Mark Mason's Victory: The Trials and Triumphs of a Telegraph Boy

"I am getting very tired and must stop. God bless you!

"Your unfortunate cousin,"John Lillis.

"P. S. The man in whose house I am stopping is named Nahum Sprague."

"You see, Mark, your mission will be one of mercy. The sooner the poor boy is rescued from such people as Mr. and Mrs. Sprague the better for him. By the way, I don't want them to say my cousin has been an expense to them. Therefore I will authorize you to obtain from them an itemized account of what they have spent for him and the boy and pay it. You will see that they don't impose upon me by presenting too large a bill."

"Yes, sir. I will look sharply after your interests."

"I shall give you more than enough to get you to San Francisco, and I will give you a letter to a firm there, authorizing you to draw upon them for any sum you may require up to a thousand dollars."

"But that will be a great deal more than I shall need."

"I presume so, but I give you so large a credit to use in case of emergencies."

"You are trusting me very far, Mr. Gilbert."

"I am aware of that, but I feel entirely safe in doing so."

"Thank you, sir."

Other directions were given, and it was agreed that Mark should start on his long journey on Monday morning.

CHAPTER XXVIII

MARK AT OMAHA

Some days later Mark found himself at Omaha. Here he was to transfer himself to the Union Pacific Railroad, at that time the only Pacific road built with the exception of the Central Pacific, which formed with it a continuous line to San Francisco. Mark decided to remain in Omaha for a single day and then take the train for his destination.

At the hotel Mark found himself sitting next to a man with bronzed face and rough attire who embodied his ideas of a miner. The stranger during the meal devoted himself strictly to business, but going out of the dining-room at the same time with Mark he grew sociable.

"Well, young pard.," he said, "what's your trail?"

Mark looked puzzled.

"I mean which way are you going – East or West?"

"I am going to San Francisco."

"Ever been there before?"

Mark shook his head.

"I never was as far West as this before," he answered. "I came from New York."

"So I thought. You look like a tenderfoot. Are you going out to stay?"

"Only a short time. I am going after a young boy. I am going to carry him back with me."

"A kid, eh? You're not much more than a kid yourself."

"I guess I can take care of myself," said Mark with a smile.

"Shouldn't wonder. You look like it. Nothing soft about you."

"I hope I haven't got a soft head. As to my heart, I hope that isn't hard."

"Good for you. I reckon you're a likely kind of boy."

"I suppose you have been to California," said Mark, thinking it his turn to ask questions.

"Yes; I've been on the coast for three years, more or less."

"How do you like it out there?"

"Well, I've had my ups and downs. A year ago, six months for that matter, I was dead broke."

"Did your luck change?"

"Not till I struck Nevada. Then I got a small interest in the Golden Hope mine – "

"The Golden Hope mine?" exclaimed Mark in excitement.

"Do you know anything of that mine, youngster?"

"Yes; I have a – a friend who owns some stock in it."

"Then your friend is in luck. Why, do you know where the stock stands to-day?"

"No, but I should like to know."

"At 110."

Mark's eyes sparkled with joyous excitement.

"Is it possible?" he exclaimed.

"It's so. I've got a block of a hundred shares myself, which I bought eighteen months ago for a song. I give you my word I didn't think it worth more than a dollar or two a share – what I gave – when I learned not long since that they'd struck it rich, and I was no longer a pauper."

"That's good news for me," said Mark slowly.

"Why? Have you got any of it?"

"My mother is entitled to two hundred shares from her father's estate."

"Whew! Have you come out to see about it?"

"No; that was not my object, but I shall find out what I can about it."

"You're in luck."

"Well, perhaps so. But my uncle is trying to cheat my mother out of it."

"Then he must be a rascal. Tell me about it."

The man looked sympathetic and trustworthy, and Mark without hesitation told him the story as it is already known to the reader.

"Do you think the stock has reached its highest point?" he asked anxiously.

"No; it will probably rise to two hundred."

"Then my uncle probably won't close it out just at present."

"No; he will hear how the matter stands, and if he is sharp he will hold on."

"I am glad of that, for I want a little time to decide how to act."

"I am going to stop at the mine on my way to 'Frisco."

"I will give you my address and ask you to write me a line to the care of my banker there, letting me know what you can about the mine."

"All right, boy! I like you, and I'll do it. When do you start?"

"To-morrow."

"We'll start together, and I'll get off the train in Nevada."

CHAPTER XXIX

NAHUM SPRAGUE AND HIS ORPHAN WARD

Leaving Mark on his way we will precede him, and carry the reader at once to Gulchville, in California, where he was to find the young boy of whom Mr. Gilbert had requested him to take charge.

In an unpainted frame house lived Mr. Nahum Sprague. In New England such a building would hardly have cost over five hundred dollars, but here it had been erected at more than double the expense by the original owner. When he became out of health and left California it was bought for a trifling price by Nahum Sprague.

The letter was a man of forty-five with small eyes and a face prematurely wrinkled. He was well-to-do, but how he had gained his money no one knew. He and his wife, however, were mean and parsimonious.

They had one son, a boy of fifteen, who resembled them physically and mentally. He was named Oscar, after a gentleman of wealth, in the hope that at his death the boy would be remembered. Unfortunately for Oscar the gentleman died without a will and his namesake received nothing.

The disappointed parents would gladly have changed the boy's name, but Oscar would not hear of it, preferring the name that had become familiar.

This was the family whose grudging hospitality had embittered the last days of John Lillis, and to them he was obliged to commit the temporary guardianship of his little son Philip.

In the field adjoining, Philip Lillis, a small pale boy, was playing when Oscar Sprague issued from the house.

"Come here, you little brat!" he said harshly.

Philip looked with a frightened expression.

"What do you want of me?" he asked.

"What do I want? Come here and see."

The little fellow approached.

He was received with a sharp slap in the face.

"Why do you hit me, Oscar?" Philip asked tearfully.

"Because you didn't come quicker," answered the young tyrant.

"I didn't know you were in a hurry."

"Well, you know it now."

"You wouldn't have hit me when papa was alive," said Philip with a flash of spirit.

"Well, he isn't alive, see?"

"I know he isn't, and I am alone in the world."

"Well, don't snivel! If anything makes me sick at the stomach it is to see a boy snivel."

"Maybe you'd cry if your papa was dead."

"There ain't much fear. The old man's too tough," responded Oscar, who had no sentimental love for his father. Indeed, it would have been surprising if he had shown any attachment to Nahum Sprague, who was about as unattractive in outward appearance as he was in character and disposition.

"You didn't tell me what you wanted me to do."

"Just wait till I tell you, smarty. Do you see this bottle?"

"Yes."

"Take it to the saloon and get it full of whisky."

"Papa didn't want me to go into a liquor saloon."

"Well, your papa ain't got nothing to do with you now. See? You just do as I tell you."

Philip took the bottle unwillingly and started for the saloon.

"Mind you don't drink any of it on the way home," called out Oscar.

"As if I would," said Philip indignantly. "I don't drink whisky and I never will."

"Oh, you're an angel!" sneered Oscar. "You're too good for this world. Ain't you afraid you'll die young, as they say good boys do?"

"I don't believe you'll die young, Oscar."

"Hey? Was that meant for an insult? But never mind! I don't pretend to be one of the goody-goody Sunday-school kids. Now mind you don't loiter on the way."

Oscar sat down on the doorstep and began to whittle.

The door opened and his father came out.

"Why didn't you go to the saloon as I told you?" he asked hastily.

"It's all the same. I sent Philip."

"You sent that boy? He ain't fit to send on such an errand."

"Why ain't he? He can ask to have the bottle filled, can't he?"

"What did he say? Was he willing to go?"

"He said his papa," mimicked Oscar, "didn't want him to go into a liquor saloon."

"He did, hey? All the more reason for making him go. His poverty-stricken father can't help him now. Why, I am keeping the boy from starving."

"Are you going to keep him always, dad?"

"I ought to turn him over to the town, but folks would talk. There's a man in New York that his father said would send for him. I don't know whether he will or not. There's a matter of fifty dollars due to me for burying John Lillis. That's the way I get imposed upon."

Philip kept on his way to the saloon. He was a timid, sensitive boy, and he shrank from going into the place which was generally filled with rough men. Two miners were leaning against the front of the wooden shanty used for the sale of liquor when Philip appeared.

As he passed in one said to the other, "Well, I'll be jiggered if here isn't a kid comin' for his liquor. I say, kid, what do you want?"

"Some whisky," answered Philip timidly.

"How old are you?"

"Ten."

"I say, young 'un, you're beginnin' early."

"I don't want it for myself," returned Philip half indignantly.

"Oh, no, of course not. You won't take a sip yourself, of course not."

"No, I won't. My papa never drank whisky, and he told me not to."

"Where is your papa?"

"Gone to Heaven."

The miner whistled.

"Then who sent you for whisky?"

"Mr. Sprague."

"Old Nahum?"

"His name is Nahum."

"I thought he was too mean to buy whisky. Do you live with him?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is he any kin to you?"

"No," answered Philip quickly.

"Does he treat you well?"

"I don't like to answer such questions," said Philip guardedly.

"I suppose you are afraid to. Did your father leave any money?"

"No," answered Philip sadly.

"Then I understand how it is. Do you expect to keep on living with Mr. Sprague?"

"Papa wrote to a gentleman in New York. I expect he will send for me."

"I hope he will for your sake, poor little chap. Well, go on and get your whisky. I don't want to take up your time."

As Philip entered the first speaker remarked, "Well, Bill, I don't pretend to be an angel, but I wouldn't send a kid like that for whisky. I drink it myself, but I wouldn't want a boy like that to go for it. I'd go myself."

"I agree with you," said Bill. "That Sprague ain't of much account any way. I'd lick him myself for a dollar. He's about as mean as they make 'em."

CHAPTER XXX

A CIRCUS IN MR. SPRAGUE'S YARD

Philip timidly made known his request and the bottle was filled. The saloon-keeper attended to the order in a matter-of-fact manner. As long as he got his pay he cared very little whom he dealt with.

Philip, feeling ashamed of his burden, came out with the bottle and set out on his return home. He had been delayed by the conversation at the door, and he had also had to wait to have the bottle filled, there being several customers to attend to before him. So it happened that when he got back Mr. Sprague and Oscar were awaiting him impatiently.

"There the boy comes at last, father," said Oscar. "He's creeping like a snail."

Whisky was Mr. Sprague's one extravagance, and he had waited longer than usual for his customary drink. This made him irritable.

"Why don't you come along faster, you young beggar?" he called out harshly.

"I'll start him up, dad," said Oscar with alacrity.

"Do so!"

Oscar started down the road with a cruel light in his eyes. He liked nothing better than to ill-treat the unfortunate boy who had been left to the tender mercies of his father.

Philip did not understand what Oscar's coming portended till the older boy seized him violently by the shoulders.

"Why don't you hurry up?" he demanded. "Don't you know any better than to waste your time playing on the street?"

"I didn't waste any time. I couldn't get waited on at first."

"That's too thin! You were walking like a snail any way. I'll see if I can't make you stir your stumps a little faster."

Oscar pushed Philip so violently that the little fellow stumbled, and then came a catastrophe! He was thrown forward. The bottle came in contact with a stone, and of course broke, spilling the precious contents, as Nahum Sprague thought them.

"Now you've done it!" exclaimed Oscar. "I wouldn't be in your shoes, young man. Pa will flog you within an inch of your life."

"See what Philip has done, pa!" said Oscar, pointing to the broken bottle.

Nahum Sprague absolutely glared at the unfortunate boy. His throat was dry and parched, and his craving for whisky was almost painful in its intensity. And now to have the cup dashed from his lips! It would take time to get a fresh supply, not to count the additional cost. His wrath was kindled against the poor boy.

"What made you break the bottle, you young rascal?" he demanded harshly.

"I didn't mean to," answered Philip, pale with fright.

"You didn't mean to? I suppose it fell of itself," retorted Mr. Sprague with sarcasm.

"Oscar pushed me," exclaimed Philip. "He pushed me very hard, or I wouldn't have dropped it."

"Now he wants to throw it all upon me, pa. Ain't you ashamed of yourself?"

"It's true, Oscar, and you know it," returned Philip with a show of spirit. "You said I didn't move fast enough."

"It's a wicked lie. I just touched you on the shoulder, and you broke the bottle out of spite."

"I have no doubt Oscar is right," said Nahum Sprague severely. "You have destroyed my property. You have broken the bottle as well as wasted the whisky. You are a wicked and ungrateful boy. Here I have been keeping you out of charity because your lazy and shiftless father left you nothing."

"Don't you say anything against my father," said Philip, his meek spirit aroused by this cruel aspersion of the only human being who had cared for him since his mother's death.

"Hoity, toity! Here's impudence! So I am not to say anything against your father after caring for him through his sickness and burying him at my own expense."

"I'll pay you back, Mr. Sprague, indeed I will," said Philip, his lip quivering.

"You'll pay me back, you who are nothing but a beggar. Well, here's cheek. You talk as if you were rich instead of a pauper."

"I'll pay you some time – I have no money now – but I'll work day and night when I am a man to pay you."

"That all sounds very well, but it don't pay me for the bottle of whisky. I must give you a lesson for your carelessness. Oscar, go and get the horsewhip."

"I'll do it, dad," said Oscar joyfully.

He was naturally a cruel boy, and the prospect of seeing Philip flogged gave him the greatest pleasure.

There was a small outbuilding near the house which had once been used for a stable when Mr. Sprague kept a horse, but the last poor animal having pined away and died, as it was believed from insufficient food, it was no longer in use except as a store house for various odds and ends. The horsewhip was saved over from the time when it was needed for its legitimate purpose.

"Oh, don't whip me, Mr. Sprague!" pleaded Philip, frightened at the last words of his cruel guardian.

He was a sensitive boy, one of the kind that thrives under kind influences, and droops under ill-treatment. He had a delicate physical organization that shrank from pain, which some boys bear with stoical fortitude.

It was not merely pain, but the humiliation of a blow that daunted him.

Mr. Sprague did not make any reply to his pleadings, but waited impatiently for Oscar to appear.

This was not long. Sent on a congenial errand Oscar wasted no time, but came out of the building promptly with the horsewhip in his hand.

"Here it is, dad!" he said, handing it to his father.

All this happened in open view of the house and of the public road. Mr. Sprague was so intent upon his plan of punishing Philip that he did not notice the approach of two men walking with unsteady steps along the highway and now close at hand. They were the two men who had talked with Philip in front of the drinking saloon. They had been drinking, but had not reached the stage of helplessness.

"I say, Joe," said one, looking towards Nahum Sprague's house, "there's where old Sprague lives."

"He's a mean rascal," hiccoughed the other. "I'd like to thrash him."

"There's the kid – the one he sent to buy some drink. And there's old Sprague with a whip in his hand. I'll be dog-goned if he ain't goin' to lick him. It's a beastly shame. I say, suppose we take a hand."

"All right, Bill."

Meanwhile Nahum Sprague, quite unaware that he was likely to be interfered with, took the whip from the hand of his son. He looked at Philip very much as a cat looks at a mouse whom she is preparing to swallow.

"Now you're going to catch it," he announced, with a cruel gleam in his eyes. "Now you're going to see what you get for spilling my whisky. I'll learn you!"

"Oh, please don't whip me, Mr. Sprague!" pleaded Philip. "Indeed. I didn't mean to break the bottle."

"That's too thin! You didn't want to go for the whisky in the first place. You said your papa," with a mocking sneer, "didn't like to have you go to a saloon."

"That's true, but I went."

"Because you had to. You are lazy and put on airs, just as if you wasn't a beggar dependent on me for the bread you eat and the clothes you wear."

"My father bought me these clothes," said Philip.

"Suppose he did? When you have worn them out you'll expect me to buy you some more."

"What are you waiting for, pa?" asked Oscar impatiently. "If you're going to lick him, why don't you do it?"

"I'm going to," said Nahum, and, raising the whip he brought it down with a swish around the legs of the poor boy.

Philip cried with pain, dancing up and down, and Oscar went into a fit of laughter at what he thought an amusing spectacle.

"That's the talk, dad!" exclaimed Oscar. "You gave it to him good. Give it to him again."

"I mean to," said Nahum grimly, and he raised the whip a second time.

"Say, Joe, are we going to stand this?" asked Bill.

"Not by a long shot! Follow me, pard."

Mr. Sprague's back was turned to the street, and he did not see the quick approach of the two miners. He was just about to bring down the whip again upon poor defenseless Philip when he thought he was struck by a cyclone.

Bill seized him by the collar, while Joe snatched the whip from his hand.

"Why, why, what's all this?" asked the astonished man in dismay.

"Two can play at your little game," answered Joe. "You can stand it better than the kid," and he lashed the unfortunate Nahum across the legs just as Philip had suffered a short time before.

"Stop, stop!" yelled Nahum, who was a coward at heart. "What do you mean? I'll have the law of you."

"That's what you were doing to the kid. I'll give you a dose of your own medicine," and Mr. Sprague received a second stroke.

"Give me the whip, Joe!" cried Bill. "Give me a chance at him! Don't keep all the fun to yourself."

"All right! Here it is."

Bill used the whip quite as effectively as his friend Joe.

"You stop licking my pa!" exclaimed Oscar, not daring, however, to approach the scene of conflict.

"I say, kid, what was he licking you for?" asked Bill after the first blow.

"He said I broke the bottle and spilled the whisky."

"And did you?"

"Yes, but Oscar pushed me and made me do it."

"Who's Oscar?"

"That boy there."

"Oho! so he's to blame for it."

"It's a lie!" retorted Oscar.

"It isn't. I know the kid's telling the truth. He deserves a dose, too. Bring him here, Joe."

Joe advanced upon Oscar, and after a short chase seized him by the collar, and brought him up to the self-appointed dispenser of justice.

"Hold him tight, Joe!"

Then Oscar felt the whip lash coiling around his legs.

"You quit that!" he howled in anger and dismay.

"One more will do you good. You're bigger than the kid and you can stand it better."

A second time the lash descended with even greater force, and Oscar jumped and danced as Philip had done before him, but somehow it didn't seem to impress him as so funny.

"You'd better give the old man more and then we'll let him go," said Joe.

"I'll have you arrested!" shrieked Nahum Sprague, but in spite of his threat he received another dose of the same medicine.

"When you want some more call on us!" said Bill.

As he spoke he flung the whip out into the street, and the two ministers of justice went off laughing.

"If they try to lick you again, kid, come and tell us," Joe called back.

CHAPTER XXXI

PHILIP FINDS A FRIEND

When the two unauthorized ministers of justice had departed Oscar and his father looked at each other in anger and stupefaction.

"It's an outrage!" exclaimed Nahum Sprague.

"I'd like to shoot them!" returned Oscar. "I'd like to see them flayed within an inch of their lives."

"So would I. They are the most audacious desperadoes I ever encountered."

"Do you know them, dad?"

"Yes; they are Bill Murphy and Joe Hastings. They are always hanging round the drinking saloon."

"We can lick Philip at any rate!" said Oscar, with a furious look at poor Phil. "He brought it on us."

But Nahum Sprague was more prudent. He had heard the threat of Bill and Joe to repeat the punishment if Philip were attacked, and he thought it best to wait.

"Leave it to me," he said. "I'll flog him in due time."

"Ain't you going to do anything to him, dad?" asked Oscar in disappointment.

"Yes. Come here, you, sir!"

Phil approached his stern guardian with an uncomfortable sense of something unpleasant awaiting him.

Nahum Sprague seized him by the collar and said, "Follow me."

He pushed the boy before him and walked him into the house, then up the stairs into an attic room, where he locked him in. Just then the bell rang for dinner.

Poor Phil was hungry, but nothing was said about dinner for him. A dread suspicion came to him that he was to be starved. But half an hour later the door opened, and Oscar appeared with two thin slices of bread without butter.

"Here's your dinner," he said.

It was a poor enough provision for a hungry boy, but Phil ate them with relish, Oscar looking on with an amused smile.

"Is that all I am to have?" asked Phil.

"Yes; it is all you deserve."

"I don't know what I have done."

"You don't, hey? You broke the bottle and spilled the whisky."

"I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't pushed me."

"There you go, laying it off on me. You'd better not."

"But it's true, Oscar."

"No, it isn't. You broke the bottle to spite pa."

"I wouldn't have dared to do it," said Philip.

"You dared a little too much, anyway. Didn't you get those men to follow you and interfere with what was none of their business?"

"No, I didn't."

"Hadn't you spoken with them at the saloon?"

"Yes."

"I thought so."

"They asked me who sent me for the whisky and I told them."

"You didn't need to tell them. If it hadn't been for that they wouldn't have come round to our place and assaulted pa and me. They'll catch it, pa says. Shouldn't wonder if they'd be put in prison for five years."

Young as he was Phil put no faith in this ridiculous statement, but he thought it best not to make any comment.