Helping Himself; Or, Grant Thornton's Ambition

“We will exchange names, if you like,” said Grant, smiling. “My name is Grant Thornton. I am the son of Rev. John Thornton, who is minister in Colebrook.”

“So you are a minister’s son. I have always heard that minister’s sons are apt to be wild,” said the girl, smiling mischievously.

“I am an exception,” said Grant, demurely.

“I am ready to believe it,” returned his companion. “My name is Carrie Clifton; my mother is a minister’s daughter, so I have a right to think well of ministers’ families.”

“How long have you been boarding in this neighborhood, Miss Carrie?”

“Only a week. I am afraid I shan’t dare to stay here any longer.”

“It is not often you would meet with such an adventure as this. I hope you won’t allow it to frighten you away.”

“Do you know that drunken man? Does he live nearby?”

“I think he is a stranger—a tramp. I never saw him before, and I know almost everybody who lives about here.”

“I am glad he doesn’t live here.”

“He will probably push on his way and not come this way again during the summer.”

“I hope you are right. He might try to revenge himself on you for tripping him up.”

“I don’t think he saw me to recognize me. He was so drunk that he didn’t know what he was about. When he gets over his intoxication he probably won’t remember anything that has happened.”

By this time they had reached the gate of the farmhouse where Carrie was boarding, and Grant prepared to leave her.

“I think you are safe now,” he said.

“Oh, but I shan’t let you go yet,” said the girl. “You must come in and see mother.”

Grant hesitated, but he felt that he should like to meet the mother of a young lady who seemed to him so attractive, and he allowed himself to be led into the yard. Mrs. Clifton was sitting in a rustic chair under a tree behind the house. There Grant and his companion found her. Carrie poured forth her story impetuously, and then drawing Grant forward, indicated him as her rescuer.

Her mother listened with natural alarm, shuddering at the peril from which her daughter had so happily escaped.

“I cannot tell how grateful I am to you for the service you have done my daughter,” she said, warmly. “You are a very brave boy. There is not one in ten who would have had the courage to act as you did.”

“You praise me more than I deserve, Mrs. Clifton. I saw the man was drunk, and I did not really run much risk in what I did. I am very thankful that I was able to be of service to Miss Carrie.”

“It is most fortunate that you were at hand. My daughter might have been killed.”

“What do you think, mother? He is a minister’s son,” said Carrie, vivaciously.

“That certainly is no objection in my eyes,” said Mrs. Clifton, smiling, “for I am a minister’s daughter. Where does your father preach?”

“His church is only a mile distant, in the village.”

“I shall hear him, then, next Sunday. Last Sunday Carrie and I were both tired, and remained at home, but I have always been accustomed to go to church somewhere.”

“Papa will be here next Sunday,” said Carrie. “He can only come Saturday night on account of his business.”

“Does he do business in New York?” asked Grant.

“Yes; his store is on Broadway.”

“We live on Madison Avenue, and whenever you are in the city we shall be very glad to have you call,” said Mrs. Clifton, graciously.

“Thank you; I should like to call very much,” answered Grant, who was quite sincere in what he said. “But I don’t often go to New York.”

“Perhaps you will get a place there some time,” suggested Carrie.

“I should like to,” replied Grant.

“Then your father does not propose to send you to college?” It was Mrs. Clifton who said this.

“He wishes me to go, but I think I ought to go to work to help him. He has two other children besides me.”

“Is either one a girl?” asked Carrie.

“Yes; I have a sister of thirteen, named Mary.”

“I wish you would bring her here to see me,” said Carrie. “I haven’t got acquainted with any girls yet.”

Mrs. Clifton seconded the invitation, and Grant promised that he would do so. In fact, he was pleased at the opportunity it would give him of improving his acquaintance with the young lady from New York. He returned home very well pleased with his trip to Somerset, though he had failed in the object of his expedition.

CHAPTER V – MRS. THORNTON’S PEARLS

The next Sunday Mrs. Clifton and her daughter appeared at church, and Grant had the pleasure of greeting them. He was invited with his sister to take supper with them on the next Monday afternoon, and accepted the invitation. About sunset he met his new friends walking, with the addition of the husband and father, who, coming Saturday evening from New York, had felt too fatigued to attend church. Mr. Clifton, to whom he was introduced, was a portly man in middle life, who received Grant quite graciously, and made for himself acknowledgment of the service which our hero had rendered his daughter.

“If I ever have the opportunity of doing you a favor, Master Thornton, you may call upon me with confidence,” he said.

Grant thanked him, and was better pleased than if he had received an immediate gift.

Meanwhile Deacon Gridley kept his promise, and advanced the minister fifty dollars, deducting a month’s interest. Even with this deduction Mrs. Thornton was very glad to obtain the money. Part of it was paid on account to Mr. Tudor, and silenced his importunities for a time. As to his own plans, there was nothing for Grant to do except to continue his studies, as he might enter college after all.

If any employment should offer of a remunerative character, he felt that it would be his duty to accept it, in spite of his uncle’s objections; but such chances were not very likely to happen while he remained in the country, for obvious reasons.

Three weeks passed, and again not only Mr. Tudor, but another creditor, began to be troublesome.

“How soon is your father going to pay up his bill?” asked Tudor, when Grant called at the store for a gallon of molasses.

“Very soon, I hope,” faltered Grant.

“I hope so, too,” answered the grocer, grimly.

“Only three weeks ago I paid you thirty-three dollars,” said Grant.

“And you have been increasing the balance ever since,” said Tudor, frowning.

“If father could get his salary regularly—” commenced Grant.

“That’s his affair, not mine,” rejoined the grocer. “I have to pay my bills regular, and I can’t afford to wait months for my pay.”

Grant looked uncomfortable, but did not know what to say.

“The short and the long of it is, that after this week your father must either pay up his bill, or pay cash for what articles he gets hereafter.”

“Very well,” said Grant, coldly. He was too proud to remonstrate. Moreover, though he felt angry, he was constrained to admit that the grocer had some reason for his course.

“Something must be done,” he said to himself, but he was not wise enough to decide what that something should be.

Though he regretted to pain his mother, he felt obliged to report to her what the grocer had said.

“Don’t be troubled, mother,” he said, as he noticed the shade of anxiety which came over her face. “Something will turn up.”

Mrs. Thornton shook her head.

“It isn’t safe to trust to that, Grant,” she said; “we must help ourselves.”

“I wish I knew how,” said Grant, perplexed.

“I am afraid I shall have to make a sacrifice,” said Mrs. Thornton, not addressing Grant, but rather in soliloquy.

Grant looked at his mother in surprise. What sacrifice could she refer to? Did she mean that they must move into a smaller house, and retrench generally? That was all that occurred to him.

“We might, perhaps, move into a smaller house, mother,” said he, “but we have none too much room here, and the difference in rent wouldn’t be much.”

“I didn’t mean that, Grant. Listen, and I will tell you what I do mean. You know that I was named after a rich lady, the friend of my mother?”

“I have heard you say so.”

“When she died, she left me by will a pearl necklace and pearl bracelets, both of very considerable value.”

“I have never seen you wear them, mother.”

“No; I have not thought they would be suitable for the wife of a poor minister. My wearing them would excite unfavorable comment in the parish.”

“I don’t see whose business it would be,” said Grant, indignantly.

“At any rate, just or not, I knew what would be said,” Mrs. Thornton replied.

“How is it you have never shown the pearl ornaments to me, mother?”

“You were only five years old when they came to me, and I laid them away at once, and have seldom thought of them since. I have been thinking that, as they are of no use to me, I should be justified in selling them for what I can get, and appropriating the proceeds toward paying your father’s debts.”

“How much do you think they are worth, mother?”

“A lady to whom I showed them once said they must have cost five hundred dollars or more.”

Grant whistled.

“Do you mind showing them to me, mother?” he asked.

Mrs. Thornton went upstairs, and brought down the pearl necklace and bracelets. They were very handsome and Grant gazed at them with admiration.

“I wonder what the ladies would say if you should wear them to the sewing circle,” he said, humorously.

“They would think I was going over to the vanities of this world,” responded his mother, smiling. “They can be of no possible use to me now, or hereafter, and I believe it will be the best thing I can do to sell them.”

“Where can you sell them? No one here can afford to buy them.”

“They must be sold in New York, and I must depend upon you to attend to the business for me.”

“Can you trust me, mother? Wouldn’t father—”

“Your father has no head for business, Grant. He is a learned man, and knows a great deal about books, but of practical matters he knows very little. You are only a boy, but you are a very sensible and trustworthy boy, and I shall have to depend upon you.”

“I will do the best I can, mother. Only tell me what you want me to do.”

“I wish you to take these pearls, and go to New York. You can find a purchaser there, if anywhere. I suppose it will be best to take them to some jewelry store, and drive the best bargain you can.”

“When do you wish me to go, mother?”

“There can be no advantage in delay. If tomorrow is pleasant, you may as well go then.”

“Shall you tell father your plan?”

“No, Grant, it might make him feel bad to think I was compelled to make a sacrifice, which, after all, is very little of a sacrifice to me. Years since I decided to trouble him as little as possible with matters of business. It could do no good, and, by making him anxious, unfitted him for his professional work.”

Mrs. Thornton’s course may not be considered wise by some, but she knew her husband’s peculiar mental constitution, and her object at least was praiseworthy, to screen him from undue anxiety, though it involved an extra share for herself.

The next morning Grant took an early breakfast, and walked briskly toward the depot to take the first train for New York.

The fare would be a dollar and a quarter each way, for the distance was fifty miles, and this both he and his mother felt to be a large outlay. If, however, he succeeded in his errand it would be wisely spent, and this was their hope.

At the depot Grant found Tom Calder, a youth of eighteen, who had the reputation of being wild, and had been suspected of dishonesty. He had been employed in the city, so that Grant was not surprised to meet him at the depot.

“Hello, Grant! Where are you bound?” he asked.

“I am going to New York.”

“What for?”

“A little business,” Grant answered, evasively. Tom was the last person he felt inclined to take into his confidence.

“Goin’ to try to get a place?”

“If any good chance offers I shall accept it—that is, if father and mother are willing.”

“Let’s take a seat together—that’s what I’m going for myself.”

CHAPTER VI – GRANT GETS INTO UNEXPECTED TROUBLE

TOM CALDER was not the companion Grant would have chosen, but there seemed no good excuse for declining his company. He belonged to a rather disreputable family living in the borders of the village. If this had been all, it would not have been fair to object to him, but Tom himself bore not a very high reputation. He had been suspected more than once of stealing from his school companions, and when employed for a time by Mr. Tudor, in the village store, the latter began to miss money from the till; but Tom was so sly that he had been unable to bring the theft home to him. However, he thought it best to dispense with his services.

“What kind of a situation are you goin’ to try for?” asked Tom, when they were fairly on their way.

“I don’t know. They say that beggars mustn’t be choosers.”

“I want to get into a broker’s office if I can,” said Tom.

“Do you consider that a very good business?” asked Grant.

“I should say so,” responded Tom, emphatically.

“Do they pay high wages?”

“Not extra, but a feller can get points, and make something out of the market.”

“What’s that?” asked Grant, puzzled.

“Oh, I forgot. You ain’t used to the city,” responded Tom, emphatically. “I mean, you find out when a stock is going up, and you buy for a rise.”

“But doesn’t that take considerable money?” asked Grant, wondering how Tom could raise money to buy stocks.

“Oh, you can go to the bucket shops,” answered Tom.

“But what have bucket shops to do with stocks?” asked Grant, more than ever puzzled.

Tom burst into a loud laugh.

“Ain’t you jolly green, though?” he ejaculated.

Grant was rather nettled at this.

“I don’t see how I could be expected to understand such talk,” he said, with some asperity.

“That’s where it is—you can’t,” said Tom. “It’s all like A, B, C to me, and I forgot that you didn’t know anything about Wall Street. A bucket shop is where you can buy stock in small lots, putting down a dollar a share as margin. If stocks go up, you sell out on the rise, and get back your dollar minus commission.”

“Suppose they go down?”

“Then you lose what you put up.”

“Isn’t it rather risky?”

“Of course there’s some risk, but if you have a good point there isn’t much.”

This was Tom Calder’s view of the matter. As a matter of fact, the great majority of those who visit the bucket shops lose all they put in, and are likely sooner or later to get into difficulty; so that many employers will at once discharge a clerk or boy known to speculate in this way.

“If I had any money I’d buy some stock to-day; that is, as soon as I get to the city,” continued Tom. “You couldn’t lend me five dollars, could you?”

“No, I couldn’t,” answered Grant, shortly.

“I’d give you half the profits.”

“I haven’t got the money,” Grant explained.

“That’s a pity. The fact is, I’m rather short. However, I know plenty of fellows in the city, and I guess I can raise a tenner or so.”

“Then your credit must be better in New York than in Colebrook,” thought Grant, but he fore-bore to say so.

Grant was rather glad the little package of pearls was in the pocket furthest away from Tom, for his opinion of his companion’s honesty was not the highest.

When half an hour had passed, Tom vacated his seat.

“I’m going into the smoking car,” he said, “to have a smoke. Won’t you come with me?”

“No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”

“Then it’s time you began. I’ve got a cigarette for you, if you’ll try it.”

“Much obliged, but I am better off without it.”

“You’ll soon get over that little-boy feeling. Why, boys in the city of half your age smoke.”

“I am sorry to hear it.”

“Well, ta-ta! I’ll be back soon.”

Grant was not sorry to have Tom leave him. He didn’t enjoy his company, and besides he foresaw that it would be rather embarrassing if Tom should take a fancy to remain with him in the city. He didn’t care to have anyone, certainly not Tom, learn on what errand he had come to the city.

Two minutes had scarcely elapsed after Tom vacated his seat, when a pleasant-looking gentleman of middle age, who had been sitting just behind them, rose and took the seat beside Grant.

“I will sit with you if you don’t object,” said he.

“I should be glad of your company,” said Grant, politely.

“You live in the country, I infer?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I overheard your conversation with the young man who has just left you. I suspect you are not very much alike.”

“I hope not, sir. Perhaps Tom would say the same, for he thinks me green.”

“There is such a thing as knowing too much—that isn’t desirable to know. So you don’t smoke?”

“No, sir.”

“I wish more boys of your age could say as much. Do I understand that you are going to the city in search of employment?”

“That is not my chief errand,” answered Grant, with some hesitation. “Still, if I could hear of a good chance, I might induce my parents to let me accept it.”

“Where do you live, my young friend?”

“In Colebrook. My father is the minister there.”

“That ought to be a recommendation, for it is to be supposed you have been carefully trained. Some of our most successful business men have been ministers’ sons.”

“Are you in business in New York, sir?” asked Grant, thinking he had a right by this time to ask a question.

“Yes; here is my card.”

Taking the card, Grant learned that his companion was Mr. Henry Reynolds and was a broker, with an office in New Street.

“I see you are a broker, sir,” said Grant. “Tom Calder wants to get a place in a broker’s office.”

“I should prefer that he would try some other broker,” said Mr. Reynolds, smiling. “I don’t want a boy who deals with the bucket shops.”

At this point Tom re-entered the car, having finished his cigarette. Observing that his place had been taken, he sat down at a little distance.

“When you get ready to take a place,” said the broker, “call at my office, and though I won’t promise to give you a place, I shall feel well disposed to if I can make room for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Grant, gratefully. “I hope if I ever do enter your employment, I shall merit your confidence.”

“I have good hopes of it. By the way, you may as well give me your name.”

“I am Grant Thornton, of Colebrook,” said our hero.

Mr. Reynolds entered the name in a little pocket diary, and left the seat, which Tom Calder immediately took.

“Who’s that old codger?” he asked.

“The gentleman who has just left me is a New York business man.”

“You got pretty thick with him, eh?”

“We talked a little.”

Grant took care not to mention that Mr. Reynolds was a broker, as he knew that Tom would press for an introduction in that case.

When they reached New York, Tom showed a disposition to remain with Grant, but the latter said: “We’d better separate, and we can meet again after we have attended to our business.”

A meeting place was agreed upon, and Tom went his way.

Now came the difficult part of Grant’s task. Where should he go to dispose of his pearls? He walked along undecided, till he came to a large jewelry store. It struck him that this would be a good place for his purpose, and he entered.

“What can I do for you, young man?” asked a man of thirty behind the counter.

“I have some pearl ornaments I would like to sell,” said Grant.

“Indeed,” said the clerk, fixing a suspicious glance upon Grant; “let me see them.”

Grant took out the necklace and bracelets, and passed them over. No sooner had he done so than a showily dressed lady advanced to the place where he was standing, and held out her hand for the ornaments, exclaiming: “I forbid you to buy those articles, sir. They are mine. The boy stole them from me, and I have followed him here, suspecting that he intended to dispose of them.”

“That is false,” exclaimed Grant, indignantly. “I never saw that woman before in my life.”

“So you are a liar as well as a thief!” said the woman. “You will please give me those pearls, sir.”

The clerk looked at the two contestants in indecision. He was disposed to believe the lady’s statement.

CHAPTER VII – MRS. SIMPSON COMES TO GRIEF

“Surely I have a right to my own property,” said the showily dressed lady in a tone of authority, which quite imposed upon the weak-minded salesman.

“I dare say you are right, ma’am,” said he, hesitatingly.

“Of course I am,” said she.

“If you give her those pearls, which belong to my mother, I will have you arrested,” said Grant, plucking up spirit.

“Hoity-toity!” said the lady, contemptuously. “I hope you won’t pay any regard to what that young thief says.”

The clerk looked undecided. He beckoned an older salesman, and laid the matter before him. The latter looked searchingly at the two. Grant was flushed and excited, and the lady had a brazen front.

“Do you claim these pearls, madam?” he said.

“I do,” she answered, promptly.

“How did you come by them?”

“They were a wedding present from my husband.”

“May I ask your name?”

The lady hesitated a moment, then answered:

“Mrs. Simpson.”

“Where do you live?”

There was another slight hesitation. Then came the answer:

“No.—Madison Avenue.”

Now Madison Avenue is a fashionable street, and the name produced an impression on the first clerk.

“I think the pearls belong to the lady,” he whispered.

“I have some further questions to ask,” returned the elder salesman, in a low voice.

“Do you know this boy whom you charge with stealing your property?”

“Yes,” answered the lady, to Grant’s exceeding surprise; “he is a poor boy whom I have employed to do errands.”

“Has he had the run of your house?”

“Yes, that’s the way of it. He must have managed to find his way to the second floor, and opened the bureau drawer where I kept the pearls.”

“What have you to say to this?” asked the elder salesman.

“Please ask the lady my name,” suggested Grant.

“Don’t you know your own name?” demanded the lady, sharply.

“Yes, but I don’t think you do.”

“Can you answer the boy’s question, Mrs. Simpson?”

“Of course I can. His name is John Cavanaugh, and the very suit he has on I gave him.”

Grant was thunderstruck at the lady’s brazen front. She was outwardly a fine lady, but he began to suspect that she was an impostor.

“I am getting tired of this,” said the so-called Mrs. Simpson, impatiently. “Will you, or will you not, restore my pearls?” “When we are satisfied that they belong to you, madam,” said the elder salesman, coolly. “I don’t feel like taking the responsibility, but will send for my employer, and leave the matter to him to decide.”

“I hope I won’t have long to wait, sir.”

“I will send at once.”

“It’s a pretty state of things when a lady has her own property kept from her,” said Mrs. Simpson, while the elder clerk was at the other end of the store, giving some instructions to a boy.

“I don’t in the least doubt your claim to the articles, Mrs. Simpson,” said the first salesman, obsequiously. “Come, boy, you’d better own up that you have stolen the articles, and the lady will probably let you off this time.”

“Yes, I will let him off this time,” chimed in the lady. “I don’t want to send him to prison.”

“If you can prove that I am a thief, I am willing to go,” said Grant, hotly.

By this time the elder salesman had come back.

“Is your name John Cavanaugh, my boy?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“Did you ever see this lady before?”

“No, sir.”

The lady threw up her hands in feigned amazement.

“I wouldn’t have believed the boy would lie so!” she said.

“What is your name?”

“My name is Grant Thornton. I live in Colebrook, and my father is Rev. John Thornton.”

“I know there is such a minister there. To whom do these pearls belong?”

“To my mother.”

“A likely story that a country minister’s wife should own such valuable pearls,” said Mrs. Simpson, in a tone of sarcasm.

“How do you account for it?” asked the clerk.

“They were given my mother years since, by a rich lady who was a good friend of hers. She has never had occasion to wear them.”

Mrs. Simpson smiled significantly.