Kitobni o'qish: «Do and Dare — a Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune»

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.