Try and Trust Horatio Alger This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online. http://www.blackmask.com CHAPTER I. AROUND THE BREAKFAST TABLE CHAPTER II. INTRODUCING THE HERO CHAPTER III. A COLLISION CHAPTER IV. A DISAGREEABLE SURPRISE CHAPTER V. THE ENVELOPE CHAPTER VI. ON THE WAY CHAPTER VII. A NEW HOME CHAPTER VIII. THE GHOST IN THE ATTIC CHAPTER IX. EXPOSING A FRAUD CHAPTER X. THE CLOUDS GATHER CHAPTER XI. A CRISIS CHAPTER XII. RALPH THE RANGER CHAPTER XIII. A MOMENT OF PERIL CHAPTER XIV. TAKEN PRISONER CHAPTER XV. A FOUR-FOOTED FOE CHAPTER XVI. JUST TOO LATE CHAPTER XVII. NEW ACQUAINTANCES CHAPTER XVIII. A YOUNG ARISTOCRAT CHAPTER XIX. A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTER CHAPTER XX. FACING A BURGLAR CHAPTER XXI. HERBERT'S REWARD CHAPTER XXII. ROBBED IN THE NIGHT CHAPTER XXIII. A BUSINESS CALL CHAPTER XXIV. FINDING A BOARDING PLACE CHAPTER XXV. GETTING A SITUATION CHAPTER XXVI. A FAMILY COUNCIL CHAPTER XXVII. AT THE CONCERT CHAPTER XXVIII. PETER GREENLEAF AGAIN CHAPTER XXIX. SPARRING CHAPTER XXX. AN UNEXPECTED BLOW CHAPTER XXXI. MR. STANTON IS SURPRISED CHAPTER XXXII. RISEN FROM THE DEAD CHAPTER XXXIII. A FRIEND IN NEED CHAPTER XXXIV. CONCLUSION Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team TRY AND TRUST Or, Abner Holden's Bound Boy TO MY YOUNG FRIEND, A. FLORIAN HENRIQUES (BOISIE), THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED CHAPTER I. AROUND THE BREAKFAST TABLE "Well, wife," said Mr. Benjamin Stanton, as he sat down to a late breakfast, "I had a letter from Ohio yesterday." "From Ohio? Who should write you from Ohio? Anyone I know?" "My sister, Margaret, you remember, moved out there with her husband ten years ago." "Oh, it's from her, is it?" said Mrs. Stanton, indifferently. "No," said her husband with momentary gravity. "It's from a Dr. Kent, who attended her in her last illness. Margaret is dead!" "Dear me!" returned Mrs. Stanton, uncomfortably; "and I am just out of mourning for my aunt. Do you think it will be necessary for us to go into mourning for your sister?" "No, I think not," said her husband. "Margaret has lived away from us so long, and people won't know that we have had a death in the family unless we mention it." "Was that all the letter said—about the death, I mean?" "Why, no," said Mr. Stanton, with a little frown. "It seems Margaret left a child —a boy of fourteen; and, as she left no property, the doctor suggests that I should send for the boy and assume the care of him." "Upon my word!" said Mrs. Stanton; "you will find yourself in business if you undertake to provide for all the beggars' brats that apply to you for assistance." "You must remember that you are speaking of my sister's child," said Mr. Stanton, who, cold and selfish and worldly as he was, had some touch of decency about him, and did not relish the term "beggars' brats," as applied to one so nearly related to him. "Well, call him what you like," said his wife; "only don't be so foolish as to go spending your money on him when our children need all we have. There's Maria needs a new dress immediately. She says all the girls at Signor Madalini's dancing academy dress elegantly, and she's positively ashamed to appear in any of her present dresses." "How much will it cost?" asked Mr. Stanton, opening his pocketbook. "You may hand me seventy-five dollars. I think I can make that do." Without a word of remonstrance, the money was placed in her hand. "I want some money, too," said Tom Stanton, who had just disposed of a very hearty meal. "What do you want it for, Tom?" "Oh, some of the fellows are getting up a club. It's going to be a select affair, and of course each of us has got to contribute some money. You see, we are going to hire a room, furnish it nicely with a carpet, black walnut furniture, and so on, and that'll cost something." "Whose idea is it?" "Well, Sam Paget was the first boy that mentioned it." "Whose son is he?" "His father belongs to the firm of Paget, Norwood Co. He's awful rich." "Yes, it is one of our first families," said Mr. Stanton, with satisfaction. "Is he a friend of yours, Tom?" "Oh, yes, we are quit intimate." "That's right!" said his father, approvingly. "I am glad you choose your friends so well. That's one of the principal reasons I have for sending you to an expensive school, to get you well launched into good society." "Yes, father, I understand," said Tom. "You won't find me associating with common boys. I hold my head a little too high for that, I can tell you." "That's right, my boy," said Mr. Stanton, with satisfaction. "And now how much money do you want for this club of yours?" "Well," said Tom, hesitatingly, "thirty or forty dollars." "Isn't that considerable?" said his father, surprised at the amount. "Well, you see, father, I want to contribute as much as any of the boys. It would seem mean if I didn't. There's only a few of us to stand the expense, and we don't want to let in any out of our own set." "That's true," said Mr. Stanton; "I approve of that. It's all very well to talk about democracy, but I believe in those of the higher orders keeping by themselves." "Then you'll give the money, father?" said Tom, eagerly. "Yes, Tom, there's forty dollars. It's more than I ought to spare, but I am determined you shall stand as good a chance as any of your school-fellows. They shan't be able to say that your father stints you in anything that your position requires." "Thank you, father," said Tom, pocketing the two twenty-dollar bills with great satisfaction. The fact was that Tom's assessment amounted to only twenty dollars, but he thought it would be a good excuse for getting more out of his father. As to the extra money, Tom felt confident that he could find uses enough for it. He had latterly, though but fourteen years of age, contracted the habit of smoking cigars; a habit which he found rather expensive, especially as he felt bound occasionally to treat his companions. Then he liked, now and then, to drop in and get an ice- cream or some confectionery, and these little expenses counted up. Mr. Stanton was a vain, worldly man. He was anxious to obtain an entrance into the best society. For this reason, he made it a point to send his children to the most expensive schools; trusting to their forming fashionable acquaintances, through whom his whole family might obtain recognition into those select circles for which he cherished a most undemocratic respect. For this reason it was that, though not naturally liberal, he had opened his purse willingly at the demands of Mrs. Stanton and Tom. "Well," said Mrs. Stanton, after Tom's little financial affair had been adjusted, "what are you going to write to this doctor? Of course you won't think of sending for your nephew?" "By no means. He is much better off where he is. I shall write Dr. Kent that he is old enough to earn his own living, and I shall recommend that he be bound out to some farmer or mechanic in the neighborhood. It is an imposition to expect, because I am tolerably well off, that it is my duty to support other people's children. My own are entitled to all I can do for them." "That's so, father," said Tom, who was ready enough to give his consent to any proposition of a selfish nature. "Charity begins at home." With Tom, by the way, it not only began at home, but it ended there, and the same may be said of his father. From time to time Mr. Stanton's name was found in the list of donors to some charitable object, provided his benevolence was likely to obtain sufficient publicity, Mr. Stanton did not believe in giving in secret. What was the use of giving away money unless you could get credit for it? That was the principle upon which he always acted. "I suppose," continued Tom, "this country cousin of mine wears cowhide boots and overalls, and has got rough, red hands like a common laborer. I wonder what Sam Paget would say if I should introduce such a fellow to him as my cousin. I rather guess he would not want to be quite so intimate with me as he is now." If anything had been needed, this consideration would have been sufficient to deter Mr. Stanton from sending for his nephew. He could not permit the social standing of his family to be compromised by the presence of a poor relation from the country, rough and unpolished as he doubtless was. Maria, too, who had been for some time silent, here contributed to strengthen the effect of Tom's words. "Yes," said she, "and Laura Brooks, my most intimate friend, who is shocked at anything vulgar or countrified—I wouldn't have her know that I have such a cousin—oh, not for the world!" "There will be no occasion for it," said her father, decidedly. "I shall write at once to this Dr. Kent, explaining to him my views and wishes, and how impossible it is for me to do as he so inconsiderately suggests." "It's the wisest thing you can do, Mr. Stanton," said his wife, who was to the full as selfish as her husband. "What is his name, father?" asked Maria. "Whose name?" "The boy's." "Herbert Mason." "Herbert? I thought it might be Jonathan, or Zeke, or some such name. Herbert isn't at all countrified." "No," said Tom, slyly; "of course not. We all know why you like that name." "Oh, you're mighty wise, Mr. Tom!" retorted his sister. "It's because you like Herbert Dartmouth; but it isn't any use. He's in love with Lizzie Graves." "You seem to know all about it," said Maria, with vexation; for Tom was not far from right in speaking of her preference for Herbert Dartmouth. "Of course I do," said Tom; "I ought to, for he told me so himself." "I don't believe it!" said Maria, who looked ready to cry. "Well, you needn't; but it's so." "Be quiet, children," said Mrs. Stanton. "Thomas, you mustn't plague your sister." "Don't take it so hard, Maria," said Tom, in rather an aggravating tone. "There's other boys you could get. I guess you could get Jim Gorham for a beau, if you tried hard enough." "I wouldn't have him," said Maria. "His face is all over freckles." "Enough of this quarreling, children," said Mrs. Stanton. "I hope," she continued, addressing her husband, "you won't fail to write at once. They might be sending on the boy, and then we should be in a pretty predicament." "I will write at once. I don't know but I ought to inclose some money." "I don't see why you need to." "Perhaps I had better, as this is the last I intend to do for him." "At any rate, it won't be necessary to send much," said Mrs. Stanton. "How much?" "Five dollars will do, I should think. Because he happens to be your nephew, there is no good reason why he should be thrown upon you for support." "Perhaps it will be best to send ten dollars," said Mr. Stanton. "People are unreasonable, you know, and they might charge me with meanness, if I sent less." "Then make it ten. It's only for once. I hope that will be the last we shall hear of him." The room in which this conversation took place was a handsomely furnished breakfast room, all the appointments of which spoke not only of comfort, but of luxury. Mr. Stanton had been made rich by a series of lucky speculations, and he was at present carrying on a large wholesale store downtown. He had commenced with small means twenty years before, and for some years had advanced slowly, until the tide of fortune set in and made him rich. His present handsome residence he had only occupied three years, having moved to it from one of much smaller pretensions on Bleecker Street. Tom and Maria were forbidden to speak of their former home to their present fashionable acquaintances, and this prohibition they were likely to observe, having inherited to the full the worldly spirit which actuated their parents. It will be seen that Herbert Mason was little likely to be benefited by having such prosperous relations. CHAPTER II. INTRODUCING THE HERO If my young readers do not find the town of Waverley on the map of Ohio, they may conclude that it was too small to attract the notice of the map-makers. The village is small, consisting of about a dozen houses, a church, a schoolhouse, and, as a matter of course, one of that well-known class of stores in which everything required for the family is sold, from a dress-pattern to a pound of sugar. Outside of the village there are farmhouses, surrounded by broad acres, which keep them at respectable distances from each other, like the feudal castles of the Middle Ages. The land is good, and the farmers are thrifty and well-to- do; but probably the whole town contains less than a thousand inhabitants. In one of the houses, near the church, lived Dr. Kent, whose letter has already been referred to. He was a skillful physician, and a very worthy man, who would have been very glad to be benevolent if his limited practice had supplied him with the requisite means. But chance had directed him to a healthy and sparsely- settled neighborhood, where he was able only to earn a respectable livelihood, and indeed found himself compelled to economize at times where he would have liked to indulge himself in expense. When Mrs. Mason died it was found that the sale of her furniture barely realized enough to defray the expenses of her funeral. Herbert, her only son, was left wholly unprovided for. Dr. Kent, knowing that he had a rich uncle in New York, undertook to communicate to him the position in which his nephew had been left, never doubting that he would cheerfully extend a helping hand to him. Meanwhile he invited Herbert to come to his house and make it his home till his uncle should send for him. Herbert was a handsome, well-grown boy of fourteen, and a general favorite in the village. While his mother lived he had done all he could to lighten her tasks, and he grieved deeply for her loss now that she was gone. His father had ten years before failed in business in the city of New York, and, in a fit of depression, had emigrated to this obscure country village, where he had invested the few hundred dollars remaining to him in a farm, from which he was able to draw a scanty income. Being a man of liberal education, he had personally superintended the education of his son till his death, two years before, so that Herbert's attainments were considerably in advance of those of other boys of his age in the neighborhood. He knew something of Latin and French, which made him looked upon as quite a model of learning by his playmates. After his father's death he had continued the daily study of the languages, so that he was able to read ordinary French with nearly as much ease as if it were English. Though studious, he was not a bookworm, but was distinguished in athletic sports popular with boys of his age. Enough has been said of our hero by way of introduction. Herbert's faults and virtues will appear as the record of his adventures is continued. It may be hinted only that, while he was frank, manly, and generous in his disposition, he was proud and high-spirited also, and perhaps these qualities were sometimes carried to excess. He would not allow himself to be imposed upon if he could help it. Being strong for his age, he was always able to maintain his rights, but never abused his strength by making it the instrument of tyrannizing over weaker boys. Of course Herbert felt somewhat anxious as to his future prospects. He knew that the doctor had written to his Uncle Benjamin about him, and he hoped that he might be sent for to New York, having a great curiosity to see the city, of which he had heard so much. "Have you heard from my uncle, Dr. Kent?" he inquired, a few days after the scene recorded in our first chapter. His question was prompted by seeing the doctor coming into the yard with an open letter in his hand.