Try and Trust; Or, Abner Holden's Bound Boy

“Probably I might,” said Herbert, quietly.

“Then I think you should have stayed there.”

“Which do you like best, the city or the country?” asked our hero.

“The city.”

“So do I.”

“But there’s a difference. I have always lived in the city.”

“I suppose boys often do come from the country to the city,” said Herbert. “Was your father born in the city?”

“No,” said Tom, glancing keenly at Herbert, to see if he meant anything by the question.

“Then it seems he must have preferred the city to the country.”

Tom had his share of curiosity. He knew that it would be better not to pursue this subject further if he wished his cousin to remain ignorant of the relationship between them. Still, he was anxious to know what Herbert’s actual knowledge was, and whether he would be likely to avail himself of it. He was therefore tempted to say, “I suppose you have no relations in the city?”

“What makes you think I haven’t?” asked Herbert, looking at Tom rather peculiarly.

“I don’t think anything about it. I only asked,” said Tom, a little confused.

“Yes, I have an uncle in the city,” said Herbert, quietly.

“Oh, indeed,” said Tom.

He said nothing more, for he felt that he might betray his knowledge of the relationship unintentionally. Herbert’s manner left him as much in the dark as ever.

Mr. Pratt set Herbert to work on some writing, and Tom, also, was soon busy. After a while Mr. Godfrey came in.

“Good-morning, Herbert,” he said, pleasantly, offering his hand. “So Mr. Pratt has set you to work, has he?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I think we shall find enough for him to do, eh, Mr. Pratt?”

“Yes, sir, I think so,” said the bookkeeper, who perceived that Herbert was in favor, and it was as well to fall in with his employer.

“That’s well. How do you like your boarding place, Herbert?”

“It isn’t a very nice one, sir, but it is as good a one as I have a right to expect for the money I pay.”

“Come round and dine with us to-night,” said the merchant. “Mrs. Godfrey will be glad to see you. I’ll give you my street and number.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Herbert. “I shall be glad to accept your kind invitation.”

Tom listened to this invitation with envy. Mr. Godfrey occupied a high social position. Moreover, he had a pretty daughter, whom he, Tom, had met at dancing school, and he would have been very glad to receive the invitation which had been extended to “that beggar, Herbert,” as he mentally styled him.

CHAPTER XXVII

AT THE CONCERT

Herbert felt a little diffident about accepting his employer’s invitation to dinner. Brought up in the country in comparative poverty, he felt afraid that he should show, in some way, his want of acquaintance with the etiquette of the dining table. But he had a better than ordinary education, and, having read diligently whatever books he could get hold of, possessed a fund of general information which enabled him to converse intelligently. Then his modest self-possession was of value to him, and enabled him to acquit himself very creditably.

Julia Godfrey, the merchant’s only daughter, was a lively and animated girl, a year or two younger than Herbert. She had been the belle of the dancing school, and Tom Stanton, among other boys, had always been proud to have her for a partner. She, however, had taken no particular fancy to Tom, whose evident satisfaction with himself naturally provoked criticisms on the part of others. Of this, however, Tom was unconscious, and flattered himself that his personal appearance was strikingly attractive, and was quite convinced that his elaborate and gorgeous neckties must attract admiration.

Julia awaited the advent of her father’s young guest with interest, and her verdict was favorable. He was, to be sure, very plainly dressed, but his frank and open face and pleasant expression did not need fine clothes to set them off. Julia at once commenced an animated conversation with our hero.

“Weren’t you frightened when you saw the robber?” she asked, for her father had told her of Herbert’s adventure with the burglar.

“No,” said Herbert, “I did not feel afraid.”

“How brave you must be?” said Julia, with evident admiration.

“There was no need of my being frightened,” said Herbert, modestly. “I was expecting him.”

“I know I should have been frightened to death,” said Julia, decidedly.

“You are a girl, you know,” said Herbert. “I suppose it is natural for girls to be timid.”

“I don’t know but it is, but I am sure it is not natural to all boys to be brave.”

Herbert smiled.

“I was out in the country, one day, walking with Frank Percy,” proceeded Julia, “when a big, ugly-looking dog met us. Frank, instead of standing by, and defending me, ran away as fast as his feet could carry him. I laughed at him so much about it that he doesn’t like to come near me since that.”

“How did you escape?” asked Herbert, with interest.

“I saw there was no use in running away, so I patted him on the head, and called him ‘Poor dog,’ though I expected every minute he was going to bite me. That calmed him down, and he went off without doing any harm.”

Herbert found Mrs. Godfrey to be a pleasant, motherly-looking lady, who received him kindly. He felt that he should like it very much if she was his aunt, instead of Mrs. Stanton, whom he had never seen, and did not think he should care about meeting.

“What do you think of Tom Stanton?” asked Julia, “Of course, you know him—the other boy in pa’s counting-room.”

“I am not very well acquainted with him yet,” said Herbert, evasively, for he did not care to say anything unfavorable of Tom. “Do you know him?”

“Yes, he used to go to the same dancing school with me last winter.”

“Then you know him better than I do.”

“I don’t like him much,” said Julia. “He’s always thinking of himself and his neckties. He always came to dancing school in a different necktie; to let us know how many he had, I suppose. Didn’t you notice his necktie?”

“It was pretty large, I thought,” said Herbert, smiling.

“Yes, he’s fond of wearing large ones.”

“I am afraid you are talking uncharitably, Julia,” said her mother, mildly. “Girls, you know, are sometimes fond of dress.”

So the conversation drifted on to other topics. Julia, at first, addressed our hero as Mr. Mason, until he requested her to call him Herbert, a request which she readily complied with. They were soon on excellent terms, and appeared to be mutually pleased.

“Young people,” said Mr. Godfrey, after dinner, “there is to be an attractive concert at the Academy of Music this evening. I secured seats this morning for four. Suppose we all go?”

“I shall be delighted, for one, papa,” said Julia. “You will like to go, Herbert, won’t you?”

“Very much,” said our hero.

“Then you can escort me, while papa and mamma walk together.”

Herbert felt that this arrangement would be very agreeable, so far as he was concerned. It was, in fact, adopted, and the four paired off together, as Julia had suggested, Julia amusing Herbert by her lively remarks.

Entering the hall, they followed the usher to their seats, which were eligibly located only a few rows back from the stage.

Just behind them sat a party, among whom the new arrivals produced quite a sensation. Not to keep the reader in suspense, that party consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Stanton, Tom and Maria. There was but slight acquaintance between the two families, as Mr. Godfrey’s stood higher, socially, than Mr. Stanton’s. The gentlemen, however, had a bowing acquaintance, and the young people had met at dancing school.

“Why, there’s Mr. Godfrey and his family, Tom,” said Maria, turning towards her brother. “Who’s that boy with them? Julia hasn’t got any brother, has she?”

Tom had watched the entrance of the party with lively dissatisfaction. That his beggarly cousin should appear in public on such intimate terms with Julia Godfrey, to whom he himself had paid attention, but without any special encouragement, struck him as particularly mortifying.

“Mr. Godfrey’s son!” he said, disdainfully. “That boy is Herbert Mason.”

“Our cousin?” asked Maria, with interest. “Ma, did you hear?” she whispered, eagerly. “That boy in front of us is Cousin Herbert.”

“That boy with the Godfreys?” said Mrs. Stanton, in surprise.

“Yes, he’s talking with Julia now.”

“Are you sure? Who told you?”

“Tom.”

“Is it true, Tom?”

“Yes,” said Tom, frowning.

“What could have induced the Godfreys to bring him along?” said Mrs. Stanton, who was no better pleased than Tom at the social success of the poor relation.

“He’s quite good-looking,” said Maria.

“Nonsense,” said her mother, sharply. “He has a very countrified look.”

The news was communicated to Mr. Stanton, who looked with interest at his sister’s son, whom he had not seen since he was a very young child. He fervently wished him back again in Ohio, where he might conveniently forget his existence. Here in New York, especially since an unlucky chance, as he considered it, had brought him into the same counting-room as his son, it would be difficult to avoid taking some notice of him. But, so far as pecuniary assistance was concerned, Mr. Stanton determined that he would give none, unless it was forced upon him. Had he known our hero better, he would have been less alarmed.

With all his prejudices, Mr. Stanton could not help confessing that Herbert was a boy of whom any uncle might be proud. Though plainly dressed, he did not seem out of place at a fashionable concert, surrounded by well-dressed people.

It must not be supposed that Herbert was left in ignorance of the vicinity of the only relations he had in the city.

“There’s Tom Stanton, just behind you, with his father and mother and sister,” whispered Julia.

Herbert turned his head slightly. He was desirous of seeing what his uncle and aunt were like. His uncle met his gaze, and turned uncomfortably away, appearing not to know him, yet conscious that in his affected ignorance he was acting shabbily. Mrs. Stanton did not flinch, but bent a cold gaze of scrutiny upon the unwelcome nephew. Tom looked supercilious, and elevated his pug nose a trifle. Maria, only, looked as if she would like to know her cousin.

It was only a hasty glance on Herbert’s part, but it brought him to a rapid conclusion that he would not claim relationship. If any advances were made, they must come from the other side.

Tom fidgeted in his seat, watching with ill-concealed vexation the confidential conversation which appeared to be going on between Julia and his cousin.

“What she can see in that boor, I can’t imagine,” he said to himself.

Moreover, though Julia had looked around, she had not deigned any recognition of himself, and this hurt his pride. He finally determined to overlook the neglect, and address her, which he could readily do, as he sat almost directly behind her.

“Good-evening, Miss Julia,” he said, familiarly, bending forward.

“Oh, good-evening, Mr. Stanton,” said Julia, coldly, just turning slightly. “Herbert, isn’t that a beautiful song?”

“She calls him Herbert,” said Tom, in scornful disgust. “I wonder if she knows he is nothing but a beggar?”

“How are you enjoying the concert, Miss Julia?” he continued, resolved not to take the rebuff.

“Very well,” said Julia. “By the way,” she continued, with a sudden thought, “I believe you are acquainted with Mr. Mason.”

Herbert, upon this, bowed pleasantly, but Tom said, in rather a disagreeable tone, “I know Mr. Mason slightly.”

“Oh,” said Julia, arching her eyebrows, “I thought you were both in papa’s counting-room.”

“We shall know each other better by and by,” said Herbert, smiling.

Tom did not appear to hear this, but tried to keep up the conversation with Julia, desiring to have it appear that they were intimate friends; but the young lady gave brief replies, and finally, turning away, devoted herself once more to Herbert, much to Tom’s disgust. In fact, what he saw made Tom pass a very unpleasant evening, and when, on their return home, Maria suggested that Julia had taken a fancy to Herbert, he told her to mind her own business, which Maria justly considered a piece of rudeness wholly uncalled for.

CHAPTER XXVIII

PETER GREENLEAF AGAIN

Notwithstanding he was receiving a salary larger than is usually paid boys of his age, Herbert felt cramped for the want of money. Six dollars a week would have paid his expenses comfortably, if he had been well provided to begin with. But all the clothing he had, besides what he wore, he had brought with him in a small bundle, the greatest part having been left in his trunk at the house of Abner Holden. He often wished that he could have them with him, but, of course, this wish was vain. Indeed, Mr. Holden, when the conviction was forced upon him that there was no chance of recovering his bound boy, quietly confiscated the trunk and its contents; and this, to some extent, consoled him for the departure of the owner.

Herbert found himself sadly in need of underclothing; and, of course, his only suit, from constant wear, was likely to deteriorate rapidly. He saved all the money he could from his weekly wages toward purchasing a new one, but his savings were inconsiderable. Besides, he needed a trunk, or would need one, when he had anything to put in it.

“If I only had that money Greenleaf stole from me, I should be all right,” he said to himself, after long and anxious thought on the great question of ways and means. “I don’t see how I can save up more than two dollars a week out of my wages, and it will take a long time for that to amount to much.”

There certainly did not appear to be much chance of saving more. His boarding place was as cheap as he could obtain, or, if there were cheaper anywhere, they would probably be also poorer, and our hero felt that Mrs. Morgan’s was as poor as he should be able to endure.

He was rather mortified, too, at the poverty of his wardrobe. Mrs. Morgan asked him one day, “When is your trunk coming?” and Herbert was obliged to own, with some shame, that he had none. The landlady looked surprised, but he had no explanation to offer.

“I suppose I shall have to wait till my wages are raised,” thought Herbert, with a little sigh. This, he reflected, would not be very soon, as he had started with a salary greater than he was likely to earn, as Mr. Godfrey had said.

But relief was nearer than he anticipated.

One day, as he was walking up the Bowery, he saw, at a little distance in front of him, a figure which he well remembered. The careless, jaunty step and well-satisfied air were familiar to him. In short, it was Peter Greenleaf, who had played so mean a trick upon him at the hotel.

Herbert’s heart beat quick with excitement, mingled with pleasure. He felt a natural indignation against this young man, who had cheated him so remorselessly, and left him, indifferent to his fate, alone and almost penniless in a strange city.

What should he do?

Close behind him was a policeman slowly pacing his regular round. Herbert went up to him, and, pointing to Greenleaf, rapidly recounted his grievances.

“It was a mean trick,” said the policeman, who was a favorable specimen of his class. “Is this the first time you have seen him?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you want to do.”

“I want to get my money back.”

“Probably he has spent it. How long since he robbed you?”

“Three weeks.”

“Not much chance, then. Probably his pocket’s empty, unless he’s fleeced somebody else in the meantime. However, it’s as well to see what can be done. Now, I’ll tell you how to act. Go up to him boldly, and demand your money. If he bluffs you off, call me.”

“All right,” said Herbert.

He hastened his step, and, advancing, tapped Greenleaf on the shoulder.

Greenleaf turned. When he recognized Herbert, he looked surprised and disconcerted. But he had plenty of assurance, and quickly determined upon his course. Assuming a stolid look, he said: “Well, my lad, who are you; and what do you want?”

“You know who I am, well enough,” said Herbert, angrily.

“Do I? Then I’m uncommonly forgetful. I haven’t any recollection of your interesting countenance,” he said, with a sneer.

“I suppose you don’t want to remember me, Mr. Greenleaf,” said Herbert.

“Greenleaf! You are thinking of somebody else. My name’s Thompson.”

“Your name was Greenleaf when you stopped with me at French’s Hotel,” said Herbert, sturdily.

“You’re crazy, I fancy,” said Greenleaf, shrugging his shoulders. “I never stopped at the hotel you mention, in my life.”

“Where’s the money you took from me?” demanded Herbert, who felt convinced of Greenleaf’s identity, in spite of his denial.

“What are you talking about?” said Greenleaf, assuming a look of surprise.

“You went off before I was awake, with more than fifty dollars of mine.”

“Do you mean to insult me?” said Greenleaf, drawing himself up. “I’ve a great mind to knock you over!”

“Mr. Greenleaf,” said Herbert, firmly, “either return my money, or as much as you have got left, or I will call a policeman.”

“Just what I shall do, myself, unless you stop this nonsense,” said Greenleaf, angrily; but not without a sensation of uneasiness, as it struck his mind that Herbert might really intend to do what he had said.

“Once more, will you give up that money?” said Herbert, firmly.

“Stand out of the way,” said Greenleaf, “if you know what is best for yourself!”

He was about to push by, thrusting Herbert roughly out of the way, when our hero turned, and his look summoned the policeman, who hastened to the spot.

“Give this boy his money,” he said, authoritatively. “I know all about your little game. It’s up now. Unless you hand over your plunder, you must go with me.”

Greenleaf changed color, and was evidently alarmed.

“I’ve got nobody’s money, except my own,” he said.

“Come along, then,” said the officer, taking him by the arm.

“Stop a minute,” said he, hurriedly, finding that matters had come to a crisis. “If I give up what I have, will you let me go?”

“Well, that depends on how much you have.”

“I’ve got twenty dollars.”

Herbert was about to say that this would do, but the policeman shook his head.

“Won’t do,” said he. “Come along.”

After a little haggling, Greenleaf produced forty dollars, which Herbert pocketed, with much satisfaction.

“Now go along, and mind you don’t try any more such games.”

Greenleaf needed no second permission to be gone. He feared that the officer might change his mind, and he might, after all, be consigned to the station house.

“Thank you,” said Herbert, gratefully. “I needed the money badly. I shouldn’t have recovered it but for you.”

“Take better care of it next time,” said the officer, not unkindly. “Take care not to trust a stranger too easily. Better take my advice, and put it in a savings bank.”

“I shall be obliged to use most of it,” said Herbert. “What I don’t need, I will put in the bank.”

The recovery of so much of his lost money seemed to Herbert quite a lucky windfall. He went at once to a trunk store, and, for five dollars, purchased a good, durable trunk, which he ordered sent home to his lodgings. Fifteen dollars more he invested in necessary underclothing, and this left him one-half of the money for future use. Besides this he had six dollars, which, in three weeks, he had saved from his wages. With this sum, and the articles he had purchased, he felt quite rich, and returned to the counting-room—this happened during the hour given him for dinner—in unusually good spirits. He had other reasons for encouragement. He was getting accustomed to his duties at the counting-room. Mr. Godfrey always treated him kindly, and had called upon him again that very morning to assist him in translating a French letter, complimenting him, at the same time, upon his scholarship.

“I’ll do my best,” thought Herbert. “‘Try and Trust,’ that’s my motto. I think it will bring me success.”

But even while he spoke, an unforeseen danger menaced him.

CHAPTER XXIX

SPARRING

After the concert, Tom Stanton took even a greater dislike to his cousin than before. To say that he was in love with Julia Godfrey would be rather ridiculous, considering his youth. Even if he had been older, Tom cared too much about himself to fall in love with another. But Julia had been a belle among the children of her own age at the dancing school, and there was considerable rivalry among the boys—or, I should, perhaps, say young gentlemen—for the honor of her notice. Tom desired it, because it would give him a kind of distinction among his fellows. So, though he was not in love with Julia, he was jealous when she showed favor to anyone else. But this feeling was mild compared with that he experienced when Julia bestowed her notice upon his penniless cousin. That Herbert should be preferred to himself, he thought, not only showed great lack of taste on the part of the young heiress, but was a grievous wrong to himself.

“I can’t understand how girls can be such fools,” thought Tom, as that evening, after returning from the concert, he surveyed his rather perturbed face in the mirror surmounting his bureau. “I wouldn’t have believed Julia Godfrey would stoop to notice such a pauper.”

Then a cheerful thought came to him. Perhaps she was only trying to rouse his jealousy. He had heard of such things. But, if so, why should she choose such a beggar as Herbert to practice her arts upon?

Certainly, to an unprejudiced observer, such a thought would never have suggested itself. The cool indifference with which Julia had treated Tom did not appear to argue any such feeling as would lead to the attempt to rouse his jealousy. But, then, Tom was not an unprejudiced observer, and considered his personal attractions such that any girl might appreciate them.

When he arrived at the counting-room the next morning, he found Herbert already there. Indeed, our hero was very particular to be punctual in his attendance, while Tom was generally at least a quarter of an hour behind time.

“I saw you at the concert last evening, Mason,” said Tom, who wanted to get a chance to say something disagreeable.

“Yes, I was there,” said Herbert. “You sat in the row just behind us.”

“Yes. I suppose you were never at a concert before.”

“Not in New York.”

“Mr. Godfrey was very kind to take you.”

That was what Herbert thought himself. But as Tom expressed it, there was something in his tone which implied a conviction of Herbert’s social inferiority, which our hero did not like.

“I have found Mr. Godfrey very kind,” he said, briefly.

“There are not many employers who would invite a boy in your position to a concert with his family,” said Tom.

“I believe my position is the same as yours,” said Herbert, nettled.

“I don’t see it,” said Tom, haughtily. “Will you explain yourself?”

“I believe we are both in Mr. Godfrey’s employ,” said Herbert.

“Oh, yes, so far as that goes. But I am the son of a rich man,” said Tom, pompously.

Herbert might have replied that he was the nephew of a rich man, but he had no disposition to boast of his relationship to his cousin’s family.

“I don’t see that that makes any difference,” said Herbert.

“Don’t you? Well, I do.”

“We are both boys in Mr. Godfrey’s employ.”

“That’s true, but then, he took you out of pity, you know.”

Tom’s tone as he said this was very aggravating, and Herbert’s face flushed.

“I don’t know anything of the sort,” he retorted.

“No, I suppose you don’t consider it in that light,” said Tom, carelessly; “but, of course, it is clear enough to others. Where would you have been, if Mr. Godfrey hadn’t given you a place? Blacking boots, probably, among the street ragamuffins.”

“Perhaps I might,” said Herbert, quietly, “if I couldn’t have got anything better to do.”

“It’s a very genteel occupation,” sneered Tom.

“I don’t think it is,” said Herbert, “but it’s an honest one.”

“You may have to take it yet.”

“Perhaps so. So may you.”

“Do you mean to insult me?” demanded Tom, haughtily, his face flushing.

“I only said to you the same thing you said to me. If it’s an insult on one side, it is on the other.”