, and means ‘when,’
‘Cæsar’ being the subject of the sentence.
Then there is another mistake. Hibernis
means winter-quarters, not winter. The
clause is to be translated, ‘When Cæsar was
in winter-quarters in hither Gaul.’ Proceed.”
“Ita uti supra demonstravimus,” continued
John; “so have we shown to be used above.”
“Do you think that makes good sense, Mr.
Wall?”
.bn 044.png
.pn +1
“I didn’t quite understand it,” John condescended
to acknowledge.
“Uti,” explained the teacher, “is not from
the verb utor, as you appear to have taken it,
and, if it were, could not be translated passively.
It means ‘as’ here. Translate, ‘just
as we have shown above.’”
John continued: “Crebri ad eum rumores
afferebantur--frequent persons brought rumors
to him.”
“I am afraid, Mr. Wall, I must correct you
again,” said the teacher. “Crebri agrees with
rumores, and the verb is passive. How, then,
will you translate the clause?”
“Frequent rumors were brought to him,”
answered John, correctly, for a wonder.
“Literisque item Labieni certior fiebat--and
letters made the same Labienus more
sure.”
“No less than four mistakes, Mr. Wall. I
hardly know where to begin to correct you.
What part of speech is item?”
“A pronoun.”
“What does it mean?”
“The same.”
“Will you decline it?”
“Item--eatum--item.”
“You need not go on. You have mistaken
the word for idem. It means ‘likewise.’ Is
literis nominative?”
“No, sir; it is dative.”
“It is ablative, and fiebat cannot be rendered
.bn 045.png
.pn +1
actively. Without specifying all the
mistakes, I will translate for you, ‘and likewise
was informed by the letters of Labienus,’
Certior fiebat means, literally, ‘was made more
certain;’ but we cannot always translate literally.”
It would be tedious to follow John through
his blundering recitation. He made fewer
mistakes in the passages that succeeded, but it
was easy to see that he knew very little Latin.
His lesson comprised the whole of the first
section, and was on the whole the worst recitation
to which Walter had ever listened. He
could not help thinking that Mr. Barclay
made a mistake in merely correcting the errors,
without adding directions by which a
repetition of them might be avoided; and he
resolved, if John should become his pupil, to
drill him thoroughly in the elementary principles
of the language.
“What do you think of that recitation?”
asked the teacher, in a low voice, as John took
his seat.
“Very poor,” answered Walter.
“I am afraid he will never make a Latin
scholar. I will now call up the other class in
Latin.”
This was a class of beginners, and acquitted
itself much more creditably than the student
in Cæsar. It might be supposed that
John would have been mortified by his mistakes;
but it was enough for him that he
.bn 046.png
.pn +1
could report himself as studying Cæsar, and
he appeared to think it of no importance how
he got along.
Other classes succeeded, and the session at
length ended.
“Well, Mr. Howard,” said Mr. Barclay, as
they were returning homeward, “do you think
you would like to take the school?”
“I will take it if the trustees will accept
me,” said Walter, promptly.
.bn 047.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VI || RECOMMENDED.
.sp 2
“If you really think you would be willing
to take my place,” said Allen Barclay, “I will
see at once if I can obtain your appointment.”
“I am not in any hurry to commence, Mr.
Barclay, though I may be in a hurry to get
through, if I should take the place.”
“That is my feeling now. The sooner I can
be free, the better it will be for my health.
The climate is getting worse for me with the
approach of winter.”
“I leave the matter in your hands, then.
Who are the trustees?”
“General Wall is the principal one, and I
will call to see him this evening. Besides him
there is the village doctor--Dr. Owens--but
he has so much to attend to that he has very
little to do with the schools. Then there is
Squire Griffiths, a man who was selected because
he is rather prominent in town affairs,
but he is a man of no education. General
Wall is the only one at all qualified for the
.bn 048.png
.pn +1
position. Last year the minister belonged to
the board, and was competent and useful, but
he got unpopular by taking sides in a local
dispute, and was left off.”
“I suppose teachers are examined by the
trustees so that they may discover whether
they are competent.”
“Yes, but the examinations don’t amount to
much, as you can judge from the composition
of the Board of Trustees.”
“I think I can pass pretty well. I have not
been out of school long enough to forget my
studies.”
“I have no doubt you’ll be all right. I’ll
call on the general this evening.”
In accordance with his determination, Allen
Barclay knocked at the door of General Wall’s
residence about an hour after supper.
“Is the general in?” he inquired.
“Yes, sir; will you come in?”
“I would like to see him a few minutes.”
He was ushered into the sitting-room, and
General Wall soon made his appearance.
“Good-evening, Mr. Barclay,” he said, in
his usual patronizing way, “I am glad to see
you. Nothing wrong at the school, I hope?”
“No, sir; there is nothing wrong at the
school; but it is about the school I have come
to speak.”
“Any advice, ahem! which I can give, will
be freely tendered. This is, of course, incumbent
upon me in the official position which I
.bn 049.png
.pn +1
hold, but I feel an additional interest as a
parent.”
“You haven’t much reason as a parent to
feel proud,” thought Allen Barclay; but there
are some thoughts that are best unspoken.
“I am afraid, General Wall, that I shall be
compelled to give up the school!”
“What!” exclaimed General Wall, in surprise.
“Have you any cause of dissatisfaction?
Are you not content with the salary?”
“I don’t complain of that, but I find that
the climate does not agree with my health.”
“Indeed! Are you feeling unwell?”
“My lungs are weak, and I find that the
cough with which I have been troubled for a
year past, instead of improving, as I hoped it
would, is increasing, and becoming daily more
troublesome. I think it will be best, therefore,
for me to give up teaching, and go elsewhere.”
“I am sorry to hear this, Mr. Barclay.
Don’t you think you can keep along to the end
of the term--six weeks, I believe?”
“I don’t think it would be wise, General
Wall.”
“We shall find it difficult to fill your place.
We could get teachers, but we want one who
is competent to teach Latin as well as English.
I want my son John to go on in the
same liberal course which I have projected for
him,” said the general, rather pompously.
“It is on this account that I have delayed
.bn 050.png
.pn +1
mentioning the matter before, but I now think
I can recommend a substitute.”
“Indeed! May I inquire who it is?”
“You perhaps observed the young man who
was walking with me this morning when we
met.”
“I saw a boy with you, Mr. Barclay. Surely
you do not allude to him.”
“I know he is young, General Wall, but I
have reason to think he is a good scholar. In
Latin he is as far advanced as I am. He was
educated at an Eastern institution of high
rank.”
“I am afraid,” said General Wall, dubiously,
“that his extreme youth would prevent
his succeeding.”
“I was not much older when I commenced
teaching, but I got along well.”
“Is the young man desirous of teaching? Is
that the object of his coming here?”
“No; he was not certain that there was an
opening. He is looking round for some business
to occupy him. Being well educated, he
thinks he might like to be a teacher.”
“I should prefer that you would remain,
Mr. Barclay.”
“Thank you, General Wall; I like teaching,
and if my health would allow of it, I would be
glad to continue; as it is, I must resign at
any rate. I think you had better try this
young man.”
“What is his name?”
.bn 051.png
.pn +1
“Gilbert Howard.”
“Were you previously acquainted with him,
Mr. Barclay?”
“No, sir; but from what I have seen of him,
I have formed a favorable opinion of him.”
“He was my fellow-passenger on the stage
last evening.”
“So he told me.”
“John and he didn’t quite agree, but I dare
say John was in fault. John is a spirited
boy, Mr. Barclay, and is disposed to stand up
for his rights.”
“And sometimes for what are not his
rights,” thought the teacher; but this again
was one of the things which he thought it
would not be best to express.
“I think he will be a smart man,” continued
the general.
“So I hope,” said Allen Barclay.
“As a lawyer, it won’t do him any harm to
be a little tenacious.”
Allen Barclay thought the term tenacious
rather a mild one to express John’s overbearing
and grasping tendency. But he only said,
“It won’t do for a lawyer to be too mild and
unselfish.”
“Just my idea, Mr. Barclay. A milk-and-water
sort of a man won’t succeed.”
At this moment John Wall entered the
room.
“Don’t you see Mr. Barclay, John?” said
his father.
.bn 052.png
.pn +1
John nodded carelessly, for he thought the
teacher of a country school, earning a salary
of forty dollars a month, out of which he had
to pay his board, by no means his equal in the
social scale; and financially speaking, certainly,
Allen Barclay could make no great
pretensions; but he was a gentleman, which
John Wall was not, and probably never would
be.
“Good-evening, John,” said the teacher.
“Evening,” was all that could be heard in
reply.
Considering the manner in which he got on,
or rather did not get on, in Latin, John might
have supposed that Mr. Barclay had called to
speak on the subject to his father; but he was
too conceited to think he was doing poorly,
and never dreamed that, if he were, the teacher
would have the temerity to complain of him.
“John is, I believe, your most advanced
pupil, Mr. Barclay,” said General Wall, complacently.
“He is further advanced in Latin than any
other,” answered the teacher.
“I referred to that. I am not acquainted
with Latin myself, but I consider it a highly
important branch of education.”
“A good deal of benefit may be derived from
the study, I think,” said Barclay. “But John
is not likely to know enough to be of much advantage
to him,” was his inward reflection.
“I should be sorry to have John discontinue
.bn 053.png
.pn +1
it, now that he is so far advanced. However,
the young man you speak of understands it
well, you say.”
“Yes, sir; at least I have every reason to
think so.”
There was something in this remark which
caught John’s attention. Who was the young
man referred to, and what connection could
his scholarship have with his continuing the
study of Latin?
“What are you speaking of?” he inquired
of his father.
“Mr. Barclay is thinking of giving up teaching,
John, on account of his health. I was
speaking of the young man whom he has
recommended in his place.”
“Who is it?”
“You remember the young man who was in
the stage yesterday?”
“Do you mean the one that wouldn’t give
up his seat to me?”
“As he took the seat first, he had the best
right to it. He is the one I mean.”
“What! is he a teacher? Why, he is only a
boy!”
“He is rather young, but Mr. Barclay tells
me he is an excellent scholar, especially in
Latin. However, we shall examine him to-morrow
evening, and see if he is qualified.”
“He can’t keep school,” said John.
“Why not, my son?”
“He can’t keep order. He is only a boy.”
.bn 054.png
.pn +1
“If the scholars behave themselves, and he
knows enough to teach, I don’t see why he
should not succeed. I hope, John, you do not
propose to make any trouble.”
“No,” said John, slowly, “but the other fellows
will.”
“Then,” said Mr. Barclay, “you can exert
your influence to prevent them.”
John felt rather flattered by this reference
to his influence, but nevertheless he did not
like the idea of having Walter for a teacher.
Mr. Barclay, though he entertained no very
flattering opinion of John, was worldly wise,
and had shown him some subserviency on account
of his father’s position. John had a
secret feeling that Walter would not do this,
and he determined to make trouble for him.
He didn’t mean to help him, at any rate.
.bn 055.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VII || A NOVEL SITUATION.
.sp 2
“You are to be examined to-morrow evening
at General Wall’s, Mr. Howard,” reported
Allen Barclay to Walter, who was waiting
the result of his visit.
“Does General Wall know that I am the
one whom he met in the stage?” inquired Walter.
“Yes, he mentioned it himself.”
“What did he say when you first mentioned
me as your successor?”
“He thought you were too young. But I
told him that I should resign at any rate, and
he had better try you.”
“Will the examination be very difficult?”
“Not if the trustees confine themselves to
what they know themselves,” answered Barclay,
laughing. “Squire Griffiths will probably
ask a question or two in geography and
spelling; but you need not trouble yourself.
They won’t be hard.”
“It might be a good plan to study a little
to-morrow,” suggested Walter.
“You are welcome to sit in my room, and
.bn 056.png
.pn +1
use my books, if you wish, Mr. Howard.”
“Thank you. Did you see John Wall?”
“Yes; he was at home.”
“Did he know anything about the plan of
my teaching?”
“Yes; his father mentioned it to him.”
“What did he say?” asked Walter, curiously.
“I hope it won’t hurt your feelings if I tell
you, but he did not seem in favor of your appointment.
He seems to think that you will
not succeed. Are you frightened?”
“I shall not expect a very cordial welcome
from John,” said Walter; “but if that is all
the opposition I am to encounter, I shan’t
trouble myself much.”
“You have never inquired the salary paid,”
said Barclay.
It was true. Walter had not thought of
this, as he had another object in view of much
more importance, and chiefly desired the
school because it would give him an excuse to
remain in Portville without suspicions as to
his real motive. However, he felt some interest
in the matter, and inquired as to the
amount he might expect.
“There isn’t much chance of a teacher growing
rich in Portville,” said Mr. Barclay. “All
I receive is forty dollars per month, and I pay
five dollars a week board. That is below the
usual price, but they make allowance at the
hotel for my small income.”
.bn 057.png
.pn +1
“That will satisfy me,” said Walter. “I
made more as a book agent, but then it was
harder work.”
“I hope you will find the position agreeable.
I shall feel relieved to give up the school. I
ought to have done it before.”
Allen Barclay was seized with a violent fit
of coughing, which confirmed his statement in
an emphatic manner. He inherited a consumptive
tendency, and it seemed probable
that, do what he would, he would be short-lived.
The next day Walter, according to the
teacher’s invitation, installed himself in his
room, and spent the greater part of the day in
a hasty review of the English branches which
he would be called upon to teach. He found
the task of refreshing his memory comparatively
an easy one, for he had been good in all
his studies. By the time Allen Barclay returned
from school he had completed his review.
“Well, Mr. Howard, how have you spent
the time?” he asked.
“In literary pursuits, Mr. Barclay. I have
been examining myself in the different
branches of study, and feel pretty confident
of passing the ordeal. What time had I better
go to General Wall’s?”
“It is best to be punctual. I think they will
be ready for you by seven o’clock.”
“Very well.”
.bn 058.png
.pn +1
Seven o’clock found Walter knocking at
the door of the chairman of the school trustees.
He felt tolerably composed. Still it
was a novel situation, and the undertaking he
contemplated might well be formidable to one
so young and inexperienced. But Walter was
not a timid boy. He had plenty of pluck, and
he meant to do his best, whatever might be the
issue. As to the examination, he did not feel
much alarmed.
The servant had her orders, and ushered
him at once into the presence of General Wall,
who seemed to be alone.
“Good-evening, Mr. Howard,” said the
chairman of the trustees. “Mr. Barclay has
mentioned your name to me in connection
with the school, which he is compelled to
resign.”
“Yes, sir. He thinks he must give up teaching.”
“You have never taught before, I think.”
“No, sir.”
“Where were you educated?”
“At the Essex Classical Institute, in the
State of New York.”
“You are acquainted with the Latin language,
I presume.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My son, whom you saw in the stage the
other evening, is studying Latin. Do you feel
competent to teach so advanced a pupil?”
“I don’t think I shall find any difficulty in
.bn 059.png
.pn +1
doing so,” said Walter, who felt strongly inclined
to laugh, but knew it would not do.
“My son is studying Cæsar.”
“Yes, sir; I am familiar with that author.”
“I am glad to hear it. It is my desire that
John should not lose any time. In fact, we
should have little difficulty in filling Mr. Barclay’s
place, but for requiring a knowledge of
Latin. For example, there is an experienced
teacher in the next town, Epaminondas Smith,
who has been teaching for fourteen years, and
would be glad of the place, but he only teaches
English branches. He has a great reputation
for management, stands six feet in his stockings,
and weighs a hundred and ninety-five
pounds. I went into his school once. I tell
you, Mr. Howard, the boys were as still as
mice. They knew what they would get if they
broke the rules.”
Walter was large for his age; still he only
measured five feet six inches in height, and
weighed but one hundred and twenty-eight
pounds. While General Wall was speaking,
he could not help observing that he was comparing
unfavorably his small physical proportions
with those of the redoubted Epaminondas
Smith. He might have felt discouraged,
but he remembered that one of the most effective
teachers at the Essex Institute, who commanded
the general respect and obedience of
the students, was an inch shorter than himself,
and probably weighed no more.
.bn 060.png
.pn +1
“Is the school hard to manage?” he asked.
“No, I should say not. Mr. Barclay has had
no trouble that I have heard of. Still he is
an experienced teacher.”
“That is an advantage, of course,” said
Walter, answering the implication. “But he
tells me that he succeeded as well in his first
school, though he was less than a year older
than I am now.”
“That is encouraging. I have spoken to
my fellow-trustees, Dr. Owens and Squire
Griffiths, Mr. Howard, and we have determined
to give you a trial; that is, if you pass
a satisfactory examination. I am afraid the
doctor won’t be able to come this evening, as
he has to visit a patient five miles distant.
However, he said he was willing to agree to
anything the squire and myself might decide
upon. Have you long been in the West, Mr.
Howard?”
“No, sir; I have never before been as far
west as Wisconsin. I spent the last three
months in Ohio, however.”
“We hardly call Ohio a Western State. We
always look upon it as in the East.”
“The West is a large country,” remarked
Walter.
“It is very large, and has vast resources.
Its prairies are immense in extent, its rivers
are numerous and long, its mines are the
richest in the world,” said General Wall,
rather oratorically.
.bn 061.png
.pn +1
“I should like to inquire all about the Great
Metropolitan Mining Company,” thought
Walter.
“Do all the mines pay well?” he asked.
“Those that are well managed do for the
most part. I am myself connected with one
or two, which we hope will pay in the end.
One of them has thus far been unsuccessful,
but it only needs reorganization and improved
management to pay.”
“I wish I knew whether he meant the
Metropolitan mine,” thought Walter.
But General Wall did not specify whether
this was the one he referred to, and Walter
was left in doubt.
“Do you know when Mr. Barclay wishes to
cease teaching?” inquired General Wall.
“I think at once. He has a severe cough,
and he thinks the climate here does not suit
him.”
The door opened at this point, and John
Wall entered.
“Here is a letter, father,” he said.
His father took the letter with some eagerness
and opened it. He turned the envelope
in such a way that Walter saw the postmark,
and with no little interest recognized it as
Willoughby, N. Y. He also recognized the
handwriting as that of Mr. Shaw. It was
doubtless the letter in which the lawyer declined
to close at once with the offer of two
per cent. for Mr. Conrad’s claims. Walter
.bn 062.png
.pn +1
was confirmed in this supposition by seeing
a look of dissatisfaction upon the face of General
Wall. The latter had imagined that the
executor of Mr. Conrad’s estate would be glad
to realize so much from what he might have
concluded to be a worthless claim. The temporary
refusal would necessarily interfere
with his plans for the organization of a new
company, who should enrich themselves at
the expense of the original owners.
“Excuse me, Mr. Howard,” said General
Wall, “but I recognize this as an important
business letter. This is my son, as you doubtless
know.”
“Good-evening,” said Walter, politely, offering
his hand.
John took the proffered hand coldly, just
touching it, and muttering “Good-evening”
in a not very gracious manner.
“I foresee that he won’t prove a very agreeable
scholar,” thought Walter.
At this moment a knock was heard at the
door.
“That must be Squire Griffiths,” said General
Wall. “John, you may go to the door
and let him in.”
.bn 063.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VIII || THE SCHOOL TRUSTEE.
.sp 2
Squire Griffiths was a small man, with
stiff gray hair, which he usually brushed in
such a manner that it stood up straight in
front, forming a palisade, so to speak. It
might have been to increase his apparent
height, or again it might have been regarded
as adding to the dignity of his presence, for
the squire had by no means a contemptible
opinion of himself.
“Good-evening, Squire Griffiths,” said General
Wall, advancing to meet him. “This is
Mr. Howard, the young man whom Mr. Barclay
has recommended to fill his place.”
Squire Griffiths drew a pair of glasses from
his pocket, and, adjusting them in a leisurely
manner, scrutinized the face of our hero.
“How old be you?” he inquired, rather unceremoniously.
“Nearly sixteen,” answered Walter, a little
embarrassed by the abruptness of the question.
.bn 064.png
.pn +1
“Seems to me you’re enterin’ on the teacher’s
purfession a leetle airly,” remarked the
squire.
“Yes, sir, I am rather young,” answered
Walter, “but I hope I am qualified, and if I
undertake the school I shall do my best to
succeed.”
“Of course,” said the squire. “I expected
you’d say that. Why, there’s some of the
scholars could thrash you easy.”
“Perhaps so,” said Walter, smiling; “but I
shouldn’t let them do it without resisting.”
“You look as if you’d got some grit, to be
sure,” said the squire, reflectively. “Ever
taught afore?”
“No, sir.”
“Of course, experience would be desirable
in a teacher,” interrupted the general at this
point; “but everybody has to begin, and some
succeed very well from the first. Mr. Howard
is a good Latin scholar, and that is in his
favor.”
“I don’t think much of Latin, for my part,”
said the squire. “If a man knows how to talk
English, that’s as much as he actilly needs.”
“I don’t quite agree with you there, Squire
Griffiths,” said the general. “My boy John
is reading Cæsar’s works, and I want him to
be a fine Latin scholar.”
“Was Cæsar a Latin?” asked Squire Griffiths.
“He used the Latin language,” said Walter.
.bn 065.png
.pn +1
“Well, maybe it’s all right to study Latin,”
said the squire, “though I’ve lived man and
boy more’n sixty year, and have got along
without it.”
Squire Griffiths had rather a limited idea
of the range of education, and thought if a
boy could read and write and cipher, he was
prepared to go out into the world.
“Latin is considered indispensable to a
thorough education,” said General Wall.
“There’s a lot of new-fangled things come
up since my day,” said the squire. “My
Amandy says she wants to study botany. I
asked her if it made the flowers smell any
sweeter to know about ’em. Then there’s algebrey,
or some sich nonsense.”
“By the way, Mr. Howard, can you teach
algebra?” asked General Wall.
“Yes, sir.”
“John has not commenced it yet, but if you
would advise it, I will buy him a book.”
“I should think he was old enough to study
it,” said Walter.
General Wall was evidently disposed to employ
Walter. He feared that if he was not engaged
some teacher would be procured who
would be unable to carry John forward in the
advanced course upon which he had entered.
“Well, Squire Griffiths, shall we proceed to
the examination?” he suggested. “Dr. Owens
will be unable to attend our meeting this evening,
so that duty will be thrown upon us.”
.bn 066.png
.pn +1
“I haven’t no objection, general. You may
start, and I’ll come in with a few questions
bimeby.”
“I will ask you to read first, Mr. Howard,”
said the general. “Here’s a book. You can
open it anywhere, and read.”
The book chanced to be an historical work,
written in a style clear and flowing. Walter
read it easily and fluently for half a page.
“I think that will do,” said General Wall.
“Are you satisfied, Squire Griffiths?”
“Pretty fair,” said the squire, patronizingly;
“but there was one word which I think
Mr. Howard pronounced a leetle wrong.”
“Which word was it?” inquired Walter,
somewhat surprised.
“Will you read that last sentence over
again, Mr. Howard?” said the squire.
“Certainly, sir,” and Walter read as follows:
“The army of Napoleon suffered less from
the military forces which Russia opposed to
him, than from the frigidity of the climate.”
“It’s one of the last words,” said the squire,
“what you call frigidity.”
“Is not that correct?” asked Walter.
“I always say frig-i-dity,” said the squire,
giving a hard sound to the letter “g” and emphasizing
the last syllable but one.
Walter found it difficult not to laugh, and
General Wall, who was a considerably better
scholar than his associate, said, “I think,
.bn 067.png
.pn +1
squire, that yours is the old-fashioned pronunciation,
and that Mr. Howard’s is now
more in use.”
“Maybe you are right,” said the squire.
“For my part, I like the old ways best. Still
I suppose people in gineral will like the new-fangled
ways.”
The squire indulged in no further questioning,
and General Wall said, “Will you ask a
few words in spelling, Squire Griffiths?”
Squire Griffiths readjusted his spectacles,
and, opening the book, gave out in a loud voice:
“Ridiculous,” emphasizing the third syllable.
Walter spelled it correctly.
The next word the squire pronounced spet-tikle;
but Walter, inferring that he meant
spectacle, spelled that word.
Here the squire looked off the book, and
gave out the word Philadelphia.
“P-h-i-l, phil, a, phila, d-e-l, del, philadel,
p-h-i-a, Philadelphia.”
“Is that right, General Wall?” asked the
squire.
“I believe so.”
“I’ve always spelled it p-h-y, phy,” said the
squire.
“I happen to have a Philadelphia paper
here,” said General Wall. “We’ll look at
that.”
The result, of course, was to decide the matter
in Walter’s favor.
.bn 068.png
.pn +1
“I think the other way must be right, too,”
said the squire. “I’ve got a nephew there, and
that’s the way he always writes it. On the
whole, I’m satisfied with the young man’s
readin’ and spellin’. Suppose we proceed to
geography.”
“Very well. Mr. Howard, will you bound
Russia?”
Walter did so promptly.
“Very well; that is right, I believe, Squire
Griffiths.”
“I believe he didn’t mention Italy, on the
west.”
“Italy is at some distance from Russia,
squire,” said General Wall. “Perhaps you are
thinking of Turkey.”
“Maybe I was. Did he say Turkey?”
“Yes, he mentioned it. Where are the Alps,
Mr. Howard?”
“In Switzerland, chiefly.”
“Correct.”
“Which is the longest river in the United
States?” asked the squire.
“The Mississippi.”
“Very good,” said the squire, as if he hardly
anticipated a correct answer to so difficult a
question.
Squire Griffiths now essayed a more ambitious
flight.
“Where are the Amazon Mountains?” he
asked.
.bn 069.png
.pn +1
“The Amazon Mountains?” repeated Walter,
puzzled.
“Yes. Where are they?”
“I believe the Amazon is a river, Squire
Griffiths,” suggested General Wall, with
suavity. “You are probably thinking of the
Andes Mountains.”
“Yes, I was,” said the squire, a little discomposed,
for he did not know where the
Andes Mountains were, and was surprised to
learn that the Amazon was a river.
“In South America,” said Walter.
“Correct, is it not?” asked General Wall.
“Quite so,” said the squire, glad to have got
out of his quandary so well.
“What are the two great rivers of Africa,
Mr. Howard?” asked the General.
“The Nile and the Niger.”
“And what great desert is in Africa?”
“The desert of Sahara.”
“That is just the question I was going to
ask,” said the squire, who felt a little jealous
of the more prominent part General Wall was
taking in the examination. I am sorry to say,
however, that the assertion was without
foundation, as he had never before heard of
Sahara, to his knowledge.
“I have asked all the questions I wished,”
said General Wall. “I leave you to finish the
examination in geography.”
“Mr. Howard, where is Cape Horn?” asked
the squire, straightening himself up and clearing
.bn 070.png
.pn +1
his throat. He asked this question with
confidence, because he happened to know the
answer.
“At the southern point of South America,”
said Walter.
“That will do, General Wall. Mr. Howard
appears to be very well posted in geography.
It was always a favorite study of mine, and I
am gratified to find him so perficient.”
The examination closed with a few questions
in arithmetic, which were satisfactorily
answered.
“Mr. Howard,” said General Wall, “we are
satisfied with the result of the examination.
We consider you competent to teach, so far as
your education is concerned. We will take
Mr. Barclay’s word for your being a good
Latin scholar. We authorize you to commence
teaching as soon as he gives up the school.”
“Just so,” said the squire. “I hope you’ll
get along with the big boys.”
“I will do my best,” answered our hero.
As he walked home, he could not help wondering
how such an ignoramus as Squire
Griffiths came to be selected as a school
trustee.
.bn 071.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IX || THE FASCINATING MISS JONES.
.sp 2
“Well,” said Allen Barclay, as Walter entered
his room on his return from the examination,
“how did you get along, Mr. Howard?”
“I came off with flying colors. Squire
Griffiths asked me where the Amazon mountains
were!”
“Squire Griffiths is not quite so wise as Solomon,”
answered Allen Barclay, laughing,
“though he looks so with his glasses on. Well,
I am glad you came out all right. When shall
you be ready to commence?”
“I will go in on Monday morning.”
“Very well. Then I will pack up my trunk
and prepare to leave Portville by the three P.
M. train.”
“I wish you were going to remain here; I
shall be lonely.”
“Thank you for the compliment. I like
Portville well enough, but the air is too bracing.
However,” he added, in a lighter tone,
“I leave behind me one who will solace you for
my loss.”
.bn 072.png
.pn +1
“I don’t know to whom you refer,” said Walter,
mystified.
“To whom could I refer but Miss Jones?”
“The young lady with ringlets,” said Walter,
smiling. “I didn’t know you were interested
in that quarter.”
“I won’t say whether I am or not. Be that
as it may, I resign her willingly to you.”
“She pays me very little attention compared
with you.”
“You flatter me. If I have attracted her attention,
it is only as a schoolmaster. She professes
to have literary tastes, and supposes
that I am gifted in the same way. When you
ascend my vacant throne her attention will be
transferred to you.”
“You enchant me,” said Walter, amused.
“But I am afraid I look too young to attract
the young lady’s attention.”
“I will prove to the contrary. Do you see
that note?” exhibiting a small billet, written
on pink paper.
“What is it?”
“I will read it. You will see that it concerns
both of us.”
Mr. Barclay held up the note and read in
pompous tones the contents, as follows:
.sp 2
.fs 80%
“Miss Melinda Athanasia Jones presents her
compliments to Mr. Barclay and his friend,
Mr. Howard, and hopes they will do her the
honor to spend Saturday evening at her bower,
.bn 073.png
.pn +1
that she may enjoy the rare pleasure of literary
converse with congenial spirits.”
.fs 100%
.sp 2
“Quite a high-flown invitation,” said Walter.
“What does she mean by her bower?”
“Only her apartment in the hotel. It is a
poetic designation, that’s all.”
“Who will be present?”
“Only her brother.”
“Is he poetical too?”
“Far from it. He won’t take much part in
the conversation. Such remarks as he may
venture to make will be prosaic enough.”
“I see by the letters R. S. V. P., which she
puts at the bottom, that she expects a reply.”
“I am not much used to social etiquette. I
am ashamed to say I didn’t know what the
letters meant.”
“They stand for Répondez, s’il vous plaît--Answer,
if you please.”
“I will remember that the next time a fashionable
young lady writes to me.”
“I suppose you have not answered the invitation
then?”
“No; I did not understand the letters, and
thought it would do well enough to answer
verbally when we met to-morrow morning at
the breakfast table.”
“Will you allow me to draft the answer, Mr.
Barclay?”
“Certainly, Mr. Howard. I shall be very
glad to have you do so.”
.bn 074.png
.pn +1
“I will write it, and, as the answer should
come from you, you can copy it if you like.”
“Very well. You will find pens and paper
on the table.”
Walter sat down to the table with a twinkle
of merriment in his eyes, and dashed off the
following reply:
.sp 2
.fs 80%
“Mr. Barclay and Mr. Howard are deeply
indebted to Miss Melinda Athanasia Jones for
her kind invitation, and will have pleasure in
visiting her Amaranthine bower at the time
appointed, and trust that they may be inspired
by the muses, whose favorite haunt it is, to
hold appropriate converse with the fair occupant,
exchanging thoughts that breathe and
words that burn.”
.fs 100%
.sp 2
“What do you think of that?” asked Walter,
reading it aloud to his companion.
“You have beaten her with her own weapons,”
said Barclay, laughing. “She will be delighted.
I hope, by the way, that you will
carry some Russia salve, in case the burns
should prove severe.”
“The burns are only metaphorical. They
won’t be uncomfortable.”
“I think you had better answer the epistle
yourself, Mr. Howard. I feel a little modest
about taking the credit of so high-flown a production.”
“Let it go in my handwriting then. It purports
to be from us both.”
.bn 075.png
.pn +1
Walter sat down again, and copied his epistolary
effort in his best hand.
“Now how shall we get it to the young
lady?” he asked.
“Edward, the errand boy, will call at the
door in a few minutes to bring back my clean
clothes from the wash. I have just sent him.
We will get him to carry it this evening.”
“Very well.”
In fifteen minutes Edward tapped at the
door. He brought in the bundle of clothes,
and was about going out, when Allen Barclay
intrusted the note to him with directions.
“Leave it this evening,” he said.
“All right!” said Edward, with a grin of
intelligence. “I s’pose it’s very important,
Mr. Barclay?”
“No, it’s only about an invitation.”
Edward nodded knowingly, as if to say, “I
know all about it.”
“That fellow will report that I am courting
Miss Jones,” said Barclay, laughing as he
went out.
“I thought he looked knowing.”
“Yes; he thinks he is very sharp. However,
I shan’t trouble myself much about what reports
he puts in circulation. It won’t affect
me particularly, as I am going away so soon.”
“I am safe enough,” said Walter.
“How do you make that out?”
“I mean that I am too young to give countenance
to any such reports.”
.bn 076.png
.pn +1
“I am not sure about that. You look older
than you are.”
“How much older?” asked Walter, who
liked to be considered above his real age.
“I have seen boys of seventeen--I beg pardon,
I should say young men to a teacher in
prospective--who looked no older than you.”
“I saw false mustaches advertised in some
paper the other day for seventy-five cents.
Don’t you think it would be well to provide
myself with one?”
“There might be a little danger of its slipping
off some day, and that might prove awkward,
you know.”
“I rather think it would,” said Walter,
laughing. “Well, I will save my seventy-five
cents, and wait till nature provides me with
the genuine article, warranted to stick fast.”
“That will be better, I think.”
“Have you any idea as to Miss Jones’ age?”
inquired Walter.
“I see you are getting interested in her.
Evidently her ringlets have done the business
for you.”
“I deny the charge,” said Walter. “I only
felt a little curious.”
“I can gratify your curiosity. Miss Jones
calls herself twenty-one, but her brother, who
is very apt to make blunders, made some allusion
one day fixing her age at twenty-seven. I
thought she would have boxed his ears. I
shall not soon forget her look of anger and
.bn 077.png
.pn +1
annoyance. She took occasion the next day
to refer to herself as twenty-one; but, as the
boys say, it was too thin. However, she fancies
we are all deceived, and I allow her to
think that I consider her youthful.”
“What sort of an evening shall we have?”
“Very literary. Perhaps Miss Jones will
read us one of her poems.”
“Does she write poetry?”
“She calls it poetry.”
“What do you call it?”
“I can’t find any appropriate name.”
“Did she ever have any of her verses
printed?”
“She frequently hints that she has appeared
in print, but she never showed me any of her
printed poems. I have no doubt she has offered
her verses in various directions, but
editors are flinty-hearted sometimes, and I fear
they have dropped her contributions into the
waste-basket.”
“After all you have said, I feel considerably
curious to pass an evening at the bower. But
I am afraid the remembrance of the intellectual
evening before you will give you an added
pang in leaving Portville.”
“I can stand it,” said Barclay, smiling.
“True, you can correspond. I did not think
of that.”
“Nor I. Mr. Howard, I could not respond
to her letters in fitting language. You could
do it better than I.”
.bn 078.png
.pn +1
“Is that a compliment? Thank you,” said
Walter, with a low bow.
When he went to bed that night, there were
two events to which he looked forward with
interest. One was, his entrance upon his
duties as teacher on Monday morning; the
other, his visit to the bower of Miss Melinda
Athanasia Jones on the following evening.
.bn 079.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER X || MR. BARCLAY’S FAREWELL.
.sp 2
Mr. Barclay spent a part of Saturday in
packing his trunk, preparatory to leaving
Portville on Monday. Walter, having no
schoolbooks of his own at hand, purchased
those of his predecessor at a fair valuation,
and arranged to move into his room and receive
board on the same terms. Saturday, as
in some of the Eastern States, was a half-holiday.
As it would be his last day in school, Mr.
Barclay, after the school had come to order,
took occasion to make the following remarks:
“My friends and scholars: It may be a surprise
to some of you when I say that this day
terminates my connection with you as teacher.
I found some time since that the climate of
Wisconsin was unfavorable to my health.
Still I didn’t like to leave you until some one
should be secured who could take my place at
once, so that you need not lose by the change.
I am happy to say that my successor has been
found. Mr. Howard, who is now present, will
.bn 080.png
.pn +1
take my place on Monday. He is thoroughly
qualified for the position, and if you co-operate
with him in his efforts for your advantage,
I am sure that you will have no reason to regret
the change of teachers. For myself, I
cannot leave you without great sorrow, since
I may never meet any of you again. I thank
you for your unvarying good conduct during
the terms thus far, and hope that things may
continue as pleasantly after I leave you.”
While Mr. Barclay was speaking, many
curious glances were cast in the direction of
the new teacher. Walter felt a little embarrassed,
and flushed as he met the united gaze.
He felt that he had undertaken a “big job,”
but his courage rose with the occasion, and he
determined to spare no effort to succeed.
“Won’t you say a few words to the scholars,
Mr. Howard?” said Barclay, in a low voice.
“Is it necessary?” returned Walter, who
had not prepared himself for a speech.
“I think it will be expected.”
Whereupon Walter rose, and, after the first
slight embarrassment, spoke as follows: “As
Mr. Barclay has told you, I have agreed to
take his place as your teacher on Monday. I
did not come to Portville with the intention
of teaching, but, finding that your teacher
wished to be relieved, I have consented to try
to fill his place. I shall do my best to advance
you in your studies, and hope to treat you all
fairly and justly. It is so short a time since
.bn 081.png
.pn +1
I was a student myself that I think I know
what you expect in a teacher. I hope we
shall be mutually pleased with each other.”
This speech produced a favorable impression
upon the scholars--that is, upon most of
them. There were a few who were disposed to
regard Walter with contempt, as a boy who
would be quite incompetent to manage them.
Among these was John Wall, who surveyed
the new teacher with a supercilious air. Walter
noticed this, but it did not trouble him
much. If no one chose to trouble him except
John, he knew he could get along.
When school was over, Mr. Barclay said:
“If the scholars will remain a few minutes, I
shall be glad to introduce them individually to
Mr. Howard.”
Walter rose, and one by one the scholars
came up. John Wall did not come up; but
then he had already made acquaintance with
Walter, so that it did not seem necessary.
Still, had he been friendly, he would have advanced
with the rest instead of standing aloof,
eyeing the scene askance.
The greeting between Walter and the scholars
was generally formal enough. He had to
say very much the same thing to each, and it
would have become monotonous if he had not
closely scrutinized each face, partly that he
might associate it with the name, partly to
form some little idea of the character of the
boy or girl, and judge whether he or she was
.bn 082.png
.pn +1
likely to prove agreeable and friendly or otherwise.
There were two faces which he particularly
noticed. One attracted him. It was a
boy with dark hair, and a thoughtful, intelligent
expression, whom Mr. Barclay had already
spoken of to him as the best scholar in
school. His name was Alfred Clinton. He
was apparently fourteen. He was a beginner
in Latin, but, as far as he had gone, was a far
more thorough scholar than John Wall. As
Walter’s hand touched his, each felt instinctively
that he had found a friend, though only
the usual formal words passed between them.
The other scholar whom Walter noticed was
of very different personal appearance. His
hair was red, his face freckled, and his expression
stolid; but there was something that indicated
an unusual degree of stubbornness. He
was sixteen, and, though about Walter’s
height, was more heavily molded, and looked
stronger. There was a peculiar smile on his
face as he took Walter’s offered hand, and
muttered something in return to the young
teacher’s greeting. Walter felt that the smile
boded mischief, and inwardly determined to
look out for Peter Groot, for this was his
name.
Walter was right in distrusting Peter. His
idea of a teacher was, that he must be big
enough to “lick” any of the boys; otherwise he
had no right to expect obedience. Now, on examining
Walter, he decided that he, Peter,
.bn 083.png
.pn +1
could “lick him easy,” as he expressed it in
conversation with the other boys. As to obeying
a little chap like the master, he made up
his mind that he would do it only so far as it
suited him.
“I guess he won’t dare to tackle me,” he
said, stretching out a stout arm with an air
of satisfaction. Of course this was said outside
of the school and not within hearing of either
of the teachers.
“I hope, Peter, you are not going to make
trouble,” said Alfred Clinton, to whom, with
others, this was addressed.
“What makes you wish that?” demanded
Peter. “The master ain’t nothin’ to you.”
“He is going to teach me,” said Alfred, “and
I want to profit by his instructions.”
“He ain’t fit to teach,” said Peter Groot,
contemptuously.
“Why isn’t he?”
“I could lick him with one hand.”
“I don’t know about that. But even if you
could, that doesn’t prove that he can’t teach,
does it?”
“He isn’t big enough to keep order.”
“Are you going to be disorderly?”
“I guess I won’t trouble him, if he don’t
trouble me,” said Peter.
“What do you mean?”
“If he don’t interfere with me, I won’t interfere
with him. I ain’t goin’ to be ordered
round by a feller I can lick.”
.bn 084.png
.pn +1
“He won’t ask anything unreasonable of
you,” said Alfred.
“He’d better not,” said Peter Groot, significantly.
“Of course, he will expect us to obey him as
the teacher.”
“You kin obey him if you want to; I’m goin’
to do as I please.”
“Why haven’t you done that with Mr. Barclay,
Peter?”
“Because he’s stronger than I am.”
It will be seen from this conversation that
Peter’s ideas as to the relation between teacher
and scholar were very rudimentary. The
“master,” to him, was the embodiment of sufficient
physical force to keep in due subjection
the unruly elements under him, and it was
perfectly legitimate for a scholar to refuse
obedience unless the one who required it was
able to enforce the demand.
There was still another scholar who attracted
the notice of Walter. This was a
young man of twenty, who stood six feet in his
stockings. He towered above Walter by several
inches, and our hero was tempted to laugh
when he reflected that he was about to assume
the position of teacher to one so far his superior
in age and size. However, he felt reassured
by the expression of Phineas Morton,
which, though heavy, was friendly and good-natured.
He might not be a very active friend,
.bn 085.png
.pn +1
but it did not seem likely that he would do
anything to annoy the teacher.
“Well, Mr. Howard,” said Barclay, as they
were walking home, “what are your first impressions
of the scholars?”
“Rather confused,” said Walter, laughing.
“I have got the names and faces of all mixed
up together, and can hardly tell one from the
other.”
“That was my first experience; but I soon
learned to distinguish them.”
“There was one I particularly liked.”
“I can guess who you mean--Alfred Clinton.”
“Yes; he seemed to me very intelligent and
attractive.”
“You will find him both. He has more talent
than any other scholar.”
“How old is he?”
“Fourteen. His mother is a widow, and I
suspect she has a hard time to get along. You
noticed that Alfred was poorly dressed?”
“No, I did not notice that. I only looked at
his face.”
“He does errands out of school and whatever
work he can find, in order to assist his
mother. I wish he might have a college education.
It was at my suggestion that he commenced
Latin, and he does better in it than any
of his class. I am sure you will enjoy teaching
him.”
“Do you think I shall enjoy Peter Groot?”
asked Walter, with a smile.
.bn 086.png
.pn +1
“I don’t think you will. He is neither a
model scholar nor a model boy. To tell the
truth, I am more afraid he will give you
trouble than any other boy.”
“Did he trouble you?”
“He was impudent to me the second day,
and I knocked him over. After that, he gave
me much less trouble.”
“So he needs to be conquered into good behavior?”
said Walter.
“It’s about so.” And Barclay looked at our
hero with a natural doubt whether he would
be able to cope with the troublesome scholar.
“Does Peter know anything about boxing?”
asked Walter, who understood what was brewing
in the mind of his companion.
“Nothing at all. Do you?”
“I have a fair knowledge of it. Peter may
be a little stronger, but if worst comes to
worst, I think I am a match for him.”
“I am glad to hear it, Mr. Howard, for I
suspect he will give you a chance to display
your science upon him.”
“I wouldn’t undertake to encounter the big
fellow--what is his name?”
“Phineas Morton. He won’t require it. If
he finds you are a good teacher, he will stand
by you.”
“Then I am not afraid. John Wall probably
isn’t very friendly, but I am not afraid
of him.”
“You needn’t fear open violence from him.
.bn 087.png
.pn +1
If he works against you, it will be in an underhand
way.”
“At any rate, the die is cast; I have agreed
to take the school, and I shall do what I can
to succeed.
.sp 2
.in 4
.nf l
“‘In battle I’ll fall, or in death be laid low,
With my face to the field, and my feet to the foe.’”
.nf-
.in 0
Barclay laughed.
“If you undertake it in that spirit,” he said,
“I think you will succeed. At any rate you
have my best wishes.”
.bn 088.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XI || TWO POETS.
.sp 2
Miss Melinda Athanasia Jones devoted
herself during the day to the composition of
a poem to be read to the guests whom she expected
in the evening. She wanted to produce
a good impression upon them. Her vocation,
so she thought, was that of an authoress. She
had sent several poems to the Atlantic Monthly
and Harper’s Magazine at various times, but
with singular unanimity both periodicals had
“respectfully declined” them all. Melinda
understood the reason well enough.
“It is because I am a Western literati,” she
exclaimed to her brother, with a lofty contempt
for grammar. “If I were a Boston or
New York literati, they would be glad to get
my productions.”
“I reckon you’re right, Melindy,” said her
brother Ichabod. “Why don’t you have your
perductions, as you call ’em, mailed in Boston
or New York? You could send ’em to somebody
there.”
“Thank you, I wouldn’t stoop to the subterfuge,”
.bn 089.png
.pn +1
said Melinda, reciting melodramatically:
.sp 2
.in 4
.nf l
“Breathes there a girl with soul so dead,
Who never to herself hath said,
Wisconsin is my native State?”
.nf-
.in 0
“Good!” said her brother. “When did you
make up them verses?”
“They are not mine,” confessed Melinda.
“They are by Byron.”
“Are they, now? He was a smart feller,
wasn’t he?”
“He was an inspired poet, Ichabod; but you
wouldn’t understand him. He soars into the
realms of the evanescent.”
“Does he? Then I guess I couldn’t. I ain’t
much on soarin’.”
At half-past seven o’clock a knock was heard
at the door of Melinda’s boudoir.
“Ichabod, open the door,” she said.
Her brother obeyed the command. As Barclay
and Walter entered the room, they beheld
their fair hostess seated at the center
table, with a volume of poems resting on her
lap, while one hand supported her forehead,
the elbow resting on the table. She had practiced
this attitude during the afternoon before
a looking-glass, and considered it effective.
She lifted her eyes slowly, appearing wrapt
in meditation.
“Pardon my pensive preoccupation,” she
.bn 090.png
.pn +1
said, rising and greeting her guests. “I was
communing with Milton. Do you often commune
with him, Mr. Barclay?”
“I haven’t had much time for that lately,
Miss Jones. My friend here is more poetical
than I am.”
“Indeed, Mr. Howard, I am glad to hear
that. You and me will be congenial.”
“You flatter me, Miss Jones,” said Walter,
looking sober, but wanting to laugh.
“Do you ever provoke the muse, Mr. Howard?”
asked Melinda, who probably meant invoke.
“Sometimes,” said Walter. “I hear you are
an authoress.”
“A little of one,” said Melinda, modestly.
“I hope you will favor us by reading something
of your own.”
“Indeed, Mr. Howard,” said Melinda, with
affected bashfulness, “I should be afraid to
submit my careless productions to gentlemen
of such literary taste. I did indeed throw off
a few rhymes to-day, but----”
“We shall be glad to hear them, Miss Jones.
Perhaps, after you have read them, my friend,
Mr. Howard, will read something.”
“Oh, that will be delightful! In that case
I cannot refuse. Ichabod, will you bring me
that portfolio from the desk?”
Her brother, whom Melinda was in the
habit of ordering around, complied with his
sister’s request.
.bn 091.png
.pn +1
Melinda drew out a sheet of note paper and
unfolded it.
“I hope, Mr. Howard, you will not be severe
upon my verses. They were written this afternoon,
in a fit of inspiration. You will see that
they reveal my too susceptible soul. I am subject
to fits----”
“Why, Melinda,” broke in her brother, “you
never told me you had fits?”
“To fits of lonely contemplation,” continued
Melinda, looking severely at her brother, “and
it was in one of these that I penned the following
stanzas.”
Melinda cleared her throat, and read as follows,
in an impressive voice:
.sp 2
.in 4
.nf l
“Oh, lay me to sleep in the deep, deep sea,
For my life is dark and drear;
Or give me the wings to soar aloft,--
I am tired of living here.
“I feel that I am not understood;
My thoughts are far too deep
For the common crowd, who only care
To eat and drink and sleep.
“My soul walks through the world alone,
Where it e’er must sadly roam.
Pining for congenial company
In some celestial home.
.bn 092.png
.pn +1
“I wreathe my face in hollow smiles,
And people think me glad;
They cannot see my aching heart,
For I am ever sad.
“Then lay me to sleep in the deep, deep sea;
For my life is dark and drear;
Or give me wings to soar aloft,--
I am tired of living here.”
.nf-
.in 0
“It takes Melinda to string off the rhymes,”
said Ichabod, who took his sister at her own
valuation, and firmly believed her to be a
genius. “She writes ’em just as easy!”
“Do you share her talent, Mr. Jones?” asked
Walter, gravely.
“Me? I couldn’t write poetry if you was to
pay me ten dollars a line. I shouldn’t want
to, either, if I’d got to feel as Melinda says she
does in them verses she just read.”
“It is the penalty of a too-sensitive soul.
Surely you have had such feelings, Mr. Howard.
I am afraid you were not favorably impressed
by my poor verses.”
This she said, anxious to draw out expressions
of admiration.
“The lines are very smooth, Miss Jones,”
said Walter, “but I cannot say I ever have
quite such feelings. I am of a cheerful temperament,
and my muse would not soar to
such lofty heights as yours.”
“I envy you, Mr. Howard,” said Melinda,
.bn 093.png
.pn +1
with a sigh. “I wish my muse were not so
thoughtful and contemplative. Have you not
some poem you could read us? Mr. Barclay
says you are a poet.”
“I am afraid Mr. Barclay has spoken without
authority.”
“Come, Mr. Howard, you must read Miss
Jones the verses you wrote this afternoon.”
“What! Were you, too, provoking the
muse, Mr. Howard?” asked Melinda, with
eager interest.
“I am afraid I was,” said Walter, gravely,
choosing to understand the young lady’s
words literally.
In fact he had written a few verses, at Mr.
Barclay’s suggestion, “for the fun of it,” in
order to contribute his quota to the feast of
reason expected in the evening.
“But I hope you will excuse my reading it,”
he added, with affected bashfulness.
“Indeed I will not. Mr. Barclay, help me
to persuade Mr. Howard.”
Walter finally yielded, as he intended to do
all the while, but on condition that Mr. Barclay
would read the poem. This being accepted,
Barclay read, with appropriate emphasis,
the following verses, which were
modeled after a song found in a small collection
of minstrel verses in Walter’s possession:
.sp 2
.in 4
.nf l
“Around the little cottage
Waved fields of golden grain
.bn 094.png
.pn +1
And in it lived my heart’s delight,--
My Sophronisba Jane.
“It was an humble cottage,
But peace and comfort reign
Within the pleasant homestead
Of Sophronisba Jane.
“Her cheeks were like red apples,
Her dress of neat de laine;
She was an artless maiden,
Was Sophronisba Jane.
“You cannot find in far-off climes,
In Italy or Spain,
A girl that’s half so charming
As Sophronisba Jane.
“And if I were a monarch,
Instead of humble swain,
I still would seek to win the love
Of Sophronisba Jane.”
.nf-
.in 0
“How sweet!” murmured Melinda. “Indeed
you are a true poet, Mr. Howard.”
“Thank you,” said Walter, who had hard
work not to laugh, knowing himself what
ridiculous rubbish his verses were.
“By Jove! that’s my style of poetry,” said
Mr. Jones, energetically. “I like that better
than yours, Melindy.”
“Oh, it don’t compare with your sister’s,
.bn 095.png
.pn +1
Mr. Jones,” said Walter, modestly. “It doesn’t
soar to such lofty heights.”
“Now, Mr. Howard, I think it excellent,”
said Miss Jones, who was delighted at the
praise of her own production. “I cannot expect
all to be so contemplative as I am. My
muse loves to dwell alone in primeval solitude.
Yours seeks the woodland glade.”
“You have expressed the difference admirably,
Miss Jones,” said Barclay, gravely.
“Mr. Jones and myself unluckily cannot soar
with you and Mr. Howard. We can only look
on in silent admiration.”
“Do you often indite verses, Mr. Howard?”
asked Melinda. “I hope you will show me all
your productions.”
“I seldom write, Miss Jones. Whenever I
do, I shall be sure to ask your critical opinion
of my verses.”
But it is unnecessary to detail the rest of
the conversation. Later in the evening some
nuts, apples and raisins were passed around,
to which Melinda did full justice, notwithstanding
her unsatisfied longings and the solitude
of her soul.
.bn 096.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XII || LED BY A BOOTBLACK.
.sp 2
While Walter is anticipating commencing
his duties as teacher on Monday morning, we
leave him awhile to chronicle the adventures
of Joshua Drummond, his distant relative.
Readers of “Strong and Steady” will
call to mind that he was the son of Jacob
Drummond, of Stapleton, a country shopkeeper,
with whom Walter passed a few weeks
shortly after his father’s death. Mr. Drummond
was thoroughly a mean man, and, though
his son was now eighteen years of age, allowed
him only twenty-five cents a week for spending-money.
When Joshua asked for more, he
told him he might go to work in a shoeshop, or
in his own store, though in the latter case he
only agreed to pay him fifty cents. But work
was not what Joshua wanted. He thought
that, as a rich man’s son, he was entitled to a
liberal allowance without working at all. He
was willing, nevertheless, to take a situation
in the city, being anxious to see life, as he
termed it.
.bn 097.png
.pn +1
Finally, seeing no other way to compass his
desire, Joshua opened his father’s strong box
with a key which he had found, and abstracted
from it fifty dollars in gold, and a five-twenty
government bond for five hundred dollars, excusing
himself for the theft by the specious
reasoning that it was only taking in advance
what would be his some day.
Thus provided, he secretly left the house,
and took the train for New York, saying to
himself, in exultation, as he took his seat at
the car window, “Now I am going to see life.”
Joshua felt immensely wealthy with the
proceeds of the robbery, amounting, at the
price of bonds, to over six hundred dollars.
Accustomed to the paltry sum of twenty-five
cents a week, never having had in his possession
more than a dollar at a time, and seldom
that, it is not surprising that he should have
regarded six hundred dollars as a small fortune.
He knew nothing of the city and its
dangers. He had an idea that he should easily
get a situation in a week or two, which time
he proposed to spend in seeing life.
When he reached New York, he left the
depot and went out into the street. He felt
bewildered. The change from the quiet streets
of Stapleton to the thronged avenues of the
great city was very great, and he hardly knew
whether he stood on his head or his heels.
But he realized, with a thrill of exultation,
that he was in the city of which he had so
.bn 098.png
.pn +1
often dreamed. He felt that a new page was
to be turned over in his life, and that his future
would be much more brilliant than his
past.
Joshua knew nobody in the city except Sam
Crawford. His first desire was to find out
where Sam lived. Sam he was accustomed to
regard as a personage of a good deal of importance.
But how to find him--that was the
question. He knew that Sam was a clerk in
a shoe store on Eighth avenue, but where that
avenue was he had not the least idea.
While he was standing outside the depot in
some perplexity, wondering how far off Sam’s
store was, he was accosted by a sharp-looking
bootblack, whose hands indicated his profession.
“Shine yer boots, mister?”
Joshua was not reckless in his expenditures,
and he inquired, cautiously, “How much do
you ask?”
“Twenty-five cents,” said the bootblack.
“Twenty-five cents!” exclaimed Joshua,
aghast, reflecting that the sum asked represented
what hitherto had been his entire
weekly allowance.
“Well,” said the bootblack, “seein’ you’re
from the country, I’ll call it twenty cents.”
“What makes you think I’m from the country?”
asked Joshua, quite unconscious of his
rustic air.
“I saw you git off the cars,” said the bootblack,
.bn 099.png
.pn +1
not caring to offend a possible customer
by commenting on his verdant appearance.
“Yes,” said Joshua, satisfied; “I came from
the country this morning. I don’t know much
about the city. I’ve got a friend here. He is
in a store in Eighth avenue. His name is Sam
Crawford. Do you know him?”
“Know Sam Crawford? In course I do,”
said the bootblack, who had never heard the
name before. “I black his boots every mornin’.”
“Do you?” asked Joshua, brightening up.
“Yes. He always gives me twenty cents.
He wouldn’t go round with no such lookin’
boots as yours. They ain’t respectable here in
the city.”
Joshua believed all this. He was not yet
accustomed to the “ways that are dark and
tricks that are vain” of city street Arabs, and
he decided to have his boots blacked notwithstanding
the price, which he could not help
regarding as very steep. He was anxious to
conform, as speedily as possible, to city fashions,
and, if it was not respectable to walk
about in unpolished boots, he decided to have
them blacked, so that his friend Sam might
not feel ashamed of him when he came into
his store.
“I guess I’ll have my boots blacked,” he
said. “Can’t you take less than twenty
cents?”
“That’s the regular price, fixed by the city
.bn 100.png
.pn +1
gov’ment,” protested the bootblack. “If I was
to take less, I’d have my license took away.”
“Do you have a license?” asked Joshua, with
curiosity.
“In course I do.”
“Have you got it here?”
“No, I’ve got it to home, along with my gold
valooables. I had to pay fifty dollars for it.”
“That’s high, isn’t it?” asked Joshua, who
was gathering valuable information with great
rapidity.
“Yes, it is; but then, you see we have to
support the gov’ment.”
Meanwhile the mendacious young bootblack
was vigorously employed upon Joshua’s boots.
He had a hard job. They were made of cow-hide,
for Jacob Drummond was not in the
habit of spending much for the outfit of his
son, and they had never been well polished
since they were new. At length, however, they
were polished, and certainly were greatly improved
by the process, though in shape they
would hardly have been taken for the work of
a fashionable city bootmaker.
“There,” said the young Arab, surveying
his work complacently, “now they look respectable.”
“They do look better than they did,” Joshua
was compelled to admit. He drew out twenty
cents from his vest pocket and handed it to
the boy.
.bn 101.png
.pn +1
“Is it far to Sam Crawford’s store?” he
asked.
“About two miles,” was the answer.
“Could I find the way easy?”
“Yes; all you’ve got to do is to go up Madison
avenue till you get to the Battery. Go
round it; then cross Madison square, keepin’
the Astor House on your left hand. Turn into
the Bowery at Trinity Church; then cross over
to Twenty-seventh street. Go up Twenty-seventh
street six blocks till you get to A. T.
Stewart’s store; then take a short cut to
Eighth avenue, and there you are.”
These false and absurd directions were delivered
with great volubility by the bootblack;
but it is needless to say that they made a very
confused impression upon the mind of Joshua,
who felt more bewildered and helpless than
before.
“I don’t know any of those places,” he said.
“I am afraid I couldn’t find the way.”
“Maybe you couldn’t. I know a man who
was two days findin’ a place only a mile off.
If he’d paid a dollar to somebody that knew
the way he’d been all right.”
This put a new idea into Joshua’s mind.
“If you’ll show me the way to Sam Crawford’s,
I’ll give you fifty cents,” he said.
“That’s too little,” said the boy. “I couldn’t
neglect my business so long for that. I should
lose money.”
“How much do you want?”
.bn 102.png
.pn +1
“A dollar. It’s worth a dollar to go so fur.
I might lose half a dozen shines.”
The boy would have stood out for a dollar
but for the fact that another bootblack had
come up--one of his rivals in business--and
he was afraid he might offer to go for less.
Accordingly he hastened to strike a bargain.
“All right,” said he. “Hand over your
money.”
“Wait till I get there,” said Joshua, cautiously.
“Payment in advance,” said the young
Arab. “That’s the way they do business in
the city.”
Joshua drew out seventy-five cents, and
placed them in his hand.
“Follow me, mister,” said the young conductor.
“I guess I won’t go the way I told
you. I’ll take a short cut,” he added.
The bootblack led Joshua by a pretty direct
course to Eighth avenue. It was a considerable
walk, and to Joshua an interesting one.
As he noted block after block of elegant buildings
he felt elated to think that his home was
from henceforth to be in the great city. Some
time or other, when his father had forgiven
him, he would go back to Stapleton, and show
off the same city airs which had so impressed
him in the case of Sam Crawford. He was
rather alarmed when he came to cross Broadway,
and came near being run over by a passing
omnibus.
.bn 103.png
.pn +1
“Look out, mister,” said his young guide,
“or you’ll get knocked into a cocked hat. Folks
is in such a hurry here that they don’t stop
to pick up dead bodies.”
Arrived in Eighth avenue, the bootblack,
who had cunningly managed to find out Sam
Crawford’s business, pointed to the first shoe
store they reached, and said, “That’s the
place.”
“Does Sam Crawford work there?”
“In course he does. You jest go in, and
you’ll see him at the back of the store.”
Joshua went in, never dreaming that he had
been deceived. Meanwhile his guide took to
his heels with the money he had extracted
from Joshua by false pretenses.
.bn 104.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIII || A STRANGER IN NEW YORK.
.sp 2
Joshua entered the shoe store pointed out
by his guide without the least suspicion that
he had been imposed upon by that enterprising
young gentleman. Like most of the shoe stores
on this avenue, it had a liberal stock of boots
exposed outside, at prices low enough to attract
the attention of those passing. Within
it was narrow, but deep. There was a counter
on one side, with two or three sofas in the
open space for the accommodation of customers
who wished to try on shoes. Behind the
counter were two shopmen, while one outside
was fitting a boy with boots. Joshua looked
about him, but failed to recognize the friend
of whom he was in quest.
“Perhaps he has gone out a little while,”
thought Joshua. “I will inquire.”
He walked up to the counter, and asked, “Is
Sam Crawford out?”
“He hasn’t been in very lately,” answered
the clerk, taking in the rustic appearance of
his questioner at a glance.
.bn 105.png
.pn +1
Joshua did not infer from this answer the
true state of the case.
“Is he coming in soon?” he asked.
“I really don’t know,” said the clerk, indifferently,
winking to his fellow-salesman,
who was within hearing distance.
Something in his tone excited doubt in
Joshua’s mind.
“I suppose he works here, don’t he?” he inquired.
“Not that I ever heard of.”
“Why,” said Joshua, puzzled, “the boy that
showed me the way told me he did.”
“Then the boy told a lie.”
Joshua felt disturbed at this information,
It appeared that he had paid away seventy-five
cents without receiving value therefor.
Besides, apart from this, he wanted to find
Sam. He felt helpless in a large city, without
a single acquaintance or friend to instruct him
in what he ought to do.
“Are there any other shoe stores in this
street,” he asked.
“I should say there were--several,” answered
the clerk; “but of course we sell the
best articles at the lowest price.”
“Do you?” said Joshua, with an air of one
receiving information.
“Yes; can’t we sell you a pair?”
“I guess not to-day,” answered Joshua.
“I suppose you know that your boots are
.bn 106.png
.pn +1
out of style,” said the other, surveying
Joshua’s boots contemptuously.
“I won’t buy any to-day,” said Joshua, to
whom it occurred that when he found Sam the
latter would sell to him cheaper on the score
of acquaintance.
“Take a card,” said the salesman, “and give
us a call when you need a pair.”
Joshua took the card and put it in his
pocket. As he left the store he looked about
for the boy who had deceived him. The latter
would probably have been invisible, but a gentleman
had hailed him, and he was now engaged
in polishing his second boot. Joshua
waited till he was through, and then commenced
the attack.
“Look here,” said he, “you said Sam Crawford
worked in that store.”
The bootblack, who had not contemplated
another meeting with the customer he had deceived,
decided to brazen it out, and deny all
knowledge of the affair.
“Who’s Sam Crawford?” he asked, vacantly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You told me Sam Crawford worked in that
store.”
“Did I? I don’t know any Sam Crawford.”
“You told me you blacked his boots every
morning,” persisted Joshua.
“Look here, mister, haven’t you got hold of
the wrong boy?”
Joshua was rather taken aback by this question,
.bn 107.png
.pn +1
but, looking closely at the boy before
him, he was convinced that he was right.
“No, I have not,” he said; “I paid you seventy-five
cents for showing me the way to the
store where Sam Crawford worked.”
“How could I show you when I never heard
of Sam Crawford?”
“You said you knew him.”
“I guess you’re crazy, mister.”
“You’ve cheated me,” said Joshua, getting
provoked. “Just give me back that seventy-five
cents I paid you.”
“Do you see any green in my eye, mister?”
inquired the bootblack.
“What makes you ask that?”
“I see what you are,” said the bootblack,
boldly carrying the war into the enemy’s
camp; “you’re one of them swindlin’ fellers
that go round cheatin’ the poor out of their
hard earnings. I’ll call a cop.”
“What’s a cop?” asked Joshua, uneasily.
“A peeler.”
“What’s a peeler?”
“A purlice officer. Where was you brought
up?” demanded the boy, contemptuously. “If
I knowed where Sam Crawford lived, wouldn’t
I tell you?”
“Are you sure you ain’t the boy that showed
me the way?”
“In course I am.”
“You just look like him,” said Joshua,
doubtfully.
.bn 108.png
.pn +1
“I know who it was,” said the bootblack,
who had no scruples about lying. “It was Pat
Brady. He and me look like twin brothers.
He’s a bad boy, Pat is--he’ll lie as fast as he
can talk.”
Joshua was at last convinced that he had
made a mistake. He was completely taken in
by the young rascal, who proceeded to follow
up his deception.
“Did Pat black your boots?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Joshua.
“I thought so,” said the bootblack, contemptuously.
“He can’t shine boots. How
much did you pay?”
“Twenty cents.”
“Then he cheated you.”
“He said it was the regular price.”
“How that boy will lie!” said the young
Arab, virtuously. “The regular price is ten
cents. Don’t you want me to give you a
shine?”
“No,” said Joshua, hastily drawing back his
foot, upon which the bootblack was about to
commence operations. “They don’t need any
more blacking.”
“Don’t you ever get Pat Brady to shine your
boots ag’in.”
“No, I won’t,” said Joshua, indignant at the
swindle which the virtuous young bootblack
had exposed. “If I ever see him again I’ll
give him a licking.”
.bn 109.png
.pn +1
“That’s right, mister; I’ll help you do it any
time,” said his new friend.
“I wish I knew where to find Sam Crawford,”
said Joshua, in perplexity. “Is this
Eighth avenue?”
“Yes.”
“Sam is in a shoe store somewhere in this
street.”
“Why don’t you go into every store, and ax
’em if he works there. I’ll go with you for
fifty cents.”
But Joshua thought, very justly, that this
was something in which he required no help,
and did not therefore feel disposed to throw
away any more money. He began to think
that New York was a very extensive place,
where it was quite necessary to be on the look-out
for swindlers. If he could only find Sam
Crawford, for whose knowledge of life he had
high respect, he would, undoubtedly, be all
right; but there were difficulties in the way.
Still, he was not without hope. If he inquired
in every shoe store on the avenue, he must
come across him after a while.
We are often very near the truth without
suspecting it. The store of which Joshua was
in search was in reality on the next block below
the one which he had entered; but, ignorant
of this, he directed his steps uptown,
and very soon found another store.
“Does Sam Crawford work here?” he asked,
entering.
.bn 110.png
.pn +1
“No, he don’t; but I’ll sell you a pair of
shoes or boots as cheap as he will.”
“I don’t want to buy anything. Sam Crawford
is a friend of mine; I want to find him.”
“I am sorry I can’t help you. I don’t know
any such man. Hadn’t you better let me show
you a pair of boots?”
“No; I don’t need any,” said Joshua, and,
disappointed a second time, beat a retreat.
“It’s strange Sam Crawford isn’t any better
known,” thought Joshua. “I should think
those that keep stores in the same street would
know him.”
My readers may conclude that Joshua was
very verdant, but the fact was that he had
lived all his lifetime in a country village,
where everybody knew everybody else, and this
will help to account for his limited knowledge
of life.
“I wish I had Sam’s letter,” he said to himself;
“it would save me a good deal of trouble.”
In the next store the young man to whom he
addressed his stereotyped question prided
himself on being a wag, and, perceiving that
Joshua was from the country, resolved to have
a little fun with him.
“Sam Crawford!” he repeated. “He’s a
young man, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Dark hair?”
“Yes.”
“Black eyes?”
.bn 111.png
.pn +1
“Yes.”
“A mustache?”
“Yes.”
“Acquainted with the shoe business?”
“Yes. Do you know him?” asked Joshua,
eagerly.
“And a hump-back?”
“What?”
“With a hump between his shoulders?”
“No.”
“Then it can’t be the Crawford I know.”
Joshua was deeply disappointed. The young
man had drawn him on till he believed that
Sam was practically found. Now, discovery
seemed as remote as ever. Again he emerged
into the street. There was a shoe store on the
next block. His hope revived. He entered
that also, but the faces were all unfamiliar.
He asked as before, but succeeded in eliciting
no information. He kept on his way
for a mile, entering store after store, marveling
inwardly why there should be need of so
many shoe stores, and, as he failed to discover
Sam, almost beginning to doubt whether he
hadn’t made a mistake about the street. He
began to feel lonely, not for the lack of human
faces, for he had met hundreds of persons, but
the peculiar loneliness of a stranger in a great
city, who, among the multitudes that he meets,
recognizes not one familiar face.
.bn 112.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIV || A FRIEND IN NEED.
.sp 2
Joshua walked as far up as Central Park.
Then he judged that it would be useless to go
any farther. What if he should be unable to
find Sam at all? It was an alarming suggestion,
for he depended upon his friend to get
him a place, and make him acquainted with
the ways of the city. He resolved to retrace
his steps, and explore that part of the avenue
which he had not yet visited. He felt tired,
and would have entered a car, but was afraid
he might not know where to get out. Besides,
there was a possibility of his meeting Sam on
the street.
It was fortunate for him that he decided to
walk. About Thirtieth street he met the one
of whom he was in search. Sam was looking
in at a shop window, and did not perceive his
approach. Overjoyed, Joshua hurried forward
and touched him on the shoulder.
“Joshua Drummond!” exclaimed Sam, in
surprise; “where in the world did you come
from?”
.bn 113.png
.pn +1
“I came from Stapleton this morning,” said
Joshua. “I didn’t know as I should ever find
you. I have been walking a long way, going
into all the shoe stores I could find, asking
for you.”
“Didn’t you know my number? You had it
in a letter.”
“I forgot to bring the letter. All I could
remember was that you lived somewhere on
Eighth avenue.”
“How long are you going to stay in the
city?” asked his friend.
“I ain’t going back to Stapleton,” answered
Joshua. “I’ve got sick and tired of it.”
“Are you going into a store in New York?”
“Yes, if I can find a place. You’ll help me,
won’t you, Sam?”
“I’ll do all I can. So the old man was willing
to let you come?”
“No, he wasn’t. I came away without asking
him.”
“Did you?” said Sam, cooling a little, for he
was afraid that in that case Joshua was not
supplied with money. “How do you expect to
live while you’re looking out for a place?”
“I can board somewhere. Can’t I get in at
your boarding place?”
“Why, you see,” said Sam, “they’ll expect
you to pay your board every week in advance
unless you can give references. I’m hard up,
so I can’t help you.”
“Oh, I’ve got money,” said Joshua.
.bn 114.png
.pn +1
“Oh, you have!” said Sam, feeling considerably
relieved. “Have you got enough to last
you a month?”
“I’ve got most six hundred dollars.”
“You don’t say so!” said Sam, cordially.
“Where did you raise it? Did you draw a
prize in the lottery?”
“No,” said Joshua, “I drew a blank. The
old man found out about the ticket and made
a row.”
“Then how came he to give you the money?”
asked his friend.
“He didn’t give it to me,” said Joshua, a
little awkwardly.
“Never mind,” said Sam, quickly, for he suspected
the true state of the case, but thought
it best not to appear to know that the money
was dishonestly acquired. “The main thing
is that you’ve got the money. Now, my dear
fellow,” he continued, with a remarkable increase
of cordiality, “I want you to come and
room with me.”
“That’s just what I should like,” said
Joshua, gratified.
“I have a hall bedroom now; but Mrs. Jones
has a larger room with a double bed. We’ll
take that together, and I’ll show you round.”
“That’s just what I want,” said Joshua.
“You see, I’ve never been in New York before,
and I’ve got to get used to it.”
“I know all about it,” said Sam, with an air
of consequence. “I know the ropes, if anybody
.bn 115.png
.pn +1
does. I’ll show you life. Have you got
the money with you?”
“Five hundred dollars of it is in a government
bond. Can I sell it?”
“Oh, yes; that’s easy enough. Have you got
some money besides?”
“Yes; I’ve got over seventy dollars in
money.”
“I am glad you came to me,” said Sam, who
had already made up his mind to help Joshua
spend his money. “You are a friend of mine,
and of course I feel an interest in you.”
This was quite true; Sam did feel an interest
in Joshua, now that he had ascertained his
ability to pay his own expenses. Otherwise,
it is to be feared that the interest would have
been considerably less.
“Come with me,” he said; “I’ve got to go
back to the store now, but in an hour or more
I shall be going out to supper. You can come
with me, and then we will fix it about having
a room together.”
To this proposal Joshua willingly acceded.
He had walked till he was tired, and was quite
willing to rest before going further.
“How do you happen to be out of the store
at this time?” asked Joshua.
“I came out on a little business,” said Sam,
loftily. “But it is time for me to go back.
They can’t get along without me.”
To this Joshua listened with pleasure, for
he looked forward to the time when he, too,
.bn 116.png
.pn +1
should be finally settled in business like his
friend, for whom he had a high respect, not
being aware how insignificant his position
was.
“How much salary do you get, Sam?” he
inquired.
“A thousand a year,” answered Sam, with
an air of consequence.
In reality he was receiving eight dollars a
week; but he did not intend to be quite candid
with Joshua, lest the truth should weaken his
ascendancy over him. He judged shrewdly;
for, to the unsophisticated boy from the country
a thousand dollars a year seemed like a
very large income, as, indeed, Sam himself
would have considered it, if by good luck he
had obtained it.
“Do you think I will ever get as much,
Sam?” asked Joshua.
“Of course not for a long time,” said Sam.
“You know you haven’t had experience like
me. By the way, you needn’t mention how
much I get. I don’t care about letting it be
known. If the other clerks in the store knew
it, they might be jealous.”
“All right; I won’t say anything about it if
you don’t want me to.”
“Here’s the store,” said Sam, suddenly.
Joshua now saw that it was only a block
below the point where he had entered Eighth
avenue, and realized that he had had a long
tramp for nothing.
.bn 117.png
.pn +1
It was not a very imposing establishment.
The front was probably about twenty feet, the
depth seventy, leaving the back part of the
store rather dark and gloomy. A variety of
cheap shoes, with the prices attached, were
exposed in front of the store. They looked
very common to a practiced eye; however,
Joshua was not accustomed to seeing superior
goods, as the people of Stapleton did not, in
general, wear the best French kid.
“Come in, Joshua,” said Sam.
“Where have you been gone so long?” demanded
the proprietor of the establishment,
addressing Sam rather sharply.
“I met a friend from the country,” answered
Sam, blushing a little at being thus addressed
before Joshua. “I thought he might need a
pair of slippers.”
“Oh, very well,” said the proprietor, more
graciously. “I am glad to see you, sir.”
“My friend’s name is Drummond, Mr. Craven,”
said Sam. “Joshua, Mr. Craven.”
“Glad to see you, Mr. Drummond,” said Mr.
Craven, offering his hand.
“Much obliged,” said Joshua, awkwardly.
“Your friend will show you some slippers.
I guess we can fit you.”
“I don’t know as I shall need any slippers,”
commenced Joshua, but he was quickly interrupted
by Sam.
“Oh, yes you will!” he said. “You need ’em
in the evening.”
.bn 118.png
.pn +1
Joshua yielded to his friend’s superior
knowledge of what was necessary in the city,
and tried on several pairs, till at last one was
found which Sam declared to be just right for
him.
“How much will they be?” asked Joshua.
“Two dollars.”
“Ain’t that rather high?” asked Joshua,
who privately doubted whether it would not
be better to keep his money.
“Not at all. We should charge two dollars
and a half to anybody else. As you’re a
friend, I make allowances. You’ll want some
new boots soon. Those you have on are countrified.”
“I guess they’ll last me a little longer,” said
Joshua, hurriedly; for, though the money was
dishonestly acquired, he was inclined to be
frugal.
“Well, you needn’t buy to-day. Next week
will answer.”
Sam’s object in urging Joshua to purchase
was to reconcile his employer to his presence
in the store, for he foresaw that his visitor
would be likely to spend considerable time
there. He wished, besides, to obtain an extra
evening off duty, meaning to accompany
Joshua to the theatre at the latter’s expense.
He did not expect that Joshua, who inherited,
as he knew, a mean disposition from his father,
would voluntarily pay for the tickets; but
there is such a thing as borrowing without the
.bn 119.png
.pn +1
intention of repaying the money, and this
Sam meant to do.
In pursuance of this plan, he soon after
went up to the desk behind which Mr. Craven
was standing.
“Mr. Craven,” said he, “can you spare me
this evening?”
“You had your regular evening off yesterday,”
was the reply.
“I would not ask but for my friend, who is
a stranger in the city, and depends upon me
to find him a boarding place,” said Sam,
whose devotion to friendship was not wholly
disinterested.
“Did you sell him anything?”
“Yes, he took a pair of two-dollar slippers.”
“I will try to do without you this evening,
as you particularly desire it,” said Mr. Craven;
“but you must not repeat the application.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Sam.
“I’m in luck, Joshua,” he said, returning to
his country friend; “I am off for the evening.
We’ll go to the theatre and have a high old
time.”
“Do you have to work in the evening, Sam?”
asked Joshua, surprised.
“Yes,” answered Sam. “You see,” he added,
consequentially, “I know all the business, and
they can’t get along very well without me.”
.bn 120.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XV || “A BAD PENNY.”
.sp 2
The boarding house to which Sam conducted
his friend was not externally prepossessing.
It was a shabby brick house, between
Seventh and Eighth avenues. It was occupied
by clerks and salesmen employed, like Sam, on
Eighth avenue, and the price and accommodations
were both adapted to the small salaries
which, as a rule, they received. The hall was
covered with oilcloth, dirty, and in places worn
away, while the stair-carpeting was of the same
material.
Sam opened the door with a latchkey, and
led the way upstairs.
“Come up to my room, Joshua,” he said.
“While you are fixing your hair, I’ll go down
and let Mrs. Jones know you are here.”
Sam’s room was a hall bedroom on the third
floor. It was barely large enough for a narrow
bedstead, a trunk, a chair, and a washstand.
There was no bureau, and no room for
any; but in place, there were nails to hang his
clothes upon just opposite the bed. It fell below
Joshua’s anticipations, being quite inferior
.bn 121.png
.pn +1
to the room he occupied at home. He
had supposed that Sam, who had strutted
about Stapleton the summer before, was handsomely
situated. So it was with a feeling of
disappointment that he regarded the small
room, the thin, cheap carpet, the common
wooden bedstead, and untidy washstand.
“It’s rather small,” said Sam, in a tone of
apology, “but there’s a larger room on this
floor. We will take it together. I’ll speak to
Mrs. Jones about it. There’s a brush and
comb; you can be fixing your hair, while I run
down and see about a seat at the table for you.”
Joshua proceeded to arrange his toilet, while
Sam did as proposed. He returned in a couple
of minutes and announced his success.
“The old lady’ll be glad enough to take you,”
he said. “We can have the other room. We’ll
go into it after dinner.”
“After dinner?” repeated Joshua, who had
been accustomed to regard the third meal as
supper.
“Yes, we always have dinner at this hour,”
explained Sam. “We never take supper except
Sunday evening.”
“That seems strange, Sam.”
“Oh, you’ll get used to it very soon.”
“Don’t you eat anything in the middle of the
day?”
“We take lunch then. You’ll find New York
a different sort of a place from Stapleton.”
Joshua was ready to believe this. He was
.bn 122.png
.pn +1
not used to it yet, but had no doubt he should
like it after a while.
“Now, if you are ready, we will go down to
dinner.”
The dining-room proved to be in the front
basement. Three or four young men were
already seated at the table, while a red-haired
girl was waiting upon them. The mistress of
the boarding house was a thin, tired-looking
woman, who, to judge from her appearance,
found her business rather a wearing one.
“Mrs. Jones, Mr. Drummond,” introduced
Sam.
“I am glad to see you, Mr. Drummond,” said
Mrs. Jones; and she really was glad, for a new
boarder was a welcome addition to her household.
“Sit down there, if you please, next to
Mr. Crawford.”
Joshua took his seat as directed, and the
waitress came to receive her orders.
“Will you have roast beef or roast lamb?”
she asked of Sam.
“Beef for me,” answered Sam. “What will
you have, Joshua?”
“The same,” said Joshua.
I suppose it is useless to say that Mrs. Jones
did not keep a first-class boarding house. The
fare she furnished to her boarders was considerably
inferior to that at the Fifth Avenue
Hotel, or a good many other hotels of lower
standing; but this was a point in which Joshua
was not likely to be disappointed. His father,
.bn 123.png
.pn +1
as has been explained in the preceding volume,
was a man so fond of money that he always
furnished a very mean table, and neither he
nor any of his family had ever been in danger
of gout or dyspepsia. So to Joshua the fare at
Mrs. Jones’ boarding house seemed excellent.
His wanderings had given him quite an appetite,
and he did substantial justice to the food
before him.
When they rose from the table Mrs. Jones
said, “I will come upstairs immediately, Mr.
Crawford, and show you and your friend the
large room next to yours.”
“Well, Joshua, how do you like the feed?”
asked Sam, as they were going upstairs.
“It’s very good,” answered Joshua, in a tone
of satisfaction. “Do you always have as good
a dinner?”
“Yes, always. On Sundays we have something
extra.”
“I think I shall like it. How much does Mrs.
Jones charge for board?”
“For room and board, six dollars.”
“Ain’t that rather high?” asked the frugal-minded
Joshua, who had been used to Stapleton
prices.
“No, it’s very cheap, for the city. Of course,
board’s much higher here than in the country.”
“Is it?”
“Certainly. There’s a friend of mine pays
fifteen dollars a week for board.”
.bn 124.png
.pn +1
“Does he? Why, that’s enough to support
a family in Stapleton.”
“We do things on a larger scale here in
New York, as you will soon find out,” said
Sam. “We make money fast, and we spend it
fast.”
“That’s just what I want.”
“To spend money fast?”
“No, to make money fast.”
“Oh, well, you can do it after a while. I’ll
help you get a place by my influence,” continued
Sam, loftily.
By this time Mrs. Jones made her appearance
at the head of the stairs. She opened the
door of an adjoining room and invited them in.
It was a room about twelve feet square, with
a double bed in the middle. The carpet was
the same quality as that in Sam’s smaller
room, but there was a little more furniture,
and there were two windows. Two cheap
prints in pine frames gave an elegant, artistic
look to the apartment. Joshua was not, however,
as favorably impressed with it as with
the dinner.
“How’ll this do, Joshua?” said Sam.
“Very well, I think.”
“We shall want to sleep here to-night, Mrs.
Jones,” said Sam.
“It shall be ready, Mr. Crawford. I suppose
you will be going out this evening?”
“Yes,” answered Sam. “My friend and I
are going to the theatre.”
.bn 125.png
.pn +1
“It shall be ready by the time you return,
then.”
“Joshua,” said his friend, “just give me a
lift with my trunk, and I’ll move now.”
“All right.”
“I suppose you didn’t bring a trunk, did
you? Came away in too great a hurry, eh?”
“Yes,” answered Joshua, smiling.
“You can buy one to-morrow or next day. I
wonder if there is a closet? Oh, yes, here’s
one. I tell you what would improve the looks
of the room.”
“What’s that?”
“A sofa.”
“So it would.”
“I don’t suppose the old lady would put one
in. What do you say to buying one?”
“I buy a sofa?” ejaculated Joshua, alarmed.
“Yes, or a lounge. I guess you could get a
decent one for fifteen dollars.”
“I don’t think we need any,” said Joshua,
hastily; “but if you want to buy one----”
“Oh, it’s no matter,” said Sam. “It’ll be
pretty hard to get money out of him,” he
thought to himself. “However, I guess I can
manage him.”
This was likely to prove true. Joshua had
got into dangerous company, and under the
auspices of Sam Crawford the fund of money,
which he considered as so large, was not likely
to last long. Could his father have looked in
upon him, and realized the manner in which
.bn 126.png
.pn +1
the money he had scraped together was likely
to be expended, he would have been angry and
horror-stricken. But up to this moment he
did not suspect the double loss he had incurred.
Let us return to Stapleton for a moment,
and look in upon the home which Joshua had
deserted.
When the supper table was spread Mr.
Drummond came in from the store.
“Where is Joshua?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said his wife, anxiously.
“He wasn’t here to dinner. I hope he hasn’t
gone out on the pond and got drowned.”
“No fear,” said her husband, philosophically.
“He’s got a sullen fit and wandered off
somewhere. He’ll be back some time this
evening.”
“I wish I was sure nothing had happened to
him,” said Mrs. Drummond.
“I’ll risk him. His being away won’t spoil
my appetite,” said the father, rather contemptuously.
“I don’t think you treat him just right,
Jacob,” said Mrs. Drummond; “he’s been
looking down for some days.”
“I know what it’s about. He wants me to
increase his allowance.”
“Twenty-five cents does seem small for a boy
of Joshua’s age.”
“If he wants more, let him go to work and
earn it. That’s the way I had to do when I
.bn 127.png
.pn +1
was of his age. I’ll tell you what it is, wife,
Joshua is a lazy, good-for-nothing boy. If he
had his own way, he’d spend five dollars a
week, and do nothing but loaf around the village.
Now, I’m not going to permit this. He
shan’t squander the money I have worked so
hard for.”
The suspicion that Joshua had run away
from home had not entered his father’s mind.
He did not think that his son, for whom he felt
contempt in spite of the relationship, had
spirit enough to take such a step; and, besides,
he knew that he could not go far without
money.
After supper Mr. Drummond went back to
the store, and did not return till it had closed.
“Has Joshua got home?” he asked.
“No,” answered his wife, anxiously. “I am
afraid, Jacob, you have driven him to some
desperate step.”
“Nonsense! I am not in the least troubled
about him. A bad penny always returns.”
He went upstairs to deposit the money he
had brought from the till, in his little black
trunk. Two minutes afterward he hurried
downstairs, pale with passion.
“What do you think your son has done?”
he demanded of his startled wife.
“What?” gasped she. “Tell me, quick.”
“He has robbed me of over six hundred dollars.
If I ever catch him I’ll flog him within
an inch of his life.”
.bn 128.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVI || IN THE SPIDER’S WEB.
.sp 2
Joshua and his friend, Sam Crawford, having
selected Niblo’s Theatre as the one which
on the whole seemed most attractive, left their
boarding house at a quarter past seven o’clock.
“Shall we walk?” asked Joshua.
“No,” said Sam; “it’s too far. We should
get there late.”
“How much do they charge in the horse
cars?”
“Only five cents,” answered Sam, thinking
that Joshua must be mean to trouble himself
about such a trifle, and that he might find
it a harder job than he anticipated to get
money out of him. “That’s cheap enough.”
“Yes,” said Joshua, doubtfully.
They stopped the next car and got in. They
were lucky enough to find just two seats unoccupied,
which they at once took.
When the conductor came round, Joshua put
his hand into his pocket, but Sam said, in an
.bn 129.png
.pn +1
offhand manner: “Never mind, Joshua; I’ve
got the change. I’ll pay for both.”
“Thank you,” said Joshua, his face brightening,
as he withdrew his hand from his
pocket, with alacrity. He did not know that
Sam meant to get twenty times as much out
of him before the evening was over.
They reached the theatre some minutes before
the performance commenced. There was
a popular play to be performed, and there was
a line of men waiting their turns before the
ticket office.
“Join the line, Joshua,” said Sam, “and get
two reserved seats in the parquet.”
“Two?”
“Yes, one for me. I’ll pay you afterward.”
“How much will they be?”
“Two dollars.”
“Isn’t that high?” asked Joshua, alarmed.
“They only charge fifteen cents for concerts
at home.”
“This is much better than a concert. Take
your place, quick.”
Thus exhorted, Joshua took his place in the
line, and in due time purchased the tickets.
“Now, come along,” said Sam, seizing him
by the arm. “It’s about time for the performance
to commence.”
So they passed the wicket, giving up their
tickets, and were speedily ushered to their
seats. Joshua looked around him with curiosity,
for to him it was a novel scene; but
.bn 130.png
.pn +1
even this did not lead him to forget that Sam
was indebted to him.
“You owe me a dollar,” he whispered.
“All right,” said Sam; “I’ll pay you afterward.
I don’t want to take out my pocketbook
here.”
Joshua would have preferred to be paid on
the spot, but no suspicion had yet entered his
mind that Sam intended to cheat him, and he
made no objection to the delay.
“Who are those men playing?” he inquired
of his more experienced friend.
“That’s the orchestra.”
“When does the show begin?”
“You mustn’t call it a show, Joshua,” said
Sam, “or people will think you green. Say the
play, or the performance.”
“Then, when does the play begin?”
“In about five minutes.”
At the time specified, the curtain rose, and
Joshua’s eager attention was soon absorbed by
the play. It interested him so much that he
temporarily forgot how much it had cost him.
He asked various questions of Sam, which led
the latter to smile, though but a year before
he had been quite as unsophisticated. It is not
my intention, however, to follow the course of
the performance. Suffice it to say that at a
quarter to eleven o’clock the curtain fell, and
the audience rose and made their way out of
the theatre.
“How did you like it, Joshua?” asked Sam.
.bn 131.png
.pn +1
“First-rate,” said Joshua. “It cost a good
deal, though.”
“It’s worth the money. Everything is much
higher in the city than in the country.”
“In Stapleton they never charge more than
twenty-five cents admittance to anything.”
“There’s some difference between Stapleton
and New York.”
“I know it, but----”
“You must enlarge your ideas, Joshua. People
make money here fast, and they spend it
fast. Country people are mean. They count
every cent, and are more afraid to spend a
cent than city people are to spend a dollar.”
“My father’s mean,” said Joshua. “What
do you think he used to allow me a week for
spending money?”
“A dollar?”
“Only twenty-five cents.”
“The old man was tight, that’s a fact. A
young man of your age ought to have had five
dollars. However, you’re in the city now, and
are better off. I feel hungry. Shall we go in
and get some oysters? I know a tiptop place.”
“How much will it cost?”
“Oh, I’ll treat!” said Sam, nonchalantly.
“Come along.”
As Joshua had no objection to the oysters,
but only to the expense, he readily accepted
the invitation, which he would hardly have
done had he known that his companion had
but ten cents in his pocket.
.bn 132.png
.pn +1
Sam led the way into a recess, and, in a tone
of authority, ordered “stews for two.”
They were soon brought, and speedily disposed
of.
“How did you like them?” asked Sam.
“Splendid!” said Joshua.
“Suppose we order a fry?” suggested Sam; “I
think I can eat a little more.”
“I don’t know,” hesitated Joshua.
“I’ll treat. Here (to the waiter), bring us two
fries, and be quick about it.”
Joshua likewise ate his plate of fried oysters
with relish.
When the repast was concluded, Sam felt for
his pocketbook. First he felt in one pocket,
then in the other.
“How stupid I am!” he muttered.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Joshua.
“It’s a good joke. I came from home and
forgot my pocketbook. I must have left it in my
other pants.”
“You paid in the cars.”
“Yes; it was a little change I had in my vest
pocket. See, I’ve got ten cents more, enough to
pay for our fare home.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Joshua,
uncomfortably.
“I shall have to borrow a little money of you
to pay for the oysters. Let me see; it’ll be a
dollar and ten cents.”
“Won’t they trust you? You can come in
to-morrow and pay them,” suggested Joshua.
.bn 133.png
.pn +1
“No they won’t trust. They don’t know
me.”
“They’ll have to, if you haven’t got the
money.”
“No; they’ll hold you responsible.”
“That isn’t fair. I didn’t order the oysters.”
“You ate part of them. There won’t be any
trouble. I’ll pay you as soon as we get back
to the room.”
“I wish we hadn’t come in,” said Joshua,
uncomfortably.
“Why? It won’t do you any harm to lend
me the money for an hour.”
“You owe me a dollar already for your
ticket.”
“I can pay you for both together. You ain’t
afraid to trust me, are you?”
“No-o,” said Joshua, slowly; and very reluctantly
he drew out a dollar and ten cents,
and placed it in the hands of his friend.
“That’s all right,” said Sam, and he stepped
up to the counter and settled the bill.
It was now half-past eleven o’clock.
“It is time we were setting home, Joshua,”
said Sam. “We’ll cross Broadway, and take
the University place cars. We’ll get home by
twelve, or before. That would be pretty late
hours for the country.”
“Yes,” answered Joshua. “At home I always
was in bed by ten o’clock.”
“Oh, well; no wonder! There was nothing
.bn 134.png
.pn +1
going on in Stapleton. It’s an awfully slow
place. Not much like the city.”
“That’s so.”
“You don’t want to go back, do you?”
“No, I never want to go back,” answered
Joshua, thinking of the money and bond he
had stolen, and rightly reflecting that the reception
he would get from his father would
be a disagreeably warm one.
“So I thought. Everybody likes the city.
Why, in ten years you’ll be richer than the old
man!”
“Will I, do you think?” asked Joshua, eagerly.
“Yes, I think so. There’s Ned Evans, a
young man not thirty, who came to the city
ten years ago, who is worth now--how much
do you think?”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand dollars!”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed the gratified
Joshua. “Did he have to work very hard?”
“Oh, pretty hard; but, then, it’s a good deal
easier to work hard when you are well paid for
it.”
“Yes, that’s so. Do you expect to get rich
soon?”
“You won’t repeat it if I tell you something,
will you?”
“No.”
“You mustn’t breathe a word of it, for it’s a
.bn 135.png
.pn +1
secret. When I am twenty-one, old Craven is
going to take me into partnership.”
“Is he?” said Joshua, looking at his companion
with new respect. “Does he make
much money?”
“Made fifteen thousand dollars last year.
Half of that’ll be pretty nice for me, won’t it?”
I need not remark that Sam Crawford had
told two most unblushing falsehoods. He had
grossly exaggerated the profits of the establishment,
and, moreover, Mr. Craven was no more
likely to take him into partnership than I am
to be appointed prime minister to the Emperor
of Japan. But he had a purpose to serve in
imposing upon his companion’s credulity.
“You’re in luck, Sam,” said Joshua. “Do
you think I’ll ever get such a chance?”
“I think you can, with my influence,” said
Sam, loftily. “I’ll do my best for you.”
Here a car came along, and the two jumped
on board.
.bn 136.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVII || SUBTLE FLATTERY.
.sp 2
The two boys reached their boarding house
as the clock struck twelve.
“The best thing we can do is to get to bed
as soon as possible,” said Sam, as they entered
the room and locked the door.
“You might as well pay me what you owe
me,” suggested Joshua, who did not intend
Sam to forget his indebtedness.
“Oh, yes!” said Sam. “Let me find my
pocketbook.”
He felt in the pocket of his “other pants,”
but of course did not find what was not there.
To let the reader into a secret, he had, before
leaving for the theatre, carefully locked it up
in his trunk, where it was even now, as he very
well knew.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed, whistling, as he
withdrew his hand, empty.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Joshua,
anxiously.
“My pocketbook isn’t there!”
.bn 137.png
.pn +1
“Isn’t it? Where is it, then?” demanded
Joshua, beginning to be alarmed.
“I must have taken it with me to-night, after
all,” said Sam. “I understand now,” he
added, suddenly. “I must have had my pocket
picked in the car.”
“Had your pocket picked?” repeated Joshua,
as ruefully as if it had been his own.
“Yes; didn’t you notice that black-whiskered
man that sat next me?”
“No.”
“I am sure it was he. I thought he looked
suspicious as I entered the car. If I hadn’t
been talking with you, he couldn’t have robbed
me without my knowing it.”
“Was there much in the pocketbook?” inquired
Joshua.
“Not much,” said Sam, indifferently. “Between
twenty-seven and twenty-eight dollars,
I believe--a mere trifle.”
“I call that a good deal.”
“It’s more than I like to lose, to be sure.”
“Then, you can’t pay me what you owe me?”
said Joshua, soberly.
“Not just now. In fact, I must wait till the
end of the week, when I get my wages.”
“How much do you get then?”
“Twenty dollars.”
“You will surely pay me then?”
“Of course. You ain’t afraid to trust me?”
said Sam, in a tone indicating his enjoyment
of the joke.
.bn 138.png
.pn +1
“No,” returned Joshua, slowly; but he
would have much preferred to receive payment
there and then.
“I don’t think I shall run away on account
of such a debt,” said Sam, laughing. “If it
was two thousand dollars, instead of two, I
might, you know.”
“Two dollars and ten cents,” corrected
Joshua.
“What a mean hunks!” thought Sam. “He’s
going to be worse than his father, and that’s
saying a good deal.”
Had Joshua known the real state of the case,
he would have been more alarmed for his
money, but, as he supposed that Sam really
received twenty dollars a week, and was to be
taken into partnership at twenty-one by his
employer, and thenceforth to be a prosperous
business man, with a large income, he was reassured,
and did not doubt that he should be
paid.
“Well, Joshua, what are you going to do
with yourself?” asked Sam the next morning,
as they rose from breakfast.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve got to go to business, you know. I’d
like to go round the city with you, but I can’t
be spared.”
“I’ll walk down to your store with you.”
“All right; only I wouldn’t advise you to
stay very long in the store.”
“Why not?”
.bn 139.png
.pn +1
“Oh, Craven would think I was neglecting
my business, and, as I am to be his future partner,
I want to keep his good opinion.”
“To be sure,” said Joshua. “I suppose I can
walk round?”
“Yes, you can go around and see the city--only
keep your eyes peeled, so you will know
the way back. And, if you ride in the cars,
look out for pickpockets.”
“Is there much danger?” asked Joshua,
hastily thrusting his hand into his pocket, to
ascertain the safety of his money.
“Plenty of danger. If I am in danger of
being robbed, you are much more so, not being
used to the city. If you like, I’ll take your
money--that is, what you don’t need to use--and
lock it up in the safe.”
“I guess I’ll keep it,” said Joshua, hastily.
“I’ll look out for pickpockets. Besides, I don’t
think I’ll ride in the cars--I’ll walk.”
“You’ll get tired if you tramp about all
day.”
“If I get tired, I’ll come back to the room
and rest a while.”
As proposed, Joshua accompanied his friend
to the shoe store, and entered, but, after a few
minutes, went out to see what he could of the
city. He wandered about for two hours, looking
in at shop windows, and examining with
curiosity the many unusual objects which
everywhere met his view. It was interesting,
but it was also tiresome, particularly as he
.bn 140.png
.pn +1
walked everywhere. At length, his attention
was drawn to a car going uptown, on which
was printed its destination, “Central Park.”
Joshua had heard a good deal of Central Park
in his country home, and he naturally was
curious to see it. The car was nearly empty,
and, therefore, as it struck him there could not
be much danger of pickpockets, he resolved,
especially as he felt quite tired, to get in and
ride to the park, even if it did cost five cents.
Getting into the car, he seated himself at a
distance from other passengers, and kept his
hand on his pocket. After a time, he reached
Fifty-ninth street, and had no difficulty in
guessing that the beautiful inclosed space before
him was the park of which he had heard
so much. He was a little afraid, on seeing the
policeman at the entrance, that there was a
fee for admission, but was gratified to find
that no money was required.
He wandered on, with the other promenaders,
and by and by sat down on one of the
seats considerately placed at intervals for the
benefit of weary pedestrians.
He had not been sitting there long, when a
dark-complexioned man of forty also seated
himself on the bench. Joshua took no particular
notice of him till the stranger looked
toward him, and remarked, politely: “It’s a
fine day, sir.”
“Yes,” said Joshua, who was secretly flattered
at being called “sir.”
.bn 141.png
.pn +1
“It is a fine day to enjoy the park.”
“Yes,” said Joshua.
“I suppose you live in the city?”
“Yes; that is, I do now,” answered Joshua,
flattered again at being mistaken for an old
resident of New York.
“I am a stranger in the city,” said the other;
“I live in the country. I came up here on a
little business. I never was in the park before.”
“Weren’t you?” asked Joshua, with the air
of one who had visited it a great many times.
“No; I like it very much. It reminds me of
the country where I live.”
“It is very pretty, we city people think,” said
Joshua, swelling with satisfaction as he classed
himself among the city people.
“I ought to like it,” said the stranger, laughing,
“for I have had a piece of great good luck
here this morning.”
“Indeed!” said Joshua, pricking up his ears,
with curiosity.
“I was walking just above here, when I
found this in the path.”
As he spoke, he drew from his pocket what
appeared to be a handsome gold watch of considerable
size.
“Did you find that?” said Joshua, enviously,
wishing he had had the same good fortune.
“Yes; somebody must have dropped it. It
must be worth a hundred dollars. Why, the
chain is worth thirty, at least,” and he pointed
.bn 142.png
.pn +1
to the chain, which also was, to all appearances,
gold.
“I wish I had been as lucky,” said Joshua,
gazing at the watch and chain with longing
eyes. “How long is it since you found it?”
“About twenty minutes. However, I’ve got
another watch at home. I don’t need it. I’d
sell it for a good deal less than it is worth,”
and he looked suggestively in Joshua’s face.
Now, Joshua had long cherished the desire
of having a watch, though his hopes had been
confined to a silver one, and a chain of silk
braid. Never, in his wildest and most ambitious
dreams, had he thought of an elegant
gold watch and chain like this.
“How much will you take?” he asked,
eagerly.
“Why, it’s well worth a hundred dollars,”
said the stranger, “but I’ll take half price.”
“That is, fifty dollars?”
“Yes; it’ll be a great bargain at that. Any
jeweler would give more, but I haven’t time to
go and see one; I must go out of this city in an
hour.”
“I can’t afford to give fifty dollars,” said
Joshua.
“I might take a little less,” said the stranger,
“considering that I found it; but it’s well
worth fifty dollars, or seventy-five, for that
matter.”
“I’ll give you thirty dollars,” said Joshua,
after a little pause.
.bn 143.png
.pn +1
“That’s too little,” said the other. “I’d
rather stay here till the next train, and sell
it to a jeweler. I feel sure they would pay me
sixty, at least.”
If that was the case, it would certainly be a
good speculation to buy the watch and sell it
again. Joshua began to be anxious to get it.
“I want it for myself,” he said, “but I can’t
afford to pay fifty dollars.”
“Will you give forty-five?”
“I’ll give thirty-five.”
“Say forty, and it’s yours; though I ought
not to sell it at that. Just put it on, and see
how well it looks.”
Joshua put it in his watch-pocket, and was
conquered.
“All right,” he said; “I’ll take it.”
He paid the forty dollars, and bade farewell
to the kind stranger who had given him so
good a bargain.
“You city people are sharp,” said the
stranger, as he bade him good-morning. “We
poor countrymen don’t stand much chance
with you.”
This remark flattered Joshua immensely,
and he strutted about the park, glancing continually
at his new acquisition, and fancying
that he already had quite a city air.
.bn 144.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVIII || TROUBLE IN STAPLETON.
.sp 2
“I could never have got such a bargain if I
had stayed in the country,” thought Joshua.
“I don’t believe I should have had a watch
until I was thirty years old. The old man is
awful mean. If he had treated me right, I
shouldn’t have had to help myself; that’s certain.”
Joshua congratulated himself that, though
he now possessed a hundred-dollar gold watch
and chain, purchased at less than half price,
he still had left considerably more than five
hundred dollars. When he purchased the
watch, his first thought was to sell it almost
immediately, and so realize something by the
speculation. But, being well provided with
money, he decided, on the whole, to keep it,
for the present, at least, and not to sell unless
he should stand in need of money. That
would not probably be for a long time, as five
hundred dollars seemed quite a fortune to him.
Besides, in a short time, probably, he would
.bn 145.png
.pn +1
get a place, with a salary large enough to pay
his expenses.
Joshua wandered about the park a short
time, but returned to his boarding house in
time for lunch. Here he met Sam Crawford.
The latter looked with surprise at the watch
and chain so ostentatiously displayed by his
friend.
“Where did you get that watch and chain?”
he asked.
“I bought it,” said Joshua, in a tone of importance.
“I made a pretty good bargain,
too.”
“At what jeweler’s shop did you buy it?”
asked Sam, rather vexed that Joshua should
have made so important a purchase without
consulting him. If any money was to be spent,
he wanted to have something to do with it.
“I didn’t buy it at any jeweler’s,” answered
Joshua. “If I had, I couldn’t have got it so
cheap.”
“Didn’t buy it at a jeweler’s!” repeated Sam,
suspiciously. “Where did you buy it, then?”
“I bought it of a man I met in Central
Park.”
“A man you knew?”
“No; a stranger--a man from the country.”
“Let me see the watch,” said Sam, abruptly.
He took it in his hands, and looked at it,
but, not being a professional, he could not tell
whether it was genuine or not.
“I shouldn’t wonder if you had got swindled,”
.bn 146.png
.pn +1
he said, handing it back. “How much
did you pay for it?”
“Forty dollars. The man said it was worth
a hundred,” said Joshua, beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“Of course, he would say so,” returned Sam,
contemptuously. “They always do. What
made him sell it to you so cheap, then?”
“He found it in the park, and had to go out
of the city very soon.”
Sam shook his head.
“You ought not to have bought a watch
without my being with you. If you are swindled,
it is your own fault. I don’t believe it is
gold.”
“It looks like gold,” said Joshua, soberly.
“How shall I find out?”
“Come out with me, when I go back to the
store. We’ll stop at a jeweler’s on the way,
and he will tell us.”
It must be confessed that Joshua ate his
lunch in a state of painful suspense. Forty
dollars was a good deal to lose. Besides, it
was, or would be, mortifying to feel that he
had been swindled. The watch and chain
looked all right. He could not help thinking
that it was gold, after all.
When lunch was over, he went out with
Sam. Two blocks distant, there was a small
jeweler’s shop. Sam led the way in, and he
followed.
“Give me the watch,” said Sam.
.bn 147.png
.pn +1
He handed it to the clerk behind the counter.
“Will you tell me what this watch and chain
are worth?” he asked.
The clerk took it, and, after a slight examination,
said, with a smile:
“I hope you didn’t give much for it.”
“It does not belong to me. My friend purchased
it this morning. Is there any gold
about it?”
“A little--on the outside. It is covered with
a thin coating of gold. I will tell you in a
moment what is underneath.”
“It is a kind of composition,” he announced,
after a pause.
“How much is the whole thing worth?”
“Three or four dollars, at the outside. The
works are good for nothing. It won’t keep
good time. If you want a really good gold
watch, I will show you some.”
“Not to-day,” said Sam. “I may be getting
one soon; then I will call on you.”
The feeling with which Joshua listened to
this revelation may be imagined better than
described. He followed Sam out of the store,
with a very red face.
“I’d like to get hold of the feller that sold
me the watch,” he said, elevating his fist.
“Serves you right,” said Sam, coolly, “for
not waiting till I was with you. I shouldn’t
get swindled easily. I’ve been in the city too
long. I know the ropes.”
.bn 148.png
.pn +1
“You had your pocket picked last evening,”
said Joshua.
“That’s true,” Sam was forced to answer--though
it was not true. “I was talking with
you, and that made me careless. But I
shouldn’t be cheated on a bargain. How
much did you give for the watch? Forty dollars?”
“Yes,” answered Joshua, wincing.
“Then it’s forty dollars thrown away, for
the watch won’t go, and it will never do you
any good.”
“I should like to sell it for as much as I
gave,” said Joshua, not very honestly. “I
might go out to Central Park this afternoon.”
“You wouldn’t catch a greenhorn every day
that would let himself be taken in as you
were.”
“Do you call me a greenhorn?” added
Joshua, angrily.
“Of course, you’re a little green,” said Sam.
“I was myself, at first,” he added, in a conciliatory
manner. “But you’ll soon get over
it. Only don’t buy anything of importance
unless I am with you. That will be your safest
way for the present.”
Joshua did not reply, but he reluctantly decided
that perhaps he would do better to follow
Sam’s advice. Evidently, the city was full
of snares and swindlers of which he had no
idea, and it wouldn’t do for him to lose forty
dollars very often. He felt unhappy whenever
.bn 149.png
.pn +1
he thought of his loss. He had been in the city
only twenty-four hours, yet it had cost him in
the neighborhood of fifty dollars. He decided
henceforth to beware of plausible strangers,
especially if they professed to hail from the
country.
We must now return to Stapleton, where
Mr. Drummond was still nursing his indignation
at the audacity of his son, whom he had
never supposed daring enough to rob his
strong box. Mrs. Drummond essayed to say
one word in defense of Joshua.
“He is a vile, young scoundrel!” exclaimed
the angry father. “Mark my words, Mrs.
Drummond--he will end his days on the gallows.”
“How can you say such dreadful things, Mr.
Drummond?” said the mother. “Remember,
he is your son!”
“I am ashamed to own that I am the father
of a thief.”
“He would not have taken the money if you
had not kept him so close. Twenty-five cents
a week is very small to give a boy of Joshua’s
age. All of his companions get more.”
“It was more than he deserved, the idle vagabond!”
“You are very hard upon him, Mr. Drummond,”
said his wife.
“I have reason to be. I suppose,” he added,
with a sneer, “you justify him in robbing his
father of his hard earnings?”
.bn 150.png
.pn +1
“You know I do not; I only say that, if you
had treated him more generously, this would
never have happened. You certainly might
have afforded him a dollar a week. The poor
boy used to feel mortified, because he never
had a cent in his pocket.”
“I work hard for my money, Mrs. Drummond,
and you needn’t expect me to waste it
on an idle young rascal, who wants to live
without work.”
“He was willing to work. He has told me
more than once that if you would let him go
to the city he would get a place in a store, and
work cheerfully. He was tired of Stapleton.”
Mr. Drummond’s attention was excited.
“So he was very anxious to go to the city?”
he said, inquiringly.
“Yes; he used often to speak to me of wanting
to go there.”
“Then that’s where he is now,” said his
father. “I might have known it. All the idle
vagabonds who are too lazy and shiftless to
earn an honest living in the country go to the
city. My mind is made up. I shall go to New
York to-morrow, Mrs. Drummond. Now, go
and lay out a clean shirt for me. I shall start
for the city by the early train.”
“If you find the poor boy, don’t be harsh
with him, Jacob,” pleaded the mother.
“If I find him,” said Mr. Drummond, significantly,
“I’ll give him a lesson that will
.bn 151.png
.pn +1
cure him of thieving for a long time, I can tell
you that!”
Mrs. Drummond turned away, with a sigh,
to obey her husband’s request. She did not
justify Joshua in his course, but she was a
mother, and could not help making some excuse
for her son. She felt that her husband
had treated him too much like a young boy,
not having sufficient consideration for the fact
that in age he was now bordering upon manhood.
The next day, Mr. Drummond was one of the
passengers by the early train which left Stapleton
for New York.
.bn 152.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIX || IN SEARCH OF A THIEF.
.sp 2
It was with no pleasant feelings that Jacob
Drummond landed in New York. His paternal
affection for Joshua had never been very
great, and, now that his son had robbed him,
his anger was strongly stirred against him.
“If I get hold of him, I’ll flog him within
an inch of his life,” he muttered, between his
closed teeth. “The ungrateful villain! to
make me such a return for supporting him in
idleness all his life!”
But it is not so easy to find a particular
person in a city of a million inhabitants, and
Mr. Drummond was very much puzzled to
know what to do, or where to go first. He
might have sought the aid of the police, but,
though deeply incensed against Joshua, he
wished, rather, to inflict private punishment
upon him.
“I won’t give him any allowance at all,” he
said to himself. “I’ll let him get along without
a penny, and see how he likes that! I
wonder if he’s spent much of the money he
stole from me?”
.bn 153.png
.pn +1
His face contracted with anguish, as he
thought that Joshua might squander the
greater part of the money before he found him;
or, worse still, lose it. His father had a contemptuous
opinion of Joshua’s shrewdness,
and thought it not at all unlikely that he
would be robbed.
Not knowing where else to go, he walked toward
the Astor House. Whenever he came to
the city--which was not often--he was in the
habit of stopping at Lovejoy’s Hotel, near by,
and the force of habit led him thither now.
At every step, he looked inquisitively about
him; but no Joshua met his gaze. In fact,
Joshua was walking about on Eighth avenue
at this time, and about an hour later went to
Central Park, where he made the surprising
bargain of which we already know, so that
there was very little chance of his father’s
coming upon him for some hours, since it was
not probable that it would occur to him to go
to Central Park.
After walking about in a desultory way,
during the forenoon, Mr. Drummond all at
once had a bright thought. He remembered
that Sam Crawford was in a shoe store in the
city, and naturally concluded that Joshua,
whom he had seen in Sam’s company during
the latter’s vacation at Stapleton, would, in
his inexperience, seek him out. He remembered,
also, that, on a previous visit to New
York, Sam’s direction had been given him. He
.bn 154.png
.pn +1
felt in his pocket, and, to his great satisfaction,
found that he still had it.
“I’ll go and see young Crawford,” he at once
decided. “He may put me on the track of
Joshua.”
Taking the Eighth avenue cars at the Astor
House, half an hour brought him to the shoe
store so fortunate as to have secured the services
of Mr. Crawford. Sam himself was
standing in front of the door, ticketing some
shoes, when Mr. Drummond got off the car,
and touched him on the arm.
Sam started, and flushed a little, when he
saw who it was that had touched him.
“Mr. Drummond!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t
expect to see you!”
“Have you seen anything of Joshua, Sam?”
asked Mr. Drummond, hastily.
Sam made up his mind not to betray Joshua--not
from any high-minded feeling of friendship,
but because he wanted to help Joshua
spend the money he had with him. Accordingly,
he threw as much surprise as possible
into his tone, as he answered: “Joshua! Is
he in the city?”
“Then you haven’t seen him?” said Mr.
Drummond, disappointed.
“When did he come up?” asked Sam. “I
wonder he didn’t come to see me.”
“He’s a young villain!” exclaimed Mr.
Drummond, in excitement.
“What has he done?” asked Sam, curious to
.bn 155.png
.pn +1
hear the story, of which he could readily guess
the nature.
“He’s run away with several hundred dollars
of my money,” said Mr. Drummond,
sternly. “It’ll be a sorry day for him when I
get hold of him!”
“Just as I thought,” said Sam to himself.
“How could he do such a thing?” he said,
aloud. “I didn’t think that of Joshua.”
“Nor I,” said his father; “but he’s long been
pestering me to let him come to New York, but
I wouldn’t let him. Didn’t he ever say anything
to you about it?”
“Yes,” said Sam. “He’s often spoken of it.”
“I hoped you could tell me where to find
him,” said Mr. Drummond.
“I haven’t the least idea where he is,” said
Sam, which was, to some extent, true, so far
as Joshua’s present whereabouts were concerned.
“I may have to go back to Stapleton without
finding him,” continued Mr. Drummond.
“If you see anything of him, I wish you would
telegraph up to me at once, and I’ll pay all expenses,
and----” here Mr. Drummond paused,
but at last added, liberally: “I’ll give you a
dollar besides.”
“I shan’t want any reward,” he said, but he
inwardly pronounced him a pretty mean fellow.
“Very likely I shall see him, if he stays
in the city.”
“He won’t go away from the city,” said Mr.
.bn 156.png
.pn +1
Drummond. “He wanted to live here, most
of all. Well, good-by. It won’t do for me to
miss the afternoon train home.”
“The old man’s precious mad!” said Sam
to himself, as he entered the store. “I would
not like to stand in Joshua’s shoes when his
affectionate papa gets hold of him. It’s lucky
he didn’t happen along just now. So the old
man expects to buy me for a dollar. It’s too
cheap. I always knew he was mean; and
Joshua isn’t much better. I must see how I
can get as much out of him as possible, and
that soon.”
About five o’clock Joshua came round to
the store.
“’Most ready to go to supper, Sam?” he
asked.
“Wait five minutes, and I’ll be ready.”
Joshua waited till his friend signified that
he was ready.
“Where have you been, Joshua?” he asked.
“Walking all around. I’m as tired as a
dog. I shan’t want to go anywhere to-night.”
“Who do you think I have seen to-day?”
asked Sam, scanning his friend’s face.
“I don’t know,” said Joshua, indifferently.
“The old man!” answered Sam, in italics.
“The old man!” repeated Joshua, turning
pale. “Where did you see him?”
“I was standing outside the door, when I
felt some one touch my shoulder. I looked
round, and there he was.”
.bn 157.png
.pn +1
“My father?”
“Mr. Jacob Drummond, of Stapleton, himself.”
“Did he ask after me?” inquired Joshua,
nervously.
“You bet he did!” answered Sam, significantly.
“What did he say?” asked Joshua, looking
frightened.
“What did he say?” repeated Sam, a little
maliciously. “Well, he called you a young
villain, the first thing. In fact, he didn’t seem
affectionate.”
“He always treated me mean,” said Joshua,
resentfully. “What else did he say?”
“He said you’d run away with several hundred
dollars of his, and he seemed very
anxious to get hold of you. He’s going to give
you a warm reception when that time comes.”
“You didn’t tell him where I was, did you?”
said Joshua, in alarm.
“Of course not. I pretended I didn’t know
anything about you. What do you think the
old man wants me to do?”
“What?”
“He thinks you’ll come and see me, sooner
or later, and asked me to telegraph to him
when you did, so that he might come for you.”
“You wouldn’t do it, would you, Sam?” said
Joshua, uneasily.
“Do you think I’d betray a friend?” demanded
Sam, loftily. “No, Joshua; I am
.bn 158.png
.pn +1
your firm friend. I will never desert you, although
your father offered me money if I
would.”
“Did he?”
“Yes,” answered Sam.
He was about to mention how much, but it
occurred to him that, if he didn’t mention the
smallness of the sum, he would get more credit
for disinterested friendship.
“How much?”
“Oh, no doubt he would come down handsomely;
but, as I had no intention of betraying
you, I didn’t inquire.”
“Do you think he will come to the city
again?” asked Joshua.
“Yes, I think he will.”
“He might get hold of me,” said Joshua,
panic-stricken. “I wouldn’t go back to Stapleton
for anything. Oh, Sam, where shall
I go?”
“I’ll tell you what, Joshua,” said Sam, after
a pause, “I think you’d better leave the city.”
“Where shall I go?”
“Go out West. Your father won’t think
of looking for you there. Of course, I don’t
want to part with you, but it wouldn’t be safe
for you to stay here. He might get mad--the
old man, I mean--and set the police on your
track. You know, he could, on account of the
money you took.”
This was a very uncomfortable suggestion,
.bn 159.png
.pn +1
and Joshua began to find his dream of happiness
in a city unsubstantial.
“When had I better go?” he asked.
“Soon. Of course, you’ll need to turn your
government bond into money before you go.”
“I’ll go and sell the bond to-morrow,” said
Joshua.
“It wouldn’t be safe,” said Sam, shaking
his head.
“Why not?”
“Your father may have put the police on
your track already. When you came to sell
the bond, the police might be all ready to nab
you.”
“Then, what am I to do?”
“I’ll tell you what, Joshua, you’re my
friend, and I won’t desert you. Give me the
bond, and I’ll sell it for you. It’ll be a little
risky; still, I wasn’t the one who stole it, and
so I shall not be in as much danger as you.”
“Thank you, Sam,” said Joshua, considerably
relieved to find his friend willing to incur
the danger.
“Let me see. I’ll take it at lunch time to-morrow.
I can take an hour and a half, and
pretend I was detained.”
Sam was not quite so disinterested in this
offer of service as Joshua supposed. He had
a plan for making a handsome commission
out of the sale.
.bn 160.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XX || IN DANGER.
.sp 2
Joshua handed Sam the five-twenty bond
for five hundred dollars the next morning.
“How much do you think you can sell it for,
Sam?” he asked.
“I ought to get five hundred and fifty dollars
for it,” said Sam.
“Five hundred and fifty dollars!” repeated
Joshua, elated, for he knew nothing about the
money market, and supposed the bond would
only bring its par value. But the next words
of Sam lowered his spirits.
“That’s what the bond is worth, but I don’t
expect to get so much.”
“Why not?”
“The dealers will think it is stolen, and will
refuse to buy unless I sell it under price. It’s
better to do that than keep the bond.”
“Yes,” said Joshua, hastily; “sell it any
way, but get as much as you can.”
“Trust me for that,” said Sam. “I’ll do
better for you than you could do for yourself;
besides, running all the danger.”
.bn 161.png
.pn +1
“Thank you, Sam. I don’t know what I
should do without you.”
“I never desert a friend,” said Sam, loftily.
He should have added, “while that friend has
money.”
At twelve o’clock Sam left the store, ostensibly
to get lunch, but really to sell the bond.
He went downtown, and had no difficulty in
disposing of the bond for five hundred and
sixty dollars, the market price.
“How much of this can I venture to take?”
he said to himself.
After a little consideration, he divided the
sum into two parts. Four hundred dollars he
set apart for Joshua. The balance--a hundred
and sixty dollars--he decided to retain as his
commission. He relied upon Joshua’s verdancy
to help him in this barefaced swindle,
and had his story all ready for his credulous
mind.
He was half an hour late at the store, but
received the sharp reprimand of his employer
with equanimity, consoling himself with the
hundred and sixty dollars he had hidden in
his pocket.
It was not until the six o’clock dinner that
he met Joshua.
“Well,” said the latter, eagerly, “did you sell
the bond?”
“Yes.”
“How much did you get?”
“I hope you won’t be disappointed, Joshua,
.bn 162.png
.pn +1
but I had to submit to be cheated. The old
fellow felt sure it was stolen, when I refused
to refer him to anybody in proof of my right
to sell the bond. He wanted to get it for seventy-five
cents on the dollar, but I got him up to
eighty.”
“How much did that come to?” asked
Joshua, who was not strong in mathematics.
“Four hundred dollars.”
“Then I was cheated out of a hundred and
fifty,” said Joshua, disappointed.
“It couldn’t be helped. You’d rather have
four hundred dollars than nothing, I suppose.”
“Yes, of course; but the man was a swindler.”
“Of course he was,” said Sam, cheerfully.
“I’d like to kick him myself; but I’ll tell you
what, Joshua, you may think yourself lucky to
get off as well as you have. Nobody can prove
that you took the money, but the bond could
be proved against you, as your father no doubt
remembers the number of it. Didn’t I do right
to sell, or would you rather have had me bring
back the bond?”
“I am glad you sold it, only a feller doesn’t
like to be cheated.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if the old man thought
that way, when he found the bond was gone,”
said Sam, slyly.
“You needn’t speak of that!” said Joshua,
irritably. “When would you advise me to
start for the West?”
.bn 163.png
.pn +1
“To-morrow. The fact is, the old man is
liable to be after you with a sharp stick any
day, and the sooner you get out of his reach
the better. I’ll go round with you to-night,
and inquire the price of tickets. You’d better
buy a ticket for Chicago.”
“I wish I knew somebody in Chicago,” said
Joshua, whose inexperience as a traveler made
him shrink from such a long journey.
“Oh, you’ll get along well enough!” said
Sam. “Just try to find some cheap boarding
house when you get out there, and then go
around and look for a place in a store. Plenty
of fellows make money there. When you’re a
rich man you can come back East again. You
can pay up the old man what you took from
him, and that’ll make him all right.”
“Ye-es,” said Joshua, hesitatingly; “but it
would be mean in him to take it, considering
I am his only son.”
“You’d get it back again some time, you
know; so what’s the odds?”
Though Mr. Drummond was far from being
a model father, I by no means defend the disrespectful
allusion to him as “the old man.”
Many boys are thus disrespectful in speech
who really respect and love their fathers; but,
even then, the custom is offensive to good taste
and good feeling, and is always to be condemned.
“You owe me some money, you know, Sam,”
said Joshua. “Can’t you pay me before I go?”
“Certainly,” said Sam. “I’ll do it now, if
.bn 164.png
.pn +1
you can change a five. I raised some money
from a fellow that was owing me.”
So saying, he tendered Joshua a five-dollar
bill from the hundred and sixty he had reserved
as his commission, and the latter gave
him back the change. This raised Joshua’s
spirits somewhat, and enhanced his idea of
Sam’s honesty, as he had begun to fear he
should lose the money.
“Now, Joshua,” said Sam, tucking the money
into his vest pocket, “you must come to the
theatre with me this evening at my expense.
I want your last evening in New York to be a
jolly one.”
“Thank you,” said Joshua, graciously; “I’d
like to go.”
So they went to Wallack’s Theatre, and had
got quite interested in the performance, when,
all at once, Joshua clutched his companion by
the arm.
“What’s the matter?” inquired the wondering
Sam.
“Do you see that man?” said Joshua, pointing
to a gentleman on the opposite side of
the house, in a row near the stage.
“Yes, I see him. He ain’t very handsome.
What’s his name?”
“It’s a man from Stapleton, a neighbor of
ours. If he sees me, I’m lost!” and Joshua
began to tremble. “Let us go out.”
“It’s a pity to lose the play,” said Sam, reluctantly.
.bn 165.png
.pn +1
“But I’m in danger,” said Joshua, nervously.
“I’ll tell you what. We’ll go out quietly,
and go upstairs, where he can’t see us.”
“Do you think it will be safe?”
“Of course it will. Come along.”
They left their seats in the parquet, and
went upstairs, where they took back seats, inferior
to those they had occupied below, but
out of range of the man from Stapleton.
“I am afraid he will see me when I go out,”
said Joshua.
“We can go five minutes before the play is
over,” said Sam.
Satisfied with this arrangement, Joshua
stayed on, and enjoyed the play, now that his
anxiety was removed.
The play went on, but about a quarter to
eleven, when it was evident that it was nearly
over, Sam said: “We’d better be going, Joshua.
We can get out before the grand rush, and
your friend from Stapleton will be none the
wiser.”
“Yes, come along,” said Joshua, eagerly.
But, as Burns has it, “The best-laid schemes
of mice and men oft gang aglee.” The same
thought of getting out before the grand rush
occurred to Mr. Draper, of Stapleton, and
when the two boys emerged from the theatre
they met face to face.
“Why, Joshua Drummond!” said Mr. Draper,
in surprise. “How came you here? I
didn’t know you were here!”
.bn 166.png
.pn +1
“Then he hasn’t heard,” thought Joshua, recovering,
in a measure, from his temporary
panic.
“I’ve only been here a day or two,” he answered.
“Are you going to live in New York?”
“Yes,” said Joshua. “I’m going to get a
place in a store.”
“You are in a store already, Sam?” said Mr.
Draper to Joshua’s companion.
“Yes, sir. I am in a store on Eighth avenue.”
“Do you like being in the city?”
“Oh, yes; I wouldn’t go back to the country
for anything.”
“I am glad I met you both. I will tell your
father I met you, Joshua.”
This proposal was not agreeable to Joshua,
for obvious reasons; but, of course, he did not
dare to say so.
“When are you going back to Stapleton?”
he asked, faintly.
“To-morrow night.”
“And to-morrow night I shall be on my way
out West,” thought Joshua.
“Good-night to you both.”
“Good-night.”
“You had a narrow escape, Joshua,” said
Sam. “It’s lucky he didn’t know about your
leaving home without leave. I didn’t recognize
him when you first pointed him out to me.
Now I suppose I shall get into a scrape with
.bn 167.png
.pn +1
your father for not telegraphing to him that I
had met you. It’s pretty clear that the sooner
you leave New York, the better.”
The next evening Mr. Draper dropped into
Jacob Drummond’s store.
“Well, Mr. Drummond,” said he, “I met
your son in the city.”
“You met Joshua?” exclaimed Mr. Drummond,
eagerly, pausing in cutting off a dress
pattern. “Where?”
“At Wallack’s Theatre.”
“At the theatre! The young villain! Was
he alone?”
“He was with Sam Crawford. What is the
matter?”
“He left home without leave. I shall go up
to-morrow and bring him back.”
He went to New York the next day, and had
an unsatisfactory interview with Sam. The
latter admitted having seen Joshua, but said
he did not like to betray him. He said that
he had tried to induce Joshua to return home,
but that the latter had refused. He said he
did not know where he was now, but thought
he had gone to Boston. Mystified and bewildered,
Mr. Drummond was forced to go home
without his son, who was now some distance
on the way to Chicago. Having accompanied
him thus far, we must now go back to our principal
hero, and inquire how Walter was getting
on with his Western school.
.bn 168.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXI || AN EVENTFUL MONDAY.
.sp 2
And now to return to Walter Conrad, whom
we left looking forward to commencing school
as Mr. Barclay’s successor, on Monday morning.
It was certainly a difficult and responsible
task for one who was in age but a schoolboy,
especially as Walter had reason to believe
that there were some who had resolved in advance
to dispute his authority. Had he been
of a nervous or timid character, he would have
been led to back out at the eleventh hour, but
Walter was resolute and plucky. He had a
modest self-reliance, which his brief experience
as a book agent had confirmed. The spirit in
which he approached his new vocation may
be inferred from his own remark to Allen Barclay,
at the end of the tenth chapter: “At any
rate, the die is cast; I have agreed to take the
school, and I shall do what I can to succeed.
.sp 2
.in 4
.nf l
“‘In battle I’ll fall, or in death be laid low,
With my face to the field, and my feet to the foe.’”
.nf-
.in 0
.bn 169.png
.pn +1
Monday morning came at length. So far as
the weather was concerned, it opened auspiciously.
The excitement of having a new
teacher, more especially one who, as was generally
supposed, even among the more orderly
scholars, would fail in discipline, caused the
pupils to assemble earlier than usual on the
green plot in front of the schoolhouse.
Among these was Peter Groot, already described
as more likely than any other to prove
troublesome. It had always been found necessary
by past teachers to appeal to force in this
case. When he found that the teacher could
“whip” him, he subsided into a sullen submission.
Allen Barclay had been compelled to
flog him on the second day, and he did it so
effectually that Peter never needed a second
lesson. But as, both in appearance and reality,
Peter was a little older than the new
teacher, and, as he himself supposed, considerably
stronger, he looked forward with confidence
to “licking” Walter, if the latter should
endeavor to enforce the commands which he
intended to disobey.
“How are you, Peter?” said John Wall, on
arriving at the schoolhouse, twenty minutes
early. “How do you like having a new
teacher?”
“I like it,” said Peter, significantly.
“I suppose you’re going to be a good boy,
and mind all he says,” said John, desirous of
making trouble for Walter.
.bn 170.png
.pn +1
“Not much,” said Peter.
“You ain’t going to rebel, are you?” inquired
John, smiling encouragingly.
“That depends on how the teacher behaves.
He ain’t going to order me round, and he’d
better not try it,” said Peter, emphatically.
“He’ll find he has waked up the wrong customer.”
“He don’t look as if he could manage you,”
said John, glancing at Peter’s sturdy form.
“I guess you’re as strong as he is.”
“Manage me!” repeated Peter, contemptuously.
“I can lick him with one hand.”
“He may be stronger than he looks,” said
John, artfully, bent on stirring up Peter to
open rebellion.
“He don’t weigh as much as me, and I’ve
got twice his muscle,” said Peter. “Why, I
could keep school better than he.”
“I don’t think I should like to come to school
to you, Peter,” said Alfred Clinton, laughing.
“I’m afraid you’d break down on teaching fractions.”
Alfred referred to an occurrence of the previous
week, where Peter, who was by no means
as strong mentally as physically, showed the
most lamentable ignorance. He did not relish
the allusion.
“You’d better not be impudent, Alfred Clinton,”
he said, coloring, “or I may lick you.”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Alfred, indifferently.
.bn 171.png
.pn +1
“You’d better save your strength, for you may need it.”
“Do you mean that I’ll need it to lick the master?”
“I hope you won’t make any trouble for him,” said Alfred.
“On his account?”
“No; I looked at him carefully the other
day, and I made up my mind about him.”
“Did you?” said Peter, sneeringly. “Will
you oblige me by telling me what you think
about him?”
“I think that you’ll find him a tougher customer
to deal with than you think.”
Peter burst into derisive laughter.
“What do you think of that, John?” demanded
Peter.
John Wall, who was, in feeling, a young
aristocrat, did not in general affect the society
of Peter, nor care to be considered intimate
with him, but a common hatred often makes
strange yoke-fellows; so now he was disposed
to co-operate with Peter, and be gracious to
him, in the hope that he would make trouble
for Walter, whose independent spirit had occasioned
his cordial dislike. When, therefore,
Peter addressed him familiarly, he overlooked
what, under other circumstances, would have
been disagreeable to him, and replied: “I’ll
bet on you, Peter.”
“Of course you will; you’d be a fool not to,”
said Peter.
.bn 172.png
.pn +1
John did not quite like the way in which
he expressed it, but, for the reason before mentioned,
did not show it.
“He must be crazy,” continued John, “or he
would know better than to try keeping school
here. I don’t believe he knows much.”
“I guess he knows enough to teach you,”
said Alfred Clinton, who had taken a fancy
to the new teacher, and felt like defending him.
“Speak for yourself, Alfred Clinton,” said
John, superciliously. “I’m reading Cæsar.”
He drew himself up, as he spoke, in a way
intended to impress the boys that one who was
reading Cæsar must be a very advanced Latin
scholar.
“I know it,” said Alfred, “but I shouldn’t
think you understood it very well, the way you
recite.”
“You’re not qualified to judge,” said John,
in a lofty tone. “You’re only a beginner in
Latin. You don’t know enough to criticise
one who studies Cæsar.”
“Maybe not,” said Alfred, “but I know that
habeo isn’t of the first conjugation, as you
called it in your last recitation.”
“It was only a slip of the tongue. I knew
well enough it was the third,” returned John,
not quite liking the turn the conversation had
taken.
“Indeed, that’s news,” said Alfred, quietly.
“I always supposed it was the second.”
“That’s what I meant,” said John, coloring.
.bn 173.png
.pn +1
“But I don’t care to continue the conversation.
I feel sure that the new teacher don’t know
much.”
“I think he will know enough to teach either
of us,” said Alfred.
John pursed up his mouth, and was silent.
He regarded Alfred, who was the son of a poor
widow, as far below him in social position, and
did not often condescend to exchange as many
words with him as at present. Indeed, John
looked upon himself as superior in social rank
to any of his schoolmates, but was condescending
enough to associate with the sons of the
leading men on terms of equality.
Just then up came Phineas Morton, who has
already been referred to as a young man of
twenty, and standing six feet in his stockings.
He was several inches taller, and necessarily
much stronger, than Walter, but, fortunately,
he was very good-natured, and of a very different
disposition from Peter Groot.
“Good-morning, boys,” he said, pleasantly;
“hasn’t the master come yet?”
“Not yet,” said Peter. “I guess he don’t feel
in any hurry.”
“Why not?”
“I guess he thinks he’s undertaken a big
job.”
“Yes; it isn’t easy to teach school. I
shouldn’t like it myself.”
“You could do it better than he.”
“Why could I?”
.bn 174.png
.pn +1
“You could lick any of us, easy.”
“A teacher needs more than that. He’s got
to know something. I don’t know enough to
teach this school,” said Phineas, modestly.
“The master’s a boy compared with you,”
said Peter, who would have liked to receive the
co-operation of Phineas.
“I know it,” said Phineas, quietly, “but he
looks as if he might know something. If he
knows enough to help me along in my studies,
I would just as lief have him teacher as Mr.
Barclay.”
“Then I wouldn’t,” said Peter.
“Nor I,” said John, who, though he rather
disliked Allen Barclay, disliked Walter considerably
more.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to be ordered round by a boy.
I don’t believe he is as old as I am.”
“I don’t believe you would learn much under
any teacher, Peter,” said Phineas, laughing.
“Why not?” asked Peter, scowling.
“Why, learning isn’t your strong point, you
know.”
“That’s my strong point,” said Peter, tapping
the muscle of his right arm, significantly.
“You’re about right,” said Phineas; “you’re
stronger there than you are in the head.”
Peter did not like this remark, but he knew
that it would be of no use to show his anger.
He was a bully in the case of younger boys,
but he very well knew that Phineas could
.bn 175.png
.pn +1
manage him with one hand, as he boasted he
could manage the new teacher.
Phineas went into the schoolhouse after his
last remark, and a minute later one of the
younger boys called out: “The master’s coming!”
All eyes were turned upon Walter, who was
ascending the hill, with several books under
his arm. As he approached, Peter, with derisive
politeness, took off his hat and bowed
low.
Walter quietly raised his hat slightly in return,
and said: “Good-morning, boys.”
He entered the schoolhouse, and the scholars
followed him.
“He’ll be sick of his bargain before the
week’s out,” said Peter, aside, to John; “you’ll
see if he don’t.”
.bn 176.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXII || THE NEW TEACHER.
.sp 2
To say that Walter felt quite cool and unconcerned
as he entered the schoolroom and
advanced to his place behind the teacher’s
desk, would not be entirely true. It was a
novel situation for a boy not quite sixteen,
and he felt it to be such. If for a moment he
regretted having assumed so grave a responsibility,
it was not strange. But, if Walter
felt a little nervous and apprehensive, he had
self-command enough not to show it. He
looked calmly about him, meeting the expectant
glances of all the scholars, and, fixing his
eyes on the nearest boy, said:
“Will you go to the door and ring the bell?”
Alfred Clinton, for he was the one addressed,
has already been alluded to as an excellent
student, and a boy of fine disposition. He was
ready and determined to co-operate with the
young teacher in every way that might be in
his power.
He advanced respectfully, and, taking the
bell, rang it from the door outside.
.bn 177.png
.pn +1
There was little need of the summons, however,
this morning. Led by curiosity, the habitual
loiterers were all in their seats.
There was a general silence and pause of
expectation. The scholars were sitting in
judgment on the new teacher, and wondering
how he would proceed.
Walter rose, and, calmly surveying the fifty
scholars whose charge he had assumed, spoke
as follows:
“Scholars, before entering upon our duties,
it may be proper for me to say a few words.
When I came to this place, it was not with the
intention of teaching. You know how it has
happened that I have undertaken to do so.
You will easily judge, from my appearance,
that I have not experience to fit me for the
post, and am younger than some of you. But
I have made up my mind to do my best, and I
hope the relations between us will be mutually
pleasant and profitable. I will do all I can to
make them so. I will, in the first place, go
round and take your names, and make inquiries
as to the studies you wish to take up.
To-morrow we shall be ready to begin in earnest,
and go on regularly.”
This speech was favorably received by the
generality of the scholars. It was greeted with
applause, in which, after a while, all joined,
with two exceptions. These two were Peter
Groot and John Wall. Peter leaned back in
his seat, with both hands in his pockets, looking
.bn 178.png
.pn +1
at Walter, with an impudent smile on his
face, as much as to say, “I am quiet now, but
I’ll make it hot enough for you by and by.”
As for John, he regarded Walter with a supercilious
glance. He was not likely to break out
into open rebellion, not having the courage,
but he did not intend to trouble himself to be
respectful, but to treat the new teacher with a
cool disdain and assumption of superiority,
which, though disagreeable, would not subject
him to censure. He depended on his new
friend, Peter, to take bolder measures.
Walter took the school register, and went to
the nearest desk. He took down the name and
age of the scholar, and learned to what classes
he belonged, and then went on. He met with
perfectly respectful answers till he came to
Peter Groot.
Peter sat in the position already described,
leaning back, with both hands in his pockets.
Walter noticed it, and he had no difficulty in
foreseeing trouble. But he did not care to
precipitate matters. Whenever it came, he
meant to be ready.
“What is your name?” he asked.
Peter pretended not to hear.
“What is your name?” demanded Walter,
in a quick, imperative tone.
Peter turned slowly, and answered:
“Peter.”
“What other name?”
“Groot.”
.bn 179.png
.pn +1
“What is your age?”
“Sixteen. What is yours?”
Of course, the question was an impudent
one, but Walter answered it.
“We are about the same age,” he said,
quietly.
“So I thought,” said Peter, smiling meaningly.
“What branches do you study?”
“Pretty much all.”
“That is not definite enough.”
“Reading, writing, arithmetic, grammar,
geography.”
“Very well. You may come up in your
usual classes.”
Walter advanced to the next desk, which
chanced to be that of John Wall.
“Your name is John Wall, I believe?” said
Walter, writing it down.
“Yes.”
“Your age?”
“Fifteen--’most sixteen.”
“What do you study?”
“I study Cæsar,” said John, in an important
tone.
“Yes, I remember. How far did you go
with Mr. Barclay?”
“I am at the fifth chapter in the second
book.”
“You may go on where you left off. How
much are you accustomed to take?”
“Fifteen lines.”
.bn 180.png
.pn +1
“That is a short lesson, but perhaps it will
be well not to take any more till I find out
whether you are able to do so.”
“Did you take any more when you studied
Cæsar?” asked John, who privately thought
fifteen lines a very good lesson.
“From fifty to seventy-five lines,” answered
Walter, rather to the mortification of John.
Then it occurred to the latter that it would
be a good thing if he could “stick” the new
teacher; that is, to convict him of ignorance.
Accordingly he opened his Cæsar at a passage
in the preceding lesson, which he had found
difficult, and said: “There is something here
that I don’t understand. Will you read it
to me?”
“Certainly. What is the passage?”
It was a passage which Walter would have
been able to read at any rate, but he had the
additional advantage of having read it over
the week before in Mr. Barclay’s book, and
so, of course, it was very familiar. Though
Walter was a good scholar, as far as he had
gone, I don’t, of course, claim that he could
read anywhere in Cæsar at sight. But this
passage he understood perfectly well. He
read it fluently, and John was disappointed to
find that he had failed in his benevolent design.
Indeed, he saw that Walter was probably
a better Latin scholar than the previous
teacher; and, though he ought to have been
glad of this, he was so prejudiced against
.bn 181.png
.pn +1
Walter, and so anxious to humiliate him, that
he was sorry, instead.
“Whenever you meet with a difficulty,
John,” said Walter, after finishing the reading,
“I shall be ready to help you. But I
strongly advise you not to apply to me until
you have done your best to make it out yourself.
That will do you more good. You may
recite your first lesson to-morrow.”
He left John, and went to the next desk.
“He knows more than I thought he did,”
said John to himself, “but he can’t manage
this school. He’ll have to give up before the
week is out, I’ll bet. Father ought to have
known better than to give us a boy for a
teacher.”
Among the last, Walter came to the seat
occupied by Phineas Morton. Phineas has
already been mentioned as the oldest pupil in
the school. He was twenty years of age, and
six feet in height. There was a decided contrast
between him and the youthful teacher,
and Phineas felt a little mortified by it. He
had been set to work early, and from twelve
to eighteen had not gone to school at all.
Then, becoming aware of his deficiencies, he
decided to make them up, as far as he could.
So he came to school, and was, of course,
placed in classes with boys much younger.
But he submitted to this patiently, knowing
that it was necessary, and had studied so faithfully
.bn 182.png
.pn +1
since that he was now in the highest
class in all the English branches. Latin he
did not study.
“I do not need your name,” said Walter,
politely. “I believe you are Phineas Morton?”
“Yes, sir,” said Phineas.
“What is your age?”
“Twenty. Rather old to come to school,”
he added.
“One is never too old to learn, Mr. Morton,”
said Walter. “I hope to be studying when I
am older than you are now.”
“I didn’t feel the importance of study when
I was younger,” said Phineas. “If I had, I
should not have been so ignorant now.”
“Some of our most prominent public men
have only made a beginning after they have
reached twenty-one,” said Walter. “You are
quite right not to mind your being older than
the rest of the scholars.”
“I have minded it a little, I am afraid,”
Phineas acknowledged; “but you have encouraged
me, by what you have just said, and I
shall not care so much hereafter.”
“I am glad to hear you say this, Mr. Morton.
Now, you will be kind enough to tell me what
studies you are pursuing?”
When he had taken down the names of all
the boys, Walter commenced with the girls.
Here he had no trouble, for all were disposed
.bn 183.png
.pn +1
to regard the young teacher with favor. It
might have been, in part, because he was good-looking,
but it was also, in part, because he
was quiet and self-possessed, and appeared to
understand his business.
.bn 184.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXIII || A STORM BREWING.
.sp 2
When he had taken the names of all the
scholars Walter said: “We shall not be able
to enter upon our studies regularly till to-morrow.
We will occupy the rest of the forenoon
by such tasks as do not require preparation.
First of all I will hear you read. Mr.
Morton, will you commence?”
Phineas Morton rose, and, opening his book,
began to read. He read respectably till he
came to the word “misled,” which he pronounced
as if it were mizzled. Instantly there
was a shout of laughter from the other scholars,
Peter’s being louder than the rest, though
but for the general laughter he would not
have known that a mistake had been made.
Phineas looked abashed and mortified.
“Have I made a mistake?” he said, inquiringly.
“Yes,” said Walter, who preserved his own
gravity. “The word should be pronounced
mis-led. It is the participle of the verb mislead.”
“I didn’t know that.”
.bn 185.png
.pn +1
“The mistake you made is not an uncommon
one,” said Walter; “I remember making
it once myself.”
The mortification of Phineas Morton was
removed by this frank confession of his
teacher. Peter tried to get up a laugh at Walter’s
expense, but failed ignominiously.
“I take it for granted,” continued our hero,
“that those who have laughed just now will
not object to be laughed at when they come
to make mistakes.”
Phineas went on, and finished his reading
without further mistakes. At length it came
to the turn of Peter Groot. As we have already
said, he was by no means remarkable
in scholarship, and particularly read in a
stumbling, hesitating manner, which made it
very improbable that he would ever win reputation
as a public reader. It so happened
that in the passage he was reading occurred
the geographical name, Straits of the Dardanelles.
Now, this was a common term, and
Peter ought not to have made any mistake in
reading it. But he read it “Straits of the
Darning Needles,” which was so ludicrous
that Walter had hard work not to join in the
general chorus of laughter.
Peter looked up, scowling, for, though he
was ready enough to laugh at others, he did
not enjoy being laughed at.
“You should say Straits of the Dardanelles,
Peter,” said Walter.
.bn 186.png
.pn +1
“That’s what I said,” growled Peter, with a
cloudy brow, looking around him with displeasure.
“We all understood you ‘darning needles.’
You may go on.”
Peter continued sullenly, and sat down at
the end. He saw that he had made a blunder
quite as bad as Phineas, and it took away the
satisfaction he expected to have in reminding
his fellow pupil of his. He didn’t like Phineas
Morton, mainly because, on account of his
superior size, he was unable to bully him.
Besides, Phineas had more than once interfered
to protect younger boys from the despotism
of Peter, and the latter had been compelled
to respect the remonstrances of the oldest
pupil.
When the reading was concluded, Walter
rang the bell for recess. Nearly all the scholars
went out. Phineas Morton came up to the
teacher’s desk.
“Thank you, Mr. Howard,” he said, “for
your kindness about my mistake. Some teachers
would have laughed at me.”
“I suppose it is natural to laugh at our mistakes,”
returned Walter. “I was laughed at
when I made the same one. But I know, from
my own feelings, that it is not agreeable, and
I don’t laugh unless I can’t help it. Peter’s
mistake was more amusing than yours.
Though he was ready to laugh at you, I observed
.bn 187.png
.pn +1
that he didn’t enjoy being laughed at
himself.”
“Peter is a bad boy. I am afraid you will
have trouble with him, Mr. Howard.”
“So Mr. Barclay told me. I expect it, but
I do not fear it. If Peter behaves well, I shall
treat him well. If he undertakes to make
trouble, I shall be ready for him.”
There was a firmness in Walter’s tone, and
a determination in his manner, which tended
to reassure Phineas; still, as he looked at Walter’s
youthful form and thought of Peter’s
strength, he was not entirely without apprehension.
“I am ready to stand by you, Mr. Howard,”
he said, in a low tone. “If you need any
help, I will be on hand.”
“Thank you, Mr. Morton,” said Walter,
gratefully, for he knew how to value such assistance
as the stalwart oldest pupil could
render. “If there is need of it, I will certainly
accept your offer. But if there should be any
difficulty between Peter and myself, I think
I can hold my own without assistance.”
“Peter is strong,” suggested Phineas, doubtfully.
“I should judge so, from his appearance,
but strength is not all. Can he box?”
“No; he knows nothing of it.”
“I do,” said Walter, significantly. “If there
shall be need of it, I mean to let him feel what
I know about boxing.”
.bn 188.png
.pn +1
Phineas smiled. “I am glad to hear that,
Mr. Howard,” he said. “Peter will be troublesome
till you best him in a fair fight. After
that, all will go right.”
Meanwhile Peter and John were standing
together at one end of the playground.
“What do you think of the new teacher,
Peter?” asked John.
“He’s nothing but a boy,” returned Peter,
contemptuously.
“Do you think he’ll stay long?” asked John,
insinuatingly.
“Not more’n a week.”
“Perhaps he will,” said John, intent upon
drawing Peter on.
“He can’t keep order,” said Peter. “I can
lick him myself.”
“Perhaps he is stronger than you think
for,” suggested John.
“Look here, John Wall, do you mean ter
say you think he can lick me?” said Peter,
facing about.
“No, I don’t believe he can.”
“Of course he can’t. Do you see that muscle?”
and Peter stiffened his arm in a way
that my boy readers will understand.
“You have got a good deal of muscle, Peter,
that’s a fact.”
“Of course I have. Just feel it. Do you
see that fist?”
“Yes.”
“If the master should feel it, he wouldn’t
.bn 189.png
.pn +1
know what had happened to him. I could
knock him higher’n a kite.”
“Very likely you could.”
“There ain’t any likely about it. It’s a sure
thing.”
“I guess he’s afraid of you, Peter. He didn’t
laugh at you when you made that mistake.”
“I’d like to see him laugh at me,” said
Peter, his vanity and conceit getting worse
under the flattery of John. “But I saw you
laugh,” he added, in a tone of displeasure.
“Did I?” said John.
“Yes, you did.”
“Then it was because the other boys
laughed. You know a fellow can’t help laughing
when he sees others.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Peter, only
half satisfied.
“You didn’t make half as bad a mistake as
Phineas Morton.”
“Phineas is an old fool.”
Probably Peter would not have said this,
if he had known that the person of whom he
was speaking was within hearing distance.
He realized it, however, when he was suddenly
tripped up, and found himself lying on
his back, looking up in the face of Phineas.
“What did you do that for?” he demanded,
angrily.
“To teach you better manners,” said Phineas,
coolly. “When you feel like calling me
.bn 190.png
.pn +1
names, you had better look round first to
make sure that I am not near by.”
Peter was very angry. He would gladly
have retaliated, but one look at the broad
shoulders and stalwart form of Phineas was
enough to discourage any such attempt.
“Why don’t you take one of your size?” he
said, sulkily, as he gathered himself slowly
up from the ground.
“One reason is, because there isn’t any one
of my size in school.”
“It’s cowardly to attack a smaller fellow.”
“Not when the smaller fellow sees fit to be
impudent and insulting. But how long have
you acted on that rule, Peter? Didn’t I see
you fighting yesterday with Alfred Johnson,
who is a head shorter than you are?”
“He wouldn’t lend me his ball.”
“He wasn’t obliged to, was he?”
“I hate a fellow that’s so careful of his
things.”
“All right; I may want to borrow something
of you some time. If you don’t lend it, I am
to knock you down, am I?”
Peter did not find it convenient to answer
this question. Circumstances altered cases,
and it didn’t seem quite the same when he
took the case to himself.
“Come along, John,” he said.
John Wall followed him to a different part
of the yard.
.bn 191.png
.pn +1
“I hate that Phineas Morton,” said Peter.
“He’s a brute.”
“I don’t like him myself,” said John.
“Just because he’s so big, he wants to boss
it over the rest of us,” said Peter.
Now, if there was anybody in school of
whom it could be said that he wanted to
“boss it” over his schoolfellows, it was Peter
himself. John knew this, but it was his interest
at present to flatter Peter, since both
cherished a common dislike for the new
teacher, and John depended upon his companion,
who was bolder than himself, to make
trouble.
At this point the schoolbell rang, indicating
that the recess was over.
“There goes the bell,” said John. “Shall
we go in?”
“I’m in no hurry,” said Peter. “I’d just as
lief go home. He couldn’t do anything to
me.”
“Are you going home?”
“No, I want to see how he gets along. When
I get ready, you’ll see fun.”
The two boys entered a little later than the
rest. Walter observed their companionship,
and drew his own conclusions, knowing the
enmity of both toward him. But he said nothing.
.bn 192.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXIV || A PRACTICAL JOKE.
.sp 2
The remainder of the day passed without
incident. Peter was no less determined to
make trouble, but had not decided in what
manner to do it. He was content to bide his
time. He sat idle, but watchful, apparently
“taking stock” of the young teacher, and making
up his mind about him.
Soon after eight the next morning Peter
called at the house of his new associate. John
observed with surprise that he carried in his
hand a covered basket, from which proceeded
some signs of dissatisfaction of an unmistakable
character.
“What have you got there, Peter?” asked
John, curiously.
“Can’t you tell?”
“A hen, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“It’s a present for the teacher.”
“What!” exclaimed John, in surprise.
.bn 193.png
.pn +1
“Are you surprised that I am going to give
him a present?” said Peter.
“Yes. I thought you didn’t like him.”
“No more I do.”
“Then why----”
“I’ll tell you. I’m going to fasten the hen
in his chair, so that when he comes he will
find his seat occupied.
“Good!” said John. “He’ll be mad.”
“Of course he will.”
“He may find out who put the hen there.”
“That’s what I want him to do.”
“He may punish you.”
“I’d like to see him do it,” said Peter, wagging
his head. “He’d find out he’d got a hard
job on hand. Come, are you ready to go to
school?”
“I don’t generally go so soon.”
“I want to be there early, so as to tie the
hen.”
“All right; I’ll get my hat.”
The two boys started for school, and arrived
nearly half an hour early. They entered the
house, and, by means of a stout cord, soon secured
the hen to the “master’s” chair. The
poor bird did not appreciate or enjoy the high
dignity which had been forced upon her. She
probably thought that her personal wishes
ought to have been consulted in the choice of
a profession. She began to give vent to her
dissatisfaction in the manner characteristic
of her kind.
.bn 194.png
.pn +1
Soon some of the other scholars arrived.
Most of them laughed, but Alfred Clinton ventured
to remonstrate.
“You ought not to do that, Peter,” he said.
“What makes you think I did it?”
“I know well enough.”
“Well, have you got anything to say about
it?” asked Peter, defiantly. “Do you want
to fight? If you do, come on.”
“I am not anxious to fight,” said Alfred,
quietly. “I think that’s a poor way to settle
a dispute.”
“I thought you wouldn’t care about it,” said
Peter, significantly.
“I am not afraid of you, if that’s what you
mean.”
“You’d better shut up your mouth.”
“I admire your elegant style of conversation.”
“It suits me.”
“Yes, it does suit you. It wouldn’t suit
anybody else.”
“What do you mean?” said Peter, suspiciously.
“It is too much trouble to explain all I say.
You are not very quick at understanding.”
“You look out, Alfred Clinton, or I may
hurt you.”
“Don’t trouble yourself.”
“I shall have to fight that boy some time,”
said Peter to John. “He’s getting impudent.”
“He ain’t much,” said John, contemptuously.
.bn 195.png
.pn +1
“He and his mother are as poor as
poverty. He’s a proud beggar.”
“So he is,” said Peter, whose worldly circumstances
were scarcely any better than Alfred’s,
his father being a mechanic, whose
drunken habits rendered his income very precarious
and fluctuating. He did not realize
that John looked down upon him quite as
much as he did on Alfred, but thought fit to
conceal this feeling at present, on account
of his hatred to Walter.
As may naturally be supposed, the arrival
of the young teacher was looked forward to
with eager anticipation on the part of the
scholars. They wanted to see how he would
regard the occupation of his seat. Most
thought he would be “mad.”
At last Walter was seen ascending the hill
on which the schoolhouse was situated. The
scholars who were grouped in front immediately
entered, and took their seats.
Walter was a little surprised at their unusual
promptness, but when he was still in
the entry he heard the hen, and guessed the
trick that had been attempted. One glance
at the teacher’s chair, on entering the schoolroom,
showed him what had made the scholars
take their seats so promptly.
He was too much of a boy still not to be
amused. He turned to the scholars with a
smile.
“I see you have got a new teacher,” he said.
.bn 196.png
.pn +1
The scholars laughed, and the hen, by way
of asserting her position, flapped her wings
and uttered a cry.
“I dare say,” continued Walter, “the hen is
competent to teach the one who put her there,
but I am afraid she wouldn’t prove generally
satisfactory.”
There was another laugh, but this time it
was at Peter’s expense. Peter did not join
in the mirth. It always made him angry to
feel that he was the subject of mirth, or ridicule,
and his face showed his anger.
“Besides,” said Walter, “in this free country
I don’t approve of compulsion, and the
hen is evidently unwilling to assume the
duties of teacher; therefore I shall release her.
If her owner is present and would like to take
charge of her, he can come forward.”
Walter took out his knife and was about to
sever the string which secured the hen to the
chair, when Peter, with a defiant air, rose from
his seat, and advancing to the front, said:
“That is my hen.”
“Is it?” said Walter, not appearing surprised.
“Didn’t it give you considerable
trouble to bring her here?”
“No,” said Peter, regarding the teacher attentively,
to see whether he was making game
of him. But there was nothing in the young
teacher’s manner to indicate this.
“How did you bring her--in your hand?”
“No, in a basket.”
.bn 197.png
.pn +1
“That was better. Well, Peter, we are indebted
to you for a good joke, and if you
would like to carry the hen back now, I will
excuse you for half an hour.”
He rose from his seat, and came forward.
Peter was astonished at being thanked for
a practical joke, which he thought would
make the teacher “mad.” Walter had turned
the tables upon him, and he began to ask himself
whether the success of his joke was sufficient
to pay him for the trouble he had incurred.
There wasn’t much fun in transporting
the hen back again alone. Still he felt
that it would be rather hard to keep it secure
until school was over.
“May John Wall go with me?” he asked.
“Yes, if he desires it,” said Walter.
Peter looked toward John. The latter, after
a little hesitation, decided to go. He was not
particularly afraid of losing half an hour of
school, and it would give him a chance for consultation
with Peter.
Peter brought in the basket, and the hen,
after a little trouble, was put in. Then the
two boys, Peter and John, started away with
her. Walter commenced the duties of the
forenoon. By the coolness and good nature
with which he had met the trick attempted to
be played upon him, he had disarmed his adversaries,
strengthened his hold upon the
other pupils, and now remained master of the
situation. If he had only flown into a passion
.bn 198.png
.pn +1
Peter would have felt repaid for his trouble.
Now, as he trudged along the road, he was not
quite sure whether he was not sorry for having
attempted it.
“I thought he’d be mad,” he said at length.
“So did I,” said John.
“He’s a queer fellow; I don’t know what to
make of him.”
“He didn’t seem surprised when you came
forward, and said the hen was yours.”
“Do you think he thought it was me?”
“Yes, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Perhaps,” said Peter, brightening up, “he
was afraid of making a fuss about it.”
“Very likely,” said John.
“I think he is afraid of me,” said Peter,
complacently. “He must know that I am
stronger than he.”
“I guess you are right.”
“That’s the reason he turned it off as a joke.
I guess he wants to keep on good terms with
me.”
“Only, you know he said that the hen was
qualified to teach the one who put her there.”
“Do you think he meant me then?” asked
Peter, scowling.
“I guess he did.”
“Then he insulted me.”
“It does look like it,” said John, who
wanted to make mischief.
“I’ll get even with him--you see if I don’t,”
said Peter, angrily.
.bn 199.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXV || A POOR GRAMMARIAN.
.sp 2
Peter hardly knew what to think of the
new teacher. He would have liked to believe
Walter afraid of him, but he was reluctantly
forced to admit that there was no satisfactory
evidence of this feeling as yet. The young
teacher’s manner was by no means aggressive,
but there was a firmness and self-possession
about him that indicated anything but timidity.
At length he came to a satisfactory conclusion.
“He doesn’t know how strong I am. He
thinks he can lick me,” he suggested to John.
“Very likely,” acquiesced his companion.
“But don’t you think I can lick him?”
“Of course you can.”
“I am heavier than he.”
“How much do you weigh?”
“A hundred and thirty pounds.”
“That’s good weight. I only weigh a hundred
and twelve.”
“How much do you think he weighs?”
“About a hundred and twenty.”
This was a good guess, Walter weighing
.bn 200.png
.pn +1
really but four pounds more. He was not
quite so “chunky” as Peter, but he was quicker
and more agile. Besides, as we know, he knew
something of boxing; but of this Peter was
absolutely ignorant. Peter’s plan in fighting
was to pitch in heavily, and as he generally
tackled those who knew no more than himself
of the “noble art of self-defence,” and was
careful to fight only with those whom he knew
to be smaller and weaker than himself, he had
achieved a long list of victories. The natural
result was to make him confident in his
prowess, and a bully. He had convinced himself
that Walter was his inferior in physical
strength, and was sure he could master him
in a conflict.
“I’d just as lief get into a fight with the
master to-day,” said Peter; “but there’s one
thing I’m afraid of.”
“What’s that?”
“I am afraid that old fool Phineas Morton
would come to his help. I couldn’t fight with
such a big fellow as that. It would be mean
in Phineas.”
“Of course it would,” said John. “What
makes you think he would interfere?”
“He don’t like me. You saw what he did
to-day--the brute!”
“Yes.”
“Besides, the master’s been tryin’ to get
him on his side.”
“Because he’s afraid of you?”
.bn 201.png
.pn +1
“It’s likely.”
“You might try it some day when Phineas
is absent.”
“He ain’t absent very often.”
“He gets a headache sometimes, and gets
dismissed.”
“So he does. I wish he’d have a headache
to-day.”
While this conversation was proceeding the
boys had been walking in the direction of
Peter’s house. They had nearly reached there
when General Wall rode by in his chaise.
Recognizing the boys and wondering why they
were out during school hours, he stopped his
horse and called out:
“John, where are you going?”
“With Peter.”
“Hasn’t school commenced?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you not there?”
“We were in school, but the master let us
go for half an hour.”
“What for?”
“To carry home this hen.”
Then for the first time General Wall’s attention
was attracted to the covered basket,
the occupant of which took the opportunity
of indicating her presence.
“Whose hen is it?”
“Peter’s.”
“How came it at school?”
John looked at Peter, and the latter answered
.bn 202.png
.pn +1
readily, not being overbashful, “I
carried it there.”
“What for?” asked the general, surprised.
“I tied it in the master’s chair.”
“You wanted to play a trick upon him, I
suppose?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did he say?” asked General Wall, in
some curiosity.
“He said,” answered John, who took a little
malicious satisfaction in annoying Peter,
“that the hen was qualified to teach the one
who brought her there.”
“Very good,” said the general, laughing.
“He had you there, Peter.”
Peter scowled, but did not reply. The joke
was at his expense, and he did not relish it.
He felt angry with John for repeating the
offensive remark, and with his father for
laughing at it.
“Was the teacher angry?” was the next
question.
“No; he took it as a joke, and told Peter he
might carry the hen home.”
“There was no need of your coming too,
John.”
“Peter wanted me.”
General Wall was a little surprised at this.
He knew his son and had heard him more than
once speak in contemptuous terms of Peter,
whose company he now appeared to seek.
However, he said nothing further, except to
.bn 203.png
.pn +1
caution Peter against playing any further
tricks, and enjoining upon both boys to return
to school as soon as possible.
“What made you tell your father what the
master said of me?” demanded Peter, angrily,
when General Wall had driven by.
“I didn’t think you’d care,” said John, not
quite truthfully.
“Well, I do care,” said Peter, sullenly, “and
I don’t want you to speak of it again.”
“You won’t mind after you’ve got even with
him.”
“No, but I haven’t got even with him yet.”
“You will, though.”
“Of course I will. I wish I could to-day.”
There was some more conversation of this
character, but it did not vary in substance
from what has already been reported.
When the boys returned to the schoolhouse
it was time for Peter’s class in grammar to
recite. The latter did not belong to the first
class, but the second, and it happened that he
was the oldest and largest scholar in his class,
but not by any means the most proficient. He
had applied to Mr. Barclay to let him join the
first class, which request was very promptly
refused. Peter did not dare to make a fuss,
knowing that Mr. Barclay had the physical
strength to enforce his decision. But with
Walter he believed it to be different. He
therefore proposed to make a transfer, that
he might no longer be humiliated by being associated
.bn 204.png
.pn +1
with those smaller and younger than
himself. When, therefore, the second class in
grammar took their places, he remained in his
seat. Walter might not have noticed this,
but one of the class spoke, saying: “Peter
Groot belongs to this class.”
Peter looked up and said: “No, I don’t.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Have you been accustomed to recite in this
class, Peter?” asked Walter.
“Yes.”
“Then why do you not take your place?”
“I’m goin’ into the first class,” said Peter,
defiantly.
“I have no objections to that, if you are
qualified.”
“I am qualified.”
“That I can determine after one recitation.
Take your place to-day with your old class,
and then, if I judge you fit I will let you enter
the first class.”
Peter hesitated. He did not want to recite
with his old class at all. But he reflected that,
even if the teacher decided against him, he
could refuse to obey him, and this would bring
on the collision and trial of strength which he
desired. He knew very well that he was not
qualified for promotion, and had no doubt
the teacher would so decide, unless he was
afraid to do so. On the whole, therefore, he
thought it best to submit for the present, and,
rising, advanced to his place.
.bn 205.png
.pn +1
Presently it came to Peter’s turn to parse.
“You may parse ‘had been conquered,’
Peter,” said the young teacher.
“Had been conquered is an adverb,” said
Peter, hesitatingly.
“You surely cannot mean that!” said Walter.
“I thought it was an adverb.”
“It is a verb. Go on and parse it.”
The whole sentence read thus: “If the
Americans had been conquered in their struggle
for independence, the cause of political
liberty and human progress would have been
retarded by at least a century.”
“It is a common active passive verb,” said
Peter, “masculine gender, objective case, and
governed by Americans.”
This was so evidently absurd that the entire
class burst into a shout of laughter, in
which Walter had great difficulty in not
joining.
“I am afraid you spoke without reflecting,
Peter,” he said. “The verb could not be both
active and passive, and the rest of your description
applies properly to nouns.” He
went on to correct Peter’s mistakes, and
tried to draw out of him what he ought to
say, but with only partial success. Peter’s
ideas of grammar were very far from clear.
He was not well grounded in the fundamental
principles of this branch of study, and was
.bn 206.png
.pn +1
not even qualified to keep up with the second
class.
At the end of the recitation, Walter said:
“You may remain in this class, Peter. You
are not qualified to enter the first class.”
“Why not?” demanded Peter, in a surly
tone.
“You must know as well as I do,” said
Walter, rather provoked. “If not, the rest of
your class can tell you.”
“I want to go into the first class,” persisted
Peter.
“I cannot consent to your doing so. Judging
from your recitation to-day, I should say
it would be better for you to join a lower
class.”
Peter was so astonished at this decided remark
that he did not make any further remonstrance.
He was very angry and equally
mortified, but in addition to these feelings
there dawned upon him the conviction that
Walter could not be afraid of him, or he
would never have dared to speak to him in
such terms.
.bn 207.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVI || PUNISHING A BULLY.
.sp 2
About an hour before the close of the
afternoon school Phineas Morton went up to
the teacher’s desk and said: “I have a bad
headache, Mr. Howard. If you will excuse
me, I would like to go home.”
“Certainly, Mr. Morton. Are you often
troubled in that way?”
“About once a week. It affects me so that
I cannot study while it lasts.”
“You had better go. I hope you will soon
recover.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Phineas went back to his seat, took a couple
of books from his desk, and went out of the
schoolroom. Peter Groot exchanged looks
with John Wall. All had happened as he desired.
Now he felt safe in precipitating a
conflict.
His first overt act was to drop his slate
heavily on the floor. The noise was such as
to draw general attention. Walter looked up,
but as he had no evidence that the disturbance
was intentional, he said nothing. Five minutes
.bn 208.png
.pn +1
later, Peter, having piled all his books
near the edge of his desk, gave them a push
and they, too, dropped on the floor.
“Be a little more careful, Peter,” said Walter,
mildly. “You are disturbing the school.”
Peter mistook this mild tone for a confession
of timidity, and it emboldened him. He
threw up his head, and, leaning back in his
seat, stared insolently at the young teacher,
as much to say: “What are you going to do
about it?”
“It’s coming,” thought Walter. “Well, it’s
just as well now as at any other time.”
“Peter, will you pick up your books?” he
said, calmly.
Peter made no motion to obey, but sat still,
staring insolently at the teacher.
“Didn’t you hear me?” said Walter.
“Yes,” said Peter, “I heard you.”
“Then why don’t you obey me?”
“I will pick them up when I get ready,”
said Peter, impudently.
Walter found it difficult to restrain his
temper at this open insolence, but he succeeded
by an effort.
“You appear to forget that I am the teacher
of this school, and you are my scholar,” said
Walter.
“You are a boy like me,” said Peter. “I
ain’t goin’ to be ordered round by a boy no
older than I am.”
“I am aware,” said Walter, quietly, “that I
.bn 209.png
.pn +1
am only a boy, and that some of my pupils,
probably yourself, are older than I am. But
that does not alter the fact that I am your
teacher. The trustees knew my age when
they appointed me teacher. They placed me
here not only to teach, but to keep good order.
I have had no trouble thus far with any one
but you. What is your object in making
trouble?”
“I ain’t goin’ to be ordered round by a boy,”
said Peter.
“I don’t intend to do any ordering, except
what is absolutely necessary. But I intend
to keep order,” said Walter, firmly. “You can
continue to attend school, and I will do my
best to advance you in your studies, or you
can leave it, if you are unwilling to be orderly.
Take your choice.”
“I am comin’ to school,” said Peter, “and
I will behave as I have a mind to.”
“Not if I can prevent it,” said Walter, resolutely,
his eyes flashing with anger.
“What are you goin’ to do about it?” demanded
Peter, insolently.
“Come out on the floor if you would like
to be informed.”
“I shall stay where I am,” said Peter, defiantly.
“I have no objection, but you must keep
order.”
Peter’s answer to this was to throw his slate
on the floor.
.bn 210.png
.pn +1
Walter felt that the time for forbearance
was past. If he suffered this insolence to go
unpunished his authority in the school was
overthrown. In that case he might as well
retire at once. Moral suasion was thrown
away upon Peter Groot. He must understand
what was meant by physical suasion.
“Scholars,” said Walter, “I am sorry for
what is about to happen, but I call you to
witness that it has been forced upon me.”
He walked up to Peter’s desk, eying him
in a quiet, determined manner.
“You have defied my authority,” he said,
“and insulted me before the rest of the scholars.
You believe me to be unable to enforce
my orders. Come out on the floor and I will
convince you to the contrary.”
“I am comfortable where I am,” said Peter,
glancing about him triumphantly.
“Then, as you don’t accept my offer, I must
force it upon you.”
Walter, who now stood beside Peter’s desk,
seized him suddenly by the collar, and by a
quick movement, jerked him into the aisle between
the desks. Peter had not anticipated
this. He was astonished and indignant beyond
measure. The smile of triumph faded
from his face, and his features were distorted
with rage.
“You’ll be sorry for this!” he screamed,
adding an oath, which is better omitted. “I’ll
pay you up for it.”
.bn 211.png
.pn +1
He knew how to fight after his style, and
prepared to “pitch in” in his customary manner.
Walter had drawn back a little, so as
to be clear of the desks, and Peter followed
him up. He aimed a blow at the young teacher’s
head, which would have been likely to
give him a headache, but Walter had assumed
an attitude of defence, and fended it off with
the greatest ease. Peter quickly followed up
the blow by another quite as vigorous. But
this again was warded off. Walter did not
immediately act offensively. He wished before
doing so to show Peter that his own efforts
were futile. In proportion as Peter discovered
the ill success of his attempts to hit
his opponent, his rage became more ungovernable,
and he began to curse and swear.
At length, when he felt it to be time, Walter
retaliated. One swift, well-planted blow,
which Peter was utterly unable to ward off,
and the troublesome pupil found himself lying
upon his back on the floor of the schoolroom.
Walter remained standing, a little flushed,
but otherwise calm, and made no attempt to
prevent Peter’s rising. Peter was not a hero,
but he was not altogether without pluck, and
he was up again quickly and ready to renew
the contest.
Walter held himself in readiness, but did
not speak. He wished this to be a decisive
battle. “I will give Peter all the chance he
wants,” he said to himself. “He must find
.bn 212.png
.pn +1
out once for all that I am more than his
match, and then he will cease to trouble me.”
Peter pitched in again, but he was unable
to profit by the lessons he had learned. He
saw that the teacher was more scientific than
himself, but feeling that in strength he was
quite his equal, he did not understand why
he could not match him. He tried to grasp
Walter around the waist, which would, of
course, have given him a decided advantage,
and neutralized Walter’s superior science, but
our hero was too wary for this. Taking advantage
of Peter’s unguarded state, he planted
another heavy blow, which, like the first,
prostrated his opponent.
The scholars looked on with intense interest.
Not one except John Wall sympathized
with Peter. Not one was sorry to see the insolent
boy receiving his deserts. Some of the
better class had feared that the new teacher
would prove unequal to the encounter, but a
very short time undeceived them. When Peter
went down a second time there was a
stamping of feet, intended as applause.
“Be kind enough not to applaud,” said Walter,
turning to them. “I am glad your sympathies
are with me, but I hope you will not
mortify your schoolfellow, who, I hope, will
some time be ashamed of the course which he
is now taking.”
This manly request raised Walter still
higher in the opinion of his pupils. They saw
.bn 213.png
.pn +1
that he had no desire to triumph over Peter;
that he was only influenced by the desire to
maintain his authority. When Peter had renewed
the contest, and again been thrown,
Walter addressed him calmly: “If you wish to
keep on, Peter, I will accommodate you, but
you must know by this time that you stand no
chance of success. I know something of boxing,
and it is clear that you do not.”
“I’m as strong as you are,” growled Peter.
“You may be, but you don’t know how to
use your strength. Suppose we stop here, and
forget all that has happened. I shall bear
you no grudge, and shall only expect the same
of you that I do from the other scholars.”
“That’s fair, Peter,” said half a dozen boys
from their seats.
Peter did not answer, but on the other hand
he did not offer to renew the contest. He
rose and walked quietly to his desk, and seated
himself, with his opinions of the “master’s”
prowess decidedly revolutionized. Walter
walked back to the teacher’s desk, and quietly
called the next class. He might have felt a
little excited by the conflict in which he had
just been engaged, but, if so, he did not betray
it in his manner. He was very glad that the
ordeal was over, and that his efforts were
crowned with success. He had known boys
like Peter before, and he felt confident that he
should have no more trouble with him. He
.bn 214.png
.pn +1
made up his mind neither by look nor word to
remind Peter of his defeat, but to do all he
could to spare him humiliation. He wanted,
if possible, to convert him from an enemy to
a friend.
.bn 215.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVII || REFORMATION.
.sp 2
The result of his conflict with the new
teacher mortified Peter not a little. Had it
been a close contest he would not have minded
it so much, but the advantage was all on Walter’s
side from the first, and, what was worse,
all the scholars could see it. Peter had been
tripped up by Phineas Morton, as we know,
but the difference in size was such that it was
no mortification. Now he recalled his boasts
that he could “lick the master,” with some
shame, since it had turned out that he was no
match for him.
When school was over, Peter slipped off
alone, not caring for the company of his school
companions. He was afraid they would twit
him with his defeat. Defeat is a test of friendship,
and even John Wall, since the ignominious
failure of Peter, was disposed to be less
intimate with him. He had been drawn toward
him by the hope that he could successfully
rebel against Walter’s authority. John
.bn 216.png
.pn +1
was no less anxious for the new teacher’s failure,
but he saw that Peter was not the one to
bring it about.
The next day Peter was walking slowly
along to school, not quite decided whether he
would not play truant, when he heard himself
called by name. Looking around, he recognized
the last one he wished to meet--the
teacher.
“He wants to crow over me,” he thought,
hastily.
But Walter advanced, smiling cordially.
“Good-morning, Peter,” he said.
“Morning,” muttered Peter.
“I suppose you are on your way to school.
I am glad to have your company.”
“Are you?” asked Peter, superciliously,
walking unwillingly by the side of his victor.
Walter saw his feelings, and was resolved
to change them, if possible.
“You mustn’t bear a grudge against me,
Peter, for our little difficulty yesterday.”
“You wouldn’t have thrown me, if you
hadn’t known how to box,” said Peter.
“No, I don’t believe I should,” said Walter,
frankly. “You are pretty strong, Peter.”
“I thought I was strong as you,” said Peter,
thawing a little.
“I think you are, but strength isn’t everything.
Do you know anything about boxing?”
“No; I never had no chance to learn.”
“I don’t pretend to know much about it myself,”
.bn 217.png
.pn +1
said Walter. “Still, I know something
about the first principles. I will teach you
all I know, if you want to learn.”
“Will you?” asked Peter, astonished.
“With pleasure. It will be good practice
for me.”
“I shouldn’t think you would want to,” said
Peter.
“Why not?”
“Because you can lick me now; but if I
knew as much about boxing as you, perhaps
you couldn’t.”
“Oh,” said Walter, laughing, “there won’t be
any need of it.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are going to be my friend.”
“How do you know?” said Peter; but Walter
saw a difference in his tone.
“Because there is no reason why we should
not be. I am a boy like yourself, and the only
difference between us is that I have a better
education.”
“I don’t know very much,” said Peter.
“But you want to know more, don’t you?”
“Ye-es,” said Peter, hesitatingly.
“Of course you do. You want to rise in the
world, and you won’t be likely to do it without
education. It’s the same way with me.”
“Don’t you know enough?” asked Peter.
“Far from enough. I want to go through
college, but I must earn money enough, first.
My father failed, or I should still have been
.bn 218.png
.pn +1
studying. Now, Peter, as long as I remain
here, I will do all I can to help you on, if you
will work yourself.”
Peter was not wholly bad. There was
something in him that responded to this magnanimity
of the teacher, whom he had striven
to annoy.
“I shouldn’t think you’d be so kind to me,
Mr. Howard,” he said, “when I tried to trouble
you so much.”
“Oh, that’s gone by, Peter! I depend upon
the older scholars, such as you and Phineas
Morton, to help me, instead of hindering me.
Will you do it, Peter?”
“Yes, I will,” said Peter.
“That’s right. Then we are friends.”
He offered his hand to Peter, and the latter
took it. He felt flattered at being classed
with Phineas Morton. It gave him a feeling
of importance to be called upon by the master
for help.
“If any of the boys make trouble, I’ll help
you, Mr. Howard,” he volunteered.
“Thank you, Peter. With you and Phineas
on my side, I am not afraid of any trouble.”
“When will you give me the first boxing
lesson?” asked Peter.
“To-night, after school, if you like.”
“All right. I’ll stop.”
Great were the surprise and curiosity of
the scholars assembled in front of the schoolhouse
when they saw Peter Groot and the
.bn 219.png
.pn +1
“master” walking together, and apparently on
friendly terms. They had speculated upon
what course Peter would pursue, and whether
he would venture to continue his annoyances,
but they were far from imagining that there
would be such a speedy reconciliation. Even
now they hardly believed the evidence of their
senses. When Walter had entered the schoolhouse,
they crowded upon Peter with questions.
“Did he give you a scolding, Peter?” asked
Charles Carney.
“Of course he didn’t,” said Peter.
“What did he say?”
“He promised to teach me to box.”
“He did?” exclaimed Charles, in astonishment.
“Yes, he’s goin’ to give me my first lesson to-night,
after school.”
“And you don’t hate him any more?”
“No; he’s a tiptop feller. I’ll lick any boy
that says he ain’t.”
Among those who listened with astonishment
to this sudden change of tone on Peter’s
part was Phineas Morton, who had recovered
from his headache, and had just heard an account
of what had taken place the afternoon
previous.
“That’s the way to talk, Peter,” said Phineas.
“We’re together in that. If we stand by
Mr. Howard he’ll get along.”
“That’s what he told me,” said Peter, gratified
.bn 220.png
.pn +1
at his rising importance. “I’m goin’ to
study hard, and see if I can’t be somebody.”
“Then you may count me your friend, Peter.
We won’t laugh at each other’s mistakes hereafter,
but we’ll both see if we can’t improve.”
Thus was Peter confirmed in his good resolutions.
Walter had managed to strike the
right chord, and produced a complete revulsion
of feeling in his once rebellious pupil.
There was one, however, who was not pleased
at Peter’s change. This was John Wall. He
did not want the new teacher to secure friends,
and he was sorry for Peter’s defection. At
recess he managed to speak to Peter alone.
“It seems to me you’ve changed since yesterday,
Peter,” he said, with a sneer.
“So I have,” said Peter.
“Was it the licking the teacher gave you
that changed you?” asked John, with the same
tone.
“Look here, John Wall,” said Peter, “if you
say that again, I’ll knock you over.”
“I didn’t think you were going back on me,
after all you said. I thought it must be because
you was afraid.”
“I ain’t afraid of you, as you’ll find out.
You’re a mean feller, and a coward. You
wanted me to get into a fight with the master,
because you hated him, and didn’t dare to fight
him yourself. I like him a good deal better
than I do you.”
“You may if you want to,” said John, mortified.
.bn 221.png
.pn +1
“I’m a gentleman’s son, and I can get
as many friends as I like.”
“You ain’t a gentleman yourself, that’s
sure.”
John walked away in dudgeon. He saw
that Peter had gone over to the enemy, and
that Walter had conquered. There was no
hope now of breaking down his authority.
Whether he liked it or not, he must submit to
be taught by a boy, and one that he did not
like.
Meanwhile Phineas Morton had gone up to
the teacher’s desk.
“Have you recovered from your headache,
Mr. Morton?” asked Walter.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Howard. I find you
gained a great victory while I was away.”
Walter smiled.
“What surprises me is that Peter has turned
over to your side. I heard him threaten to
lick any boy that said anything against you.”
“Did he say that?” asked Walter.
“Yes. How did you manage it, Mr. Howard?”
“By letting him see that I was his friend.”
“There’s a good deal in that,” said Phineas,
thoughtfully. “But Peter’s a hard case. I
didn’t think you could manage him.”
“There is a good side to every one, if you
can only find it.”
“You won’t have any more trouble now,
Mr. Howard. Peter has been the ringleader in
.bn 222.png
.pn +1
all school disturbances, and now that you have
won him over all will go smoothly.”
Phineas Morton’s prediction was verified.
For the remainder of the day, and for weeks
to come, Peter exhibited an astonishing
change. He studied well, and began to improve
rapidly in his studies. He was a boy
of good capacity, but had been perversely unwilling
to exert himself hitherto. Walter encouraged
him in every way, and strove to make
him ambitious. He carried out his promise,
and taught Peter what he knew of boxing,
sending to a neighboring large town for boxing
gloves. Peter learned rapidly, but Walter
also profited by the practice he obtained,
and kept a slight superiority over his pupil.
So matters stood when Walter gained some
information that led to important results.
.bn 223.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVIII || A FORTUNE AT STAKE.
.sp 2
After his victory over Peter, Walter had
no further trouble. Peter had always been at
the bottom of all opposition to the different
teachers who from time to time had been employed,
and he had been instrumental in getting
rid of more than one. Now he was converted
into a friend and supporter of the administration,
through Walter’s pluck and
judicious management, and things went on
smoothly. It was the general testimony that
not for years had such an interest been manifested
in study by the pupils, or the discipline
been more gentle, yet effectual, in securing
order. Our young hero won golden opinions
from all.
He still boarded at the Portville House, occupying
the same room which his predecessor
had left to him. Miss Melinda Athanasia
Jones still continued her attentions to the new
teacher, and seemed disposed to get up a flirtation
with him. But Walter wisely thought
that he was too young for that, nor were the
attractions of Miss Jones, who was more than
.bn 224.png
.pn +1
ten years his senior, sufficiently great to turn
his head. Still, he occasionally passed an
evening in company with her and her brother,
and on such occasions was generally called
upon to listen to some poetic effusion from the
prolific pen of Miss Jones. In general they
were in manuscript, editors generally not appreciating
Miss Jones’ poems. One evening,
however, the poetess exhibited to her young
visitor, with great complacency, a copy of a
small weekly paper published at a neighboring
township, in which appeared, in a conspicuous
place:--
.sp 2
.nf c
“LINES ON AN AUTUMN LEAF,”
BY MELINDA ATHANASIA JONES.”
.nf-
.sp 2
These she had sent to the editor with a
year’s subscription to the paper, which perhaps
operated upon the editor’s judgment, and
led to a flattering editorial reference to the
verses. Miss Jones called Walter’s attention
to it.
“See what a kind notice the editor has of
my poor verses,” she said, reading aloud the
following paragraph:
“We welcome to our columns this week
‘Lines on an Autumn Leaf,’ by Miss Jones.
The fair authoress will please accept our
thanks.”
“Read the lines, Melinda,” said Ichabod, her
brother.
.bn 225.png
.pn +1
“I don’t know but Mr. Howard will find
them tiresome,” she said, modestly.
“Please read them, Miss Jones,” said Walter,
politely.
Thus invited, the young lady read, in an
affected voice, the following verses, which it
is to be hoped the reader will admire:
.sp 2
.in 4
.nf l
“O yellow dying leaf,
Thy life has been very brief,
Only a summer day,
And now thou art wasting away.
But yesterday thou wert green,
And didst grace the woodland scene,
And the song of the tuneful bird
Under thy shadow was heard.
Now thou art yellow and sere,
For it is the fall of the year,
And soon thou wilt fall from the tree,
And thy place will vacant be.
Thou wilt be trampled under foot,
Beneath the wayfarer’s boot.
Even such, it seems to me,
My journey of life must be.
Green in the early spring,
And the flowers their fragrance fling,
But when the autumn days appear,
Toward the close of the year,
Withered my roses will be,
And my leaves will fall from the tree,
And the winds will moan--will moan--
And I shall be overthrown!
.bn 226.png
.pn +1
Oh, it makes me pensive and sad,
As I view thee, dying leaf,
And sorrow rends my heart,
And sighs afford relief.”
.nf-
.in 0
“Melindy wrote that in half an hour, Mr.
Howard,” said the admiring Ichabod. “I timed
her. I never knew her to do up a poem so
quick before. Generally she has to stop a long
time between the verses, and rolls her eyes,
and bites the end of her pen-handle; but this
time she wrote it off like two-forty.”
“Because I gave my heart to it, Ichabod,”
explained his sister. “The lines seemed to flow
right from my pen.”
“The muses inspired you,” suggested Walter.
“You are very kind to say so, Mr. Howard.
I am too humble to think so. The lines were
written in a sad and pensive mood, as you will
guess. But I find it sweet to be sad at times--don’t
you?”
“I don’t think I do,” said our hero.
“I’d rather be jolly, a good deal,” said Ichabod.
“Tastes differ,” said the hostess. “I am of
a pensive, thoughtful temperament, and at
times my thoughts go roaming away from the
world around me, and I seem to live in a world
of my own. ’Twas so with Byron and Mrs.
Hemans, I have been told.”
“I am glad I ain’t a poet,” said Ichabod. “I
shouldn’t like to feel so.”
.bn 227.png
.pn +1
“You never will, Ichabod,” said his sister.
“You are not gifted with the poetic temperament.”
“No more I am. I never could make a
rhyme, to save my life. The first line comes
sort of easy, but it’s the second that is the
sticker.”
“Strange what differences are found in the
same family, Mr. Howard,” said Melinda, with
a calm superiority. “You see how different
Ichabod and I are.”
“Very true, Miss Jones,” said Walter;
though, to tell the truth, he preferred the illiterate
and prosaic Ichabod, with his absence of
pretension, to his “gifted” sister.
“Have you provoked the muse lately, Mr.
Howard?” she asked.
“No, Miss Jones. I find school teaching unfavorable
to poetry. If I should undertake to
write verses after I get home from school, my
mind would certainly stray away to fractions,
or the boundaries of States, or something
equally prosaic.”
“That is a pity. You should try to cultivate
and develop your powers. Perhaps the editor
of this paper would insert some of your
verses.”
“I don’t think I shall offer any. I must
wait till I get more leisure. Besides, I am
afraid I could not reach the high standard
which the paper has attained since you became
a contributor.”
.bn 228.png
.pn +1
“You are a sad flatterer, Mr. Howard,” said
the delighted Melinda.
“I assure you, Miss Jones, that I could not
write anything like the lines on a ‘dying leaf.’”
“Oh, I am sure you could, Mr. Howard.
You are too modest. Those lines you once
read me were so sweet.”
“Now it is you that flatters, Miss Jones.”
I am afraid Walter was not quite justifiable
in so ministering to the vanity of Miss Jones,
since, of course, he was not sincere. He perhaps
thought it required by politeness, but it
is desirable to be as sincere as possible, of
course avoiding rudeness.
Nine weeks of the school term had passed,
and two more would bring a vacation of a
month. Nothing had been said to Walter
about his teaching the following term, but he
presumed it would be offered him, since his
administration had been an undoubted success.
In another way, however, he had not yet succeeded.
He had not been able to learn anything
more of the Great Metropolitan Mining
Company, and this, as our readers know, was
the great object of his present visit to Portville.
He was thinking over this, and wondering
what course it was best for him to take,
when Edward Atkins, one of his scholars,
brought him a letter from the post office.
“I was passing by, Mr. Howard,” he said,
“and I thought I would bring you this letter.”
“Thank you, Edward. You are very kind.”
.bn 229.png
.pn +1
He opened it hastily, for he saw by the postmark
and the handwriting, that it was from
Mr. Shaw, his guardian.
.sp 2
.fs 80%
“Dear Walter,” (it commenced):--“I am
sorry you have not yet been able to learn anything
more definite about the affairs of the
Mining Company, as it would guide us in a
decision which we shall soon be compelled to
make. I am in receipt of another letter from
Mr. Wall, offering three thousand dollars, or
three dollars per share, for your interest in the
mine. He says that it will be necessary to decide
at once, or the offer will be withdrawn.
Now my impression is that the last clause is
only meant to force us to a decision that may
be prejudicial to our interests. On the other
hand, three thousand dollars, although far less
than the sum your father invested, are not
lightly to be rejected. With economy it would
be more than enough to carry you through college,
thus putting you in a way to earn an honorable
living. Still, it is not to be lightly accepted.
We do not want to be cheated by a
designing man. I am not sure whether it
would not be a good idea for you to visit the
mines yourself, and form your own opinion
from what you see. You might, at any rate,
report to me, and between us we would come
to some decision. I understand that you will
have a vacation soon. Suppose you devote that
.bn 230.png
.pn +1
time to a journey to the mines, saying nothing,
of course, in Portville, of your design.
“Let me know your decision in the matter
as soon as possible. I will meanwhile write
to Mr. Wall, postponing our decision, but
promising to make one speedily.
.in 20
“Truly your friend,
.in 22
“Clement Shaw.”
.in 0
.fs 100%
.sp 2
Walter had scarcely finished reading this
letter, when General Wall was ushered into
his room.
.bn 231.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXIX || THE MYSTERY OF THE MINE.
.sp 2
Walter hastened to place a chair for his
visitor.
“I am glad to see you, General Wall,” he
said.
“Ahem! you are quite pleasantly situated,
Mr. Howard,” said the great man, sitting
down.
“Yes, sir; I am quite satisfied with my boarding
place.”
“I hope you like our town, also.”
“I have found my residence here very pleasant
thus far.”
“I must do you the justice to say that your
services as a teacher have proved generally satisfactory.”
“I am glad to hear you say so.”
“You may depend upon it that public sentiment
is strongly in your favor. I have occasion
to know from my official relation to the
school.”
“Things have gone very smoothly. I believe
the relations between the scholars and myself
.bn 232.png
.pn +1
have been very friendly. Peter Groot was at
first inclined to make trouble, but he is now
one of my strongest supporters.”
“You have certainly succeeded remarkably
well, Mr. Howard. I was at first led to fear
that, on account of your youth, you would be
unable to maintain the necessary discipline,
though I knew that your scholarship was all
that was needed. But the result has proved
that my fears were groundless. How has John
progressed?”
“He has made progress, General Wall, especially
of late. I think he has been dissatisfied
with me at times, and thought me too strict,
but I wanted to make him thorough. He has
good abilities, but at first he did not apply
himself sufficiently.”
“I think you are right, Mr. Howard,” said
General Wall, who was a sensible man. “You
have pursued the right course with him. I
want him to become a thorough scholar. But
my object in calling this evening was to ask
you if you would agree to take the school next
term.”
“I hardly know what to say, General Wall.
My plans are not fixed.”
“I hope you will agree to do so. I shall be
willing to add five dollars a month to your salary
from my own purse.”
“That is liberal, General Wall, and I think
it very possible that I may be willing to remain
here. How long will vacation be?”
.bn 233.png
.pn +1
“Four weeks. During that time, if you are
willing to teach my son an hour a day, I will
pay your board here.”
“If I were intending to remain in Portville
I would accept the offer, but I shall spend the
time in traveling.”
“Indeed! In what direction?”
Walter answered vaguely, for he was not
willing to let General Wall know that he meant
to visit the mines, in which they were mutually
interested.
“Then,” said the visitor, rising to go, “I
will consider that you are engaged to teach the
next term.”
“Yes, sir, on this condition, that if circumstances
arise, rendering it impossible, I may
be released upon notifying you.”
“But such circumstances are not likely to
arise, are they, Mr. Howard?”
“I think not.”
“Well, I will trust that nothing will occur
to prevent your remaining with us. Good-evening.”
“Good-evening, sir.”
Walter was gratified to receive so decided
a mark of approval from the chairman of the
trustees. He had undertaken a task in which
few boys of his age would have succeeded, but
his pluck and good judgment had carried him
through.
“What would my classmates at the Essex
Classical Institute think, if they should hear
.bn 234.png
.pn +1
of my setting up as a Western schoolmaster?
They would be amused, I am sure,” he thought
to himself. “We don’t know what we can do
till we try. I have heard that said often, and
now I know it to be so.”
Next his thoughts reverted to Mr. Shaw’s
letter, given in the last chapter, and he wrote
the following answer:
.sp 2
.fs 80%
“My Dear Friend, Mr. Shaw:--I was very
glad to get your letter, which I have considered
carefully. I like your plan for me to visit the
mines during my vacation, and I have decided
to do so. I shall have four weeks, and that
will be quite sufficient. General Wall, the
chairman of the school trustees, has just called
upon me, to engage me to teach the next term.
He offers to pay me five dollars a month extra
out of his own pocket. Of course, my success
pleases me, especially as there was some disposition
to make trouble at first. But I conciliated
the ringleader, after beating him in a
fair fight, and now he is my friend.
“If we can’t do any better, we will take the
three thousand dollars; but I hope that we
may be able to obtain more. If I get it, I will
devote it to educating myself, as you suggest.
I feel more and more anxious to obtain a good
education.
“You will hear from me again as soon as I
have any information to send. Give my regards
.bn 235.png
.pn +1
to Mrs. Shaw, and consider me, with
many thanks for your kind interest,
.in 20
“Your sincere friend,
.in 22
“Walter Conrad.”
.in 0
.fs 100%
.sp 2
The next evening Walter was seated in the
public room of the inn, when he overheard a
conversation that interested him. It was between
the landlord and a stout man with red
whiskers, whom he had not seen before.
“Have you seen General Wall yet, Mr. Carter?”
asked the landlord.
“Not yet. I went over there this afternoon,
but found he had driven over to Plimpton.
He wouldn’t have gone, if he had known I was
coming,” he said, in a satisfied way.
“I suppose you bring good news, then?”
said the other.
“Yes, I do.”
“The mine is going to turn out well, then?”
“No doubt of it. It is an excellent mine,
and between you and me, our friend Wall is
going to make a fortune, or he will, if he plays
his cards right.”
“Is that so?”
“There’s no doubt of it. Why, he has managed
to buy in for himself and friends about
all the original shares, at two cents on a
dollar, and he controls the whole thing.”
“I shouldn’t have thought they would sell
out.”
“Bless you, they knew nothing of the mine;
.bn 236.png
.pn +1
thought it was bu’st up, worth nothing. Most
of them were glad to realize anything at all.
You see we’ve kept the thing quiet. We knew
all the while that the mine was good, but took
good care not to find anything of value till we
had run down the stock, and bought it for a
song. We needed the money of the other stockholders
to carry the thing on. Now we’re all
ready to go ahead. There is only one cause of
delay.”
“What is that?”
“There is a party at the East that owns a
thousand shares; we have tried to secure it,
offering three thousand dollars; but he fights
shy.”
“It’s worth--how much is it worth?”
“We’ll give fifty dollars a share sooner than
not get it. But there won’t be any need of
that. He don’t know the value of his shares,
and will sell out for five thousand sure. We
don’t want to be too much in a hurry about it,
or it might excite suspicion.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” said the landlord.
“I only wish I had some shares myself. You
wouldn’t give me the address of that Eastern
party, would you?”
“I rather think not,” said the red-whiskered
man, slapping the landlord on the shoulder.
“You’re a deep one, but you don’t get round me
quite so easy.”
“I suppose you’ve got enough shares to make
you independent, Mr. Carter?”
.bn 237.png
.pn +1
“I had a hundred, but I managed to pick
up five hundred more, at two dollars apiece.
I wouldn’t sell ’em for fifty dollars a share.”
“When are you going out to the mines
again?”
“In a week or two. I’ve got to go home to
St. Paul, to see my family and transact a little
business, and then I shall go back. I want to
see General Wall and ascertain if he has succeeded
in buying up those Eastern shares
first.”
“To whom do they belong?”
“They were bought by a man named Conrad.
He died, leaving a son--a mere boy--in charge
of a village lawyer as guardian. The lawyer is
a slow, cautious man, and we haven’t succeeded
in getting him round yet, or hadn’t, at
last accounts from the general. I may have
to go East and interview him myself.”
“Are they working the mine now?”
“Yes; but we are not doing very much till
that is decided. What time is it?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“The general was to be home at eight--so his
wife said. I think I will go up there, as I
want to be off in the morning stage, if possible.
Can you let me have breakfast at half-past
six?”
“Certainly, Mr. Carter.”
“All right. Just send somebody in time to
wake me up for it. I am liable to oversleep
myself.”
.bn 238.png
.pn +1
“I won’t forget.”
The man with the red whiskers rose, and,
putting on his hat, took his way to the residence
of General Wall. It may be imagined
with what feelings Walter listened to the details
of the plot by which he was to have lost
his property. It was clear that the despised
mining stock was worth fifty thousand dollars,
and with the information he had acquired he
could doubtless obtain that sum. He would
be rich once more! How this would affect his
plans he could not yet determine. One thing
he did, however. He wrote another letter to
Mr. Shaw, giving him a full account of what he
had overheard, and asking his advice in the
matter.
.bn 239.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXX || A DISCOURAGING SEARCH.
.sp 2
When we took leave of Joshua Drummond,
several chapters back, he was about to start
for Chicago. New York was too near Stapleton
to make it a safe place of residence.
Joshua knew his father, and understood how
he must be affected by his running away, and
more than all by the loss of the government
bond. In Chicago he would feel safe, and accordingly
he bought a ticket to that city. He
had never traveled, and dreaded the experience;
but his apprehensions were soon succeeded
by greater confidence, and in due time
he landed in the busy Western city.
He first went to a hotel, but was dismayed
on finding the charge to be three dollars per
day. In his opinion this was enough for a
week’s board. He remembered Sam’s advice
to seek out a cheap boarding house, and decided
to seek one out without delay. He picked
up a copy of the Chicago Tribune in the reading-room
of the hotel, and took down the numbers
of three houses where board was offered
.bn 240.png
.pn +1
to the public. He put down the numbers on a
piece of paper, and started out in search of
them.
The first was a large and handsome house,
on a fashionable street. It is needless to say
that Joshua found the prices altogether above
the figure he was willing to pay. The second
was cheap and dirty. The third was a respectable-looking
place, and would just suit
him, so he thought.
“How much do you charge for board?” he
asked the landlady.
“Well,” said Mrs. Foster, for that was her
name, “our price varies according to the room.
It ranges from five to twelve dollars.”
“I would like a room for five dollars,” said
Joshua.
“We have but one room vacant at present--a
third-story back--but it is of good size, and
if it is occupied alone, we must charge eight
dollars.”
“I couldn’t pay so much; I can’t afford it,”
said Joshua, decidedly.
“Haven’t you a friend you could get to room
with you? In that case, I will charge ten dollars
for the two.”
“I don’t know anybody in Chicago; I am a
stranger here.”
“My rent is heavy,” continued the landlady,
“and I ought to get ten dollars for the room, or
eight dollars for one.”
“I can’t pay it. I must go somewhere else.”
.bn 241.png
.pn +1
“Would you mind rooming with another
gentleman?”
“I would rather not,” said Joshua, reluctantly.
“Then, if you room alone, you must expect
to pay for the privilege.”
“I don’t know any gentleman to room with.”
“I tell you what you can do,” said the landlady,
after a pause; “you may go into the room
at once, and pay me five dollars a week, on condition
that if I find another gentleman to room
with you, you will agree to take him in with
you.”
“I might not like him.”
“I don’t take any but respectable gentlemen,”
said Mrs. Foster. “You may be sure
that I won’t ask you to take any improper person
to room with you. However, do as you
please. I would just as lief let the room to
you alone at eight dollars a week. I should
make just as much money, and very likely
more.”
Joshua thought it over, and the more he
thought of it, the more inclined he was to
accept Mrs. Foster’s proposal. He would prefer,
of course, to room alone, unless he could
have some friend like Sam Crawford for his
roommate. But he was by no means inclined
to pay three dollars a week extra for the privilege.
He liked money better than privacy,
and besides, he had only four hundred dollars
left, and he felt that he could not afford it.
.bn 242.png
.pn +1
Besides, again, it might be some time before
another person applied for board, and meanwhile
he would have the entire room for only
five dollars.
“I think I will take the room,” he said, “and
you can put another gentleman with me.
When can I come in?”
“How soon do you want to come?”
“Right away. I can’t afford to stay at a
hotel--it costs too much.”
“I will have the room ready for you this
afternoon.”
“All right. I will come.”
Joshua lost no time in transferring himself
to Mrs. Foster’s boarding house. He felt in
very good spirits when he thought how much
his expenses would be diminished by the
change.
“There’s some difference between three dollars
a day and five a week,” he said to himself.
“I think it will suit me very well. Now
all I want is to get a place, so that I can lay
by my four hundred dollars. I’ll look around
to-morrow.”
The next day Joshua commenced his rounds.
Wherever he saw the sign “A Boy Wanted,”
he went in. At one place he came near being
engaged.
“How old are you?” he was asked.
“Eighteen.”
“You look younger. We don’t need a clerk
so old.”
.bn 243.png
.pn +1
“Won’t I do?”
“You might. How much wages do you expect?”
“I don’t know what they usually pay.”
“Well, we haven’t very much for a boy to
do. He will have an easy place.”
Joshua liked this. He wanted an easy place.
“But we pay only three dollars a week.”
“Three dollars a week! Why, my board
costs me five dollars, and I have to pay for
washing besides. Then there’s clothes.”
“Have you ever been in a place before?”
“No.”
“Then, as you have no experience, you cannot
expect to make your expenses the first
year.”
Joshua’s countenance fell. His father would
do better by him than that. At home he got
his board, such as it was, and was offered a
little besides. What would Sam Crawford,
who represented that he got a thousand dollars
a year, say, if he should learn that he, Joshua,
was working for three dollars a week!
“Can’t you give me more?”
“No, if you choose to come for three dollars
we will take you a week on trial.”
Joshua shook his head.
“I can’t afford it,” he said; “I must look
around a little more.”
The next place at which he made application
was a dry-goods store.
“I see you want a clerk,” he said.
.bn 244.png
.pn +1
Joshua happened to be the first applicant
here.
“Yes; have you experience?”
Now Joshua had tended a little in his
father’s store, when the other clerk was at
dinner, and he thought it might help his cause
to answer in the affirmative.
“Yes,” he said, “I have had experience.”
“In this city?”
“No, not in this city,” Joshua was compelled
to admit.
“Where, then?”
“In my father’s store.”
“Where is your father’s store?”
“In Stapleton.”
“Where’s Stapleton?”
“In New York State.”
“Never heard of it. Is it much of a place?”
“It’s rather small.”
“What sort of a store does your father
keep?”
“He keeps dry goods, and other things.”
“I’m afraid your experience there wouldn’t
fit you for employment with us. However, I
will examine you a little.”
The shopkeeper led Joshua to the counter,
on which was piled a variety of goods, which
had been taken out to show customers, and
asked for their names, and what he supposed
to be their prices. Now, Joshua had never
taken any pains to become acquainted with
his father’s business and knew next to nothing
.bn 245.png
.pn +1
about it. His ignorance proved to be so complete
that his questioner saw at once that he
would never do for their trade.
“I am sorry to say that you won’t suit us,”
he said.
“We should have to teach you everything
from the beginning. What we want is a competent
salesman.”
Joshua was rather discouraged by this failure.
He saw that he was by no means so well
qualified to make his way in the city as he supposed.
He didn’t care very much about working,
to be sure. What he would have liked
was, a competent income without the necessity
of doing anything. In that case he thought
he could enjoy himself.
“When the old man dies,” he thought, “I
won’t do anything. I’ll sell out the store. I
shall have enough to live upon, and it won’t be
any use troubling myself with work.”
I hope none of my young readers have imbibed
Joshua’s pernicious ideas. If so, they
stand a chance of leading a very useless and
unprofitable life.
Joshua’s application continued unsuccessful,
and he began to get discouraged.
On the afternoon of the third day Mrs. Foster
knocked at his door. “Mr. Drummond,”
she said, “there’s a gentleman below that has
applied for board. I have told him of this
room, and he will come up and look at it. I
.bn 246.png
.pn +1
thought I’d come and speak to you about it
first.”
Of course, Joshua could make no objection.
Three minutes later the landlady reappeared,
followed by the gentleman referred to.
.bn 247.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXI || JOSHUA’S ROOMMATE.
.sp 2
“Mr. Drummond, let me make you acquainted
with Mr. Remington,” said the landlady.
“I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr.
Drummond,” said the newcomer, politely.
“How do you do?” said Joshua, awkwardly.
“Mrs. Foster says you will be willing to take
a roommate. I am sure we should get on well
together. At first, I was a little doubtful, but
now that I have seen you I shall be glad to
take the room.”
“I should like it, too,” said Joshua, flattered
by the stranger’s words.
“Then it is agreed; I will come to-night.
Five dollars a week, I think you said, Mrs.
Foster?”
“Yes, sir. It would be eight dollars if you
roomed alone.”
“Precisely. We shall be worth three dollars
a week to each other, Mr. Drummond. That is
what I call a good arrangement, to secure an
agreeable roommate, and be paid for it.”
The newcomer was a middle-sized man, of
.bn 248.png
.pn +1
easy manners and fluent speech. Joshua, who
was not much accustomed to the world, was
quite captivated by his politeness and compliments,
and the prospect of having him for a
roommate was rather pleasant than otherwise.
He was tired of solitude, having no friend in
Chicago, and thought he would like company.
Mr. Remington moved to his new quarters in
the evening about eight o’clock. Joshua was
alone, finding the time hang rather heavily
upon his hands.
“Have you been long in Chicago, Mr. Drummond?”
asked Remington.
“Only four days.”
“You came from the East, I suppose?”
“From New York.”
“Ah, indeed! Big place that.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Do you expect to stay here long?”
“Well,” said Joshua, hesitatingly, “that depends
on whether I can get a place. I am looking
for something to do.”
“Indeed! I thought you already in business.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, you have a business air about you.”
Joshua was quite pleased at the compliment.
“I have been in my father’s store some.”
“To be sure. I knew you must have some
experience. Well, a young man of your appearance
ought to find a situation very quick.”
.bn 249.png
.pn +1
“I’ve been looking around for two or three
days, but I can’t find anything yet.”
“That’s because you are a stranger. Did
you ever think of going into business for yourself?”
“That takes a good deal of money, don’t it?”
“Not so very much.”
“I have only got four hundred dollars,” said
Joshua. “Of course, that isn’t enough.”
“It isn’t much, to be sure. Still you might
obtain a partnership in a small business for
that.”
“What sort of business?” asked Joshua, interested.
“I am not prepared to say on the instant,
but I will think the matter over, and see what
I can do for you.”
“I wish you would. You see I don’t know
anybody here, and that goes against me.”
“To be sure. I was about to propose something
to you, but I don’t know that you would
think it worth your while.”
“What is it?” said Joshua, eagerly.
“I keep a fancy goods store, and find more
to do than I like. I need an assistant, but I
can only offer six dollars a week. You might
be willing to take up with that till something
better offers.”
“Yes, I’ll take it,” said Joshua, promptly,
for his fruitless applications for employment
had made him ready to accept anything at all
decent.
.bn 250.png
.pn +1
“Of course, I know that it is not enough for
a young man of your business experience and
abilities, Mr. Drummond, but if I can do better
by you after a while, I will.”
Joshua knew that he was without experience,
and was not sure about his abilities,
but he did know that it would not do to draw
upon his principal continually, and was thankful
to accept the salary offered.
“How lucky I am!” he thought. “Mr. Remington
seems such a perfect gentleman. I
think we shall get along first-rate. If my
father had only treated me that way, I never
would have left home.”
“What are you going to do this evening, Mr.
Drummond?” said his new friend.
“I don’t know.”
“Suppose we go round the corner, and have
a game of billiards.”
“I don’t know how to play.”
“Then I’ll teach you. You’re old enough to
learn and everybody plays nowadays.”
“Does it cost much to learn?” questioned
Joshua.
“Not much; but of course I pay, as I invite
you.”
Joshua made no further objections, but left
the house in company with Mr. Remington,
who took his arm, and talked socially, like an
old friend. Joshua was more and more
charmed with him.
After a five minutes’ walk they reached the
.bn 251.png
.pn +1
billiard hall. It was a large room, containing
twelve tables.
“I think we will try a pocket-table. It is
easier for a beginner. Select a cue, Mr. Drummond.”
Joshua didn’t know what a cue was, but,
following his companion’s example, selected
one from a rack against the wall.
“Now,” said Mr. Remington, after the balls
were placed, “the principle of the game is very
simple. With this ball, you must try to hit
two others. If you succeed in doing it, you
count three, or if you succeed in sending either
ball into any one of the four pockets, you count
three. If you do both, it counts you six. One
hundred is the game. I will take the first shot,
which is difficult for a beginner, and then you
take your turn.”
He made the shot, but without counting.
Next Joshua, under his direction, made a shot,
and by what billiard-players call a “scratch,”
hit two balls, sending one into a pocket.
“Bravo! good shot! You have played before,
haven’t you, Mr. Drummond?”
“I never saw a billiard table before,” said
Joshua, elated. “Now it is your turn.”
“No, since you succeeded, you are to keep
on. I foresee that you will make an excellent
player.”
“It’s a first-rate game,” said Joshua.
“Yes; I was sure you would like it; now it
is my turn.”
.bn 252.png
.pn +1
It would be wearisome to detail the progress
of the game. Remington, who was really a
skillful player, “played off,” and helped his
adversary to such an extent that he made a
respectable score. Joshua was elated, and
found the billiard-room a much more attractive
place to spend the evening than his room
at the boarding house.
“Come,” said Remington, at the close of the
game, “you must be thirsty. Let us have something
to drink.”
Joshua understood that his companion proposed
to bear the expense, and therefore made
no objection.
“What will you have, Drummond?”
“What are you going to take?”
“A sherry cobbler.”
“I’ll take one, too.”
“Two sherry cobblers, and mind you make
them strong enough.”
Joshua imbibed the drink through a straw,
in imitation of his companion. Not being used
to liquor of any kind, it exhilarated him, and
made him feel happy and sanguine. He had
never liked Chicago so well before.
“This is seeing life,” he thought. “I’ve come
to the right place. I haven’t been here a week,
and got a situation already. I guess I’ll write
to Sam in a day or two, and let him know how
I’m getting along. I’m glad I left Stapleton.”
“Well, Drummond,” said Mr. Remington,
who had become more familiar as their acquaintance
.bn 253.png
.pn +1
progressed, “if you’re ready, we’ll
go back to our room. You know you’ll have
to go to business to-morrow.”
“All right, Mr. Remington. Do you think
you can raise my salary soon?”
“No doubt of it. I’ve taken a fancy to you,
and shall push you right along.”
“I’m sure I’m much obliged to you.”
“I have been in the habit of judging men,
and as soon as I saw you I felt sure that you
would suit me.”
“Did you?” said Joshua, flattered.
“At once. Of course, I did not know but
you might already be engaged in business. If
you had been, I would not have offered you an
engagement, as I would scorn to take a good
clerk from another man. To let you into a
little secret, I’ve got a nephew who is
expecting the place. I suppose he will
be angry when he hears I have taken
a stranger. But, though I would like
to oblige him, he would not suit me at all.
He hasn’t got the ‘snap’ in him. He’ll never
make a good business man. It takes a smart
man to succeed in Chicago.”
All this was very gratifying to Joshua. Nobody
had ever taken a fancy to him before; nobody
had ever detected his superior business
abilities; yet here was a stranger, a man of
discrimination and business experience, who
had selected him in preference to his own
nephew. No wonder Joshua felt elated.
.bn 254.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXII || THE “CHIEF” SALESMAN.
.sp 2
The next morning Joshua went round with
his roommate to his new place of business.
The shop was a small one, with a moderate
stock of fancy goods. There was one little circumstance
that attracted his attention. His
employer’s name was Remington, but the name
on the sign was
.nf c
JOHN FORBES.
.nf-
“I thought this was your store,” said he, a
little surprised.
“So it is.”
“But your name isn’t Forbes.”
“Oh,” said Remington, “you noticed the
sign. That’s easily explained. I bought the
business of Mr. Forbes, but as his name was
well known in the neighborhood, I thought it
best to keep the old name. Do you see?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“You see it isn’t a large place,” said Mr.
Remington, as they entered, “but I do a pretty
.bn 255.png
.pn +1
good business. What do you think, now, that
my clear profits were last year?”
“Two thousand dollars,” hazarded Joshua,
who was used to the small incomes of a country
trader.
“Six,” answered Mr. Remington.
“What, six thousand dollars?”
“Certainly. You see we turn our goods over
quickly. This isn’t the busy season, but that
will soon be here, and then the store will be
crowded with customers from morning till
night.”
As the entire stock in trade probably did not
exceed two, or at most, three thousand dollars
in value, this was rather a hard statement to
believe; but then Joshua was fresh from the
country, and rather unsophisticated.
Mr. Remington gave his new clerk some instructions
as to the locality of the goods, and
the prices, and he took his place behind the
counter, proud of being a city salesman. He
was not compelled to work very hard. There
was seldom more than one customer in the
store at a time, and none bought heavily.
“It’s rather quiet this morning,” said Mr.
Remington, laying down the morning paper,
over which he had spent an hour without interruption.
Joshua assented.
“You see it isn’t the busy season. That
makes a great difference.”
“I suppose it does.”
.bn 256.png
.pn +1
“You’d hardly know the place two months
hence. You must make up your mind to work,
then, Drummond. They’ll keep you running,
I assure you.”
Joshua was not particularly fond of work,
as we know, but it occurred to him that it
would not be quite so dull if he had more
customers to wait upon, and was rather enlivened
by the prospect of a busier time.
When half-past twelve came, his employer
said, “I’m going to dinner. I shall be gone an
hour. When I come back, you can go.”
So Joshua was left alone. He felt a little
hungry himself. Still he had a feeling of importance
in being left in sole charge of the
store. As there was nothing else in particular
to do, he went to the desk, and wrote the following
letter to his friend, Sam Crawford, in
New York:
.sp 2
.fs 80%
.in 20
“Chicago, Sept. --, 186--.
.in 0
“Dear Sam:--I seize a few moments from
business”--Joshua wrote this with great complacence--“to
write you an account of how I
am getting along. I have not been a week in
Chicago, yet am already chief salesman in one
of the principal stores here.” (I am afraid our
friend Joshua purposely exaggerated in this
statement.) “I like my employer very much,
and he seems to have taken a great fancy to
me. His nephew was very anxious to obtain
the situation, but he seemed to think I had
.bn 257.png
.pn +1
good business abilities, and gave it to me instead.
“I have been about the city some, and like
it. I think I shall make it my home, and some
time Mr. Remington will probably take me
into partnership. I am writing at noon, when
we have few customers. I like this store better
than yours. I am sorry we are not in the
same city, as I should like to go round with
you. Last evening I played a game of billiards
with Mr. Remington. He said I did finely for
the first time, and thinks I would make an
excellent player.
“But I must leave off to wait on a customer”--it
was an old woman, who wanted a paper
of pins--“and must close for this time.
.in 22
“Your friend,
.in 20
“Joshua Drummond.
.in 0
“P. S.--Have you seen anything of the old
man since I left New York? Don’t let anybody
know I am in Chicago. I only get twelve
dollars a week now”--this again was a slight
exaggeration--“but I expect to have my salary
raised soon.”
.fs 100%
.sp 2
When Sam received this letter, it surprised
him, and I am not quite sure whether he was
entirely pleased with his friend’s good fortune.
“Well, that beats all!” he exclaimed, “that
such a greenhorn as Joshua Drummond should
get a situation in Chicago within a week; at
.bn 258.png
.pn +1
twelve dollars a week, too! Why, he don’t
know a cane from a broomstick, and yet he
gets half as much again as I do. Chicago must
be a good place to go. If such a greenhorn can
get twelve dollars, I ought to get eighteen or
twenty. I wonder whether it would pay me
to go out there.”
It will be seen that Sam had no suspicion of
the falseness of Joshua’s statements. In fact,
he did not give him credit for the ability to deceive
him. He really thought, therefore, that
Joshua obtained the sum he claimed. Still he
had prudence enough not to give up a certainty
for an uncertainty, and contented himself with
writing Joshua to look round, and, if he saw
an opening for a clerk with several years’ experience,
to let him know.
“I would be willing to come for my present
salary--twenty dollars a week,” he wrote.
“My present employer is willing I should go
away until I am twenty-one, when I will come
back, and go into partnership with him. He
thinks it will be of advantage to me to become
acquainted with Western trade. Besides, I
should like to be with you. We might room together,
you know.”
This was adroitly written, so that Joshua
need not doubt the truth of representations he
had made in New York. They answered the
purpose. So the two were mutually deceived
by the representations of the other.
It made Joshua feel rather important to
.bn 259.png
.pn +1
have Sam apply to him for a situation, and he
at once wrote back, saying that he would let
him know at once if he heard of any vacancy.
“But I am afraid,” he added, “that we can’t
room together. The fact is, I and Mr. Remington
room together, and he would be disappointed
to have me leave him. But you might
get a room in the same house. They change
eight dollars a week board; it is nicer than
your boarding place in New York, though that
will do very well.”
“That Remington must be a fool!” thought
Sam. “He seems perfectly taken up with
Joshua, and I am sure he’s about as stupid a
fellow as I ever set eyes on.”
You see Sam and Joshua were intimate
friends, and intimate friends are very apt to
notice each other’s faults, and to judge them
most severely, are they not? What is the use
of having friends if you can’t abuse them?
So the result was that Sam, toiling in an obscure
Eighth avenue store for eight dollars a
week, felt very much wronged to think that
Joshua had at one bound stepped into a more
desirable situation than himself. If he could
only have known the real state of the case, and
how much Joshua had exaggerated the advantages
of his position, he would have been very
much comforted. If he had been a disinterested
friend he would have rejoiced at the good
fortune of Joshua; but then he was not disinterested.
.bn 260.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXIII || IN PARTNERSHIP.
.sp 2
At the end of the week Joshua received the
six dollars promised him. He received it with
great satisfaction. It was a tangible evidence
that he was a clerk on salary.
“I wish it were more,” said Mr. Remington,
as he paid it to him. “I am thinking of some
new arrangements by which I shall be able to
do better by you.”
This was encouraging, and Joshua was led
to hope that he might, ere long, receive the
sum which he claimed to get in his letter to
Sam. He began to build castles in the air, and
form sanguine pictures of what the future was
to bring him, when all at once his dreams were
rudely broken in upon.
It was three mornings afterward that Mr.
Remington called him to the desk.
“Drummond,” he said, “I’ve something to
say to you.”
Of course, Joshua gave immediate attention.
“You remember that I told you something
.bn 261.png
.pn +1
of a nephew, my sister’s child, who expects the
place I gave to you.”
“Yes,” said Joshua, uneasily.
“Well, it appears that my sister is very
much disturbed that I refused to give it to her
son. I have just received a letter from her.
Here it is.”
“Shall I read it?”
“Yes.”
Rather disturbed in mind, Joshua took the
letter, and read as follows:
.sp 2
.fs 80%
“My Dear Brother:--I think you have
acted most unkindly in refusing to receive my
Henry into your employ, and taking instead a
stranger. I think the poor boy, not to mention
myself, had a right to expect something
better at your hands. Certainly, so near a relation
ought to be preferred to a stranger. I
could not believe it when I first heard of your
very unkind treatment. I hope you may yet
change your mind, and discharge this stranger,
who can have no claim upon you.
“I will tell you what I will do. I have
heard you say that you are cramped for capital
to enlarge your business; now, if you will discharge
this stranger, and will take Henry, I
will agree to let you have a thousand dollars
with him, in return for which you can give
him a slight interest in the business. Please
let me hear from you at once.
.in 8
“Your sister, Cornelia Barker.”
.in 0
.fs 100%
.sp 2
.bn 262.png
.pn +1
“He is going to discharge me,” thought
Joshua, very much disturbed, as he finished
reading the letter.
“You see in what a position I am placed,
Drummond,” said Mr. Remington.
“Yes, sir.”
“I would rather have you than my nephew.
You have more business capacity than he.”
“I shall be sorry to go,” said Joshua, very
much disappointed and mortified.
“And I to part with you. But perhaps we
can make an arrangement.”
Joshua brightened up.
“My sister offers to put a thousand dollars
into the business, in return for which my
nephew is to have a small interest in the business;
now, if you could do the same, I would
prefer to arrange with you.”
“I can’t. I have only four hundred dollars.”
“Couldn’t you raise more?”
Joshua shook his head.
“It is a very small sum,” returned Mr. Remington,
doubtfully.
Joshua said nothing, and his employer appeared
to be thinking busily.
“Drummond,” he said, suddenly, “I am going
to make you a proposal that I wouldn’t
make to any one else.”
Of course, Joshua listened intently.
“If you think well to put your four hundred
dollars into the business, I’ll decline taking
my nephew, raise your salary to ten dollars a
.bn 263.png
.pn +1
week, and give you one-tenth interest in my
business.”
“How much do you think that would be?”
“One-tenth of the profits, at the lowest estimate,
would come to six hundred dollars a
year.”
“And ten dollars a week besides?”
“Yes.”
Joshua rapidly calculated that his income
would amount, in that case, to over a thousand
dollars a year. What a triumph that would be
over Sam, and how handsomely he could live,
and yet save money! Why, the very first year
he could save the four hundred dollars he was
now investing. Suppose he refused: he would
lose his place, and have to live on his principal.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
“Very well, Drummond, I’ll draw up the
papers, and you can pay me the money.”
In fifteen minutes Joshua, who always carried
the money with him, had paid it over into
Mr. Remington’s hands, and received instead
a paper, in which was expressed, with great
particularity, the agreement which had been
spoken of.
“My sister will be very angry,” said Mr.
Remington, “but I can’t help it. Why should
I take my nephew into my employ, when he
has not a particle of business capacity? It is
too much to ask.”
As Joshua was to profit by the refusal, he
agreed perfectly with Mr. Remington. His
.bn 264.png
.pn +1
heart glowed with exultation as he thought of
his changed circumstances. Why, he was
really a partner in the concern, in virtue of
his one-tenth interest. Was ever rise so rapid?
Reflecting that Mr. Remington had taken him
at six hundred dollars less than was offered
with his nephew, he began to entertain quite a
lofty opinion of his business abilities, and put
on some very amusing airs behind the counter,
which his senior partner secretly laughed at.
“Drummond,” said Mr. Remington the next
day, “I must leave you in charge of the store
for a day or two. I am called into the country
on business--to collect a bill of a hundred dollars
due us. As you share the profits, you are
interested, too. Can you manage alone?”
“Oh, yes,” said Joshua, confidently.
“I don’t expect to be gone over two days.”
So the next day and the next also Joshua
was alone. On the second, an elderly man,
with a carpetbag, walked into the store. He
looked at Joshua with some surprise.
“Where is Mr. Remington?” he said.
“He is away for a day or two.”
“Where is he gone?”
“Into the country, on business.”
“And who are you?”
“I am his partner,” said Joshua, loftily.
“His what!” exclaimed the stranger, in visible
amazement.
“His partner!”
“In what?”
.bn 265.png
.pn +1
“In this business.”
“You must be crazy.”
“I have bought an interest in the business,”
said Joshua. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, this beats all. I come back to my
own store, after a month’s absence, and am
coolly told by a boy that he has bought an interest
in the business.”
“Who are you?” asked Joshua, amazed.
“I am the man whose name is over the door--John
Forbes.”
“Mr. Remington told me he had bought you
out, but he kept the name, because it was
known to customers.”
“Then Mr. Remington deceived you.”
“Isn’t he in the business?”
“He was only my clerk. I left him in charge
while I was away.”
It dawned upon Joshua now. All his
dreams were dissipated. He had been cruelly
swindled out of his four hundred dollars. It
was all a pretence about the nephew. Good
heavens! he was ruined, and almost penniless.
He turned pale and sick at heart.
“How much money did you let Remington
have?” asked Mr. Forbes.
“Four hundred dollars. Can’t I--don’t you
think I shall be able to get it back?”
“Not a cent. The rascal is far away by this
time, you may be sure.”
“What shall I do?” asked Joshua, in dismay.
.bn 266.png
.pn +1
“Well, you may stay here until the end of
the week. I am sorry for you, but can’t help
you. I am afraid that villain, Remington, has
carried off some of my cash also.”
It proved to be true. Mr. Forbes was a sufferer
also. The police were put on the track
of the swindler, but Remington managed to
elude all inquiries. Where he got away with
his ill-gotten gains could not be discovered.
As for Joshua, Mr. Forbes unluckily formed
a different idea of his business capacity from
Mr. Remington. He discovered that our unhappy
fugitive knew little or nothing of the
goods in stock, and got quite out of patience
with his numerous blunders. He did not believe
in paying six dollars a week to such an
inexperienced novice, when he could obtain for
half the money a substitute who would at least
know as much. So, at the end of the week,
Joshua received notice that his services were
no longer required.
“But what shall I do?” he asked, in anguish.
“Mr. Remington carried off all my money.”
“Oh, you’ll get along somehow!” said the
unfeeling Forbes. “You ain’t fit for my business,
so, of course, you can’t expect me to keep
you.”
Joshua returned to his boarding house with
a heavy heart. He would have only three dollars
left after paying his board bill, and what
should he do if he could not get another situation?
.bn 267.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXIV || A HUMBLE POSITION.
.sp 2
Joshua realized with anguish the desperate
situation to which he was reduced. The money
he had taken from his father, and which at the
time he considered a small fortune, had all
melted away, and nothing remained to him
save a portion of his last week’s wages. He
had fallen into the hands of the Philistines,
and been fleeced by abler and more experienced
rogues than himself.
What should he do? He had not money
enough to go back to New York, even if he had
wished it. He must stay in Chicago, and find
something to do, if possible. But suppose he
should fail? This possibility--probability, I
might rather say--suggested itself to the unhappy
Joshua, and he shuddered at the fate
which might befall him. He could remain a
week at his boarding place before board would
be demanded, and he decided to do so, though
he was not quite sure whether he might not be
arrested if he failed at the end of that to pay
his board bill.
.bn 268.png
.pn +1
“But I may get a place before that time,”
he thought.
At any rate, there seemed nothing else to do.
So, prudently omitting to say anything about
the critical state of his finances, he continued
to retain his room, mentioning to Mrs. Foster
that Mr. Remington had been called away on
business for a few days. Not wishing to have
it known that he had lost his place, he absented
himself during the usual business hours, spending
his time in wandering about the city in
search of a situation.
It so happened, however, that there was a
lull in business, and there was even less chance
for him than usual. Everywhere he received
the same answer. No help was wanted. In
one or two cases, where he saw upon a window,
“Boy Wanted,” he found himself too late.
On Saturday morning he was wandering
about listlessly, dreading the bill which his
landlady would render at night, when he
chanced to step into a bowling-alley.
“Where’s the boy to set up the pins?” asked
a young man, who had entered just before
with a friend.
“He’s sick,” said the proprietor. “I must get
another in his place.”
“Get one in a hurry, then, for my friend and
I want a game.”
Joshua heard what was said, and it gave
him an idea.
“I’ll set up the pins,” he said.
.bn 269.png
.pn +1
“Go ahead, then, Johnny.”
Joshua walked down to the end of the alley,
and set to work. There was no difficulty about
it, of course, and he performed the work satisfactorily.
The young men played two games,
occupying about half an hour. When it was
over they paid for the games, and calling
Joshua, gave him twenty cents.
As they went out others came in.
“Look here, boy,” said the proprietor of the
establishment, “if you choose to stay here and
set up pins, you can do it.”
“I’d like to do it,” said Joshua.
The position was not a very dignified one,
but it was better than starving, and Joshua
had been afraid that such a fate was in store
for him.
“I don’t pay no wages,” said the man; “but
the gentlemen that play will mostly give you
something.”
“All right,” said Joshua.
So he remained through the day. By that
time he had picked up seventy-five cents. Had
all paid him, he would have had more; but
some neglected it, and he was not allowed to
ask anything. He came back in the evening,
as desired, and picked up fifty cents more.
“At this rate I can make a living,” he
thought, with a feeling of relief. “But I
wouldn’t have Sam know what I was doing for
anything.”
He had enough to settle his board bill and
.bn 270.png
.pn +1
about a dollar over. So he paid it without explaining
anything of his change of circumstances.
“When do you expect Mr. Remington back?”
asked the landlady.
“I don’t know,” said Joshua.
“You are working for him, I believe?”
“Yes; but I have been offered another situation,
and I think I shall take it.”
During the next week, Joshua made seven
dollars at his new business, and was able to
pay his board bill. He was heartily tired of
the bowling-alley, where he received treatment
which he considered derogatory to one
of his age, the son of a rich man; but it was
of no use to say anything. He could not afford
to lose this place, the only plank that lay between
him and starvation. So he bore in silence
all the curses he received from the proprietor
of the place, when, as was frequently
the case, that gentleman was excited by liquor,
and kept steadily at work. Indeed, humble as
was Joshua’s present position, there is at least
this to be said, that for the first time in his
life he was earning his living by honest labor.
When he paid his second bill, Mrs. Foster
asked him again when Mr. Remington would
return.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” he said; “I’ve left
his store.”
“What for?”
“He cheated me out of my money,” answered
.bn 271.png
.pn +1
Joshua, truly, “and I don’t think he means to
come back at all.”
“But I can’t afford to let you have this room
alone for five dollars a week.”
“I can’t pay any more.”
“There is a gentleman going to give up the
hall bedroom on the third floor; you can have
that for five dollars.”
“I will take it, then, for I can’t pay any
more.”
So Joshua made the change. About this
time he received a letter from Sam, asking him
if he had heard of any good opening in Chicago
for him. Joshua wrote back that business
was very dull at present, but when he heard
of anything he would write.
“I am getting on pretty well,” he wrote;
“but there are some things about my situation
I don’t like; I find it very expensive living
here, and I don’t save up any money. I shall
change my business as soon as I can.”
But about the nature of the business in
which he was engaged, Joshua wrote nothing.
Had Sam known his true position, he would
have been spared the jealousy he felt of his
friend’s supposed success, and cured of any
desire to try his luck in Chicago.
.bn 272.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXV || THE EVIDENCE OF POPULARITY.
.sp 2
The day came for Walter’s examination. It
was pleasant, and the Portville people were
out in full force. Conspicuous among them
were General Wall and Squire Griffiths, the
latter looking exceedingly wise with his stiff,
iron-gray hair rising erect over his brow like
a palisade.
Walter conducted the examination, but after
every recitation inquired of the trustees if
they had any questions to ask. Once in a
while General Wall asked one, but in general
contented himself with saying, blandly, “The
recitation has been quite satisfactory, Mr.
Howard.”
After the recitation in geography, Squire
Griffiths, who had studied up one or two questions
in the atlas before coming, thought it
time to take part.
“Can you tell me,” he said, straightening
himself up with dignity, after a preparatory
cough, “can you tell me where is the river
Nigger?”
.bn 273.png
.pn +1
I have attempted to indicate the squire’s
pronunciation.
There was a little titter in the class, and
Walter himself, though he preserved his gravity,
looked a little red in the face.
“Answer the gentleman’s question,” he said.
“In Africa,” said one of the girls.
“Quite right,” said the squire, nodding
wisely.
“Where is the Island of Madagascar?”
“In the Mediterranean Sea,” answered
promptly the poorest scholar in the class.
Walter was about to correct the mistake,
when, to his surprise, Squire Griffiths said:
“Correct. Mr. Howard, your class is quite purficient.
I have no more questions to ask.”
“First class in arithmetic,” called Walter,
hurriedly, evidently anxious to cover up the
squire’s mistake.
It was generally agreed that the examination
passed off satisfactorily. A few of the
boys declaimed, and some of the girls read
compositions. When the end was reached,
Walter called on General Wall to make a
speech; the latter did so. He was a little
pompous and condescending in his manner,
but what he said was grammatical and complimentary
to the teacher.
“Won’t you make a few remarks, Squire
Griffiths?” said Walter.
The squire rose, and, putting one hand under
his coattail, glanced impressively around
.bn 274.png
.pn +1
him, through his iron bowed spectacles, and
spoke as follows:
.sp 2
.fs 80%
“My Young Friends:--I am gratterfied to
meet you on this occasion. As one of the school
trustees, it was my duty to come and see what
purficiency you had made in your studies. I
have listened to your recitations with--ahem--with
gratterfication. I have been most gratterfied
by your purficiency in joggrify--here
some of the scholars were seen to smile--joggrify
was allers my favorite study when I was
a lad and went to school. But when I was a
youngster we didn’t have so good schools as
you have. The teachers wasn’t so well eddicated.
But we did as well as we could. I
shall always be glad that I got an eddication
when I was young. But for my improvin’ my
time I shouldn’t have riz to be one of the
school trustees. I hope, my young friends, you
will improve the importunities the town has
given you to get a good eddication. If you
study hard, you will get up in the world, and
your feller-citizens will respect you. I congratterlate
your teacher on your purficiency,
especially in joggrify. It is one of the most
important studies you have. If Christopher
Columbus hadn’t studied joggrify when he was
a boy, how could he have discovered America,
and if he hadn’t discovered it, where would we
be at this moment?” Here the orator paused,
as if for a response; but none being made, he
.bn 275.png
.pn +1
went on: “But I didn’t mean to speak so long.
I congratterlate you on having so good a
teacher, and I am gratterfied to say that he
will be your teacher next term.”
.fs 100%
.sp 2
Here the scholars applauded, and Walter
was really pleased by this evidence of his popularity.
Squire Griffiths was also pleased, for
in his foolish vanity he supposed that it was
he who had been applauded, and not the allusion
to Walter.
.sp 2
.fs 80%
“My young friends,” he continued, “I thank
you for your respectful attention to my remarks.
Go on as you have begun, and you
will never regret it. Let your motto be ‘Excelsior!’”
.fs 100%
.sp 2
With this effective ending he sat down, and
the boys mischievously applauded, greatly to
the “gratterfication” of the squire, who secretly
thought that he had done himself great
credit. He was one of those vain and pompous
old men, who like to hear themselves
talk, and are always ready to assume any responsibility,
wholly unaware of their own deficiencies.
But Squire Griffiths was well-to-do
in worldly affairs, and the town offices
which were given him were a tribute to his
money, and not to his ability. Of course, it
was a glaring absurdity to put such a man in
charge of the schools, but fortunately his associates
.bn 276.png
.pn +1
in office were men of greater education
than himself.
Among the spectators was Miss Melinda
Jones, the poetess. Considering her literary
claims, she could not well be absent from an
occasion of this character. Besides, we know
the interest she felt in the teacher.
At the close of the exercises, she came to
our hero to tender her congratulations.
“Mr. Howard,” she said, “I can hardly tell
you how much I have enjoyed this day. It
carried me back to my girlhood days, when I,
too, was one of the eager aspirants for knowledge.
Oh, could I but have enjoyed the instructions
of a superior teacher like yourself,
how happy should I have been!”
“You flatter me, Miss Jones.”
“Indeed, I do not. I leave that to the men
who are, alas! sad flatterers, as we poor girls
know too well. The recitations were beautiful.
I could have listened for hours longer.”
“I fancy you would have got hungry after
a while, if, indeed, poetesses are ever hungry.”
“Now, Mr. Howard, I shall really scold
you,” said Melinda, who was always delighted
to be recognized as a poetess.
“I am sorry I did not call upon you for a
speech, Miss Jones; I would if I had thought
of it.”
“I should positively have sunk into the
ground, if you had been so cruel. You can’t
think how diffident I am, Mr. Howard.”
.bn 277.png
.pn +1
“Diffidence and genius are generally found
in company.”
“Oh, you sad flatterer!” said Miss Jones,
tossing her ringlets in delight.
But the conversation must not be prolonged.
Miss Jones was hoping to secure Walter’s escort
home; but he was backward about offering
it, and finally she was obliged to go home with
her brother.
The next day Walter left Portville for the
mines.
.bn 278.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXVI || THE CLOSE OF THE STORY.
.sp 2
We do not propose to accompany Walter to
the mines; it is sufficient to say that on arriving
there he found a complete confirmation of
the story to which he had been a listener. The
Great Metropolitan Mine was a success! It
promised to be one of the most profitable in the
entire mining region. There were considerable
signs of activity, and as soon as General
Wall and his clique obtained the entire control
they were going to work in earnest. So
much Walter picked up on the ground. Of
course, he did not reveal his real name, but
still figured as Gilbert Howard.
Walter remained three days, during which
he gathered all the information he desired;
then he took the cars for Portville. Less than
a fortnight from the time of his departure he
was set down by the stage at the door of the
Portville Hotel.
“Back again, Mr. Howard?” said the landlord.
“Your vacation is not over yet, is it?”
“Business called me back,” said Walter.
.bn 279.png
.pn +1
“This is indeed a delightful surprise, Mr.
Howard,” said Miss Melinda Jones. “We did
not expect you for a fortnight yet.”
“I couldn’t remain so long away from you,
Miss Jones,” said Walter, roguishly.
“Oh, you wicked flatterer!” exclaimed Melinda,
shaking her ringlets with delight, for
she had faith in the power of her own attractions,
and was half inclined to believe this
statement true. “I have missed you ever so
much.”
“Now it is you who are the flatterer.”
“It’s true; isn’t it, Ichabod?”
“Melinda had no appetite when you were
gone, Mr. Howard,” said the brother. “She
was all the time writin’ poetry.”
“Won’t you come to my bower this evening,
Mr. Howard? We will commune with the
muses.”
“I am sorry, Miss Jones, but I must call on
General Wall this evening.”
“Then let it be to-morrow evening.”
“I won’t promise, but if I can, I will come.”
General Wall was sitting at his desk, making
a calculation of the profits that would accrue
to him from the Great Metropolitan Mining
Company. His calculation appeared to
be a satisfactory one, judging from his complacent
look. He was interrupted by the entrance
of the servant ushering in Walter. Not
having heard of our hero’s return, he was surprised
to see him.
.bn 280.png
.pn +1
“Good-evening, Mr. Howard,” he said. “I
had not heard of your return. When did you
get back?”
“This evening.”
“You expected to be absent longer, did you
not?”
“Yes, sir; but I accomplished the object of
my journey, and had no inducement to remain
longer.”
“As it’s over a fortnight before school begins,
if you choose to give John private lessons,
I shall be glad to have you do so,” said the
general. “I will pay you five dollars a week.”
General Wall looked as if he expected his
offer to be accepted with thanks. Surely it
must be an object for an ill-paid school teacher
like Walter to earn five dollars a week during
his vacation.
“Will John be willing to study in vacation?”
asked Walter.
“No doubt. I will see that he makes no objections.”
General Wall intended to obtain his son’s
consent by the offer of a handsome present,
knowing that the desire of improvement would
not alone be sufficient. What was his surprise
when Walter answered, “I shall be obliged to
decline your proposal, General Wall!”
“You don’t care about working in vacation,
perhaps, Mr. Howard? Or are you going off
again on another journey?”
“I have a different reason, sir--a reason
.bn 281.png
.pn +1
which will also oblige me to disappoint you
about the school. I shall not be able to teach
next term, but must ask you to find another
teacher.”
“Really, Mr. Howard, I hope you are not in
earnest,” said the general, surprised and disappointed.
“Have you secured another position?”
“No, sir. I do not intend to teach again--at
any rate, for some years.”
“Are you going to leave Portville?”
“Yes, sir; but before I go I have some business
which I should like to settle with you.”
“Business--to settle with me!” repeated
General Wall, in surprise.
“Yes, sir; to begin with, I have a confession
to make.”
General Wall looked suspicious. What was
it that Walter was intending to confess? Was
he a thief, or had he violated the laws any
way? He was completely mystified.
“Proceed, Mr. Howard,” he said. “I can’t
say that I apprehend your meaning.”
“In the first place, then, I have no claim to
the name by which you called me.”
“Is not your name Howard?”
“No, sir.”
“What then?”
“I am Walter Conrad.”
“Conrad!” exclaimed General Wall, starting
and looking disturbed. “Surely you are
not----” and he came to a pause.
.bn 282.png
.pn +1
“I am the son of Mr. Conrad, whom you induced
to buy a thousand shares in the Great
Metropolitan Mining Company.”
“Ah, indeed!” said General Wall, a little
nervously. “That was indeed a disastrous
speculation. I lost by it heavily.”
“It was the cause of my poor father’s death,”
said Walter, faltering for a moment.
“A most unfortunate affair,” muttered the
general; “but”--here he rallied--“I am glad
to say, my young friend, that it will not prove
a total loss. I and a few others are going to
see if we can’t revive it and make it pay something.
I have already written to Mr. Clement
Shaw--your guardian, is he not?--offering
three thousand dollars for your shares. We
may lose by it, but the money will go into good
hands. I hope you are empowered to accept
the offer.”
“General Wall,” said Walter, firmly, “don’t
you consider the shares worth more?”
“I am hardly justified in offering so much.”
“Then I will keep the shares.”
“Better think it over, my young friend. It
is not by any means certain that the shares
are worth anything.”
“I will take the risk,” said Walter, coolly.
“I have just returned from visiting the
mines.”
General Wall listened to this statement
with dismay. He found the negotiations more
difficult than he had anticipated.
.bn 283.png
.pn +1
“Well,” said he, after a pause, “have you
any offer to make?”
“I will sell the shares for sixty thousand
dollars.”
“You must be crazy,” said the general, in
excitement.
“I have no fears on that subject.” said our
hero, coolly, “But I may as well tell you,
General Wall, that I am entirely acquainted
with your plan for obtaining complete control
of the stock. I know you have succeeded in
buying up most of it at little or nothing, and
that you will probably realize a fortune out
of it. But my eyes are open. They were
opened three weeks since, when I overheard,
at the Portville House, a conversation between
the landlord and an agent of yours, who gave
full details of the conspiracy into which you
had entered to defraud the original owners of
stock. I learned that you had succeeded with
all except myself. The result of this revelation
was that I determined to visit the mines,
and see for myself. I spent three days there,
and I have returned to tell you that you may
have the stock for sixty thousand dollars, or
I will keep it. I know it is worth more than
I ask, but I live in the East, and I prefer to
have my money invested there.”
General Wall had risen, and was pacing the
room in some agitation.
“The revelation you have made has taken
me by surprise, Mr.--Conrad. I will think
.bn 284.png
.pn +1
over what you have said, and call upon you
at the hotel to-morrow.”
“Very well, sir. You won’t forget about
looking up a new teacher?”
“Oh, ah--yes--I had nearly forgotten that.”
Negotiation was protracted for some days.
At length General Wall acceded to Walter’s
terms, and agreed to purchase the stock at the
price named--sixty thousand dollars--ten
thousand down, and the balance payable
monthly. Walter instantly telegraphed the
good news to Mr. Shaw, his faithful friend,
and received his heartiest congratulations.
The report got about that Walter had inherited
a fortune, and Miss Jones was more
devoted than ever. But she shook her ringlets
to no purpose. Walter was not to be fascinated.
When the business was completed, our hero
started for the East. He had striven under
difficult circumstances, and he had succeeded.
He felt proud and happy, and grateful to God
for having so ordered events as to lead to this
fortune.
He stopped over one day in Chicago. Stepping
into the bowling-alley connected with
the hotel, what was his surprise when, in the
boy who set up the pins, shabby and ill clad,
he recognized Joshua Drummond!
“Joshua!” he exclaimed, in amazement.
“What brings you here?”
Joshua turned scarlet with shame and mortification.
.bn 285.png
.pn +1
Walter, whom he had once looked
down upon, was handsomely dressed, a gentleman
in appearance, while he looked like a
beggar.
“I have been very unlucky,” he whined.
“Surely, you don’t like this business?”
“I have to like it. I should starve if I
didn’t.”
“Are you so reduced?”
“I have no money, except what I earn here.”
“Would you go home if you could?”
“My father would not receive me. He is
angry on account of the money I took. But it
didn’t do me any good. I was swindled out
of it.”
“I am going to take you home,” said Walter,
resolutely. “It isn’t fit that you should be
in such a business. I will undertake to reconcile
your father.”
“I haven’t money to pay my fare.”
“I have plenty. I have succeeded in getting
back a good share of my property, and am
going back to the Essex Classical Institute
to finish preparing for college. If you would
like it, I will pay your expenses there one
year. You won’t be the worse off for another
year’s schooling.”
“You are a good fellow, Cousin Walter,”
said Joshua, stirred at last to gratitude. “I
should like it much better than going back to
Stapleton.”
Walter bought Joshua some new clothes,
.bn 286.png
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and together they returned to the East. Mr.
Drummond at first refused to receive his son,
but when Walter revealed his own good fortune,
and offered to support his cousin at
school for a year, his sternness relaxed, and
reconciliation took place, much to the delight
of Mrs. Drummond, who, bad as Joshua had
behaved, could not forget her only son. I am
glad to say that Joshua was improved by his
trials. He acquitted himself fairly at school,
and is now employed in his father’s store, Mr.
Drummond, at Walter’s solicitation, paying
him ten dollars a week for his services, besides,
of course, board. Let us hope he will
continue to do well.
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A few words in conclusion. Walter is now
in college, and stands very near the head of
the senior class. It is his purpose to study
law, and though his fortune is already made,
we have reason to believe that he will work
hard and acquire distinction. He knows what
it is to Strive and Succeed. General Wall
made a good deal of money out of the Great
Metropolitan Mining Company; but, unluckily
for himself, he invested it in other mines
of less worth, and lost all. He is to-day a
poor man, and his son John will have to make
his own way in the world. Peter Groot is
learning the carpenter’s trade, and seems
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likely to become a respectable, if not brilliant,
member of society. Alfred Clinton has just
entered a Western college. His old teacher,
our hero, has kindly offered to defray the expenses
of his collegiate education, and Alfred
is longing for the time when he can relieve
his mother from work and surround her old
age with comfort. It is an honorable ambition,
and likely to be gratified.
The next volume in this series will be
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.fs 110%
.nf c
Try and Trust;
OR,
The Story of a Bound Boy.
THE END.
.nf-
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