Grit

CHAPTER XXX.
GRIT IS BETRAYED

In sending Grit to Boston instead of the regular messenger, President Graves had acted on his own responsibility, as he had a right to do, since it was a matter to be decided by the executive. He might, indeed, have consulted the directors, but that would have created delay, and might have endangered the needful secrecy. When, however, Grit returned and reported to him that his mission had been satisfactorily accomplished, he informed the directors of what had been done at a special meeting summoned at his own house. All approved the action except Mr. Courtney, who was prejudiced against Grit, and, moreover, felt offended because his own counsel had not been asked or regarded.

"It seems to me," he said, with some heat, "that our president has acted in a very rash manner."

"How do you make that out, Mr. Courtney?" interrogated that official.

"It was actually foolhardy to trust a boy like Grit Morris with a package of such value."

"Why?" inquired Graves.

"Why? He is only a common boy, who makes a living by ferrying passengers across the river."

"Does that prevent his being honest?"

"A valuable package like that would be a powerful temptation to a boy like that," asserted Courtney.

"The package was promptly delivered," said Mr. Graves dryly.

"He says so," sneered Courtney.

"Pardon me, Mr. Courtney, I have had advice to that effect from the Boston bank," said the president blandly.

"Well, I'm glad the danger has been averted," said Courtney, rather discomfited. "All the same, I blame your course as hazardous and injudicious. I suppose the boy was afraid to appropriate property of so much value."

"I think, Mr. Courtney, you do injustice to Grit," said Mr. Saunders, another director. "I am satisfied that he is strictly honest."

"Perhaps you'd be in favor of appointing him regular bank messenger," said Courtney, with a sneer.

"I should certainly prefer him to Ephraim Carver."

"I consider Carver an honest man."

"And I have positive proof that he is not honest," said the president. "I have proof, moreover, that he was actually in league with the man who plotted to rob the bank."

This statement made a sensation, and the president proceeded:

"Indeed, I have called this extra meeting partly to suggest the necessity of appointing in Carver's place a man in whom we can repose confidence."

Here he detailed briefly the conversation which Grit overheard between the bank messenger and Colonel Johnson. It impressed all, except Mr. Courtney.

"All a fabrication of that boy, I'll be bound," he declared. "I am surprised, Mr. Graves, that you should have been humbugged by such a palpable invention."

"What could have been the boy's object in inventing such a story, allow me to ask, Mr. Courtney?"

"Oh, he wanted to worm himself into our confidence," said Courtney. "Very likely he wished to be appointed bank messenger, though that would, of course, be preposterous."

"Gentlemen," said President Graves, "as my course does not seem to command entire approval, I will ask those of you who think I acted with discretion to signify it."

All voted in the affirmative except Mr. Courtney.

"I regret, Mr. Courtney, that you disapprove my course," said the president; "but I continue to think it wise, and am glad that your fellow directors side with me."

Soon after the meeting dissolved, and Mr. Courtney went home very much dissatisfied.

Nothing was done about the appointment of a new messenger, the matter being postponed for three days.

When Mr. Courtney went home he did a very unwise thing. He inveighed in the presence of his family against the course of President Graves, though it was a matter that should have been kept secret. He found one to sympathize with him—his son Phil.

"You don't mean to say," exclaimed that young man, "that Grit Morris was sent to Boston in charge of thirty thousand dollars in bonds?"

"Yes, I do. That is just what was done."

"It's a wonder he didn't steal them and make himself scarce."

"That is in substance what I said at the meeting of the directors, my son."

"I wish they'd sent me," said Phil. "I should have enjoyed the trip."

"It would certainly have been more appropriate," said Mr. Courtney, "as you are the son of one of the directors, and not the least influential or prominent, I flatter myself."

"To take a common boatman!" said Phil scornfully. "Why, Mr. Graves must be crazy!"

"He is certainly a very injudicious man," said his father.

"Do you believe Carver to be dishonest, father?"

"No, I don't, though Graves does, on some evidence trumped up by the boy Grit. He wants to supersede him, and it would not at all surprise me if he should be in favor of appointing Grit."

"How ridiculous! What is the pay?" asked Phil.

"Six hundred dollars a year, I believe," said Courtney.

"Can't you get it for me?" asked Phil eagerly.

"I don't think it would be suitable to appoint a boy," returned Courtney. "That is my objection to Grit."

"Surely I would be a better messenger than a common boy like that."

"Of course, you come of a very different family. Still, I prefer a man, and indeed I am in favor of retaining Ephraim Carver."

Phil would really have liked the office of bank messenger. He was tired of studying, and would have found it very agreeable to have an income of his own. He got considerable sums from his father, but not sufficient for his needs, or, rather, his wishes. Besides, like most boys of his age, he enjoyed traveling about, and considered the office a light and pleasant one.

"What a fool Graves must be," he said to himself, "to think of a common boatman for such a place! He'd better stick to his boat, it's all he's qualified for. I'd like to put a spoke in his wheel."

He left the house, and a short distance up the street he met Ephraim Carver, who had come back to town in obedience to Colonel Johnson's suggestion, to learn what he could about the mysterious package.

"I'll see what I can learn from him," thought Phil.

"Good morning, Mr. Carver," he said.

"Good morning, Philip."

"You've been to Boston lately, haven't you?"

"I wonder whether he has heard anything about the matter from his father," thought Carver.

"Yes," he answered.

"You didn't happen to meet Grit Morris there, did you?" asked Phil.

"Grit Morris!" exclaimed Carver, in genuine surprise.

"Yes, didn't you know he had been to Boston?"

"No; what business had he in Boston?" asked the messenger.

"None of his own," answered Phil significantly.

"Did any one send him?"

"You had better ask Mr. Graves," said Phil, telling more than he intended to.

"Why didn't Mr. Graves get me to attend to his business?" asked Carver, still in the dark.

"I didn't say Graves had any business of his own. He is president of the bank, you know."

"But I attend to the bank business. I am the messenger."

"Perhaps you don't attend to all of it," said Phil, telling considerably more than he intended when the conversation commenced.

"Tell me what you know, Phil, about this matter. It is important for me to know," said Carver coaxingly. "I know you don't like Grit, neither do I. If he is trying to curry favor with Mr. Graves, I want to know it, so as to circumvent him."

Before Phil quite knew what he was saying, he had revealed everything to Carver, adding that Grit was after his place.

The bank messenger now understood why the package entrusted to him was a dummy, and who carried the real package. He lost no time in sending information to Colonel Johnson, in Portland.

The gentleman was very much excited when he learned in what way he had been circumvented.

"So it was a boy, was it?" he said savagely. "That boy must be looked after. He may find that he has made a mistake in meddling with affairs that don't concern him."

CHAPTER XXXI.
NEW PLANS

When Grit returned he found his mother naturally curious to know where he had been and on what errand.

"I should like to tell you everything, mother," he said, "but it may not be prudent just yet."

"It's nothing wrong, I hope, Grit?"

"You may be sure of that, mother; I wouldn't engage in anything that I thought wrong. I feel justified in telling you confidentially that I was sent by Mr. Graves."

"What! the president of the bank?"

"Yes."

"Then it's all right," said Mrs. Brandon, with an air of relief.

"My time wasn't wasted, mother," said Grit cheerfully, as he displayed a ten-dollar note, new and crisp, which Mr. Graves had given him, besides paying the expenses of his trip. "I've only been gone two days, and ten dollars will pay me very well. It's better than boating, at any rate."

"Yes, but it isn't a steady employment."

"No; don't suppose I have any idea of giving up boating, because I have been paid five dollars a day for my trip. It's a help, though."

"Did you see anything of Mr. Brandon while you were gone?" asked his mother apprehensively.

"No, mother. I can't say I was disappointed, either."

"When he went away he spoke mysteriously of some good fortune that was coming to him. He expected to earn a large sum of money, and talked of going to Europe."

"He is welcome to do so," said Grit, smiling. "I hope he will, and then we can resume our old life. I tell you, mother, I feel more sure than ever of getting along. I am certain I can earn considerably more next year than I have ever done before," and the boy's cheeks glowed and his eyes sparkled with cheerful hope.

"I am sure you deserve to, Grit, for you've always been a good son."

"I ought to be, for I've got a good mother," said the boy, with a glance of affection at his mother.

"He pays me for all," thought Mrs. Brandon, as she watched with pride and a mother's love the form of her boy as he walked down to the river. "As long as he lives, I have reason to be grateful to God. Mr. Brandon is a heavy cross to me, but I can bear it while I have Grit."

Mr. Brandon, however, did not show himself. He was at Portland, subject to the orders of Colonel Johnson, who thought it not prudent that he or Travers should return just at present, lest, under the influence of liquor, they might become talkative and betray more than he desired.

It was at this point that he learned from Ephraim Carver that Grit had been sent to Boston in the place of the regular bank messenger.

"It looks as if somebody suspected something," he reflected anxiously. "Is it possible that any part of our plan has leaked out? And if so, how? Then why should a boy like that be selected for so responsible a duty? He must have had some agency in the discovery. Ha! I have it! He is the stepson of this Brandon. I must question Brandon."

"Brandon," he said abruptly, summoning that worthy to his presence, "you have a son named Grit, have you not?"

"Yes—curse the brat!" answered Brandon, in a tone by no means paternal.

"What kind of a boy is he?"

"Impudent and undutiful," said Brandon. "He doesn't treat me with any kind of respect."

"I don't blame him for that," thought Johnson, surveying his instrument with a glance that did not indicate the highest esteem.

"Did you tell him anything of our plans?" he asked searchingly.

"Tell him! He's the last person I'd tell!" returned Brandon, with emphasis.

"He didn't overhear you and Travers speaking of the matter, did he?"

"Certainly not. What makes you ask me that, colonel?"

"Because it was he who carried the genuine package of bonds to Boston—that's all."

"Grit—carried—the bonds!" Brandon ejaculated, in amazement.

"Yes."

"How did you find out?"

"Carver found out. I have just had a despatch from him."

"Well, that beats me!" muttered Brandon. "I can't understand it at all."

"It looks as if Carver were distrusted. I shall find out presently. In the meanwhile, I must see that boy of yours."

"I'll go and bring him here," said Brandon.

"Don't trouble yourself. I can manage the matter better by myself. I shall go to Boston this afternoon."

"Are Travers and I to go, too?"

"No; you can stay here. I'll direct you to a cheap boarding-house, where you can await my orders. I may take Travers with me."

This arrangement did not suit Brandon very well, though it might had he been entrusted with a liberal sum of money. But Colonel Johnson, having lost the valuable prize for which he had striven, was in no mood to be generous. He agreed to be responsible for Brandon's board, but only gave him two dollars for outside expenses, thus enforcing a degree of temperance which was very disagreeable to Brandon.

CHAPTER XXXII.
GRIT RECEIVES A BUSINESS LETTER

Grit returned to his old business, but I am obliged to confess that he was not as well contented with it as he had been a week previous. The incidents of the past four days had broadened his views, and given him thoughts of a career which would suit him better. He earned a dollar and a quarter during the day, and this made a very good average. Multiply it by six, and it stood for an income of seven dollars and a half per week. This, to be sure, was not a large sum, but it was quite sufficient to maintain the little household in a degree of comfort which left nothing to be desired.

"It's all very well now," thought Grit, "but it won't lead to anything. I'm so old now"—he was not quite sixteen—"that I ought to be getting hold of some business that I can follow when I am a man. I don't mean to be a boatman when I am twenty-five years old."

There was something in this, no doubt. Still Grit need not have felt in such a hurry. He was young enough to wait. Waiting, however, is a very bad thing for boys of his age. I only want to show how his mind was affected, in order that the reader may understand how it happened that he fell unsuspiciously into a trap which Colonel Johnson prepared for him.

After supper—it was two days later—Grit prepared to go to the village. He had a little errand of his own, and besides, his mother wanted a few articles at the grocery-store. Our hero, unlike some boys that I know, was always ready to do any errands for his mother, so that she was spared the trouble of exacting unwilling service.

Grit had done all his business, when he chanced to meet his friend Jesse Burns, who, as I have already said, was the son of the postmaster.

"How are you, Jesse?" said Grit.

"All right, Grit. Have you got your letter?"

"My letter!" returned Grit, in surprise.

"Yes; there's a letter for you in the post-office."

"I wonder who it can be from?"

"Perhaps it's from your affectionate stepfather," suggested Jesse, smiling.

"I hope not, I don't want to see or hear from him."

"Well, you can easily solve the problem. You have only to take the letter out."

"That's good advice, Jesse. I'll follow it."

Grit called for his letter, and noticed, with some surprise, that it was addressed to him, not under his real name, but under that familiar name by which we know him.

"Grit Morris," said Jesse, scanning the envelope. "Who can it be from?"

The letter was postmarked Boston, and was addressed in a bold, business hand.

Grit opened the envelope, read it through hastily, and with a look of evident pleasure.

"What's it all about, Grit?" asked Jesse.

"Read it for yourself, Jesse," said the young boatman, handing the letter to his friend.

This was the letter:

"Dear Sir: I need a young person on whom I can rely to travel for me at the West. I don't know you personally, but you have been recommended to me as likely to suit my purpose. I am willing to pay twelve dollars per week and traveling expenses. If this will suit your views, come to Boston at once, and call upon me at my private residence, No. –, Essex Street.

"Yours truly, 

"Solomon Weaver."

"What are you going to do about it, Grit?" asked Jesse, when he had finished reading the letter.

"I shall go to Boston to-morrow morning," answered Grit promptly.

CHAPTER XXXIII.
GRIT LEAVES PINE POINT

"It does seem to be a good offer," said Jesse thoughtfully.

"I should think it was—twelve dollars a week and traveling expenses," said Grit enthusiastically.

"I wonder how this Mr. Weaver came to hear of you?"

"I can't think. That's what puzzles me," said Grit.

"He says that you have been recommended to him, I see."

"Yes. At any rate, I am very much obliged to the one who recommended me."

"What will your mother say?"

"She won't want to part with me; but when I tell her how good the offer is, she will get reconciled to it."

When Grit went home and read the letter to his mother, it was a shock to the good woman.

"How can I part from you, Grit?" she said, with a troubled look.

"It won't be for long, mother," said Grit hopefully. "I shall soon be able to send for you, and we can settle down somewhere near Boston. I've got tired of this place, haven't you?"

"No, Grit. I think Pine Point is very pleasant, as long as I can keep you with me. When you are gone, of course, it will seem very different. I don't see how I am going to stand it."

"It won't be for long, mother; and you'll know I am doing well."

"You can make a living with your boat, Grit."

"Yes, mother; but it isn't going to lead to anything. It's all very well now, but half a dozen years from now I ought to be established in some good business."

"Can't you put off going for a year, Grit?"

"A year hence there may be no such chance as this, mother."

"That is true."

"You'll give your consent, then, mother?"

"If you really think it is best, Grit—that is, if you've set your heart on it."

"I have, mother," said Grit earnestly. "I was getting tired of boating before this letter came, but I kept at it because there didn't seem to be anything else. Now it would seem worse than ever, and I'm afraid I should be very discontented."

"I wish you would call on your friend Mr. Jackson, at the hotel, and see what he thinks of it," said Mrs. Brandon. "He is an experienced man of business, and his judgment will be better than ours."

"I will do as you say, mother. I am sure he will recommend me to go."

Grit went to the hotel, arriving there about eight o'clock, and inquired for Mr. Jackson. He was told that that gentleman had started in the morning for Augusta, and would not return for a day or two. The young boatman was not, on the whole, sorry to hear this, for it was possible that the broker might not think favorably of the plan proposed, and he felt unwilling, even in that case, to give it up. He returned, and acquainted his mother with the result of his visit.

"Can't you wait till Mr. Jackson returns?" asked his mother.

"No, mother; I should run the risk of losing the chance."

The evening was spent in getting ready to go. Grit left in his mother's hands all the money he had, except the ten dollars he had last received, and gave an order for the sixty dollars in the hands of Mr. Lawrence, the lawyer, so that even if this Western journey were prolonged for three months, his mother would have enough to provide for her wants.

"Now, mother, I can leave home without any anxiety," he said.

"You will write me often, Grit?" said Mrs. Brandon anxiously.

"Oh, yes, mother; there is no danger I shall forget that."

"Your letters will be all I shall have to think of, you know, Grit."

"I won't forget it, mother."

Grit kissed his mother good-by, and bent his steps toward the railway station.

On the way he met Ephraim Carver.

"Where are you going, Grit?" asked the bank messenger.

"I am going to Boston."

"It seems to me you have a good deal of business in Boston."

"I hope to have."

"You ain't going to stay, are you?"

"I expect to stay. I've got an offer from a party there."

"Of what sort?"

"That letter will tell you."

Ephraim Carver looked over the letter, and he smiled to himself, for he recognized the handwriting of Colonel Johnson, though the letter was signed by another name.

"You're walking into the lion's den, young man," he thought; but he only said: "It seems to be a good offer. Why, you will be paid as much as I get. How old are you?"

"Almost sixteen."

"Boys get on more rapidly now than they did when I was of your age. Why, I'm more'n twenty years older than you are, and I haven't got any higher than twelve dollars a week yet."

Mr. Carver laughed in what seemed to be an entirely uncalled-for manner.

"I don't believe you'll keep your place long," thought the young boatman; but he, too, was not disposed to tell all he knew. So the two parted, each possessed of a secret in regard to the other.

Mr. Carver, however, was destined to receive the first disagreeable surprise. After parting from Grit he met Mr. Graves in the street.

"Good morning, Mr. Graves," he said, in his usual deferential manner, for he was a worldly-wise man, though he had committed one fatal mistake.

"Good morning, Mr. Carver," said the president of the bank gravely.

"Shall you have any errand for me this week?"

"I have something to say to you, Mr. Carver," said Mr. Graves, "and I may as well take the present opportunity to do so. We have concluded to dispense with your services, and you are at liberty to look elsewhere for employment."

"You are going to dispense with my services!" repeated Carver, in dismay.

"Such is the determination of the directors, Mr. Carver."

"But, sir, that is very hard on me. How am I to get along?"

"I hope you may find something else to do. We shall pay you a month's salary in advance, to give you an opportunity of looking about."

"But, Mr. Graves, why am I treated so harshly? Can't you intercede for me? I am a poor man."

"I feel for your situation, Mr. Carver, but I am compelled to say that I do not feel disposed to intercede for you."

"Haven't I always served the bank faithfully?"

"I advise you to ask yourself that question, Mr. Carver," said the president significantly. "You can answer it to your own conscience better than I or any one else can do for you."

"What does he mean?" thought Carver, startled.

Then it occurred to the messenger that nothing had been discovered, but that Mr. Graves, who had recently shown such partiality to Grit, wished to create a vacancy for him.

"Are you going to put Grit Morris in my place?" he asked angrily.

"What makes you think so?" asked Mr. Graves keenly.

"I knew you were partial to him," answered Carver, who reflected that it would not do to give the source of his information.

"I will at any rate answer your question, Mr. Carver. There is no intention of putting Grit in your place. We have every confidence in his fidelity and capacity, but consider him too young for the position."

"I was only going to say that Grit has another chance in Boston, so that there will be no need to provide for him."

"Grit has a chance in Boston!" said Mr. Graves, in surprise.

"Yes; he has just started for the city."

"What sort of a chance is it?"

"He has received an offer to travel at the West, with a salary of twelve dollars a week and expenses."

"That is strange."

"It is true. He showed me the letter."

"From whom did it come?"

"I don't remember."

Carver did remember, but for obvious reasons did not think it best to acquaint Mr. Graves.

"That is remarkable," thought Mr. Graves, as he walked home. "Grit is a smart boy, but such offers are not often made by strangers to a boy of fifteen. I must speak to Clark about it."

He found Mr. Clark at his house. He was the quiet man who had been employed by the bank as a detective, and who had come to report to the president.

There was a look of intelligence as he listened to the news about Grit.

"I tell you what I think of it," he said. "The rascals have found out the part which Grit took in circumventing them, and this letter is part of a plot. They mean the boy mischief."

"I hope not," said Mr. Graves anxiously. "I am attached to Grit, and I wouldn't have harm come to him for a good deal."

"Leave the matter in my hands. I will take the next train for Boston, and follow this clue. It may enable me to get hold of this Johnson, who is a dangerous rascal, because he has brains."

"Do so, and I will see you paid, if necessary, out of my own pocket."