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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Do and Dare, by Horatio Alger, Jr.
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Do and Dare
+       A Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune
+
+Author: Horatio Alger, Jr.
+
+Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5747]
+Last Updated: March 3, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DO AND DARE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Carrie Fellman
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DO AND DARE
+
+or
+
+A BRAVE BOY'S FIGHT FOR FORTUNE
+
+By Horatio Alger, Jr.
+
+
+NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. THE POST OFFICE AT WAYNEBORO.
+
+
+“If we could only keep the post office, mother, we should be all right,”
+ said Herbert Carr, as he and his mother sat together in the little
+sitting room of the plain cottage which the two had occupied ever since
+he was a boy of five.
+
+“Yes, Herbert, but I am afraid there won't be much chance of it.”
+
+“Who would want to take it from you, mother?”
+
+“Men are selfish, Herbert, and there is no office, however small, that
+is not sought after.”
+
+“What was the income last year?” inquired Herbert.
+
+Mrs. Carr referred to a blank book lying on the table in which the
+post-office accounts were kept, and answered:
+
+“Three hundred and ninety-eight dollars and fifty cents.”
+
+“I shouldn't think that would be much of an inducement to an able-bodied
+man, who could work at any business.”
+
+“Your father was glad to have it.”
+
+“Yes, mother, but he had lost an arm in the war, and could not engage in
+any business that required both hands.”
+
+“That is true, Herbert, but I am afraid there will be more than one who
+will be willing to relieve me of the duties. Old Mrs. Allen called at
+the office to-day, and told me she understood that there was a movement
+on foot to have Ebenezer Graham appointed.”
+
+“Squire Walsingham's nephew?”
+
+“Yes; it is understood that the squire will throw his influence into the
+scale, and that will probably decide the matter.”
+
+“Then it's very mean of Squire Walsingham,” said Herbert, indignantly.
+“He knows that you depend on the office for a living.”
+
+“Most men are selfish, my dear Herbert.”
+
+“But he was an old schoolfellow of father's, and it was as his
+substitute that father went to the war where he was wounded.”
+
+“True, Herbert, but I am afraid that consideration won't weigh much with
+John Walsingham.”
+
+“I have a great mind to go and see him, mother. Have you any
+objections?”
+
+“I have no objections, but I am afraid it will do no good.”
+
+“Mr. Graham ought to be ashamed, with the profits of his store, to want
+the post office also. His store alone pays him handsomely.”
+
+“Mr. Graham is fond of money. He means to be a rich man.”
+
+“That is true enough. He is about the meanest man in town.”
+
+A few words are needed in explanation, though the conversation explains
+itself pretty well.
+
+Herbert's father, returning from the war with the loss of an arm, was
+fortunate enough to receive the appointment of postmaster, and thus
+earn a small, but, with strict economy, adequate income, until a fever
+terminated his earthly career at middle age. Mr. Graham was a rival
+applicant for the office, but Mr. Carr's services in the war were
+thought to give him superior claims, and he secured it. During the month
+that had elapsed since his death, Mrs. Carr had carried on the post
+office under a temporary appointment. She was a woman of good business
+capacity, and already familiar with the duties of the office, having
+assisted her husband, especially during his sickness, when nearly the
+whole work devolved upon her. Most of the village people were in favor
+of having her retained, but the local influence of Squire Walsingham and
+his nephew was so great that a petition in favor of the latter secured
+numerous signatures, and was already on file at the department in
+Washington, and backed by the congressman of the district, who was
+a political friend of the squire. Mrs. Carr was not aware that the
+movement for her displacement had gone so far.
+
+It was already nine o'clock when Herbert's conversation with his mother
+ended, and he resolved to defer his call upon Squire Walsingham till the
+next morning.
+
+About nine o'clock in the forenoon our young hero rang the bell of
+the village magnate, and with but little delay was ushered into his
+presence.
+
+Squire Walsingham was a tall, portly man of fifty, sleek and evidently
+on excellent terms with himself. Indeed, he was but five years older
+than his nephew, Ebenezer Graham, and looked the younger of the two,
+despite the relationship. If he had been a United States Senator he
+could not have been more dignified in his deportment, or esteemed
+himself of greater consequence. He was a selfish man, but he was free
+from the mean traits that characterized his nephew.
+
+“You are the Carr boy,” said the squire, pompously, looking over his
+spectacles at Herbert, as he entered the door.
+
+“My name is Herbert Carr,” said Herbert, shortly. “You have known me all
+my life.”
+
+“Certainly,” said the squire, a little ruffled at the failure of his
+grand manner to impose upon his young visitor. “Did I not call you the
+Carr boy?”
+
+Herbert did not fancy being called the Carr boy, but he was there to ask
+a favor, and he thought it prudent not to show his dissatisfaction. He
+resolved to come to the point at once.
+
+“I have called, Squire Walsingham,” he commenced, “to ask if you will
+use your influence to have my mother retained in charge of the post
+office.”
+
+“Ahem!” said the squire, somewhat embarrassed. “I am not in charge of
+the post-office department.”
+
+“No, sir, I am aware of that; but the postmaster general will be
+influenced by the recommendations of people in the village.”
+
+“Very true!” said the squire, complacently. “Very true, and very proper.
+I do not pretend to say that my recommendation would not weigh with the
+authorities at Washington. Indeed, the member from our district is a
+personal friend of mine.”
+
+“You know how we are situated,” continued Herbert, who thought it best
+to state his case as briefly as possible. “Father was unable to save
+anything, and we have no money ahead. If mother can keep the post
+office, we shall get along nicely, but if she loses it, we shall have a
+hard time.”
+
+“I am surprised that in your father's long tenure of office he did not
+save something,” said the squire, in a tone which indicated not only
+surprise but reproof.
+
+“There was not much chance to save on a salary of four hundred dollars a
+year,” said Herbert, soberly, “after supporting a family of three.”
+
+“Ahem!” said the squire, sagely; “where there's a will there's a way.
+Improvidence is the great fault of the lower classes.”
+
+“We don't belong to the lower classes,” said Herbert, flushing with
+indignation.
+
+Squire Walmsgham was secretly ambitious of representing his district
+some day in Congress, and he felt that he had made a mistake. It won't
+do for an aspirant to office to speak of the lower classes, and the
+squire hastened to repair his error.
+
+“That was not the term I intended to imply,” he condescended to explain.
+“I meant to say that improvidence is the prevailing fault of those whose
+income is small.”
+
+“We haven't had much chance to be improvident!” said Herbert “We have
+had to spend all our income, but we are not in debt--that is, we have no
+debts that we are unable to pay.”
+
+“That is well,” said Squire Walsingham, “but, my young constituent--I
+mean my young friend--I apprehend that you do not take a right view
+of public office. It is not designed to support a privileged class in
+luxury.”
+
+“Luxury, on four hundred a year!” replied Herbert.
+
+“I am speaking in general terms,” said the squire, hastily. “I mean to
+say that I cannot recommend a person to office simply because he or she
+needs the income.”
+
+“No, sir, I know that; but my mother understands the duties of the
+office, and no complaint has been made that she does not make a good
+postmaster.”
+
+“Possibly,” said the squire, non-commitally; “but I am opposed upon
+principle to conferring offices upon women. Men are more efficient, and
+better qualified to discharge responsible duties.”
+
+“Then, sir,” said Herbert, his heart sinking, “I am to understand that
+you do not favor the appointment of my mother?”
+
+“I should be glad to hear that your mother was doing well,” said the
+squire, “but I cannot conscientiously favor the appointment of a woman
+to be postmaster of Wayneboro.”
+
+“That means that he prefers the appointment should go to his nephew,”
+ thought Herbert.
+
+“If my mother were not competent to discharge the duties,” he said, his
+face showing his disappointment in spite of himself, “I would not ask
+your influence, notwithstanding you were a schoolmate of father's, and
+he lost his arm while acting as your substitute.”
+
+“I have already said that I wish your mother well,” said the squire,
+coloring, “and in any other way I am ready to help her and you. Indeed,
+I may be able to secure you a situation.”
+
+“Where, sir?”
+
+“Mr. Graham needs a boy in his store, and I think he will take you on my
+recommendation.”
+
+“Is Tom Tripp going away?” asked Herbert.
+
+“The Tripp boy is unsatisfactory, so Mr. Graham tells me.”
+
+Herbert knew something of what it would be to be employed by Mr. Graham.
+Tom Tripp worked early and late for a dollar and a half per week,
+without board, for a hard and suspicious taskmaster, who was continually
+finding fault with him. But for sheer necessity, he would have left
+Mr. Graham's store long ago. He had confided the unpleasantness of
+his position to Herbert more than once, and enlisted his sympathy and
+indignation. Herbert felt that he would not like to work for Mr. Graham
+at any price, more especially as it seemed likely that the storekeeper
+was likely to deprive his mother of her office and income.
+
+“I should not like to work for Mr. Graham, sir,” he said.
+
+“It appears to me that you are very particular, young man,” said Squire
+Walsingham.
+
+“I would be willing to work for you, sir, but not for him.”
+
+“Ahem!” said the squire, somewhat mollified, “I will think of your
+case.”
+
+Herbert left the house, feeling that his mother's removal was only a
+matter of time.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. HERBERT'S CHANCE.
+
+
+
+Herbert left the house of Squire Walsingham in a sober frame of mind. He
+saw clearly that his mother would not long remain in office, and without
+her official income they would find it hard to get along. To be sure,
+she received a pension of eight dollars a month, in consideration of
+her husband's services in the war, but eight dollars would not go far
+towards supporting their family, small as it was. There were other means
+of earning a living, to be sure, but Wayneboro was an agricultural town
+mainly, and unless he hired out on a farm there seemed no way open to
+him, while the little sewing his mother might be able to procure would
+probably pay her less than a dollar a week.
+
+The blow fell sooner than he expected. In the course of the next week
+Mrs. Carr was notified that Ebenezer Graham had been appointed her
+successor, and she was directed to turn over the papers and property of
+the office to him.
+
+She received the official notification by the afternoon mail, and in the
+evening she was favored by a call from her successor.
+
+Ebenezer Graham was a small man, with insignificant, mean-looking
+features, including a pair of weazel-like eyes and a turn-up nose. It
+did not require a skillful physiognomist to read his character in his
+face. Meanness was stamped upon it in unmistakable characters.
+
+“Good-evening, Mr. Graham,” said the widow, gravely.
+
+“Good-evening, ma'am,” said the storekeeper. “I've called to see you,
+Mrs. Carr, about the post office, I presume you have heard--”
+
+“I have heard that you are to be my successor.”
+
+“Just so. As long as your husband was alive, I didn't want to step into
+his shoes.”
+
+“But you are willing to step into mine,” said Mrs. Carr, smiling
+faintly.
+
+“Just so--that is, the gov'ment appear to think a man ought to be in
+charge of so responsible a position.”
+
+“I shall be glad if you manage the office better than I have done.”
+
+“You see, ma'am, it stands to reason that a man is better fitted for
+business than a woman,” said Ebenezer Graham, in a smooth tone for he
+wanted to get over this rather awkward business as easily as possible.
+“Women, you know, was made to adorn the domestic circles, et cetery.”
+
+“Adorning the domestic circle won't give me a living,” said Mrs. Carr,
+with some bitterness, for she knew that but for the grasping spirit of
+the man before her she would have been allowed to retain her office.
+
+“I was comin' to that,” said the new postmaster. “Of course, I
+appreciate your position as a widder, without much means, and I'm going
+to make you an offer; that is, your boy, Herbert.”
+
+Herbert looked up from a book he was reading, and listened with interest
+to hear the benevolent intentions of the new postmaster.
+
+“I am ready to give him a place in my store,” proceeded Ebenezer. “I
+always keep a boy, and thinks I to myself, the wages I give will
+help along the widder Carr. You see, I like to combine business with
+consideration for my feller creeters.”
+
+Mrs. Carr smiled faintly, for in spite of her serious strait she could
+not help being amused at the notion of Ebenezer Graham's philanthropy.
+
+“What's going to become of Tom Tripp?” asked Herbert, abruptly.
+
+“Thomas Tripp isn't exactly the kind of boy I want in my store,” said
+Mr. Graham. “He's a harum-scarum sort of boy, and likes to shirk his
+work. Then I suspect he stops to play on the way when I send him on
+errands. Yesterday he was five minutes longer than he need to have been
+in goin' to Sam Dunning's to carry some groceries. Thomas doesn't seem
+to appreciate his privileges in bein' connected with a business like
+mine.”
+
+Tom Tripp was hardly to blame for not recognizing his good luck in
+occupying a position where he received a dollar and a half a week for
+fourteen hours daily work, with half a dozen scoldings thrown in.
+
+“How do you know I will suit you any better than Tom?” asked Herbert,
+who did not think it necessary to thank Mr. Graham for the proffered
+engagement until he learned just what was expected of him, and what his
+pay was to be.
+
+“You're a different sort of a boy,” said Ebenezer, with an attempt at a
+pleasant smile. “You've been brought up different. I've heard you're a
+smart, capable boy, that isn't afraid of work.”
+
+“No, sir, I am not, if I am fairly paid for my work.”
+
+The new postmaster's jaw fell, and he looked uneasy, for he always
+grudged the money he paid out, even the paltry dollar and a half which
+went to poor Tom.
+
+“I always calkerlate to pay fair wages,” he said; “but I ain't rich, and
+I can't afford to fling away money.”
+
+“How much do you pay Tom Tripp?” asked Herbert.
+
+He knew, but he wanted to draw Mr. Graham out.
+
+“I pay Thomas a dollar and fifty cents a week,” answered the
+storekeeper, in a tone which indicated that he regarded this, on the
+whole, as rather a munificent sum.
+
+“And he works from seven in the morning till nine o'clock at night,”
+ proceeded Herbert.
+
+“Them are the hours,” said Ebenezer, who knew better how to make money
+than to speak grammatically.
+
+“It makes a pretty long day,” observed Mrs. Carr.
+
+“So it does, ma'am, but it's no longer than I work myself.”
+
+“You get paid rather better, I presume.”
+
+“Of course, ma'am, as I am the proprietor.”
+
+“I couldn't think of working for any such sum,” said Herbert, decidedly.
+
+Mr. Graham looked disturbed, for he had reasons for desiring to secure
+Herbert, who was familiar with the routine of post-office work.
+
+“Well,” he said, “I might be able to offer you a leetle more, as you
+know how to tend the post office. That's worth somethin'! I'll
+give you--lemme see--twenty-five cents more; that is, a dollar and
+seventy-five cents a week.”
+
+Herbert and his mother exchanged glances. They hardly knew whether to
+feel more amused or disgusted at their visitor's meanness.
+
+“Mr. Graham,” said Herbert, “if you wish to secure my services, you will
+have to pay me three dollars a week.”
+
+The storekeeper held up both hands in dismay.
+
+“Three dollars a week for a boy!” he exclaimed.
+
+“Yes, sir; I will come for a short time for that sum, till you get used
+to the management of the post office, but I shall feel justified in
+leaving you when I can do better.”
+
+“You must think I am made of money,” said Ebenezer hastily.
+
+“I think you can afford to pay me that salary.”
+
+For twenty minutes the new postmaster tried to beat down his prospective
+clerk, but Herbert was obstinate, and Ebenezer rather ruefully promised
+to give him his price, chiefly because it was absolutely necessary that
+he should engage some one who was more familiar with the post-office
+work than he was. Herbert agreed to go to work the next morning.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. A PRODIGAL SON.
+
+
+
+Herbert did not look forward with very joyful anticipations to the new
+engagement he had formed. He knew very well that he should not like
+Ebenezer Graham as an employer, but it was necessary that he should earn
+something, for the income was now but two dollars a week. He was sorry,
+too, to displace Tom Tripp, but upon this point his uneasiness was soon
+removed, for Tom dropped in just after Mr. Graham had left the house,
+and informed Herbert that he was to go to work the next day for a farmer
+in the neighborhood, at a dollar and a half per week, and board besides.
+
+“I am glad to hear it, Tom,” said Herbert, heartily. “I didn't want to
+feel that I was depriving you of employment.”
+
+“You are welcome to my place in the store,” said Tom. “I'm glad to give
+it up. Mr. Graham seemed to think I was made of iron, and I could work
+like a machine, without getting tired. I hope he pays you more than a
+dollar and a half a week.”
+
+“He has agreed to pay me three dollars,” said Herbert.
+
+Tom whistled in genuine amazement.
+
+“What! has the old man lost his senses?” he exclaimed. “He must be crazy
+to offer such wages as that.”
+
+“He didn't offer them. I told him I wouldn't come for less.”
+
+“I don't see how he came to pay such a price.”
+
+“Because he wanted me to take care of the post office. I know all about
+it, and he doesn't.”
+
+“As soon as he learns, he will reduce your wages.”
+
+“Then I shall leave him.”
+
+“Well, I hope you'll like store work better than I do.”
+
+The next two or three days were spent in removing the post office to
+one corner of Eben-ezer Graham's store. The removal was superintended by
+Herbert, who was not interfered with to any extent by his employer, nor
+required to do much work in the store. Our hero was agreeably surprised,
+and began to think he should get along better than he anticipated.
+
+At the end of the first week the storekeeper, while they were closing
+the shutters, said: “I expect, Herbert, you'd just as lieves take your
+pay in groceries and goods from the store?”
+
+“No, sir,” answered Herbert, “I prefer to be paid in money, and to pay
+for such goods as we buy.”
+
+“I don't see what odds it makes to you,” said Ebenezer. “It comes to the
+same thing, doesn't it?”
+
+“Then if it comes to the same thing,” retorted Herbert, “why do you want
+to pay me in goods?”
+
+“Ahem! It saves trouble. I'll just charge everything you buy, and give
+you the balance Saturday night.”
+
+“I should prefer the money, Mr. Graham,” said Herbert, firmly.
+
+So the storekeeper, considerably against his will, drew three dollars in
+bills from the drawer and handed them to his young clerk.
+
+“It's a good deal of money, Herbert,” he said, “for a boy. There ain't
+many men would pay you such a good salary.”
+
+“I earn every cent of it, Mr. Graham,” said Herbert, whose views on the
+salary question differed essentially from those of his employer.
+
+The next morning Mr. Graham received a letter which evidently disturbed
+him. Before referring to its contents, it is necessary to explain that
+he had one son, nineteen years of age, who had gone to Boston two years
+previous, to take a place in a dry-goods store on Washington Street.
+Ebenezer Graham, Jr., or Eben, as he was generally called, was, in some
+respects, like his father. He had the same features, and was quite as
+mean, so far as others were concerned, but willing to spend money for
+his own selfish pleasures. He was fond of playing pool, and cards, and
+had contracted a dangerous fondness for whisky, which consumed all the
+money he could spare from necessary expenses, and even more, so that, as
+will presently appear, he failed to meet his board bills regularly.
+Eben had served an apprenticeship in his father's store, having been,
+in fact, Tom Tripp's predecessor; he tired of his father's strict
+discipline, and the small pay out of which he was required to purchase
+his clothes, and went to Boston to seek a wider sphere.
+
+To do Eben justice, it must be admitted that he had good business
+capacity, and if he had been able, like his father, to exercise
+self-denial, and make money-getting his chief enjoyment, he would no
+doubt have become a rich man in time. As it was, whenever he could make
+his companions pay for his pleasures, he did so.
+
+I now come to the letter which had brought disquietude to the
+storekeeper.
+
+It ran thus:
+
+“DEAR SIR: I understand that you are the father of Mr. Eben Graham,
+who has been a boarder at my house for the last six months. I regret to
+trouble you, but he is now owing me six weeks board, and I cannot get
+a cent out of him, though he knows I am a poor widow, dependent on my
+board money for my rent and house expenses. As he is a minor, the law
+makes you responsible for his bills, and, though I dislike to trouble
+you, I am obliged, in justice to myself, to ask you to settle his board
+bill, which I inclose.
+
+“You will do me a great favor if you will send me the amount--thirty
+dollars--within a week, as my rent is coming due.
+
+“Yours respectfully, SUSAN JONES.”
+
+The feelings of a man like Ebenezer Graham can be imagined when he read
+this unpleasant missive.
+
+“Thirty dollars!” he groaned. “What can the graceless boy be thinking
+of, to fool away his money, and leave his bills to be settled by me. If
+this keeps on, I shall be ruined! It's too bad, when I am slaving here,
+for Eben to waste my substance on riotous living. I've a great mind to
+disown him. Let him go his own way, and fetch up in the poorhouse, if he
+chooses.”
+
+But it is not easy for a man to cast off an only son, even though he is
+as poorly supplied with natural affections as Ebenezer Graham. Besides,
+Eben's mother interceded for him, and the father, in bitterness of
+spirit, was about to mail a registered letter to Mrs. Jones, when the
+cause of his anguish suddenly made his appearance in the store.
+
+“How are you, father?” he said, nonchalantly, taking a cigar from his
+mouth. “Didn't expect to see me, did you?”
+
+“What brings you here, Eben?” asked Mr. Graham, uneasily.
+
+“Well, the cars brought me to Stockton, and I've walked the rest of the
+way.”
+
+“I've heard of you,” said his father, frowning. “I got a letter last
+night from Mrs. Jones.”
+
+“She said she was going to write,” said Eben, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+“How came it,” said his father, his voice trembling with anger, “that
+you haven't paid your board bill for six weeks?”
+
+“I didn't have the money,” said Eben, with a composure which was
+positively aggravating to his father.
+
+“And why didn't you have the money? Your wages are ample to pay all your
+expenses.”
+
+“It costs more money to live in Boston than you think for, father.”
+
+“Don't you get ten dollars a week, sir? At your age I got only seven,
+and saved two dollars a week.”
+
+“You didn't live in Boston, father.”
+
+“I didn't smoke cigars,” said his father, angrily, as he fixed his eye
+on the one his son was smoking. “How much did you pay for that miserable
+weed?”
+
+“You're mistaken, father. It's a very good article. I paid eight dollars
+a hundred.”
+
+“Eight dollars a hundred!” gasped Mr. Graham. “No wonder you can't pay
+your board bill--I can't afford to spend my money on cigars.”
+
+“Oh, yes, you can, father, if you choose. Why, you're a rich man.”
+
+“A rich man!” repeated Mr. Graham, nervously. “It would take a rich man
+to pay your bills. But you haven't told me why you have come home.”
+
+“I lost my situation, father--some meddlesome fellow told my employer
+that I occasionally played a game of pool, and my tailor came to the
+store and dunned me; so old Boggs gave me a long lecture and my walking
+papers, and here I am.”
+
+Ebenezer Graham was sorely troubled, and, though he isn't a favorite of
+mine, I confess, that in this matter he has my sincere sympathy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. HERBERT LOSES HIS PLACE.
+
+
+
+Ebenezer Graham with some difficulty ascertained from Eben that he had
+other bills, amounting in the aggregate to forty-seven dollars. This
+added to the board bill, made a total of seventy-seven dollars. Mr.
+Graham's face elongated perceptibly.
+
+“That is bad enough,” he said; “but you have lost your income also, and
+that makes matters worse. Isn't there a chance of the firm taking you
+back?”
+
+“No, sir,” replied the prodigal. “You see, we had a flare up, and I
+expressed my opinion of them pretty plainly. They wouldn't take me back
+if I'd come for nothing.”
+
+“And they won't give you a recommendation, either?” said Ebenezer, with
+a half groan.
+
+“No, sir; I should say not.”
+
+“So you have ruined your prospects so far as Boston is concerned,” said
+his father, bitterly. “May I ask how you expect to get along?”
+
+“I have a plan,” said Eben, with cheerful confidence.
+
+“What is it?”
+
+“I would like to go to California. If I can't get any situation in San
+Francisco, I can go to the mines.”
+
+“Very fine, upon my word!” said his father, sarcastically. “And how do
+you propose to get to California?”
+
+“I can go either by steamer, across the isthmus, or over the Union
+Pacific road.”
+
+“That isn't what I mean. Where are you to get the money to pay your fare
+with?”
+
+“I suppose you will supply that,” said Eben.
+
+“You do? Well, it strikes me you have some assurance,” ejaculated Mr.
+Graham. “You expect me to advance hundreds of dollars, made by working
+early and late, to support a spendthrift son!”
+
+“I'll pay you back as soon as I am able,” said Eben, a little abashed.
+
+“No doubt! You'd pay me in the same way you pay your board bills,” said
+Ebenezer, who may be excused for the sneer. “I can invest my money to
+better advantage than upon you.”
+
+“Then, if you will not do that,” said Eben, sullenly, “I will leave you
+to suggest a plan.”
+
+“There is only one plan I can think of, Eben. Go back to your old place
+in the store. I will dismiss the Carr boy, and you can attend to the
+post office, and do the store work.”
+
+“What, go back to tending a country grocery, after being a salesman in a
+city store!” exclaimed Eben, disdainfully.
+
+“Yes, it seems the only thing you have left. It's your own fault that
+you are not still a salesman in the city.”
+
+Eben took the cigar from his mouth, and thought rapidly.
+
+“Well,” he said, after a pause, “if I agree to do this, what will you
+pay me?”
+
+“What will I pay you?”
+
+“Yes, will you pay me ten dollars a week--the same as I got at Hanbury &
+Deane's?”
+
+“Ten dollars a week!” ejaculated Ebenezer, “I don't get any more than
+that myself.”
+
+“I guess there's a little mistake in your calculations, father,” said
+Eben, significantly. “If you don't make at least forty dollars a week,
+including the post office, then I am mistaken.”
+
+“So you are--ridiculously mistaken!” said his father, sharply. “What
+you presume is entirely out of the question. You forget that you will
+be getting your board, and Tom Tripp only received a dollar and a half a
+week without board.”
+
+“Is that all you pay to Herbert Carr?”
+
+“I pay him a leetle more,” admitted Ebenezer.
+
+“What will you give me?”
+
+“I'll give you your board and clothes,” said Ebenezer, “and that seems
+to be more than you made in Boston.”
+
+“Are you in earnest?” asked Eben, in genuine dismay.
+
+“Certainly. It isn't a bad offer, either.”
+
+“Do you suppose a young man like me can get along without money?”
+
+“You ought to get along without money for the next two years, after the
+sums you've wasted in Boston. It will cripple me to pay your bills,” and
+the storekeeper groaned at the thought of the inroads the payment would
+make on his bank account.
+
+“You're poorer than I thought, if seventy-five dollars will cripple
+you,” said Eben, who knew his father's circumstances too well to be
+moved by this representation.
+
+“I shall be in the poorhouse before many years if I undertake to pay all
+your bills, Eben.”
+
+After all, this was not, perhaps, an exaggeration, for a spendthrift son
+can get through a great deal of money.
+
+“I can't get along without money, father,” said Eben, decidedly. “How
+can I buy cigars, let alone other things?”
+
+“I don't want you to smoke cigars. You'll be a great deal better off
+without them,” said his father, sharply.
+
+“I understand; it's necessary to my health,” said Eben, rather absurdly.
+
+“You won't smoke at my expense,” said Ebenezer, decidedly. “I don't
+smoke myself, and I never knew any good come of it.”
+
+“All the same, I must have some money. What will people say about a
+young man of my age not having a cent in his pocket? They think my
+father is very mean.”
+
+“I'll allow you fifty cents a week,” said Mr. Graham, after a pause.
+
+“That won't do! You seem to think I am only six or seven years old!”
+
+Finally, after considerable haggling, Mr. Graham agreed to pay his son
+a dollar and a half a week, in cash, besides board and clothes. He
+reflected that he should be obliged to board and clothe his son at any
+rate, and should save a dollar and a half from Herbert's wages.
+
+“Well,” he said, “when will you be ready to go to work?”
+
+“I must have a few days to loaf, father. I have been hard at work for a
+long time, and need some rest.”
+
+“Then you can begin next Monday morning. I'll get Herbert to show you
+how to prepare the mail, so that you won't have any trouble about the
+post-office work.”
+
+“By the way, father, how do you happen to have the post office? I
+thought Mrs. Carr was to carry it on.”
+
+“So she did, for a time, but a woman ain't fit for a public position of
+that kind. So I applied for the position, and got it.”
+
+“What's Mrs. Carr going to do?”
+
+“She's got her pension,” said Ebenezer, shortly.
+
+“Eight dollars a month, isn't it?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“That ain't much to support a family.”
+
+“She'll have to do something else, then, I suppose.”
+
+“There isn't much to do in Wayneboro.”
+
+“That isn't my lookout. She can take in sewing, or washing,” suggested
+Ebenezer, who did not trouble himself much about the care of his
+neighbors. “Besides there's Herbert--he can earn something.”
+
+“But I'm to take his place.”
+
+“Oh well, I ain't under any obligations to provide them a livin'. I've
+got enough to take care of myself and my family.”
+
+“You'd better have let her keep the post office,” said Eben. He was
+not less selfish than his father, but then his own interests were not
+concerned. He would not have scrupled, in his father's case, to do
+precisely the same.
+
+“It's lucky I've got a little extra income,” said Ebenezer, bitterly;
+“now I've got your bills to pay.”
+
+“I suppose I shall have to accept your offer, father,” said Eben, “for
+the present; but I hope you'll think better of my California plan after
+a while. Why, there's a fellow I know went out there last year, went up
+to the mines, and now he's worth five thousand dollars!”
+
+“Then he must be a very different sort of a person from you,” retorted
+his father, sagaciously. “You would never succeed there, if you can't in
+Boston.”
+
+“I've never had a chance to try,” grumbled Eben.
+
+There was sound sense in what his father said. Failure at home is very
+likely to be followed by failure away from home. There have been cases
+that seemed to disprove my assertion, but in such cases failure has only
+been changed into success by earnest work. I say to my young readers,
+therefore, never give up a certainty at home to tempt the chances of
+success in a distant State, unless you are prepared for disappointment.
+
+When the engagement had been made with Eben, Mr. Graham called Herbert
+to his presence.
+
+“Herbert,” said he, “I won't need you after Saturday night. My son is
+going into the store, and will do all I require. You can tell him how to
+prepare the mails, et cetery.”
+
+“Very well, sir,” answered Herbert. It was not wholly a surprise, but
+it was a disappointment, for he did not know how he could make three
+dollars a week in any other way, unless he left Wayneboro.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. EBEN'S SCHEME.
+
+
+
+Saturday night came, and with it the end of Herbert's engagement in the
+post office.
+
+He pocketed the three dollars which his employer grudgingly gave him,
+and set out on his way home.
+
+“Wait a minute, Herbert,” said Eben. “I'll walk with you.”
+
+Herbert didn't care much for Eben's company but he was too polite to say
+so. He waited therefore, till Eben appeared with hat and cane.
+
+“I'm sorry to cut you out of your place, Herbert,” said the young man.
+
+“Thank you,” answered Herbert.
+
+“It isn't my fault, for I don't want to go into the store,” proceeded
+Eben. “A fellow that's stood behind the counter in a city store is fit
+for something better, but it's the old man's fault.”
+
+Herbert made no comment, and Eben proceeded:
+
+“Yes,” said he, “it's the old man's fault. He's awfully stingy, you know
+that yourself.”
+
+Herbert did know it, but thought it would not be in good taste to say
+so.
+
+“I suppose Wayneboro is rather dull for you after living in the city,”
+ he remarked.
+
+“I should say so. This village is a dull hole, and yet father expects
+me to stay here cooped up in a little country store. I won't stay here
+long, you may be sure of that.”
+
+“Where will you go?”
+
+“I don't know yet. I want to go to California, but I can't unless the
+old man comes down with the requisite amount of tin. You'll soon have
+your situation back again. I won't stand in your way.”
+
+“I'm not very particular about going back,” said Herbert, “but I must
+find something to do.”
+
+“Just so!” said Eben. “The place will do well enough for a boy like you,
+but I am a young man, and entitled to look higher. By the way, I've got
+something in view that may bring me in five thousand dollars within a
+month.”
+
+Herbert stared at his companion in surprise, not knowing any short cut
+to wealth.
+
+“Do you mean it?” he asked, incredulously.
+
+“Yes,” said Eben.
+
+“I suppose you don't care to tell what it is?”
+
+“Oh, I don't mind--it's a lottery.”
+
+“Oh!” said Herbert, in a tone of disappointment.
+
+“Yes,” answered Eben. “You may think lotteries are a fraud and all
+that, but I know a man in Boston who drew last month a prize of fifteen
+thousand dollars. The ticket only cost him a dollar. What do you say to
+that?”
+
+“Such cases can't be very common,” said Herbert, who had a good share of
+common sense.
+
+“Not so uncommon as you think,” returned Eben, nodding. “I don't mean to
+say that many draw prizes as large as that, but there are other prizes
+of five thousand dollars, and one thousand, and so on. It would be very
+comfortable to draw a prize of even five hundred, wouldn't it now?”
+
+Herbert admitted that it would.
+
+“I'd send for a ticket by Monday morning's mail,” continued Eben, “if
+I wasn't so hard up. The old man's mad because I ran into debt, and he
+won't give me a cent. Will you do me a favor?”
+
+“What is it?” asked Herbert, cautiously.
+
+“Lend me two dollars. You've got it, I know, because you were paid off
+to-night. I would send for two tickets, and agree to give you quarter of
+what I draw. Isn't that fair?”
+
+“It may be,” said Herbert, “but I haven't any money to lend.”
+
+“You have three dollars in your pocket at this moment.”
+
+“Yes, but it isn't mine. I must hand it to mother.”
+
+“And give up the chance of winning a prize. I'll promise to give you
+half of whatever I draw, besides paying back the money.”
+
+“Thank you, but I can't spare the money.”
+
+“You are getting as miserly as the old man,” said Eben, with a forced
+laugh.
+
+“Eben,” said Herbert, seriously, “you don't seem to understand our
+position. Mother has lost the post office, and has but eight dollars a
+month income. I've earned three dollars this week, but next week I
+may earn nothing. You see, I can't afford to spend money for lottery
+tickets.”
+
+“Suppose by your caution you lose five hundred dollars. Nothing risk,
+nothing gain!”
+
+“I have no money to risk,” said Herbert, firmly.
+
+“Oh, well, do as you please!” said Eben, evidently disappointed. “I
+thought I'd make you the offer, because I should like to see you win a
+big prize.”
+
+“Thank you for your friendly intention,” said Herbert, “but I am afraid
+there are a good many more blanks than prizes. If there were not, it
+wouldn't pay the lottery men to carry on the business.”
+
+This was common sense, and I cannot forbear at this point to press it
+upon the attention of my young reader. Of all schemes of gaining wealth,
+about the most foolish is spending money for lottery tickets. It
+has been estimated by a sagacious writer that there is about as much
+likelihood of drawing a large prize in a lottery as of being struck by
+lightning and that, let us hope, is very small.
+
+“I guess I won't go any farther,” said Eben, abruptly, having become
+convinced that Herbert could not be prevailed upon to lend him money.
+
+“Good-night, then,” said Herbert “Good-night.”
+
+“Well, mother, I'm out of work,” said Herbert, as he entered the little
+sitting room, and threw down his week's wages. Our young hero was of a
+cheerful temperament but he looked and felt sober when he said this.
+
+“But for the Grahams we should have a comfortable living,” the boy
+proceeded. “First, the father took away the post office from you, and
+now the son has robbed me of my place.”
+
+“Don't be discouraged, Herbert,” said his mother. “God will find us a
+way out of our troubles.”
+
+Herbert had been trained to have a reverence for religion, and had faith
+in the providential care of his heavenly Father, and his mother's words
+recalled his cheerfulness.
+
+“You are right, mother,” he said, more hopefully. “I was feeling
+low-spirited to-night, but I won't feel so any more. I don't see how we
+are to live, but I won't let it trouble me tonight.”
+
+“Let us do our part, and leave the rest to God,” said Mrs. Carr. “He
+won't support us in idleness, but I am sure that in some way relief will
+come if we are ready to help ourselves.”
+
+“God helps them that help themselves,” repeated Herbert.
+
+“Exactly so. To-morrow is Sunday, and we won't let any worldly anxieties
+spoil that day for us. When Monday comes, we will think over what is
+best to be done.”
+
+The next day Herbert and his mother attended church in neat apparel, and
+those who saw their cheerful faces were not likely to guess the serious
+condition of their affairs. They were not in debt, to be sure, but,
+unless employment came soon, they were likely to be ere long, for they
+had barely enough money ahead to last them two weeks.
+
+Monday morning came, and brought its burden of care.
+
+“I wish there was a factory in Wayneboro,” said Herbert. “I am told that
+boys of my age sometimes earn six or seven dollars a week.”
+
+“I have heard so. Here there seems nothing, except working on a farm.”
+
+“And the farmers expect boys to take their pay principally in board.”
+
+“That is a consideration, but, if possible, I hope we shall not be
+separated at meals.”
+
+“I will try other things first,” said Herbert. “How would you like some
+fish for dinner, mother? My time isn't of any particular value, and I
+might as well go fishing.”
+
+“Do so, Herbert. It will save our buying meat, which, indeed, we can
+hardly afford to do.”
+
+Herbert felt that anything was better than idleness, so he took his
+pole from the shed, and, after digging a supply of bait, set out for the
+banks of the river half a mile away.
+
+Through a grassy lane leading from the main street, he walked down to
+the river with the pole on his shoulder.
+
+He was not destined to solitude, for under a tree whose branches hung
+over the river sat a young man, perhaps twenty-five years of age, with a
+book in his hand.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. HERBERT'S GOOD LUCK.
+
+
+
+“Good-morning,” said the young man, pleasantly.
+
+“Good-morning,” answered Herbert, politely.
+
+He recognized the young man, though he had never seen him before, as
+a visitor from the city, who was boarding at the hotel, if the village
+tavern could be so designated. He seemed to be a studious young man, for
+he always had a book in his hand. He had a pleasant face, but was pale
+and slender, and was evidently in poor health.
+
+“I see you are going to try your luck at fishing,” said the young man.
+
+“Yes, sir; I have nothing else to do, and that brings me here.”
+
+“I, too, have nothing else to do; but I judge from your appearance that
+you have not the same reason for being idle.”
+
+“What is that, sir?”
+
+“Poor health.”
+
+“No, sir; I have never been troubled in that way.”
+
+“You are fortunate. Health is a blessing not to be overestimated. It is
+better than money.”
+
+“I suppose it is, sir; but at present I think I should value a little
+money.”
+
+“Are you in want of it?” asked the young man, earnestly.
+
+“Yes, sir; I have just lost my place in the post office.”
+
+“I think I have seen you in the post office.”
+
+“Yes, sir; my mother had charge of the office till two weeks since,
+when it was transferred to Mr. Graham. He employed me to attend to the
+duties, and serve the customers in the store, till Saturday night, when
+I was succeeded by his son, who had just returned from the city.”
+
+“Your mother is a widow, is she not?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“I know where you live; I have had it pointed out to me. Your father
+served in the war, did he not?”
+
+“Yes, sir; and the injuries he received hastened his death.”
+
+The young man looked thoughtful. Then he said: “How much did Mr. Graham
+pay you for your services?”
+
+“Three dollars a week.”
+
+“That was not--excuse the question--all you and your mother had to
+depend upon, was it?”
+
+“Not quite; mother receives a pension of eight dollars per month.”
+
+“Five dollars a week altogether--that is very little.”
+
+“It is only two dollars now, sir.”
+
+“True; but you have health and strength, and those will bring money.
+In one respect you are more fortunate than I. You have a mother--I have
+neither father nor mother.”
+
+“I'm sorry for you, sir.”
+
+“Thank you; anyone is to be pitied who has lost his parents. Now, as I
+have asked about your affairs, it is only fair that I should tell you
+about myself. To begin with, I am rich. Don't look envious, for there
+is something to counterbalance. I am of feeble constitution, and the
+doctors say that my lungs are affected. I have studied law, but the
+state of my health has obliged me to give up, for the present at least,
+the practice of my profession.”
+
+“But if you are rich you do not need to practice,” said Herbert, who may
+be excused for still thinking his companion's lot a happy one.
+
+“No, I do not need to practice my profession, so far as the earning of
+money is concerned; but I want something to occupy my mind. The doctors
+say I ought to take considerable out-door exercise; but I suppose my
+physical condition makes me indolent, for my chief exercise has been,
+thus far, to wander to the banks of the river and read under the trees.”
+
+“That isn't very severe exercise,” said Herbert, smiling.
+
+“No; still it keeps me out in the open air, and that is something. Now
+tell me, what are your plans?”
+
+“My hope is to find something to do that will enable me to help mother;
+but there doesn't seem much chance of finding anything in Wayneboro. Do
+you think I could get a place in the city?”
+
+“You might; but even if you did, you would find it difficult to earn
+your own living, and there would be no chance of your helping your
+mother.”
+
+Herbert, though naturally sanguine and hopeful, looked sober. Just
+then he had a bite, and drew out a good-sized pickerel. This gave a new
+direction to his thoughts, and he exclaimed, triumphantly:
+
+“Look at this pickerel! He must weigh over two pounds.”
+
+“All of that,” said the young man, rising and examining the fish with
+interest. “Let me use your pole, and see what luck I have.”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+The young man, some ten minutes later, succeeded in catching a smaller
+pickerel, perhaps half the size of Herbert's.
+
+“That will do for me,” he said, “though it doesn't come up to your
+catch.”
+
+For two hours Herbert and his friend alternately used the pole, and the
+result was quite a handsome lot of fish.
+
+“You have more fish than you want,” said the young man. “You had better
+bring what you don't want to the hotel. I heard the landlord say he
+would like to buy some.”
+
+“That would suit me,” said Herbert. “If he wants fish, I want money.”
+
+“Come along with me, then. Really, I don't know when I have passed a
+forenoon so pleasantly. Usually I get tired of my own company, and the
+day seems long to me. I believe I see my way clear to a better way of
+spending my time. You say you want a place. How would you like me for an
+employer?”
+
+“I am sure I should like you, but you are not in any business.”
+
+“No,” said the young man, smiling; “or, rather, my business is the
+pursuit of health and pleasure just now. In that I think you can help
+me.”
+
+“I shall be very glad to, if I can, Mr.---”
+
+“My name is George Melville. Let me explain my idea to you. I want your
+company to relieve my solitude. In your company I shall have enterprise
+enough to go hunting and fishing, and follow out in good faith my
+doctor's directions. What do you say?”
+
+Herbert smiled.
+
+“I would like that better than being in the post office,” he said. “It
+would seem like being paid for having a good time.”
+
+“How much would you consider your services worth?” asked Mr. Melville.
+
+“I am content to leave that to you,” said Herbert.
+
+“Suppose we say six dollars a week, then?”
+
+“Six dollars a week!” exclaimed Herbert, amazed.
+
+“Isn't that enough?” asked Melville, smiling.
+
+“It is more than I can earn. Mr. Graham thought he was over-paying me
+with three dollars a week.”
+
+“You will find me a different man from Mr. Graham, Herbert. I am aware
+that six dollars is larger pay than is generally given to boys of your
+age. But I can afford to pay it, and I have no doubt you will find the
+money useful.”
+
+“It will quite set us on our feet again, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert,
+earnestly. “You are very generous.”
+
+“Oh, you don't know what a hard taskmaster you may find me,” said the
+young man, playfully. “By the way, I consider that you have already
+entered upon your duties. To-day is the first day. Now come to the hotel
+with me, and see what you can get for the fish. I happen to know that
+two of the guests, a lady and her daughter, are anxious for a good fish
+dinner and, as there is no market here, I think the landlord will be
+glad to buy from you.”
+
+Mr. Melville was right. Mr. Barton, the landlord, purchased the fish
+that Herbert had to sell, for sixty cents, which he promptly paid.
+
+“Don't that pay you for your morning's work?” asked Melville.
+
+“I don't know but the money ought to go to you, Mr. Melville,” said
+Herbert, “as I am now in your employ. Besides, you caught a part of
+them.”
+
+“I waive all claim to compensation,” said the young man, “though it
+would be a novel sensation to receive money for services rendered. What
+will you say, Herbert, when I tell you that I never earned a dollar in
+my life?”
+
+Herbert looked incredulous.
+
+“It is really true,” said George Melville, “my life has been passed at
+school and college, and I have never had occasion to work for money.”
+
+“You are in luck, then.”
+
+“I don't know that; I think those who work for the money they receive
+are happy. Tell me, now, don't you feel more satisfaction in the sixty
+cents you have just been paid because you have earned it?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“I thought so. The happiest men are those who are usefully employed.
+Don't forget that, and never sigh for the opportunity to lead an idle
+life. But I suppose your dinner is ready. You may go home, and come back
+at three o'clock.”
+
+“Very well, sir.”
+
+Herbert made good time going home. He was eager to tell his mother the
+good news of his engagement.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. EBEN GROWS ENVIOUS.
+
+
+
+“Well, mother,” said Herbert, as he entered the house, “I have brought
+you enough fish for dinner.”
+
+“I waited to see what luck you would have, Herbert, and therefore have
+not got dinner ready. You will have to wait a little while.”
+
+“I shall be all the hungrier, mother,” said Herbert.
+
+Mrs. Carr could not help noticing the beaming look on her som's face.
+
+“You look as if you had received a legacy, Herbert,” she said.
+
+Herbert laughed.
+
+“There it is,” he said, displaying the sixty cents he had received from
+the landlord.
+
+“There are ten cents more than I should have received for a whole day's
+work at the store,” he said.
+
+“Where did you get it, Herbert?”
+
+“I sold a mess of fish to Mr. Barton, of the hotel.”
+
+“You must have had good luck in fishing,” said his mother, looking
+pleased.
+
+“I had help, mother. Mr. Melville, the young man from the city, who
+boards at the hotel, helped me fish.”
+
+“Well, Herbert, you have made a good beginning. I couldn't help feeling
+a little depressed when you left me this morning, reflecting that we
+had but my pension to depend upon. It seemed so unlucky that Eben Graham
+should have come home just at this time to deprive you of your place in
+the store.”
+
+“It was a piece of good luck for me, mother.”
+
+“I don't see how,” said Mrs. Carr, naturally puzzled.
+
+“Because I have a better situation already.”
+
+Then Herbert, who had been saving the best news for the last, told his
+mother of his engagement as Mr. Melville's companion, and the handsome
+compensation he was to receive.
+
+“Six dollars a week!” repeated his mother. “That is indeed generous.
+Herbert, we did well to trust in Providence.”
+
+“Yes, mother; and we have not trusted in vain.”
+
+After dinner Herbert did some chores for his mother, and then went to
+the hotel to meet his new employer. He found him occupying a large and
+pleasant room on the second floor. The table near the window was covered
+with books, and there were some thirty or forty volumes arranged on
+shelves.
+
+“I always bring books with me, Herbert,” said the young man. “I am very
+fond of reading, and hitherto I have occupied too much time, perhaps, in
+that way--too much, because it has interfered with necessary exercise.
+Hereafter I shall devote my forenoon to some kind of outdoor exercise
+in your company, and in the afternoon you can read to me, or we can
+converse.”
+
+“Shall I read to you now, Mr. Melville?” asked Herbert.
+
+“Yes; here is a recent magazine. I will select an article for you to
+read. It will rest my eyes, and besides it is pleasanter to have a
+companion than to read one's self.”
+
+The article was one that interested Herbert as well as Mr. Melville, and
+he was surprised when he had finished to find that it was nearly five
+o'clock.
+
+“Didn't the reading tire you, Herbert?” asked Melville.
+
+“No, sir; not at all.”
+
+“It is evident that your lungs are stronger than mine.”
+
+At five o'clock Melville dismissed his young companion.
+
+“Do you wish me to come this evening?” asked Herbert.
+
+“Oh, no. I wouldn't think of taking up your evenings.”
+
+“At the post office I had to stay till eight o'clock.”
+
+“Probably it was necessary there; I won't task you so much.”
+
+“When shall I come to-morrow?”
+
+“At nine o'clock.”
+
+“That isn't very early,” said Herbert, smiling.
+
+“No, I don't get up very early. My health won't allow me to cultivate
+early rising. I shall not be through breakfast much before nine.”
+
+“I see you don't mean to overwork me, Mr. Melville.”
+
+“No, for it would involve overworking myself.”
+
+“I shall certainly have an easy time,” thought Herbert, as he walked
+homeward.
+
+He reflected with satisfaction that he was being paid at the rate of a
+dollar a day, which was quite beyond anything he had ever before earned.
+Indeed, to-day he had earned sixty cents besides. The sum received for
+the fish.
+
+After supper Herbert went to the store to purchase some articles for his
+mother. He was waited on by Mr. Graham in person. As the articles called
+for would amount to nearly one dollar, the storekeeper said, cautiously:
+“Of course, you are prepared to pay cash?”
+
+“Certainly, sir,” returned Herbert.
+
+“I mentioned it because I knew your income was small,” said Ebenezer,
+apologetically.
+
+“It is more than it was last week,” said Herbert, rather enjoying the
+prospect of surprising the storekeeper.
+
+“Why, you ain't found anything to do, have you?” asked Mr. Graham, his
+face indicating curiosity.
+
+“Yes, sir; I am engaged as companion by Mr. Melville, who is staying at
+the hotel.”
+
+“I don't know what he wants of a companion,” said the storekeeper, with
+that disposition to criticise the affairs of his neighbors often found
+in country places.
+
+“He thinks he needs one,” answered Herbert.
+
+“And how much does he pay you now?” queried Ebenezer.
+
+“Six dollars a week.”
+
+“You don't mean it!” ejaculated the storekeeper. “Why, the man must be
+crazy!”
+
+“I don't think he is,” said Herbert, smiling.
+
+“Got plenty of money, I take it?” continued Ebenezer, who had a good
+share of curiosity.
+
+“Yes; he tells me he is rich.”
+
+“How much money has he got?”
+
+“He didn't tell me that.”
+
+“Well, I declare! You're lucky, that's a fact!”
+
+There was an interested listener to this conversation in the person of
+Eben, who had been in the store all day, taking Herbert's place. As
+we know, the position by no means suited the young man. He had been
+employed in a store in Boston, and to come back to a small country
+grocery might certainly be considered a descent. Besides, the small
+compensation allowed him was far from satisfying Eben.
+
+He was even more dissatisfied when he learned how fortunate Herbert was.
+To be selected as a companion by a rich young man was just what he would
+have liked himself, and he flattered himself that he should make a more
+desirable companion than a mere boy like Herbert.
+
+As our hero was leaving the store, Eben called him back.
+
+“What was that you were telling father about going round with a young
+man from the city?” he asked.
+
+Herbert repeated it.
+
+“And he pays you six dollars a week?” asked Eben, enviously.
+
+“Yes; of course, I shouldn't have asked so much, but he fixed the price
+himself.”
+
+“You think he is very rich?” said Eben, thoughtfully.
+
+“Yes, I think so.”
+
+“What a splendid chance it would be for me!” thought Eben. “If I could
+get intimate with a man like that, he might set me up in business some
+day; perhaps take me to Europe, or round the world!” “How much of the
+time do you expect to be with this Mr. Melville?” he asked.
+
+Herbert answered the question.
+
+“Does he seem like a man easy to get along with?”
+
+“Very much so.”
+
+Eben inwardly decided that, if he could, he would oust Herbert from his
+desirable place, and substitute himself. It was a very mean thought, but
+Eben inherited meanness from his father.
+
+“Herbert,” he said, “will you do me a favor?”
+
+“What is it?” asked our hero.
+
+“Will you take my place in the store this evening? I am not feeling
+well, and want to take a walk.”
+
+“Yes,” answered Herbert, “as soon as I have run home to tell mother
+where I am.”
+
+“That's a good fellow. You shan't lose anything by it. I'll give you ten
+cents.”
+
+“You needn't pay me anything, Eben. I'll do it as a favor.”
+
+“You're a trump, Herbert. Come back as soon as you can.”
+
+When Eben was released from the store, he went over to the hotel, and
+inquired for Mr. Melville, leaving his unsuspecting young substitute in
+the post office.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. EBEN'S ASSURANCE.
+
+
+
+“A young man wishes to see you, Mr. Melville,” said the servant.
+
+George Melville looked up in some surprise from his book, and said: “You
+may show him up.”
+
+“It must be Herbert,” he thought.
+
+But when the door was opened, and the visitor shown in, Mr. Melville
+found it was an older person than Herbert. Eben, for it was he,
+distorted his mean features into what he regarded as a pleasant smile,
+and, without waiting to receive a welcome, came forward with extended
+hand.
+
+“I believe you are Mr. Melville,” he said, inquiringly.
+
+“Yes, that is my name,” said Melville, looking puzzled; “I don't
+remember you. Have I met you before?”
+
+“You saw me in father's store, very likely,” said Eben. “I am Eben
+Graham, son of Ebenezer Graham, the postmaster.”
+
+“Indeed! That accounts for your face looking familiar. You resemble your
+father very closely.”
+
+“I'm a chip off the old block with modern improvements,” said Eben,
+smirking. “Father's always lived in the country, and he ain't very
+stylish. I've been employed in Boston for a couple of years past, and
+got a little city polish.”
+
+“You don't show much of it,” thought Melville, but he refrained from
+saying so.
+
+“So you have come home to assist your father,” he said, politely.
+
+“Well, no, not exactly,” answered Eben, “I feel that a country store
+isn't my sphere.”
+
+“Then you propose to go back to the city?”
+
+“Probably I shall do so eventually, but I may stay here in Wayneboro a
+while if I can make satisfactory arrangements. I assure you that it was
+not my wish to take Herbert Carr's place.”
+
+“Herbert told me that you had assumed his duties.”
+
+“It is only ad interim. I assure you, it is only ad interim. I am quite
+ready to give back the place to Herbert, who is better suited to it than
+I.”
+
+“I wonder what the fellow is driving at,” thought Melville. Eben did not
+long leave him in doubt.
+
+“Herbert tells me that he has made an engagement with you,” continued
+Eben, desiring to come to his business as soon as possible.
+
+“Yes, we have made a mutual arrangement.”
+
+“Of course, it is very nice for him; and so I told him.”
+
+“I think I am quite as much a gainer by it as he is,” said Melville.
+
+“Herbert was right. He is easily suited,” said Eben, to himself.
+
+“Of course,” Eben added, clearing his throat, “Herbert isn't so much of
+a companion to you as if he were a few years older.”
+
+“I don't know that; it seems to me that he is a very pleasant companion,
+young as he is.”
+
+“To be sure, Herbert is a nice boy, and father was glad to help him
+along by giving him a place, with a larger salary than he ever paid
+before.”
+
+“What is he driving at?” thought Melville.
+
+“To come to the point, Mr. Melville,” said Eben, “I have made bold to
+call upon you to suggest a little difference in your arrangements.”
+
+“Indeed!” said Melville, coldly. Though he had no idea what his singular
+visitor was about to propose, it struck him emphatically that Eben was
+interfering in an unwarrantable manner with his affairs.
+
+“You see,” continued Eben, “I'm a good deal nearer your age than
+Herbert, and I've had the advantage of residing in the city, which
+Herbert hasn't, and naturally should be more company to you. Then,
+again, Herbert could do the work in the post office and store, which I
+am doing, nearly as well as I can. I'll undertake to get father to give
+him back his place, and then I shall be happy to make an arrangement
+with you to go hunting and fishing, or anything else that you choose.
+I am sure I should enjoy your company, Mr. Melville,” concluded Eben,
+rubbing his hands complacently and surveying George Melville with an
+insinuating smile.
+
+“You have certainly taken considerable trouble to arrange this matter
+for me,” said Melville, with a sarcasm which Eben did not detect.
+
+“Oh, no trouble at all!” said Eben, cheerfully. “You see, the idea came
+into my head when Herbert told me of his arrangements with you, and I
+thought I'd come and see you about it.”
+
+“Did you mention it to Herbert?” asked George Melville, with some
+curiosity.
+
+“Well, no, I didn't. I didn't know how Herbert would look at it. I got
+Herbert to take my place in the store while I ran over to see you about
+the matter. By the way, though I am some years older than Herbert, I
+shan't ask more than you pay him. In fact, I am willing to leave the pay
+to your liberality.”
+
+“You are very considerate!” said Melville, hardly knowing whether to be
+amused or provoked by the cool assurance of his visitor.
+
+“Oh, not at all!” returned Eben, complacently. “I guess I've fetched
+him!” he reflected, looking at Mr. Melville through his small,
+half-closed eyes.
+
+“You have certainly surprised me very much, Mr. Graham,” said Melville,
+“by the nature of your suggestion. I won't take into consideration the
+question whether you have thought more of your own pleasure or mine.
+So far as the latter is concerned, you have made a mistake in supposing
+that Herbert's youth is any drawback to his qualification as a
+companion. Indeed, his youth and cheerful temperament make him more
+attractive in my eyes. I hope, Mr. Graham, you will excuse me for saying
+that he suits me better than you possibly could.”
+
+Eben's countenance fell, and he looked quite discomfited and mortified.
+
+“I didn't suppose a raw, country boy would be likely to suit a gentleman
+of taste, who has resided in the city,” he said, with asperity.
+
+“Then you will have a chance to correct your impression,” said Melville,
+with a slight smile.
+
+“Then you don't care to accept my offer?” said Eben, regretfully.
+
+“Thank you, no. If you will excuse me for suggesting it, Mr. Graham,
+it would have been more considerate for you to have apprised Herbert of
+your object in asking him to take your place this evening. Probably he
+had no idea that you meant to supersede him with me.”
+
+Eben tossed his head.
+
+“You mustn't think, Mr. Melville,” he said, “that I was after the extra
+pay. Six dollars doesn't seem much to me. I was earning ten dollars a
+week in Boston, and if I had stayed, should probably have been raised to
+twelve.”
+
+“So that you were really consenting to a sacrifice in offering to enter
+my employment at six dollars a week?”
+
+“Just so!”
+
+“Then I am all the more convinced that I have decided for the best in
+retaining Herbert. I do not wish to interfere with your prospects in the
+city.”
+
+“Oh, as for that,” said Eben, judging that he had gone too far, “I
+don't care to go back to the city just yet. I've been confined pretty
+steadily, and a few weeks in the country, hunting and fishing, will do
+me good.”
+
+George Melville bowed, but said nothing.
+
+Eben felt that he had no excuse for staying longer, and reluctantly
+rose.
+
+“If you should think better of what I've proposed,” he said, “you can
+let me know.”
+
+“I will do so,” said Melville.
+
+“He's rather a queer young man,” muttered Eben, as he descended the
+stairs. “It's funny that he should prefer a country boy like Herbert to
+a young man like me who's seen life, and got some city polish--at the
+same price, too! He don't seem to see his own interest. I'm sorry, for
+it would have been a good deal more interesting to me, going round with
+him a few hours a day, than tending store for father. There's one thing
+sure, I won't do it long. I'm fitted for a higher position than that, I
+hope.”
+
+“For downright impudence and cool assurance, I think that young man will
+bear off the palm,” thought George Melville, as his unwelcome visitor
+left the room. “Herbert is in no danger from him. It would probably
+surprise him if he knew that I should consider his company as an
+intolerable bore. I will tell Herbert to-morrow the good turn his friend
+has tried to do him.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. THE SOLITARY FARMHOUSE.
+
+
+
+If Eben had been sensitive, the cool reception which he met with at the
+hands of Mr. Melville would have disturbed him. As it was, he felt
+angry and disappointed, and desirous of “coming up with” Herbert, as he
+expressed it, though it was hard to see in what way the boy had injured
+him. It did not seem quite clear at present how he was to punish
+Herbert, but he only waited for an occasion.
+
+When Herbert learned, the next morning, from Mr. Melville, in what
+manner Eben had tried to undermine him, and deprive him of his
+situation, he was naturally indignant.
+
+“I didn't think Eben Graham could be so mean,” he exclaimed.
+
+“It was certainly a mean thing to do, Herbert,” said George Melville;
+“but you can afford to treat young Graham with contempt, as he has been
+unable to do you any injury.”
+
+“What shall we do this morning, Mr. Melville?” asked Herbert.
+
+“I should like a row on the river,” said Melville. “Do you know of any
+boat we can have?”
+
+“Walter Ingalls has a boat; I think we can hire that.”
+
+“Do you know him?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Then you may go and ascertain whether we can have it, or I will go with
+you to avoid loss of time.”
+
+The boat was readily loaned, and the two were soon on the river. Mr.
+Melville first took the oars, but he was quickly fatigued, and resigned
+them to Herbert, who was strong and muscular for his age. As his
+companion observed his strong and steady strokes, he said:
+
+“Herbert, I am disposed to envy you your strength and endurance. I get
+tired very easily.”
+
+“Were you not strong when a boy?” asked Herbert.
+
+“I never had much endurance. My mother had a feeble constitution and was
+consumptive, and I inherit something of her weakness.”
+
+“It is fortunate that you have money, Mr. Melville, so that you are not
+obliged to work.”
+
+“True; but I would give half my fortune to be strong and well.”
+
+Herbert noticed the hectic flush upon Mr. Melville's cheeks, and his
+white, transparent hands, and his sympathy was aroused.
+
+“I see,” he said, thoughtfully, “that I am more fortunate than I thought
+in my health and strength.”
+
+“They are blessings not to be overestimated, Herbert. However, my lot
+is, on the whole, a happy one, even though my life will probably be
+brief, and I have still many sources of satisfaction and enjoyment.”
+
+The river led away from the village, flowing between wooded banks, with
+here and there a cottage set in the midst of the fields. Lying back in
+the stern, Melville enjoyed their tranquil passage, when their attention
+was suddenly attracted by a boy who stood on the bank, frantically
+waving his hat. Melville was the first to see him.
+
+“What can that boy want?” he asked.
+
+Herbert immediately looked around, and exclaimed in surprise:
+
+“It's Tom Tripp!”
+
+“Row to shore, and see what he wants,” said Melville, quickly.
+
+They were already near, and in a brief space of time they touched the
+bank.
+
+“What's the matter, Tom?”
+
+“There's a tramp in the house, stealing all he can lay hands on,”
+ answered Tom, in excitement.
+
+“What house?”
+
+“Farmer Cole's.”
+
+Mr. Cole was the farmer for whom Tom Tripp was working.
+
+Tom explained that the farmer was gone to the village, leaving his wife
+alone. A tramp had come to the door and asked for a meal. While Mrs.
+Cole was getting something for him, the visitor looked about him and,
+finding that there was no man about, boldly demanded money, after
+unceremoniously possessing himself of the silver spoons.
+
+“Is he armed?” asked Melville.
+
+“I don't know; I don't think so.”
+
+“Does he know that you have gone for help?”
+
+“No; he did not see me. I came from the fields, and saw him through the
+window. Mrs. Cole thinks I am in the field and there is no help near.”
+
+Physical courage and physical strength do not always go together, and
+a weak man often excels a strong man in bravery. George Melville was
+thoroughly roused. For injustice or brutality he had a hearty contempt,
+and he was not one to stand by and see a ruffian triumph.
+
+“Come, Herbert,” he said; “let us go to the help of this poor woman.”
+
+“With all my heart,” answered Herbert, his eyes flashing.
+
+Before describing the appearance of Herbert and George Melville upon
+the scene, I will go back a few minutes and relate what happened at the
+farmhouse.
+
+Mrs. Cole was engaged in ironing when she heard a knock at the door.
+
+Answering the summons, she found herself confronted by an ill-looking
+fellow whose dusty and travel-soiled garments revealed the character of
+the wearer.
+
+“What is it you wish?” asked the farmer's wife.
+
+“I'm hungry!” said the tramp. “Can you give me something to eat?”
+
+“Yes,” answered Mrs. Cole, cheerfully, for the good woman could not find
+it in her heart to turn away a fellow creature suffering from hunger.
+“We have enough and to spare. Come in, and sit down at the table.”
+
+The visitor followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the table,
+while the farmer's wife went to the pantry and brought out half a loaf
+of bread and a plate of cold meat.
+
+The tramp was not long in attacking it, but after a few mouthfuls laid
+down his knife and fork.
+
+“Where's the coffee?” he asked.
+
+“I have no warm coffee,” she answered.
+
+“Don't you drink coffee in the morning?”
+
+“Yes, but breakfast was over two or three hours since. Shall I get you a
+glass of water?”
+
+“Haven't you any cider?”
+
+“It seems to me you are particular,” said Mrs. Cole, growing indignant.
+
+“All the same I want some cider,” said the tramp, impudently.
+
+“I have no cider,” answered Mrs. Cole, shortly.
+
+“A pretty farmhouse this is, without cider,” growled the tramp. “You can
+make me some coffee, then!”
+
+“Who are you to order me round in my own house?” demanded Mrs. Cole,
+angrily. “One would think you took this for a hotel.”
+
+“I take it for what I please,” said the tramp.
+
+“If my husband were here you wouldn't dare to talk to me like this!”
+
+It was an unguarded admission, made on the impulse of the moment, and
+Mrs. Cole felt its imprudence as soon as she had uttered the words, but
+it was too late to recall them.
+
+“Where is your husband?” asked the tramp, his face lighting up with a
+gleam of exultation.
+
+“Near by,” answered Mrs. Cole, evasively; but her visitor saw that this
+was not correct.
+
+“How much money have you in the house?” he demanded, abruptly.
+
+“Money?” gasped the farmer's wife, turning pale.
+
+“Yes, money! Didn't I speak plain enough?” asked the tramp, angrily.
+
+“Are you a thief, then?”
+
+“Don't you dare to call me a thief!” said the tramp, menacingly.
+
+“Then, if you are an honest man, why do you ask that question?”
+
+“Because I am going to borrow what money you have.”
+
+“Borrow!”
+
+“Yes,” said the man, with a grin. “I'll hand it back when I come around
+again.”
+
+Under ordinary circumstances there would not have been money enough in
+the farmhouse to be anxious about, but it so happened that Farmer Cole
+had sold a yoke of oxen, and the money received, a hundred dollars,
+was upstairs in a bureau drawer. The thought of this, though she didn't
+suppose the tramp to be aware of it, was enough to terrify Mrs. Cole,
+and she sank back in the chair in a panic. Of course the tramp inferred
+that there was a considerable sum in the house.
+
+“Come, hurry up!” he said, roughly, “I can't wait here all day. Where do
+you keep the money?”
+
+“It is my husband's,” said Mrs. Cole, terrified out of all prudence.
+
+“All right! I'll pay it back to him. While you're about it, you may
+collect all the spoons, too. I'm going to open a boarding house,” he
+continued, with a chuckle, “and I shall need them.”
+
+“Oh, heavens! What shall I do?” ejaculated the frightened woman.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. AN EXCITING SCENE.
+
+
+
+“You'd better go upstairs and get that money, or I will go up myself,”
+ said the tramp, boldly.
+
+“I will go,” said Mrs. Cole, terrified.
+
+It was at this time that Tom Tripp, looking in at the window, got an
+idea of the situation, but he was unobserved. The river bank was near,
+and he ran down to it, hoping, but not expecting, to see some one who
+could interfere with the impudent robber. We have already seen that he
+was luckier than he anticipated.
+
+Meanwhile Mrs. Cole went upstairs, not knowing how to save the money
+from being carried away. She wished heartily that her husband had taken
+it with him. One hundred dollars, as she well knew, would be a serious
+loss to her husband, who was only moderately well to do. She thought
+it possible that the tramp might know how large a sum there was in the
+house, but could not be sure. She resolved, however, to make an effort
+to save the larger part of the money. From the wallet she took two
+five-dollar bills, and then, removing it from the drawer, put it between
+the beds. She lingered as long as she dared, and then went downstairs
+with the two bills in her hand.
+
+“Well, have you got the money?” growled the tramp.
+
+“Don't take it,” she said; “be satisfied with the breakfast I have given
+you.”
+
+“You're a fool!” said the tramp, rudely. “How much have you got there?”
+
+“Ten dollars.”
+
+“Ten dollars!” said the tramp, disdainfully. “What do you take me for?”
+
+“It is a large sum of money to me and my husband, sir,” said the poor
+woman, nervously.
+
+“It isn't enough for me! You have got more money in the house. Don't lie
+to me! You know you have.”
+
+“I am not used to be talked to in that way,” said Mrs. Cole, forgetting
+her timidity for the moment.
+
+“I can't help what you are used to; you'd better not trifle with me. Go
+upstairs and bring down the rest of the money--do you hear?”
+
+“Oh, sir!”
+
+“'Oh, sir!'” repeated the tramp, impatiently. “I can't stay here all
+day. Are you going to do as I tell you?”
+
+“I suppose I must,” said the poor woman.
+
+“That's sensible. You'll find out after a while that nothing is to be
+gained by trying to fool me. I'll give you just three minutes to find
+that money and bring it down.”
+
+“You'll leave the spoons, then?”
+
+“No; I want them, as I've already told you. Come, two minutes are
+passed. I don't want to kill you, but--”
+
+Mrs. Cole uttered a shriek of dismay, and turned to obey the command
+of her unwelcome visitor, when a loud, clear voice was heard from just
+outside the window.
+
+“Stay where you are, Mrs. Cole! There is help at hand. This ruffian
+shall not harm you.”
+
+It was the voice of George Melville. The tramp turned swiftly and stared
+in ill-disguised dismay at Melville and Herbert.
+
+“What business is it of yours?” he demanded, in a blustering tone.
+
+“We make it our business to defend this lady from your thievish
+designs,” said Melville.
+
+“You!” exclaimed the tramp, contemptuously. “Why, I could twist either
+of you round my little finger.”
+
+“You'd better not try it!” said Melville, not showing the least
+trepidation. “Mrs. Cole, has this man anything of yours in his
+possession?”
+
+“He has my spoons and I have just handed him ten dollars.”
+
+George Melville turned to the tramp.
+
+“Be kind enough to lay the spoons on the table,” he said, “and give back
+the ten dollars Mrs. Cole handed you.”
+
+“You must think I'm a fool!” said the tramp.
+
+“No; but I think you are a prudent man. If you do as I say we will let
+you go; if not--”
+
+“Well, if not?” blustered the tramp.
+
+“If not, you may regret it.”
+
+All this time George Melville had spoken in his usual tone of voice, and
+the tramp was puzzled to know whether he had any weapon with him. For
+himself, he was unarmed, and this made him feel rather ill at ease,
+notwithstanding his superiority in physical strength. He was rather
+disposed to think that George Melville had a pistol, for he could not
+understand how otherwise he should dare to confront a man of twice his
+size and strength.
+
+“I don't care for the spoons,” he said, “but I will take the money.”
+
+“No, you will return the money,” said Melville, calmly.
+
+“Who will make me?” demanded the tramp, defiantly.
+
+“I will.”
+
+“We'll see about that!” said the tramp, desperately, and he sprang
+towards Melville, who had in the meantime entered the house and stood
+only six feet distant.
+
+“Stay where you are!” exclaimed Melville, resolutely, and he drew a
+pistol, which he leveled at his formidable antagonist.
+
+“That settles it, stranger!” said the tramp, “You've got the advantage
+of me this time. Just wait till we meet again.”
+
+“I am willing to wait for some time,” said Melville, shrugging his
+shoulders. “I have no desire to cultivate your acquaintance, my friend.”
+
+“There are the spoons!” said the tramp, throwing them down on the table.
+
+“Now for the money!”
+
+The tramp looked at George Melville. Melville still held the pistol in
+his hand leveled at his breast. The thief was a large man, but he was
+not a brave one. He cowered before the resolute glance of his small
+opponent.
+
+“Won't you interfere with me if I give back the money?” he asked.
+
+“No.”
+
+“Will you let me go without firing at me?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Perhaps you won't keep your agreement,” suggested the tramp, nervously.
+
+“I am a man of my word,” said Melville, calmly.
+
+His calm, resolute tone, free from all excitement, impressed the tramp
+with confidence. He drew the notes from his vest pocket, where he had
+thrust them, and threw them on the table.
+
+“Now, may I go?” he said.
+
+In answer, George Melville, who stood between him and the door, drew
+aside, still, however, holding the pistol in position, and the tramp
+passed out, not sorry, it may be said, to get out of range of the
+weapon.
+
+They watched him striding through the yard, and when he was fairly gone
+Mrs. Cole said:
+
+“Oh, how can I thank you for saving me from this wretch?”
+
+“I am glad to have been the instrument of deliverance,” said Melville,
+politely.
+
+“It was fortunate you had the pistol with you, Mr. Melville,” said
+Herbert.
+
+“Well, yes, perhaps it was,” said Melville, smiling.
+
+“Pray, put it up, Mr. Melville,” said the farmer's wife, “it always
+makes me nervous to see a loaded pistol.”
+
+Melville bowed, and put back the pistol in his pocket.
+
+“As your unpleasant visitor has gone,” he said, “I may as well relieve
+your fears by saying that the pistol is not loaded.”
+
+“Not loaded!” exclaimed Herbert and Tom Tripp in concert.
+
+“No; it has not been loaded to my knowledge for a year.”
+
+“Then how could you stand up against that man?” asked the farmer's wife,
+in wonder.
+
+“He thought it was loaded!” replied Melville, “and that answered the
+purpose. I should be very reluctant to use a loaded pistol, for I have
+a high idea of the sacredness of human life, but I have no objection to
+playing upon the fears of a man like that.”
+
+Melville and Herbert remained at the farmhouse for half an hour, till
+the return of the farmer, when they resumed their river trip. They
+returned about noon. When they were walking through the main street,
+Herbert saw the town constable approaching with the air of a man who had
+business with him.
+
+“Did you wish to speak to me, Mr. Bruce?” he asked.
+
+“Yes, Herbert. I have a warrant for your arrest.”
+
+“For my arrest!” exclaimed Herbert, in amazement. “What for?”
+
+“On complaint of Eben Graham, for abstracting postage stamps and money
+from the post office last evening.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. TRIED FOR THEFT.
+
+
+
+Herbert stared at the constable in blank amazement.
+
+“I am charged with stealing stamps and money from the post office?” he
+said.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Who makes the charge?” demanded Herbert, in great excitement.
+
+“Eben Graham.”
+
+“I don't know what it means,” said our hero, turning to George Melville.
+
+“It means,” said Melville, “that the fellow is envious of you, and angry
+because he cannot supersede you with me. He evidently wants to do you an
+injury.”
+
+“It must be so; but I did not imagine that Eben could be so mean. Mr.
+Bruce, do you believe that I am a thief?”
+
+“No, I don't, Herbert,” said the constable, “and it was very much
+against my will that I started out to arrest you, you may be sure.”
+
+“When do you want me to go with you?” asked Herbert.
+
+“You will go before Justice Slocum at two o'clock.”
+
+“Is it necessary for me to go to the lockup?” asked Herbert, shrinking,
+with natural repugnance, from entering the temporary house of tramps and
+law breakers.
+
+“No, Herbert,” answered the constable, in a friendly tone. “I'll take it
+upon myself to let you go home to dinner. I will call for you at quarter
+of two. Of course I shall find you ready to accompany me?”
+
+“Yes, Mr. Bruce, I am impatient to meet Eben Graham, and tell him to his
+face that he has been guilty of a mean and contemptible falsehood, in
+charging me with theft. Not a person in the village who knows me will
+believe it.”
+
+“I will also call at your house, Herbert,” said George Melville, “and
+accompany you to the office of the justice. I shall ask leave to give
+the details of Eben Graham's visit to me last evening.”
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, “I am glad you do not believe a
+word of this story.”
+
+“I am not so easily deceived, Herbert. It is quite possible that stamps
+and money have been stolen, but, if so, it is your false friend and
+accuser who is guilty.”
+
+Of course Herbert had to tell his mother what had happened. She was
+agitated and alarmed, but became calmer when Herbert told her what was
+Eben's probable motive in making the charge.
+
+“How can he behave so shamefully!” exclaimed the indignant parent.
+
+“I didn't think him capable of it, myself, mother, although I had a poor
+opinion of him.”
+
+“Suppose that you can't prove that you are innocent, Herbert?” said Mrs.
+Carr, anxiously.
+
+“It is for him to prove that I am guilty, mother,” answered Herbert, who
+knew this much of law.
+
+At a quarter of two Constable Bruce and Mr. Melville walked to the house
+together.
+
+The door was opened for them by Herbert himself.
+
+“So you haven't taken leg bail, Herbert,” said the constable, jocosely.
+
+“No, Mr. Bruce, I am on hand; I am in a hurry to meet Mr. Eben Graham
+and see whether he can look me in the face after his shameful behavior.”
+
+“Oh, Mr. Bruce, I never thought you would call at my home on such an
+errand,” said Mrs. Carr, on the point of breaking down.
+
+“Don't worry, Mrs. Carr,” said the constable; “anybody may be charged
+with theft, however innocent. Your son has good friends who won't see
+him treated with injustice.”
+
+Herbert's mother was desirous of accompanying them to the office of the
+justice, but was persuaded to remain behind. Herbert knew that in her
+indignation she would not be able to be silent when she saw Eben Graham.
+
+Justice Slocum was an elderly man, with a mild face and gray hair. When
+Herbert entered he greeted him in a friendly way.
+
+“I am sorry to see you here, my boy,” he said, “but I am sure there is
+some mistake. I have known you ever since you were a baby, and I don't
+believe you are guilty of theft now.”
+
+“I submit, Judge Slocum,” said Eben Graham, who sat in a corner, his
+mean features looking meaner and more insignificant than usual, “I
+submit that you are prejudging the case.”
+
+“Silence, sir!” said Judge Slocum, warmly. “How dare you impugn my
+conduct? Though Herbert were my own son, I would give you a chance to
+prove him guilty.”
+
+“I hope you'll excuse me, judge,” said Eben, cringing. “I am as sorry as
+you are to believe the boy guilty of stealing.”
+
+“Do your worst and say your worst, Eben Graham!” said Herbert,
+contemptuously, “but be very careful that you do not swear falsely.”
+
+“I don't need any instructions from you, Herbert Carr, considering that
+you are a criminal on trial,” said Eben, maliciously.
+
+“You are mistaken, sir,” said George Melville. “To be under arrest does
+not make a man or boy a criminal.”
+
+“I am sure I am much obliged for the information, Mr. Melville,” said
+Eben, spitefully. “You've chosen a nice companion.”
+
+“There you are right,” said Melville, gravely. “I have done much better
+than if I had hired you.”
+
+Eben winced, but did not reply.
+
+George Melville whispered to Herbert:
+
+“Are you willing to accept me as your lawyer? I am not much of one, to
+be sure, but this case is very simple.”
+
+“I am very grateful for your offer, and accept it,” said Herbert.
+
+I do not propose to record the whole scene in detail, but only to give a
+general idea of the proceedings.
+
+Eben Graham was sworn as a witness, and deposed that he had left Herbert
+in charge of the post office the previous evening. On his return he
+examined the stamps and contents of the money drawer, and found, to his
+surprise, that five dollars in money and six dollars' worth of stamps
+were missing.
+
+“How did you know they were missing?” asked Melville.
+
+“Because I knew precisely how much money was in the drawer and how many
+stamps were there.”
+
+“Then you counted them just before you went out?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“That was rather a singular time to make the count, was it not?”
+
+“I don't know that it was, sir.”
+
+“I should suppose the end of the day would be a more appropriate time.”
+
+“I don't think so,” answered Eben, shortly.
+
+“Were you led to make the count because you suspected Herbert's
+honesty?” asked Mr. Melville.
+
+“That was the very reason I did it,” said Eben, with a malicious glance
+at Herbert.
+
+“Isn't it a little curious that you should have selected a boy whose
+honesty you doubted, to fill your place?” asked George Melville,
+carelessly.
+
+“There wasn't anybody else; he knew all about post-office work.”
+ answered Eben.
+
+“Very good! Now, Mr. Graham, if you have no objection, will you tell why
+you wanted to get away from the post office last evening?”
+
+Eben fidgeted, for he saw what was coming, and it made him nervous.
+
+“I wanted a little rest,” he answered, after a pause.
+
+“Where did you go?”
+
+“Why do you ask me that question?” asked Eben, moving about uneasily.
+
+“Because I desire an answer.”
+
+“You know where I went,” returned Eben, sullenly.
+
+“Yes, but I wish you to tell me.”
+
+“Answer the question, witness!” said the judge, briefly.
+
+“I went to the hotel,” replied Eben, evasively.
+
+“On whom did you call?”
+
+“On you!” answered Eben, reluctantly.
+
+“We have come to it at last. Now, what was your business with me?”
+
+“To tell you that Herbert would not suit you as a companion,” said the
+witness, who thought this answer rather a clever one.
+
+“Whom did you recommend in his place?” pursued the questioner,
+relentlessly.
+
+Eben hesitated, but his cleverness came again to his aid.
+
+“I told you that I would be willing to come just to oblige you,” he
+said.
+
+“Did Herbert know that you were going to make this proposal?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You asked him, then, to remain in the post office while you absented
+yourself with a view of depriving him of the position he had just
+secured in my employ?”
+
+“I would have got father to take him again in the store and post
+office,” said Eben, defending himself from the implied charge of
+treachery.
+
+“Yes, you told me so.”
+
+Eben nodded triumphantly. Even Melville had to admit that he was not
+treating Herbert meanly.
+
+“By the way,” said Melville, “isn't it rather strange that you should
+have been ready to recommend in your place a boy whose honesty you
+doubted?”
+
+“I didn't know he was a thief,” said Eben, somewhat abashed.
+
+“No, but you suspected his honesty. That was your reason for counting
+the money and stamps before you left the office. At least, that is the
+reason you have given.”
+
+“He had been in the office before I was there,” said Eben, uneasily.
+
+“While he was there, were any stamps missing? Was he suspected of taking
+any stamps or money?”
+
+“Not that I know of.”
+
+“Now, Mr. Graham, what answer did I make to your application?”
+
+“What application?”
+
+“To take you into my employ instead of Herbert.”
+
+“You wanted to keep him,” said the witness, sullenly.
+
+“Precisely. Having failed, then, in your application, you went home and
+discovered that some money and stamps had been stolen.”
+
+“Yes, sir. I was very much surprised--”
+
+“That will do, sir. Your discovery was remarkably well-timed. Herbert
+having obtained the position you sought, you straightway discovered
+proof of his dishonesty.”
+
+Eben colored, for the insinuation was plain enough for even him to
+understand.
+
+“The two things had nothing to do with each other!” he said.
+
+“That may be, but I call the attention of the judge to a very remarkable
+coincidence. Have the missing stamps or money been found on the person
+of the defendant?”
+
+“He hasn't been searched.”
+
+“I will take it upon me to say that he is ready to submit to an
+examination,” said Melville.
+
+Herbert said, emphatically, “I am.”
+
+“Oh, it isn't likely you'd find anything now.” said Eben, with a sneer.
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“He has had plenty of time to put 'em away.”
+
+“I am willing to have my mother's house searched,” said Herbert,
+promptly.
+
+“Oh, they ain't there!” said Eben, significantly.
+
+“Where are they, then?”
+
+Eben's answer took Herbert and his lawyer, and the judge himself, by
+surprise.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. EBEN'S TRUMP CARD.
+
+
+
+“I guess they're--a part of them--inside this letter,” he said.
+
+As he spoke he produced a letter, stamped and sealed, but not
+postmarked. The letter was addressed:
+
+“Messrs. Jones & Fitch,
+
+“---Chestnut Street,
+
+“Philadelphia.”
+
+“What makes you think this letter contains money or postage stamps, Mr.
+Graham?” asked George Melville.
+
+“Because I've seen an advertisement of Jones & Fitch in one of the
+weekly papers. They advertise to send several articles to any address on
+receipt of seventy-five cents in postage stamps.”
+
+“Very well. What inference do you draw from this?”
+
+“Don't you see?” answered Eben, in malicious triumph. “That's where part
+of the stamps went. This letter was put into the post office by Herbert
+Carr this morning.”
+
+“That is not true,” said Herbert, quietly.
+
+“Maybe it isn't, but I guess you'll find Herbert Carr's name signed to
+the letter,” said Eben.
+
+“Have you seen the inside of the letter, Mr. Graham?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Then how do you know Herbert Carr's name is signed to it?”
+
+“I don't know, but I am pretty sure it is.”
+
+“You think Herbert Carr wrote the letter?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“If there is no objection,” said Melville, “I will settle the matter by
+opening it.”
+
+“That's what I want you to do.” said Eben Graham.
+
+“And I also,” said Herbert.
+
+Mr. Melville deliberately cut open one end of the envelope with a small
+penknife, and drew out the folded sheet which it contained. As he did
+so, a small sheet of postage stamps fell upon the floor.
+
+“There, do you see that?” said Eben in triumph.
+
+The sheet of stamps contained twenty-five three-cent stamps,
+representing in value seventy-five cents.
+
+“Shall I read the letter, sir?” asked Melville, of the judge.
+
+“If there is no objection.”
+
+Melville read it aloud, as follows:
+
+“WAYNEBORO, August 2lst. MESSRS. JONES & FITCH: I inclose seventy-five
+cents in stamps, and will be glad to have you send me the articles you
+advertise in the Weekly Gazette. Yours truly,
+
+“HERBERT CARR.”
+
+Herbert listened to the reading of this letter in amazement.
+
+“I never wrote that letter,” he said, “and I never heard of Jones &
+Fitch before.”
+
+“That's a likely story!” sneered Eben Graham. “I submit to Judge Slocum
+that I have proved my case. I haven't found out when all the stamps
+left, but I have shown where some are. One who will steal seventy-five
+cents' worth of stamps will steal six dollars' worth.”
+
+“I agree with you there, Mr. Graham,” said George Melville. “Will you be
+kind enough to sit down at that table, and write to my dictation?”
+
+“What should I do that for?” asked Eben, suspiciously.
+
+“Never mind. Surely you can have no objection.”
+
+“Well, no; I don't know as I have, though I think it's all foolishness.”
+
+He sat down, and a pen was handed him.
+
+“What shall I write?” he asked.
+
+“Write 'Messrs. Jones & Fitch.'”
+
+“What for?” demanded Eben, looking discomposed.
+
+“That's my affair. Write.”
+
+Eben wrote the words, but he seemed to find some difficulty in doing so.
+It was clear that he was trying to disguise his handwriting.
+
+“What next?” he asked.
+
+“'I inclose seventy-five cents in stamps,'” proceeded George Melville.
+
+“Do you want to throw suspicion on me?” asked Eben, throwing down the
+pen.
+
+“Keep on writing!” said the judge.
+
+Eben did so, but was very deliberate about it, and seemed very
+particular as to how he penned his letter.
+
+“Very well!” said Melville. “Now, I wish Herbert Carr to take the pen,
+and I will dictate the same letter.”
+
+Herbert readily took the seat just vacated by Eben, and rapidly wrote
+the words dictated to him.
+
+When he had finished his task, Mr. Melville took the two copies, and,
+first examining them himself, handed them, together with the original
+letter, to Justice Slocum.
+
+“I have only to ask your honor,” he said, “to compare these three notes
+and decide for yourself whether the original was written by Herbert Carr
+or Mr. Eben Graham, the witness against him.”
+
+Eben Graham looked very ill at ease, flushing and paling by turns while
+the examination was going on.
+
+“I submit,” he said, “that this is a very extraordinary way of treating
+a witness.”
+
+Justice Slocum, after a pause, said: “I find that Mr. Eben Graham's
+copy is unmistakably in the same handwriting as the original letter,
+purporting to be written by Herbert Carr.”
+
+“It's not so!” faltered Eben.
+
+“Then,” said George Melville, triumphantly, “as it seems clear that my
+young client is the victim of a base conspiracy, engineered by the man
+who has brought this charge of dishonesty against him, I have only to
+ask that he be honorably discharged.”
+
+“The request is granted,” said Justice Slocum. “Herbert, you can go. It
+is clear that you are innocent of the charge made against you.”
+
+“I protest,” began Eben Graham.
+
+“As for you, Mr. Graham,” said the justice, severely, “I have no words
+to express my scorn and detestation of your conduct in deliberately
+contriving a plot to ruin the reputation of an innocent boy, who has
+never done you any harm. Should Herbert Carr desire it, he is at liberty
+to sue you for having him arrested on a false charge trumped up by
+yourself.”
+
+Eben began to look frightened.
+
+“I do not wish to punish Mr. Graham,” said Herbert. “It is enough for me
+that my honesty has been vindicated.”
+
+“Go, then,” said the justice to Eben. “It is fortunate for you that this
+boy is so forbearing.”
+
+Eben Graham slunk out of the justice's office, looking meaner and more
+contemptible than ever, while Herbert was surrounded by his friends, who
+congratulated him upon the happy issue of the trial.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. EBEN'S LAST HOPE FAILS.
+
+
+
+Ebenezer Graham had taken no stock in his son's charge against Herbert.
+He was not prejudiced in favor of Herbert, nor did he feel particularly
+friendly to him, but he was a man of shrewdness and common sense, and he
+knew that Herbert was not a fool. When Eben made known to him the fact
+that the stamps and money were missing, he said keenly: “What has become
+of 'em?”
+
+“I don't know,” answered Eben, “but I can guess well enough.”
+
+“Guess, then,” said his father, shortly.
+
+“You know Herbert Carr took my place last evening?”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“There's no doubt that he took the stamps and money.”
+
+“That isn't very likely.”
+
+“I feel sure of it--so sure that I mean to charge him with it.”
+
+“Well, you can see what he says.”
+
+Ebenezer did not understand that Eben intended to have the boy arrested,
+and would not have consented to it had he known. But Eben slipped out of
+the store, and arranged for the arrest without his father's knowledge.
+Indeed, he did not learn till the trial had already commenced, Eben
+having made some excuse for his absence.
+
+When Eben returned his father greeted him in a tone very far from
+cordial.
+
+“Well, Eben, I hear you've gone and made a fool of yourself?”
+
+“I have only been defending your property, father,” said Eben, sullenly.
+“I thought you'd appreciate it better than this.”
+
+“You've charged an innocent boy with theft, and now all his friends will
+lay it up agin' us.”
+
+“Were you going to be robbed without saying a word?” asked Eben.
+
+“No, I'm not, Eben Graham; I'm goin' to say a word, and now's the time
+to say it. You can't pull wool over my eyes. The money's gone, and the
+stamps are gone, and somebody's got 'em.”
+
+“Herbert Carr!”
+
+“No, it isn't Herbert Carr. It's somebody nearer to me, I'm ashamed to
+say, than Herbert Carr.”
+
+“Do you mean to say I took them?” asked Eben.
+
+“I won't bring a charge unless I can prove it, but I shall watch you
+pretty closely after this.”
+
+“In that case, I don't wish to work for you any longer; I throw up the
+situation,” said Eben, loftily.
+
+“Verv well. When are you going to leave town?”
+
+“I ain't going to leave town at present.”
+
+“Where are you going to board, then?”
+
+Eben regarded his father in dismay.
+
+“You're not going to send me adrift, are you?” he asked, in
+consternation.
+
+“I'm not going to support you in idleness; if you give up your situation
+in the store, you'll have to go to work for somebody else.”
+
+“I wish I could,” thought Eben, thinking of the rich young man at the
+hotel, from whom he had sought a position as companion.
+
+“Then I shall have to leave Wayneboro,” he said; “there's nothing to do
+here.”
+
+“Yes, there is; Farmer Collins wants a hired man.”
+
+“A hired man!” repeated Eben, scornfully. “Do you think I am going--to
+hire out on a farm?”
+
+“You might do a great deal worse,” answered Ebenezer, sensibly.
+
+“After being a dry-goods salesman in Boston, I haven't got down to that,
+I beg to assure you,” said Eben, with an air of consequence.
+
+“Then you will have to work in the store if you expect to stay at home,”
+ said his father. “And hark you, Eben Graham,” he added, “don't report
+any more losses of money or stamps. I make you responsible for both.”
+
+Eben went back to his work in an uneasy frame of mind. He saw that
+he had not succeeded in imposing upon his father, and that the
+clear-sighted old gentleman strongly suspected where the missing
+articles had gone. Eben might have told, had he felt inclined, that
+the five-dollar bill had been mailed to a lottery agent in New York in
+payment for a ticket in a Southern lottery, and that the stamps were
+even now in his possession, and would be sold at the first opportunity.
+His plan to throw suspicion upon Herbert had utterly failed, and the
+cold looks with which he had been greeted showed what the villagers
+thought of his attempt.
+
+“I won't stay in Wayneboro much longer,” Eben inwardly resolved. “It's
+the dullest hole in creation. I can get along somehow in a large place,
+but here there's positively nothing. Hire out on a farm, indeed! My
+father ought to be ashamed to recommend such a thing to his only son,
+when he's so well off. If he would only give me two hundred dollars, I
+would go to California and trouble him no more. Plenty of people
+make money in California, and why shouldn't I? If that ticket draws a
+prize--”
+
+And then Eben went into calculations of what he would do if only he drew
+a prize of a thousand dollars. That wasn't too much to expect, for
+there were several of that amount, and several considerably larger. He
+pictured how independent he would be with his prize, and how he would
+tell his father that he could get along without him, displaying at the
+same time a large roll of bills. When he reached California he could buy
+an interest in a mine, and perhaps within three or four years he could
+return home twenty times as rich as his father. It was pleasant to think
+over all this, and almost to persuade himself that the good luck had
+actually come. However, he must wait a few days, for the ticket had not
+yet come, and the lottery would not be drawn for a week.
+
+The ticket arrived two days later; Eben took care to slip the envelope
+into his pocket without letting his father or anyone else see it, for
+unpleasant questions might have been asked as to where he got the money
+that paid for it, Mr. Graham knowing very well that his son had not five
+dollars by him.
+
+For a few days Eben must remain in Wayneboro, until the lottery was
+drawn. If he was unlucky, he would have to consider some other plan for
+raising money to get away from Wayneboro.
+
+It was not till the day after the trial and his triumphant acquittal,
+that Herbert saw Eben. He came to the store to buy some groceries for
+his mother.
+
+“Good-evening, Herbert,” said Eben.
+
+“Eben,” said Herbert, coldly, “except in the way of business, I don't
+want to speak to you.”
+
+“You don't bear malice on account of that little affair, do you,
+Herbert?” said Eben, smoothly.
+
+“That little affair, as you call it, might have been a very serious
+affair to me.”
+
+“I only did my duty,” said Eben.
+
+“Was it your duty to charge an innocent person with theft?”
+
+“I didn't see who else could have taken the things,” said Eben.
+
+“Probably you know as well as anybody,” said Herbert, contemptuously.
+
+“What do you mean?” demanded Eben, coloring.
+
+“You know better than I do. How much do I owe you?”
+
+“Thirty-three cents.”
+
+“There is your money,” said Herbert, and walked out of the store.
+
+“I hate that boy!” said Eben, scowling at Herbert's retreating figure.
+“He puts on too many airs, just because a city man's taken him in
+charity and is paying his expenses. Some time I'll be able to come up
+with him, I hope.”
+
+Herbert was not of an unforgiving nature, but he felt that Eben had
+wronged him deeply, and saw no reason why he would not repeat the injury
+if he ever got the chance. He had at least a partial understanding of
+Eben's mean nature and utter selfishness, and felt that he wished to
+have nothing to do with him. Ebenezer Graham was very “close,” but he
+was a hard-working man and honest as the world goes. He was tolerably
+respected in Wayneboro, though not popular, but Eben seemed on the high
+road to become a rascal.
+
+A week slipped by, and a circular containing the list of prizes drawn
+was sent to Eben.
+
+He ran his eyes over it in a flutter of excitement. Alas! for his hopes.
+In the list of lucky numbers the number on his ticket was not included.
+
+“I have drawn a blank! Curse the luck!” he muttered, savagely. “The old
+man needn't think I am going to stay here in Wayneboro. If he won't give
+me money to go out West, why, then--”
+
+But he did not say what then.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. A TRIP TO BOSTON.
+
+
+
+“To-morrow, Herbert,” said George Melville, as they parted for the day,
+“I shall propose a new excursion to you.”
+
+Herbert regarded him inquiringly.
+
+“I want to go to Boston to make a few purchases, but principally to
+consult my physician.”
+
+“I hope you are not feeling any worse, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, with
+genuine concern, for he had come to feel a regard for his employer, who
+was always kind and considerate to him.
+
+“No, I am feeling as well as usual; but I wish to consult Dr. Davies
+about the coming winter--whether he would advise me to spend it in
+Massachusetts.”
+
+“If Mr. Melville goes away, I shall have to look for another place,”
+ thought Herbert, soberly. It was hardly likely, he knew, that he would
+obtain a position so desirable as the one he now filled.
+
+“I hope he will be able to do so, Mr. Melville,” he said, earnestly.
+
+“I hope so; but I shall not be surprised if the doctor ordered me away.”
+
+“Then you won't want me to come to-morrow?”
+
+“Certainly, unless you object to going to Boston with me.”
+
+“Object?” repeated Herbert, eagerly. “I should like nothing better.”
+
+In fact, our hero, though a well-grown boy of sixteen, had never been to
+Boston but three times, and the trip, commonplace as it may seem to
+my traveled young readers, promised him a large amount of novelty and
+pleasurable excitement.
+
+“I shall be glad of your company, Herbert. I hardly feel the strength
+or enterprise to travel alone, even for so trifling a trip as going to
+Boston.”
+
+“At what hour will you go, Mr. Melville?”
+
+“I will take the second train, at nine o'clock. It will afford me time
+enough, and save my getting up before my usual time.”
+
+Herbert would have preferred going by the first train, starting at
+half-past seven, as it would have given him a longer day in the city,
+but of course he felt that his employer had decided wisely.
+
+“It will be quite a treat to me, going to Boston,” he said. “I have only
+been there three times in my life.”
+
+“You certainly have not been much of a traveler, Herbert,” said George
+Melville, smiling. “However, you are young, and you may see a good deal
+of the world yet before you die.”
+
+“I hope I will. It must be delightful to travel.”
+
+“Yes, when you are young and strong,” said Melville, thoughtfully. “That
+makes a great deal of difference in the enjoyment.”
+
+Herbert did not fail to put in an appearance at the hotel considerably
+before it was time to leave for the train. George Melville smiled at his
+punctuality.
+
+“I wish, Herbert,” he said, “that I could look forward with as much
+pleasure as you feel to our trip to-day.”
+
+“I wish so, too, Mr. Melville.”
+
+“At any rate, I shall enjoy it better for having a companion.”
+
+The tickets were bought, and they took their places in one of the
+passenger cars.
+
+Just as the train was ready to start, Herbert saw a young man with a
+ticket in his hand hurrying along the platform.
+
+“Why, there's Eben Graham!” he said, in surprise.
+
+“Is he entering the cars?”
+
+“Yes, he has just got into the car behind us.”
+
+“I wonder if he is going to leave Wayneboro for good?”
+
+“Probably he is only going to Boston for the day, perhaps to buy goods.”
+
+Herbert thought it doubtful whether Ebenezer Graham would trust his son
+so far, but did not say so. Eben, on his part, had not seen Herbert on
+board the train, and was not aware that he was a fellow passenger.
+
+The journey was a tolerably long one--forty miles--and consumed an hour
+and a half. At last they rolled into the depot, and before the train
+had fairly stopped the passengers began to crowd toward the doors of the
+car.
+
+“Let us remain till the crowd has passed out,” said George Melville. “It
+is disagreeable to me to get into the throng, and it saves very little
+time.”
+
+“Very well, sir.”
+
+Looking out of the car window, Herbert saw Eben Graham walking swiftly
+along the platform, and could not forbear wondering what had brought him
+to the city.
+
+“My doctor's office is on Tremont Street,” said Mr. Melville. “I
+shall go there immediately, and may have to wait some time. It will be
+tiresome to you, and I shall let you go where you please. You can meet
+me at the Parker House, in School Street, at two o'clock.”
+
+“Very well, sir.”
+
+“Do you know where the hotel is?”
+
+“No, but I can find it,” answered Herbert, confidently.
+
+“I believe I will also get you to attend to a part of my business for
+me.”
+
+“I shall be very glad to do so,” said Herbert, sincerely. It made him
+feel more important to be transacting business in Boston.
+
+“Here is a check for a hundred and fifty dollars on the Merchants'
+Bank,” continued George Melville. “It is payable to the bearer, and you
+will have no trouble in getting the money on it. You may present it at
+the bank, and ask for fives and tens and a few small bills.”
+
+“Very well, sir.”
+
+Herbert felt rather proud to have so much confidence reposed in him, for
+to him a hundred and fifty dollars seemed a large sum of money, and he
+felt that George Melville was a rich man to draw so much at one time.
+
+“Had I better go to the bank at once?” he asked.
+
+“Yes, I think so; of course, I need not caution you to take good care of
+the money.”
+
+“I'll be sure to do that, sir.”
+
+They walked together to Tremont Street, and Mr. Melville paused at a
+doorway opposite the Common.
+
+“My doctor's office is upstairs,” he said. “We will part here and meet
+at the hotel. If you are late, I may go into the dining room; so if you
+don't see me in the reading room, go to the door of the dining room and
+look in.”
+
+“Very well, sir; but I think I shall be on time.”
+
+“The bank is open now, and you can cash the check if you go down there.”
+
+Left to himself, Herbert walked slowly along, looking into shop windows
+and observing with interested attention the people whom he met.
+
+“It must be very pleasant to live in the city,” he thought; “there is so
+much going on all the time.”
+
+It is no wonder that country boys are drawn toward the city, and feel
+that their cup of happiness would be full if they could get a position
+in some city store. They do not always find the reality equal to their
+anticipations. The long hours and strict discipline of a city office or
+mercantile establishment are not much like the freedom they pictured
+to themselves, and after they have paid their board bill in some shabby
+boarding house they seldom find much left over, either for amusement
+or needful expenses. The majority of boys would do better to remain in
+their country homes, where at least they can live comfortably and at
+small expense, and take such employment as may fall in their way. They
+will stand a much better chance of reaching a competence in middle life
+than if they helped to crowd the ranks of city clerks and salesmen.
+There is many a hard-working clerk of middle age, living poorly, and
+with nothing laid by, in the city, who, had he remained in his native
+village, might have reached a modest independence. It was hardly to be
+expected, however, that Herbert would feel thus. Upon him the show and
+glitter of the city shops and streets produced their natural effect, and
+he walked on buoyantly, seeing three times as much as a city boy would
+have done.
+
+He turned down School Street, passing the Parker House, where he was to
+meet Mr. Melville. Just before he reached it he saw Eben Graham emerge
+from the hotel and walk towards Washington Street. Eben did not look
+behind him, and therefore did not see Herbert.
+
+“I wonder where he is going?” thought our hero, as he followed a few
+steps behind Eben.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. AN OBLIGING GUIDE.
+
+
+
+On Washington Street, not far from Old South Church, is an office for
+the sale of railroad tickets to western points. It was this office which
+Eben entered.
+
+“He is going to inquire the price of a ticket to some western city,”
+ thought Herbert. “I heard him say one day that he wanted to go West.”
+
+Our hero's curiosity was naturally aroused, and he stood at the
+entrance, where he could not only see but hear what passed within.
+
+“What do you charge for a ticket to Chicago?” he heard Eben ask.
+
+“Twenty-two dollars,” was the answer of the young man behind the
+counter.
+
+“You may give me one,” said Eben.
+
+As he spoke he drew from his vest pocket a roll of bills, and began to
+count off the requisite sum.
+
+Herbert was surprised. He had supposed that Eben was merely making
+inquiries about the price of tickets. He had not imagined that he was
+really going.
+
+“Can Mr. Graham have given him money to go?” he asked himself.
+
+“When can I start?” asked Eben, as he received a string of tickets from
+the clerk.
+
+“At three this afternoon.”
+
+Eben seemed well pleased with this reply. He carefully deposited the
+tickets in an inside vest pocket, and turned to go out of the office. As
+he emerged from it he caught sight of Herbert, who had not yet started
+to go. He looked surprised and annoyed.
+
+“Herbert Carr!” he exclaimed. “How came you here?”
+
+Mingled with his surprise there was a certain nervousness of manner, as
+Herbert thought.
+
+“I came to Boston with Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, coldly.
+
+“Oh!” ejaculated Eben, with an air of perceptible relief. “Where is Mr.
+Melville?”
+
+“He has gone to the office of his physician, on Tremont Street.”
+
+“Leaving you to your own devices, eh?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Look out you don't get lost!” said Eben, with affected gayety. “I am
+here on a little business for the old man.”
+
+Herbert did not believe this, in view of what he had seen, but he did
+not think it necessary to say so.
+
+“Good-morning!” said Herbert, in a tone polite but not cordial.
+
+“Good-morning! Oh, by the way, I have just been inquiring the cost of a
+ticket to St. Louis,” said Eben, carelessly.
+
+“Indeed! Do you think of going out there?”
+
+“Yes, if the old man will let me,” said Eben.
+
+“Do you prefer St. Louis to Chicago?” asked Herbert, watching the face
+of Eben attentively.
+
+Eben's face changed, and he looked searchingly at our hero, but could
+read nothing in his face.
+
+“Oh, decidedly!” he answered, after a slight pause. “I don't think I
+would care for Chicago.”
+
+“And all the while you have a ticket for Chicago in your pocket!”
+ thought Herbert, suspiciously, “Well, that's your own affair entirely,
+not mine.”
+
+“What train do you take back to Wayneboro?” asked Eben, not without
+anxiety.
+
+“We shall not go before four o'clock.”
+
+“I may be on the train with you,” said Eben, “though possibly I shall
+get through in time to take an earlier one.”
+
+“He is trying to deceive me,” thought Herbert.
+
+“Good-morning,” he said, formally, and walked away.
+
+“I wish I hadn't met him,” muttered Eben to himself. “He may give the
+old man a clew. However, I shall be safe out of the way before anything
+can be done.”
+
+Herbert kept on his way, and found the bank without difficulty.
+
+He entered and looked about him. Though unaccustomed to banks, he
+watched to see where others went to get checks cashed, and presented
+himself in turn.
+
+“How will you have it?” asked the paying teller.
+
+“Fives and tens, and a few small bills,” answered Herbert, promptly.
+
+The teller selected the requisite number of bank bills quickly, and
+passed them out to Herbert. Our hero counted them, to make sure that
+they were correct, and then put them away in his inside pocket. It gave
+him a feeling of responsibility to be carrying about so much money, and
+he felt that it was incumbent on him to be very careful.
+
+“Where shall I go now?” he asked himself.
+
+He would have liked to go to Charlestown, and ascend Bunker Hill
+Monument, but did not know how to go. Besides, he feared he would not
+get back to the Parker House at the time fixed by Mr. Melville. Still,
+he might be able to do it. He addressed himself to a rather sprucely
+dressed man of thirty-five whom he met at the door of the bank.
+
+“I beg your pardon, sir, but can you tell me how far it is to Bunker
+Hill Monument?”
+
+“About a mile and a half,” answered the stranger.
+
+“Could I go there and get back to the Parker House before one o'clock.”
+
+“Could you?” repeated the man, briskly. “Why, to be sure you could!”
+
+“But I don't know the way.”
+
+“You have only to take one of the Charlestown horse cars, and it will
+land you only a couple of minutes' walk from the monument.”
+
+“Can you tell me what time it is, sir?”
+
+“Only a little past eleven. So you have never been to Bunker Hill
+Monument, my lad?”
+
+“No sir; I live in the country, forty miles away and seldom come to
+Boston.”
+
+“I see, I see,” said the stranger, his eyes snapping in a very peculiar
+way. “Every patriotic young American ought to see the place where Warren
+fell.”
+
+“I should like to if you could tell me where to take the cars.”
+
+“Why, certainly I will,” said the other, quickly. “In fact--let me see,”
+ and he pulled out a silver watch from his vest pocket, “I've a great
+mind to go over with you myself.”
+
+“I shouldn't like to trouble you, sir,” said Herbert.
+
+“Oh, it will be no trouble. Business isn't pressing this morning, and
+I haven't been over for a long time myself. If you don't object to my
+company, I will accompany you.”
+
+“You are very kind,” said Herbert. “If you are quite sure that you are
+not inconveniencing yourself, I shall be very glad to go with you--that
+is, if you think I can get back to the Parker House by one o'clock.”
+
+“I will guarantee that you do,” said the stranger, confidently. “My
+young friend, I am glad to see that you are particular to keep your
+business engagements. In a varied business experience, I have observed
+that it is precisely that class who are destined to win the favor of
+their employer and attain solid success.”
+
+“He seems a very sensible man,” thought Herbert; “and his advice is
+certainly good.”
+
+“Come this way,” said the stranger, crossing Washington Street.
+“Scollay's Square is close at hand, and there we shall find a
+Charlestown horse car.”
+
+Of course Herbert yielded himself to the guidance of his new friend, and
+they walked up Court Street together.
+
+“That,” said the stranger, pointing out a large, somber building to the
+left, “is the courthouse. The last time I entered it was to be present
+at the trial of a young man of my acquaintance who had fallen into evil
+courses, and, yielding to temptation, had stolen from his employer. It
+was a sad sight,” said the stranger, shaking his head.
+
+“I should think it must have been,” said Herbert.
+
+“Oh, why, why will young men yield to the seductions of pleasure?”
+ exclaimed the stranger, feelingly.
+
+“Was he convicted?” asked Herbert.
+
+“Yes, and sentenced to a three years term in the State prison,” answered
+his companion. “It always makes me feel sad when I think of the fate of
+that young man.”
+
+“I should think it would, sir.”
+
+“I have mentioned it as a warning to one who is just beginning life,”
+ continued the stranger. “But here is our car.”
+
+A Charlestown car, with an outside sign, Bunker Hill, in large letters,
+came by, and the two got on board.
+
+They rode down Cornhill, and presently the stranger pointed out Faneuil
+Hall.
+
+“Behold the Cradle of Liberty,” he said. “Of course, you have heard of
+Faneuil Hall?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” and Herbert gazed with interest at the building of which he
+had heard so much.
+
+It was but a short ride to Charlestown. They got out at the foot of a
+steep street, at the head of which the tall, granite column which crowns
+the summit of Bunker Hill stood like a giant sentinel ever on guard.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. A NEW BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL.
+
+
+
+Just opposite the monument is a small, one-story structure, where views
+of the shaft may be purchased and tickets obtained.
+
+“There is a small admission fee,” said Herbert's companion.
+
+“How much is it?” asked our hero.
+
+“Twenty cents.”
+
+As Herbert thrust his hand into his pocket for the necessary money, his
+companion said:
+
+“You had better let me pay for both tickets.”
+
+Though he said this, he didn't make any motion to do so.
+
+“No, I will pay for both,” said Herbert.
+
+“But I really cannot permit you to pay for mine.”
+
+And still the speaker made no movement to purchase his ticket.
+
+Herbert settled the matter by laying half a dollar on the desk,
+and asking for two tickets. He began to see that, in spite of his
+disclaimer, his guide intended him to do so. On the whole, this didn't
+please him. He would rather have had his offer frankly accepted.
+
+“I didn't mean to have you pay,” said the young man, as they passed
+through the door admitting them to an inner apartment, from which there
+was an exit into a small, inclosed yard, through which they were to
+reach the entrance to a spiral staircase by which the ascent was made.
+
+Herbert did not answer, for he understood that his guide was not telling
+the truth, and he did not like falsehood or deceit.
+
+They entered the monument and commenced the ascent.
+
+“We have a tiresome ascent before us,” said the other.
+
+“How many steps are there?” asked Herbert.
+
+“About three hundred,” was the reply.
+
+At different points in the ascent they came to landings where they could
+catch glimpses of the outward world through long, narrow, perpendicular
+slits in the sides of the monument.
+
+At last they reached the top.
+
+Herbert's guide looked about him sharply, and seemed disappointed to
+find a lady and gentleman and child also enjoying the view.
+
+Herbert had never been so high before. Indeed, he had never been in any
+high building, and he looked about him with a novel sense of enjoyment.
+
+“What a fine view there is here!” he said.
+
+“True,” assented his companion. “Let me point out to you the different
+towns visible to the naked eye.”
+
+“I wish you would,” said the boy.
+
+So his guide pointed out Cambridge, Chelsea, Malden, the Charles and
+Mystic Rivers, gleaming in the sunshine, the glittering dome of the
+Boston State House and other conspicuous objects. Herbert felt that it
+was worth something to have a companion who could do him this service,
+and he felt the extra twenty cents he had paid for his companion's
+ticket was a judicious investment.
+
+He noticed with some surprise that his companion seemed annoyed by the
+presence of the other party already referred to. He scowled and shrugged
+his shoulders when he looked at them, and in a low voice, inaudible to
+those of whom he spoke, he said to Herbert: “Are they going to stay here
+all day?”
+
+“What does it matter to me if they do?” returned Herbert, in surprise.
+
+Indeed, to him they seemed very pleasant people, and he was especially
+attracted by the sweet face of the little girl. He wished he had been
+fortunate enough to possess such a sister.
+
+At last, however, they finished their sightseeing, and prepared to
+descend. Herbert's companion waited till the sound of their descending
+steps died away, and then, turning to Herbert, said in a quick, stern
+tone: “Now give me the money you have in your pocket.”
+
+“What do you mean?” he said.
+
+Herbert recoiled, and stared at the speaker in undisguised astonishment.
+
+“I mean just what I say,” returned the other. “You have one hundred and
+fifty dollars in your pocket. You need not deny it, for I saw you draw
+it from the bank and put it away.”
+
+“Are you a thief, then?” demanded Herbert.
+
+“No matter what I am, I must have that money,” said the stranger. “I
+came over with you exclusively to get it, and I mean business.”
+
+He made a step towards Herbert, but the boy faced him unflinchingly, and
+answered resolutely: “I mean business, too. The money is not mine, and I
+shall not give it up.”
+
+“Take care!” said the other, menacingly, “we are alone here. You are a
+boy and I am a man.”
+
+“I know that; but you will have to fight to get the money,” said
+Herbert, without quailing.
+
+He looked to the staircase, but his treacherous guide stood between him
+and it, and he was practically a prisoner at the top of the monument.
+
+“Don't be a fool!” said the stranger. “You may as well give up the money
+to me first as last.”
+
+“I don't propose to give it up to you at all,” said Herbert. “My
+employer trusted me with it, and I mean to be true to my trust.”
+
+“You can tell him that it was taken from you--that you could not help
+yourself. Now hand it over!”
+
+“Never!” exclaimed Herbert, resolutely.
+
+“We'll see about that,” said his companion, seizing the boy and
+grappling with him.
+
+Herbert was a strong boy for his age, and he accepted the challenge.
+Though his antagonist was a man, he found that the boy was powerful, and
+not to be mastered as easily as he anticipated.
+
+“Confound you!” he muttered, “I wish I had a knife!”
+
+Though Herbert made a vigorous resistance, his opponent was his superior
+in strength, and would ultimately have got the better of him. He had
+thrown Herbert down, and was trying to thrust his hand into his coat
+pocket, when a step was heard, and a tall man of Western appearance
+stepped on the scene.
+
+“Hello!” he said, surveying the two combatants in surprise. “What's all
+this? Let that boy alone, you skunk, you!”
+
+As he spoke, he seized the man by the collar and jerked him to his feet.
+
+“What does all this mean?” he asked, turning from one to the other.
+
+“This boy has robbed me of one hundred and fifty dollars,” said the man,
+glibly. “I fell in with him in the Boston cars, and he relieved me of a
+roll of bills which I had drawn from a bank in Boston.”
+
+“What have you got to say to this?” asked the Western man, turning to
+Herbert, who was now on his feet.
+
+“Only this,” answered Herbert, “that it is a lie. It was I who drew
+the money from the Merchants' Bank in Boston. This man saw me cash the
+check, followed me, and offered to come here with me, when I asked him
+for directions.”
+
+“That's a likely story!” sneered the young man. “My friend here is too
+sharp to believe it.”
+
+“Don't call me your friend!” said the Western man, bluntly. “I'm more
+than half convinced you're a scamp.”
+
+“I don't propose to stay here and be insulted. Let the boy give me my
+money, and I won't have him arrested.”
+
+“Don't be in too much of a hurry, young man! I want to see about this
+thing. What bank did you draw the money from?”
+
+“From the Merchants' Bank--the boy has got things reversed. He saw me
+draw it, inveigled himself into my confidence, and picked my pocket.”
+
+“Look here--stop right there! Your story doesn't hang together!” said
+the tall Westerner, holding up his finger. “You said you met this boy in
+a horse car.”
+
+“We came over together in a Charlestown horse car,” said the rogue,
+abashed.
+
+“You've given yourself away. Now make yourself scarce! Scoot!”
+
+The rascal looked in the face of the tall, resolute man from the
+West, and thought it prudent to obey. He started to descend, but a
+well-planted kick accelerated his progress, and he fell down several
+steps, bruising his knees.
+
+“Thank you, sir!” said Herbert, gratefully. “It was lucky you came up
+just as you did. The rascal had got his hand on the money.”
+
+“He is a miserable scamp!” answered Herbert's new friend. “If there'd
+been a police-man handy, I'd have given him in charge. I've come clear
+from Wisconsin to see where Warren fell, but I didn't expect to come
+across such a critter as that on Bunker Hill.”
+
+Herbert pointed out to his new friend the objects in view, repeating
+the information he had so recently acquired. Then, feeling that he could
+spare no more time, he descended the stairs and jumped on board a horse
+car bound for Boston.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. AN ACCEPTABLE PRESENT.
+
+
+
+As the clock at the Old South Church struck one, Herbert ascended
+the steps of Parker's Hotel, and walked into the reading room. George
+Melville was already there.
+
+“You are on time, Herbert,” he said, with a smile, as our hero made his
+appearance.
+
+“Yes, sir; but I began to think I should miss my appointment.”
+
+“Where have you been?”
+
+“To Bunker Hill.”
+
+“Did you ascend the monument?”
+
+“Yes, sir, and had a fight at the summit.”
+
+Mr. Melville looked at Herbert in amazement.
+
+“Had a fight at the top of Bunker Hill Monument?” he ejaculated.
+
+“Yes, sir; let me tell you about it.”
+
+When the story was told, Mr. Melville said: “That was certainly a
+remarkable adventure, Herbert. Still, I am not sorry that it occurred.”
+
+It was Herbert's turn to look surprised.
+
+“I will tell you why. It proves to me that you are worthy of my
+confidence, and can be trusted with the care of money. It has also
+taught you a lesson, to beware of knaves, no matter how plausible they
+may be.”
+
+“I haven't got over my surprise yet, sir, at discovering the real
+character of the man who went with me. I am sorry I met him. I don't
+like to distrust people.”
+
+“Nor I. But it is not necessary to distrust everybody. In your
+journey through the world you will make many agreeable and trustworthy
+acquaintances in whom it will be safe to confide. It is only necessary
+to be cautious and not give your confidence too soon.”
+
+“Oh, I didn't mention that I met somebody from Wayneboro,” said Herbert.
+
+“Was it Eben Graham?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I met him myself on Washington Street. Did you speak to him?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“I suppose he goes back to-night?”
+
+“I don't think he will go back at all, Mr. Melville.”
+
+His employer looked at him inquiringly.
+
+“I saw him buy a ticket to Chicago, though he does not know it,”
+ continued Herbert. “When he spoke with me he didn't admit it, but spoke
+of going back by an afternoon train.”
+
+“I am afraid he has appropriated some of his father's funds,” said
+Melville. “I doubt if Ebenezer Graham would voluntarily furnish him the
+means of going West.”
+
+“That was just what occurred to me,” said Herbert; “but I didn't like to
+think that Eben would steal.”
+
+“Perhaps he has not. We shall be likely to hear when we return. But you
+must be hungry. We will go in to dinner.”
+
+Herbert followed Mr. Melville into the dining room, where a good dinner
+was ordered, and partaken of. Herbert looked over the bill of fare,
+but the high prices quite startled him. He was not used to patronizing
+hotels, and it seemed to him that the price asked for a single dish
+ought to be enough to pay for a whole dinner for two. He knew about what
+it cost for a meal at home, and did not dream that it would amount to so
+much more at a hotel.
+
+When the check was brought Herbert looked at it.
+
+“Two dollars and a half!” he exclaimed.
+
+“It costs an awful amount to live in Boston.”
+
+“Oh a dinner can be got much cheaper at most places in Boston,” said
+George Melville, smiling, “but I am used to Parker's, and generally come
+here.”
+
+“I am glad it doesn't cost so much to live in Wayneboro,” said Herbert.
+“We couldn't afford even one meal a day.”
+
+“You haven't asked me what the doctor said,” remarked Melville, as they
+left the dining room.
+
+“Excuse me, Mr. Melville. It wasn't from any lack of interest.”
+
+“He advises me to go West by the first of October, either to Colorado or
+Southern California.”
+
+Herbert's countenance fell. The first of October would soon come, and
+his pleasant and profitable engagement with Mr. Melville would close.
+
+“I am sorry,” he said, gravely.
+
+“I am not so sorry as I should have been a few weeks ago,” said
+Melville. “Then I should have looked forward to a journey as lonely and
+monotonous. Now, with a companion, I think I may have a pleasant time.”
+
+“Who is going with you, Mr. Melville?” asked Herbert, feeling, it must
+be confessed, a slight twinge of jealousy.
+
+“I thought perhaps you would be willing to accompany me,” said Melville.
+
+“Would you really take me, Mr. Melville?” cried Herbert, joyfully.
+
+“Yes, if you will go.”
+
+“I should like nothing better. I have always wanted to travel. It quite
+takes my breath away to think of going so far away.”
+
+“I should hardly venture to go alone,” continued George Melville. “I
+shall need some one to look after the details of the journey, and to
+look after me if I fall sick. Do you think you would be willing to do
+that?”
+
+“I hope you won't fall sick, Mr. Melville; but if you do, I will take
+the best care of you I know how.”
+
+“I am sure you will, Herbert, and I would rather have you about me than
+a man. Indeed, I already begin to think of you as a younger brother.”
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, gratefully. “I am glad you do.”
+
+“Do you think your mother will object to your leaving home, Herbert?”
+
+“Not with you. She knows I shall be well provided for with you. Can I
+arrange to send money regularly to mother?” asked the boy. “I shouldn't
+like to think of her as suffering for want of it.”
+
+“Yes, but to guard against emergencies, we can leave her a sum of money
+before you start.”
+
+After dinner Mr. Melville proposed to Herbert to accompany him on a
+walk up Washington Street, They walked slowly, Herbert using his eyes
+diligently, for to him the display in the shop windows was novel and
+attractive.
+
+At length they paused at the door of a large and handsome jewelry
+store--one of the two finest in Boston.
+
+“I want to go in here, Herbert,” said his employer.
+
+“Shall I stay outside?”
+
+“No, come in with me. You may like to look about.”
+
+Though Herbert had no idea of the cost of the fine stock with which the
+store was provided, he saw that it must be valuable, and wondered where
+purchasers enough could be found to justify keeping so large a supply
+of watches, chains, rings and the numberless other articles in gold and
+silver which he saw around him.
+
+“I would like to look at your watches,” said Melville to the salesman
+who came forward to inquire his wishes.
+
+“Gold or silver, sir?”
+
+“Silver.”
+
+“This way, if you please.”
+
+He led the way to a case where through the glass covering Herbert
+saw dozens of silver watches of all sizes and grades lying ready for
+inspection.
+
+“For what price can I get a fair silver watch?” asked Melville.
+
+“Swiss or Waltham?”
+
+“Waltham. I may as well patronize home manufactures.”
+
+“Here is a watch I will sell you for fifteen dollars,” said the
+salesman, drawing out a neat-looking watch, of medium size. “It will
+keep excellent time, and give you good satisfaction.”
+
+“Very well; I will buy it on your recommendation. Have you any silver
+chains?”
+
+One was selected of pretty pattern, and George Melville paid for both.
+
+“How do you like the watch and chain, Herbert?” said his employer, as
+they left the store.
+
+“They are very pretty, sir.”
+
+“I suppose you wonder what I want of two watches,” said Melville.
+
+“Perhaps you don't like to take your gold watch with you when you go out
+West, for fear of thieves.”
+
+“No, that is not the reason. If I am so unfortunate as to lose my gold
+watch, I will buy another. The fact is, I have bought this silver watch
+and chain for you.”
+
+“For me!” exclaimed Herbert, intensely delighted.
+
+“Yes; it will be convenient for you, as well as me, to be provided with
+a watch. Every traveler needs one. There; put it in your pocket, and see
+how it looks.”
+
+“You are very kind to me, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, gratefully. “You
+couldn't have bought me anything which I should value more.”
+
+When Herbert had arranged the watch and chain to suit him, it must be
+confessed that it engrossed a large part of his attention, and it was
+wonderful how often he had occasion to consult it during the first walk
+after it came into his possession.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. A THIEF IN TROUBLE.
+
+
+
+“Have you ever visited the suburbs of Boston?” asked Melville.
+
+“No,” answered Herbert. “I know very little of the city, and nothing of
+the towns near it.”
+
+“Then, as we have time to spare, we will board the next horse car and
+ride out to Roxbury.”
+
+“I should like it very much, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, in a tone
+of satisfaction. I may remark that Roxbury was at that time a separate
+municipality, and had not been annexed to Boston.
+
+They did not have to wait long for a car. An open car, of the kind in
+common use during the pleasant season, drew near, and they secured seats
+in it. After leaving Dover Street, Washington Street, still then narrow,
+broadens into a wide avenue, and is called the Neck. It was gay with
+vehicles of all sorts, and Herbert found much to attract his attention.
+
+“The doctor tells me I ought to be a good deal in the open air,” said
+Melville, “and I thought I would act at once upon his suggestion. It is
+much pleasanter than taking medicine.”
+
+“I should think so,” answered Herbert, emphatically.
+
+Arrived at the end of the route, Melville and Herbert remained on the
+car, and returned at once to the city. When they reached the crowded
+part of Washington Street a surprise awaited Herbert.
+
+From a small jewelry store they saw a man come out, and walk rapidly
+away.
+
+“Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, in excitement, “do you see that man?”
+
+“Yes. What of him?”
+
+“It is the man who tried to rob me on Bunker Hill Monument.”
+
+He had hardly uttered these words when another man darted from the shop,
+bareheaded, and pursued Herbert's morning acquaintance, crying, “Stop,
+thief!”
+
+The thief took to his heels, but a policeman was at hand, and seized him
+by the collar.
+
+“What has this man been doing?” he asked, as the jeweler's clerk came
+up, panting.
+
+“He has stolen a diamond ring from the counter,” answered the clerk. “I
+think he has a watch besides.”
+
+“It's a lie!” said the thief, boldly.
+
+“Search him!” said the clerk, “and you'll find that I have made no
+mistake.”
+
+“Come with me to the station house, and prepare your complaint,” said
+the policeman.
+
+By this time a crowd had gathered, and the thief appealed to them.
+
+“Gentlemen,” he said, “I am a reputable citizen of St. Louis, come to
+Boston to buy goods, and I protest against this outrage. It is either a
+mistake or a conspiracy, I don't know which.”
+
+The thief was well dressed, and some of the bystanders were disposed to
+put confidence in him. He had not seen Herbert and George Melville, who
+had left the car and joined the throng, or he might not have spoken so
+confidently.
+
+“He doesn't look like a thief,” said one of the bystanders, a
+benevolent-looking old gentleman.
+
+“I should say not,” said the thief, more boldly. “It's a pretty state
+of things if a respectable merchant can't enter a store here in Boston
+without being insulted and charged with theft. If I only had some of
+my friends or acquaintances here, they would tell you that it is simply
+ridiculous to make such a charge against me.”
+
+“You can explain this at the station house,” said the policeman. “It is
+my duty to take you there.”
+
+“Is there no one who knows the gentleman?” said the philanthropist
+before referred to. “Is there no one to speak up for him?”
+
+Herbert pressed forward, and said, quietly:
+
+“I know something of him; I passed the morning in his company.”
+
+The thief turned quickly, but he didn't seem gratified to see Herbert.
+
+“The boy is mistaken,” he said, hurriedly; “I never saw him before.”
+
+“But I have seen you, sir,” retorted our hero. “You saw me draw some
+money from a bank in State Street, scraped acquaintance with me, and
+tried to rob me of it on Bunker Hill.”
+
+“It's a lie!” said the prisoner, hoarsely.
+
+“Do you wish to make a charge to that effect?” asked the policeman.
+
+“No, sir; I only mentioned what I knew of him to support the charge of
+this gentleman,” indicating the jeweler's clerk.
+
+The old gentleman appeared to lose his interest in the prisoner after
+Herbert's statement, and he was escorted without further delay to the
+station house, where a gold watch and the diamond ring were both found
+on his person. It is scarcely needful to add that he was tried and
+sentenced to a term of imprisonment in the very city--Charlestown--where
+he had attempted to rob Herbert.
+
+“It is not always that retribution so quickly overtakes the wrongdoer,”
+ said Melville. “St. Louis will hardly be proud of the man who claims her
+citizenship.”
+
+“Dishonesty doesn't seem to pay in his case,” said Herbert,
+thoughtfully.
+
+“It never pays in any case, Herbert,” said George Melville,
+emphatically. “Even if a man could steal enough to live upon, and were
+sure not to be found out, he would not enjoy his ill-gotten gain, as an
+honest man enjoys the money he works hard for. But when we add the risk
+of detection and the severe penalty of imprisonment, it seems a fatal
+mistake for any man to overstep the bounds of honesty and enroll himself
+as a criminal.”
+
+“I agree with you, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, thoughtfully. “I don't
+think I shall ever be tempted, but if I am, I will think of this man and
+his quick detection.”
+
+When they reached the depot, a little before four o'clock, George
+Melville sent Herbert to the ticket office to purchase tickets, while he
+remained in the waiting room.
+
+“I might as well accustom you to the duties that are likely to devolve
+upon you,” he said, with a smile.
+
+Herbert had purchased the tickets and was turning away, when to his
+surprise he saw Ebenezer Graham enter the depot, laboring evidently
+under considerable excitement. He did not see Herbert, so occupied
+was he with thoughts of an unpleasant nature, till the boy greeted him
+respectfully.
+
+“Herbert Carr!” he said; “when did you come into Boston?”
+
+“This morning, sir.”
+
+“Have you seen anything of my son, Eben, here?” gasped Mr. Graham.
+
+“Yes, sir; he was on the same train, but I did not see him to speak to
+him till after I reached the city.”
+
+“Do you know what he has been doing here?” asked Ebenezer, his face
+haggard with anxiety.
+
+“I only saw him for five minutes,” answered Herbert, reluctant to tell
+the father what he knew would confirm any suspicion he might entertain.
+
+“Where did you see him?” demanded Ebenezer, quickly.
+
+“At a railroad ticket office not far from the Old South Church.”
+
+“Do you know if he bought any ticket?” asked Ebenezer, anxiously.
+
+“Yes,” answered Herbert. “I overheard him purchasing a ticket to
+Chicago.”
+
+Ebenezer groaned, and his face seemed more and more wizened and puckered
+up.
+
+“It is as I thought!” he exclaimed, bitterly. “My own son has robbed me
+and fled like a thief, as he is.”
+
+Herbert was shocked, but not surprised. He didn't like to ask
+particulars, but Ebenezer volunteered them.
+
+“This morning,” he said, “I foolishly gave Eben a hundred dollars, and
+sent him to Boston to pay for a bill of goods which I recently bought of
+a wholesale house on Milk Street. If I had only known you were going in,
+I would have sent it by you.”
+
+Herbert felt gratified at this manifestation of confidence, especially
+as he had so recently been charged with robbing the post office, but did
+not interrupt Mr. Graham, who continued:
+
+“As soon as Eben was fairly gone, I began to feel sorry I sent him, for
+he got into extravagant ways when he was in Boston before, and he had
+been teasing me to give him money enough to go out West with. About
+noon I discovered that he had taken fifty dollars more than the amount
+I intrusted to him, and then I couldn't rest till I was on my way to
+Boston to find out the worst. I went to the house on Milk Street and
+found they had seen nothing of Eben. Then I knew what had happened. The
+graceless boy has robbed his father of a hundred and fifty dollars, and
+is probably on his way West by this time.”
+
+“He was to start by the three o'clock train, I think,” said Herbert, and
+gave his reasons for thinking so.
+
+Ebenezer seemed so utterly cast down by this confirmation of his worst
+suspicions, that Herbert called Mr. Melville, thinking he might be able
+to say something to comfort him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. EBENEZER GRAHAM'S GRIEF.
+
+
+
+“How much have you lost by your son, Mr. Graham?” asked George Melville.
+
+“Nearly two hundred and fifty dollars,” groaned Ebenezer, “counting what
+I paid in the city to his creditors, it is terrible, terrible!” and he
+wrung his hands in his bitterness of spirit.
+
+“I am sorry for you,” said Melville, “and still more for him.”
+
+“Why should you be sorry for him?” demanded Ebenezer, sharply. “He
+hasn't lost anything.”
+
+“Is it nothing to lose his consciousness of integrity, to leave his home
+knowing that he is a thief?”
+
+“Little he'll care for that!” said Mr. Graham, shrugging his shoulders.
+“He's laughing in his sleeve, most likely, at the way he has duped and
+cheated me, his father.”
+
+“How old is Eben, Mr. Graham?”
+
+“He will be twenty in November,” answered Ebenezer, apparently puzzled
+by the question.
+
+“Then, as he is so young, let us hope that he may see the error of his
+ways, and repent.”
+
+“That won't bring me back my money,” objected Ebenezer, querulously.
+It was clear that he thought more of the money he had lost than of his
+son's lack of principle.
+
+“No, it will not give you back your money, but it may give you back a
+son purified and prepared to take an honorable position in society.”
+
+“No, no; he's bad, bad!” said the stricken father. “What did he care for
+the labor and toil it took to save up that money?”
+
+“I hope the loss of the money will not distress you, Mr. Graham.”
+
+“Well, no, not exactly,” said Ebenezer, hesitating. “I shall have to
+take some money from the savings bank to make up what that graceless boy
+has stolen.”
+
+It was clear that Ebenezer Graham would not have to go to the poorhouse
+in consequence of his losses.
+
+“I can hardly offer you consolation,” said George Melville, “but I
+suspect that you will not be called upon to pay any more money for your
+son.”
+
+“I don't mean to!” said Ebenezer, grimly.
+
+“Going away as he has done, he will find it necessary to support
+himself, and will hardly have courage to send to you for assistance.”
+
+“Let him try it!” said Ebenezer, his eyes snapping.
+
+“He may, therefore, being thrown upon his own resources, be compelled to
+work hard, and that will probably be the best thing that can happen to
+him.”
+
+“I hope he will! I hope he will!” said the storekeeper. “He may find out
+after a while that he had an easy time at home, and was better paid
+than he will be among strangers. I won't pay any more of his debts. I'll
+publish a notice saying that I have given him his time, and won't pay
+any more debts of his contracting. He might run into debt enough to ruin
+me, between now and the time he becomes of age.”
+
+George Melville considered that the storekeeper was justified in taking
+this step, and said so.
+
+While they were on the train, Ebenezer got measurably reconciled to his
+loss, and his busy brain began to calculate how much money he would
+save by ceasing to be responsible for Eben's expenses of living and
+prospective debts. Without this drawback, he knew he would grow richer
+every year. He knew also that notwithstanding the sum it had just cost
+him, he would be better off at the end of the year than the beginning,
+and to a man of his character this was perhaps the best form of
+consolation that he could have.
+
+Suddenly it occurred to Mr. Graham that he should need a clerk in place
+of his son.
+
+“Now that Eben has gone, Herbert,” he said, “I am ready to take you
+back.”
+
+This was a surprise, for Herbert had not thought of the effect upon his
+own business prospects.
+
+“I have got a place, thank you, Mr. Graham,” he said.
+
+“You don't call trampin' round huntin' and fishin' work, do you?” said
+Ebenezer.
+
+“It is very agreeable work, sir.”
+
+“But it stands to reason that you can't earn much that way. I wouldn't
+give you twenty-five cents a week for such doings.”
+
+“Are you willing to pay me more than Mr. Melville does?” asked Herbert,
+demurely, smiling to himself.
+
+“How much does he pay you now?” asked Ebenezer, cautiously.
+
+“Six dollars a week.”
+
+“Six dollars a week!” repeated the storekeeper, in incredulous
+amazement. “Sho! you're joking!”
+
+“You can ask Mr. Melville, sir.”
+
+Ebenezer regarded George Melville with an inquiring look.
+
+“Yes, I pay Herbert six dollars a week,” said he, smiling.
+
+“Well, I never!” ejaculated Ebenezer. “That's the strangest thing I
+ever heard. How in the name of conscience can a boy earn so much money
+trampin' round?”
+
+“Perhaps it would not be worth as much to anyone else,” said Melville,
+“but Herbert suits me, and I need cheerful company.”
+
+“You ain't goin' to keep him long at that figger, be you, Mr. Melville?”
+ asked Mr. Graham, bluntly.
+
+“I think we shall be together a considerable time, Mr. Graham. If,
+however, you should be willing to pay Herbert a larger salary, I might
+feel it only just to release him from his engagement to me.”
+
+“Me pay more'n six dollars a week!” gasped Ebenezer. “I ain't quite
+crazy. Why, it would take about all I get from the post office.”
+
+“You wouldn't expect me to take less than I can earn elsewhere, Mr.
+Graham,” said Herbert.
+
+“No-o!” answered the storekeeper, slowly. He was evidently nonplused by
+the absolute necessity of getting another clerk, and his inability to
+think of a suitable person.
+
+“If Tom Tripp was with me, I might work him into the business,” said
+Ebenezer, thoughtfully, “but he's bound out to a farmer.”
+
+An inspiration came to Herbert. He knew that his mother would be glad to
+earn something, and there was little else to do in Wayneboro.
+
+“I think,” he said, “you might make an arrangement with my mother, to
+make up and sort the mail, for a time, at least.”
+
+“Why, so I could; I didn't think of that,” answered Ebenezer, relieved.
+“Do you think she'd come over to-morrow mornin'?”
+
+“If she can't, I will,” said Herbert. “I don't meet Mr. Melville till
+nine o'clock.”
+
+“So do! I'll expect you. I guess I'll come over and see your mother this
+evenin', and see if I can't come to some arrangement with her.”
+
+It may be added that Mr. Graham did as proposed, and Mrs. Carr agreed
+to render him the assistance he needed for three dollars a week. It
+required only her mornings, and a couple of hours at the close of the
+afternoon, and she was very glad to convert so much time into money.
+
+“It makes me feel more independent,” she said. “I don't want to
+feel that you do all the work, Herbert, and maintain the family
+single-handed.”
+
+The same evening Herbert broached the plan of traveling with Mr.
+Melville. As might have been expected, his mother was at first startled,
+and disposed to object, but Herbert set before her the advantages, both
+to himself and the family, and touched upon the young man's need of a
+companion so skillfully and eloquently that she was at last brought to
+regard the proposal favorably. She felt that George Melville was one to
+whom she could safely trust her only boy. Moreover, her own time would
+be partly occupied, owing to the arrangement she had just made to assist
+in the post office, so that Herbert carried his point.
+
+The tenth of October arrived, the date which George Melville had fixed
+upon for his departure. Mrs. Carr had put Herbert's wardrobe in order,
+and he had bought himself a capacious carpetbag and an umbrella, and
+looked forward with eagerness to the day on which their journey was to
+commence. He had long thought and dreamed of the West, its plains and
+cities, but had never supposed that it would be his privilege to make
+acquaintance with them, at any rate, until he should have become twice
+his present age. But the unexpected had happened, and on Monday he and
+George Melville were to start for Chicago.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE IN CHICAGO.
+
+
+
+In due time our travelers reached Chicago, and put up at the Palmer
+House. Herbert was much impressed by the elegance of the hotel, its
+sumptuous furniture, and luxurious table. It must be considered that he
+was an inexperienced traveler, though had he been otherwise he might be
+excused for his admiration.
+
+“I have some business in Chicago, and shall remain two or three days,”
+ said George Melville.
+
+Herbert was quite reconciled to the delay, and, as his services were not
+required, employed his time in making himself familiar with the famous
+Western city. He kept his eyes open, and found something new and
+interesting at every step. One day, as he was passing through the lower
+portion of the city, his attention was called to a young man wheeling a
+barrow of cabbages and other vegetables, a little in advance of him.
+Of course, there was nothing singular about this, but there seemed
+something familiar in the figure of the young man. Herbert quickened his
+step, and soon came up with him.
+
+One glance was enough. Though disguised by a pair of overalls, and
+without a coat, Herbert recognized the once spruce dry-goods clerk, Eben
+Graham.
+
+Eben recognized Herbert at the same time. He started, and flushed with
+shame, not because of the theft of which he had been guilty, but because
+he was detected in an honest, but plebeian labor.
+
+“Herbert Carr!” he exclaimed, stopping short.
+
+“Yes, Eben; it is I!”
+
+“You find me changed,” said Eben, dolefully.
+
+“No, I should recognize you anywhere.”
+
+“I don't mean that. I have sunk very low,” and he glanced pathetically
+at the wheelbarrow.
+
+“If you refer to your employment, I don't agree with you. It is an
+honest business.”
+
+“True, but I never dreamed when I stood behind the counter in Boston,
+and waited on fashionable ladies, that I should ever come to this.”
+
+“He seems more ashamed of wheeling vegetables than of stealing,” thought
+Herbert, and he was correct.
+
+“How do you happen to be in this business, Eben?” he asked, with some
+curiosity.
+
+“I must do it or starve. I was cheated out of my money soon after I came
+here, and didn't know where to turn.”
+
+Eben did not explain that he lost his money in a gambling house.
+He might have been cheated out of it, but it was his own fault, for
+venturing into competition with older and more experienced knaves than
+himself.
+
+“I went for thirty-six hours without food,” continued Eben, “when I fell
+in with a man who kept a vegetable store, and he offered to employ me. I
+have been with him ever since.”
+
+“You were fortunate to find employment,” said Herbert.
+
+“Fortunate!” repeated Eben, in a tragic tone. “How much wages do you
+think I get?”
+
+“I can't guess.”
+
+“Five dollars a week, and have to find myself,” answered Eben,
+mournfully. “What would my fashionable friends in Boston say if they
+could see me?”
+
+“I wouldn't mind what they said as long as you are getting an honest
+living.”
+
+“How do you happen to be out here?” asked Eben.
+
+His story was told in a few words.
+
+“You are always in luck!” said Eben, enviously. “I wish I had your
+chance. Is Mr. Melville very rich?”
+
+“He is rich; but I don't know how rich.”
+
+“Do you think he'd lend me money enough to get home?”
+
+“I don't know.”
+
+“Will you ask him?”
+
+“I will tell him that you made the request, Eben,” answered Herbert,
+cautiously. “Have you applied to your father?”
+
+“To the old man? Yes. He hasn't any more heart than a grindstone,” said
+Eben, bitterly. “What do you think he wrote me?”
+
+“He refused, I suppose.”
+
+“Here is his letter,” said Eben, drawing from his pocket a greasy half
+sheet of note paper. “See what he has to say to his only son.”
+
+This was the letter:
+
+“EBEN GRAHAM: I have received your letter, and am not surprised to hear
+that you are in trouble. 'As a man sows, so also shall he reap.' A young
+man who will rob his father of his hard earnings is capable of anything.
+You have done what you could to ruin me, and deserve what you have got.
+You want me to send you money to come home, and continue your wicked
+work--I shall not do it. I wash my hands of you; I have already given
+notice, through the country paper that I have given you your time, and
+shall pay no more debts of your contracting.
+
+“I am glad to hear that you are engaged in an honest employment. It is
+better than I expected. I would not have been surprised if I had heard
+that you were in jail. My advice to you is to stay where you are and
+make yourself useful to your employer. He may in time raise your wages.
+Five years hence, if you have turned over a new leaf and led an honest
+life, I may give you a place in my store. At present, I would rather
+leave you where you are.
+
+“EBENEZER GRAHAM.”
+
+“What do you say to that? Isn't that rather rough on an only son, eh?”
+ said Eben.
+
+It occurred to Herbert that Eben hardly deserved very liberal treatment
+from his father, notwithstanding he was an only son.
+
+“Oh, the old man is awfully mean and close-fisted,” said Eben. “He cares
+more for money than for anything else. By the way, how does Melville
+treat you?”
+
+“Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, emphasizing the Mr., “is always kind and
+considerate.”
+
+“Pays you well, eh?”
+
+“He pays me more than I could get anywhere else.”
+
+“Pays all your hotel and traveling expenses, eh?”
+
+“Of course.”
+
+“And a good salary besides?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Herbert,” said Eben, suddenly, “I want you to do me a favor.”
+
+“What is it?”
+
+“You've always known me, you know. When you was a little chap, and came
+into the store, I used to give you sticks of candy.”
+
+“I don't remember it,” answered Herbert, truthfully.
+
+“I did, all the same. You were so young that you don't remember it.”
+
+“Well, Eben, what of it?”
+
+“I want you to lend me ten dollars, Herbert, in memory of old times.”
+
+Herbert was generously inclined, on ordinary occasions, but did not feel
+so on this occasion. He felt that Eben was not a deserving object, even
+had he felt able to make so large a loan. Besides, he could not forget
+that the young man who now asked a favor had brought a false charge of
+stealing against him.
+
+“You will have to excuse me, Eben,” he answered. “To begin with, I
+cannot afford to lend so large a sum.”
+
+“I would pay you back as soon as I could.”
+
+“Perhaps you would,” said Herbert, “though I have not much confidence
+in it. But you seem to forget that you charged me with stealing only a
+short time since. I wonder how you have the face to ask me to lend you
+ten dollars, or any sum.”
+
+“It was a mistake,” muttered Eben, showing some signs of confusion.
+
+“At any rate, I won't say anything more about it while you are in
+trouble. But you must excuse my declining to lend you.”
+
+“Lend me five dollars, then,” pleaded Eben.
+
+“What do you want to do with it?”
+
+“To buy lottery tickets. I am almost sure I should win a prize, and then
+I can pay you five dollars for one.”
+
+“I wouldn't lend any money for that purpose to my dearest friend,” said
+Herbert “Buying lottery tickets is about the most foolish investment you
+could make.”
+
+“Then I won't buy any,” said Eben. “Lend me the money and I will use it
+to buy clothes.”
+
+“You will have to excuse me,” said Herbert, coldly.
+
+“I didn't think you'd be so mean,” whined Eben, “to a friend in
+distress.”
+
+“I don't look upon you as a friend, and for very good reasons,” retorted
+Herbert, as he walked away.
+
+Eben looked after him with a scowl of hatred.
+
+“I'd like to humble that boy's pride,” he muttered, as he slowly resumed
+his march.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. COL. WARNER.
+
+
+
+When Herbert returned to the hotel he found George Melville in the
+reading room in conversation with a tall and dignified-looking stranger.
+
+“Is that your brother, Mr. Melville?” asked the latter, as Herbert came
+forward and spoke to Melville.
+
+“No, Colonel, he is my young friend and confidential clerk, Herbert
+Carr.”
+
+“Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Carr,” said the colonel, affably,
+extending his hand as he spoke.
+
+“This is Col. Warner, Herbert,” explained George Melville.
+
+Herbert, who was naturally polite, shook hands with the colonel, and
+said he was glad to make his acquaintance.
+
+“I have been talking with Mr. Melville,” said the colonel. “I am sorry
+to hear that he is traveling in search of health.”
+
+“Yes, sir; I hope he will find his journey beneficial.”
+
+“Oh, not a doubt of it! Not a doubt of it! I've been there myself. Do
+you know, when I was twenty-five, which I take to be about the age of
+your employer, I thought I should die of consumption?”
+
+“I shouldn't have supposed it, sir,” said Herbert, and Melville, too,
+felt surprised, as he noticed the stalwart proportions of the former
+consumptive.
+
+“Ha! ha! I dare say not,” said the colonel, laughing. “I don't look much
+like it now, eh?”
+
+“No, you certainly don't, colonel,” said Melville. “I am curious to know
+how you overcame the threatened danger.”
+
+“I did what you are doing, sir; I came West.”
+
+“But the mere coming West did not cure you, did it?”
+
+“No, sir; it was the life I lived,” returned Col. \Varner. “I didn't
+stay in the cities; I went into the wilderness. I lived in a log-cabin.
+I bought a horse, and rode every day. I kept in the open air, and, after
+a while, I found my strength returning and my chest expanding, and in a
+twelvemonth I could afford to laugh at doctors.”
+
+“And you have never had a return of the old symptoms?” asked Melville,
+with interest.
+
+“Never, except four years afterwards, when I went to New York and
+remained nearly a year. I am now fifty, and rather hale and hearty for
+my years, eh?”
+
+“Decidedly so.”
+
+“Let me advise you to follow my example, Mr. Melville.”
+
+“It was my intention when I started West to live very much as you
+indicated,” said Melville. “Now that I have heard your experience, I am
+confirmed in my resolve.”
+
+“Good! I am glad to hear it. When do you leave Chicago?”
+
+“To-morrow, probably.”
+
+“And how far West do you intend to go?”
+
+“I have thought of Colorado.”
+
+“Couldn't do better. I know Colorado like a book. In fact, I own some
+valuable mining property there, up in--ahem! Gilpin County. By the
+way--I take it you are a rich man--why don't you invest in that way?
+Perhaps, however, you have it in view?”
+
+“No, I haven't thought of it,” answered Melville. “The fact is, I am not
+anxious to become richer, having enough for all my present needs.”
+
+“Just so,” said the colonel. “But you might marry.”
+
+“Even if I did--”
+
+“You would have money enough,” said Col. Warner, finishing the sentence
+for him. “Well, I am delighted to hear it. I am very well fixed
+myself--in fact, some of my friends call me, ha! ha!--the nabob. But,
+as I was saying I am rich enough and to spare, and still--you may be
+surprised--still I have no objection to making a little more money.”
+
+Col. Warner nodded his head vigorously, and watched George Melville to
+see the effect upon him of this extraordinary statement.
+
+“Very natural, colonel,” said Melville. “I believe most people want to
+be richer. Perhaps if I had vigorous health I might have the same wish.
+At present my chief wish is to recover my health.”
+
+“You'll do it, sir, you'll do it--and in short order, too! Then you can
+turn your attention to money-making.”
+
+“Perhaps so,” said Melville, with a smile.
+
+“If not for yourself, for your young friend here,” added the colonel. “I
+take it he is not rich.”
+
+“I have my fortune still to make, Col. Warner,” said Herbert, smiling.
+
+“The easiest thing in the world out here, my boy!” said the colonel,
+paternally. “So you start to-morrow?” he inquired, turning to Melville.
+
+“I think of it.”
+
+“Egad! I've a great mind to accompany you,” said the colonel. “Why
+shouldn't I? I've got through all my business in Chicago, and I like the
+pure air of the prairies best.”
+
+“We shall be glad of your company, colonel,” said Melville, politely.
+
+“Thank you, sir; that decides me. I'll see you again and fix the hour of
+going, or rather I'll conform myself to your arrangements.”
+
+“Very well, colonel.”
+
+“What do you think of my new acquaintance, Col. Warner, Herbert?” asked
+Melville when they were alone.
+
+“He seems to have a very good opinion of himself,” answered Herbert.
+
+“Yes, he is very well pleased with himself. He isn't a man exactly to my
+taste, but he seems a representative Western man. He does not look much
+like a consumptive?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“I feel an interest in him on that account,” said Melville, seriously.
+“If at any time I could become as strong and stalwart I would willingly
+surrender one-half, nay nine-tenths of my fortune. Ill health is a great
+drag upon a man; it largely curtails his enjoyments, and deprives him of
+all ambition.”
+
+“I don't see why his remedy wouldn't work well in your case, Mr.
+Melville,” said Herbert, earnestly.
+
+“Perhaps it may. At any rate, I feel inclined to try it. I am glad the
+colonel is going to travel with us, as I shall be able to question him
+about the details of his cure. He seems a bluff, genial fellow, and
+though I don't expect to enjoy his companionship much, I hope to derive
+some benefit from it.”
+
+“By the way, Mr. Melville, I met an old acquaintance while I was out
+walking,” said Herbert.
+
+“Indeed!”
+
+“Eben Graham.”
+
+“How did he look--prosperous?”
+
+“Hardly--he was wheeling a barrow of vegetables.”
+
+“Did you speak with him?”
+
+“Yes; he wanted to borrow money.”
+
+“I am not surprised at that; I thought it time for him to be out of
+money. Did you lend him?”
+
+“No; I found he wanted money to buy a lottery ticket. I told him I
+wouldn't lend money to my best friend for that purpose.”
+
+“Very sensible in you, Herbert.”
+
+“If he had been in distress, I might have let him have a few dollars,
+notwithstanding he treated me so meanly at Wayneboro, but he seems to be
+earning a living.”
+
+“I presume he doesn't enjoy the business he is in?”
+
+“No; he complains that he has lowered himself by accepting such a
+place.”
+
+“It doesn't occur to him that he lowered himself when he stole money
+from his father, I suppose.”
+
+“It doesn't seem to.”
+
+Later in the day Herbert came across Col. Warner in the corridor of the
+hotel.
+
+“Ha! my young friend!” he said, affably. “I am glad to meet you.”
+
+“Thank you, sir.”
+
+“And how is your friend?”
+
+“No change since morning,” answered Herbert, slightly smiling.
+
+“By the way, Herbert--your name is Herbert, isn't it--may I offer you a
+cigar?” said Col. Warner.
+
+The colonel opened his cigar-case and extended it to Herbert.
+
+“Thank you, sir, but I don't smoke.”
+
+“Don't smoke? That is, you don't smoke cigars. May I offer you a
+cigarette?”
+
+“I don't smoke at all, colonel.”
+
+“Indeed, remarkable! Why, sir, before I was your age I smoked.”
+
+“Do you think it good for consumption?” asked Herbert.
+
+“Ha, ha, you have me there! Well, perhaps not. Do you know,” said the
+colonel, changing the conversation, “I feel a great interest in your
+friend.”
+
+“You are very kind.”
+
+“'Upon my soul, I do. He is a most interesting young man. Rich, too! I
+am glad he is rich!”
+
+“He would value health more than money,” said Herbert.
+
+“To be sure, to be sure! By the way, you don't know how much property
+your friend has?”
+
+“No, sir, he never told me,” answered Herbert, surprised at the
+question.
+
+“Keeps such matters close, eh? Now, I don't. I never hesitate to own up
+to a quarter of a million. Yes, quarter of a million! That's the size of
+my pile.”
+
+“You are fortunate, Col. Warner,” said Herbert, sincerely.
+
+“So I am, so I am! Two years hence I shall have half a million, if all
+goes well. So you won't have a cigar; no? Well, I'll see you later.”
+
+“He's a strange man,” thought Herbert. “I wonder if his statements
+can be relied upon.” Somehow Herbert doubted it. He was beginning to
+distrust the colonel.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII. A MOUNTAIN STAGE.
+
+
+
+We pass over several days, and change the scene. We left Herbert and
+Melville in the Palmer House in Chicago, surrounded by stately edifices
+and surging crowds. Now everything is changed. They are in a mountainous
+district, where a man might ride twenty miles without seeing a house.
+They are, in fact, within the limits of what was then known as the
+Territory of Colorado. It is not generally known that Colorado contains
+over a hundred mountain summits over ten thousand feet above the sea
+level. It is perhaps on account of the general elevation that it is
+recommended by physicians as a good health resort for all who are
+troubled with lung complaints.
+
+At the time of which I speak most of the traveling was done by stage.
+Now railroads unite the different portions with links of steel, and make
+traveling less cumbersome and laborious. There was one of the party,
+however, who did not complain, but rather enjoyed the jolting of the
+lumbering stage-coach.
+
+Col. Warner was of the party. He professed to feel an extraordinary
+interest in George Melville, and was anxious to show him the country
+where he had himself regained his health.
+
+“Lonely, sir!” repeated the colonel, in answer to a remark of George
+Melville. “Why, sir, it's a populous city compared with what it was in
+'55, when I was out here. I built myself a cabin in the woods, and once
+for twelve months I didn't see a white face.”
+
+“Were there many Indians, Colonel?” asked Herbert.
+
+“Indians? I should say so. Only twenty miles from my cabin was an Indian
+village.”
+
+“Did they trouble you any?” asked Herbert, curiously.
+
+“Well, they tried to,” answered the colonel. “One night as I lay awake I
+heard stealthy steps outside, and peeping through a crevice between the
+logs just above the head of my bed--by the way, my bed was the skin of
+a bear I had myself killed--I could see a string of Utes preparing to
+besiege me.”
+
+“Were you afraid?” asked Herbert, a little mischievously, for he knew
+pretty well what the colonel would say.
+
+“Afraid!” repeated the colonel, indignantly. “What do you take me for? I
+have plenty of faults,” continued Col. Warner, modestly, “but cowardice
+isn't one of them. No, sir; I never yet saw the human being, white,
+black, or red, that I stood in fear of. But, as I was saying, the
+redskins collected around my cabin, and were preparing to break in the
+door, when I leveled my revolver and brought down their foremost man.
+This threw them into confusion. They retreated a little way, then
+advanced again with a horrible yell, and I gave myself up for lost. But
+I got in another shot, bringing down another warrior, this time the son
+of their chief. The same scene was repeated. Well, to make a long story
+short, I repulsed them at every advance, and finally when but three were
+left, they concluded that prudence was the better part of valor, and
+fled, leaving their dead and wounded behind them.”
+
+“How many were there of them?” asked Herbert.
+
+“Well, in the morning when I went out I found seven dead redskins, and
+two others lying at the point of death.”
+
+“That was certainly a thrilling adventure, Colonel,” said George
+Melville, smiling.
+
+“Egad, I should say so.”
+
+“I confess I don't care to meet with any such.”
+
+“Oh, no danger, no danger!” said the colonel, airily. “That is,
+comparatively speaking. In fact, the chief danger is of a different
+sort.”
+
+“Of the sleigh upsetting and tipping us out into some of the canyons, I
+suppose you mean?”
+
+“No, I speak of the gentlemen of the road--road agents as they are
+generally called.”
+
+“You mean highwaymen?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Is there much danger of meeting them?” asked Melville.
+
+“Well, there's a chance. They are quite in the habit of attacking
+stage-coaches, and plundering the passengers. Sometimes they make rich
+hauls.”
+
+“That must be rather inconvenient to the passengers.” said Melville.
+“Can't the laws reach these outlaws?”
+
+“They don't seem to. Why, there are men who have been in the business
+for years, and have never been caught.”
+
+“Very true,” said a fellow traveler. “There's Jerry Lane, for instance.
+He has succeeded thus far in eluding the vigilance of the authorities.”
+
+“Yes,” said the colonel, “I once saw Lane myself. Indeed he did me the
+honor of relieving me of five hundred dollars.”
+
+“Couldn't you help it?” asked Herbert.
+
+“No; he covered me with his revolver, and if I had drawn mine I
+shouldn't have lived to take aim at him.”
+
+“Were you in a stage at the time?”
+
+“No, I was riding on horseback.”
+
+“Is this Lane a large man?” asked George Melville.
+
+“Not larger than myself,” continued the colonel.
+
+“Where does he live--in some secret haunt in the forest, I suppose?”
+
+“Oh, no, he doesn't confine himself to one place. He travels a good
+deal. Sometimes he goes to St. Louis. I have heard that he sometimes
+even visits New York.”
+
+“And is he not recognized?”
+
+“No; he looks like anything but an outlaw. If you should see him you
+might think him a prosperous merchant, or banker.”
+
+“That's curious!” said Herbert.
+
+“The fact is,” said the colonel, “when you travel by stage-coaches
+in these solitudes you have to take the chances. Now I carry my money
+concealed in an inner pocket, where it isn't very likely to be found. Of
+course I have another wallet, just for show, and I give that up when I
+have to.”
+
+There was a stout, florid gentleman present, who listened to the
+above conversation with ill-disguised nervousness. He was a New York
+capitalist, of German birth, going out to inspect a mine in which he
+proposed purchasing an interest. His name was Conrad Stiefel.
+
+“Good gracious!” said he, “I had no idea a man ran such a risk, or I
+would have stayed at home. I decidedly object to being robbed.”
+
+“Men are robbed in a different way in New York,” said George Melville.
+
+“How do you mean, Mr. Melville?”
+
+“By defaulting clerks, absconding cashiers, swindlers of excellent
+social position.”
+
+“Oh, we don't mind those things,” said Mr. Stiefel. “We can look out
+for ourselves. But when a man points at you with a revolver, that is
+terrible!”
+
+“I hope, my dear sir, you take good care of your money.”
+
+“That I do,” said Stiefel, complacently. “I carry it in a belt around my
+waist. That's a good place, hey?”
+
+“I commend your prudence, sir,” said the colonel. “You are evidently a
+wise and judicious man.”
+
+“They won't think of looking there, hey?” laughed Stiefel.
+
+“I should say not.”
+
+“You may think what you like, Mr. Stiefel,” said a tall, thin passenger,
+who looked like a book peddler, “but I contend that my money is in a
+safer place than yours.”
+
+“Indeed, Mr. Parker, I should like to know where you keep it,” said Col.
+Warner, pleasantly.
+
+“You can't get at it without taking off my stockings,” said the tall
+man, looking about him in a self-satisfied manner.
+
+“Very good, 'pon my soul!” said the colonel. “I really don't know but I
+shall adopt your hiding place. I am an old traveler, but not too old to
+adopt new ideas when I meet with good ones.”
+
+“I think you would find it to your interest, Colonel,” said Parker,
+looking flattered.
+
+“Well, well,” said the colonel, genially, “suppose we change the
+subject. There isn't much chance of our being called upon to produce our
+money, or part with it. Still, as I said a while since, it's best to
+be cautious, and I see that you all are so. I begin to feel hungry,
+gentlemen. How is it with you?”
+
+“Are we anywhere near the place for supper?” asked Stiefel. “I wish I
+could step into a good Broadway restaurant; I feel empty.”
+
+“Only a mile hence, gentlemen, we shall reach Echo Gulch, where we halt
+for the night. There's a rude cabin there, where they will provide us
+with supper and shelter.”
+
+This announcement gave general satisfaction. The colonel proved to be
+right. The stage soon drew up in front of a long one-story building,
+which bore the pretentious name of the Echo Gulch Hotel.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. A STARTLING REVELATION.
+
+
+
+A stout, black-bearded man stood in front of the hotel to welcome
+the stage passengers. He took a clay pipe from his lips and nodded a
+welcome.
+
+“Glad to see you, strangers,” he said. “Here, Peter, you black rascal,
+help the gentlemen with their baggage.”
+
+The door was thrown open, and the party filed into a comfortless looking
+apartment, at one end of which was a rude bar.
+
+One of the passengers, at least, seemed to know the landlord, for Col.
+Warner advanced to greet him, his face beaming with cordiality.
+
+“How are you, John?” he said. “How does the world use you?”
+
+The landlord growled something inaudible.
+
+“Have a drink, colonel?” was the first audible remark.
+
+“Don't care if I do. It's confounded dry traveling over these mountain
+roads. Walk up, gentlemen. Col. Warner doesn't drink alone.”
+
+With the exception of Herbert and George Melville, the passengers seemed
+inclined to accept the offer.
+
+“Come along, Melville,” said the colonel; “you and your friend must join
+us.”
+
+“Please excuse me, colonel,” answered Melville. “I would prefer not to
+drink.”
+
+“Oh, nonsense! To oblige me, now.”
+
+“Thank you; but I am traveling for my health, and it would not be
+prudent.”
+
+“Just as you say, Melville; but a little whisky would warm you up and do
+you good, in my opinion.”
+
+“Thank you all the same, colonel; but I think you must count me out.”
+
+The colonel shrugged his shoulders and beckoned Herbert.
+
+“You can come, anyway; your health won't prevent.”
+
+Melville did not interfere, for he knew it would give offense, but he
+hoped his young clerk would refuse.
+
+“Thank you,” said Herbert; “I won't object to a glass of sarsaparilla.”
+
+“Sarsaparilla!” repeated the colonel, in amazement. “What's that?”
+
+“We don't keep no medicine,” growled the landlord.
+
+“Have you root-beer?” asked Herbert.
+
+“What do you take me for?” said the landlord, contemptuously. “I haven't
+got no root-beer. Whisky's good enough for any man.”
+
+“I hope you'll excuse me, then,” said Herbert. “I am not used to any
+strong drinks.”
+
+“How old are you?” asked the colonel, rather contemptuously.
+
+“Sixteen.”
+
+“Sixteen years old and don't drink whisky! My young friend, your
+education has been sadly neglected.”
+
+“I dare say it has,” answered Herbert, good-naturedly.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Col. Warner, apologetically, “the boy is a stranger,
+and isn't used to our free Western ways. He's got the makings of a man
+in him, and it won't be long before he'll get over his squeamishness,
+and walk up to the bar as quick as any one of us.”
+
+Herbert and Melville stood apart, while the rest of the company emptied
+their glasses, apparently at a gulp. It was clear that their refusal had
+caused them to be regarded with dislike and suspicion.
+
+The accommodations of the Echo Gulch Hotel were far from luxurious. The
+chambers were scarcely larger than a small closet, clap-boarded but not
+plastered, and merely contained a bedstead. Washing accommodations were
+provided downstairs.
+
+Herbert and George Melville were assigned to a single room, to which
+they would not have objected had the room been larger. It was of no use
+to indulge in open complaints, however, since others had to fare in the
+same way.
+
+“This isn't luxury, Herbert,” said Melville.
+
+“No,” answered the boy; “but I don't mind it if you don't.”
+
+“I am afraid I may keep you awake by my coughing, Herbert.”
+
+“Not if I once get to sleep. I sleep as sound as a top.”
+
+“I wish I did; but I am one of the wakeful kind. Being an invalid, I
+am more easily annoyed by small inconveniences. You, with your sturdy
+health, are more easily suited.”
+
+“Mr. Melville, I had just as lief sleep downstairs in a chair, and give
+you the whole of the bed.”
+
+“Not on my account, Herbert. I congratulate myself on having you for a
+roommate. If I had been traveling alone I might have been packed away
+with the colonel, who, by this time, would be even less desirable as a
+bedfellow than usual.”
+
+The worthy colonel had not been content with a single glass of whisky,
+but had followed it up several times, till his utterance had become
+thick, and his face glowed with a dull, brick-dust color.
+
+Col. Warner had been assigned to the adjoining chamber, or closet,
+whichever it may be called. He did not retire early, however, while
+Herbert and George Melville did.
+
+Strangely enough, Herbert, who was usually so good a sleeper, after
+a short nap woke up. He turned to look at his companion, for it was a
+moonlight night, and saw that he was sleeping quietly.
+
+“I wonder what's got into me?” he thought; “I thought I should sleep
+till morning.”
+
+He tried to compose himself to sleep, but the more effort he made the
+broader awake he became. Sometimes it seems as if such unaccountable
+deviations from our ordinary habits were Heaven-sent. As Herbert lay
+awake he suddenly became aware of a conversation which was being
+carried on, in low tones, in the next room. The first voice he heard, he
+recognized as that of the colonel.
+
+“Yes,” he said, “some of the passengers have got money. There's that
+Stiefel probably carries a big sum in gold and notes. When I was
+speaking of the chance of the stage being robbed, he was uncommon
+nervous.”
+
+“Who's Stiefel?” was growled in another voice, which Herbert had no
+difficulty in recognizing as the landlord's.
+
+“Oh, he's the fat, red-faced German. From his talk, I reckon he's come
+out to buy mines somewhere in Colorado.”
+
+“We'll save him the trouble.”
+
+“So we will--good joke, John. Oh, about this Stiefel, he carries his
+money in a belt round his waist. I infer that it is gold.”
+
+“Good! What about the others?”
+
+“There's a tall, thin man--his name is Parker,” proceeded the colonel;
+“he's smart, or thinks he is; you'll have to pull his stockings off to
+get his money. Ha, ha!”
+
+“How did you find out, colonel?” asked the landlord, in admiration.
+
+“Drew it out of him, sir. He didn't know who he was confiding in. He'll
+wonder how the deuce his hiding place was suspected.”
+
+Other passengers were referred to who have not been mentioned, and in
+each case the colonel was able to tell precisely where their money was
+kept.
+
+“How about that milksop that wouldn't drink with us?” inquired the
+landlord, after a while.
+
+“Melville? I couldn't find out where he keeps his cash. Probably he
+keeps it in his pocket. He doesn't look like a cautious man.”
+
+“Who's the boy?”
+
+“Only a clerk or secretary of Melville's. He hasn't any money, and isn't
+worth attention.”
+
+“Very glad to hear it,” thought Herbert. “I don't care to receive any
+attention from such gentry. But who would have thought the colonel was
+in league with stage robbers? I thought him a gentleman.”
+
+Herbert began to understand why it was that Col. Warner, if that was
+his real name, had drawn the conversation to stage robbers, and artfully
+managed to discover where each of the passengers kept his supply of
+money. It was clear that he was in league with the landlord of the Echo
+Gulch Hotel, who, it was altogether probable, intended to waylay the
+stage the next day.
+
+This was a serious condition of affairs. The time had been when, in
+reading stories of adventure, Herbert had wished that he, too, might
+have some experience of the kind. Now that the opportunity had come, our
+hero was disposed to regard the matter with different eyes.
+
+“What can be done,” he asked himself, anxiously, “to escape the danger
+which threatens us to-morrow?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. A MORNING WALK.
+
+
+
+Herbert found it difficult to sleep from anxiety. He felt that the
+burden was too great for him alone to bear, and he desired to speak on
+the subject to George Melville. But there was a difficulty about doing
+this undetected, on account of the thinness of the partitions between
+the rooms. If he could hear Col. Warner, the latter would also be able
+to hear him.
+
+The stage was to start at seven o'clock the next morning, and before
+that time some decision must be made. The first question was, should
+they, or should they not, take passage, as they had anticipated?
+
+At half-past five, Herbert, turning in bed, found his bedfellow awake.
+
+“Mr. Melville,” he whispered, “I have something important to
+communicate, and cannot do so here on account of the danger of being
+heard in the next room. Are you willing to dress and take a little walk
+with me before breakfast?”
+
+George Melville's physical condition did not make him usually favorable
+to early rising, but he knew Herbert well enough to understand that he
+had a satisfactory reason for his request.
+
+“Yes, Herbert,” he said, “I will get up.”
+
+Not a word was exchanged, for Mr. Melville's discretion prevailed over
+his curiosity. In ten minutes both were fully dressed and descended the
+stairs.
+
+There was no one stirring except a woman, the landlord's wife, who was
+lighting the fire in order to prepare breakfast.
+
+She regarded the two with surprise, and perhaps a little distrust.
+
+“You're stirrin' early, strangers,” she said.
+
+“Yes,” answered Melville, courteously, “we are going to take a little
+walk before breakfast; it may sharpen our appetites.”
+
+“Humph!” said the woman; “that's curious. I wouldn't get up so early if
+I wasn't obliged. There ain't much to see outdoors.”
+
+“It is a new part of the country to us,” said Melville, “and we may not
+have another chance to see it.”
+
+“When will breakfast be ready?” asked Herbert.
+
+“Half an hour, more or less,” answered the woman, shortly.
+
+“We will be back in time,” he said.
+
+The landlady evidently thought their early-rising a singular proceeding,
+but her suspicions were not aroused. She resumed her work, and Herbert
+and his friend walked out through the open door.
+
+When they had reached a spot a dozen rods or more distant, Melville
+turned to his young clerk and asked:
+
+“Well, Herbert, what is it?”
+
+“I have discovered, Mr. Melville, that our stage is to be stopped to-day
+and the passengers plundered.”
+
+“How did you discover this?” asked Melville, startled.
+
+“By a conversation which I overheard in the next chamber to us.”
+
+“But that chamber is occupied by Col. Warner.”
+
+“And he is one of the conspirators,” said Herbert, quietly.
+
+“Is it possible?” ejaculated Melville. “Can we have been so deceived in
+him? Does he propose to waylay the stage?”
+
+“No, I presume he will be one of the passengers.”
+
+“Tell me all you know about this matter, Herbert. Who is engaged with
+him in this plot?”
+
+“The landlord.”
+
+“I am not much surprised at this,” said Melville, thoughtfully. “He is
+an ill-looking man, whose appearance fits the part of highwayman very
+well. Then you think the colonel is in league with him?”
+
+“I am sure of that. Don't you remember how skillfully Col. Warner drew
+out of the passengers the hiding places of their money yesterday?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“He has told all to the landlord, and he will no doubt make use of the
+knowledge. That is all, Mr. Melville. I could not rest till I had told
+you, so that you might decide what to do.”
+
+“It seems quite providential that you were kept awake last night,
+Herbert, otherwise this blow would have come upon us unprepared. Even
+with the knowledge that it impends, I hardly know what it is best for us
+to do.”
+
+“We might decide not to go in the stage,” suggested Hebert.
+
+“But we should have to go to-morrow. We cannot stay here, and there is
+no other way of traveling. As the colonel seems to think I have money,
+there would be another attack to-morrow. Besides, where could we stay
+except at this hotel, which is kept, as it appears, by the principal
+robber.”
+
+“That is true,” said Herbert, puzzled; “I didn't think of that.”
+
+“I would quite as soon stand my chance of being robbed in the stage, as
+be attacked here. Besides, I cannot make up my mind to desert my fellow
+passengers. It seems cowardly to send them off to be plundered without
+giving them a hint of their danger.”
+
+“Couldn't we do that?”
+
+“The result would be that they would not go, and there is no knowing how
+long we should be compelled to remain in this secluded spot.”
+
+“Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, suddenly, “a thought has just struck me.”
+
+“I hope it may show us a way out of our danger.”
+
+“No, I am sorry to say that it won't do that.”
+
+“What is it, Herbert?”
+
+“You remember that mention was made yesterday in the stage of a certain
+famous bandit named Jerry Lane?”
+
+“Yes, I remember.”
+
+“Do you think it is possible that he and Col. Warner may be one and the
+same?”
+
+“That is certainly a startling suggestion, Herbert. What reason have you
+for thinking so?”
+
+“It was only a guess on my part; but you remember that the colonel said
+he was a man about his size.”
+
+“That might be.”
+
+“And he did not confine himself to the Western country, but might be met
+with in New York, or St. Louis. We met the colonel in Chicago.”
+
+“It may be as you surmise, Herbert,” said George Melville, after a
+pause. “It did occur to me that our worthy landlord might be the famous
+outlaw in question, but the description to which you refer seems to fit
+the colonel better. There is one thing, however, that makes me a little
+incredulous.”
+
+“What is that, Mr. Melville?”
+
+“This Jerry Lane I take to be cool and courageous, while the colonel
+appears to be more of a boaster. He looks like one who can talk better
+than he can act. If I had ever seen a description of his appearance, I
+could judge better.”
+
+The two had been walking slowly and thoughtfully, when they were
+startled by a rough voice.
+
+“You're out early, strangers?”
+
+Turning swiftly, they saw the dark, forbidding face of the landlord, who
+had approached them unobserved.
+
+“Did he hear anything?” thought Herbert, anxiously.
+
+“Yes, we are taking a little walk,” said Melville, pleasantly.
+
+“Breakfast will be ready soon. You'd better be back soon, if you're
+goin' by the stage this morning. You are goin', I reckon?” said the
+landlord, eyeing them sharply.
+
+“We intend to do so,” said Melville. “We will walk a little farther, and
+then return to the house.”
+
+The landlord turned and retraced his steps to the Echo Gulch Hotel.
+
+“Do you think he heard anything that we were saying?” asked Herbert.
+
+“I think not.”
+
+“I wonder what brought him out here?”
+
+“Probably he wanted to make sure that we were going in the stage. He
+is laudably anxious to have as many victims and as much plunder as
+possible.”
+
+“You told him you were going in the stage?”
+
+“Yes, I have decided to do so.”
+
+“Have you decided upon anything else, Mr. Melville?”
+
+“Not positively; but there will be time to think of that. Did you hear
+where we were to be attacked?”
+
+“At a point about five miles from here,” said Herbert.
+
+This he had gathered from the conversation he had overheard.
+
+When the two friends reached the hotel, they found Col. Warner already
+downstairs.
+
+“Good-morning, gentlemen!” he said. “So you have taken a walk? I never
+walk before breakfast, for my part.”
+
+“Nor do I often,” said Melville. “In this case I was persuaded by my
+young friend. I am repaid by a good appetite.”
+
+“Can't I persuade you to try a glass of bitters, Mr. Melville?” asked
+the colonel.
+
+“Thank you, colonel. You will have to excuse me.”
+
+“Breakfast's ready!” announced the landlady, and the stage passengers
+sat down at a long, unpainted, wooden table, where the food was of
+the plainest. In spite of the impending peril of which they, only, had
+knowledge, Herbert ate heartily, but Melville seemed preoccupied.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. MELVILLE MAKES A SENSATION.
+
+
+
+Col. Warner seemed in very good spirits. He ate and drank with violent
+enjoyment, and was as affable as usual. George Melville regarded him
+with curiosity.
+
+“The man does not appear like a desperado or outlaw,” he thought. “There
+is nothing to distinguish him from the majority of men one meets in
+ordinary intercourse. He is a problem to me, I should like to study
+him.”
+
+Col. Warner did not fail to observe the unconscious intentness with
+which Melville regarded him, and, for some reason, it did not please
+him.
+
+“You have lost your appetite, Mr. Melville,” he said, lightly. “You have
+been looking at me until--egad!--if I were a vain man, I should conclude
+there was something striking about my appearance.”
+
+“I won't gainsay that, Colonel,” answered Melville, adroitly. “I confess
+I am not very hungry, and I will further confess that I have something
+on my mind.”
+
+“Indeed! Better make me your father confessor,” said the colonel, whose
+suspicion or annoyance was removed by this ready reply.
+
+“So I may, after a while,” said Melville.
+
+He took the hint, and ceased to regard the colonel.
+
+The latter made himself generally social, and generally popular.
+
+The stage drove round to the door after breakfast, and there was the
+usual bustle, as the passengers bestowed themselves inside.
+
+George Melville had intended to watch narrowly the landlord and Col.
+Warner, to detect, if possible, the secret understanding which must
+exist between them. But he was deprived of an opportunity, for the very
+good reason that the landlord had disappeared, and was not again seen
+before their departure.
+
+The driver gathered up his reins, cracked his whip, and the stage
+started. Herbert looked at George Melville a little anxiously, not
+knowing what course he had decided to take. They two, it will be
+remembered, were the only ones who knew of the intended attack.
+
+Before the stage started, Melville quietly took the opportunity to hand
+his pocketbook to Herbert, saying, briefly: “It will be safer with you
+in case of an attack.”
+
+“But won't it be considered suspicious that you have no money about
+you?” suggested Herbert.
+
+“I have a roll of bills in my pocket-fifty dollars,” answered Melville.
+
+They had no further opportunity of speaking, as one of the passengers
+came up where they were standing.
+
+Herbert had already taken his seat in the coach, when his employer said:
+“Herbert, wouldn't you like to ride outside with the driver?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” answered Herbert, promptly, for he understood, that this was
+Mr. Melville's wish.
+
+“It will give us more room, and you will have a better view.”
+
+“Yes, sir; I shall like it.”
+
+In a quick manner Herbert made the change, taking care not to look
+significantly at Melville, as some boys might have done, and thus
+excited suspicion.
+
+For the first mile there was very little conversation.
+
+Then Col. Warner spoke.
+
+“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “we are fairly on our way. Let us hope
+nothing will mar our pleasure.”
+
+“Do you anticipate anything?” asked George Melville.
+
+“I! Why should I? We have a skillful driver, and I guarantee he won't
+tip us over.”
+
+“Mr. Melville was, perhaps, referring to the chance of the stage being
+stopped by some enterprising road agent,” suggested Parker.
+
+“Oho! Sits the wind in that quarter?” said the Colonel, laughing
+lightly. “Not the least chance of that--that is, the chance is very
+slight.”
+
+“You spoke differently yesterday,” said the German capitalist.
+
+“Did I? I didn't mean it, I assure you. We are as safe here as if we
+were riding in the interior of New York. I suppose I was only whiling
+away a few idle minutes.”
+
+“I am glad to hear it,” said the German. “I shouldn't like to meet any
+of these gentlemen.”
+
+“Nor I,” answered Melville; “but I am prepared to give him or them a
+warm reception.”
+
+As he spoke he drew a revolver from his pocket. He sat next to the door,
+and in an exposed situation.
+
+“Put up your shooting iron, Mr. Melville,” said Col. Warner, exhibiting
+a slight shade of annoyance. “Let me exchange places with you. I should
+prefer the post of danger, if' there is any.”
+
+“You are very kind, Colonel,” said Melville, quietly, “but I don't care
+to change. I am quite satisfied with my seat.”
+
+“But, my dear sir, I insist--” said the Colonel, making a motion to
+rise.
+
+“Keep your seat, Colonel! I insist upon staying where I am,” answered
+Melville.
+
+He was physically far from formidable, this young man, but there was a
+resolute ring in his voice that showed he was in earnest.
+
+“Really, my dear sir,” said the Colonel, trying to conceal his
+annoyance, “you have been quite misled by my foolish talk. I did not
+suppose you were so nervous.”
+
+“Possibly I may have a special reason for being so,” returned George
+Melville.
+
+“What do you mean?” demanded the Colonel, quickly. “If you have, we are
+all interested, and ought to know it.”
+
+“The Colonel is right,” said the German. “If you know of any danger, it
+is only fair to inform us all.”
+
+“I am disposed to agree with you, gentlemen,” said Melville. “Briefly,
+then, I have good reason to think that this company of passengers has
+been marked for plunder.”
+
+Col. Warner started, but, quickly recovering himself, he laughed
+uneasily.
+
+“Tush!” he said, “I put no faith in it. Some one has been deceiving you,
+my friend.”
+
+But the other passengers took it more seriously.
+
+“You evidently know something that we do not,” said Parker.
+
+“I do,” answered Melville.
+
+Col. Warner looked at him searchingly, but did not speak.
+
+Now was the time to test George Melville's nerve. He was about to take a
+bold step.
+
+“Gentlemen,” he said, “I regret to say that I have every reason to
+believe there is a man in this stage who is in league with the road
+agents.”
+
+This statement naturally made a sensation.
+
+There were seven passengers, and each regarded the rest with new-born
+suspicion. There seemed, on the whole, about as much reason to suspect
+one man as another, and each, with the exception of Melville, found
+himself looked upon with distrust.
+
+“Pooh, Melville! You must have had bad dreams!” said Col. Warner, who
+was the first to recover his self-possession. “Really, I give you credit
+for a first-class sensation. As for you, gentlemen, you may take stock
+in this cock-and-bull story, if you like; I shall not. I, for one, have
+no fear of my fellow passengers. I regard them all as gentlemen, and
+shall not allow myself to be disturbed by any silly fears.”
+
+The air of calm composure with which the Colonel spoke served to
+tranquilize the rest of the passengers, who wished to put credit in his
+assurance.
+
+“The Colonel speaks sensibly,” said Mr. Parker, “and unless Mr. Melville
+assigns a reason for his remarkable belief, I am disposed to think we
+have taken alarm too quick.”
+
+“Of course, of course; all sensible men will think so,” said the
+Colonel. “My friend, we shall be tempted to laugh at you if you insist
+on entertaining us with such hobgoblin fancies. My advice is, to put up
+that weapon of yours, and turn your attention to the scenery, which
+I can assure you, gentlemen, is well worthy of your admiration. Just
+observe the walls of yonder canyon, and the trees growing on the
+points.”
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Melville, “I should be glad to take the view of the
+last speaker, if I had not positive proof that he is the man who has
+agreed to deliver us into the hands of a road agent within the space of
+half an I hour!”
+
+“Sir, you shall answer for this!” exclaimed the Colonel, furiously, as
+he struggled to secure the weapon, his face livid with passion.
+
+But two passengers, one the German, who, though short, was very
+powerful, forcibly prevented him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. A COUNCIL OF WAR.
+
+
+
+“Are you sure of what you say?” asked a passenger, turning with a
+puzzled look from George Melville, who, in the midst of the general
+excitement produced by his revelation, sat, not unmoved indeed, but
+comparatively calm. Courage and physical strength are by no means
+inseparable, and this frail young man, whose strength probably was not
+equal to Herbert's, was fearless in the face of peril which would daunt
+many a stalwart six-footer.
+
+In reply to this very natural question, George Melville repeated the
+essential parts of the conversation which had taken place between Col.
+Warner and the landlord.
+
+Col. Warner's countenance changed, and he inwardly execrated the
+imprudence that had made his secret plan known to one of the intended
+victims.
+
+“Is this true, Col. Warner?” asked Parker.
+
+“No, it's a lie!” returned the colonel, with an oath.
+
+“Gentlemen!” said George Melville, calmly, “you can choose which you
+will believe. I will only suggest that this man managed very adroitly
+to find out where each one of us kept his money. You can also consider
+whether I have any cause to invent this story.”
+
+It was clear that the passengers were inclined to put faith in
+Melville's story.
+
+“Gentlemen!” said the Colonel, angrily, “I never was so insulted in my
+life. I am a man of wealth, traveling on business; I am worth a quarter
+of a million at least. To associate me with road agents, whom I have as
+much reason to fear as you, is most ridiculous. This young man may be
+well-meaning, but he is under a most extraordinary hallucination. It is
+my belief that he dreamed the nonsense he has been retailing to you.”
+
+“Ask the driver to stop the stage,” said Mr. Benson, a gentleman from
+Philadelphia. “If Mr. Melville's story is trustworthy, we may at any
+time reach the spot where the highwayman is lurking. We must have a
+general consultation, and decide what is to be done.”
+
+This proposal was approved, and the driver drew up the stage.
+
+“I don't propose to remain in the company of men who so grossly misjudge
+me,” said the Colonel, with dignity, as he made a motion to leave his
+fellow passengers.
+
+“Stay here, sir!” said Mr. Benson, in a tone of authority. “We cannot
+spare you yet.”
+
+“Do you dare to detain me, sir?” exclaimed Warner, menacingly.
+
+“Yes, we do,” said the German. “Just stay where you are, Mr. Colonel,
+till we decide what to do.”
+
+As each one of the company had produced his revolver, the Colonel
+thought it prudent to obey.
+
+“I am disgusted with this fooling,” he said, “You're all a pack of
+cowards.”
+
+“Driver,” said George Melville, “has this stage ever been robbed?”
+
+“Several times,” the driver admitted.
+
+“When was the last time?”
+
+“Two months since.”
+
+“Where did it happen?”
+
+“About a mile further on.”
+
+“Did you ever see this gentleman before?” he asked, pointing to the
+colonel.
+
+“Yes,” answered the driver, reluctantly.
+
+“When did he last ride with you?”
+
+“On the day the stage was robbed,” answered the driver.
+
+The passengers exchanged glances, and then, as by a common impulse,
+all turned to Col. Warner, to see how he would take this damaging
+revelation. Disguise it as he might, he was clearly disconcerted.
+
+“Is this true, colonel?” asked Benson.
+
+“Yes, it is,” answered Col. Warner, with some hesitation. “I was robbed,
+with the rest. I had four hundred dollars in my wallet, and the road
+agent made off with it.”
+
+“And yet you just now pooh-poohed the idea of a robbery, and said such
+things were gone by.”
+
+“I say so now,” returned the colonel, sullenly. “I have a good deal of
+money with me, but I am willing to take my chances.”
+
+“Doubtless. Your money would be returned to you, in all probability, if,
+as we have reason to believe, you have a secret understanding with the
+thieves who infest this part of the country.”
+
+“Your words are insulting. Let go my arm, sir, or it will be the worse
+for you.”
+
+“Softly, softly, my good friend,” said the German. “Have you any
+proposal to make, Mr. Melville?”
+
+“Only this. Let us proceed on our journey, but let each man draw his
+revolver, and be ready to use it, if need be.”
+
+“What about the colonel?”
+
+“He must go along with us. We cannot have him communicating with our
+enemies outside.”
+
+“Suppose I refuse, sir?”
+
+“Then, my very good friend, I think we shall use a little force,” said
+the German, carelessly pointing his weapon at the captive.
+
+“I will go upon compulsion,” said the colonel, “but I protest against
+this outrage. I am a wealthy capitalist from Chicago, who knows no
+more about road agents than you do. You have been deceived by this
+unsophisticated young man, who knows about as much of the world as a
+four-year-old child. It's a fine mare's nest he has found.”
+
+This sneer did not disturb the equanimity of George Melville.
+
+“I should be glad to believe the colonel were as innocent as he claims,”
+ he said, “but his own words, overheard last night, contradict what he
+is now saying. When we have passed the spot indicated for the attack, we
+will release him, and give him the opportunity he seeks of leaving our
+company.”
+
+The passengers resumed their places in the stage, with the exception of
+Herbert, who again took his seat beside the driver. George Melville had
+not mentioned that it was Herbert, not himself, who had overheard the
+conversation between the colonel and the land lord, fearing to expose
+the boy to future risk.
+
+Col. Warner sat sullenly between the German and Benson. He was evidently
+ill at ease and his restless glances showed that he was intent upon some
+plan of escape. Of this, however, such was the vigilance of his guards,
+there did not seem much chance.
+
+The stage kept on its way till it entered a narrow roadway, lined on one
+side by a thick growth of trees.
+
+Melville, watching the colonel narrowly, saw that, in spite of his
+attempt at calmness, his excitement was at fever heat.
+
+The cause was very evident, for at this point a tall figure bounded from
+the underbrush, disguised by a black half mask, through which a pair of
+black eyes blazed fiercely.
+
+“Stop the stage!” he thundered to the driver, “or I will put a bullet
+through your head.”
+
+The driver, as had been directed, instantly obeyed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. COL. WARNER CHANGES FRONT.
+
+
+
+It may seem a daring thing for one man to stop a stage full of
+passengers, and require them to surrender their money and valuables, but
+this has been done time and again in unsettled portions of the West. For
+the most part the stage passengers are taken by surprise, and the road
+agent is known to be a desperado, ready to murder in cold blood anyone
+who dares oppose him.
+
+In the present instance, however, the passengers had been warned of
+their danger and were ready to meet it.
+
+Brown--for, of course, the masked man was the landlord--saw four
+revolvers leveled at him from inside the stage.
+
+“Let go that horse, my friend, or you are a dead man!” said Conrad
+Stiefel, calmly. “Two can play at your game.”
+
+Brown was taken by surprise, but he was destined to be still more
+astonished.
+
+Col. Warner protruded his head from the window, saying:
+
+“Yes, my friend, you had better give up your little plan. It won't
+work.”
+
+Such language from his confederate, on whom he fully relied, wholly
+disconcerted the masked robber.
+
+“Well, I'll be blowed!” he muttered, staring, in ludicrous perplexity,
+at his fellow conspirator.
+
+“Yes, my friend,” said the colonel, “I shall really be under the
+necessity of shooting you myself if you don't leave us alone. We are all
+armed and resolute. I think you had better defer your little scheme.”
+
+Brown was not quick-witted. He did not see that his confederate was
+trying cunningly to avert suspicion from himself, and taking the only
+course that remained to him. Of course, he thought he was betrayed, and
+was, as a natural consequence, exasperated.
+
+He released his hold on the horses, but, fixing his eyes on the colonel
+fiercely, muttered:
+
+“Wait till I get a chance at you! I'll pay you for this.”
+
+“What an idiot!” thought Warner, shrugging his shoulders. “Why can't he
+see that I am forced to do as I am doing? I must make things plain to
+him.”
+
+He spoke a few words rapidly in Spanish, which Brown evidently
+understood. His face showed a dawning comprehension of the state of
+affairs, and he stood aside while the stage drove on.
+
+“What did you say?” asked Conrad Stiefel, suspiciously.
+
+“You heard me, sir,” said the colonel, loftily. “You owe your rescue
+from this ruffian to me. Now, you can understand how much you have
+misjudged me.”
+
+Conrad Stiefel was not so easily satisfied of this.
+
+“I heard what you said in Mexican, or whatever lingo it is, but I didn't
+understand it.”
+
+“Nor I,” said Benson.
+
+“Very well, gentlemen; I am ready to explain. I told this man that if he
+ever attempted to molest me I should shoot him in his track.”
+
+“Why didn't you speak to him in English?” asked Stiefel.
+
+“Because I had a suspicion that the fellow was the same I met once in
+Mexico, and I spoke to him in Spanish to make sure. As he understood, I
+am convinced I was right.”
+
+“Who is it, then?” asked Benson.
+
+“His name, sir, is Manuel de Cordova, a well-known Mexican bandit,
+who seems to have found his way to this neighborhood. He is a reckless
+desperado, and, though I addressed him boldly, I should be very sorry to
+meet him in a dark night.”
+
+This explanation was very fluently spoken, but probably no one present
+believed what the colonel said, or exonerated him from the charge which
+George Melville had made against him.
+
+Five miles further on Col. Warner left the stage.
+
+“Gentlemen,” he said, “I am sorry to leave this pleasant company, but I
+have a mining claim in this neighborhood, and must bid you farewell.
+I trust that when you think of me hereafter, you will acquit me of the
+injurious charges which have been made against me. I take no credit to
+myself for driving away the ruffian who stopped us, but hope you won't
+forget it.”
+
+“No one interfered with the colonel when he proposed to leave the stage.
+Indeed, the passengers were unanimous in accepting his departure as a
+relief. In spite of his plausible representations, he was regarded with
+general suspicion.
+
+“I wish I knew the meaning of that Spanish lingo,” said the German,
+Conrad Stiefel.
+
+“I can interpret it for you, Mr. Stiefel,” said George Melville,
+quietly. “I have some knowledge of Spanish.”
+
+“What did he say?” asked more than one, eagerly.
+
+“He said: 'You fool! Don't you see the plot has been discovered? It
+wasn't my fault. I will soon join you and explain.'”
+
+This revelation made a sensation.
+
+“Then he was in league with the road agent, after all?” said Parker.
+
+“Certainly he was. Did you for a moment doubt it?” said Melville.
+
+“I was staggered when I saw him order the rascal away.”
+
+“He is a shrewd villain!” said Benson. “I hope we shan't encounter him
+again.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CONSPIRATORS IN COUNCIL.
+
+
+
+It is needless to say that Col. Warner's intention in leaving the stage
+was to join his fellow conspirator. There was no advantage in remaining
+longer with his fellow travelers, since the opportunity of plundering
+them had passed, and for the present was not likely to return. He
+had been a little apprehensive that they would try to detain him on
+suspicion, which would have been awkward, since they had numbers on
+their side, and all were armed. But in that unsettled country he would
+have been an elephant on their hands, and if the idea entered the minds
+of any one of the stage passengers, it was instantly dismissed.
+
+When the stage was fairly on the way, Col. Warner went to a house where
+he was known, and asked for a horse.
+
+“Any news, colonel?” asked the farmer, as he called himself. Really he
+was in league with the band of which Warner was the chief.
+
+“No,” answered the Colonel, gloomily. “No, worse luck! There might have
+been, but for an unfortunate circumstance.”
+
+“What's that?”
+
+“There's plenty of good money in that stage coach and Brown and I meant
+to have it, but some sharp-eared rascal heard us arranging the details
+of the plan, and that spoiled it.”
+
+“Is it too late now?” asked the farmer, eagerly. “We can follow them,
+and overtake them yet, if you say so.”
+
+“And be shot for our pains. No, thank you. They are all on the alert,
+and all have their six-shooters in readiness. No, we must postpone
+our plan. There's one of the fellows that I mean to be revenged upon
+yet--the one that ferreted out our secret plan. I must bide my time, but
+I shall keep track of him.”
+
+Soon the Colonel, well-mounted, was on his way back to the rude inn
+where he had slept the night before.
+
+Dismounting he entered without ceremony, and his eyes fell upon the
+landlord's wife, engaged in some household employment.
+
+“Where's Brown?” he asked, abruptly.
+
+“Somewheres round,” was the reply.
+
+“How long has he been home?”
+
+“A matter of two hours. He came home awfully riled, but he wouldn't tell
+me what it was about. What's happened?”
+
+“We've met with a disappointment--that's what's the matter.”
+
+“Did the passengers get the better of you?” asked the woman, for she was
+in her husband's guilty secrets, and knew quite well what manner of man
+she had married.
+
+“They found out our little game,” answered Warner, shortly, for he did
+not see any advantage in wasting words on his confederate's wife. “Which
+way did Brown go?”
+
+“Yonder,” answered Mrs. Brown, pointing in a particular direction.
+
+Col. Warner tied his horse to a small sapling, and walked in the
+direction indicated.
+
+He found the landlord sullenly reclining beneath a large tree.
+
+“So you're back?” he said, surveying Warner with a lowering brow.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And a pretty mess you've made of the job!” said the landlord, bitterly.
+
+“It's as much your fault--nay, more!” said his superior, coolly.
+
+“What do you mean?” demanded Brown, not over cordially.
+
+“You would persist in discussing our plan last night in my room, though
+I warned you we might be overheard.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“We were overheard.”
+
+“What spy listened to our talk?”
+
+“The young man, Melville--the one traveling with a boy. He kept it to
+himself till the stage was well on its way, and then he blabbed the
+whole thing to all in the stage.”
+
+“Did he mention you?”
+
+“Yes, and you.”
+
+“Why didn't you tell him he lied, and shoot him on the spot?”
+
+“Because I shouldn't have survived him five minutes,” answered the
+colonel, coolly, “or, if I had, his companions would have lynched me.”
+
+Brown didn't look as if he would have been inconsolable had this
+occurred. In fact, he was ambitious to succeed to the place held by the
+colonel, as chief of a desperate gang of outlaws.
+
+“I might have been dangling from a branch of a tree at this moment, had
+I followed your plan, my good friend Brown, and that would have been
+particularly uncomfortable.”
+
+“They might have shot me,” said Brown, sullenly.
+
+“I prevented that, and gave you timely warning. Of course it's a
+disappointment, but we shall have better luck next time.”
+
+“They've got away.”
+
+“Yes, but I propose to keep track of Melville and the boy, and have my
+revenge upon them in time. I don't care so much about the money, but
+they have foiled me, and they must suffer for it. Meanwhile, I want your
+help in another plan.”
+
+The two conferred together, and mutual confidence was re-established.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. A NEW HOME IN THE WOODS.
+
+
+
+George Melville had no definite destination. He was traveling, not for
+pleasure, but for health, and his purpose was to select a residence
+in some high location, where the dry air would be favorable for his
+pulmonary difficulties.
+
+A week later he had found a temporary home. One afternoon Herbert and
+he, each on horseback, for at that time public lines of travel were
+fewer than at present, came suddenly upon a neat, one-story cottage in
+the edge of the forest. It stood alone, but it was evidently the home
+of one who aimed to add something of the graces of civilization to the
+rudeness of frontier life.
+
+They reined up simultaneously, and Melville, turning to Herbert, said:
+“There, Herbert, is my ideal of a residence. I should not be satisfied
+with a rude cabin. There I should find something of the comfort which we
+enjoy in New England.”
+
+“The situation is fine, too,” said Herbert, looking about him
+admiringly.
+
+The cottage stood on a knoll. On either side were tall and stately
+trees. A purling brook at the left rolled its silvery current down a
+gentle declivity, and in front, for half a mile, was open country.
+
+“I have a great mind to call and inquire who lives here.” said Melville.
+“Perhaps we can arrange to stay here all night.”
+
+“That is a good plan, Mr. Melville.”
+
+George Melville dismounted from his horse, and, approaching, tapped with
+the handle of his whip on the door.
+
+“Who's there?” inquired a smothered voice, as of one rousing himself
+from sleep.
+
+“A stranger, but a friend,” answered Melville.
+
+There was a sound as of some one moving, and a tall man, clad in a rough
+suit, came to the door, and looked inquiringly at Melville and his boy
+companion.
+
+Though his attire was rude, his face was refined, and had the
+indefinable air of one who would be more at home in the city than in the
+country.
+
+“Delighted to see you both,” he said, cordially, offering his hand. “I
+don't live in a palace, and my servants are all absent, but if you will
+deign to become my guests I will do what I can for your comfort.”
+
+“You have anticipated my request,” said Melville. “Let me introduce
+myself as George Melville, an invalid by profession, just come from New
+England in search of health. My young friend here is Herbert Carr, my
+private secretary and faithful companion, who has not yet found out what
+it is to be in poor-health. Without him I should hardly have dared to
+come so far alone.”
+
+“You are very welcome, Herbert,” said the host, with pleasant
+familiarity. “Come in, both of you, and make yourselves at home.”
+
+The cottage contained two rooms. One was used as a bedchamber, the other
+as a sitting room. On the walls were a few pictures, and on a small
+bookcase against one side of the room were some twenty-five books.
+There was an easel and an unfinished picture in one corner, and a small
+collection of ordinary furniture.
+
+“You are probably an artist,” suggested Melville.
+
+“Yes, you have hit it. I use both pen and pencil,” and he mentioned a
+name known to Melville as that of a popular magazine writer.
+
+I do not propose to give his real name, but we will know him as Robert
+Falkland.
+
+“I am familiar with your name, Mr. Falkland,” said Melville, “but I did
+not expect to find you here.”
+
+“Probably not,” answered Falkland. “I left the haunts of civilization
+unexpectedly, some months ago, and even my publishers don't know where I
+am.”
+
+“In search of health?” queried Melville.
+
+“Not exactly. I did, however, feel in need of a change. I had been
+running in a rut, and wanted to get out of it, so I left my lodgings in
+New York and bought a ticket to St. Louis; arrived there, I determined
+to come farther. So here I have been, living in communion with nature,
+seeing scarcely anybody, enjoying myself, on the whole, but sometimes
+longing to see a new face.”
+
+“And you have built this cottage?”
+
+“No; I bought it of its former occupant, but have done something
+towards furnishing it; so that it has become characteristic of me and my
+tastes.”
+
+“How long have you lived here?”
+
+“Three months; but my stay is drawing to a close.”
+
+“How is that?”
+
+“Business that will not be put off calls me back to New York. In fact, I
+had appointed to-morrow for my departure.”
+
+Melville and Herbert exchanged a glance. It was evident that the same
+thought was in the mind of each.
+
+“Mr. Falkland,” said George Melville, “I have a proposal to make to
+you.”
+
+The artist eyed him in some surprise.
+
+“Go on,” he said.
+
+“I will buy this cottage of you, if you are willing.”
+
+Falkland smiled.
+
+“This seems providential,” he said. “We artists and men of letters
+are apt to be short of money, and I confess I was pondering whether my
+credit was good with anybody for a hundred dollars to pay my expenses
+East. Once arrived there, there are plenty of publishers who will make
+me advances on future work.”
+
+“Then we can probably make a bargain,” said Mr. Melville. “Please name
+your price.”
+
+Now, I do not propose to show my ignorance of real estate values in
+Colorado by naming the price which George Melville paid for his home
+in the wilderness. In fact, I do not know. I can only say that he gave
+Falkland a check for the amount on a Boston bank, and a hundred in cash
+besides.
+
+“You are liberal, Mr. Melville,” said Falkland, gratified. “I am afraid
+you are not a business man. I have not found that business men overpay.”
+
+“You are right, I am not a business man,” answered Melville, “though
+I wish my health would admit of my being so. As to the extra hundred
+dollars, I think it worth that much to come upon so comfortable a home
+ready to my hand. It will really be a home, such as the log cabin I
+looked forward to could not be.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Falkland; “I won't pretend that I am indifferent
+to money, for I can't afford to be. I earn considerable sums, but,
+unfortunately, I never could keep money, or provide for the future.”
+
+“I don't know how it would be with me,” said Melville, “for I am one
+of those, fortunate or otherwise, who are born to a fortune. I have
+sometimes been sorry that I had not the incentive of poverty to induce
+me to work.”
+
+“Then, suppose we exchange lots,” said the artist, lightly. “I shouldn't
+object to being wealthy.”
+
+“With all my heart,” answered Melville. “Give me your health, your
+literary and artistic talent, and it is a bargain.”
+
+“I am afraid they are not transferable,” said the artist, “but we won't
+prolong the discussion now. I am neglecting the rites of hospitality;
+I must prepare supper for my guests. You must know that here in the
+wilderness I am my own cook and dishwasher.”
+
+“Let me help you?” said Melville.
+
+“No, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, “it is more in my line. I have often
+helped mother at home, and I don't believe you have had any experience.”
+
+“I confess I am a green hand,” said Melville, laughing, “but, as Irish
+girls just imported say, 'I am very willing.'”
+
+“On the whole, I think the boy can assist me better,” said Falkland.
+“So, Mr. Melville, consider yourself an aristocratic visitor, while
+Herbert and myself, sons of toil, will minister to your necessities.”
+
+“By the way, where do you get your supplies?” asked Melville.
+
+“Eight miles away there is a mining camp and store. I ride over there
+once a week or oftener, and bring home what I need.”
+
+“What is the name of the camp?”
+
+“Deer Creek. I will point out to Herbert, before I leave you, the bridle
+path leading to it.”
+
+“Thank you. It will be a great advantage to us to know just how to
+live.”
+
+With Herbert's help an appetizing repast was prepared, of which all
+three partook with keen zest.
+
+The next day Falkland took leave of them, and Melville and his boy
+companion were left to settle down in their new home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX. A TERRIBLE MOMENT.
+
+
+
+Melville's purchase comprised not only the cottage, but its contents,
+pictures and books included. This was fortunate, for though Herbert,
+who was strong, and fond of outdoor sports, such as hunting and fishing,
+could have contented himself, Melville was easily fatigued, and spent at
+least half of the day in the cabin. The books, most of which were new to
+him, were a great and unfailing resource.
+
+Among the articles which Falkland left behind him were two guns, of
+which Herbert and Melville made frequent use. Herbert had a natural
+taste for hunting, though, at home, having no gun of his own, he had
+not been able to gratify his taste as much as he desired. Often after
+breakfast the two sallied forth, and wandered about in the neighboring
+woods, gun in hand. Generally Melville returned first, leaving Herbert,
+not yet fatigued, to continue the sport. In this way our hero acquired a
+skill and precision of aim which enabled him to make a very respectable
+figure even among old and practiced hunters.
+
+One morning, after Melville had returned home, Herbert was led, by the
+ardor of the chase, to wander farther than usual. He was aware of this,
+but did not fear being lost, having a compass and knowing his bearings.
+All at once, as he was making his way along a wooded path, he was
+startled by hearing voices. He hurried forward, and the scene upon which
+he intruded was dramatic enough.
+
+With arms folded, a white man, a hunter, apparently, stood erect, and
+facing him, at a distance of seventy-five or eighty feet, was an Indian,
+with gun raised, and leveled at the former.
+
+“Why don't you shoot, you red rascal!” said the white man. “You've got
+the drop on me, I allow, and I am in your power.”
+
+The Indian laughed in his guttural way; but though he held the gun
+poised, he did not shoot. He was playing with his victim as a cat plays
+with a mouse before she kills it.
+
+“Is white man afraid?” said the Indian, not tauntingly, but with real
+curiosity, for among Indians it is considered a great triumph if
+a warrior can inspire fear in his foe, and make him show the white
+feather.
+
+“Afraid!” retorted the hunter. “Who should I be afraid of?”
+
+“Of Indian.”
+
+“Don't flatter yourself, you pesky savage,” returned the white man,
+coolly, ejecting a flood of tobacco juice from his mouth, for though he
+was a brave man, he had some drawbacks. “You needn't think I am afraid
+of you.”
+
+“Indian shoot!” suggested his enemy, watching the effect of this
+announcement.
+
+“Well, shoot, then, and be done with it.”
+
+“White man no want to live?”
+
+“Of course I want to live. Never saw a healthy white man that didn't. If
+I was goin' to die at all, I wouldn't like to die by the hands of a red
+rascal like you.”
+
+“Indian great warrior,” said the dusky denizen of the woods,
+straightening up, and speaking complacently.
+
+“Indian may be great warrior, but he is a horse thief, all the same,”
+ said the hunter, coolly.
+
+“White man soon die, and Indian wear his scalp,” remarked the Indian, in
+a manner likely to disturb the composure of even the bravest listener.
+
+The hunter's face changed. It was impossible to reflect upon such a fate
+without a pang. Death was nothing to that final brutality.
+
+“Ha! White man afraid now!” said the Indian, triumphantly--quick to
+observe the change of expression in his victim.
+
+“No, I am not afraid,” said the hunter, quickly recovering himself; “but
+it's enough to disgust any decent man to think that his scalp will
+soon be dangling from the belt of a filthy heathen like you. However, I
+suppose I won't know it after I'm dead. You have skulked and dogged my
+steps, you red hound, ever since I punished you for trying to steal my
+horse. I made one great mistake. Instead of beating you, I should have
+shot you, and rid the earth of you once for all.”
+
+“Indian no forget white man's blows. White man die, and Indian be
+revenged.”
+
+“Yes, I s'pose that's what it's coming to,” said the hunter, in a tone
+of resignation. “I was a 'tarnal fool to come out this mornin' without
+my gun. If I had it you would sing a different song.”
+
+Again the Indian laughed, a low, guttural, unpleasant laugh, which
+Herbert listened to with a secret shudder. It was so full of malignity,
+and cunning triumph, and so suggestive of the fate which he reserved for
+his white foe, that it aggravated the latter, and made him impatient to
+have the blow fall, since it seemed to be inevitable.
+
+“Why don't you shoot, you red savage?” he cried. “What are you waiting
+for?”
+
+The Indian wished to gloat over the mental distress of his foe. He liked
+to prolong his own feeling of power--to enjoy the consciousness that, at
+any moment, he could put an end to the life of the man whom he hated
+for the blows which he felt had degraded him, and which he was resolved
+never to forget or forgive. It was the same feeling that has often led
+those of his race to torture their hapless victims, that they may, as
+long as possible, enjoy the spectacle of their agonies. For this reason
+he was in no hurry to speed on its way the fatal bullet.
+
+Again the Indian laughed, and, taking aim, made a feint of firing, but
+withheld his shot. Pale and resolute his intended victim continued to
+face him. He thought that the fatal moment had come, and braced himself
+to meet his fate; but he was destined to be disappointed.
+
+“How long is this goin' to last, you red hound?” he demanded. “If I've
+got to die, I am ready.”
+
+“Indian can wait!” said the savage, with a smile of enjoyment.
+
+“You wouldn't find it prudent to wait if I were beside you,” said the
+hunter. “It's easy enough to threaten an unarmed man. If some friend
+would happen along to foil you in your cowardly purpose---”
+
+“White man send for friend!” suggested the Indian, tauntingly.
+
+Herbert had listened to this colloquy with varying emotions, and his
+anger and indignation were stirred by the cold-blooded cruelty of the
+savage. He stood motionless, seen by neither party, but he held his
+weapon leveled at the Indian, ready to shoot at an instant's warning.
+Brought up, as he had been, with a horror for scenes of violence, and a
+feeling that human life was sacred, he had a great repugnance to use his
+weapon, even where it seemed his urgent duty to do so. He felt that on
+him, young as he was, rested a weighty responsibility. He could save the
+life of a man of his own color, but only by killing or disabling a
+red man. Indian though he was, his life, too, was sacred; but when he
+threatened the life of another he forfeited his claim to consideration.
+
+Herbert hesitated till he saw it was no longer safe to do so--till he
+saw that it was the unalterable determination of the Indian to kill the
+hunter, and then, his face pale and fixed, he pulled the trigger.
+
+His bullet passed through the shoulder of the savage. The latter uttered
+a shrill cry of surprise and dismay, and his weapon fell at his feet,
+while he pressed his left hand to his wounded shoulder.
+
+The hunter, amazed at the interruption, which had been of such essential
+service to him, lost not a moment in availing himself of it. He bounded
+forward, and before the savage well knew what he purposed, he had picked
+up his fallen weapon, and, leveling it at his wounded foe, fired.
+
+His bullet was not meant to disable, but to kill. It penetrated the
+heart of the savage, and, staggering back, he fell, his face distorted
+with rage and disappointment.
+
+“The tables are turned, my red friend!” said the hunter, coolly. “It's
+your life, not mine, this time!”
+
+At that moment Herbert, pale and shocked, but relieved as well, pressed
+forward, and the hunter saw him for the first time.
+
+“Was it you, boy, who fired the shot?” asked the hunter, in surprise.
+
+“Yes,” answered Herbert.
+
+“Then I owe you my life, and that's a debt Jack Holden isn't likely to
+forget!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI. JACK HOLDEN ON THE INDIAN QUESTION.
+
+
+
+It is a terrible thing to see a man stretched out in death who but a
+minute before stood full of life and strength. Herbert gazed at the dead
+Indian with a strange sensation of pity and relief, and could hardly
+realize that, but for his interposition, it would have been the hunter,
+not the Indian, who would have lost his life.
+
+The hunter was more used to such scenes, and his calmness was unruffled.
+
+“That's the end of the dog!” he said, touching with his foot the dead
+body.
+
+“What made him want to kill you?” asked Herbert.
+
+“Revenge,” answered Holden.
+
+“For what? Had you injured him?”
+
+“That's the way he looked at it. One day I caught the varmint stealin'
+my best hoss. He'd have got away with him, too, if I hadn't come home
+just as I did. I might have shot him--most men would--but I hate to take
+a man's life for stealin'; and I took another way. My whip was lyin'
+handy, and I took it and lashed the rascal over his bare back a dozen
+times, and then told him to dust, or I'd serve him worse. He left, but
+there was an ugly look in his eyes, and I knew well enough he'd try to
+get even.”
+
+“How long ago was this?”
+
+“Most a year. It's a long time, but an Indian never forgets an injury or
+an insult, and I knew that he was only bidin' his time. So I always went
+armed, and kept a good lookout. It was only this mornin' that he caught
+me at a disadvantage. I'd been taking a walk, and left my gun at home.
+He was prowlin' round, and soon saw how things stood. He'd have killed
+me sure, if you hadn't come in the nick of time.”
+
+“I am glad I was near,” said Herbert, “but it seems to me a terrible
+thing to shoot a man. I'm glad it wasn't I that killed him.”
+
+“Mebbe it was better for me, as he was my enemy,” said Jack Holden. “It
+won't trouble my conscience a mite. I don't look upon an Indian as a
+man.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“He's a snake in the grass--a poisonous serpent, that's what I call
+him,” said Jack Holden.
+
+Herbert shook his head. He couldn't assent to this.
+
+“You feel different, no doubt. You're a tenderfoot. You ain't used to
+the ways of these reptiles. You haven't seen what I have,” answered
+Holden.
+
+“What have you seen?” asked Herbert, judging correctly that Holden
+referred to some special experience.
+
+“I'll tell you. You see, I'm an old settler in this Western country.
+I've traveled pretty much all over the region beyond the Rockies, and
+I've seen a good deal of the red men. I know their ways as well as any
+man. Well, I was trampin' once in Montany, when, one afternoon, I and my
+pard--he was prospectin'--came to a clearin', and there we saw a sight
+that made us all feel sick. It was the smokin' ruins of a log cabin,
+which them devils had set on fire. But that wasn't what I referred
+to. Alongside there lay six dead bodies--the man, his wife, two boys,
+somewhere near your age, a little girl, of maybe ten, and a baby--all
+butchered by them savages, layin'--in the hunter's vernacular--in their
+gore. It was easy to see how they'd killed the baby, by his broken
+skull. They had seized the poor thing by the feet, and swung him against
+the side of the house, dashin' out his brains.”
+
+Herbert shuddered, and felt sick, as the picture of the ruined home and
+the wretched family rose before his imagination.
+
+“It was Indians that did it, of course,” proceeded Holden. “They're born
+savage, and such things come natural to them.”
+
+“Are there no good Indians?” asked the boy.
+
+“There may be,” answered Jack Holden, doubtfully, “though I haven't seen
+many. They're as scarce as plums in a boardin' house puddin', I reckon.”
+
+I present this as Jack Holden's view, not mine. He had the prejudices
+of the frontier, and frontiersmen are severe judges of their Indian
+neighbors. They usually look at but one side of the picture, and are
+not apt to take into consideration the wrongs which the Indians
+have undeniably received. There is another extreme, however, and the
+sentimentalists who deplore Indian wrongs, and represent them as a
+brave, suffering and oppressed people, are quite as far away from a just
+view of the Indian question.
+
+“What's your name, youngster?” asked Holden, with the curiosity natural
+under the circumstances.
+
+“Herbert Carr.”
+
+“Do you live nigh here?”
+
+Herbert indicated, as well as he could, the location of his home.
+
+“I know--you live with Mr. Falkland. Are you his son?”
+
+“No; Mr. Falkland has gone away.”
+
+“You're not living there alone, be you?”
+
+“No; I came out here with a young man--Mr. Melville. He bought the
+cottage of Mr. Falkland, who was obliged to go East.”
+
+“You don't say so. Why, we're neighbors. I live three miles from here.”
+
+“Did you know Mr. Falkland?”
+
+“Yes; we used to see each other now and then. He was a good fellow,
+but mighty queer. What's the use of settin' down and paintin' pictures?
+What's the good of it all?”
+
+“Don't you admire pictures, Mr. Holden?” asked Herbert.
+
+“That's that you called me? I didn't quite catch on to it.”
+
+“Mr. Holden. Isn't that your name?”
+
+“Don't call me mister. I'm plain Jack Holden. Call me Jack.”
+
+“I will if you prefer it,” said Herbert, dubiously.
+
+“Of course I do. We don't go much on style in the woods. Won't you come
+home with me, and take a look at my cabin? I ain't used to company, but
+we can sit down and have a social smoke together, and then I'll manage
+to find something to eat.”
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Holden--I mean, Jack--but I must be getting home; Mr.
+Melville will be feeling anxious, for, as it is, I shall be late.”
+
+“Is Mr. Melville, as you call him, any way kin to you?”
+
+“No; he is my friend and employer.”
+
+“Young man?”
+
+“Yes; he is about twenty-five.”
+
+“How long have you two been out here?”
+
+“Not much over a week.”
+
+“Why isn't Melville with you this morning?”
+
+“He is in delicate health--consumption--and he gets tired sooner than I
+do.”
+
+“I must come over and see you, I reckon.”
+
+“I hope you will. We get lonely sometimes. If you would like to borrow
+something to read, Mr. Melville has plenty of books.”
+
+“Read!” repeated Jack. “No, thank you. I don't care much for books. A
+newspaper, now, is different. A man likes to know what's going on in the
+world; but I leave books to ministers, schoolmasters, and the like.”
+
+“If you don't read, how do you fill up your time, Jack?”
+
+“My pipe's better than any book, lad. I'm goin' to set down and have a
+smoke now. Wish I had an extra pipe for you.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Herbert, politely, “but I don't smoke.”
+
+“Don't smoke! How old are you?”
+
+“Sixteen.”
+
+“Sixteen years old, and don't smoke! Why, where was you raised?”
+
+“In the East,” answered Herbert, smiling.
+
+“Why, I smoked before I was three foot high, I was goin' to say. I
+couldn't get along without smokin'.”
+
+“Nor I without reading.”
+
+“Well, folks will have their different tastes, I allow. I reckon I'll be
+goin' back.”
+
+“Shan't you bury him?” asked Herbert, with a glance at the dead Indian.
+
+“No; he wouldn't have buried me.”
+
+“But you won't leave him here? If you'll bury him, I'll help you.”
+
+“Not now, boy. Since you make a point of it, I'll come round to-morrow,
+and dig a hole to put him in. I'll take the liberty of carryin' home his
+shootin' iron. He won't need it where he's gone.”
+
+The two parted in a friendly manner, and Herbert turned his face
+homeward, grave and thoughtful.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII. THE BLAZING STAR MINE.
+
+
+
+Toward noon the next day George Melville and Herbert were resting from a
+country trip, sitting on a rude wooden settee which our hero had made of
+some superfluous boards, and placed directly in front of the house, when
+a figure was seen approaching with long strides from the shadow of the
+neighboring woods. It was not until he was close at hand that Herbert
+espied him.
+
+“Why, it's Mr. Holden!” he exclaimed.
+
+“Jack Holden, my lad,” said the hunter, correcting him. “Is this the man
+you're living with?”
+
+Jack Holden was unconventional, and had been brought up in a rude school
+so far as manners were concerned. It did not occur to him that his
+question might have been better framed.
+
+“I am Mr. Melville,” answered that gentleman, seeing that Herbert looked
+embarrassed. “Herbert is my constant and valued companion.”
+
+“He's a trump, that boy!” continued Holden. “Why, if it hadn't been for
+him, there'd been an end of Jack Holden yesterday.”
+
+“Herbert told me about it. It was indeed a tragic affair. The sacrifice
+of life is deplorable, but seemed to have been necessary, unless,
+indeed, you could have disabled him.”
+
+“Disabled him!” echoed the hunter. “That wouldn't have answered by a
+long shot. As soon as the reptile got well he'd have been on my trail
+ag'in. No, sir; it was my life or his, and I don't complain of the way
+things turned out.”
+
+“Have you buried him?” asked Herbert.
+
+“Yes, I've shoved him under, and it's better than he deserved, the
+sneakin' rascal. I'm glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Melville.
+Didn't know I had changed neighbors till the boy there told me
+yesterday. I've tramped over this mornin' to give you a call.”
+
+“You are very kind, Mr. Holden. Sit down here beside us.”
+
+“I'm more at home here,” answered Holden, stretching himself on the
+ground, and laying his gun beside him. “How do you like Colorado?”
+
+“Very much, as far as I have seen it,” said Melville. “Herbert probably
+told you my object, in coming here?”
+
+“He said you were ailin' some way.”
+
+“Yes, my lungs are weak. Since I have been here, I am feeling better and
+stronger, however.”
+
+“There don't seem to be anything the matter with the boy.”
+
+“Nothing but a healthy appetite,” answered Herbert, smiling.
+
+“That won't hurt anybody. Mr. Melville, do you smoke?”
+
+“No, thank you.”
+
+“Queer! Don't see how you can do without it? Why, sir, I'd been homesick
+without my pipe. It's company, I tell you, when a chap's alone and got
+no one to speak to.”
+
+“I take it, Mr. Holden, you are not here for your health?”
+
+“No, I should say not; I'm tough as a hickory nut. When I drop off it's
+more likely to be an Indian bullet than any disease. I'm forty-seven
+years old, and I don't know what it is to be sick.”
+
+“You are fortunate, Mr. Holden.”
+
+“I expect I am. But I haven't answered your question. I'm interested in
+mines, Mr. Melville. Have you ever been to Deer Creek?”
+
+“Yes, I went over with Herbert to visit the store there one day last
+week.”
+
+“Did you ever hear of the Blazing Star Mine?”
+
+“No, I believe not.”
+
+“I own it,” said Holden. “It's a good mine, and would make me rich if I
+had a little more money to work it.”
+
+“Are the indications favorable, then?” asked Melville.
+
+“It looks well, if that's what you mean. Yes, sir; the Star is a
+first-class property.”
+
+“Then it's a pity you don't work it.”
+
+“That's what I say myself. Mr. Melville, I've a proposal to make to
+you.”
+
+“What is it, Mr. Holden?”
+
+“If you could manage to call me Jack, it would seem more social like.”
+
+“By all means, then, Jack!” said Melville smiling.
+
+“You give me money enough to develop the mine, and I'll make half of it
+over to you.”
+
+“How much is needed?” asked Melville.
+
+“Not over five hundred dollars. It's a bargain, I tell you.”
+
+“I do not myself wish to assume any business cares,” said Melville.
+
+Jack Holden looked disappointed.
+
+“Just as you say,” he responded.
+
+“But Herbert may feel differently,” continued Melville.
+
+“I'd like the lad for a partner,” said Holden, briskly.
+
+“But I have no money!” said Herbert, in surprise.
+
+George Melville smiled.
+
+“If the mine is a good one,” he said, “I will advance you the money
+necessary for the purchase of a half interest. If it pays you, you may
+become rich. Then you can repay the money.”
+
+“But suppose it doesn't, Mr. Melville,” objected Herbert, “how can I
+ever repay you so large a sum?”
+
+“On the whole, Herbert, I will take the risk.”
+
+“You are very kind, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, his face glowing with
+anticipation. To be half owner of a mine, with the chance of making a
+large sum of money, naturally elated him.
+
+“Why shouldn't I be, Herbert? But I want to see the mine first.”
+
+“Can't you go over this afternoon?” asked Holden, eager to settle the
+matter as soon as possible.
+
+“It is a long journey,” said Melville, hesitating.
+
+“You can stay overnight,” said Jack Holden, “and come back in the
+morning.”
+
+“Very well; let us go then--that is, after dinner. Herbert, if you
+will set the table, we will see if we can't offer our friend here some
+refreshment. He is hungry, I am sure, after his long walk.”
+
+“You've hit it, Mr. Melville,” said Holden. “I allow I'm as hungry as a
+wolf. But you don't set down to table, do you?”
+
+“Oh, yes,” answered Mr. Melville, smiling pleasantly.
+
+“I ain't used to it,” said Holden; “but I was once. Anyhow, it won't
+make no difference in the victuals.”
+
+When dinner was ready the three sat down, and did ample justice to it;
+but Jack Holden made such furious onslaughts that the other two could
+hardly keep pace with him. Fortunately, there was plenty of food, for
+Melville did not believe in economical housekeeping.
+
+After dinner they set out for Deer Creek. As has been already explained,
+it was the name of a mining settlement. Now, by the way, it is a
+prosperous town, though the name has been changed. Then, however,
+everything was rude and primitive.
+
+Jack Holden led the way to the Blazing Star Mine, and pointed out its
+capabilities and promise. He waited with some anxiety for Melville's
+decision.
+
+“I don't understand matters very well,” said Melville, “but I am willing
+to take a good deal on trust. If you desire it, I will buy half the
+mine, paying you five hundred dollars for that interest. That is, I buy
+it for Herbert.”
+
+“Hooray!” shouted Holden. “Give us your hand, pard. You are my partner
+now, you know.”
+
+As he spoke he gripped Herbert's hand in a pressure which was so strong
+as to be painful, and the necessary business was gone through.
+
+So Herbert found himself a half owner of the Blazing Star Mine, of Deer
+Creek, Colorado.
+
+“I hope your mine will turn out well, Herbert,” said Melville, smiling.
+
+“I wish it might for mother's sake!” said Herbert, seriously.
+
+“It won't be my fault if it don't,” said his partner. “I shall stay here
+now, and get to work.”
+
+“Ought I not to help you?” asked Herbert.
+
+“No; Mr. Melville will want you. I will hire a man here to help me, and
+charge it to your share of the expenses.”
+
+So the matter was arranged; but Herbert rode over two or three times a
+week to look after his property.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII. GOOD NEWS FROM THE MINE.
+
+
+
+“Well, Herbert, what news from the mine?” asked Melville, two weeks
+later, on Herbert's return from Deer Creek, whither he had gone alone.
+
+“There are some rich developments, so Jack says. Do you know, Mr.
+Melville, he says the mine is richly worth five thousand dollars.”
+
+“Bravo, Herbert! That would make your half worth twenty-five hundred.”
+
+“Yes,” said the boy complacently; “if we could sell at that figure, I
+could pay you back and have two thousand dollars of my own. Think of
+that, Mr. Melville,” continued Herbert, his eyes glowing with pride and
+pleasure. “Shouldn't I be a rich boy?”
+
+“You may do even better, Herbert. Don't be in a hurry to sell. That
+is my advice. If the present favorable indications continue, you may
+realize a considerably larger sum.”
+
+“So Jack says. He says he is bound to hold on, and hopes I will.”
+
+“You are in luck, Herbert.”
+
+“Yes, Mr. Melville, and I don't forget that it is to you I am indebted
+for this good fortune,” said the boy, earnestly. “If you hadn't bought
+the property for me, I could not. I don't know but you ought to get some
+share ef the profits.”
+
+George Melville shook his head.
+
+“My dear boy,” he said, “I have more than my share of money already.
+Sometimes I feel ashamed when I compare my lot with others, and consider
+that for the money I have, I have done no work. The least I can do is to
+consider myself the Lord's trustee, and do good to others, when it falls
+in my way.”
+
+“I wish all rich men thought as you do, Mr. Melville; the world would be
+happier,” said Herbert.
+
+“True, Herbert. I hope and believe there is a considerable number who,
+like myself, feel under obligations to do good.”
+
+“I shall be very glad, on mother's account, if I can go home with money
+enough to make her independent of work. By the way, Mr. Melville, I
+found a letter from mother in the Deer Creek post office. Shall I read
+it to you?”
+
+“If there is nothing private in it, Herbert.”
+
+“There is nothing private from you, Mr. Melville.”
+
+It may be explained that Deer Creek had already obtained such prominence
+that the post-office department had established an office there, and
+learning this, Herbert had requested his mother to address him at that
+place.
+
+He drew the letter from his pocket and read it aloud.
+
+We quote the essential portions.
+
+“'I am very glad to hear that you have made the long journey in safety,
+and are now in health.'”
+
+Herbert had not mentioned in his home letter the stage-coach adventure,
+for he knew that it would disturb his mother to think that he had been
+exposed to such a risk.
+
+“It will do no good, you know,” he said to Mr. Melville, and his friend
+had agreed with him.
+
+“'It is very satisfactory to me,' continued Herbert, reading from the
+letter, 'that you are under the charge of Mr. Melville, who seems to
+me an excellent, conscientious young man, from whom you can learn only
+good.'”
+
+“Your mother thinks very kindly of me,” said Melville, evidently
+pleased.
+
+“She is right, too, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, with emphasis.
+
+“'It will no doubt be improving to you, my dear Herbert, to travel under
+such pleasant auspices, for a boy can learn from observation as well as
+from books. I miss you very much, but since the separation is for your
+advantage, I can submit to it cheerfully.
+
+“'You ask me about my relations with Mr. Graham. I am still in the post
+office, and thus far nearly the whole work devolves upon me. Except in
+one respect, I am well treated. Mr. G-. is, as you know, very penurious,
+and grudges every cent that he has to pay out. When he paid me last
+Saturday night the small sum for which I agreed to assist him, he had
+much to say about his large expenses, fuel, lights, etc., and asked me
+if I wouldn't agree to work for two dollars a week, instead of three. I
+confess, I was almost struck dumb by such an exhibition of meanness, and
+told him that it would be quite impossible. Since then he has spent some
+of the time himself in the office, and asked me various questions
+about the proper way of preparing the mail, etc., and I think it is his
+intention, if possible, to get along without me. I don't know, if
+he absolutely insists upon it, but it would be better to accept the
+reduction than to give up altogether. Two dollars a week will count in
+my small household.'
+
+“Did you ever hear of such meanness, Mr. Melville?” demanded Herbert,
+indignantly. “Here is Mr. Graham making, I am sure, two thousand dollars
+a year clear profit, and yet anxious to reduce mother from three to two
+dollars a week.”
+
+“It is certainly a very small business, Herbert. I think some men become
+meaner by indulgence of their defect.”
+
+“I shall write mother to give up the place sooner than submit to such a
+reduction. Three dollars a week is small enough in all conscience.”
+
+“I approve the advice, Herbert. If Mr. Graham were really cramped for
+money, and doing a poor business, it would be different. As it is, it
+seems to me he has no excuse for his extreme penuriousness.”
+
+“How pleasant it would be to pay a flying visit to Wayneboro,” said
+Herbert, thoughtfully. “One never appreciates home until he has left
+it.”
+
+“That pleasure must be left for the future. It will keep.”
+
+“Very true, and when I do go home I want to go well fixed.”
+
+Herbert had already caught the popular Western phrase for a man well to
+do.
+
+“We must depend on the Blazing Star Mine for that,” said Melville,
+smiling. My young readers may like to know that, while Herbert was
+prospering financially, he did not neglect the cultivation of his
+mind. Among the books left by Mr. Falkland were a number of standard
+histories, some elementary books in French, including a dictionary, a
+treatise on natural philosophy, and a German grammar and reader.
+
+“Do you know anything of French or German, Mr. Melville?” inquired our
+hero, when they made their first examination of the library.
+
+“Yes, Herbert, I am a tolerable scholar in each.”
+
+“I wish I were.”
+
+“Would you like to study them?”
+
+“Yes, very much.”
+
+“Then I will make you a proposal. You are likely to have considerable
+time at your disposal. If you will study either, or both, I will be your
+teacher.”
+
+“I should like nothing better,” said Herbert, eagerly.
+
+“Moreover, if you wish to study philosophy, I will aid you, though we
+are not in a position to illustrate the subject by experiments.”
+
+Herbert was a sensible boy. Moreover, he was fond of study, and he saw
+at once how advantageous this proposal was. He secured a private
+tutor for nothing, and, as he soon found, an excellent one. Though
+Mr. Melville had never been a teacher, he had an unusual aptitude for
+teaching, and it is hard to decide whether he or Herbert enjoyed more
+the hours which they now regularly passed in the relation of teacher and
+pupil.
+
+It must be said, also, that while George Melville evinced an aptitude
+for teaching, Herbert showed an equal aptitude for learning. The tasks
+which he voluntarily undertook most boys would have found irksome, but
+he only found them a source of pleasure, and had the satisfaction, after
+a very short time, to find himself able to read ordinary French and
+German prose with comparative ease.
+
+“I never had a better pupil,” said George Melville.
+
+“I believe I am the first you ever had,” said Herbert, laughing.
+
+“That is true. I spoke as if I were a veteran teacher.”
+
+“Then I won't be too much elated by the compliment.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV. TWO OLD ACQUAINTANCES REAPPEAR.
+
+
+
+In the rude hotel kept by the outlaw, whom we have introduced under the
+name of Brown, there sat two men, to neither of whom will my readers
+need an introduction. They have already appeared in our story.
+
+One was Brown himself, the other Col. Warner, or, as we may as well
+confess, Jerry Lane, known throughout the West as an unscrupulous
+robber and chief of a band of road agents, whose depredations had been
+characterized by audacity and success.
+
+Brown was ostensibly an innkeeper, but this business, honest enough in
+itself, only veiled the man's real trade, in which he defied alike the
+laws of honesty and of his country. The other was by turns a gentleman
+of property, a merchant, a cattle owner, or a speculator, in all of
+which characters he acted excellently, and succeeded in making the
+acquaintance of men whom he designed to rob.
+
+The two men wore a sober look. In their business, as in those more
+legitimate, there are good times and dull times, and of late they had
+not succeeded.
+
+“I want some money, captain,” said Brown, sullenly, laying down a black
+pipe, which he had been smoking.
+
+“So do I, Brown,” answered Warner, as we will continue to call him.
+“It's a dry time with me.”
+
+“You don't understand me, captain,” continued Brown. “I want you to give
+me some money.”
+
+“First you must tell me where I am to get it,” answered Warner, with a
+shrug of his shoulders.
+
+“Do you mean to say you have no money?” asked Brown, frowning.
+
+“How should I have?”
+
+“Because in all our enterprises you have taken the lion's share, though
+you haven't always done the chief part. You can't have spent the whole.”
+
+“No, not quite; but I have nothing to spare. I need to travel about,
+and--”
+
+“You've got a soft thing,” grumbled Brown. “You go round and have a good
+time while I am tied down to this fourth-rate tavern in the woods.”
+
+“Well, it isn't much more than that,” said Warner, musingly.
+
+“Do you expect me to keep a first-class hotel?” demanded Brown,
+defiantly.
+
+“No, of course not. Brown,” continued Warner, soothingly, “don't let us
+quarrel; we can't afford it. Let us talk together reasonably.”
+
+“What have you to say?”
+
+“This, that it isn't my fault if things have gone wrong. Was it my fault
+that we found so little cash in that last store we broke open?”
+
+“Nineteen dollars!” muttered Brown, contemptuously.
+
+“Nineteen dollars, as you say. It didn't pay us for our trouble. Well, I
+was as sorry as you. I fail to see how it was my fault. Better luck next
+time.”
+
+“When is the next time to be?” asked Brown, somewhat placated.
+
+“As soon as you please.”
+
+“What is it?”
+
+“I will tell you. You remember that stagecoach full of passengers that
+fooled us some time since?”
+
+“I ought to.”
+
+“I always meant to get on the track of that Melville, who spoiled our
+plot by overhearing us and giving us away to the passengers. He is very
+rich, so the boy who was with him told me, and I have every reason to
+rely upon his statement. Well, I want to be revenged upon him, and, at
+the same time, to relieve him of the doubtless large sum of money which
+he keeps with him.”
+
+“I'm with you. Where is he?”
+
+“I have only recently ascertained--no matter how. He lives in a small
+cabin, far from any other, about eight miles from the mining town of
+Deer Creek.”
+
+“I know the place.”
+
+“Precisely. No one lives there with him except the boy, and it would be
+easy enough to rob him. I saw a man from Deer Creek yesterday. He tells
+me that Melville has bought for the boy a half share in a rich mine, and
+is thought to have at least five thousand dollars in gold and bills in
+his cabin.”
+
+Brown's eyes glistened with cupidity.
+
+“That would be a big haul,” he said.
+
+“Of course, it would. Now, Brown, while you have been grumbling at me I
+have been saving this little affair for our benefit--yours and mine. We
+won't let any of the rest of them into it, but whatever we find we will
+divide, and share alike.”
+
+“Do you mean this, captain?”
+
+“Yes, I mean it, friend Brown. You shan't charge me with taking the
+lion's share in this case. If there are five thousand dollars, as my
+informant seems to think, your share shall be half.”
+
+“Twenty-five hundred dollars!”
+
+“Exactly; twenty-five hundred dollars.”
+
+“That will pay for my hard luck lately,” said Brown, his face clearing.
+
+“Very handsomely, too.”
+
+“When shall we start?”
+
+“To-morrow morning. We will set out early in the morning; and, by the
+way, Brown, it's just as well not to let your wife or anyone else know
+where we are going.”
+
+“All right,” answered Brown, cheerfully.
+
+The next morning the two worthies set out their far from meritorious
+errand. Brown told his wife vaguely, in reply to her questioning, that
+he was called away for a few days on business.
+
+If he expected to evade further question by this answer, he was
+mistaken. Mrs. Brown was naturally of a jealous and suspicious
+temperament, and doubt was excited in her breast.
+
+“Where shall I say you have gone if I am asked?” she said.
+
+“You may say that you don't know,” answered Brown, brusquely.
+
+“I don't think much of a man who keeps secrets from his wife,” said Mrs.
+Brown, coldly.
+
+“And I don't think much of a man who tells everything to his wife,”
+ retorted Brown. “It's all right, Kitty, You needn't concern yourself.
+But the captain and I are on an expedition, which, to be successful,
+needs to be kept secret.”
+
+Mrs. Brown was not more than half convinced, but she was compelled to
+accept this statement, for her husband would vouchsafe no other.
+
+That part of the State into which they journeyed was not new ground to
+either. They were familiar with all the settled portion of Colorado, and
+had no difficulty in finding the cabin occupied by George Melville.
+
+Now it happened that they reached the modest dwelling in the woods about
+three o'clock in the afternoon. Herbert had ridden over to Deer Creek
+to look after his mining property, and it was not yet time to expect him
+back. George Melville was therefore left alone.
+
+Knowing, as my young readers do, his literary tastes, they will
+understand that, though left alone, he was not lonely. The stock of
+books which he had bought from his predecessor was to him an unfailing
+resource. Moreover, he had taken up Italian, of which he knew a little,
+and was reading in the original the “Divina Comedia” of Dante, a work
+which consumed many hours, and was not likely soon to be over. To-day,
+however, for some reason Melville found it more difficult than usual to
+fix his mind upon his pleasant study. Was it a presentiment of coming
+evil that made him so unusually restless? At all events, the hours,
+which were wont to be fleet-footed, passed with unusual slowness, and he
+found himself longing for the return of his young friend.
+
+“I don't know what has got into me to-day,” said Melville to himself.
+“It's only three o'clock, yet the day seems very long. I wish Herbert
+would return. I feel uneasy. I don't know why. I hope it is not a
+presage of misfortune. I shall not be sure that something has not
+happened to Herbert till I see him again.”
+
+As he spoke George Melville rose from his chair, and was about to put
+on his hat and take a short walk in the neighboring woods, when he heard
+the tramp of approaching horses. Looking out from the window, he saw two
+horsemen close at hand.
+
+He started in dismay, for in the two men he was at no loss in
+recognizing his stagecoach companion, Col. Warner, and the landlord who
+had essayed the part of a road agent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV. MELVILLE IN PERIL.
+
+
+
+Col. Warner and his companion enjoyed the effect of their presence upon
+their intended victim, and smiled in a manner that boded little good to
+Melville, as they dismounted from their steeds and advanced to the door
+of the cabin.
+
+“How are you, Melville?” said Warner, ironically. “I see you have not
+forgotten me.”
+
+“No, I have not forgotten you,” answered Melville, regarding his visitor
+uneasily.
+
+“This is my friend, Mr. Brown. Perhaps you remember him?”
+
+“I do remember him, and the circumstances under which I last saw him,”
+ replied Melville, rather imprudently.
+
+Brown frowned, but he did not speak. He generally left his companion to
+do the talking.
+
+“Being in the neighborhood, we thought we'd call upon you,” continued
+Col. Warner.
+
+“Walk in, gentlemen, if you see fit,” said Melville. “I suppose it would
+be only polite to say that I am glad to see you, but I have some regard
+for truth, and cannot say it.”
+
+“I admire your candor, Mr. Melville. Walk in, Brown. Ha! upon my word,
+you have a nice home here. Didn't expect to see anything of the kind
+in this wilderness. Books and pictures! Really, now, Brown, I am quite
+tempted to ask our friend, Melville, to entertain us for a few days.”
+
+“I don't think it would suit you,” said Melville, dryly. “You are
+probably more fond of exciting adventure than of books.”
+
+“Does the boy live with you?” asked Warner, dropping his bantering tone,
+and looking about his searchingly.
+
+“Yes, he is still with me.”
+
+“I don't see him.”
+
+“Because he has gone to Deer Creek on business.”
+
+When Melville saw the rapid glance of satisfaction interchanged by the
+two visitors he realized that he had made an imprudent admission. He
+suspected that their design was to rob him, and he had voluntarily
+assured them that he was alone, and that they could proceed without
+interruption.
+
+“Sorry not to see him,” said Warner. “I'd like to renew our pleasant
+acquaintance.”
+
+Melville was about to reply that Herbert would be back directly, when it
+occurred to him that this would be a fresh piece of imprudence. It would
+doubtless lead them to proceed at once to the object of their visit,
+while if he could only keep them till his boy companion did actually
+return, they would at least be two to two. Even then they would be by no
+means equally matched, but something might occur to help them.
+
+“I suppose Herbert will return by evening,” he replied. “You can see him
+if you remain till then.”
+
+Another expression of satisfaction appeared upon the faces of his two
+visitors, but for this he was prepared.
+
+“Sorry we can't stay till then,” said Warner, “but business of
+importance will limit our stay. Eh, Brown?”
+
+“I don't see the use of delaying at all!” growled Brown, who was not
+as partial as his companion to the feline amusement of playing with his
+intended victim. With him, on the contrary, it was a word, and a blow,
+and sometimes the blow came first.
+
+“Come to business!” continued Brown, impatiently, addressing his
+associate.
+
+“That is my purpose, friend Brown.”
+
+“Mr. Melville, it is not solely the pleasure of seeing you that has led
+my friend and myself to call this afternoon.”
+
+Melville nodded.
+
+“So I supposed,” he said.
+
+“There is a little unfinished business between us, as you will remember.
+I owe you a return for the manner in which you saw fit to throw
+suspicion upon me some time since, when we were traveling together.”
+
+“I shall be very glad to have you convince me that I did you an
+injustice,” said Melville. “I was led to believe that you and your
+friend now present were leagued together to rob us of our money and
+valuables. If it was not so--”
+
+“You were not very far from right, Mr. Melville. Still it was not polite
+to express your suspicions so rudely. Besides, you were instrumental in
+defeating our plan.”
+
+“I can't express any regret for that, Col. Warner, or Jerry Lane, as I
+suppose that is your real name.”
+
+“I am Jerry Lane!” said Warner, proudly. “I may as well confess it,
+since it is well that you should know with whom you have to deal. When I
+say that I am Jerry Lane, you will understand that I mean business.”
+
+“I do,” answered Melville, quietly.
+
+“You know me by reputation?” said the outlaw, with a curious pride in
+his unenviable notoriety.
+
+“I do.”
+
+“What do men say of me?”
+
+“That you are at the head of a gang of reckless assassins and
+outlaws, and that you have been implicated in scores of robberies and
+atrocities.”
+
+This was not so satisfactory.
+
+“Young man,” said Lane--to drop his false name--“I advise you to be
+careful how you talk. It may be the worse for you. Now, to come to
+business, how much money have you in the house?”
+
+“Why do you ask, and by what right?”
+
+“We propose to take it. Now answer my question.”
+
+“Gentlemen, you will be very poorly paid for the trouble you have taken
+in visiting me. I have very little money.”
+
+“Of course, you say so. We want an answer.”
+
+“As well as I can remember I have between forty and fifty dollars in my
+pocketbook.”
+
+Brown uttered an oath under his breath, and Lane looked uneasy.
+
+“That's a lie!” said Brown, speaking first. “We were told you had five
+thousand dollars here.”
+
+“Your informant was badly mistaken, then. I am not very wise, perhaps,
+in worldly matters, but I certainly am not such a fool as to keep so
+large a sum of money in a lonely cabin like this.”
+
+“Perhaps not so much as that,” returned Lane. “I don't pretend to say
+how much you have. That is for you to tell us.”
+
+George Melville drew from his pocket a wallet, and passed it to the
+outlaw.
+
+“Count the money for yourself, if you wish,” he said. “You can verify my
+statement.”
+
+Lane opened the wallet with avidity, and drew out the contents. It was
+apparent at the first glance that the sum it contained was small. It was
+counted, however, and proved to amount to forty-seven dollars and a few
+silver coins.
+
+The two robbers looked at each other in dismay. Was it possible that
+this was all? If so, they would certainly be very poorly paid for their
+trouble.
+
+“Do you expect us to believe, Mr. Melville,” said Jerry Lane, sternly,
+“that this is all the money you have?”
+
+“In this cabin--yes.”
+
+“We are not so easily fooled. It is probably all you carry about with
+you; but you have more concealed somewhere about the premises. It will
+be best for you to produce at once, unless you are ready to pass in your
+checks.”
+
+“That means,” said Melville, growing pale in spite of himself, for he
+knew from report the desperate character of his guests, “that means, I
+suppose, that you will kill me unless I satisfy your rapacity.”
+
+“It does,” said Lane, curtly. “Now for your answer!”
+
+“Gentlemen, I cannot accomplish impossibilities. It is as I say. The
+money in your hands is all that I have by me.”
+
+“Do you mean to deny that you are rich?” asked Lane.
+
+“No, I do not deny it. That is not the point in question. You ask me to
+produce all the money I have with me. I have done so.”
+
+“Do you believe this, Brown?” asked the captain, turning to his
+subordinate.
+
+“No, I don't.”
+
+“It is strictly true.”
+
+“Then,” said Brown, “you deserve to die for having no more money for
+us.”
+
+“True,” chimed in Lane. “Once more, will you produce your secret hoard?”
+
+“I have none.”
+
+“Then you must be dealt with in the usual way. Brown, have you a rope?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Is there a convenient tree near by.”
+
+“We'll find one.”
+
+The two seized Melville, and, despite his resistance, dragged him
+violently from the cabin, and adjusted a rope about his neck. The young
+man was pale, and gave himself up for lost.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI. THE MINE IS SOLD.
+
+
+
+While his friend was in peril, where was Herbert?
+
+For him, too, it had been an exciting day--Deer Creek had been excited
+by the arrival of a capitalist from New York, whose avowed errand it was
+to buy a mine. Reports from Deer Creek had turned his steps thither, and
+all the mine owners were on the qui vive to attract the attention of the
+monied man. It was understood that he intended to capitalize the mine,
+when purchased, start a company, and work it by the new and improved
+methods, which had replaced the older and ruder appliances at first
+employed.
+
+Mr. Compton, though not a mining expert, was a shrewd man, who weighed
+carefully the representations that were made to him, and reserved his
+opinion. It was clear that he was not a man who would readily be taken
+in, though there were not wanting men at Deer Creek who were ready to
+palm off upon him poor or worthless mines. About the only mine owners
+who did not seek him were the owners of the Blazing Star, both of
+whom were on the ground. The mine was looking up. The most recent
+developments were the most favorable, and the prospects were excellent.
+They might, indeed, “peter out” as the expression is, but it did not
+seem likely.
+
+“Jack,” said Herbert, “shall we invite Mr. Compton to visit our mine?”
+
+“No,” answered Jack Holden; “I am willing to keep it.”
+
+“Wouldn't you sell?”
+
+“Yes, if I could get my price.”
+
+“What is your price?”
+
+“Twenty-five thousand dollars for the whole mine!”
+
+“That is twelve thousand five hundred for mine,” said Herbert, his cheek
+flushing with the excitement he felt.
+
+“You've figured it out right, my lad,” said his partner.
+
+“That would leave me twelve thousand after I have paid up Mr. Melville
+for the sum I paid in the beginning.”
+
+“Right again, my lad.”
+
+“Why, Jack!” exclaimed Herbert. “Do you know what that means? It means
+that I should be rich--that my mother could move into a nicer house,
+that we could live at ease for the rest of our lives.”
+
+“Would twelve thousand dollars do all that?”
+
+“No; but it would give me a fund that would establish me in business,
+and relieve me of all anxiety. Jack, it's too bright to be real.”
+
+“We may not be able to sell the mine at that figure, Herbert. Don't
+let us count our chickens before they are hatched, or we may be
+disappointed. I'm as willin' to keep the mine as to sell it.”
+
+“Jack, here is Mr. Compton coming,” said Herbert.
+
+The capitalist paused, and addressing Herbert, said:
+
+“Have you anything to do with the mine, my lad?”
+
+“I am half owner,” answered Herbert, promptly, and not without pride.
+
+“Who is the other half owner?”
+
+“Mr. Holden,” answered Herbert, pointing out Jack.
+
+“May I examine the mine?”
+
+“You are quite welcome to, sir.”
+
+Possibly the fact that this mine alone had not been pressed upon him
+for purchase, predisposed Mr. Compton to regard it with favor. Every
+facility was offered him, and Jack Holden, who thoroughly understood his
+business, gave him the necessary explanations.
+
+After an hour spent in the examination, Mr. Compton came to business.
+
+“Is the mine for sale?” he asked.
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“What is your price?”
+
+“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
+
+“Is that your lowest price?”
+
+“It is.”
+
+Jack Holden wasted no words in praising the mine, and this produced a
+favorable impression on the capitalist with whom he was dealing.
+
+“I'll take it,” he answered.
+
+“Then it's a bargain.”
+
+Herbert found it difficult to realize that these few words had made him
+a rich boy. He remained silent, but in his heart he was deeply thankful,
+not so much for himself, as because he knew that he was now able to
+rejoice his mother's heart, and relieve her from all pecuniary cares or
+anxieties.
+
+“You've made a good bargain, sir, if I do say it,” said Jack Holden.
+“For my own part, I wasn't so particular about selling the mine, but my
+young partner here is differently placed, and the money will come handy
+to him.”
+
+“You are rather young for a mine owner,” said Mr. Compton, regarding
+Herbert with some curiosity.
+
+“Yes, sir; I believe I am the youngest mine owner here.”
+
+“Are you a resident of this State?”
+
+“Only temporarily, sir. I came here with a friend whose lungs are weak.”
+
+“You expect to return to the East soon?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“When you do, come to see me. I am a commission merchant in Boston. If
+it is your intention to follow a business life, I may be able to find
+you a place.”
+
+“Thank you, sir; I should like nothing better.”
+
+“To-morrow,” said Mr. Compton, “I will come here and complete the
+purchase.”
+
+“Jack,” said Herbert, when the new purchaser of the mine had left them,
+“there is no work for us here. Come with me, and let us together tell
+Mr. Melville the good news.”
+
+“A good thought, my lad!”
+
+So the two mounted their horses, and left Deer Creek behind them. They
+little suspected how sorely they were needed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII. TO THE RESCUE.
+
+
+
+Herbert and his companion drew near the forest cabin, which had been the
+home of the former, without a suspicion that George Melville was in such
+dire peril. The boy was, indeed, thinking of him, but it was rather of
+the satisfaction his employer would feel at his good fortune.
+
+“Somehow I feel in a great hurry to get there, Jack,” said Herbert. “I
+shall enjoy telling Mr. Melville of my good luck.”
+
+“He's a fine chap, that Melville,” said Jack Holden, meaning no
+disrespect by this unceremonious fashion of speech.
+
+“That he is! He's the best friend I ever had, Jack,” returned Herbert,
+warmly.
+
+“It's a pity he's ailing.”
+
+“Oh, he's much stronger than he was when he came out here. All the
+unfavorable symptoms have disappeared.”
+
+“Maybe he'll outgrow it. I had an uncle that was given up to die of
+consumption, when he was about Melville's age, and he died only last
+year at the age of seventy-five.”
+
+“That must have been slow consumption, Jack,” said Herbert, smiling.
+“If Mr. Melville can live as long as that, I think neither he nor his
+friends will have reason to complain.”
+
+“Is he so rich, lad?”
+
+“I don't know how rich, but I know he has plenty of money. How much
+power a rich man has,” said Herbert, musingly. “Now, Mr. Melville has
+changed my whole life for me. When I first met him I was working for
+three dollars a week. Now I am worth twelve thousand dollars!”
+
+Herbert repeated this with a beaming face. The good news had not lost
+the freshness of novelty. There was so much that he could do now that
+he was comparatively rich. To do Herbert justice, it was not of himself
+principally that he thought. It was sweet to reflect that he could bring
+peace, and joy, and independence to his mother. After all, it is the
+happiness we confer that brings us the truest enjoyment. The selfish man
+who eats and drinks and lodges like a prince, but is unwilling to share
+his abundance with others, knows not what he loses. Even boys and girls
+may try the experiment for themselves, for one does not need to be rich
+to give pleasure to others.
+
+“Come, Jack, let us ride faster; I am in a hurry,” said Herbert, when
+they were perhaps a quarter of a mile distant from the cabin.
+
+They emerged from the forest, and could now see the cottage and its
+surroundings. They saw something that almost paralyzed them.
+
+George Melville, with a rope round his neck, stood beneath a tree. Col.
+Warner was up in the tree swinging the rope over a branch, while Brown,
+big, burly and brutal, pinioned the helpless young man in his strong
+arms.
+
+“Good heavens! Do you see that?” exclaimed Herbert. “It is the road
+agents. Quick, or we shall be too late!”
+
+Jack had seen. He had not only seen, but he had already acted. Quick
+as thought he raised his weapon, and covered Brown. There was a sharp
+report, and the burly ruffian fell, his heart pierced by the unerring
+bullet.
+
+Herbert dashed forward, and, seizing the rope, released his friend.
+
+“Thank Heaven, Herbert! You have saved my life!” murmured Melville, in
+tones of heartfelt gratitude.
+
+“There's another of them!” exclaimed Jack Holden, looking up into the
+tree, and he raised his gun once more.
+
+“Don't shoot!” exclaimed the man, whom we know best as Col. Warner;
+“I'll come down.”
+
+So he did, but not in the manner he expected. In his flurry, for he was
+not a brave man, outlaw though he was, he lost his hold and fell at the
+feet of Holden.
+
+“What shall we do with him, Mr. Melville?” asked Jack. “He deserves to
+die.”
+
+“Don't kill him! Bind him, and give him up to the authorities.”
+
+“I hate to let him off so easy,” said Jack, but he did as Melville
+wished. But the colonel had a short reprieve. On his way to jail, a
+bullet from some unknown assailant pierced his temple, and Jerry Lane,
+the notorious road agent, died, as he had lived, by violence.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION.
+
+
+
+It had been the intention of George Melville to remain in Colorado all
+winter, but his improved health, and the tragic event which I have just
+narrated, conspired to change his determination.
+
+“Herbert,” he said, when the business connected with the sale of the
+mine had been completed, “how would you like to go home?”
+
+“With you?”
+
+“Yes, you don't suppose I would remain here alone?”
+
+“If you feel well enough, Mr. Melville, there is nothing I should like
+better.”
+
+“I do feel well enough. If I find any unfavorable symptoms coming back,
+I can travel again, but I am anxious to get away from this place, where
+I have come so near losing my life at the hands of the outlaws.”
+
+There was little need of delay. Their preparations were soon made. There
+was an embarrassment about the cottage, but that was soon removed.
+
+“I'll buy it of you, Mr. Melville,” said Jack Holden.
+
+“I can't sell it to you, Mr. Holden.”
+
+“I will give you a fair price.”
+
+“You don't understand me,” said George Melville, smiling. “I will not
+sell it, because I prefer to give it.”
+
+“Thank you, Mr Melville, but you know I am not exactly a poor man. The
+sale of the mine---”
+
+“Jack,” said Melville, with emotion, “would you have me forget that
+it is to you and Herbert that I owe my rescue from a violent and
+ignominious death?”
+
+“I want no pay for that, Mr. Melville.”
+
+“No, I am sure you don't. But you will accept the cabin, not as pay, but
+as a mark of my esteem.”
+
+Upon that ground Jack accepted the cottage with pleasure. Herbert tried
+to tempt him to make a visit to the East, but he was already in treaty
+for another mine, and would not go.
+
+The two stayed a day in Chicago on their way to Boston.
+
+“I wonder if Eben is still here?” thought Herbert.
+
+He soon had his question answered. In passing through a suburban portion
+of the great city, he saw a young man sawing wood in front of a mean
+dwelling, while a stout negro was standing near, with his hands in
+his pockets, surveying the job. He was the proprietor of a colored
+restaurant, and Eben was working for him.
+
+Alas, for Eben! The once spruce dry-goods clerk was now a
+miserable-looking tramp, so far as outward appearances went. His clothes
+were not only ragged, but soiled, and the spruce city acquaintances whom
+he once knew would have passed him without recognition.
+
+“Eben!”
+
+Eben turned swiftly as he heard his name called, and a flush of shame
+overspread his face.
+
+“Is it you, Herbert?” he asked, faintly.
+
+“Yes, Eben. You don't seem very prosperous.”
+
+“I never thought I should sink so low,” answered Eben, mournfully, “as
+to saw wood for a colored man.”
+
+“What are you talkin' about?” interrupted his boss, angrily. “Ain't I as
+good as a worfless white man that begged a meal of vittles of me, coz he
+was starvin'? You jest shut up your mouf, and go to work.”
+
+Eben sadly resumed his labor. Herbert pitied him, in spite of his folly
+and wickedness.
+
+“Eben, do you owe this man anything?” he added.
+
+“Yes, he does. He owes me for his dinner. Don't you go to interfere!”
+ returned the colored man.
+
+“How much was your dinner worth?” asked Herbert, putting his hand into
+his pocket.
+
+“It was wuf a quarter.”
+
+“There is your money! Now, Eben, come with me.”
+
+“I've been very unfortunate,” wailed Eben.
+
+“Would you like to go back to Wayneboro?” asked Herbert.
+
+“Yes, anywhere,” answered Eben, eagerly. “I can't make a livin' here. I
+have almost starved sometimes.”
+
+“Eben, I'll make a bargain with you. If I will take you home, will you
+turn over a new leaf, and try to lead a regular and industrious life?”
+
+“Yes, I'll do it,” answered Eben.
+
+“Then I'll take you with me to-morrow.”
+
+“I shouldn't like my old friends to see me in these rags,” said Eben,
+glancing with shame at his tattered clothes.
+
+“They shall not. Come with me, and I will rig you out anew.”
+
+“You're a good fellow, Herbert,” said Eben, gratefully. “I'm sorry for
+the way I treated you.”
+
+“Then it's all right,” said Herbert. Herbert kept his promise. He took
+Eben to a barber shop, where there were also baths, having previously
+purchased him a complete outfit, and Eben emerged looking once more like
+the spruce dry-goods salesman of yore.
+
+                       *****
+
+One day not long afterwards Mrs. Carr was sitting in her little sitting
+room, sewing. She had plenty of leisure for this work now, for Mr.
+Graham had undertaken to attend to the post-office duties himself. It
+was natural that she should think of her absent boy, from whom she had
+not heard for a long time.
+
+“When shall I see him again?” she thought, wearily.
+
+There was a knock at the outer door.
+
+She rose to open it, but, before she could reach it, it flew open, and
+her boy, taller and handsomer than ever, was in her arms.
+
+“Oh, Herbert!”
+
+It was all she could say, but the tone was full of joy.
+
+“How I have missed you!”
+
+“We will be together now, mother.”
+
+“I hope so, Herbert. Perhaps you can find something to do in Wayneboro,
+and even if it doesn't pay as well--”
+
+“Mother,” interrupted Herbert, laughing, “is that the way to speak to a
+rich boy like me?”
+
+“Rich?”
+
+“Yes, mother, I bring home twelve thousand dollars.”
+
+Mrs. Carr could not believe it at first, but Herbert told his story, and
+she gave joyful credence at last.
+
+Eben did not receive as warm a welcome, but finally his father was
+propitiated, and agreed to give his son employment in his own store.
+He's there yet. His hard experience in the West has subdued his pride,
+and he has really “turned over a new leaf,” as he promised Herbert. His
+father will probably next year give him a quarter interest in the firm,
+and the firm's name will be
+
+“EBENEZER GRAHAM & SON.”
+
+Herbert and his mother have moved to Boston. Our hero is learning
+business in the counting room of Mr. Compton. They live in a pleasant
+house at the South End, and Mr. Melville, restored to a very fair
+measure of health, is boarding, or, rather, has his home with them. He
+is devoting his time to literary pursuits, and I am told that he is the
+author of a brilliant paper in a recent number of the North American
+Review. Herbert finds some time for study, and, under the guidance of
+his friend and former employer, he has already become a very creditable
+scholar in French, German and English literature. He enjoys his present
+prosperity all the better for the hardships through which he passed
+before reaching it.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Do and Dare, by Horatio Alger, Jr.
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