Andy Gordon

Andy blushed when his mother read these words, and looked rather uncomfortable, as modest boys generally do when they hear themselves praised.

“As for me,” the letter proceeded, “I am getting to be an old man. I am seventy-five years old, and, though my health is good and our family is long-lived – my father lived to be eighty-four – I feel that I have not long to live. I have had the good fortune to accumulate considerable property, besides the farm upon which I am living; but in spite of this, I find myself in a very uncomfortable position. I must explain to you how this happens.

“I had an only daughter – Sarah – who was everything that a daughter should be. She was amiable and kind, and, if she were living, I should have no cause to complain.

“She married a man named Brackett, a painter by trade, and for a few years they lived in a small house in the village. But Brackett was a lazy and shiftless man, and every year I had to help him, till at last I thought it would be cheaper taking him into my house and letting him help me look after the farm. My wife had died and I was willing to tolerate him – though I never liked the man – for the sake of my daughter’s presence in the house. Five years afterward, Sarah died, but Brackett still remained. They had had no child that lived, and I should have liked then to have gotten rid of him, but it wasn’t easy.

“Two years later he married a sharp, ill-tempered woman, from the next town, and brought her to the house. That was ten years ago. I ought to have given him notice to quit, but at the time of the marriage I was sick, and when I got well the new wife seemed to have become the mistress of the establishment.

“I have never been comfortable since. There are four children by this marriage, and they overrun the house. I was weak enough, a few years ago, to make over the place to Brackett, and now he and his wife are persecuting me to make a will, bequeathing them the rest of my property. This I will never do. The man has no claim upon me, and I should not have given him the place. My other property amounts to about ten thousand dollars, though he doesn’t suspect it. I find myself watched, as a cat watches a mouse, lest I should dispose of my property away from them. I feel that I have not a friend in the house, and I am so old that I want one.

“Now, my dear niece, will you do me a favor? Send your boy to me, but let him take another name. I don’t want it known or suspected that he is related to me. Though he is young, he can help me to carry out a plan I have in view, and to baffle my persecutors. I will take care that his services are recompensed. I enclose a fifty-dollar bill to pay his expenses out here.

“I am tired, and must close.

“Your old uncle,Simon Dodge.

“P. S. – It will be a good idea to apply to Mr. Brackett for work – offering to come at very low wages. Brackett wants a boy, but he doesn’t want to pay more than fifty cents a week. Do not answer this letter, if you send your son, as Mr. Brackett would find out that I had received a letter from your neighborhood, and his suspicions would be aroused.”

CHAPTER XXIII.

ANDY’S RESOLVE

“Poor uncle Simon!” said Mrs. Gordon, after the letter had been read. “He seems to be in a difficult position.”

“Why doesn’t he send that man Brackett packing?” asked Andy, indignantly. “He can’t have much spirit.”

“You forget, Andy, how old he is. An old man is not so well able to contend for his rights as a man of middle age. Besides, it appears that his son-in-law has possession of the farm.”

“It is a shame!”

“So it is; but that cannot be recalled. The rest of the property ought to be saved from Mr. Brackett.”

“That’s easy enough. He needn’t give it to him.”

“But uncle Simon may be persecuted into doing what he does not wish to do.”

“Mother,” said Andy, with a sudden thought, “who will get the property if Mr. Dodge dies without a will?”

“I suppose it would go to his relations.”

“What other relations has he besides you?”

“I don’t think he has any others,” answered Mrs. Gordon.

“Then it may come to us.”

“We have more right to it than Mr. Brackett,” said his mother.

“Then,” said Andy, after a short pause, “there must be a struggle between me and Brackett.”

“You wouldn’t fight with a full-grown man, Andy?” asked his mother, in alarm.

“Oh, no!” answered Andy, smiling. “I don’t think it will come to that. But I must go out to your uncle’s help. Between us both, we will see if we can’t circumvent that grasping old Brackett and his wife and children.”

“I don’t see what a boy like you can do, Andy.”

“At any rate, I can try, mother. This money will pay my expenses out to Cato. When I get there I can form my plans.”

“I don’t see how I can spare you, Andy.”

“Remember, mother, I am going in your behalf. Uncle Simon’s money, which may amount to ten thousand dollars, may otherwise be taken from us.”

“If you can induce Uncle Simon to come here and end his days with us, I will try to make him comfortable.”

“A good idea, mother. I’ll see if I can’t bring him.”

“When do you want to start, Andy?”

“Not till after our good friend Joshua Starr has come for his money. I want to be here then, just to see how disappointed and mortified he will look when he sees the receipt with his signature attached.”

On Tuesday afternoon, Joshua Starr called at the office of Brandon Ross, the lawyer.

“To-day’s the day when we are to call on the Widder Gordon for my money, lawyer, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes, Mr. Starr. Do you propose to come with me?”

“Yes.”

“It isn’t necessary.”

“You see, Squire, I thought I could take a look at the furniture,” suggested old Joshua, “and decide what I’ll take. It ain’t likely that the widder’ll have the money to pay the note – at least, not all of it, and I’ll have to take it out in what she’s got.”

“You are a hard man, Mr. Starr. I shouldn’t like to be owing you money which I couldn’t pay.”

“You’re jokin’, squire. There ain’t anything wrong in my wantin’ my money, is there?”

“No; still you’re a rich man, and Mrs. Gordon is a poor woman.”

“That ain’t neither here nor there,” said Joshua Starr, evidently annoyed. “My money’s my own, I take it, and I’m entitled to it. If Mr. Gordon borrowed money, it stands to reason that his widder ought to pay it,” he concluded, triumphantly.

“I can’t gainsay you, Mr. Starr. You must act your will. I am only your agent, you know.”

“Jes’ so! jes’ so!” said the old man, considerably relieved, for he feared that the lawyer was going to act against him.

But he did not know that Brandon Ross derived positive pleasure from the thought of the distress and trouble he was about to bring on the boy who had – as he construed it – insulted and injured his own spoiled son.

The crafty lawyer, however, did not mean to let either his client or his intended victim know how willingly he engaged in the affair.

CHAPTER XXIV.

ANDY’S TRIUMPH OVER MR. STARR

“They’re coming, mother,” said Andy, as, looking from the window, he espied the bent form of old Joshua, with the sprucely dressed lawyer at his side, coming up the village street side by side, and approaching their modest cottage.

“I wish the visit were over,” said Mrs. Gordon, nervously.

“I don’t, mother,” said Andy, with a smile of assured triumph. “The victory is to be ours, you know.”

“I don’t like to quarrel.”

“Nor I; but when a man tries to impose upon me, I like to resist him boldly.”

“You won’t be too hasty, Andy?”

“No; but, mother, let me manage the matter, and leave me to produce the receipt when I think it best.”

“Wouldn’t it be well to save trouble by letting them know at once that we have found it, Andy?” asked the widow.

“No, mother; I want to make them show their hand first.”

Andy had hardly completed this sentence, when a knock was heard at the door.

Mrs. Gordon opened it.

“Good-afternoon, widder!” said Joshua Starr, in his cracked voice, which was usually pitched on a high key.

“Good-afternoon, Mrs. Gordon!” said the lawyer, blandly. “We have called – Mr. Starr and myself – on a little matter of business.”

“Yes, ma’am, we’ve called on business,” echoed Starr.

“Won’t you walk in, gentlemen?” said Mrs. Gordon, gravely.

“Thank you!” said the lawyer.

And he bowed ceremoniously.

“I reckon we will,” said Joshua Starr, who forgot to remove his battered old hat as he entered.

“Why, Andy, howdy do?” said the old man, as he espied our young hero seated at the window. “I see you’ve took to scarin’ burglars. Ho, ho! I reckon I’d have to send for you if I had anything in my house wuth stealin’. Ho, ho!”

“Yes, Mr. Starr, I’m ready to defend myself against all sorts of burglars,” said Andy, pointedly.

Mr. Starr did not understand Andy’s meaning, but Mr. Ross darted a sharp glance at the boy, whom he understood better. He said nothing, however.

“Sho! I guess they ain’t likely to get into your house, widder,” said Mr. Starr, turning to Mrs. Gordon.

“I hope not, Mr. Starr.”

The old man’s eyes had already begun to wander about the room, in search of desirable furniture to seize in payment of the note. There was a comfortable rocking-chair, in which the lawyer had seated himself, which he mentally decided to claim. It occurred to him that it would be just the thing for him to sit in after the farm work of the day was over.

He nodded significantly to the lawyer, who thereupon commenced:

“Of course, Mrs. Gordon, you are aware of the nature of the business that has brought us here?”

“Jes’ so! jes’ so!” interjected Mr. Starr.

“Is it about the note?”

“Yes, it is about the note. Including interest, it amounts to – ”

“One hundred and thirty-two dollars and twenty-seven cents,” interrupted Joshua Starr, eagerly.

The lawyer looked at him angrily, and Mr. Starr shrank back in his chair.

“I told you, Mr. Ross, that the note had been paid,” said Mrs. Gordon, beginning to be a little nervous.

“I know you said so,” the lawyer returned, “and you were doubtless under that impression, but my client, Mr. Starr, assures me that it is a mistake. The note still remains unpaid.”

“Jes’ so! jes’ so!” said Starr, eagerly.

“You know better, Mr. Starr!” broke in Andy, hotly. “You are trying to get the note paid twice.”

“Why, Andy,” exclaimed Mr. Starr, appearing to be very much shocked, “how you talk!”

“Young man,” said the lawyer, severely, “this is very disgraceful! I cannot permit my respected client to be insulted by a beardless boy.”

“What I said is true, nevertheless,” said Andy. “I don’t believe Mr. Starr has forgotten it, either!”

“That’s all nonsense, Andy,” said Joshua. “I’ll make it easy for you. I’m willin’ to take part of my pay in furniture, and the rest your mother can pay, say five or ten dollars a month.”

“My mother has no more furniture than she wants,” said Andy, “and she wants all her income to live upon.”

“That won’t do,” said the lawyer, sternly. “Your mother must make some arrangements this very afternoon to pay my client’s note, or it will be necessary for me, in his behalf, to take some very unpleasant measures.”

“There is one excellent reason for our not paying the note,” said Andy, smiling.

“What is that?”

“It has already been paid, and we can show Mr. Starr’s receipt.”

Mr. Ross and his client stared at each other in a dismay which they were powerless to conceal.

CHAPTER XXV.

MR. STARR’S CRUSHING DEFEAT

The old man, his month wide open in astonishment and dismay, presented a ludicrous spectacle. At first he seemed to be incapable of speech, but he managed to ejaculate, feebly:

“ ‘Tain’t so – ’tain’t so!”

“You will find that it is so, Mr. Starr,” said Andy, firmly, “and that your wicked attempt to cheat my mother out of more than a hundred dollars has failed.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Joshua Starr, nervously; but his voice showed that he did believe it, nevertheless.

He had the best reason for knowing that such a receipt had been signed, but he had reckoned on its being lost or permanently mislaid.

The lawyer was not sure in his own mind whether Andy was not deceiving them, and determined to find out.

“These are bold words, boy,” he said. “We shall not believe in this receipt you talk about till you show it.”

“Mr. Starr believes in it,” retorted Andy, “for he knows very well he signed it; but he thought it was lost.”

“I demand to see the receipt,” said the lawyer.

“Very well; you shall see it,” assented Andy.

He drew a wallet from his pocket, and, taking out a folded piece of paper, handed it to the lawyer.

“Let me see it,” said Mr. Starr; but there was a cunning look in his eyes which made Andy distrustful.

“I object to his taking it,” interposed our hero.

“I don’t believe it’s genewine,” whined old Joshua. “It’s a base attempt to cheat me out of my money.”

“You’d better not talk about that, Mr. Starr,” said Andy.

“Lemme see it.”

“He has a right to see it,” said Mr. Ross; but he spoke in a quiet tone, for he saw that it would injure his professional reputation to involve himself in an evident attempt at swindling.

Joshua Starr took the paper in his hand, and gazed at it in a dazed way.

“The signatoor don’t look genewine,” he said, weakly.

Now it chanced that Mr. Starr’s signature was very peculiar – remarkable chiefly for its being a miserable scrawl.

“Doesn’t it look like your writing?” said Andy.

“Well, mebbe it is, a little; but I guess it’s a forgery. I dunno but you wrote it yourself, Andy.”

“Do you believe that, Mr. Ross?” asked Andy, plainly.

“No,” said the lawyer, with a glance of contempt at his client. “I believe it is Mr. Starr’s signature.”

Old Joshua’s lower jaw dropped.

“You ain’t a-goin’ to desert me, squire, are you?”

As he spoke, he cunningly let go the receipt, giving it an impulse toward the open fireplace, where a fire was burning.

Andy, however, was on the watch, and he sprang forward and rescued the valuable document.

“What are you trying to do, Mr. Starr?” he demanded, sternly.

“Nothing – it slipped,” answered the old man, crestfallen.

Though Mr. Ross was disappointed that he was unable to injure the Gordons by the agency of Mr. Starr, he felt that he could not afford to be implicated in the rascality which his client had attempted in his presence.

“Mrs. Gordon,” he said, rising from his chair, “you will do me the justice to believe that I had no knowledge of the existence of this receipt. I supposed Mr. Starr’s claim was a genuine one, or I would not have meddled with it. It is not my intention to aid and abet rascality.”

“You don’t mean me, do you, squire?” asked Joshua Starr, gazing in consternation at the lawyer.

“Yes, I do!” returned the lawyer, severely.

“There’s a mistake, squire. I’m almost sure that signatoor ain’t genewine.”

“And I am sure that it is,” said the lawyer, curtly. “You needn’t bring me any more of your business, Mr. Starr.”

He strode out of the cottage, with a look of utter disgust on his face.

“I don’t see what’s the matter with the squire,” said the old man. “He hadn’t ought to leave me that way.”

“Have you got any more business with us, Mr. Starr?” asked Andy.

“No – not as I know on. It’s pretty hard for me to lose all that money.”

“You can try to cheat somebody else out of it,” said Andy, coolly. “I wouldn’t advise you to try us again.”

“You’re a cur’us boy, Andy,” said the old man, as he slowly rose and hobbled off, disappointed.

When Mr. Ross reached home, he found his son Herbert waiting eagerly to interview him.

Herbert knew that his father had set out with Mr. Starr for Andy Gordon’s cottage, and he was anxious to hear just what passed, and whether Andy wasn’t mortified and distressed.

“You’ve got back, pa?” said Herbert, by way of opening the conversation.

“Yes, I’ve got back!” said Mr. Ross, gruffly.

“I suppose Andy wasn’t very glad to see you?” chuckled Herbert.

“It didn’t seem to trouble him much,” said the lawyer, curtly.

“He wasn’t ready to pay the note, was he?” asked Herbert, in alarm.

“No.”

Herbert felt relieved.

“I thought he couldn’t raise the money,” he said, triumphantly. “It was over a hundred dollars, wasn’t it?”

The lawyer had been so much annoyed that he enjoyed the disappointment in store for his son, on the principle that misery loves company.

“There was no need of his having any money ready,” he said.

“Mr. Starr hasn’t excused him from paying it, has he?” inquired Herbert, anxiously.

“Mr. Starr is an old scoundrel!” exclaimed Mr. Ross, impetuously.

Herbert was petrified with astonishment at hearing his father speak thus of his client.

“Do you really mean it?” he asked, incredulously.

“Yes, I mean it.”

“What has he done?”

“The note had been paid years ago, and he wanted to get it paid over again, and asked me to help him,” said the lawyer, with virtuous indignation.

“Then he can’t collect pay?” asked Herbert.

“Of course he can’t. How many times do you think a man is bound to pay a note?”

Herbert was not pleased with the way things had turned out, and he was puzzled at the remarkable change which had taken place in his father.

“Then I suppose,” he said, “you won’t get anything for what you have done in the matter?”

The lawyer’s eyes flashed. Here, at least, was a chance to get even with the old cheat, as he now denominated Mr. Starr. The next morning he sent a bill to Joshua Starr for professional services, setting the sum at fifteen dollars. This quickly brought the old man around to his office, in terrible dismay.

“You ain’t in earnest, squire?” he said.

“About what?”

“About this bill.”

“Mr. Starr, do you suppose I work for nothing?”

“But you didn’t collect any money for me, squire.”

“And whose fault was that, I’d like to know?” retorted the lawyer. “It appears that your claim was fraudulent – fraudulent, Mr. Starr!”

Mr. Joshua Starr cared very little about the damage to his reputation arising from detection in such a dirty trick, but he cared a great deal about the fifteen dollars.

“It ain’t right for you to ask it, squire. You didn’t do me a mite of good.”

“What business had you to obtain my help in such a scandalous fraud?”

“Suppose we call it even, squire. You ain’t succeeded, and – ”

“I shall succeed in this, Mr. Starr. That bill must be paid.”

“I won’t pay it!” said the old man, obdurately.

“You won’t, eh? Then I’ll attach your farm.”

Finally Joshua Starr had to pay the lawyer’s charge, and I think the verdict of my young readers will be: “Served him right.”

Two days afterward, to the astonishment of every one except his mother and Dr. Euclid, whom he took into his confidence, Andy Gordon left Hamilton, and was not seen in the village again for several weeks.

Where he went, and what he did, will be explained in succeeding chapters.

CHAPTER XXVI.

ANDY’S NEW NAME

Andy had to consider what name he would assume in place of his own.

His mother did not like the idea of his changing his name.

“It looks as if you had something to be ashamed of,” she said.

“But I haven’t, mother.”

“Generally, only criminals who are engaged in breaking the laws change their names,” persisted Mrs. Gordon.

“Do you think, mother,” laughed Andy, “that changing my name will make me a law-breaker?”

“No, Andy; but – ”

“But, mother, it seems to be necessary. That man Brackett knows that uncle Simon has relations, and it is likely that he knows our name. If I should appear as Andy Gordon he would know the name, and be suspicious of me, so that I could not help uncle at all.”

Mrs. Gordon had to admit that Andy was right.

“I suppose it must be, then,” she said. “What name have you thought of?”

“I have not thought of any yet, but it can’t be very hard to find one. Names are plenty enough.”

This was true. Still, after suggesting a dozen, Andy seemed no nearer a choice than he had been in the first place.

“I’ll tell you what, mother,” he said at last. “Haven’t you an old paper here, somewhere?”

One was found.

“I am going to find a name somewhere in this paper,” said Andy, and forthwith he began to examine critically the crowded columns.

He paused at a paragraph, recording the bravery of a boy named Henry Miller, who had saved a younger boy from drowning, somewhere in Massachusetts. This struck Andy favorably.

“Mother,” he said, “let me introduce myself to you as Henry Miller.”

“Do you like the name?” asked his mother, doubtfully.

“Not particularly, but it is the name of a brave boy, and so is an honorable name. I shouldn’t like a bad name, like Benedict Arnold, for instance.”

“What did Henry Miller do?”

“He saved a boy from drowning.”

So it was decided that Andy, as soon as he left Hamilton, should be known as Henry Miller.

He had, as we know, intended to buy a new suit of clothes, but as he was about to assume the character of a poor boy, wandering about the country in search of employment, that would hardly be worth while.

He decided to wear his everyday clothes, and carry his best in a bundle, with some necessary underclothing.

Andy found on inquiry that the town of Cato, where his great-uncle lived, was nearly four hundred miles distant.

Of course, there would be no occasion to assume his character till he got nearly there.

From a railroad guide he ascertained the name of a place about fifteen miles from Cato, and bought a ticket to that place.

We will call this place Seneca, though that was not the name.

Before leaving Hamilton it was not only proper but incumbent on Andy to call on Dr. Euclid, and resign his post as janitor.

“Going to leave us, Andrew?” said the doctor, in a tone of regret. “I am sorry to hear it. Can’t you stay till the end of the term?”

“No, sir; I shall have to go at once,” answered Andy.

“If it is any money embarrassment,” said the doctor, kindly, “don’t let that influence you. I shall be very glad to assist you, if you will allow me.”

Dr. Euclid spoke in a tone of kindness and delicate sympathy which could hardly have been expected of the stern master at whose frown so many boys trembled.

Andy was exceedingly grateful, and felt that he ought to say so.

“Thank you for your great kindness, Dr. Euclid,” said Andy; “but it isn’t that – though it does relate to money. Though it is a secret, I have a great mind to tell you.”

“Do as you please, Andrew. I shall, of course, respect your confidence, and perhaps I may be able to advise you for your benefit.”

Upon this, Andy told the doctor the whole story, reading him his uncle’s letter, which he happened to have in his pocket.

“It is a serious undertaking, my boy,” said the doctor. “Do you think you are equal to it?”

“I may be self-conceited, Dr. Euclid, but I think I am,” answered Andy.

“I would not call it self-conceit,” said the doctor, slowly, “but a spirit of confidence which may be justified by events. Have you any plan of proceedings?”

“No, sir; except to follow uncle Simon’s instructions, and try to get a place in Mr. Brackett’s employ, where I can be ready to be of service.”

“I suspect you won’t find the place an easy one. Probably this Mr. Brackett will make you work hard.”

“I am afraid so,” laughed Andy; “but I will remember that I am working for a higher reward than the fifty cents a week which uncle writes that I may be paid.”

“On the whole,” said the doctor, “I think you are acting right. You have a good end in view, and, what is very important, you are leaving home with your mother’s knowledge and with her permission. Were it otherwise, I should think you were acting decidedly wrong.”

“I should not think of leaving home without mother’s permission,” said Andy, promptly.

“Quite right, my boy,” said the doctor, kindly. “I am sorry to say that in these days of juvenile independence not all boys are so considerate. Well, Andrew, you have my best wishes for your success. I hope we may soon see you home again, and your uncle with you.”

“That is what I shall try for,” answered Andy. “I would like to get him out of the clutches of that man Brackett.”