Helping Himself; Or, Grant Thornton's Ambition, Jr. Horatio Alger [most important books to read txt] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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“Where are you going?” he asked timidly, looking about him apprehensively.
“You'll know soon enough,” was the rough reply.
“When are you going to take me home, Mr. Ford?” asked the boy, in a pleading tone.
“Don't trouble yourself about that.”
“Papa will be so anxious about me—papa and Grant!”
The young man's brow contracted.
“Don't mention the name of that boy! I hate him.”
“He was always good to me. I liked so much to be with him.”
“He did all he could to injure me. I swore to be even with him, and I will!”
“But I have never injured you, Mr. Ford.”
“How could you—a baby like you?” said Ford, contemptuously.
“Then why did you take me from home, and make me so unhappy?”
“Because it was the only way in which I could strike a blow at your father and Grant Thornton. When your father dismissed me, without a recommendation, not caring whether I starved or not, he made me his enemy.”
“But he wouldn't if you hadn't—”
“Hadn't what?” demanded Ford, sternly.
“Taken Mrs. Estabrook's bonds.”
“Dare to say that again, and I will beat you,” said Willis Ford, brutally.
Herbert trembled, for he had a timid nature, and an exquisite susceptibility to pain.
“I didn't mean to offend you,” he said.
“You'd better not. Wait here a minutes, while I look around for some one of whom I can make inquiries. Here, sit down on that settee, and, mind you, don't stir till I come back. Will you obey me?”
“Yes,” answered the boy, submissively.
CHAPTER XXVII — THE RIDE TO BARTON'S
Willis Ford went to the station master, who stood at the door with a cheap cigar in his mouth.
“Is there a man named Joel Barton living hereabouts?” he asked.
The station master took his cigar from his mouth and surveyed his questioner with some curiosity.
“Does he owe you money?” he inquired.
“No,” answered Ford, impatiently. “Will you answer my question?”
“You needn't be in such a pesky hurry,” drawled the station master. “Yes, he lives up the road a piece.”
“How far is a piece?”
“Well, maybe a mile.”
“Straighten?”
“Yes.”
“Is there any way of riding?”
“Well, stranger, I've got a team myself. Is that boy with you?”
“Yes.”
“I'll take you over for half a dollar.”
“Can you go at once?”
“Yes.”
“Then it's a bargain.”
The station master, whose house was only three minutes' walk away, appeared in a reasonable time with a farm wagon, drawn by an old horse that had seen better days, it is to be hoped, for she was a miserable-looking mare.
“Jump in, Herbert,” said Ford.
The boy obeyed, and sat on the front seat, between the driver and his abductor.
“I suppose the horse is warranted not to run away?” said Ford, regarding the animal with a smile.
“He ran away with me once,” was the unexpected answer.
“When was that?”
“'Bout fifteen years ago,” replied the driver, with grim humor. “I reckon he's steadied down by this time.”
“It looks like it,” said Ford.
“Know Joel Barton?” asked the station master, after a pause.
“I saw him once when I was a boy.”
“Any relation?”
“He married a cousin of my stepmother. What sort of a man is he?”
“He's a no-account man—shif'less, lazy—drinks.”
“That agrees with what I have heard. How about his wife?”
“She's smart enough. If he was like her they'd live comfortably. She has a hard time with him and Abner—Abner's her son, and just like his father, only doesn't drink yet. Like as not he will when he gets older.”
Willis Ford was not the only listener to this colloquy. Herbert paid attention to every word, and in the poor boy's mind there was the uncomfortable query, “Why are we going to these people?” He would know soon, probably, but he had a presentiment of trouble.
“Yes,” continued the station master, “Mrs. Barton has a hard row to hoe; but she's a match for Joel.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“She's got a temper of her own, and she can talk a man deaf, dumb, and blind. She gives Barton a piece of her mind whenever he comes home full.”
“She ought to have that satisfaction. From what you tell me, I don't feel very proud of my unknown relatives.”
“Goin' to stay there any length of time?”
“I don't know my own plans yet,” answered Willis Ford, with a glance at the boy. He foresaw a scene when he announced his purpose to leave Herbert in this unpromising place, but he did not wish to anticipate it.
“I suppose Barton is a farmer?” he suggested.
“He pretends to be, but his farm doesn't pay much.”
“What supports them?”
“His wife takes in work from the tailors in the the village. Then they've got a cow, and she makes butter. As for Joel, he brings in precious little money. He might pick up a few dollars hirin' out by the day, if he wasn't so lazy. I had a job for him myself one day, but he knocked off at noon—said he was tuckered out, and wanted me to pay him for that half day. I knew well enough where the money would go, so I told him I wouldn't pay him unless he worked until sunset.”
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