Kitabı oku: «Helping Himself; Or, Grant Thornton's Ambition», sayfa 3

CHAPTER VII – MRS. SIMPSON COMES TO GRIEF

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

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

“Of course I am,” said she.

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

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

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

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

“I do,” she answered, promptly.

“How did you come by them?”

“They were a wedding present from my husband.”

“May I ask your name?”

The lady hesitated a moment, then answered:

“Mrs. Simpson.”

“Where do you live?”

There was another slight hesitation. Then came the answer:

“No.—Madison Avenue.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Has he had the run of your house?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, but I don’t think you do.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I will send at once.”

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

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

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

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

By this time the elder salesman had come back.

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

“No, sir.”

“Did you ever see this lady before?”

“No, sir.”

The lady threw up her hands in feigned amazement.

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

“What is your name?”

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

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

“To my mother.”

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

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

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

Mrs. Simpson smiled significantly.

“The boy has learned his story,” she said. “I did not give you credit for such an imagination, John Cavanaugh.”

“My name is Grant Thornton, madam,” said our hero, gravely.

Five minutes later two men entered the store. One was a policeman, the other the head of the firm. When Grant’s eye fell on the policeman he felt nervous, but when he glanced at the gentleman his face lighted up with pleasure.

“Why, it’s Mr. Clifton,” he said.

“Grant Thornton,” said the jeweler, in surprise. “Why, I thought—”

“You will do me justice, Mr. Clifton,” said Grant, and thereupon he related the circumstances already known to the reader.

When Mrs. Simpson found that the boy whom she had selected as an easy victim was known to the proprietor of the place, she became nervous, and only thought of escape.

“It is possible that I am mistaken,” she said. “Let me look at the pearls again.”

They were held up for her inspection.

“They are very like mine,” she said, after a brief glance; “but I see there is a slight difference.”

“How about the boy, madam?” asked the elder clerk.

“He is the very image of my errand boy; but if Mr. Clifton knows him, I must be mistaken. I am sorry to have given you so much trouble. I have an engagement to meet, and must go.”

“Stop, madam!” said Mr. Clifton, sternly, interposing an obstacle to her departure, “we can’t spare you yet.”

“I really must go, sir. I give up all claim to the pearls.”

“That is not sufficient. You have laid claim to them, knowing that they were not yours. Officer, have you ever seen this woman before?”

“Yes, sir, I know her well.”

“How dare you insult me?” demanded Mrs. Simpson; but there was a tremor in her voice.

“I give her in charge for an attempted swindle,” said Mr. Clifton.

“You will have to come with me, madam,” said the policeman. “You may as well go quietly.”

“Well, the game is up,” said the woman, with a careless laugh.

“It came near succeeding, though.”

“Now, my boy,” said the jeweler, “I will attend to your business. You want to sell these pearls?”

“Yes, sir; they are of no use to mother, and she needs the money.”

“At what do you value them?”

“I leave that to you, sir. I shall be satisfied with what you think them worth.”

The jeweler examined them attentively. After his examination was concluded, he said: “I am willing to give four hundred dollars for them. Of course they cost more, but I shall have to reset them.”

“That is more than I expected,” said Grant, joyfully. “It will pay all our debts, and give us a little fund to help us in future.”

“Do you wish the money now? There might be some risk in a boy like you carrying so much with you.”

“What would you advise, Mr. Clifton?”

“That you take perhaps a hundred dollars, and let me bring the balance next Saturday night, when I come to pass Sunday at Colebrook.”

“Thank you, sir; if it won’t be too much trouble for you.”

CHAPTER VIII – GRANT TAKES A DECISIVE STEP

Grant came home a messenger of good tidings, as his beaming face plainly showed. His mother could hardly believe in her good fortune, when Grant informed her that he had sold the pearls for four hundred dollars.

“Why, that will pay up all your father’s debts,” she said, “and we shall once more feel independent.”

“And with a good reserve fund besides,” suggested Grant.

On Saturday evening he called on Mr. Clifton, and received the balance of the purchase money. On Monday, with a little list of creditors, and his pocket full of money, he made a round of calls, and paid up everybody, including Mr. Tudor.

“I told you the bill would be paid, Mr. Tudor,” he said, quietly, to the grocer.

“You mustn’t feel hard on me on account of my pressing you, Grant,” said the grocer, well pleased, in a conciliatory tone. “You see, I needed money to pay my bills.”

“You seemed to think my father didn’t mean to pay you,” said Grant, who could not so easily get over what he had considered unfriendly conduct on the part of Mr. Tudor.

“No, I didn’t. Of course I knew he was honest, but all the same I needed the money. I wish all my customers was as honest as your folks.”

With this Grant thought it best to be contented. The time might come again when they would require the forbearance of the grocer; but he did not mean that it should be so if he could help it. For he was more than ever resolved to give up the project of going to college. The one hundred and fifty dollars which remained after paying the debts would tide them over a year, but his college course would occupy four; and then there would be three years more of study to fit him for entering a profession, and so there would be plenty of time for the old difficulties to return. If the parish would increase kis father’s salary by even a hundred dollars, they might get along; but there was such a self-complacent feeling in the village that Mr. Thornton was liberally paid, that he well knew there was no chance of that.

Upon this subject he had more than one earnest conversation with his mother.

“I should be sorry to have you leave home,” she said; “but I acknowledge the force of your reasons.”

“I shouldn’t be happy at college, mother,” responded Grant, “if I thought you were pinched at home.”

“If you were our only child, Grant, it would be different.”

“That is true; but there are Frank and Mary who would suffer. If I go to work I shall soon be able to help you take care of them.”

“You are a good and unselfish boy, Grant,” said his mother.

“I don’t know about that, mother; I am consulting my own happiness as well as yours.”

“Yet you would like to go to college?”

“If we had plenty of money, not otherwise. I don’t want to enjoy advantages at the expense of you all.”

“Your Uncle Godfrey will be very angry,” said Mrs. Thornton, thoughtfully.

“I suppose he will, and I shall be sorry for it. I am grateful to him for his good intentions toward me, and I have no right to expect that he will feel as I do about the matter. If he is angry, I shall be sorry, but I don’t think it ought to influence me.”

“You must do as you decide to be best, Grant. It is you who are most interested. But suppose you make up your mind to enter upon a business career, what chance have you of obtaining a place?”

“I shall call upon Mr. Reynolds, and see if he has any place for me.”

“Who is Mr. Reynolds?” asked his mother, in some surprise.

“I forgot that I didn’t tell you of the gentleman whose acquaintance I made on my way up to the city. He is a Wall Street broker. His attention was drawn to me by something that he heard, and he offered to help me, if he could, to get employment.”

“It would cost something to go to New York, and after all there is no certainty that he could help you,” said Mrs. Thornton, cautiously.

“That is true, mother, but I think he would do something for me.”

However Grant received a summons to New York on other business. Mrs. Simpson, as she called herself, though she had no right to the name, was brought up for trial, and Grant was needed as a witness. Of course his expenses were to be paid. He resolved to take this opportunity to call at the office of Mr. Reynolds.

I do not propose to speak of Mrs. Simpson’s trial. I will merely say that she was found guilty of the charge upon which she had been indicted, and was sentenced to a term of imprisonment.

When Grant was released from his duties as witness, he made his way to Wall Street, or rather New Street, which branches out from the great financial thoroughfare, and had no difficulty in finding the office of Mr. Reynolds.

“Can I see Mr. Reynolds?” he asked of a young man, who was writing at a desk.

“Have you come to deliver stock? If so, I will take charge of it.”

“No,” answered Grant; “I wish to see him personally.”

“He is at the Stock Exchange just at present. If you will take a seat, he will be back in twenty minutes, probably.”

Grant sat down, and in less than the time mentioned, Mr. Reynolds entered the office. The broker, who had a good memory for faces, at once recognized our hero.

“Ha, my young friend from the country,” he said; “would you like to see me?”

“When you are at leisure, sir,” answered Grant, well pleased at the prompt recognition.

“You will not have to wait long. Amuse yourself as well as you can for a few minutes.”

Promptness was the rule in Mr. Reynolds’ office. Another characteristic of the broker was, that he was just as polite to a boy as to his best customer. This is, I am quite aware, an unusual trait, and, therefore, the more to be appreciated when we meet with it.

Presently Mr. Reynolds appeared at the door of his inner office, and beckoned to Grant to enter.

“Take a seat, my young friend,” he said; “and now let me know what I can do for you.”

“When I met you in the cars,” said Grant, “you invited me, if I ever wanted a position, to call upon you, and you would see if you could help me.”

“Very true, I did. Have you made up your mind to seek a place?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are your parents willing you should come to New York?”

“Yes, sir. That is, my mother is willing, and my father will agree to whatever she decides to be best.”

“So far so good. I wouldn’t engage any boy who came against his parents’ wishes. Now let me tell you that you have come at a very favorable time. I have had in my employ for two years the son of an old friend, who has suited me in every respect; but now he is to go abroad with his father for a year, and I must supply his place. You shall have the place if you want it.”

“Nothing would suit me better,” said Grant, joyfully. “Do you think I would be competent to fulfill the duties?”

“Harry Becker does not leave me for two weeks. He will initiate you into your duties, and if you are as quick as I think you are at learning, that will be sufficient.”

“When shall I come, sir?”

“Next Monday morning. It is now Thursday, and that will give you time to remove to the city.”

“Perhaps I had better come Saturday, so as to get settled in a boarding-house before going to work. Could you recommend some moderate priced boarding-house, Mr. Reynolds?”

“For the first week you may come to my house as my guest. That will give you a chance to look about you. I live at 58 West 3-th Street. You had better take it down on paper. You can come any time on Monday. That will give you a chance to spend Sunday at home, and you need not go to work till Tuesday.”

Grant expressed his gratitude in suitable terms, and left the office elated at his good fortune. A surprise awaited him. At the junction of Wall and New Streets he came suddenly upon a large-sized bootblack, whose face looked familiar.

“Tom Calder!” he exclaimed. “Is that you?”

CHAPTER IX – ‘UNCLE GODFREY PARTS FROM GRANT

When Tom Calder turned round and saw who had addressed him, he turned red with mortification, and he tried to hide his blacking box. He was terribly mortified to have it known that he had been forced into such a business. If Tom had nothing worse to be ashamed of he need not have blushed, but he was suffering from false shame.

“When did you come to the city?” he stammered.

“Only this morning.”

“I suppose you are surprised to see me in this business,” said Tom, awkwardly.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of,” said Grant. “It is an honest business.”

“It’s an awful come down for me,” said Tom, uncomfortably. “The fact is, I’ve had hard luck.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” said Grant.

“I expected a place in Wall Street, but I came just too late, and things are awful dull anyway. Then I was robbed of my money.”

“How much?” asked Grant, curiously, for he didn’t believe a word of it.

“Eight dollars and thirty-three cents,” replied Tom, glibly.

“I thought you were too smart to be robbed,” said Grant, slyly. “If it had been a green boy from the country like me, now, it wouldn’t have been surprising.”

“I was asleep when I was robbed,” explained Tom, hurriedly. “A fellow got into my room in the night, and picked my pocket. I couldn’t help that, now, could I?”

“I suppose not.”

“So I had to get something to do, or go back to Colebrook. I say, Grant–”

“Well?”

“Don’t you tell any of the fellers at home what business I’m in, that’s a good fellow.”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” said Grant.

“You see, it’s only a few days till I can get something else to do.”

“It’s a great deal better blacking boots than being idle, in my opinion,” said Grant.

“That’s the way I look at it. But you didn’t tell me what you came to the city for?”

“I’m coming here for good,” announced Grant.

“You haven’t got a place, have you?” ejaculated Tom, in surprise.

“Yes, I am to enter the office of Mr. Reynolds, a stock broker. There is his sign.”

“You don’t say so I. Why, that’s just the sort of place I wanted. How did you get the chance?”

“I got acquainted with Mr. Reynolds on board the cars that day we came to New York together.”

“And you asked him for the place?”

“I asked him this morning.”

“You might have given me the chance,” grumbled Tom, enviously. “You knew it was the sort of place I was after.”

“I don’t think I was called upon to do that,” said Grant, smiling. “Besides, he wouldn’t have accepted you.”

“Why not? Ain’t I as smart as you, I’d like to know?” retorted Tom Calder, angrily.

“He heard us talking in the cars, and didn’t like what you said.”

“What did I say?”

“He doesn’t approve of boys smoking cigarettes and going to bucket shops. You spoke of both.”

“How did he hear?”

“He was sitting just behind us.”

“Was it that old chap that was sittin’ with you when I came back from the smoking car?”

“Yes.”

“Just my luck,” said Tom, ruefully.

“When are you goin’ to work?” asked Tom, after a pause.

“Next Monday.”

“Where are you going to board? We might take a room together, you know. It would be kind of social, as we both come from the same place.”

It did not occur to Grant that the arrangement would suit him at all, but he did not think it necessary to say so. He only said: “I am going to Mr. Reynolds’ house, just at first.”

“You don’t say so! Why, he’s taken a regular fancy to you.”

“If he has, I hope he won’t get over it.”

“I suppose he lives in a handsome brownstone house uptown.”

“Very likely; I’ve never seen the house.”

“Well, some folks has luck, but I ain’t one of ‘em,” grumbled Tom.

“Your luck is coming, I hope, Tom.”

“I wish it would come pretty soon, then; I say, suppose your folks won’t let you take the place?” he asked, suddenly, brightening up.

“They won’t oppose it.” “I thought they wanted you to go to college.”

“I can’t afford it. It would take too long before I could earn anything, and I ought to be helping the family.”

“I’m goin’ to look out for number one,” said Tom, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s all I can do.”

Tom’s mother was a hard-working woman, and had taken in washing for years. But for her the family would often have lacked for food. His father was a lazy, intemperate man, who had no pride of manhood, and cared only for himself. In this respect Tom was like him, though the son had not as yet become intemperate.

“I don’t think there is any chance of my giving up the place,” answered Grant. “If I do, I will mention your name.”

“That’s a good fellow.”

Grant did not volunteer to recommend Tom, for he could not have done so with a clear conscience. This omission, however, Tom did not notice.

“Well, Tom, I must be going. Good-by, and good luck.”

Grant went home with a cheerful face, and announced his good luck to his mother.

“I am glad you are going to your employer’s house,” she said. “I wish you could remain there permanently.”

“So do I, mother; but I hope at any rate to get a comfortable boarding place. Tom Calder wants to room with me.”

“I hope you won’t think of it,” said Mrs. Thornton, alarmed.

“Not for a moment. I wish Tom well, but I shouldn’t like to be too intimate with him. And now, mother, I think I ought to write to Uncle Godfrey, and tell him what I have decided upon.”

“That will be proper, Grant.” Grant wrote the following letter, and mailed it at once:

“DEAR UNCLE GODFREY:

I am afraid you won’t like what I have to tell you, but I think it is my duty to the family to give up the college course you so kindly offered me, in view of father’s small salary and narrow means. I have been offered a place in the office of a stock broker in New York, and have accepted it. I enter upon my duties next Monday morning. I hope to come near paying my own way, and before very long to help father. I know you will be disappointed, Uncle Godfrey, and I hope you won’t think I don’t appreciate your kind offer, but I think it would be selfish in me to accept it. Please do forgive me, and believe me to be

Your affectionate nephew, GRANT THORNTON.”

In twenty-four hours an answer came to this letter. It ran thus:

“NEPHEW GRANT:

I would not have believed you would act so foolishly and ungratefully. It is not often that such an offer as mine is made to a boy. I did think you were sensible enough to understand the advantages of a professional education. I hoped you would do credit to the name of Thornton, and keep up the family reputation as a man of learning and a gentleman. But you have a foolish fancy for going into a broker’s office, and I suppose you must be gratified. But you needn’t think I will renew my offer. I wash my hands of you from this time forth, and leave you to your own foolish course. The time will come when you will see your folly.

GODFREY THORNTON.”

Grant sighed as he finished reading this missive. He felt that his uncle had done him injustice. It was no foolish fancy, but a conscientious sense of duty, which had led him to sacrifice his educational prospects.

On Monday morning he took the earliest train for New York.