Helping Himself; Or, Grant Thornton's Ambition, Jr. Horatio Alger [most important books to read txt] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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Grant pocketed the coin, which he had never expected to receive, and continued to regard Tom with puzzled surprise. He could not understand what business Tom could have found that had so altered his circumstances. He ventured to inquire.
“I wouldn't mind tellin' you,” answered Tom, “but, you see, it's kind of confidential. I'm a confidential agent; that's it.”
“It seems to be a pretty good business,” remarked Grant.
“Yes, it is; I don't work for nothin', I can tell you that.”
“I'm glad of your good luck, Tom,” said Grant, and he spoke sincerely. “I hope you'll keep your agency.”
“Oh, I guess I will! A feller like me is pretty sure of a good livin', anyway. Hello, Jim!”
This last was addressed to a flashily dressed individual—the same one, in fact, that Grant had seen on a former occasion with Tom.
“Who's your friend?” asked Jim, with a glance at Grant.
“Grant Thornton. He's from my place in the country. He's in the office of Mr. Reynolds, a broker in New Street.”
“Introduce me.”
“Grant, let me make you acquainted with my friend, Jim Morrison,” said Tom, with a flourish.
“Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Thornton,” said Jim Morrison, jauntily, offering his hand.
“Thank you,” said Grant, in a reserved tone; for he was not especially attracted by the look of Tom's friend. He shook hands, however.
“Come 'round and see us some evenin', Grant,” said Tom. “We'll take you round, won't we, Jim?”
“Of course we will. Your friend should see something of the city.”
“You're the feller that can show him. Well, we must be goin'. It's lunch time.”
Tom pulled out a watch, which, if not gold, was of the same color as gold, and the two sauntered away.
“What in the world can Tom have found to do?” Grant wondered.
CHAPTER XIV — WILLIS FORD'S NEW FRIENDS
When Harry Decker left the office at the end of two weeks, Grant was fully able to take his place, having, with Harry's friendly assistance, completely mastered the usual routine of a broker's office. He had also learned the names and offices of prominent operators, and was, in all respects, qualified to be of service to his employer.
Mr. Reynolds always treated him with friendly consideration, and appeared to have perfect confidence in him. For some reason which he could not understand, however, Willis Ford was far from cordial, often addressing him in a fault-finding tone, which at first disturbed Grant. When he found that it arose from Ford's dislike, he ceased to trouble himself about it, though it annoyed him. He had discovered Ford's relationship to Mrs. Estabrook, who treated him in the same cool manner.
“As it appears I can't please them,” Grant said to himself, “I won't make any special effort to do so.” He contented himself with doing his work faithfully, and so satisfying his own conscience.
One evening some weeks later, Grant was returning from a concert, to which the broker had given him a ticket, when, to his great surprise, he met Willis Ford walking with Tom Calder and Jim Morrison. The three were apparently on intimate terms.
“Good-evenin', Grant,” said Tom.
“Good-evening, Tom.”
Grant looked at Willis Ford, but the latter's lip curled and he did not speak. Grant, however, bowed and passed on. He was surprised at the intimacy which had grown up between Ford and those two, knowing Ford's spirit of exclusiveness. He would have been less surprised had he known that Morrison had first ingratiated himself with Ford by offering to lend him money, and afterward had lured him into a gambling house, where Ford, not knowing that he was a dupe, had been induced to play, and was now a loser to the extent of several hundred dollars, for which Morrison held his notes.
“I don't know when I can pay you,” said Ford, gloomily, when he came to realize his situation.
“Oh, something will turn up.” said Jim Morrison, lightly. “I shan't trouble you.”
Two weeks later, however, he lay in wait for Ford when he left Wall Street.
“I want to speak to you a moment, Mr. Ford,” he said.
“Well, what is it?” asked Ford, uncomfortably.
“I am hard up.”
“So am I,” responded Willis Ford.
“But you owe me a matter of six hundred dollars.”
“I know it, but you said you wouldn't trouble me.”
“I didn't expect I should be obliged to,” said Morrison, smoothly. “But 'Circumstances alter cases,' you know. I shall have to ask you for it.”
“That's all the good it will do,” said Willis, irritably. “I haven't a cent to my name.”
“When do you expect to have?”
“Heaven knows; I don't.”
Ford was about to leave his companion and walk away, but Morrison had no intention of allowing the matter to end so. He laid his hand on Ford's shoulder and said, firmly: “Mr. Ford, this won't do. Yours is a debt of honor, and must be paid.”
“Will you be kind enough to let me know how it is to be paid?” demanded Ford, with an ugly sneer.
“That is your business, not mine, Mr. Ford.”
“Then, if it is my business, I'll give you notice when I can pay you. And now, good-afternoon.”
He made another attempt to walk away, but again there was a hand placed upon his shoulder.
“Understand, Mr. Ford, that I am in earnest,” said Morrison. “I can't undertake to tell you how you are to find the money, but it must be found.”
“Suppose it isn't?” said Ford, with a look of defiance.
“Then I shall seek an interview with your respected employer, tell him of the debt, and how it was incurred, and I think he would look for another clerk.”
“You wouldn't do that!” said Ford, his face betraying consternation.
“I would, and I will, unless you pay what you owe me.”
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