Only an Irish Boy; Or, Andy Burke's Fortunes, Jr. Horatio Alger [best ebook reader for surface pro txt] 📗

Toward the first of April of the succeeding year, Miss Sophia Grant took a severe cold, not serious, indeed, but such as to make it prudent for her to remain indoors. This occasioned a little derangement of her sister's plans; for both sisters were in the habit, about the first of April and of October, of taking a journey to Boston—partly for a change, and partly because at these times certain banks in which they owned stock declared dividends, which they took the opportunity to collect. But this spring it seemed doubtful if they could go. Yet they wanted the money—a part of it, at least.

"Send Andrew," suggested Miss Sophia, after her sister had stated the difficulty.

In general Miss Priscilla did not approve Sophia's suggestions, but this struck her more favorably.

"I don't know but we might," she said, slowly. "He is a boy to be trusted."

"Just so."

"And I think he is a smart boy."

"Just so."

"He can take care of himself. You remember how he saved Colonel Preston from the robber?"

"Just so."

"Then, on the other hand, he has never been to Boston."

"He could ask."

"I don't suppose there would be any particular difficulty. I could give him all the necessary directions."

"Just so."

"I'll propose it to him."

So, after supper, as Andy was going out into the woodshed for an armful of wood, Miss Priscilla stopped him.

"Were you ever in Boston, Andy?" asked she.

"No, ma'am."

"I wish you had been."

"Why, ma'am?"

"Because I should like to send you there on some business."

"I'll go, ma'am," said Andy, eagerly.

Like most boys of his age, no proposition could have been more agreeable.

"Do you think you could find your way there, and around the city?"

"No fear of that, ma'am," said Andy, confidently.

"We generally go ourselves, as you know, but my sister is sick, and I don't like to leave her."

"Of course not, ma'am," said Andy, quite approving any plan that opened the way for a journey to him.

"We own bank stock, and on the first of April they pay us dividends. Now, if we send you, do you think you can get to the bank, get the money, and bring it back safe?"

"I'll do it for you, ma'am," said Andy.

"Well, I'll think of it between now and next week. If we send you at all, you must start next Monday."

"I'll go any day, ma'am," said Andy, "any day you name."

Miss Priscilla finally decided to send Andrew, but cautioned him against saying anything about it, except to his own family.

On Monday morning, just before the morning train was to start, Andrew appeared on the platform of the modest village depot with a small carpetbag in his hand, lent him by the Misses Grant.

"Give me a ticket to Boston," said he to the station master.

Godfrey Preston, who was about to return to his boarding school, had just purchased a ticket, and overheard this. He didn't much care to speak to Andy, but his curiosity overcame his pride.

"Are you going to Boston?" he asked.

"Yes," said Andy.

"What are you going for?"

"Important business."

"Has Miss Grant turned you off?"

"She didn't say anything about it this morning. Why, do you want to take my place?"

"Do you think I'd stoop to be a hired boy?" said Godfrey, haughtily.

"You wouldn't need to stoop," said Andy; "you ain't any too tall."

Godfrey winced at this. He was not tall of his age, and he wanted to be. Andy had been growing faster than he, and was now, though scarcely as old, quite two inches taller.

"It makes no difference about being tall," he rejoined. "I am a gentleman, and don't have to work for a living like you do."

"What are you going to be when you grow up?"

"A lawyer."

"Then won't you work for money?"

"Of course."

"Then you'll be a hired man, and work for a living."

"That's very different. When are you coming back?"

"When I've finished my business."

"How soon will that be?"

"I can't tell yet."

"Humph! I shouldn't wonder if you were running away."

"Don't you tell anybody," said Andy, in a bantering tone.

"Where did you get the money to pay for your ticket?"

"What would you give to know?"

"You are impudent," said Godfrey, his cheek flushing.

"So are your questions," said Andy.

"I dare say you stole it."

"Look here, Godfrey Preston," said Andy, roused to indignation by this insinuation, "you'd better not say that again, if you know what's best for yourself."

He advanced a step with a threatening look, and Godfrey instinctively receded.

"That comes of my speaking to my inferior," he said.

"You can't do that."

"What do you mean?"

"I