The Errand Boy; Or, How Phil Brent Won Success, Jr. Horatio Alger [beach read .TXT] 📗

box, and commenced drumming tunes with his heels on its sides. This disturbed Mr. Stone. He looked at him sharply, so he stopped and sauntered out into a corner of the back store, where there was a trap-door leading down into the water. A small river ran by under the end of the store, also by the depot, which was near at hand, and his father used to have some of his goods brought down in boats and hoisted up through this door.

It was always one of the most interesting places in the store to Fred; he liked to sit with his feet hanging down over the water, watching it as it came in and dashed against the cellar walls.

To-day it was high, and a smart breeze drove it in with unusual force. Bending down as far as he could safely to look under the store, Fred saw the end of a hatchet sticking out from the corner of one of the abutments that projected from the cellar, to support the end of the store in which the trap-door was.

“What a curious place this is for a hatchet!” thought Fred, as he stooped a little further, holding on very tight to the floor above. What he saw made him almost lose his hold and drop into the water below. There, stretched along on a beam was Sam Crandon, with some stolen packages near him.

For a moment Fred's astonishment was too great to allow him to speak; and Sam glared at him like a wild beast brought suddenly to bay.

“Oh, Sam! Sam!” said Fred, at length, “how could you?”

Sam caught up a hatchet and looked as if he was going to aim it at him, then suddenly dropped it into the water.

Fred's heart beat fast, and the blood came and went from his cheeks; he caught his breath heavily, and the water, the abutment and even Sam with his wicked ugly face were for a moment darkened. Then, recovering himself, he said:

“Was it you, Sam? I'm sorry for you!”

“Don't lie!” said Sam, glowering back, “you know you're glad!”

“Glad? Why should I be glad to have you steal?”

“Cause I licked you, and you caught it.”

“So I did; but I am sorry, for all that.”

“You lie!”

Fred had thought very fast while this conversation was going on. He had only to lift his head and call his father, then the boat would be immediately pushed in under the store, Sam secured and his punishment certain. There were stolen goods enough to convict him, and his mode of ingress into the store was now certain. This trap-door was never locked; very often it was left open—the water being considered the most effectual bolt and bar that could be used; but Sam, a good swimmer and climber, had come in without difficulty and had quite a store of his own hidden away there for future use. This course was very plain; but for some reason, which Fred could not explain even to himself, he did not feel inclined to take it; so he sat looking steadily in Sam's face until he said:

“Look here, Sam, I want to show you I mean what I say. I'm sorry you have turned thief and if I can help you to be a better boy, I should be glad to.”

Again Fred's honest kindly face had the same effect upon Sam that it had at the commencement of their street fight; he respected and trusted it unconsciously.

“Here!” said he, crawling along on the beam and handing back the package of knives, the last theft of which his father had complained.

“Yes, that is right,” said Fred, leaning down and taking it, “give them all back, if you can; that is what my father calls 'making restitution,' and then you won't be a thief any longer.”

Something in the boy's tone touched Sam's heart still more; so he handed back one thing after another as rapidly as he could until nearly everything was restored.

“Bravo for you, Sam! I won't tell who took them, and there is a chance for you. Here, give me your hand now, honor bright you'll never come here again to steal, if I don't tell my father.”

Sam looked at him a moment, as if he would read his very soul; then he said sulkily:

“You'll tell; I know you will, 'cause I licked you when you didn't want me to; but you've got 'em all back, and I s'pose it won't go very hard.”

“What won't go very hard?”

“The prison.”

“You sha'n't go to prison at all. Here, give me your hand; I promise not to tell if you will promise not to steal any more. Ain't that fair?”

“Yes,” said Sam, a sudden change coming over his face, “but you will!”

“Try me and see.”

Sam slowly and really at a great deal of peril, considering his situation, put his rough, grimed hand into Fred's—a dishonest hand it was, and that more than the other thing made Fred recoil a little as he touched it; but that clasp sealed the compact between these two boys. It began Fred Sargent's revenge.

“Now be off, will you, before the clerks come? They will see the things and catch you here. I'll be round to your house soon and we will see.”

Even in this short time Fred had formed a general plan for saving Sam.

The boy, stretching himself out flat, slipped down the transverse beam into the water, dived at once and came up under the bridge a few rods distant, then coolly passed down the river and swam to shore under a bunch of alder-bushes, by which he was concealed from the sight of the passers-by.

Fred sought his father, told him the story, then brought him to the spot, showed the goods which the boy had returned, and begged as a reward for the discovery to be allowed to conceal his name.

His father of course hesitated at so unusual a proposition; but there was something so very much in earnest in all Fred did and said that he became convinced it was best, for the present at least, to allow him to have his own way; and this he was very glad he had done when a few days after Fred asked him to do something for Sam Crandon.

“Sam Crandon?” he asked in surprise. “Is not that the very boy I found you fighting in the street with?”

“Yes, sir,” said Fred, hanging his head, “but he promises to do well, if he can only find work—HONEST work; you see, sir, he is so bad nobody helps him.”

Mr. Sargent smiled. “A strange recommendation, Fred,” he said, “but I will try what can be done. A boy who wants to reform should have a helping hand.”

“He does want to—he wants to heartily; he says he does. Father, if you only will!”