Grit

CHAPTER VIII.
GRIT PUTS HIS MONEY AWAY

"You seem to be in good spirits, Grit," said his mother, as our hero opened the outside door and entered the room where she sat sewing.

"Yes, mother, I have reason to be. Is—is Mr. Brandon home?"

"Yes; he is up-stairs lying down," answered Mrs. Brandon, with a sigh.

Grit rose and closed the door.

"I don't want him to hear what I'm going to tell you," he said. "Mother, I have been very lucky to-day."

"I suppose Mr. Jackson was liberal."

"I should say he was. Guess how much money I have in this wallet, mother."

"Five dollars."

"Multiply that by twelve."

"You don't mean to say that he gave you sixty dollars?" inquired his mother quickly.

"Yes, I do. See here," and Grit displayed the roll of bills.

"You are, indeed, in luck, Grit. How much good this money will do us. But I forgot," she added, her expression changing to one of anxious solicitude.

"What did you forget, mother?"

"That your father—that Mr. Brandon had returned."

"What difference will that make, mother? I suppose, of course, it will increase our expenses."

"If that were all, Grit."

"What is it, then, you fear, mother?"

"That he will take this money away from you."

"I should like to see him try it," exclaimed Grit, compressing his lips.

"He will try it, Grit. He said only an hour ago that you would have to account to him for your daily earnings."

"Doesn't he mean to do any work himself?"

"I fear not. You know what sort of a man he is, Grit. He probably means to live on what we can earn, and spend his time and what money he can get hold of at the tavern."

"And he calls himself a man!" said Grit disdainfully.

"I am afraid our quiet, happy life is at an end, Grit," sighed his mother.

Grit did not answer for a moment, but he looked stern and determined. Finally, he answered:

"I don't want to make any disturbance, mother, or to act improperly, but I feel sure that we ought not to submit to such treatment."

"What can we do, Grit?"

"If Mr. Brandon cares to stay here we will provide him a home, give him his board, but, as to supplying him with money, we ought not to do it."

"I agree with you, Grit, but I don't see how we can help it. Mr. Brandon is a man, and you are only a boy. I don't want you to quarrel with him."

"I won't if I can help it. By the way, mother, I don't think it will be prudent to leave all this money in the house."

"What can we do with it?"

"I will put it out of my hands. Perhaps I had better not tell you what I am going to do with it, for Mr. Brandon might ask you, and it is better that you should be able to tell him that you don't know."

"You are right, Grit."

"I will attend to that matter at once, mother. I will be back in half or three-quarters of an hour," and the young boatman hurried from the house.

He bent his steps to the house of his particular friend, Fred Lawrence, the son of a lawyer in the village. Mr. Lawrence was rated as wealthy by the people in the village, and lived in a house quite as good as Mr. Courtney's, but his son Fred was a very different style of boy. He had no purse-pride, and it never occurred to him that Grit was unfit to associate with, simply because he was poor, and had to earn a living for himself and his mother by ferrying passengers across the Kennebec. In fact, he regarded Grit as his most intimate friend, and spent as much time in his company as their differing engagements would allow.

Phil Courtney, though he condescended to Grit, regarded Fred as his social equal, and wished to be intimate with him; but Fred did not fancy Phil, and the latter saw, with no little annoyance, that the young boatman's company was preferred to his. It displayed shocking bad taste on the part of Fred, but he did not venture to express himself to the lawyer's son as he would not scruple to do to the young ferryman.

Naturally, when Grit felt the need of advice, he thought of his most intimate friend, and sought the lawyer's house.

He met Fred on the way.

"Hello, Grit!" said Fred cordially. "Where are you going?"

"I was going to your house."

"Then turn round, and we will go there."

"I can talk with you in the street. I want your advice and help."

"My advice is probably very valuable," said Fred, smiling, "considering my age and experience. However, my help you can rely upon, if I can give it."

"Did you hear that Mr. Brandon had got home?" asked Grit abruptly.

"Your stepfather?"

"Yes; I am sorry to say that there is that tie between us. I presume you know where he has spent the last five years?"

"Yes," answered Fred.

"Of course, I am glad for his sake that he is free; but I am afraid he is going to give us trouble."

"How does he appear?"

"I have not seen him yet."

"How's that?"

"He only arrived to-day, and I was absent when he reached home."

"Does he mean to live here?"

"I am afraid so; and, what is more, I am afraid he means that mother and I shall pay his expenses. He has already told mother that he shall require me to account to him for my daily earnings."

"That will be hard on you."

"Yes; I need all I can make to pay our daily expenses, and I don't feel like letting mother suffer for the necessaries of life in order to supply Mr. Brandon with money for drink."

"You are right there, Grit. I sympathize with you; but how can I help it?"

"That is what I am coming to. I want to deposit my money with you—that is, what I don't need to use."

"I suppose you haven't much. It might not be well to trust me too far," said Fred, smiling.

"I have sixty dollars here, which I would like to put in your hands—that is, all but two dollars."

"Sixty dollars! Where on earth did you get so much money, Grit?" asked his friend, opening his eyes wide in astonishment.

Grit told the story briefly, and received the warm congratulations of his friend.

"You deserve it all, Grit," he said, "for your brave deed."

"Don't flatter me, Fred, or I may put on airs like Phil Courtney. But, to come back to business—will you do me this favor?"

"Of course, I will. Father has a safe in his office, and I will put the money in there. Whenever you want any of it, you have only to ask me."

"Thank you. That will suit me. I shan't break in upon it unless I am obliged to, as I would like to have it in reserve to fall back upon."

"Come and take supper with us, Grit, won't you?" asked Fred cordially.

"Thank you, Fred; not to-night. I haven't seen Mr. Brandon yet, and I may as well get over the first interview as soon as possible. We shall have to come to an understanding, and it is better not to delay it."

"Good night, then; I shall see you to-morrow, for I am going to Portville, and I shall go over in your boat."

"Then we can have a chat together. Good night."

Meanwhile, Mr. Brandon, having slept off his debauch, had come down-stairs.

"Where's the cub?" he asked.

"I wish you wouldn't call him by that name," said his wife. "He wouldn't like it."

"I shall call him what I please. Hasn't he been in?"

"Yes, Grit has been in."

"Grit?"

"That's a nickname the boys have given him, and as everybody calls him so, I have got into that way."

"Oh, well, call him what you like. Has he been in?"

"Yes."

"Where is he now?"

"He went out for a short time. I expect him in every minute."

"Did he leave his day's earnings with you?"

"No," answered Mrs. Brandon, with a troubled look. "He has the best right to that himself."

"Has he, hey? We'll see about that. I, as his stepfather and legal guardian, shall have something to say to that."

Mrs. Brandon was not called upon to reply, for the door opened just then, and the young boatman stood in the presence of his worthy stepfather.

CHAPTER IX.
A LITTLE DISCUSSION

Grit was only ten years old when his stepfather began to serve out his sentence at the penitentiary, and the two had not seen each other since. Instead of the small boy he remembered, Brandon saw before him a boy large and strong for his age, of well-knit frame and sturdy look. Five years had made him quite a different boy. His daily exercise in rowing had strengthened his muscles and developed his chest, so that he seemed almost a young man.

Brandon stared in surprise at the boy.

"Is that—the cub?" he asked.

"I object to that name, Mr. Brandon," said Grit quietly.

"You've grown!" said Brandon, still regarding him with curiosity.

"Yes, I ought to have grown some in five years."

It occurred to Mr. Brandon that it might not be so easy as he had expected to bully his stepson. He resolved at first to be conciliatory.

"I'm glad to see you," he said. "It's long since we met."

"Yes," answered Grit.

He was not prepared to return the compliment, and express pleasure at his stepfather's return.

"I'm glad you and your mother have got along so well while I was away."

Grit felt tempted to say that they had got along better during Mr. Brandon's absence than when he was with them, but he forbore. He did not want to precipitate a conflict, though, from what his mother had said, he foresaw that one would come soon enough.

"Your mother tells me that you make money by your boat," continued Mr. Brandon.

"Yes, sir."

"That's a good plan. I approve it. How much money have you made to-day, now?"

"I have a dollar or two in my pocket," answered Grit evasively.

"Very good!" said Brandon, in a tone of satisfaction. "You may as well hand it to me."

So the crisis had come! Mrs. Brandon looked at her son and her husband with anxiety, fearing there would be a quarrel, and perhaps something worse. She was tempted to say something in deprecation, but Grit said promptly:

"Thank you, Mr. Brandon, but I would prefer to keep the money myself."

Brandon was rather taken aback by the boy's perfect coolness and self-possession.

"How old are you?" he asked, with a frown.

"Fifteen."

"Indeed!" sneered Brandon. "I thought, from the way you talked, you were twenty-one. You don't seem to be aware that I am your legal guardian."

"No, sir, I was not aware of it."

"Then it's time you knew it. Ain't I your stepfather?"

"I suppose so," said Grit, with reluctance.

"Ha, you admit that, do you? I'm the master of this house, and it's my place to give orders. Your wages belong to me, but if you are obedient and respectful, I will allow you a small sum daily, say five cents."

"That arrangement is not satisfactory, Mr. Brandon," said Grit firmly.

"Why isn't it?" demanded his stepfather, frowning.

"I use my money to support the family."

"Did I say anything against it? As the master of the house, the bills come to me to be paid, and therefore I require you to give me every night whatever you may have taken during the day."

"Do you intend to earn anything yourself?" asked Grit pointedly; "or do you expect to live on us?"

"Boy, you are impertinent," said Brandon, coloring.

"Don't provoke Mr. Brandon," said Grit's mother timidly.

"We may as well come to an understanding," said Grit boldly. "I am willing to do all I can for you, mother, but Mr. Brandon is able to take care of himself, and I cannot support him, too."

"Is this the way you talk to your father, you impertinent boy?" exclaimed Brandon wrathfully.

"You are not my father, Mr. Brandon," said Grit coldly.

"It is all the same; I am your mother's husband."

"That's a different thing."

"Once more, are you going to give me the money you have in your pocket?"

"No, sir."

Brandon looked at Grit, and he felt that it would have given him pleasure to shake the rebellion out of his obstinate stepson, but supper was almost ready, and he felt hungry. He decided that it would be as well to postpone an open outbreak. Grit was in the house, and not likely to run away.

"We'll speak of this another time," he said, waving his hand. "You will find, young man, that it is of no use opposing me. Mrs. Brandon, is supper almost ready?"

"Nearly," answered his wife, glad to have the subject postponed.

"Then serve it as soon as possible," he said, in a lordly tone. "I am to meet a gentleman on business directly afterward."

Supper was on the table in fifteen minutes.

Mr. Brandon ate with evident enjoyment. Indeed, it was so short a time since he had been restricted to prison fare that he relished the plain but well-cooked dishes which his wife prepared.

"Another cup of tea, Mrs. Brandon," he said. "It seems pleasant to be at home again after my long absence."

"I shouldn't think he would like to refer to his imprisonment," thought Grit.

"I hope soon to be in business," continued Brandon, "and we shall then be able to live in better style. When that time comes I shall be willing to have Grit retain his small earnings, stipulating only that he shall buy his own clothes, and pay his mother, say a dollar and a quarter a week, for board."

He said this with the air of a man who considered himself liberal, but neither Grit nor his mother expressed their sense of his generosity.

"Of course, just at present," Mr. Brandon proceeded, "I have no money. The minions of the law took from me all I had when they unjustly thrust me into a foul dungeon. For a time, therefore, I shall be compelled to accept Grit's earnings, but it will not be for long."

Grit said nothing to this hint, but all the same he determined, whether for a short or a long time, to resist the exactions of his stepfather.

As for Brandon, his change of front was induced by the thought that he could accomplish by stratagem what he might have had some difficulty in securing by force. He still had twenty-five cents of the dollar which his wife had given him in the morning.

When supper was over he rose, and, putting on his hat, said:

"I am going to the village on business. I shall be home in good season. Are you going my way, Grit?"

"Not just at present," answered Grit.

Mother and son looked at each other when they were alone.

"I suppose he's gone to the tavern," said Grit.

"Yes, I presume so," said his mother, sighing.

"Well, mother, I didn't give up the money."

"No, Grit, but he means to have it yet."

"He's welcome to it if he can get it," said the boy manfully.

"You haven't got the sixty dollars with you?" said his mother anxiously.

"No, they are safe. I have kept only two dollars, thinking you might need some groceries."

"Yes, I do, Grit. They go off faster, now that we have another mouth to feed."

"Suppose you make out a list of what you want, mother, and I will go up to the store this evening. I may as well save Mr. Brandon from temptation."

His mother made a list, and Grit, putting it in his pocket, walked up to the village.

The groceries, with a pound of steak, cost a dollar and ninety cents.

As Grit took the bundles and walked homeward, he thought to himself.

"Mr. Brandon wouldn't feel very well repaid for his trouble if he should take all I have left. He ought to be satisfied with free board, without expecting us to supply him with pocket-money besides. I wonder what he would say if he knew how much money I have deposited with Fred Lawrence?"

Grit congratulated himself that his stepfather was not likely to make this discovery, but in this he reckoned without his host.

Mr. Brandon made the discovery that same evening. How it came about will appear in the next chapter.

CHAPTER X.
BRANDON LEARNS GRIT'S SECRET

"I had no idea the boy had grown so much," said Brandon to himself, as he directed his course toward the tavern. "I thought he was a little kid, but he's almost as big as I am. He's kind of obstinate, too, but he'll find out who's master before long. It's ridiculous, his expectin' to have the handlin' of all the money that comes into the house. Just as if he had any judgment—a boy of his age."

The chances are that Grit's judgment in the matter would have proved better than Brandon's, since the latter proposed to spend a large portion of the money for drink.

"I expect the boy makes a good thing out of his boating," resumed Mr. Brandon. "He owned up that he had almost two dollars, and it's likely he earned it all to-day."

Presently Brandon reached the tavern, and entered the barroom.

He called for whisky, and swallowed it with gusto.

"You may charge it to me," said he carelessly; "I'll pay once a week."

"We don't care to do business that way," said the barkeeper.

"You ain't afraid I won't pay you?" said Brandon, in a tone of affected indignation.

"I don't know whether you would or not, but our terms are cash."

"Oh, well, if you're so strict as that, take it out of this quarter," said Brandon, throwing his sole remaining coin on the counter.

Fifteen cents were returned to him, and in half an hour that sum was also expended at the bar.

It might have been supposed that Brandon would be satisfied, but he was not. He made an attempt to obtain another drink on credit, but the barkeeper proved obdurate.

Then he engaged in a game of cards, and about half-past nine set out to go home, in a better condition than if he had had more money to spend.

"This will never do!" he muttered, in a discontented tone; "I can't be kept so short as this. It is humiliating to think of me, a grown man, going round without a cent in my pocket, while my stepson is reveling in money. I won't have it, and I'll let him understand it."

A few feet in front of Brandon two boys were walking. One of them was Phil Courtney, and the other Dick Graham, a poor boy, who, by proper subserviency, had earned a position as chief favorite with his companion.

Brandon could not help hearing their conversation. He heard Grit's name mentioned, and this made him listen attentively.

"I can't understand where Grit got his money," Phil was saying.

"How much did you say he had?" inquired Dick.

"Sixty dollars!"

"Whew!"

Brandon felt like saying "Whew!" too, for his amazement was great, but he wanted to hear more, and remained silent.

"Are you sure there were sixty dollars?"

"Yes; my cousin Marion counted it."

"How did Grit happen to show his money?"

"He was boasting that he had more money than I, and I challenged him to show his money."

"I suppose he did show more?"

"Yes, I had only seventeen dollars. But what I can't understand is, where did a common boatman pick up so much money?"

"Perhaps he has been saving for a long time."

"Perhaps so, but I don't believe he could save so much," answered Phil.

"Perhaps he stole it."

Phil didn't believe this, but he would like to have believed it true.

"I shouldn't wonder if he did, though I don't know where he could get the chance."

"I wonder if he'd lend me five dollars," thought Dick Graham, though he did not care to let Phil know his thought. He resolved to be more attentive to Grit, in the hope of pecuniary favors. Meanwhile, he did not forget that Phil also was well provided.

"You were pretty well fixed, too," he said. "I wonder how I'd feel if I had seventeen dollars."

"What do I care about seventeen dollars?" said Phil discontentedly, "when a boy like Grit Morris can show more than three times as much."

"Oh, well, he'll have to spend it. He won't keep it long. By the way, Phil, will you do me a favor?"

"What is it?" asked Phil cautiously.

"Won't you lend me two dollars? I want it the worst way. I haven't got a cent to my name."

"I can't spare it," said Phil curtly.

"It will leave you fifteen–"

"I'm going to use it all. Besides, it would be the same as giving it–"

"No, I'd pay you back in a week or two."

"You've been owing me fifty cents for three months. If you'd paid that up punctually, perhaps I would have lent you. You'd better go to Grit."

"He isn't my friend, and I thought you might not like my going to him."

"Oh, you can borrow as much as you like of him—the more, the better!" returned Phil, with a laugh.

"I'll try it, then. I shall have to pretend to be his friend."

"All right. The faster he gets rid of his money, the better it will suit me."

Brandon heard no more of the conversation, for the boys turned down a side street. But he had heard enough to surprise him.

"Grit got sixty dollars!" he repeated to himself. "Why, the artful young villain! Who'd have thought it? And he coolly refuses to let his father have a cent. He's actually rolling in riches, while I haven't got a penny in my purse. And his mother aids and abets him in it, I'll be bound. It's the blackest ingratitude I ever heard of."

What Grit had to be grateful to him for Mr. Brandon might have found it difficult to instance, but he actually managed to work himself into a fit of indignation because Grit declined to commit his money to his custody.

Brandon felt very much like a man who has suddenly been informed that a pot of gold was concealed in his back yard. Actually, a member of his family possessed the handsome sum of sixty dollars. How was he to get it into his own hands?

That was easier to ask than to answer. As he had said, Grit was a stout, strong boy, nearly his equal in size and strength, and he had already had sufficient acquaintance with his firmness, or obstinacy, as he preferred to call it, to make sure that the boy would not give up the money without a struggle. If now he could get hold of the money by stratagem, it would be easier, and make less disturbance.

Where did Grit keep the money?

"He may have given it to his mother," thought Brandon. "If so, I can find it in one of her bureau drawers. She always used to keep money there. But it is more likely that the boy keeps it in his own pocket. I know what I'll do. I'll get up in the night, when he and his mother are asleep, and search his pockets. Gad, how astonished he'll look in the morning when he searches for it, and finds it missing!"

Brandon was very much amused by this thought, and he laughed aloud.

"Sixty dollars'll set me on my feet again," he reflected. "Let me see. I'll go to Boston, and look round, and see if I can't pick up a job of some kind. There isn't anything to do here in this beastly hole. By the way, I wonder where the boy did get so much money. He must find boatin' more profitable than I had any idea of."

At this point Brandon entered the little path that led to his wife's cottage.

"Mrs. B. is sittin' up," he said, as he saw through the window the figure of his wife in a rocking-chair, apparently occupied with some kind of work. "I'll get her off to bed soon, so that I can have a clear field."

Mrs. Brandon looked up when her husband entered, and noticed, with a feeling of relief, that he was sober. That, however, was not owing to any intentional moderation on his part, but to his lack of funds.

"Sittin' up for me, Mrs. B.?" asked Brandon.

"I generally sit up till past this hour," she answered.

"I feel rather tired myself," said Brandon, succeeding in yawning.

"It isn't on account of having done any work," thought his wife.

"I've been walkin' round considerably, and got tired."

"Do you come from the tavern?" asked Mrs. Brandon coldly.

"Yes, Mrs. B., I expected to meet a gentleman there on business, but he disappointed me. Where's Grit?"

"He has gone to bed. He has got to get up early in the morning, to help me, and then he spends the day in ferrying passengers across the river."

"That's a bright idea of Grit's. I approve it. He makes considerable money, doesn't he?"

"Considerable for a boy. I don't know what I should do if it were not for Grit."

"Just so. But now I'm home, and shall soon get into business. Then you won't need to depend on him. Of course, I shall need a little money to start with."

Mrs. Brandon did not reply to this obvious hint. She prepared for bed. An hour later, Brandon, having ascertained that his wife was asleep, left the room cautiously, and stole into Grit's chamber.