Do and Dare — a Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune

CHAPTER IV. HERBERT LOSES HIS PLACE

Ebenezer Graham with some difficulty ascertained from Eben that he had other bills, amounting in the aggregate to forty-seven dollars. This added to the board bill, made a total of seventy-seven dollars. Mr. Graham’s face elongated perceptibly.

“That is bad enough,” he said; “but you have lost your income also, and that makes matters worse. Isn’t there a chance of the firm taking you back?”

“No, sir,” replied the prodigal. “You see, we had a flare up, and I expressed my opinion of them pretty plainly. They wouldn’t take me back if I’d come for nothing.”

“And they won’t give you a recommendation, either?” said Ebenezer, with a half groan.

“No, sir; I should say not.”

“So you have ruined your prospects so far as Boston is concerned,” said his father, bitterly. “May I ask how you expect to get along?”

“I have a plan,” said Eben, with cheerful confidence.

“What is it?”

“I would like to go to California. If I can’t get any situation in San Francisco, I can go to the mines.”

“Very fine, upon my word!” said his father, sarcastically. “And how do you propose to get to California?”

“I can go either by steamer, across the isthmus, or over the Union Pacific road.”

“That isn’t what I mean. Where are you to get the money to pay your fare with?”

“I suppose you will supply that,” said Eben.

“You do? Well, it strikes me you have some assurance,” ejaculated Mr. Graham. “You expect me to advance hundreds of dollars, made by working early and late, to support a spendthrift son!”

“I’ll pay you back as soon as I am able,” said Eben, a little abashed.

“No doubt! You’d pay me in the same way you pay your board bills,” said Ebenezer, who may be excused for the sneer. “I can invest my money to better advantage than upon you.”

“Then, if you will not do that,” said Eben, sullenly, “I will leave you to suggest a plan.”

“There is only one plan I can think of, Eben. Go back to your old place in the store. I will dismiss the Carr boy, and you can attend to the post office, and do the store work.”

“What, go back to tending a country grocery, after being a salesman in a city store!” exclaimed Eben, disdainfully.

“Yes, it seems the only thing you have left. It’s your own fault that you are not still a salesman in the city.”

Eben took the cigar from his mouth, and thought rapidly.

“Well,” he said, after a pause, “if I agree to do this, what will you pay me?”

“What will I pay you?”

“Yes, will you pay me ten dollars a week—the same as I got at Hanbury & Deane’s?”

“Ten dollars a week!” ejaculated Ebenezer, “I don’t get any more than that myself.”

“I guess there’s a little mistake in your calculations, father,” said Eben, significantly. “If you don’t make at least forty dollars a week, including the post office, then I am mistaken.”

“So you are—ridiculously mistaken!” said his father, sharply. “What you presume is entirely out of the question. You forget that you will be getting your board, and Tom Tripp only received a dollar and a half a week without board.”

“Is that all you pay to Herbert Carr?”

“I pay him a leetle more,” admitted Ebenezer.

“What will you give me?”

“I’ll give you your board and clothes,” said Ebenezer, “and that seems to be more than you made in Boston.”

“Are you in earnest?” asked Eben, in genuine dismay.

“Certainly. It isn’t a bad offer, either.”

“Do you suppose a young man like me can get along without money?”

“You ought to get along without money for the next two years, after the sums you’ve wasted in Boston. It will cripple me to pay your bills,” and the storekeeper groaned at the thought of the inroads the payment would make on his bank account.

“You’re poorer than I thought, if seventy-five dollars will cripple you,” said Eben, who knew his father’s circumstances too well to be moved by this representation.

“I shall be in the poorhouse before many years if I undertake to pay all your bills, Eben.”

After all, this was not, perhaps, an exaggeration, for a spendthrift son can get through a great deal of money.

“I can’t get along without money, father,” said Eben, decidedly. “How can I buy cigars, let alone other things?”

“I don’t want you to smoke cigars. You’ll be a great deal better off without them,” said his father, sharply.

“I understand; it’s necessary to my health,” said Eben, rather absurdly.

“You won’t smoke at my expense,” said Ebenezer, decidedly. “I don’t smoke myself, and I never knew any good come of it.”

“All the same, I must have some money. What will people say about a young man of my age not having a cent in his pocket? They think my father is very mean.”

“I’ll allow you fifty cents a week,” said Mr. Graham, after a pause.

“That won’t do! You seem to think I am only six or seven years old!”

Finally, after considerable haggling, Mr. Graham agreed to pay his son a dollar and a half a week, in cash, besides board and clothes. He reflected that he should be obliged to board and clothe his son at any rate, and should save a dollar and a half from Herbert’s wages.

“Well,” he said, “when will you be ready to go to work?”

“I must have a few days to loaf, father. I have been hard at work for a long time, and need some rest.”

“Then you can begin next Monday morning. I’ll get Herbert to show you how to prepare the mail, so that you won’t have any trouble about the post-office work.”

“By the way, father, how do you happen to have the post office? I thought Mrs. Carr was to carry it on.”

“So she did, for a time, but a woman ain’t fit for a public position of that kind. So I applied for the position, and got it.”

“What’s Mrs. Carr going to do?”

“She’s got her pension,” said Ebenezer, shortly.

“Eight dollars a month, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“That ain’t much to support a family.”

“She’ll have to do something else, then, I suppose.”

“There isn’t much to do in Wayneboro.”

“That isn’t my lookout. She can take in sewing, or washing,” suggested Ebenezer, who did not trouble himself much about the care of his neighbors. “Besides there’s Herbert—he can earn something.”

“But I’m to take his place.”

“Oh well, I ain’t under any obligations to provide them a livin’. I’ve got enough to take care of myself and my family.”

“You’d better have let her keep the post office,” said Eben. He was not less selfish than his father, but then his own interests were not concerned. He would not have scrupled, in his father’s case, to do precisely the same.

“It’s lucky I’ve got a little extra income,” said Ebenezer, bitterly; “now I’ve got your bills to pay.”

“I suppose I shall have to accept your offer, father,” said Eben, “for the present; but I hope you’ll think better of my California plan after a while. Why, there’s a fellow I know went out there last year, went up to the mines, and now he’s worth five thousand dollars!”

“Then he must be a very different sort of a person from you,” retorted his father, sagaciously. “You would never succeed there, if you can’t in Boston.”

“I’ve never had a chance to try,” grumbled Eben.

There was sound sense in what his father said. Failure at home is very likely to be followed by failure away from home. There have been cases that seemed to disprove my assertion, but in such cases failure has only been changed into success by earnest work. I say to my young readers, therefore, never give up a certainty at home to tempt the chances of success in a distant State, unless you are prepared for disappointment.

When the engagement had been made with Eben, Mr. Graham called Herbert to his presence.

“Herbert,” said he, “I won’t need you after Saturday night. My son is going into the store, and will do all I require. You can tell him how to prepare the mails, et cetery.”

“Very well, sir,” answered Herbert. It was not wholly a surprise, but it was a disappointment, for he did not know how he could make three dollars a week in any other way, unless he left Wayneboro.

CHAPTER V. EBEN’S SCHEME

Saturday night came, and with it the end of Herbert’s engagement in the post office.

He pocketed the three dollars which his employer grudgingly gave him, and set out on his way home.

“Wait a minute, Herbert,” said Eben. “I’ll walk with you.”

Herbert didn’t care much for Eben’s company but he was too polite to say so. He waited therefore, till Eben appeared with hat and cane.

“I’m sorry to cut you out of your place, Herbert,” said the young man.

“Thank you,” answered Herbert.

“It isn’t my fault, for I don’t want to go into the store,” proceeded Eben. “A fellow that’s stood behind the counter in a city store is fit for something better, but it’s the old man’s fault.”

Herbert made no comment, and Eben proceeded:

“Yes,” said he, “it’s the old man’s fault. He’s awfully stingy, you know that yourself.”

Herbert did know it, but thought it would not be in good taste to say so.

“I suppose Wayneboro is rather dull for you after living in the city,” he remarked.

“I should say so. This village is a dull hole, and yet father expects me to stay here cooped up in a little country store. I won’t stay here long, you may be sure of that.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet. I want to go to California, but I can’t unless the old man comes down with the requisite amount of tin. You’ll soon have your situation back again. I won’t stand in your way.”

“I’m not very particular about going back,” said Herbert, “but I must find something to do.”

“Just so!” said Eben. “The place will do well enough for a boy like you, but I am a young man, and entitled to look higher. By the way, I’ve got something in view that may bring me in five thousand dollars within a month.”

Herbert stared at his companion in surprise, not knowing any short cut to wealth.

“Do you mean it?” he asked, incredulously.

“Yes,” said Eben.

“I suppose you don’t care to tell what it is?”

“Oh, I don’t mind—it’s a lottery.”

“Oh!” said Herbert, in a tone of disappointment.

“Yes,” answered Eben. “You may think lotteries are a fraud and all that, but I know a man in Boston who drew last month a prize of fifteen thousand dollars. The ticket only cost him a dollar. What do you say to that?”

“Such cases can’t be very common,” said Herbert, who had a good share of common sense.

“Not so uncommon as you think,” returned Eben, nodding. “I don’t mean to say that many draw prizes as large as that, but there are other prizes of five thousand dollars, and one thousand, and so on. It would be very comfortable to draw a prize of even five hundred, wouldn’t it now?”

Herbert admitted that it would.

“I’d send for a ticket by Monday morning’s mail,” continued Eben, “if I wasn’t so hard up. The old man’s mad because I ran into debt, and he won’t give me a cent. Will you do me a favor?”

“What is it?” asked Herbert, cautiously.

“Lend me two dollars. You’ve got it, I know, because you were paid off to-night. I would send for two tickets, and agree to give you quarter of what I draw. Isn’t that fair?”

“It may be,” said Herbert, “but I haven’t any money to lend.”

“You have three dollars in your pocket at this moment.”

“Yes, but it isn’t mine. I must hand it to mother.”

“And give up the chance of winning a prize. I’ll promise to give you half of whatever I draw, besides paying back the money.”

“Thank you, but I can’t spare the money.”

“You are getting as miserly as the old man,” said Eben, with a forced laugh.

“Eben,” said Herbert, seriously, “you don’t seem to understand our position. Mother has lost the post office, and has but eight dollars a month income. I’ve earned three dollars this week, but next week I may earn nothing. You see, I can’t afford to spend money for lottery tickets.”

“Suppose by your caution you lose five hundred dollars. Nothing risk, nothing gain!”

“I have no money to risk,” said Herbert, firmly.

“Oh, well, do as you please!” said Eben, evidently disappointed. “I thought I’d make you the offer, because I should like to see you win a big prize.”

“Thank you for your friendly intention,” said Herbert, “but I am afraid there are a good many more blanks than prizes. If there were not, it wouldn’t pay the lottery men to carry on the business.”

This was common sense, and I cannot forbear at this point to press it upon the attention of my young reader. Of all schemes of gaining wealth, about the most foolish is spending money for lottery tickets. It has been estimated by a sagacious writer that there is about as much likelihood of drawing a large prize in a lottery as of being struck by lightning and that, let us hope, is very small.

“I guess I won’t go any farther,” said Eben, abruptly, having become convinced that Herbert could not be prevailed upon to lend him money.

“Good-night, then,” said Herbert “Good-night.”

“Well, mother, I’m out of work,” said Herbert, as he entered the little sitting room, and threw down his week’s wages. Our young hero was of a cheerful temperament but he looked and felt sober when he said this.

“But for the Grahams we should have a comfortable living,” the boy proceeded. “First, the father took away the post office from you, and now the son has robbed me of my place.”

“Don’t be discouraged, Herbert,” said his mother. “God will find us a way out of our troubles.”

Herbert had been trained to have a reverence for religion, and had faith in the providential care of his heavenly Father, and his mother’s words recalled his cheerfulness.

“You are right, mother,” he said, more hopefully. “I was feeling low-spirited to-night, but I won’t feel so any more. I don’t see how we are to live, but I won’t let it trouble me tonight.”

“Let us do our part, and leave the rest to God,” said Mrs. Carr. “He won’t support us in idleness, but I am sure that in some way relief will come if we are ready to help ourselves.”

“God helps them that help themselves,” repeated Herbert.

“Exactly so. To-morrow is Sunday, and we won’t let any worldly anxieties spoil that day for us. When Monday comes, we will think over what is best to be done.”

The next day Herbert and his mother attended church in neat apparel, and those who saw their cheerful faces were not likely to guess the serious condition of their affairs. They were not in debt, to be sure, but, unless employment came soon, they were likely to be ere long, for they had barely enough money ahead to last them two weeks.

Monday morning came, and brought its burden of care.

“I wish there was a factory in Wayneboro,” said Herbert. “I am told that boys of my age sometimes earn six or seven dollars a week.”

“I have heard so. Here there seems nothing, except working on a farm.”

“And the farmers expect boys to take their pay principally in board.”

“That is a consideration, but, if possible, I hope we shall not be separated at meals.”

“I will try other things first,” said Herbert. “How would you like some fish for dinner, mother? My time isn’t of any particular value, and I might as well go fishing.”

“Do so, Herbert. It will save our buying meat, which, indeed, we can hardly afford to do.”

Herbert felt that anything was better than idleness, so he took his pole from the shed, and, after digging a supply of bait, set out for the banks of the river half a mile away.

Through a grassy lane leading from the main street, he walked down to the river with the pole on his shoulder.

He was not destined to solitude, for under a tree whose branches hung over the river sat a young man, perhaps twenty-five years of age, with a book in his hand.

CHAPTER VI. HERBERT’S GOOD LUCK

“Good-morning,” said the young man, pleasantly.

“Good-morning,” answered Herbert, politely.

He recognized the young man, though he had never seen him before, as a visitor from the city, who was boarding at the hotel, if the village tavern could be so designated. He seemed to be a studious young man, for he always had a book in his hand. He had a pleasant face, but was pale and slender, and was evidently in poor health.

“I see you are going to try your luck at fishing,” said the young man.

“Yes, sir; I have nothing else to do, and that brings me here.”

“I, too, have nothing else to do; but I judge from your appearance that you have not the same reason for being idle.”

“What is that, sir?”

“Poor health.”

“No, sir; I have never been troubled in that way.”

“You are fortunate. Health is a blessing not to be overestimated. It is better than money.”

“I suppose it is, sir; but at present I think I should value a little money.”

“Are you in want of it?” asked the young man, earnestly.

“Yes, sir; I have just lost my place in the post office.”

“I think I have seen you in the post office.”

“Yes, sir; my mother had charge of the office till two weeks since, when it was transferred to Mr. Graham. He employed me to attend to the duties, and serve the customers in the store, till Saturday night, when I was succeeded by his son, who had just returned from the city.”

“Your mother is a widow, is she not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I know where you live; I have had it pointed out to me. Your father served in the war, did he not?”

“Yes, sir; and the injuries he received hastened his death.”

The young man looked thoughtful. Then he said: “How much did Mr. Graham pay you for your services?”

“Three dollars a week.”

“That was not—excuse the question—all you and your mother had to depend upon, was it?”

“Not quite; mother receives a pension of eight dollars per month.”

“Five dollars a week altogether—that is very little.”

“It is only two dollars now, sir.”

“True; but you have health and strength, and those will bring money. In one respect you are more fortunate than I. You have a mother—I have neither father nor mother.”

“I’m sorry for you, sir.”

“Thank you; anyone is to be pitied who has lost his parents. Now, as I have asked about your affairs, it is only fair that I should tell you about myself. To begin with, I am rich. Don’t look envious, for there is something to counterbalance. I am of feeble constitution, and the doctors say that my lungs are affected. I have studied law, but the state of my health has obliged me to give up, for the present at least, the practice of my profession.”

“But if you are rich you do not need to practice,” said Herbert, who may be excused for still thinking his companion’s lot a happy one.

“No, I do not need to practice my profession, so far as the earning of money is concerned; but I want something to occupy my mind. The doctors say I ought to take considerable out-door exercise; but I suppose my physical condition makes me indolent, for my chief exercise has been, thus far, to wander to the banks of the river and read under the trees.”

“That isn’t very severe exercise,” said Herbert, smiling.

“No; still it keeps me out in the open air, and that is something. Now tell me, what are your plans?”

“My hope is to find something to do that will enable me to help mother; but there doesn’t seem much chance of finding anything in Wayneboro. Do you think I could get a place in the city?”

“You might; but even if you did, you would find it difficult to earn your own living, and there would be no chance of your helping your mother.”

Herbert, though naturally sanguine and hopeful, looked sober. Just then he had a bite, and drew out a good-sized pickerel. This gave a new direction to his thoughts, and he exclaimed, triumphantly:

“Look at this pickerel! He must weigh over two pounds.”

“All of that,” said the young man, rising and examining the fish with interest. “Let me use your pole, and see what luck I have.”

“Certainly.”

The young man, some ten minutes later, succeeded in catching a smaller pickerel, perhaps half the size of Herbert’s.

“That will do for me,” he said, “though it doesn’t come up to your catch.”

For two hours Herbert and his friend alternately used the pole, and the result was quite a handsome lot of fish.

“You have more fish than you want,” said the young man. “You had better bring what you don’t want to the hotel. I heard the landlord say he would like to buy some.”

“That would suit me,” said Herbert. “If he wants fish, I want money.”

“Come along with me, then. Really, I don’t know when I have passed a forenoon so pleasantly. Usually I get tired of my own company, and the day seems long to me. I believe I see my way clear to a better way of spending my time. You say you want a place. How would you like me for an employer?”

“I am sure I should like you, but you are not in any business.”

“No,” said the young man, smiling; “or, rather, my business is the pursuit of health and pleasure just now. In that I think you can help me.”

“I shall be very glad to, if I can, Mr.—-”

“My name is George Melville. Let me explain my idea to you. I want your company to relieve my solitude. In your company I shall have enterprise enough to go hunting and fishing, and follow out in good faith my doctor’s directions. What do you say?”

Herbert smiled.

“I would like that better than being in the post office,” he said. “It would seem like being paid for having a good time.”

“How much would you consider your services worth?” asked Mr. Melville.

“I am content to leave that to you,” said Herbert.

“Suppose we say six dollars a week, then?”

“Six dollars a week!” exclaimed Herbert, amazed.

“Isn’t that enough?” asked Melville, smiling.

“It is more than I can earn. Mr. Graham thought he was over-paying me with three dollars a week.”

“You will find me a different man from Mr. Graham, Herbert. I am aware that six dollars is larger pay than is generally given to boys of your age. But I can afford to pay it, and I have no doubt you will find the money useful.”

“It will quite set us on our feet again, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, earnestly. “You are very generous.”

“Oh, you don’t know what a hard taskmaster you may find me,” said the young man, playfully. “By the way, I consider that you have already entered upon your duties. To-day is the first day. Now come to the hotel with me, and see what you can get for the fish. I happen to know that two of the guests, a lady and her daughter, are anxious for a good fish dinner and, as there is no market here, I think the landlord will be glad to buy from you.”

Mr. Melville was right. Mr. Barton, the landlord, purchased the fish that Herbert had to sell, for sixty cents, which he promptly paid.

“Don’t that pay you for your morning’s work?” asked Melville.

“I don’t know but the money ought to go to you, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, “as I am now in your employ. Besides, you caught a part of them.”

“I waive all claim to compensation,” said the young man, “though it would be a novel sensation to receive money for services rendered. What will you say, Herbert, when I tell you that I never earned a dollar in my life?”

Herbert looked incredulous.

“It is really true,” said George Melville, “my life has been passed at school and college, and I have never had occasion to work for money.”

“You are in luck, then.”

“I don’t know that; I think those who work for the money they receive are happy. Tell me, now, don’t you feel more satisfaction in the sixty cents you have just been paid because you have earned it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I thought so. The happiest men are those who are usefully employed. Don’t forget that, and never sigh for the opportunity to lead an idle life. But I suppose your dinner is ready. You may go home, and come back at three o’clock.”

“Very well, sir.”

Herbert made good time going home. He was eager to tell his mother the good news of his engagement.