The Store Boy - Horatio Alger, Jr.
THE STORE BOY
BY
HORATO ALGER, Jr.
Author of "Brave and Bold," "Bound to Rise," "Risen from the Ranks,"
"Erie Train Boy", "Paul the Peddler,", "Phil, the Fiddler,", "Young
Acrobat," Etc.
CHAPTER I
BEN BARCLAY MEETS A TRAMP
"Give me a ride?"
Ben Barclay checked the horse he was driving and looked attentively at
the speaker. He was a stout-built, dark-complexioned man, with a
beard of a week's growth, wearing an old and dirty suit, which would
have reduced any tailor to despair if taken to him for cleaning and
repairs. A loose hat, with a torn crown, surmounted a singularly
ill-favored visage.
"A tramp, and a hard looking one!" said Ben to himself.
He hesitated about answering, being naturally reluctant to have such a
traveling companion.
"Well, what do you say?" demanded the tramp rather impatiently.
"There's plenty of room on that seat, and I'm dead tired."
"Where are you going?" asked Ben.
"Same way you are--to Pentonville."
"You can ride," said Ben, in a tone by means cordial, and he halted
his horse till his unsavory companion climbed into the wagon.
They were two miles from Pentonville, and Ben had a prospect of a
longer ride than he desired under the circumstances. His companion
pulled out a dirty clay pipe from his pocket, and filled it with
tobacco, and then explored another pocket for a match. A muttered
oath showed that he failed to find one.
"Got a match, boy?" he asked.
"No," answered Ben, glad to have escaped the offensive fumes of the
pipe.
"Just my luck!" growled the tramp, putting back the pipe with a look
of disappointment. "If you had a match now, I wouldn't mind letting
you have a whiff or two.
"I don't smoke," answered Ben, hardly able to repress a look of
disgust.
"So you're a good boy, eh? One of the Sunday school kids that want to
be an angel, hey? Pah!" and the tramp exhibited the disgust which the
idea gave him.
"Yes, I go to Sunday school," said Ben coldly, feeling more and more
repelled by his companion.
"I never went to Sunday school," said his companion. "And I wouldn't.
It's only good for milksops and hypocrites."
"Do you think you're any better for not going?" Ben couldn't help
asking.
"I haven't been so prosperous, if that's what you mean. I'm a
straightforward man, I am. You always know where to find me. There
ain't no piety about me. What are you laughin' at?"
"No offense," said Ben. "I believe every word you say."
"You'd better. I don't allow no man to doubt my word, nor no boy,
either. Have you got a quarter about you?"
"No."
"Nor a dime? A dime'll do."
"I have no money to spare."
"I'd pay yer to-morrer."
"You'll have to borrow elsewhere; I am working in a store for a very
smell salary, and that I pay over to my mother."
"Whose store?"
"Simon Crawford's; but you won't know any better for my telling you
that, unless you are acquainted in Pentonville"
"I've been through there. Crawford keeps the grocery store."
"Yes."
"What's your name?"
"Ben Barclay," answered our hero, feeling rather annoyed at what he
considered intrusive curiosity.
"Barclay?" replied the tramp quickly. "Not John Barclay's son?"
It was Ben's turn to be surprised. He was the son of John Barclay,
deceased, but how could his ill-favored traveling companion know that?
"Did you know my father?" asked the boy, astonished.
"I've heerd his name," answered the tramp, in an evasive tone.
"What is your name?" asked Ben, feeling that be had a right to be as
curious as his companion.
"I haven't got any visitin' cards with me," answered the tramp dryly.
"Nor I; but I told you my name."
"All right; I'll tell you mine. You can call me Jack Frost."
"I gave you my real name," said Ben significantly.
"I've almost forgotten what my real name is," said the tramp. "If you
don't like Jack Frost, you can call me George Washington."
Ben laughed.
"I don't think that name would suit, he said. George Washington never
told a lie."
"What d'ye mean by that?" demanded the tramp, his brow darkening.
"I was joking," answered Ben, who did not care to get into difficulty
with such a man.
"I'm going to joke a little myself," growled the tramp, as, looking
quickly about him, he observed that they were riding over a lonely
section of the road lined with woods. "Have you got any money about
you?"
Ben, taken by surprise, would have been glad to answer "No," but he
was a boy of truth, and could not say so truly, though he might have
felt justified in doing so under the circumstances.
"Come, I see you have. Give it to me right off or it'll be worse for
you."
Now it happened that Ben had not less than twenty-five dollars about
him. He had carried some groceries to a remote part of the town, and
collected two bills on the way. All this money he had in a wallet in
the pocket on the other side from the tramp. But the money was not
his; it belonged to his employer, and he was not disposed to give it
up without a struggle; though he knew that in point of strength he was
not an equal match for the man beside him.
"You will get no money from me," he answered in a firm tone, though be
felt far from comfortable.
"I won't, hey!" growled the tramp. "D'ye think I'm goin' to let a boy
like you get the best of me?"
He clutched Ben by the arm, and seemed in a fair way to overcome
opposition by superior strength, when a fortunate idea struck Ben. In
his vest pocket was a silver dollar, which had been taken at the
store, but proving to be counterfeit, had been given to Ben by Mr.
Crawford as a curiosity.
This Ben extracted from his pocket, and flung out by the roadside.
"If you want it, you'll have to get out and get it," he said.
The tramp saw the coin glistening upon the ground, and had no
suspicion of its not being genuine. It was not much--only a
dollar--but he was "dead broke," and it was worth picking up. He had
not expected that Ben had much, and so was not disappointed.
"Curse you!" he said, relinquishing his hold upon Ben. "Why couldn't
you give it to me instead of throwing it out there?"
"Because," answered Ben boldly, "I didn't want you to have it."
"Get out and get it for me!"
"I won't!" answered Ben firmly.
"Then stop the horse and give me a chance to get out."
"I'll do that."
Ben brought the horse to a halt, and his unwelcome passenger
descended, much to his relief. He had to walk around the wagon to get
at the coin. Our hero brought down the whip with emphasis on the
horse's back and the animal dashed off at a good rate of speed.
"Stop!" exclaimed the tramp, but Ben had no mind to heed his call.
"No, my friend, you don't get another chance to ride with me," he said
to himself.
The tramp picked up the coin, and his practiced eye detected that it
was bogus.
"The young villain!" he muttered angrily. "I'd like to wring his
neck. It's a bad one after all." He looked after the receding team
and was half disposed to follow, but he changed his mind, reflecting,
"I can pass it anyhow."
Instead of pursuing his journey, he made his way into the woods, and,
stretching himself out among the underbrush, went to sleep.
Half a mile before reaching the store, Ben overtook Rose Gardiner, who
had the reputation of being the prettiest girl in Pendleton--at any
rate, such was Ben's opinion. She looked up and smiled pleasantly at
Ben as he took off his hat.
"Shall you attend Prof. Harrington's entertainment at the Town Hall
this evening, Ben?" she asked, after they had interchanged greetings.
"I should like to go," answered Ben, "but I am afraid I can't be
spared from the store. Shall you go?"
"I wouldn't miss it for anything. I hope I shall see you there."
"I shall want to go all the more then." answered Ben gallantly.
"You say that to flatter me," said the young lady, with an arch smile.
"No, I don't," said Ben earnestly. "Won't you get in and ride as far
as the store?"
"Would it be proper?" asked Miss Rose demurely.
"Of course it would."
"Then I'll venture."
Ben jumped from the wagon, assisted the young lady in, and the two
drove into the village together. He liked his second passenger
considerably better than the first.
CHAPTER II
BEN AND HIS MOTHER
Ben Barclay, after taking leave of the tramp, lost no time in driving
to the grocery store where he was employed. It was a large country
store, devoted not to groceries alone, but supplies of dry-goods,
boots and shoes, and the leading articles required in the community.
There were two other clerks besides Ben, one the son, another the
nephew, of Simon Crawford, the proprietor.
"Did you collect any money, Ben?" asked Simon, who chanced to be
standing at the door when our hero drove up.
"Yes, sir; I collected twenty-five dollars, but came near losing it on
the way home."
"How was that? I hope you were not careless."
"No, except in taking a stranger as a passenger. When we got to that
piece of woods a mile back, he asked me for all the money I had."
"A highwayman, and so near Pentonville!" ejaculated Simon Crawford.
"What was he like?"
"A regular tramp."
"Yet you say you have the money. How did you manage to keep it from
him?"
Ben detailed the stratagem of which he made use.
"You did well," said the storekeeper approvingly. "I must give you a
dollar for the one you sacrificed."
"But sir, it was bad money. I couldn't have passed it."
"That does not matter. You are entitled to some reward for the
courage and quick wit you displayed. Here is a dollar, and--let me
see, there is an entertainment at the Town Hall this evening, isn't
there?"
"Yes, sir. Prof. Harrington, the magician, gives an entertainment,"
said Ben eagerly.
"At what time does it commence?"
"At eight o'clock."
"You may leave the store at half-past seven. That will give you
enough time to get there."
"Thank you, sir. I wanted to go to the entertainment, but did not
like to ask for the evening."
"You have earned it. Here is the dollar," and Mr. Crawford handed the
money to his young clerk, who received it gratefully.
A magical entertainment may be a very common affair to my young
readers in the city, but in a country village it is an event.
Pentonville was too small to have any regular place of amusement, and
its citizens were obliged to depend upon traveling performers, who,
from time to time, engaged the Town Hall. Some time had elapsed since
there had been any such entertainment, and Prof. Harrington was the
more likely to be well patronized. Ben, who had the love of amusement
common to boys of his age, had been regretting the necessity of
remaining in the store till nine o'clock, and therefore losing his
share of amusement when, as we have seen, an opportunity suddenly
offered.
"I am glad I met the tramp, after all," he said to himself. "He has
brought me luck."
At supper he told is mother what had befallen him, but she tool a more
serious view of it than he did.
"He might have murdered you, Ben," she said with a shudder.
"Oh, no; he wouldn't do that. He might have stolen Mr. Crawford's
money; that was the most that was likely to happen."
"I didn't think there were highwaymen about here. Now I shall be
worrying about you."
"Don't do that mother; I don't feel in any danger. Still, if you
think it best, I will carry a pistol."
"No, no, Ben! it might go off and kill you. I would rather run the
risk of a highwayman. I wonder if the man is prowling about in the
neighborhood yet?"
"I don't think my bogus dollar will carry him very far. By the way,
mother, I must tell yon one strange thing. He asked me if I was John
Barclay's son."
"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Barclay, in a tone of great surprise. "Did he
know your name was Barclay?"
"Not till I told him. Then it was he asked if I was the son of John
Barclay."
"Did he say he knew your father?"
"I asked him, but he answered evasively."
"He might have seen some resemblance--that is, if he had ever met your
father. Ah! it was a sad day for us all when your poor father died.
We should have been in a very different position," the widow sighed.
"Yes, mother," said Ben; "but when I get older I will try to supply my
father's place, and relieve you from care and trouble."
"You are doing that in a measure now, my dear boy," said Mrs. Barclay
affectionately. "You are a great comfort to me."
Ben's answer was to go up to his mother and kiss her. Some boys of
his age are ashamed to show their love for the mother who is devoted
to them, but it a false shame, that does them no credit.
"Still, mother, you work too hard," said Ben. "Wait till I am a man,
and you shall not need to work at all."
Mrs. Barclay had been a widow for five years. Her husband had been a
commercial traveler, but had contracted a fever at Chicago, and died
after a brief illness, without his wife having the satisfaction of
ministering to him in his last days. A small sum due him from his
employers was paid over to his family, but no property was discovered,
though his wife had been under the impression that her husband
possessed some. He had never been in the habit of confiding his
business affairs to her, and so, if he had investments of any kind,
she could not learn anything about them. She found herself,
therefore, with no property except a small cottage, worth, with its
quarter acre of land, perhaps fifteen hundred dollars. As Ben was too
small to earn anything, she had been compelled to raise about seven
hundred dollars on mortgage, which by this time had been expended for
living. Now, Ben was earning four dollars a week, and, with her own
earnings, she was able to make both ends meet without further
encroachments upon her scanty property; but the mortgage was a source
of anxiety to her, especially as it was held by Squire Davenport, a
lawyer of considerable means, who was not overscrupulous about the
methods by which he strove to increase his hoards. Should he at any
time take it into his head to foreclose, there was no one to whom Mrs.
Barclay could apply to assume the mortgage, and she was likely to be
compelled to sacrifice her home. He had more than once hinted that he
might need the money but as yet had gone no further.
Mrs. Barclay had one comfort, however, and a great one. This was a
good son. Ben was always kind to his mother--a bright, popular,
promising boy--and though at present he was unable to earn much, in a
few years he would be able to earn a good income, and then his mother
knew that she would be well provided for. So she did not allow
herself to borrow trouble but looked forward hopefully, thanking God
for what He had given her.
"Won't you go up to the Town Hall with me, mother?" asked Ben. I am
sure you would enjoy it."
"Thank you, Ben, for wishing me to have a share in your amusements,"
his mother replied, "but I have a little headache this evening, and I
shall be better off at home."
"It isn't on account of the expense you decline, mother, is it? You
know Mr. Crawford gave me a dollar, and the tickets are but
twenty-five cents."
"No, it isn't that, Ben. If it were a concert I might be tempted to
go in spite of my headache, but a magical entertainment would not
amuse me as much as it will you."
"Just as you think best, mother; but I should like to have you go.
You won't feel lonely, will you?"
"I am used to being alone till nine o'clock, when you are at the
store."
This conversation took place at the supper table. Ben went directly
from the store to the Town Hall, where he enjoyed himself as much as
he anticipated. If he could have foreseen how his mother was to pass
that evening, it would have destroyed all is enjoyment.
CHAPTER III
MRS. BARCLAY'S CALLERS
About half-past eight o'clock Mrs. Barclay sat with her work in her
hand. Her headache was better, but she did not regret not having
accompanied Ben to the Town Hall.
"I am glad Ben is enjoying himself," she thought, "but I would rather
stay quietly at home. Poor boy! he works hard enough, and needs
recreation now and then."
Just then a knock was heard at the outside door.
"I wonder who it can be?" thought the widow. "I supposed everybody
would be at the Town Hall. It may be Mrs. Perkins come to borrow
something."
Mrs. Perkins was a neighbor much addicted to borrowing, which was
rather disagreeable, but might have been more easily tolerated but
that she seldom returned the articles lent.
Mrs. Barclay went to the door and opened it, fully expecting to see
her borrowing neighbor. A very different person met her view. The
ragged hat, the ill-looking face, the neglected attire, led her to
recognize the tramp whom Ben had described to her as having attempted
to rob him in the afternoon. Terrified, Mrs. Barclay's first impulse
was to shut the door and bolt it. But her unwelcome visitor was too
quick for her. Thrusting his foot into the doorway, he interposed an
effectual obstacle in the way of shutting the door.
"No, you don't, ma'am!" he said, with as laugh. "I understand your
little game. You want to shut me out."
"What do you want?" asked the widow apprehensively.
"What do I want?" returned the tramp. "Well, to begin with, I want
something to eat--and drink," he added, after a pause.
"Why don't you go to the tavern?" asked Mrs. Barclay, anxious for him
to depart.
"Well, I can't afford it. All the money I've got is a bogus dollar
your rogue of a son gave me this afternoon."
"You stole it from him," said the widow indignantly.
"What's the odds if I did. It ain't of no value. Come, haven't you
anything to eat in the house? I'm hungry as a wolf."
"And you look like one!" thought Mrs. Barclay, glancing at his
unattractive features; but she did not dare to say it.
There seemed no way of refusing, and she was glad to comply with his
request, if by so doing she could soon get rid of him.
"Stay here," she said, "and I'll bring you some bread and butter and
cold meat."
"Thank you, I'd rather come in," said the tramp, and he pushed his way
through the partly open door.
She led the way uneasily into the kitchen just in the rear of the
sitting room where she had been seated.
"I wish Ben was here," she said to herself, with sinking heart.
The tramp seated himself at the kitchen table, while Mrs. Barclay,
going to the pantry, brought out part of a loaf of bread, and butter,
and a few slices of cold beef, which she set before him. Without
ceremony he attacked the viands and ate as if half famished. When
about half through, he turned to the widow, and asked:
"Haven't you some whisky in the house?"
"I never keep any," answered Mrs. Barclay.
"Rum or gin, then?" I ain't partic'lar. I want something to warm me
up."
"I keep no liquor of any kind. I don't approve of drink, or want Ben
to touch it."
"Oh, you belong to the cold water army, do you?" said the tramp with a
sneer. "Give me some coffee, then."
"I have no fire, and cannot prepare any."
"What have you got, then?" demanded than unwelcome guest impatiently.
"I can give you a glass of excellent well water."
"[illegible] Do you want to choke me?" returned the tramp in disgust.
"Suppose I mix you some molasses and water," suggested the widow,
anxious to propitiate her dangerous guest.
"Humph! Well, that will do, if you've got nothing better. Be quick
about it, for my throat is parched."
As soon as possible the drink was prepared and set beside his plate.
He drained it at a draught, and called for a second glass, which was
supplied him. Presently, for all things must have an end, the tramp's
appetite seemed to be satisfied. He threw himself back in his chair,
stretched his legs, and, with his hands in his pockets, fixed his eyes
on the widow.
"I feel better," he said.
"I am glad to hear it," said Mrs. Barclay. "Now, if you'll be kind
enough, leave the house, for I expect Ben back before long."
"And you don't want him to get hurt," laughed the tramp. "Well, I do
owe him a flogging for a trick he played on me."
"Oh, pray, go away!" said Mrs. Barclay, apprehensively. "I have given
you some supper, and that ought to satisfy you."
"I can't go away till I've talked to you a little on business."
"Business! What business can you have with me?"
"More than you think. You are the widow of John Barclay, ain't you?"
"Yes; did you know my husband?"
"Yes; that is, I saw something of him just before he died."
"Can you tell me anything about his last moments?" asked the widow,
forgetting the character of her visitor, and only thinking of her
husband.
"No, that isn't in my line. I ain't a doctor nor yet a minister. I
say, did he leave any money?"
"Not that we have been able to find out. He owned this hone, but left
no other property."
"That you know of," said the tramp, significantly.
"Do you know of any?" asked Mrs. Barclay eagerly. "How did you happen
to know him?"
"I was the barkeeper in the hotel where he died. It was a small
house, not one of your first-class hotels."
"My husband was always careful of his expenses. He did not spend
money unnecessarily. With his prudence we all thought he must have
some investments, but we could discover none."
"Have you got any money in the house?" asked the tramp, with seeming
abruptness.
"Why do you ask?" returned the widow, alarmed. "Surely, you would not
rob me?"
"No, I don't want to rob you. I want to sell you something."
"I don't care to buy. It takes all our money for necessary expenses."
"You don't ask what I have to sell."
"No, because I cannot buy it, whatever it may be."
"It is--a secret," said the tramp.
"A secret!" repeated Mrs. Barclay, bewildered.
"Yes, and a secret worth buying. Your husband wasn't so poor as you
think. He left stock and papers representing three thousand dollars,
and I am the only man who can put you in the way of getting it."
Mrs. Barclay was about to express her surprise, when a loud knock was
head at the outer door.
"Who's that?" demanded the tramp quickly. "Is it the boy?"
"No, he would not knock."
"Then, let me get out of this," he said, leaping to his feet. "Isn't
there a back door?"
"Yes, there it is."
He hurried to the door, unbolted it, and made his escape into the open
beyond the house, just as the knock was repeated.
Confused by what she had heard, and the strange conduct of her
visitor, the widow took the lamp and went to the door. To her
surprise she found on opening it, two visitors, in one of whom she
recognized Squire Davenport, already referred to as holding a mortgage
on her house. The other was a short, dark-complexioned man, who
looked like a mechanic.
"Excuse me the lateness of my call, Mrs. Barclay," said the squire
smoothly. "I come on important business. This is Mr. Kirk, a cousin
of my wife."
"Walk in, gentlemen," said Mrs. Barclay.
"This is night of surprises," she thought to herself.
CHAPTER IV
UNPLEASANT BUSINESS
It was now nine o'clock, rather a late hour for callers in the
country, and Mrs. Barclay waited not without curiosity to hear the
nature of the business which had brought her two visitors at that
time.
"Take seats, gentlemen," she said, with the courtesy habitual to her.
Squire Davenport, who was disposed to consider that he had a right to
the best of everything, seated himself in the rocking-chair, and
signed his companion to a cane chair beside him.
"Mr. Kirk," he commenced, "is thinking of coming to Pentonville to
live."
"I am glad to hear it," said Mrs. Barclay politely. Perhaps she would
not have said this if she had known what was coming next.
"He is a carpenter," continued the squire, "and, as we have none in
the village except old Mr. Wade, who is superannuated, I think he will
find enough to do to keep him busy."
"I should think so," assented the widow.
"If he does not, I can employ him a part of the time on my land."
"What has all this to do with me?" thought Mrs. Barclay.
She soon learned.
"Of course he will need a house," pursued the squire, "and as his
family is small, he thinks this house will just suit him."
"But I don't wish to sell," said the widow hurriedly. "I need this
house for Ben and myself."
"You could doubtless find other accommodations. I dare say you could
hire a couple of rooms from Elnathan Perkins."
"I wouldn't live in that old shell," said Mrs. Barclay rather
indignantly, "and I am sure Ben wouldn't."
"I apprehend Benjamin will have no voice in the matter," said Squire
Davenport stiffly. "He is only a boy."
"He is my main support, and my main adviser," said Mrs. Barclay, with
spirit, "and I shall not take any step which is disagreeable to him."
Mr. Kirk looked disappointed, but the squire gave him an assuring
look, as the widow could see.
"Perhaps you may change your mind," said the squire significantly. "I
am under the impression that I hold a mortgage on this property."
"Yes, sir," assented Mrs. Barclay apprehensively.
"For the sum of seven hundred dollars, if I am not mistaken."
"Yes, sir."
"I shall have need of this money for other purposes, and will trouble
you to take it up."