Hector's Inheritance, Or, the Boys of Smith Institute, Jr. Horatio Alger [best electronic book reader TXT] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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Hector halted in front of a building, which he judged to be a gambling house. He did not care to enter, but he watched, with curiosity, those who entered and those who came out.
As he was standing there, a man of forty touched him on the shoulder.
Hector turned, and was by no means attracted by the man’s countenance. He was evidently a confirmed inebriate, though not at that time under the influence of liquor. There was an expression of cunning, which repelled Hector, and he drew back.
“I say, boy,” said the stranger, “do you want to go in?”
“No, sir.”
“If you do, I know the ropes, and I’ll introduce you and take care of you.”
“Thank you,” said Hector, “but I don’t care to go in.”
“Are you afraid?” asked the man, with a slight sneer.
“Yes. Haven’t I a reason?”
“Come, sonny, don’t be foolish. Have you any money?”
“A little.”
“Give it to me and I’ll play for you. I’ll double it in ten minutes, and I’ll only ask you five dollars for my services.”
“Suppose you lose?”
“I won’t lose,” said the man, confidently. “Come,” he said, in a wheedling tone, “let me make some money for you.”
“Thank you, but I would rather not. I don’t want to make money in any such way.”
“You’re a fool!” said the man, roughly, and with an air of disgust he left the spot, much to Hector’s relief.
Still Hector lingered, expecting he hardly knew what, but it chanced that fortune favored him. He was just about to turn away, when a youth, two or three years older than himself in appearance, came out of the gambling house. He was pale, and looked as if he had kept late hours. He had the appearance, also, of one who indulges in drink.
When Hector’s glance fell upon the face of the youth, he started in great excitement.
“Surely,” he thought, “that must be Gregory Newman!”
CHAPTER XXXV. THE PRODIGAL.
As the best way of getting into communication with the youth whom he suspected to be the object of his search, Hector asked him the name of the street.
On receiving an answer, he said, in an explanatory way:
“I am a stranger here. I only arrived on the last steamer.”
The other looked interested.
“Where do you come from?”
“From New York.”
“I used to live there,” said Gregory—for it was he—with a sigh.
“Have you bettered yourself by coming out here?” asked Hector.
Gregory shook his head.
“No,” he said; “I begin to think I was a fool to come at all.”
“Perhaps you had poor prospects in New York?” said Hector.
“No; my uncle is a rich merchant there. I have some property, also, and he is my guardian.”
“Did he favor your coming?”
“No; he was very much opposed to it.”
“Perhaps I ought not to take such a liberty, but I begin to agree with you about your being a fool to leave such prospects behind you.”
“Oh, I am not offended. It is true enough.”
“I suppose you haven’t prospered, then,” said Hector.
“Prospered? Look at me! Do you see how shabby I am?”
Gregory certainly did look shabby. His clothes were soiled and frayed, and he had the appearance of a young tramp.
“That isn’t the worst of it,” he added, bitterly. “I have spent my last cent, and am penniless.”
“That is bad, certainly. Did you lose any of it in there?” said Hector, indicating the gaming house.
“I have lost full half of it there,” answered Gregory. “This morning I found myself reduced to four bits—”
“To what?” inquired Hector, puzzled.
“Oh, I forgot you had just arrived. Four bits is fifty cents. Well, I was reduced to that, and, instead of saving it for my dinner, I went in there and risked it. If I had been lucky, I might have raised it to ten dollars, as a man next to me did; but I’m out of luck, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Why don’t you go back to your uncle in New York?”
“What! and walk all the way without food?” said Gregory, bitterly.
“Of course you couldn’t go without money. Suppose you had the money, would you go?”
“I should be afraid to try it,” said Gregory, smiling.
“Why? Don’t you think he would receive you back?”
“He might but for one thing,” answered Gregory.
“What is that?”
“I may as well tell you, though I am ashamed to,” said Gregory, reluctantly. “I left New York without his knowledge, and, as I knew he wouldn’t advance me money out of my own property, I took five hundred dollars from his desk.”
“That was bad,” said Hector, quietly, but he didn’t look shocked or terror-stricken, for this would probably have prevented any further confidence.
“It wasn’t exactly stealing,” said Gregory, apologetically, “for I knew he could keep back the money from my property. Still, he could represent it as such and have me arrested.”
“I don’t think he would do that.”
“I don’t want to run the risk. You see now why I don’t dare to go back to New York. But what on earth I am to do here I don’t know.”
“Couldn’t you get employment?” asked Hector, for he wished Gregory to understand his position fully.
“What! in this shabby suit? Respectable business men would take me for a hoodlum.”
Hector knew already that a “hoodlum” in San Francisco parlance is a term applied to street loafers from fifteen to twenty-five years of age, who are disinclined to work and have a premature experience of vice.
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