Cast Upon the Breakers

Jr. Horatio Alger

Cast Upon the Breakers

CHAPTER I

A FAITHLESS GUARDIAN

“Well, good by, Rodney! I leave school tomorrow. I am going to learn a trade.”

“I am sorry to part with you, David. Couldn’t you stay another term?”

“No: my uncle says I must be earning my living, and I have a chance to learn the carpenter’s trade.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Duffield, some twenty miles away. I wish I were in your shoes. You have no money cares, and can go on quietly and complete your education.”

“I don’t know how I am situated, David. I only know that my guardian pays my expenses at this boarding school.”

“Yes, you are a star boarder, and have the nicest room in the institution. I am only a poor day scholar. Still I feel thankful that I have been allowed to remain as long as I have. Who is your guardian?”

“A Mr. Benjamin Fielding, of New York.”

“Is he a business man?”

“I believe so.”

“Do you know how much you will inherit when you come of age?” asked David, after a short pause.

“I haven’t an idea.”

“It seems to me your guardian ought to have told you.”

“I scarcely know my guardian. Five years ago I spent a week at his home. I don’t remember much about it except that he lives in a handsome house, and has plenty of servants. Since then, as you know, I have passed most of my time here, except that in the summer I was allowed to board at the Catskills or any country place I might select.”

“Yes, and I remember one year you took me with you and paid all my expenses. I shall never forget your kindness, and how much I enjoyed that summer.”

Rodney Ropes smiled, and his smile made his usually grave face look very attractive.

“My dear David,” he said, “it was all selfishness on my part. I knew I should enjoy myself much better with a companion.”

“You may call that selfishness, Rodney, but it is a kind of selfishness that makes me your devoted friend. How long do you think you shall remain at school?”

“I don’t know. My guardian has never told me his plans for me. I wish he would.”

“I shall miss you, Rodney, but we will correspond, won’t we?”

“Surely. You know I shall always feel interested in you and your welfare.”

David was a plain boy of humble parentage, and would probably be a hard working mechanic. In fact he was looking for nothing better.

But Rodney Ropes looked to be of genteel blood, and had the air of one who had been brought up a gentleman. But different as they were in social position the two boys had always been devoted friends.

The boarding school of which Rodney was, as his friend expressed himself, a star pupil, was situated about fifty miles from the city of New York. It was under the charge of Dr. Sampson, a tall, thin man of fair scholarship, keenly alive to his own interest, who showed partiality for his richer pupils, and whenever he had occasion to censure bore most heavily upon boys like David Hull, who was poor.

Rodney occupied alone the finest room in the school. There was a great contrast between his comfortable quarters and the extremely plain dormitories occupied by less favored pupils.

In the case of some boys the favoritism of the teacher would have led them to put on airs, and made them unpopular with their school fellows. But Rodney had too noble a nature to be influenced by such considerations. He enjoyed his comfortable room, but treated his school fellows with a frank cordiality that made him a general favorite.

After David left his room Rodney sat down to prepare a lesson in Cicero, when he was interrupted by the entrance through the half open door of a younger boy.

“Rodney,” he said, “the doctor would like to see you in his office.”

“Very well, Brauner, I will go down at once.”

He put aside his book and went down to the office of Dr. Sampson on the first floor.

The doctor was sitting at his desk. He turned slightly as Rodney entered.

“Take a seat, Ropes,” he said curtly.

His tone was so different from his usual cordiality that Rodney was somewhat surprised.

“Am I in disgrace?” he asked himself. “Dr. Sampson doesn’t seem as friendly as usual.”

After a brief interval Dr. Sampson wheeled round in his office chair.

“I have a letter for you from your guardian, Ropes,” he said. “Here it is. Do me the favor to read it here.”

With some wonder Rodney took the letter and read as follows:

DEAR RODNEY—I have bad news to communicate. As you know, I was left by your father in charge of you and your fortune. I have never told you the amount, but I will say now that it was about fifty thousand dollars. Until two years since I kept it intact but then began a series of reverses in which my own fortune was swallowed up. In the hope of relieving myself I regret to say that I was tempted to use your money. That went also, and now of the whole sum there remains but enough to pay the balance of your school bills, leaving you penniless. How much I regret this I cannot tell you. I shall leave New York at once. I do not care at present to say where I shall go, but I shall try to make good the loss, and eventually restore to you your lost fortune. I may be successful or I may not. I shall do my best and I hope in time to have better news to communicate.

One thing I am glad to say. I have a casket containing your mother’s jewels. These are intact. I shall send you the casket by express, knowing that you will wish to keep them out of regard for your mother’s memory. In case you are reduced to the necessity of pawning or selling them, I am sure that your mother, could she be consulted, would advise you to do so. This would be better than to have you suffer from want.

There is nothing further for me to write except to repeat my regret, and renew my promise to make up your lost fortune if I shall ever to able to do so. Your Guardian, BENJAMIN FIELDING.

Rodney read this like one dazed. In an instant he was reduced from the position of a favorite of fortune to a needy boy, with his living to make.

He could not help recalling what had passed between his friend David and himself earlier in the day. Now he was as poor as David—poorer, in fact for David had a chance to learn a trade that would yield him a living, while he was utterly without resources, except in having an unusually good education.

“Well,” said Dr. Sampson, “have you read your letter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your guardian wrote to me also. This is his letter,” and he placed the brief epistle in Rodney’s hands.

DR. SAMPSON—I have written my ward, Rodney Ropes, an important letter which he will show you. The news which it contains will make it necessary for him to leave school. I inclose a check for one hundred and twenty five dollars. Keep whatever is due you, and give him the balance. BENJAMIN FIELDING.

“I have read the letter, but I don’t know what it means,” said Dr. Sampson. “Can you throw any light upon it?”

“Here is my letter, doctor. You can read it for yourself.”

Dr. Sampson’s face changed as he read Rodney’s letter. It changed and hardened, and his expression became quite different from that to which Rodney had been accustomed.

“This is a bad business, Ropes,” said the doctor in a hard tone.

He had always said Rodney before.

“Yes, sir.”

“That was a handsome fortune which your father left you.”

“Yes, sir. I never knew before how much it amounted to.”

“You only learn when you have lost it. Mr. Fielding has treated you shamefully.”

“Yes, sir, I suppose he has, but he says he will try to make it up to me in the future.”

“Pish! that is all humbug. Even if he is favored by fortune you will never get back a cent.”

“I think I shall, sir.”

“You are young. You do not know the iniquities of business men. I do.”

“I prefer to hope for the best.”

“Just as you please.”

“Have you anything more to say to me?”

“Only that I will figure up your account and see how much money is to come to you out of the check your guardian has sent. You can stay here till Monday; then you will find it best to make new arrangements.”

“Very well, sir.”

Rodney left the room, realizing that Dr. Sampson’s feelings had been changed by his pupil’s reverse of fortune.

It was the way of the world, but it was not a pleasant way, and Rodney felt depressed.

CHAPTER II

THE CASKET OF JEWELS

It was not till the latter part of the afternoon that the casket arrived. Rodney was occupied with a recitation, and it was only in the evening that he got an opportunity to open it. There was a pearl necklace, very handsome, a pair of bracelets, two gold chains, some minor articles of jewelry and a gold ring.

A locket attracted Rodney’s notice, and he opened it. It contained the pictures of his father and mother.

His father he could barely remember, his mother died before he was old enough to have her image impressed upon his memory. He examined the locket and his heart was saddened. He felt how different his life would have been had his parents lived.

He had never before realized the sorrow of being alone in the world. Misfortune had come upon him, and so far as he knew he had not a friend. Even Dr. Sampson, who had been paid so much money on his account, and who had always professed so great friendship for him, had turned cold.

As he was standing with the locket in his hand there was a knock at the door.

“Come in!” he called out.

The door opened and a stout, coarse looking boy, dressed in an expensive manner, entered.

“Good evening, John,” said Rodney, but not cordially.

Next to himself, John Bundy, who was the son of a wealthy saloon keeper in the city of New York, had been a favorite with Dr. Sampson.

If there was anything Dr. Sampson bowed down to and respected it was wealth, and Mr. Bundy, senior, was reputed to be worth a considerable fortune.

In Rodney’s mood John Bundy was about the last person whom he wanted to see.

“Ha!” said John, espying the open casket, “where did you get all that jewelry?”

“It contains my mother’s jewels,” said Rodney gravely.

“You never showed it to me before.”

“I never had it before. It came to me by express this afternoon.”

“It must be worth a good pile of money,” said John, his eyes gleaming with cupidity.

“I suppose it is.”

“Have you any idea what it is worth?”

“I have no thought about it.”

“What are you going to do with it? It won’t be of use to you, especially the diamond earrings,” he added, with a coarse laugh.

“No,” answered Rodney shortly.

“My eyes, wouldn’t my mother like to own all this jewelry. She’s fond of ornament, but pa won’t buy them for her.”

Rodney did not answer.

“I say, Ropes, I mustn’t forget my errand. Will you do me a favor?”

“What is it?”

“Lend me five dollars till the first of next month. My allowance comes due then. Now I haven’t but a quarter left.”

“What makes you apply to me, Bundy?”

“Because you always have money. I don’t suppose you are worth as much as my father, but you have more money for yourself than I have.”

“I have had, perhaps, but I haven’t now.”

“Why, what’s up? What has happened?”

“I have lost my fortune.”

John whistled. This was his way of expressing amazement.

“Why, what have you been doing? How could you lose your fortune?”

“My guardian has lost it for me. That amount to the same thing.”

“When did you hear that?”

“This morning.”

“Is that true? Are you really a poor boy?”

“Yes.”

John Bundy was astonished, but on the whole he was not saddened. In the estimation of the school Rodney had always ranked higher than he, and been looked upon as the star pupil in point of wealth.

Now that he was dethroned John himself would take his place. This would be gratifying, though just at present, and till the beginning of the next month, he would be distressed for ready money.

“Well, that’s a stunner!” he said. “How do you feel about it? Shall you stay in school?”

“No; I can’t afford it. I must get to work.”

“Isn’t there anything left—not a cent?”

“There may be a few dollars.”

“And then,” said Bundy with a sudden thought, “there is this casket of jewelry. You can sell it for a good deal of money.”

“I don’t mean to sell it.”

“Then you’re a fool; that’s all I’ve got to say.”

“I don’t suppose you will understand my feeling in the matter, but these articles belonged to my mother. They are all I have to remind me of her. I do not mean to sell them unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“I would sell them quicker’n a wink,” said Bundy. “What’s the good of keeping them?”

“We won’t discuss the matter,” said Rodney coldly.

“Do you mind my telling the other boys about your losing your money?”

“No; it will be known tomorrow at any rate; there is no advantage in concealing it.”

A heavy step was heard outside. It stopped before the door.

“I must be getting,” said Bundy, “or I’ll get into trouble.”

It was against the rule at the school for boys to make calls upon each other in the evening unless permission were given.

John Bundy opened the door suddenly, and to his dismay found himself facing the rigid figure of Dr. Sampson, the principal.

“How do you happen to be here, Bundy?” asked the doctor sternly.

“Please, sir, I was sympathizing with Ropes on his losing his money,” said Bundy with ready wit.

“Very well! I will excuse you this time.”

“I’m awful sorry for you, Ropes,” said Bundy effusively.

“Thank you,” responded Rodney.

“You can go now,” said the principal. “I have a little business with Master Ropes.”

“All right, sir. Good night.”

“Good night.”

“Won’t you sit down, Dr. Sampson?” said Rodney politely, and he took the casket from the chair.

“Yes, I wish to have five minutes’ conversation with you. So these are the jewels, are they?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They seem to be quite valuable,” went on the doctor, lifting the pearl necklace and poising it in his fingers. “It will be well for you to have them appraised by a jeweler.”

“It would, sir, if I wished to sell them, but I mean to keep them as they are.”

“I would hardly advise it. You will need the money. Probably you do not know how near penniless you are.”

“No, sir; I don’t know.”

“Your guardian, as you are aware, sent me a check for one hundred and twenty five dollars. I have figured up how much of this sum is due to me, and I find it to be one hundred and thirteen dollars and thirty seven cents.”

“Yes, sir,” said Rodney indifferently.

“This leaves for you only eleven dollars and sixty three cents. You follow me, do you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you any money saved up from your allowance?”

“A few dollars only, sir.”

“Ahem! that is a pity. You will need all you can raise. But of course you did not anticipate what has occurred?”

“No, sir.”

“I will throw off the thirty seven cents,” said the principal magnanimously, “and give you back twelve dollars.”

“I would rather pay you the whole amount of your bill,” said Rodney.

“Ahem! Well perhaps that would be more business-like. So you don’t wish to part with any of the jewelry, Ropes?”

“No, sir.”

“I thought, perhaps, by way of helping you, I would take the earrings, and perhaps the necklace, off your hands and present them to Mrs. Sampson.”

Rodney shuddered with aversion at the idea of these precious articles, which had once belonged to his mother, being transferred to the stout and coarse featured consort of the principal.

“I think I would rather keep them,” he replied.

“Oh well, just as you please,” said Dr. Sampson with a shade of disappointment for he had no idea of paying more than half what the articles were worth. “If the time comes when you wish to dispose of them let me know.”

Rodney nodded, but did not answer in words.

“Of course, Ropes,” went on the doctor in a perfunctory way, “I am very sorry for you. I shall miss you, and, if I could afford it, I would tell you to stay without charge. But I am a poor man.”

“Yes,” said Rodney hastily, “I understand. I thank you for your words but would not under any circumstances accept such a favor at your hands.”

“I am afraid you are proud, Ropes. Pride is—ahem—a wrong feeling.”

“Perhaps so, Dr. Sampson, but I wish to earn my own living without being indebted to any one.”

“Perhaps you are right, Ropes. I dare say I should feel so myself. When do you propose leaving us?”

“Some time tomorrow, sir.”

“I shall feel sad to have you go. You have been here so long that you seem to me like a son. But we must submit to the dispensations of Providence—” and Dr. Sampson blew a vigorous blast upon his red silk handkerchief. “I will give you the balance due in the morning.”

“Very well, sir.”

Rodney was glad to be left alone. He had no faith in Dr. Sampson’s sympathy. The doctor had the reputation of being worth from thirty to forty thousand dollars, and his assumption of being a poor man Rodney knew to be a sham.

He went to bed early, for tomorrow was to be the beginning of a new life for him.

CHAPTER III

A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE

When it was generally known in the school that Rodney was to leave because he had lost his property much sympathy was felt and expressed for him.

Though he had received more than ordinary attention from the principal on account of his pecuniary position and expectations, this had not impaired his popularity. He never put on any airs and was on as cordial relations with the poorest student as with the richest.

“I’m awfully sorry you’re going, Rodney,” said more than one. “Is it really true that you have lost your property?”

“Yes, it is true.”

“Do you feel bad about it?”

“I feel sorry, but not discouraged.”

“I say, Rodney,” said Ernest Rayner, in a low voice, calling Rodney aside, “are you very short of money?”

“I haven’t much left, Ernest.”

“Because I received five dollars last week as a birthday present. I haven’t spent any of it. You can have it as well as not.”

Rodney was much moved. “My dear Ernest,” he said, putting his arm caressingly around the neck of the smaller boy, “you are a true friend. I won’t forget your generous offer, though I don’t need to accept it.”

“But are you sure you have money enough?” asked Ernest.

“Yes, I have enough for the present. By the time I need more I shall have earned it.”

There was one boy, already introduced, John Bundy, who did not share in the general feeling of sympathy for Rodney. This was John Bundy.

He felt that Rodney’s departure would leave him the star pupil and give him the chief social position in school. As to scholarship he was not ambitious to stand high in that.

“I say, Ropes,” he said complacently, “I’m to have your room after you’re gone.”

“I congratulate you,” returned Rodney. “It is an excellent room.”

“Yes, I s’pose it’ll make you feel bad. Where are you going?”

“I hope you will enjoy it as much as I have done.”

“Oh yes, I guess there’s no doubt of that. I’m going to get pa to send me some nice pictures to hang on the wall. When you come back here on a visit you’ll see how nice it looks.”

“I think it will be a good while before I come here on a visit.”

“Yes. I s’pose it’ll make you feel bad. Where are you going?”

“To the City of New York.”

“You’ll have to live in a small hall bedroom there.”

“Why will I?”

“Because you are poor, and it costs a good deal of money to live in New York. It’ll be a great come down.”

“It will indeed, but if I can earn enough to support me in plain style I won’t complain. I suppose you’ll call and see me when you come to New York?”

“Perhaps so, if you don’t live in a tenement house. Pa objects to my going to tenement houses. There’s no knowing what disease there may be in them.”

“It is well to be prudent,” said Rodney, smiling.

It did not trouble him much to think he was not likely to receive a call from his quondan schoolmate.

“Here is the balance of your money, Ropes,” said Dr. Sampson, drawing a small roll of bills from his pocket, later in the day. “I am quite willing to give you the odd thirty seven cents.”

“Thank you, doctor, but I shan’t need it.”

“You are poorly provided. Now I would pay you a good sum for some of your mother’s jewelry, as I told you last evening.”

“Thank you,” said Rodney hastily, “but I don’t care to sell at present.”

“Let me know when you are ready to dispose of the necklace.”

Here the depot carriage appeared in the street outside and Rodney with his gripsack in one hand and the precious casket in the other, climbed to a seat beside the driver.

His trunk he left behind, promising to send for it when he had found a new boarding place.

There was a chorus of good byes. Rodney waved his handkerchief in general farewell, and the carriage started for the depot.

“Be you goin’ for good?” asked Joel, the driver, who knew Rodney well and felt friendly to him.

“Yes, Joel.”

“It’s kind of sudden, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you go?”

“Bad news, Joel.”

“Be any of your folks dead?”

“It is not death. I haven’t any ‘folks.’ I’m alone in the world. It’s because I’ve lost my property and am too poor to remain in school.”

“That’s too bad,” said the driver in a tone of sympathy. “Where are you goin’?”

“To the city.”

“Are you goin’ to work?”

“Yes, I shall have to.”

“If you was a little older you might get a chance to drive a street car, but I s’pose you’re too young.”

“Yes, I don’t think they would take me.”

“I’ve thought sometimes I should like such a chance myself,” said Joel. “I’ve got tired of the country. I should like to live in the city where there’s theaters, and shows, and such like. Do you know what the drivers on street cars get?”

“No, I never heard.”

“I wish you’d find out and let me know. You can send the letter to Joel Phipps, Groveton. Then find out if it’s easy to get such a chance.”

“I will. I shall be glad to oblige you.”

“You always was obligin’, Rodney. I’ve asked Jack Bundy to do it—you know his folks live in the city—but he never would. He’s a mighty disagreeable boy. He never liked you.”

“Didn’t he?”

“No, I surmise he was jealous of you. He used to say you put on so many airs it made him sick.”

“I don’t think any of the other boys would say that.”

“No, but they could say it of him. Do you think his father is rich?”

“I have always heard that he was.”

“I hope he’s better about paying his debt than Jack. I lent him twenty five cents a year ago and I never could get it back.”

The distance from the school to the station was a mile. Joel fetched the carriage round with a sweep and then jumped off, opened the door, and then helped the passengers to disembark, if that word is allowable.

“How soon does the train start, Joel?” asked Rodney.

“In about five minutes.”

“Then I had better purchase my ticket without delay.”

“Don’t forget to ask about horse car drivers!”

“No, I won’t. I should like to have you come to New York. I know no one there, and I should feel glad to see a familiar face.”

The train came up in time, and Rodney was one of half a dozen passengers who entered the cars.

He obtained a place next to a stout man dressed in a pepper and salt suit.

“Is this seat engaged?” asked Rodney.

“Yes—to you,” and his fellow passenger laughed.

Rodney laughed too, for he saw that the remark was meant to be jocose.

He put his gripsack on the floor at his feet, but held the casket in his lap. He did not like to run any risk with that.

“Are you a drummer?” asked the stout man, with a glance at the casket.

“No, sir.”

“I thought you might be, and that THAT might contain your samples.”

“No, sir. That is private property.”

He had thought of telling what it contained, but checked himself. He knew nothing of his companion, and was not sure how far it might be safe to trust a stranger.

“I used to be a drummer myself—in the jewelry line—” continued his companion, “and I carried a box just like that.”