Strong and Steady

"I happened to be at home when my boy came and told me that Jack Mangum had offered him fifty cents for some breakfast. He told me about you also, and, as I suspected Jack was up to some of his tricks, I came along."

"I am very much obliged to you," said Walter, "and I hope you'll let me pay you for your trouble."

"I don't want any pay, but you may pay my boy what you promised him, if you want to."

"I certainly will; and I never paid away money with more pleasure. As I haven't had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon, I should like to have you direct me to the nearest place where I can get some breakfast."

"Come to my house; I guess my wife can scare up some breakfast for you. She'll be glad to see the boy that got the better of Jack Mangum."

"How long has this Jack Mangum lived about here?" asked Walter, after accepting with thanks the offer of a breakfast.

"About five years. He's been in the county jail twice during that time, and there's a warrant out for him now. He's a confirmed thief. He'd rather steal any time than earn an honest living."

"Has he ever stolen anything from you?"

"I've missed some of my chickens from time to time, and, though I didn't catch him taking them, I've no doubt he was the thief. Once I lost a lamb, and I suppose it went in the same direction."

"So there is a warrant out for him now?"

"Yes, and I expect he'll be taken in a day or two. In that case he'll have the privilege of a few months' free board in the county jail."

"Where is the jail?"

"In T–."

"That's the town I'm going to."

"Is it? Do your folks live there?"

"No, I'm travelling on business."

"What's your business?" asked the farmer.

The question was an abrupt one, but was not meant to be rude. In country towns everybody feels that he has a right to become acquainted with the business of any one with whom he comes in contact, even in its minutest details. Walter understood this, having himself lived in a country village, and answered without taking offence:—

"I am a book-agent."

"Be you? How do you make it pay?"

"Pretty well, but I can tell better by and by; I've only been in it a week."

"You're pretty young to be a book-peddler Where do your folks live?"

"In New York."

"You've come some ways from home."

"Yes; I thought I should like to see the country."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"You'll make a smart man if you keep on."

"I hope I shall," said Walter, modestly; "but I am afraid you overrate me."

"I'll tell you what I judge from. A boy of fifteen that can get the better of Jack Mangum is smart, and no mistake."

"I hope I shall realize your prediction," returned Walter, who naturally felt pleased with the compliment. Like most boys, he liked to be considered smart, although he did not allow himself to be puffed up by inordinate ideas of his own importance, as is the case with many of his age.

While this conversation was going on, they had been walking towards the farm-house in which Peter Holcomb lived. It was an humble one-story building, with an attic above. On each side of it were broad fields, some under cultivation; and there was an appearance of thrift and comfort despite the smallness of the house.

"Come in," said Peter, leading the way. "John," he added, addressing the hired man, who had accompanied him, "you may go into the potato field and hoe. I'll be out directly."

Walter followed him into a broad, low room,—the kitchen,—in which Mrs. Holcomb, a pleasant looking woman, was engaged in cooking.

"Mary," said her husband, "can't you scare up some breakfast for this young man? He stopped at Jack Mangum's last night, and didn't like his accommodations well enough to stay to breakfast."

"You don't say so," repeated Mrs. Holcomb her countenance expressing curiosity. "That's about the last place I'd want to stop at."

"I shouldn't want to go there again," said Walter; "but I didn't know anything about the man, or I would rather have stayed out in the woods."

"Well, Mary, how about the breakfast?"

"I guess I can find some," said she. "Sit right down here, and I'll see what I can do for you."

She went to the pantry, and speedily reappeared with some cold meat, a loaf of bread, and some fresh butter, which she placed on the table.

"I've got some hot water," she said, "and, in about five minutes, I can give you some warm tea. It won't be much of a breakfast, but if you'll stop for dinner, I can give you something better."

"It looks nice," said Walter, "and I don't know when I have been so hungry."

At this moment the farmer's boy, who had served as Walter's messenger, came into the kitchen.

"You got away," he said, smiling.

"Yes, thanks to you," said Walter. "Here is what I promised you."

"I don't know as I ought to take it," said the boy, hesitating, though he evidently wanted it.

"You will do me a favor by accepting it," said Walter. "You got me out of a bad scrape. Besides, you had a chance to earn some money from Jack Mangum."

"I wouldn't have done anything for him, at any rate. He's a thief."

Finally Peter, for he was named after his father, accepted the dollar, and, sitting down by Walter, asked him about his adventure in the wood, listening with great interest to the details.

"I wouldn't have dared to do as you did," he said.

"Perhaps you would if you had been obliged to."

By this time the tea was steeped, and Walter's breakfast was before him. He made so vigorous an onslaught upon the bread and meat that he was almost ashamed of his appetite; but Mrs. Holcomb evidently felt flattered at the compliment paid to her cookery, and watched the demolition of the provisions with satisfaction.

"You had better stop to dinner," she said. "We shall have some roast meat and apple-pudding."

"Thank you," said Walter; "but I have eaten enough to last me for several hours. Can you tell me how far it is to the next town?"

"About five miles. I'm going to ride over there in about an hour. If you'll wait till then I'll take you over."

Walter very readily consented to wait. He was rather afraid that if he ventured to walk he might find Jack Mangum waiting to waylay him somewhere in the road, and he had no desire for a second encounter with him.

The farmer absolutely refused to accept pay for breakfast, though Walter urged it. It was contrary to his ideas of hospitality.

"We don't keep a tavern," he said; "and we never shall miss the little you ate. Come again and see us if you come back this way."

"Thank you," said Walter, "I will accept your invitation with pleasure, but I shall not feel like calling on Mr. Mangum."

"I've no doubt he would be glad to see you," said Peter Holcomb, smiling.

"Yes, he was very sorry to have me leave him last night."

Walter thought he had seen the last of Jack Mangum; but he was mistaken. Three days later, while walking in the main street of T–, with a book under his arm, for he had received a fresh supply from the agent at Cleveland, he heard the sound of wheels. Looking up, he saw a wagon approaching, containing two men. One of them, as he afterwards learned, was the sheriff. The other he immediately recognized as Jack Mangum. There was no mistaking his sinister face and forbidding scowl. He had been taken early that morning by the sheriff, who, with a couple of men to assist him, had visited the cabin in the forest, and, despite the resistance offered by Jack, who was aided by his wife, he had been bound, and was now being conveyed to jail. He also looked up and recognized Walter. His face became even more sinister, as he shook his fist at our hero.

"I'll be even with you some day, you young cub!" he exclaimed.

"Not if I can help it," thought Walter; but he did not answer in words.

He was rather gratified to hear the next day that Jack had been sentenced to six months' imprisonment. He felt some pity, however, for Meg, who might have been a good woman if she had been married to a different man.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

JOSHUA BIDS GOOD-BY TO STAPLETON

Leaving Walter busily engaged in selling books, we will glance at the Drummond household, and inquire how the members of that interesting family fared after Walter's departure.

Joshua's discontent increased daily. He was now eighteen, and his father absolutely refused to increase his allowance of twenty-five cents a week, which was certainly ridiculously small for a boy of his age.

"If you want money you must work for it," he said.

"How much will you give me if I will go into your store?" asked Joshua.

"Fifty cents a week and your board."

"I get my board now."

"You don't earn it."

"I don't see why I need to," said Joshua. "Aint you a rich man?"

"No, I'm not," said his father; "and if I were I am not going to waste my hard-earned money on supporting you extravagantly."

"There's no danger of that," sneered Joshua, "We live meaner than any family in town."

"You needn't find fault with your victuals, as long as you get them free," retorted his father.

"If you'll give me two dollars a week, I'll come into the store."

"Two dollars!" exclaimed Mr. Drummond. "Are you crazy?"

"You think as much of a cent as most people do of a dollar," said Joshua, bitterly. "Two dollars isn't much for the son of a rich man."

"I have already told you that I am not rich."

"You can't help being rich," said Joshua, "for you don't spend any money."

"I've heard enough of your impudence," said his father, angrily. "If you can get more wages than I offer you, you are at liberty to engage anywhere else."

"Tom Burton gets a dollar and a quarter a day for pegging shoes," said Joshua. "He dresses twice as well as I do."

"He has to pay his board out of it."

"He only pays three dollars a week, and that leaves him four dollars and a half clear."

"So you consider Tom Burton better off than you are?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll make you an offer. I'll get you a place in a shoe-shop, and let you have all you earn over and above three dollars a week, which you can pay for your board."

Joshua seemed by no means pleased with this proposal.

"I'm not going to work in a shoe-shop," he said, sullenly.

"Why not?"

"It's a dirty business."

"Yet you were envying Tom Burton just now."

"It'll do well enough for him. He's a poor man's son."

"So was I a poor man's son. I had to work when I was a boy, and that's the way I earned all I have. Not that I am rich," added Mr. Drummond, cautiously, for he was afraid the knowledge of his wealth would tempt his family to expect a more lavish expenditure, and this would not by any means suit him.

"You didn't work in a shoe-shop."

"I should have been glad of the chance to do it, for I could have earned more money that way than by being errand-boy in a store. It's just as honorable to work in a shop as to be clerk in a store."

Though we are not partial to Mr. Drummond, he was undoubtedly correct in this opinion, and it would be well if boys would get over their prejudice against trades, which, on the whole, offer more assured prospects of ultimate prosperity than the crowded city and country stores.

This conversation was not particularly satisfactory to Joshua. As he now received his board and twenty-five cents a week, he did not care to enter his father's store for only twenty-five cents a week more. Probably it would have been wiser for Mr. Drummond to grant his request, and pay him two dollars a week. With this inducement Joshua might have formed habits of industry. He would, at all events, have been kept out of mischief, and it would have done him good to earn his living by hard work. Mr. Drummond's policy of mortifying his pride by doling out a weekly pittance so small that it kept him in a state of perpetual discontent was far from wise. Most boys appreciate considerable liberality, and naturally expect to be treated better as they grow older. Joshua, now nearly nineteen, found himself treated like a boy of twelve, and he resented it. It set him speculating about his father's death, which would leave him master, as he hoped, of the "old man's" savings. It is unfortunate when such a state of feeling comes to exist between a father and a son. The time came, and that speedily, when Mr. Drummond bitterly repented that he had not made some concessions to Joshua.

Finding his father obstinate, Joshua took refuge at first in sullenness, and for several days sat at the table without speaking a word to his father, excepting when absolutely obliged to do so. Mr. Drummond, however, was not a sensitive man, and troubled himself very little about Joshua's moods.

"He'll get over it after a while," he said to himself. "If he'd rather hold his tongue, I don't care."

Next Joshua began to consider whether there was any way in which to help himself.

"If I only had a hundred dollars," he thought, "I'd go to New York, and see if I couldn't get a place in a store."

That, he reflected, would be much better and more agreeable than being in a country store. He would be his own master, and would be able to put on airs of importance whenever he came home on a vacation. But his father would give him no help in securing such a position, and he could not go to the city without money. As for a hundred dollars, it might as well be a million, so far as he had any chance of securing it.

While he was thinking this matter over, a dangerous thought entered his mind. His father, he knew, had a small brass-nailed trunk, in which he kept his money and securities. He had seen him going to it more than once.

"I wonder how much he's got in it?" thought Joshua. "As it's all coming to me some day there's no harm in my knowing."

There seemed little chance of finding out, however. The trunk was always locked, and Mr. Drummond carried the key about with him in his pocket. If he had been a careless man, there might have been some chance of his some day leaving the trunk unlocked, or mislaying the key; but in money matters Mr. Drummond was never careless. Joshua would have been obliged to wait years, if he had depended upon this contingency.

One day, however, Joshua found in the road a bunch of keys of various sizes attached to a ring. He cared very little to whom they belonged, but it flashed upon him at once that one of these keys might fit his father's strong-box. He hurried home at once with his treasure, and ran upstairs breathless with excitement.

He knew where the trunk was kept. Mr. Drummond, relying on the security of the lock, kept it in the closet of his bed-chamber.

"Where are you going, Joshua?" asked his mother.

"Upstairs, to change my clothes," was the answer.

"I've got a piece of pie for you."

"I'll come down in five minutes."

Joshua made his way at once to the closet, and, entering, began to try his keys, one after the other. The very last one was successful in opening the trunk.

Joshua trembled with excitement as he saw the contents of the trunk laid open to his gaze. He turned over the papers nervously, hoping to come upon some rolls of bills. In one corner he found fifty dollars in gold pieces. Besides these, there were some mortgages, in which he felt little interest. But among the contents of the trunk were some folded papers which he recognized at once as United States Bonds. Opening one of them, he found it to be a Five-Twenty Bond for five hundred dollars.

Five hundred dollars! What could he not do with five hundred dollars! He could go to the city, and board, enjoying himself meanwhile, till he could find a place. His galling dependence would be over, and he would be his own master. True it would be a theft, but Joshua had an excuse ready.

"It will all be mine some day," he said to himself. "It's only taking a part of my own in advance."

He seized the gold and the bond, and, hastily concealing both in his breast-pocket, went downstairs, first locking the trunk, and putting it away where he found it.

"What's the matter, Joshua?" asked his mother, struck by his nervous and excited manner.

"Nothing," he answered, shortly.

"Are you well?"

"I've got a little headache,—that is all."

"Perhaps you'd better not eat anything then."

"It won't do me any harm. I'll take a cup of tea, if you've got any."

"I can make some in five minutes."

Joshua ate his lunch, and, going upstairs again, came down speedily, arrayed in his best clothes. He got out of the house without his mother seeing him, and made his way to a railway station four miles distant, where he purchased a ticket for New York.

He took a seat by a window, and, as the car began to move, he said to himself, in exultation,

"Now I am going to see life."

CHAPTER XXXVII.

CONCLUSION

Three months later Walter arrived at Columbus, the capital of the State, after a business tour of considerable length, during which he had visited from twenty to thirty different towns and villages. He had now got used to the business, and understood better what arguments to employ with those whom he wished to purchase his book. The consequence was, that he had met with a degree of success which exceeded his anticipations. He had tested his powers, and found that they were adequate to the task he had undertaken,—that of earning his own living. He had paddled his own canoe thus far without assistance, and he felt confident that, if his health continued good, he should be able to do so hereafter.

After eating supper, and spending an hour or two in the public room of the hotel, Walter went up to his room. Here he took out a blank-book, in which he kept an account of his sales and expenditures, and, taking a piece of paper, figured up the grand result. He wished to know just how he stood.

After a brief computation, he said, with satisfaction, "I have sold two hundred and eighty books, which gives a gross profit of three hundred and fifty dollars. My expenses have been exactly two hundred and sixty-three dollars. That leaves me eighty-seven dollars net profit."

This was a result which might well yield Walter satisfaction. He was only fifteen, and this was his first business experience. Moreover, he was nearly a thousand miles away from home and friends, surrounded by strangers. Yet, by his energy and business ability, he had been able to pay all his expenses, and these, of course, were considerable, as he was constantly moving, and yet had made a dollar a day clear profit.

"That is rather better than working for my board in Mr. Drummond's store," he reflected. "I am afraid it would have taken me a long time to make my fortune if I had stayed there. I wonder how my amiable cousin Joshua is getting along."

This thought led to the sudden recollection that he had written to Mr. Shaw, asking him to write to the hotel at Columbus where he was now stopping, giving him any news that he might consider interesting. Such a letter might be awaiting him.

He went downstairs, and approached the clerk.

"Have any letters been received here for me?" he inquired.

"What name?" asked the clerk.

"Walter Conrad."

"There is a letter for that address. It was received a week since."

"Give it to me," said Walter, eagerly.

He took the letter, and recognized at once in the address Clement Shaw's irregular handwriting. Cut off, as he had been for over a month, from all communication with former friends, he grasped the letter with a sensation of joy, and hurried back to his room to read it quietly, and without risk of interruption.

The letter ran as follows:—

"My dear young Friend: I have just received your letter asking me to write you at Columbus. I am glad to obtain your address, as I have a matter of importance to speak of. First, however, let me congratulate you on the success you have met with as a book-agent. It is not a business to which I should advise you to devote yourself permanently; but I have no doubt that the experience which you acquire, and the necessary contact into which it brings you with different classes of people, will do you good, while the new scenes which it brings before your eyes will gratify the natural love of adventure which you share in common with those of your age. When you set out, I had misgivings as to your success, I admit. It was certainly an arduous undertaking for a boy of fifteen; but you have already demonstrated that you are able to paddle your own canoe; and I shall hereafter feel confident of your success in life, so far at least as relates to earning your living. That you may also be successful in building up a good character, and taking an honorable position among your fellow-men, I earnestly hope.

"I now come to the business upon which I wish to speak to you.

"You will remember that a man named James Wall was prominently identified with the Great Metropolitan Mining Company, by which your poor father lost his fortune. Indeed, this Wall, who is a plausible sort of fellow, was the one who induced him to embark in this disastrous speculation. I suspect he has feathered his own nest pretty well already, and that he intends to do so still more. I was surprised to hear from him some ten days since. I will not copy the letter, but send you the substance of it. He reports that in winding up the affairs of the company, there is a prospect of realizing two per cent. for the stockholders, which, as your father owned a thousand shares, would yield two thousand dollars. It may be some time, he adds, before the dividend will be declared and paid. He professes a willingness, however, to pay two thousand dollars cash for a transfer of your father's claims upon the company.

"Now, two thousand dollars are not to be despised; but, my impression is, that such a man as James Wall would never have made such an offer if he had not expected the assets would amount to considerable more than two per cent. I am unwilling to close with the offer until I know more about the affairs of the company. Here it has struck me that you can be of assistance. This Wall lives in a town named Portville, in Wisconsin, on the shore of Lake Superior. I would suggest that you change your name, go at once to Portville, and find out what you can. I can give you no instructions, but must trust to your own native shrewdness, in which I feel sure you are not deficient. If it should be necessary to give up your present business, do so without hesitation, since the other business is of more importance. I expect you to start at once; and I will write Mr. Wall that I have his offer under consideration. If you need money, draw upon me.

"I hear that Joshua Drummond has run away from home, carrying away considerable money belonging to his father. The latter appears to lament the loss of his money more than of his son.

"I remain your sincere friend, "Clement Shaw."

This letter gave Walter considerable food for reflection. He determined to wind up his book agency, and leave as soon as possible for Portville. It was encouraging to think that, in any event, he was likely to realize two thousand dollars from the mining shares, which he had looked upon as valueless. Besides, he felt there was good reason to hope they would prove even more valuable.

Three days later, having closed his accounts as agent, he started for Portville. Those of my readers who may desire to follow him in his new experiences, and learn his success, as well as those who feel desirous of ascertaining Joshua Drummond's fortunes, are referred to the next volume of this series, to be called

STRIVE AND SUCCEED;or,THE PROGRESS OF WALTER CONRAD