Brave and Bold

H >> Horatio Alger, Jr. >> Brave and Bold

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"In spite of all that, it may be true enough," returned the lawyer,
composedly.

"You may believe it, if you please. It seems to me quite unworthy of
belief."

"Waiving that point, Robert, doubtless, acquainted you with the
statement made in the letter that Captain Rushton, just before sailing
on his last voyage, deposited with you five thousand dollars. What have
you to say to that?"

"What have I to say?" returned the superintendent. "That Captain Rushton
never possessed five thousand dollars in his life. I don't believe he
possessed one quarter of the sum."

"What authority have you for saying that? Did he make you his
confidant?" asked the lawyer, keenly.

"Yes," said the superintendent, promptly. "When last at home, he called
at my house one day, and in the course of conversation remarked that
sailors seldom saved any money. 'For instance,' said he, 'I have
followed the sea for many years, and have many times resolved to
accumulate a provision for my wife and child, but as yet I have scarcely
done more than to begin.' He then told me that he had little more than a
thousand dollars, but meant to increase that, if possible, during his
coming voyage."

To this statement Squire Paine listened attentively, fully believing it
to be an impromptu fabrication, as it really was.

"Did he say anything about what he had done with this thousand dollars
or more?" he asked.

"A part he left for his wife to draw from time to time for expenses; the
rest, I suppose, he took with him."

Mr. Paine sat silent for a moment. Things looked unpromising, he
couldn't but acknowledge, for his young client. In the absence of legal
proof, and with an adroit and unscrupulous antagonist, whose interests
were so strongly enlisted in defeating justice, it was difficult to see
what was to be done.

"I understand then, Mr. Davis," he said, finally, "that you deny the
justice of this claim?"

"Certainly I do," said the superintendent. "It is a palpable fraud. This
boy is a precocious young swindler, and will come to a bad end."

"I have a different opinion of him."

"You are deceived in him, then. I have no doubt he got up the letter
himself."

"I don't agree with you. I have seen the letter; it is in Captain
Rushton's handwriting. Moreover, I have seen the letter of the owners,
which accompanied it."

The superintendent was in a tight place, and he knew it. But there was
nothing to do but to persist in his denial.

"Then I can only say that Captain Rushton was a party to the fraud," he
said.

"You must be aware, Mr. Davis, that when the public learns the facts in
the case, the general belief will be the other way."

"I can't help that," said the other, doggedly. "Whatever the public
chooses to think, I won't admit the justice of this outrageous claim."

"Then I have only to bid you good-evening," said the lawyer, coldly,
affecting not to see the hand which the superintendent extended. The
latter felt the slight, and foresaw that from others he must expect
similar coldness, but there was no help for it. To restore the money
would be ruin. He had entered into the path of dishonesty, and he was
forced to keep on in it.

CHAPTER XXII.

ROBERT'S NEW PROJECT.

Mr. Paine called at Mrs. Rushton's cottage, and communicated the
particulars of his interview with the superintendent.

"It is evident," he said, "that Mr. Davis is swayed by his interests,
and feeling legally secure, prefers to defraud you rather than to
surrender the five thousand dollars."

"I wouldn't have believed it of Mr. Davis," said Mrs. Rushton; "he is
considered such a respectable man."

"I have heard rumors that he is dabbling in speculations, and I suspect
he may find it inconvenient to pay away so large a sum of money."

"He had no right to speculate with my mother's money," said Robert,
indignantly.

"You are right there. He should have invested it securely."

"Mr. Paine," said Robert, after a pause, "I have an idea that father is
still living, and that some day I shall find him."

The lawyer shook his head.

"There is not one chance in ten that he is living," he said. "It is only
a fancy of yours."

"It may be, but I can't get it out of my head."

"I hope you will prove correct, but I need not tell you of the many
arguments against such a theory."

"I know them all, but still I believe he is living. Mr. Paine,"
continued Robert, earnestly, "I feel so strongly on the subject that,
with my mother's permission, I, mean to go out into the world in search
of him."

"I must say, Robert," said Mr. Paine, "I did not expect such a visionary
scheme from a boy of your good sense. You must see yourself how wild it
is."

"I know it," said our hero; "but I want to take a year, at any rate, to
see the world. If, at the end of that time, I discover no trace of my
father, I will come home content."

"But what will become of your mother during that time?"

"I will leave four hundred dollars in your hands for her. The rest I
will draw for my own uses."

"But you don't expect to travel round the world on two hundred dollars,
surely?" said the lawyer.

"I shall work my way as far as I can," said Robert. "I can't afford to
travel as a gentleman."

"Suppose you find yourself without money in a foreign land?"

"I am not afraid. I am willing to work, and I can make my way."

"Surely, Mrs. Rushton, you do not approve Robert's scheme?" said Mr.
Paine.

But to his surprise he found that Mrs. Rushton was inclined to regard it
favorably. She seemed to share Robert's belief that her husband was
still living, and that Robert could find him. She was not a woman in the
habit of reasoning, and had no conception of the difficulties in his
way. The money left behind in the hands of Mr. Paine, supplemented by
her own earnings, would be enough to maintain her for two years, and
this thought made her easy, for she had a great dread of poverty and
destitution.

When the lawyer found how Mrs. Rushton felt on the subject, he ceased
his objections to the plan; for, though he had no confidence in our
young hero's success in the object he had in view, he thought that a
year's tour might benefit him by extending his knowledge of the world
and increasing his self-reliance.

"How soon do you wish to start, Robert?" he asked.

"It will take me a week to get your clothes ready," said Mrs. Rushton.

"Then by a week from Monday I will start," said Robert.

"Have you formed any definite plans about the manner of going?"

"I will go to New York first, and call on the gentleman who got up the
subscription for me. I will tell him my story, and ask his advice."

"The most sensible thing you could do. As to the money, I will have that
ready for you. Of course, you will call on me before you go."

The superintendent had made up his mind that Robert would spread the
report of the deposit, and nervously awaited the result. But to his
relief he observed no change in the demeanor of his fellow-townsmen. He
could only conclude that, for reasons of his own, the boy he had wronged
had concluded to defer the exposure. Next he heard with a feeling of
satisfaction that Robert had decided to go abroad in quest of his
father. He had no doubt that Captain Rushton was dead, and regarded the
plan as utterly quixotic and foolish, but still he felt glad that it had
been undertaken.

"If the boy never comes back, I shan't mourn much," he said to himself.
"His mother is a weak woman, who will never give me any trouble, but
this young rascal has a strong and resolute will, and I shall feel more
comfortable to have him out of the way."

When Robert got ready to leave he made a farewell call on the lawyer,
and drew two hundred dollars of his money.

"I don't know but one hundred will do," he said. "Perhaps I ought to
leave five hundred for my mother."

"You carry little enough, Robert. Don't have any anxiety about your
mother. I will not see her suffer."

Robert grasped his hand in earnest gratitude.

"How can I thank you?" he said.

"You need not thank me. I had a warm regard for your father, and shall
be glad to help your mother if there is any occasion. Not only this, but
if in your wanderings you find yourself in a tight place, and in want of
help, write to me, and I will help you."

"You are a true friend," said Robert, gratefully. "I wish my father had
intrusted his money to you instead of to the superintendent."

"I wish he had as matters have turned out, I should have taken care that
your interests did not suffer."

"Oh," exclaimed Robert, fervently, "if I could only find my father, and
bring him home to confront this false friend, and convict him of his
base fraud, I believe I would willingly give ten years of my life."

"That question can only be solved by time. I, too, should earnestly
rejoice if such an event could be brought about. And now, Robert,
good-by, and Heaven bless you. Don't forget that you can count always on
my friendship and assistance."

On the way home Robert fell in with Halbert Davis. Halbert, of course,
knew nothing of the claim made upon his father, but he had heard that
Robert proposed to leave home. He was both sorry and glad on account of
this--sorry because he had hoped to see our hero fall into poverty and
destitution, and enjoy the spectacle of his humiliation. Now he was
afraid Robert would succeed and deprive him of the enjoyment he had
counted upon. On the other hand, Robert's departure would leave the
field free so far as concerned Hester Paine, and he hoped to win the
favor of that young lady in the absence of any competitor. Of this there
was not the slightest chance, but Halbert was blinded by his own vanity
to the obvious dislike which Hester entertained for him.

Now when he saw Robert approaching he couldn't forego the pleasure of a
final taunt.

"So you're going to leave town, Rushton?'" he commenced.

"Yes, Davis," answered Robert, in the same tone. "Shall you miss me
much?"

"I guess I shall live through it," said Halbert. "I suppose you are
going because you can't make a living here!"

"Not exactly. However, I hope to do better elsewhere."

"If you're going to try for a place, you'd better not mention that you
got turned out of the factory. You needn't apply to my father for a
recommendation."

"I shan't need any recommendation from your father," said Robert. "He is
about the last man that I would apply to."

"That's where you are right," said Halbert. "What sort of a place are
you going to try for?"

He knew nothing of Robert's intention to seek his father, but supposed
he meant to obtain a situation in Hew York.

"You seem particularly interested in my movements, Davis."

"Call me Mr. Davis, if you please," said Halbert, haughtily.

"When you call me Mr. Rushton, I will return the compliment."

"You are impertinent."

"Not more so than you are."

"You don't seem to realize the difference in our positions."

"No, I don't, except that I prefer my own."

Disgusted with Robert's evident determination to withhold the respect
which he considered his due, Halbert tried him on another tack.

"Have you bidden farewell to Hester Paine?" he asked, with a sneer.

"Yes," said Robert.

"I suppose she was very much affected!" continued Halbert.

"She said she was very sorry to part with me."

"I admire her taste."

"You would admire it more if she had a higher appreciation of you."

"I shall be good friends with her, when you are no longer here to
slander me to her."

"I am not quite so mean as that," said Robert. "If she chooses to like
you, I shan't try to prevent it."

"I ought to be very much obliged to you, I am sure."

"You needn't trouble yourself to be grateful," returned Robert, coolly.
"But I must bid you good-by, as I have considerable to do."

"Don't let me detain you," said Halbert, with an elaborate share of
politeness.

"I wonder why Halbert hates me so much!" he thought. "I don't like him,
but I don't wish him any harm."

He looked with satisfaction upon a little cornelian ring which he wore
upon one of his fingers. It was of very trifling value, but it was a
parting gift from Hester, and as such he valued it far above its cost.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A DISHONEST BAGGAGE-SMASHER.

On the next Monday morning Robert started for the city. At the moment of
parting he began to realize that he had undertaken a difficult task. His
life hitherto had been quiet and free from excitement. Now he was about
to go out into the great world, and fight his own way. With only two
hundred dollars in his pocket he was going in search of a father, who,
when last heard from was floating in an open boat on the South Pacific.
The probabilities were all against that father's being still alive. If
he were, he had no clew to his present whereabouts.

All this Robert thought over as he was riding in the cars to the city.
He acknowledged that the chances were all against his success, but in
spite of all, he had a feeling, for which he could not account, that his
father was still living, and that he should find him some day. At any
rate, there was something attractive in the idea of going out to
unknown lands to meet unknown adventures, and so his momentary
depression was succeeded by a return of his old confidence.

Arrived in the city, he took his carpetbag in his hand, and crossing the
street, walked at random, not being familiar with the streets, as he had
not been in New York but twice before, and that some time since.

"I don't know where to go," thought Robert. "I wish I knew where to find
some cheap hotel."

Just then a boy, in well-ventilated garments and a rimless straw hat,
with a blacking box over his shoulder, approached.

"Shine your boots, mister?" he asked.

Robert glanced at his shoes, which were rather deficient in polish, and
finding that the expense would be only five cents, told him to go ahead.

"I'll give you the bulliest shine you ever had," said the ragamuffin.

"That's right! Go ahead!" said Robert.

When the boy got through, he cast a speculative glance at the carpetbag.

"Smash yer baggage?" le asked.

"What's that?"

"Carry yer bag."

"Do you know of any good, cheap hotel where I can put up?" asked Robert.

"Eu-ro-pean hotel?" said the urchin, accenting the second syllable.

"What kind of a hotel is that?"

"You take a room, and get your grub where you like."

"Yes, that will suit me."

"I'll show you one and take yer bag along for two shillings."

"All right," said our hero. "Go ahead."

The boy shouldered the carpetbag and started in advance, Robert
following. He found a considerable difference between the crowded
streets of New York and the quiet roads of Millville. His spirits rose,
and he felt that life was just beginning for him. Brave and bold by
temperament, he did not shrink from trying his luck on a broader arena
than was afforded by the little village whence he came. Such confidence
is felt by many who eventually fail, but Robert was one who combined
ability and willingness to work with confidence, and the chances were in
favor of his succeeding.

Unused to the city streets, Robert was a little more cautious about
crossing than the young Arab who carried his bag. So, at one broad
thoroughfare, the latter got safely across, while Robert was still on
the other side waiting for a good opportunity to cross in turn. The
bootblack, seeing that communication was for the present cut off by a
long line of vehicles, was assailed by a sudden temptation. For his
services as porter he would receive but twenty-five cents, while here
was an opportunity to appropriate the entire bag, which must be far more
valuable. He was not naturally a bad boy, but his street education had
given him rather loose ideas on the subject of property. Obeying his
impulse, then, he started rapidly, bag in hand, up a side street.

"Hold on, there! Where are you going?" called out Robert.

He received no answer, but saw the baggage-smasher quickening his pace
and dodging round the corner. He attempted to dash across the street,
but was compelled to turn back, after being nearly run over.

"I wish I could get hold of the young rascal!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"Who do you mane, Johnny?" asked a boy at his side.

"A boy has run off with my carpetbag," said Robert.

"I know him. It's Jim Malone."

"Do you know where I can find him?" asked Robert, eagerly. "If you'll
help me get back my bag, I'll give you a dollar."

"I'll do it then. Come along of me. Here's a chance to cross."

Following his new guide, Robert dashed across the street at some risk,
and found himself safe on the other side.

"Now where do you think he's gone?" demanded Robert.

"It's likely he'll go home."

"Do you know where he lives?"

"No.--Mulberry street."

"Has he got any father and mother?"

"He's got a mother, but the ould woman's drunk most all the time."

"Then she won't care about his stealing?"

"No, she'll think he's smart."

"Then we'll go there. Is it far?"

"Not more than twenty minutes."

The boy was right. Jim steered for home, not being able to open the bag
in the street without suspicion. His intention was to appropriate a part
of the clothing to his own use, and dispose of the rest to a pawnbroker
or second-hand dealer, who, as long as he got a good bargain, would not
be too particular about inquiring into the customer's right to the
property. He did not, however, wholly escape suspicion. He was stopped
by a policeman, who demanded, "Whose bag is that, Johnny?"

"It belongs to a gentleman that wants it carried to the St. Nicholas,"
answered Jim, promptly.

"Where is the gentleman?"

"He's took a car to Wall street on business."

"How came he to trust you with the bag? Wasn't he afraid you'd steal
it?"

"Oh, he knows me. I've smashed baggage for him more'n once."

This might be true. At any rate, it was plausible, and the policeman,
having no ground of detention, suffered him to go on.

Congratulating himself on getting off so well, Jim sped on his way, and
arrived in quick time at the miserable room in Mulberry street, which he
called home.

His mother lay on a wretched bed in the corner, half stupefied with
drink. She lifted up her head as her son entered.

"What have you there, Jimmy?" she asked.

"It's a bag, mother."

"Whose is it?"

"It's mine now."

"And where did ye get it?"

"A boy gave it to me to carry to a chape hotel, so I brought it home.
This is a chape hotel, isn't it?"

"You're a smart boy, an' I always said it, Jimmy. Let me open it," and
the old woman, with considerable alacrity, rose to her feet and came to
Jim's side.

"I'll open it myself, mother, that is, I if I had a kay. Haven't you got
one?"

"I have that same. I picked up a bunch of kays in the strate last
week."

She fumbled in her pocket, and drew out half a dozen keys of different
sizes, attached to a steel ring.

"Bully for you, old woman!" said Jim. "Give 'em here."

"Let me open the bag," said Mrs. Malone, persuasively.

"No, you don't," said her dutiful son. "'Tain't none of yours. It's
mine."

"The kays is mine," said his mother, "and I'll kape 'em."

"Give 'em here," said Jim, finding a compromise necessary, "and I'll
give you fifty cents out of what I get"

"That's the way to talk, darlint," said his mother, approvingly. "You
wouldn't have the heart to chate your ould mother out of her share?"

"It's better I did," said Jim; "you'll only get drunk on the money."

"Shure a little drink will do me no harm," said Mrs. Malone.

Meanwhile the young Arab had tried key after key until he found one that
fitted--the bag flew open, and Robert's humble stock of clothing lay
exposed to view. There was a woolen suit, four shirts, half a dozen
collars, some stockings and handkerchiefs. Besides these there was the
little Bible which Robert had had given him by his father just before he
went on his last voyage. It was the only book our hero had room for, but
in the adventurous career upon which he had entered, exposed to perils
of the sea and land, he felt that he would need this as his constant
guide,

"Them shirts'll fit me," said Jim. "I guess I'll kape 'em, and the close
besides."

"Then where'll you git the money for me?" asked his mother,

"I'll sell the handkerchiefs and stockings. I don't nade them," said
Jim, whose ideas of full dress fell considerably short of the ordinary
standard. "I won't nade the collars either."

"You don't nade all the shirts," said his mother.

"I'll kape two," said Jim. "It'll make me look respectable. Maybe I'll
kape two collars, so I can sit up for a gentleman of fashion."

"You'll be too proud to walk with your ould mother," said Mrs. Malone.

"Maybe I will," said Jim, surveying his mother critically. "You aint
much of a beauty, ould woman."

"I was a purty gal, once," said Mrs. Malone, "but hard work and bad luck
has wore on me."

"The whisky's had something to do with it," said Jim. "Hard work didn't
make your face so red."

"Is it my own boy talks to me like that?" said the old woman, wiping her
eyes on her dress.

But her sorrow was quickly succeeded by a different emotion, as the door
opened suddenly, and Robert Rushton entered the room.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A GOOD BEGINNING.

Jim started to his feet at the sight of the equally unwelcome and
unexpected visitor. His mother, ignorant that she saw before her the
owner of the bag, supposed it might be a customer wanting some washing
done.

"Good-morning, sir," said she, "And have yez business with me?"

"No," said Robert, "I have business with your son, if that's he."

"Shure he's my son, and a smart bye he is too."

"He's a little too smart sometimes," returned our hero. "I gave him my
carpetbag to carry this morning, and he ran away with it."

Mrs. Malone's face fell at this unexpected intelligence.

"Shur an' it was a mistake of his," she said. "He's too honest entirely
to stale the value of a pin, let alone a carpetbag."

Meanwhile Jim was rapidly reviewing the situation. He was not naturally
bad, but he had fallen a victim to sudden temptation. He was ashamed,
and determined to make amends by a frank confession.

"My mother is wrong," he said; "I meant to kape it, and I'm sorry.
Here's the bag, wid nothing taken out of it."

"That's right, to own up," said Robert, favorably impressed with his
frank confession. "Give me the bag and it'll be all right. I suppose you
were poor, and that tempted you. I am poor, too, and couldn't afford to
lose it. But I'd rather starve than steal, and I hope you will not be
dishonest again."

"I won't!" said Jim, stoutly. "I'll go with you now to a chape hotel,
and won't charge you nothin'."

"I've got a boy downstairs who will take it. Don't forget what you said
just now."

"No, I won't," said Jim. "Shure if I'd known what a bully young
gentleman you was, I wouldn't have took it on no account."

So Robert descended the stairs, having by his forbearance probably
effected a moral reformation in Jim, and confirmed in him the good
principles, which, in spite of his mother's bad example, had already
taken root in his heart. If the community, while keeping vigilant watch
over the young outcasts that throng our streets, plying their petty
avocations, would not always condemn, but encourage them sometimes to a
better life, the results would soon appear in the diminution of the
offenses for which they are most frequently arrested.

His new guide shouldered Robert's carpetbag, and conducted him to a
hotel of good standing, managed on the European system. Dismissing the
boy with the promised reward, Robert went up to his room on the fifth
floor, and after attending to his toilet, sallied out into the street
and made his way to the warehouse of the merchant who had been
instrumental in raising the fund for him.

"Mr. Morgan is engaged," said a clerk to whom he spoke.

"I will wait for him, if you please," said Robert.

"Is it any business that I can attend to?" asked the clerk.

"No, I wish to see Mr. Morgan himself."

Mr. Morgan was engaged with two gentlemen, and our hero was obliged to
wait nearly half an hour. At the end of that time, the merchant
consented to see him. He did not at first recognize him, but said,
inquiringly, "Well, my young friend, from whom do you come?"

"I come from no one, sir."

"Have you business with me?"

"You do not remember me, Mr. Morgan. Do you remember when the cars came
so near running off the track a short time since at Millville?"

"Certainly I do," said Mr. Morgan, heartily; "and I now remember you as
the brave boy who saved all our lives."

"You gave me your card and told me I might call on you."

"To be sure, I did, and I am very glad to see you. You must go home and
dine with me to-day."

"Thank you, sir, for your kind invitation."

"This is my address," said the merchant, writing it in pencil, and
handing it to Robert. "We dine at half-past six. You had better be at
the door at six. We will then talk over your plans, for I suppose you
have some, and I will do what I can to promote them. At present I am
busy, and am afraid I must ask you to excuse me."

"Thank you, sir," said Robert, gratefully.

He left the office, not a little elated at his favorable reception. Mr.
Morgan, judging from his place of business, must be a man of great
wealth, and could no doubt be of essential service to him. What was
quite as important, he seemed disposed to help him.

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