Kitobni o'qish: «A Young Inventor's Pluck: or, The Mystery of the Willington Legacy»

INTRODUCTION

My Dear Boys and Girls:-

"A YOUNG INVENTOR'S PLUCK" relates the adventures of a wide-awake American lad of a mechanical turn of mind, who suddenly finds himself thrown upon his own resources and compelled to support not only himself, but likewise his sister.

Jack Willington's path is no easy one to tread. The bank in which the sister and brother have their little store of money deposited fails, and with this comes the shutting down of the tool works in which our hero is employed. To add to the lad's troubles, there is a large fire in the town and the youth is accused of incendiarism.

But Jack and his sister Deb are not without friends, and the fact that the boy is an inventor and has almost ready the model of a useful and valuable invention, aids him to secure his release, and then he goes forth to run down his enemies and to solve the mystery connected with a rich family legacy.

Generally speaking, life in a factory town is thought to be dull and monotonous, whereas the truth is, that it is usually full of interest and not devoid of excitement of a peculiar kind. In this tale I have tried to picture life in such a place truthfully, with all of its lights and its shadows, and I hope that my story will prove more or less instructive in consequence.

Affectionately your friend,

ARTHUR M. WINFIELD.

CHAPTER I
THE SHUT DOWN

"Oh Jack! how blue you look!"

"I feel blue, Deb," answered Jack Willington, as he entered the door of his modest home and gave his sister the brotherly kiss he knew she was expecting.

"Is there something the matter up at the tool works, Jack?"

"Yes, Deb. The works are going to shut down."

"To shut down?" repeated the girl, her eyes wide open in affright, for she knew only too well what such a calamity meant. "When will they close?"

"To-morrow. In fact we have quit on the regular work already."

"And how long will the shut-down last?"

"Nobody knows. I asked Mr. Johnson-he's the foreman, you know-and he said he thought a month or six weeks, but he wasn't sure."

"A month! Oh, Jack, it's an awfully long time!"

And Deb Willington's face grew very grave.

"I know it is-longer than I care to remain idle, even if I could afford to, which I can't. But that's not the worst of it."

"No?"

"No; they didn't pay us for the last two weeks' work."

"Why not?"

"Johnson said that they wanted to pay off every man in full, and that the figuring would take several days."

"And you won't get any money till then?"

"Not a cent. My private opinion is that the company is in some sort of a financial difficulty, and only want to gain time. Mont didn't have a word to say about it when I asked him, and, I imagine he knows a good deal about his uncle's affairs."

Deb cast down her eyes in a meditative way.

"To-morrow is rent day," she said, after a pause.

"I know it. I've been thinking of it all the way home. How much have we got toward paying the six dollars?"

"Three dollars and a half." And Deb brought forth the amount from her small purse.

"Humph! I don't see what's to be done," mused Jack, as he removed his hat and sat down. "Mr. Hammerby will have to wait for his money."

"Will he?"

"I don't see what else he can do. But, aside from that, three dollars and a half won't keep us a month. I'll have to look elsewhere for work."

Deborah and John Willington were orphans. Their father had died some ten years before. He had been a strong, industrious and ingenious machinist, of a quiet nature, and at his demise left his wife and two children with a small property, which, however, was subject to a mortgage of several hundred dollars.

His widow found it no easy matter to get along. Jack was but seven years of age and Deb five, and, of course, could do little or nothing, except occasionally to "help mamma."

Mrs. Willington in her reduced circumstances had taken in sewing, and also opened a school for little children, and by these means had earned a scanty living for her family.

But it was not long before the strain began to tell upon the brave woman. She was naturally delicate, and grew weaker slowly but surely, until, eight years later, she quietly let slip the garment she was making, folded her hands, and peacefully went to join her husband in the Great Beyond.

Deb and Jack were terribly startled when the sad event occurred. They were utterly alone in the world. It was true that there were distant relatives upon their mother's side, but they had always been too proud to notice the Willington family, and now made no attempt to help the orphans.

Shortly after the mother's funeral, the mortgage on the homestead fell due, and as it could not be met, the place went under the auctioneer's hammer.

Realty in Corney, as the factory town was called, was not booming at the time, and, as a consequence, when all the costs were paid, only one hundred dollars and the furniture remained as a start in life for the two children.

They had no home, no place to go. What was to be done?

A kind neighbor spoke of adopting Deb, and another obtained for Jack a job in the Tool Company's works.

But the two would not separate. When Jack mentioned it, Deb sobbed and clung to him, until he declared that she should remain with him no matter what happened.

At this time Jack earned eight dollars a week, and had the prospect of a raise. With this amount they rented three rooms for six dollars a month, and Deb, young as she was, took upon herself the important duties of housekeeping.

Things moved crudely at first, but it was so nice to be together, to work for one another, that, excepting for their recent bereavement, which still hung as a heavy cloud over their lives, they lived as happily as "two bugs in a rug."

Jack thought the world of his sister Deb. He was a rather silent fellow, with a practical turn of mind, not given overmuch to fun making, and his sister's bright and cheerful way was just what was needed to lift his mind out of the drudge-rut into which it was wont to run.

He spent all his evenings in her company, either at home or, when the weather was fine, in strolling around Corney, or in attendance upon some entertainment that did not cost much money, and which gave Deb keen enjoyment. Sometimes, when he got the chance, he would do odd jobs at his bench on the sly, and then, with the extra money thus earned, would surprise Deb by buying her something which he knew she desired, but which their regular means would not afford.

Jack was now earning twelve dollars a week and they lived much more comfortably than before. During the past three years they had saved quite a neat sum, but a month of severe illness for Deb had now reduced them to their original capital of one hundred dollars, which was deposited in the Mechanics' Savings Bank of Corney-a sum that both had decided should not be touched unless it became absolutely necessary.

Young as he was, Jack understood the machinist's trade thoroughly. He took a lively interest in his work, and the doing of jobs on his own account had led him to erect a small workbench at home.

Here he often experimented upon various improvements in machinery, hoping at some time to invent that which might bring him in a substantial return.

One of his models-a planing machine attachment-was nearly completed, and this had been considerably praised by Mr. Benton, a shrewd speculator in inventions of various kinds.

"I'm afraid we'll have to draw part of that hundred dollars from the bank," observed Jack as the two were eating the neat supper Deb had prepared. "I hate to do it, but I don't see any way out of it."

"It does seem a shame, after we've kept it so long," returned his sister. "But do as you think best. Only, Jack, dear, please don't worry. It will all come out right in the end."

Her brother had laid down his knife and fork and was resting his chin on his hand in deep meditation.

"You're right, Deb," he exclaimed starting up, "and I ought to be thankful for what we have got, especially for having such a good little sister to ease things up."

"Say, Jack," suddenly began Deb, struck with an idea, "you are so handy with the tools, why don't you open a little shop of your own? Wouldn't it pay?"

Jack's face brightened more than it had for many a day.

"I'm glad you said that," he replied. "I've often thought of it. But I hated to give up a certainty like my wages for-"

"Yes, but now-" began Deb.

"One misfortune gives me a chance to tempt another." He gave a sorry little laugh. "Is that what you mean?"

"You'll get along-never fear."

"There ought to be a chance, true enough. I could sharpen tools, repair lawn mowers and bicycles, and mend all sorts of things. There is no such shop in Corney as yet, and it ought to pay."

"How much would it cost to start?" asked Deb, with great interest.

"I think fifty or sixty dollars would put me into shape to do small work. I have most of the tools, and would only need a lathe and one or two other things-that I could get second-hand."

"I'll tell you what to do then," was Deb's conclusion; "to-morrow morning, go down to the bank and draw out seventy-five dollars. Then we'll pay the rent, and you can take the rest and try your luck."

"Yes, but-"

"No buts, Jack; I'm willing to put up with whatever comes-bad luck as well as good. I'm sure you'll succeed."

"If your good wishes count for anything, I certainly shall," exclaimed Jack, earnestly. "I think I can rent a shop for ten dollars a month, or, maybe, if I pay a little more, I can get one with living rooms attached, which would be cheaper than hiring two places."

"And nicer, too," returned Deb; "you wouldn't have to go so far for dinner, and I could attend to customers while you were away."

The pair talked in this strain for over an hour. His sister's sanguine way of looking at the matter made the young machinist feel as if perhaps the shut-down was not such a bad thing, after all, and might prove the turning point to something better than they had ever before known.

The next morning, for the first time in several years, Jack had breakfast late. It was soon over, and then he put on his good clothes and started for the bank.

The streets were thronged with idle men. The Corney Tool Company employed nearly a thousand persons-in fact, it was by far the principal factory in the place-and to have all these employes thrown out of work was a calamity discussed by everyone.

The Mechanics' Savings Bank had been organized by Mr. Felix Gray, the owner of the tool works, who presided over both places. He was a man of fifty, with an unusually sharp and irritable disposition.

As Jack approached the bank he noticed a large crowd collected in and around the building.

"I suppose, as they can't get their pay, they want to withdraw some of their savings," was his thought as he drew nearer.

An instant later a queer cry came from the interior of the bank, and it was quickly taken up by those outside.

"What is it?" asked the young machinist, of a bystander.

"They've suspended payment," was the short reply.

"What!" gasped Jack, in horror. "You don't mean it?"

But at the same time the crowd cried out loudly, in angry tones:

"The bank's burst! She's gone up for good! No money for the poor man! We can all starve!"

CHAPTER II
FOR THE SAKE OF HOME

"Can this be possible? Has the bank really burst?"

Over and over Jack asked himself the question. Then the words of the crowd echoed and re-echoed through his ears. Yes, the bank had suspended payment. There was no money for him-no money for anyone!

"It's too bad!" he groaned. "What will Deb say?"

The thought of his sister gave him another pang. Without money and without work, how could he continue to take care of her?

"Oh! Jack, me b'y, not wan pinny av me two hundred dollars will they give me at all," exclaimed Andy Mosey, a fellow-workman, bitterly.

"How did it happen?" asked the young machinist.

"No wan knows. Oi guess old Gray is in a toight hole, an' is usin' the bank's money to get him out."

Andy Mosey was a heavy-set Irishman, with a bloated, red face and fiery hair and beard. His work brought him into daily contact with the young machinist, but Jack did not like the man, first on account of his drinking habit, and secondly, because he suspected the Irishman of having stolen from the pocket of his jumper a silver match safe-a highly-valued Willington heirloom.

"It's a bad business, and no mistake."

The speaker was Dennis Corrigan, a pattern maker. He was a brother-in-law to Mosey, but much more educated, and somewhat refined in appearance as well.

"Yes, indeed," returned Jack.

"How do they expect us to live if they don't pay us our wages or let us draw our savings either?"

"Old Gray will pay dearly fer this," put in Andy Mosey, with a wicked look in his eye; "oi'll vow he'll be moighty sorry for this day's worruk ere long."

Jack elbowed his way up the bank steps and into the building. The cashier's window was closed, and behind the glass this notice was pasted up:

"Depositors are hereby notified that owing to the unexpected run upon this bank, no further payments will be made until the more available assets are converted into cash."

The crowd were all talking loudly and excitedly, and Jack tried in vain to obtain definite information concerning the cause for the suspension.

At length, sick at heart, he returned to the sidewalk, where Andy Mosey, the worse for several glasses of liquor, again addressed him.

"Not wan pinny av me two hundred dollars, Jack, me b'y!" he repeated in a heavy voice; "an' they call it a free counthry! Sure it's only free fer rich people to rob the poor!"

"It's rough," replied Jack.

"Old Gray will pay dearly fer it, mark me wurruds!"

"What will you do?"

"Never moind, Jack, me b'y! Thrust Andy Mosey to get square wid the ould villian!"

Jack retraced his steps homeward with slow and unwilling steps. All his bright hopes of the past hour had been dashed to naught. No money meant no start in business, and with a thousand men idle what chances were there of finding employment?

"If I had a few dollars in my pocket I might try some other town," he thought. "But without some money, it's hard lines, sure enough."

Jack would not have felt it so much had he been alone, but with Deb depending upon him, his responsibility seemed more than doubled.

Their home was on the second floor of a large apartment house standing upon one of the side streets of Corney. As Jack ascended the stairs he heard talking in the kitchen.

"Wonder who is here? Visitors of some kind," he thought.

Entering, the young machinist found Mr. Hammerby, the house-agent, in earnest conversation with Deb.

Mr. Hammerby was a short, dapper business man, small in form, and a person of few words.

"Yes, I never allow a rent day to go by," he was saying. "People who hire from me must expect to pay promptly."

"But sometimes people fall ill, and get behind-" began Deb.

"True, but that's not my fault, and I never-ah, here is your brother at last. Good morning, Mr. Willington."

"Good morning, Mr. Hammerby," returned Jack, soberly, and with a sinking heart. "You came for the rent, I suppose."

"Yes, sir, always prompt, you know," replied the agent, rubbing his hands together.

"I told him you had just gone to get the money," put in Deb.

"I-I'm sorry, but I can't pay you today," said Jack, as calmly as he could, but with a worried glance at his sister.

"Oh, Jack, what has happened?" burst out Deb, growing pale.

"The bank has stopped payment."

"And you expected to get your money from that place?" asked Mr. Hammerby.

"Yes, sir."

"Your sister told me you had gone out for it, but did not tell me where."

"Can't you get any money, Jack?" asked Deb, catching his arm.

"Not a cent."

The tears started in the girl's eyes. Here was indeed a blow.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I must have the rent," said Mr. Hammerby, firmly.

"I can't pay it," replied Jack. "If I had the money, nothing would please me more. But I haven't got any pay for the past two weeks' work, and I have but three dollars and a half, and that we must keep for living purposes."

"Humph! When do you propose to pay?"

"In a few days. Just as soon as I get my money from the factory."

"That won't suit me. If I don't have my money by to-night I'll serve you a three-days' notice to quit."

It may seem strange that Mr. Hammerby should be so hard upon his tenants, but the truth was, he understood more of the factory and the bank affairs than was generally known.

He was well aware that it would be a long time before cash could be had at either place.

"But surely you wouldn't turn us out for being behind just this once!" exclaimed Jack. "We have paid promptly for three years."

"I can't make any allowance. It's pay or leave. I might have got more than you pay for these rooms, but I let you have them at a low figure because I thought you would be prompt."

"But Mr. Gray owns this building," put in Deb, eagerly; "surely he will not allow his own workmen, to whom money is due, to be put out."

"He doesn't bother his head about it," returned Mr. Hammerby, with assumed dignity. "He expects me to obey orders, and those orders are to collect or give notice."

"Well, I haven't the money," repeated Jack.

"I'll step in in the morning," went on the agent, "and then it's money or notice. Good day."

And without further words Mr. Hammerby left the apartment. The minute the door was closed Deb burst into tears.

"They will set us into the street!" she sobbed. "Was ever a person so cruel before! Oh, Jack, what shall we do? What shall we do?"

Jack sank into a chair without replying. His mind was busy trying to devise some means of averting the blow that appeared so imminent. Though it cut him to the heart to see his sister so distressed, he could offer her no comforting hope.

"I'm going up to see Mr. Gray," he said, finally, "I'll tell him just how the matter stands. I don't believe if he knew the particulars that he would let Mr. Hammerby put us out."

"If he did he'd be the hardest-hearted man in Corney," declared Deb, between her sobs.

For Jack to think, was to act, and in a few seconds he was ready to depart.

"Shall I go along?" asked his sister, hesitatingly.

"I guess not. You can meet me at the corner if you like," replied Jack.

Mr. Gray's residence was situated in the fashionable part of the town. It was an elegant establishment throughout, and Jack was not a little awed by the sumptuous surroundings.

He was ushered into the hall, and found himself among half a dozen others, all awaiting an interview with the manufacturer.

It was fully half an hour before he was told to enter the library. He found Mr. Felix Gray seated at a desk which was deep with letters and documents.

The manufacturer was a stout man of fifty, with a certain sullen, bull-dog cast of countenance.

"Well, sir, what is it?" he asked, hardly looking up.

In a brief but clear manner Jack stated his case. Mr. Gray hardly heard him out.

"Mr. Willington," he said sharply, "I never interfere with my agents' doings. They have entire charge. Besides, it would be folly for me to make your case an exception. If I did so, any other tenant might ask the same privilege."

"Yes, but if you would only give me an order for some of the money due me, or for my savings-" began the young machinist, growing desperate.

Mr. Gray drew himself up.

"You must get that in the regular way," he returned coolly. "I never make exceptions to my rules. Good morning."

And before he could realize it, Jack was out on the street again with bitter defeat written in every line of his handsome face.

CHAPTER III
A RESULT OF A FIRE

At the corner Jack met Deb, whose anxiety had caused her to follow him close to the Gray mansion.

"My! how long you've been!" she exclaimed, and then with a keen glance into his face: "Did he- Did he-"

"He said he couldn't do a thing, that it was all in the agent's hands," burst out Jack, "He is meaner than mean. He will let that man put us out even when he owes us more than the amount of the rent. Well, it may be law, but it isn't justice and he shall not do it!"

And the young machinist shut his teeth in grim determination.

"If you can't get the money from the bank, I suppose you can't go into business for yourself," said Deb, when they reached home.

"That's true enough. Before the shut-down I might have borrowed money, but now I guess all our friends need every cent they have."

"Can't we raise some?" Deb's eyes wandered around the apartment. Jack gave a dry little laugh.

"Not on this stuff," he replied. "But we're not reduced to that yet." He walked over to where the model he was working on stood. "Wish this was finished. I believe I can make a neat sum out of this invention."

"How long will it take to complete it?"

"Can't tell. It depends on one's ideas. But I'm going out."

"Where?"

"To look for work."

In a moment Jack had descended to the sidewalk. He found the streets swarming with people, and as he had before thought, with a thousand men idle, what chance was there of getting work? Finding that every place in Corney was full he determined to try Redrock, another manufacturing town, situated on the Camel Falls river, several miles below the present place. The road between the two places followed the river bank. As Jack trudged along close to the water, he heard a sudden cry for help.

Looking ahead he saw that one of the rear wheels of a wagon had come off, and the driver, horses and vehicle were all in danger of being dumped into the stream. It was but a moment's work for the young machinist to rush up, and by catching the horses' heads, to turn them in such a way that the turnout righted itself in the center of the road.

"Thank you, young man!" exclaimed the aged farmer, who was driving, as he sprang to the ground. "That was a narrow escape, and no mistake."

"Your wagon is pretty well damaged," observed Jack as he examined the shattered axle.

"Well, troubles never come singly." replied Farmer Farrell, for such was his name. "This morning something got into the patent rake so it wouldn't work; then the grindstone got cranky, and now this. But thanks to Providence, I'm safe. I reckon I'll have to go back for the other rig, though. Going my way?"

"Yes, sir. I'm bound for Redrock to look for work."

As the two walked along, Jack related what had happened in Corney.

"Well, I declare! I'm lucky any way," declared Farmer Farrell, "I got my money out of the bank a month ago. It's too bad, though, for you. What did you say you were?"

"I'm a machinist," replied Jack, and then suddenly: "Perhaps I can fix up your patent rake and your grindstone. I'll do a good job and won't overcharge you."

To this Farmer Farrell, who was taken by Jack's appearance, agreed, and a few minutes later led the way up a lane to a well-stocked farm.

Down in the barn the young machinist found the things that needed repairing. He looked everything over carefully.

"I'll bring my tools to-morrow and fix them up," he said. "If I get work in Redrock I'll do the work early in the morning or after I quit."

"And the cost?"

"About five or six dollars."

"Cheap enough. Go ahead."

"I will. I'll be on hand early in the morning and do a good job," replied Jack.

The young machinist met with no success at Redrock, and returned in an hour to Corney. Deb was pleased to hear that some work, at least, had been procured.

"It will pay the rent anyway," said Jack, "and that's something. Perhaps, too, it may get me some more jobs like it."

"That's so," replied Deb, her face brightening.

In the evening Jack worked on his model. But he went to bed at ten o'clock, so as to be up early the next morning.

"Jack! Jack! Wake up!"

It was Deb's voice from the next room that aroused him in the middle of the night.

"There is a big fire over on the hill," she continued, "just look out of the window."

But Jack was already up.

"You're right!" he replied. "It's a whopper, too!" he continued, as the flames shot skyward, making all as bright as day. "I'll have to go," he added.

"Must you?"

"Certainly, it's my duty to serve."

For Jack was a duly enlisted member of the Corney Volunteer Fire Department.

He hurried into his clothing as rapidly as possible, and jumped down the stairs three at a time.

"Don't get hurt!" called Deb after him.

The engine house was but a few blocks away. When Jack arrived there, he found that the machine had been dragged out into the street but no further.

"Why don't you catch hold?" he called to a crowd of men who stood on the sidewalk.

"It's old Gray's house!" exclaimed one man, "and it can burn to the ground for all I care."

"He don't help us; now let him help himself," put in another.

"Oh, pshaw! It won't do any good to act that way!" said Jack. "Come, catch hold like men."

Jack was naturally a leader, and when he grasped the rope three other young fellows followed, and in a moment the engine was on its way.

"It's too bad it's Mr. Gray's house," thought the machinist. "It will make him harder-hearted than ever."

He gave no thought as to how the conflagration had originated, and did his best to get the engine to the spot.

But, as has been stated, the place was up hill, and by the time they had made their way along the unpaved road, the fire had gained such headway that it was useless to pour water on the burning building, and all attention was directed to saving the adjoining property.

The heat was intense, and Jack, who was often at the nozzle of the hose, suffered greatly from this and the smoke.

In an hour the fire was declared under control, and a little later the order came to take up the hose and go home.

Jack worked with a will. He had done his duty, and now he was anxious to return, tell Deb all about it, and get to bed again.

While helping to wind the hose upon its carriage, he was suddenly approached by Mr. Gray, accompanied by a stranger.

"There he is!" were Mr. Gray's first words, addressed to the stranger.

The man laid his hand upon Jack's shoulder.

"I want you," he said, quietly.

"What for?" asked Jack.

"I arrest you for setting fire to Mr. Gray's house," was the startling reply.

"Arrest me!" exclaimed the young machinist. "What do you mean? I never set fire to any one's house."

"Oh, yes, you did," put in the manufacturer. "Only you didn't expect to be caught."

"It's false, I-"

"It's true. You shall suffer heavily for this night's work," went on Mr. Gray, bitterly. "We'll see if the law allows tenants who won't pay their rents to set their landlords' houses on fire! Watch him Parker, don't let him escape you!"

"Mr. Gray, I never-" began Jack.

"Come along," broke in the officer, roughly. "You can do your talking in the morning."

And without further words Jack was marched off to the Corney jail.