Alger Horatio Jr.
Andy Grant's Pluck
BIOGRAPHY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY
Horatio Alger, Jr., the author of about seventy books, was born January 13th, 1834, at Revere, Massachusetts, and died July 18th, 1899, at Natick, Massachusetts.
He was the son of a clergyman; was graduated at Harvard College, now
Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1852, and from its
Divinity School in 1860, and was pastor of the Unitarian Church at
Brewster, Massachusetts, from 1862 to 1866.
He removed to New York City in 1866, where he wrote his first book for boys, Ragged Dick, which had a wonderful sale. This was followed by Fame and Fortune, and many others, of which the best-known titles are: Andy Grant's Pluck, Adrift in New York, Ben's Nugget, Charlie Codman's Cruise, Chester Rand, Five Hundred Dollars, Grit, Helping Himself, The Young Adventurer, The Young Explorer, The Young Miner, The Young Musician, The Store Boy, The Tin Box, Walter Sherwood's Probation, and Work and Win.
Mr. Alger's stories are pure in tone, inspiring in influence, and are as popular now as when they were first published, because they were written about real boys who did honest things successfully. Millions of his books have been sold since they were first published. The World's Work of June, 1910, said they were then selling at the rate of over one million copies a year. This estimate is low; it is a fact that they are now selling at the rate of over two million copies a year.
ANDY GRANT'S PLUCK
CHAPTER I.
THE TELEGRAM
"A telegram for you, Andy!" said Arthur Bacon, as he entered the room of
Andy Grant in Penhurst Academy.
"A telegram!" repeated Andy, in vague alarm, for the word suggested something urgent—probably bad news of some kind.
He tore open the envelope and read the few words of the message:
"Come home at once. Something has happened.
"MOTHER."
"What can it be?" thought Andy, perplexed. "At any rate, mother is well, for she sent the telegram."
"What is it?" asked Arthur.
"I don't know. You can read the telegram for yourself."
"Must you go home?" asked Arthur, in a tone of regret.
"Yes. When is there a train?"
"At three this afternoon."
"I will take it. I must go and see Dr. Crabb."
"But won't you come back again?"
"I don't know. I am all in the dark. I think something must have happened to my father."
Dr. Crabb was at his desk in his library—it was Saturday afternoon, and school was not in session—when Andy knocked at the door.
"Come in!" said the doctor, in a deep voice.
Andy opened the door and entered. Dr. Crabb smiled, for Andy was his favorite pupil.
"Come in, Grant!" he said. "What can I do for you?"
"Give me permission to go home. I have just had a telegram. I will show it to you."
The doctor was a man of fifty-five, with a high forehead and an intellectual face. He wore glasses, and had done so for ten years. They gave him the appearance of a learned scholar, as he was.
"Dear me!" he said. "How unfortunate! Only two weeks to the end of the term, and you are our primus!"
"I am very sorry, sir; but perhaps I may be able to come back."
"Do so, by all means, if you can. There is hardly a pupil I could not better spare."
"Thank you, sir," said Andy gratefully. "There is a train at three o'clock. I would like to take it."
"By all means. And let me hear from you, even if you can't come back."
"I will certainly write, doctor. Thank you for all your kindness."
Penhurst Academy was an endowed school. On account of the endowments, the annual rate to boarding scholars was very reasonable—only three hundred dollars, including everything.
The academy had a fine reputation, which it owed in large part to the high character and gifts of Dr. Crabb, who had been the principal for twenty-five years. He had connected himself with the school soon after he left Dartmouth, and had been identified with it for the greater part of his active life.
Andy had been a pupil for over two years, and was an excellent Latin and
Greek scholar. In a few months he would be ready for college.
Dr. Crabb was anxious to have him go to Dartmouth, his own alma mater, being convinced that he would do him credit and make a brilliant record for scholarship. Indeed, it was settled that he would go, his parents being ready to be guided by the doctor's advice.
From Penhurst to Arden, where Andy's parents lived, was fifty miles.
Starting at three o'clock, the train reached Arden station at five.
As Andy stepped on the platform he saw Roland Hunter, the son of a neighbor.
"How are you, Andy?" said Roland, with a cheerful greeting. "How do you happen to be coming home? Is it vacation?"
"No; I was summoned home by a telegram. Is—are they all well at home?"
"Yes, so far as I know."
Andy breathed a sigh of relief.
"I am glad of that," he said. "I was afraid some one in the family might be sick."
"I don't think so. I would have heard, living so near."
"Father is well, then?"
"Come to think of it, I heard he had a bad headache."
"At any rate, it isn't anything serious. Are you going home? If you are,
I'll walk along with you."
"We can do better than that; I've got uncle's buggy on the other side of the depot. I'll take you, bag and baggage."
"Thank you, Roland. My bag is rather heavy, and as it is a mile to the house, I shall be glad to accept your offer."
"Bundle in, then," said Roland, merrily. "I don't know but I ought to charge you a quarter. That's the regular fare by stage."
"All right! charge it if you like," rejoined Andy, smiling. "Are your folks all well?"
"Oh, yes, especially Lily. You and she are great friends, I believe."
"Oh, yes," answered Andy, with a smile.
"She thinks a good deal more of you than she does of me."
"Girls don't generally appreciate their brothers, I believe. If I had a sister, I presume she would like you better than me."
Roland dropped Andy at his father's gate.
It may be said here that Mr. Grant owned a farm of fifty acres, that yielded him a comfortable living when supplemented by the interest on three thousand dollars invested in government bonds. On the farm was a house of moderate size which had always been a pleasant home to Andy and his little brother Robert, generally called Robbie.
Andy opened the gate and walked up to the front door, valise in hand.
The house and everything about it seemed just as it did when he left at the beginning of the school term. But Andy looked at them with different eyes.
Then he had been in good spirits, eager to return to his school work.
Now something had happened, he did not yet know what.
Mrs. Grant was in the back part of the house, and Andy was in the sitting room before she was fully aware of his presence. Then she came in from the kitchen, where she was preparing supper.
Her face seemed careworn, but there was a smile upon it as she greeted her son.
"Then you got my telegram?" she said. "I didn't think you would be here so soon."
"I started at once, mother, for I felt anxious. What has happened? Are you all well?"
"Yes, thank God, we are in fair health, but we have met with misfortune."
"What is it?"
"Nathan Lawrence, cashier of the bank in Benton, has disappeared with twenty thousand dollars of the bank's money."
"What has that to do with father? He hasn't much money in that bank."
"Your father is on Mr. Lawrence's bond to the amount of six thousand dollars."
"I see," answered Andy, gravely, "How much will he lose?"
"The whole of it."
This, then, was what had happened. To a man in moderate circumstances, it must needs be a heavy blow.
"I suppose it will make a great difference?" said Andy, inquiringly.
"You can judge. Your father's property consists of this farm and three thousand dollars in government bonds. It will be necessary to sacrifice the bonds and place a mortgage of three thousand dollars on the farm."
"How much is the farm worth?"
"Not over six thousand dollars."
"Then father's property is nearly all swept away."
"Yes," said his mother, sadly. "Hereafter he will receive no help from outside interest, and will, besides, have to pay interest on a mortgage of three thousand dollars, at six per cent."
"One hundred and eighty dollars."
"Yes."
"Altogether, then, it will diminish our income by rather more than three hundred dollars."
"Yes, Andy."
"That is about what my education has been costing father," said Andy, in a low voice.
He began to see how this misfortune was going to affect him.
"I am afraid," faltered Mrs. Grant, "that you will have to leave school."
"Of course I must," said Andy, speaking with a cheerfulness which he did not feel. "And in place of going to college I must see how I can help father bear this burden."
"It will be very hard upon you, Andy," said his mother, in a tone of sympathy.
"I shall be sorry, of course, mother; but there are plenty of boys who don't go to college. I shall be no worse off than they."
"I am glad you bear the disappointment so well, Andy. It is of you your father and I have thought chiefly since the blow fell upon us."
"Who will advance father the money on mortgage, mother?"
"Squire Carter has expressed a willingness to do so. He will be here this evening to talk it over."
"I am sorry for that, mother. He is a hard man. If there is a chance to take advantage of father, he won't hesitate to do it."
CHAPTER II.
SQUIRE CARTER
When Mr. Grant entered the room, he seemed to Andy to have grown five years older. His face was sad, and he had lost the brisk, cheerful manner which was habitual to him.
"Has your mother told you?" he asked.
"Yes, father." Then he added with indignation: "What a wicked man Mr.
Lawrence must be!"
"I suppose he was tempted," said Mr. Grant, slowly. "Here is a note I received from him this morning."
Andy took the envelope from his father's hand, and, opening it, read the following lines:
"OLD FRIEND: Perhaps by the time you receive this letter you will have heard of the wrong I have done you and yours, and the loss I have brought upon you. It is to me a source of the greatest sorrow, for I fear you will never recover from it. I am just ready to go away. I cannot stay here to receive punishment, for it would tie my hands, and prevent my making reparation, as I hope some day to do. Why did I go wrong? I can't explain, except that it was infatuation. In a moment of madness I took some of the funds of the bank and risked them in Wall Street. I lost and went in deeper, hoping to be more fortunate and replace the stolen money. That is the way such things usually happen.
"I can say no more, except that it will be my earnest effort to give you back the money you will lose by me. It may take years, but I hope we both shall live long enough for me to do it.
"NATHAN LAWRENCE."
Andy read this letter in silence and gave it back to his father.
"Do you believe he is sincere?" he asked.
"Yes; he has many good points, and I believe he really feels attached to me."
"He has taken a strange way to show it."
"He was weak, and yielded to temptation. There are many like him."
"Do you believe he will ever be able to make up the loss?"
"I don't know. He is a man of fine business talent, and may be able in time to do something, but his defalcation amounts to twenty thousand dollars."
"We must try to make the best of it, father. You have been spending three hundred dollars a year for me, besides the expense of my clothes. If that is saved, it will make up your loss of income."
"But, my dear boy, I don't like to sacrifice your prospects."
"It won't be sacrificing them," said Andy, with forced cheerfulness. "It will only change them. Of course, I must give up the thought of a college education, but I may make a success in business."
"It will be very hard upon you," said Mr. Grant, sadly.
"No, father. I won't deny that I shall be sorry just at first, but it may turn out better for me in the end."
"You are a good boy, to take it so well, Andy. I had no right to risk so much, even for a friend like Lawrence."
"You have known Mr. Lawrence for many years, have you not, father?"
"Yes; we were schoolboys together. I thought him the soul of honor. But
I ought not to have risked three-quarters of my estate, even for him."
"You can't be blamed, father. You had full confidence in him."
"Yes, I had full confidence in him," sighed Mr. Grant.
"And he may yet be able to make up the loss to you."
Though Andy said this, he only said it to mitigate his father's regret, for he had very little confidence in the missing cashier or his promises. He was repaid by seeing his father brighten up.
"You have cheered me, Andy," he said. "I don't care so much for myself, but I have been thinking of you and your mother."
"And we have been thinking of you, father," said Mrs. Grant. "It might be worse."
"I don't see very well how that could be."
"We are in good health, thank God! and your reputation is unblemished. Compare your position with that of Nathan Lawrence, forced to flee in disgrace under a load of shame."
"You are right, wife. He is more to be pitied than I am."
"Is he a married man, father?"
"No; that is, he is a widower."
"While we are spared to each other. We must trust in God and hope for the best."
"Mother tells me you expect to get part of the money you need from
Squire Carter," said Andy.
"Yes, he has promised to take a mortgage of three thousand dollars on the old place."
"I have heard he is a hard man, father. I don't think he is influenced by kindness."
"I can't afford to inquire into his motives. It is enough that he will furnish the money. But for that I might have to sell the farm, and then we should be quite helpless."
About seven o'clock Squire Carter made his appearance. Andy opened the door for him.
He was a tall, florid-faced man, with an air of consequence based upon his knowledge that he was the richest man in the town.
"Good-evening, Andrew," he said, for he was always formal. "So you are home from school?"
"Yes, sir."
"When did you come?"
"This afternoon, sir."
"I suppose you heard of your father's misfortune?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ha! it is very sad—very sad, indeed. I quite feel for your father. I am trying to help him out of his trouble. He was a very foolish man to risk so much on that rascal, Lawrence."
Andy was disposed to agree with the squire, but he did not like to hear his father blamed.
"I think he realizes that he was unwise, Squire Carter," said Andy.
"Won't you walk in?"
"I suppose your father is at home?" said the squire, as he stepped into the front entry.
"Yes, sir; he was expecting you."
Andy opened the door of the sitting room, and the squire entered. Mr. Grant rose from the rocking-chair in which he was seated and welcomed his visitor.
"I am glad to see you, squire," he said. "Take a seat by the fire."
"Thank you," said the squire, with dignity. "I came, as I said I would.
I do not desert an old neighbor because he has been unfortunate."
But for his patronizing tone his words would have awakened more gratitude. As it was, his manner seemed to say: "See how kind-hearted I am."
Somehow, Andy felt more and more sorry to think his father must be indebted to such a man.
"It is getting quite fallish," said the squire, rubbing his hands. "I suppose I am more sensitive to cold, as my home is heated throughout with steam."
"I hope we shall be able to make you comfortable, Squire Carter," returned Mrs. Grant, who had entered the room in time to hear this last speech.
"Oh, yes, Mrs. Grant. I always adapt myself to circumstances."
"That is very kind in you," Andy was tempted to say, but he forbore. It would not do to offend the village magnate.
"I see you have sent for Andrew," observed the squire, with a wave of his hand toward the boy.
"Yes; I shall not be able to keep him at Penhurst Academy any longer."
"Very sensible decision of yours. No doubt it cost you a pretty penny to keep him there?"
"The school charge is three hundred dollars a year."
"Bless my soul! How extravagant! You will excuse my saying so, but I think you have been very unwise. It really seems like a wasteful use of money."
"Don't you believe in education, squire?" asked Mrs. Grant.
"Yes; but why couldn't he get all the education he needs here?"
"Because there is no one here who teaches Latin and Greek."
"And what good would Latin and Greek do him? I don't know anything of
Latin and Greek, and yet I flatter myself I have succeeded pretty well.
I believe I am looked up to in the village, eh?"
"No doubt you occupy a prominent position, squire, but the boy had a fancy for the languages and wanted to go to college."
"I shall not send my son to college, though, of course, I can afford it."
"Perhaps he doesn't care to go."
"No the boy is sensible. He will be satisfied with the advantages his father enjoyed. Supposing your boy had gone to college, what would you have made of him?"
"He thought he would have liked to prepare himself for a teacher or professor."
"It's a poor business, Neighbor Grant. A schoolmate of mine became a teacher—the teacher of an academy—and I give you my word, he's as poor as poverty."
"Money isn't everything, squire."
"It's a good deal, as in your present circumstances you must admit. But we may as well come to business."
CHAPTER III.
ANDY LEAVES THE ACADEMY
"You need to raise three thousand dollars, I believe, Neighbor Grant?" began the squire.
"Yes, squire."
"Three thousand dollars is a good deal of money."
"I realize that," said Mr. Grant, sadly.
"I was about to say it is a good deal to raise on the security of the farm."
"The farm cost me six thousand dollars."
"It would fetch only five thousand now. It wouldn't fetch that at a forced sale."
"But for my losses, I wouldn't consider an offer of less than six thousand."
"Of course, you are attached to it, and that gives it a fancy value in your eyes."
"It is good land and productive. Then, it is well situated, and the buildings are good."
"Well, tolerable," said the squire, cautiously. "However, that's neither here nor there. You want three thousand dollars, and I have agreed to let you have it. I will take a mortgage for two years, the interest being, as usual, six per cent."
"Two years?" repeated Farmer Grant, uneasily.
"Yes. I am not sure that I can spare the money longer than two years. I give you that time to pay it off."
"But it will be impossible for me to pay it off in two years. In fact, it will take all my income to live and pay the interest."
"Of course that isn't my lookout."
"Do you mean that you will foreclose in two years?"
"Not necessarily. I may not need the money so soon. Besides, you may find some one else to take it off my hands."
"Can't you say five years, squire?" pleaded the farmer.
Squire Carter shook his head.
"No; you can take it or leave it. I am not at all anxious to take the mortgage, and if my terms are not agreeable, we will consider the negotiations at an end."
"I won't make any difficulty, squire; I accept your terms."
"That is sensible. I can't, for my part, see how five years would have been more favorable to you than two."
"My son Andrew is sixteen. By the time he is twenty-one he might help me."
"There's not much chance of that—unless he marries a fortune," said the squire, jocosely. "I suppose you will keep him at home to help you on the farm?"
"We haven't talked the matter over yet. I will consult his wishes as far as I can. He can't earn much money on the farm. What are you going to do with your son?"
"Conrad will probably be a merchant, or a banker," said the squire, pompously.
"With your means you can select any path in life for him."
"True; as my son he will have a great advantage. Well, as our business is arranged, I will leave you. If you will call at Lawyer Tower's office to-morrow at noon the papers can be drawn up, and I will give you a check for the money."
"Thank you, squire. I will meet the appointment."
"If you don't want Andrew to work on the farm I will turn over his case in my mind and see if I can get him a position."
"Thank you. I should be glad to have him well started in some business where he can raise himself."
As the term of the academy was so nearly completed, Andy went back with his father's permission, to remain till vacation. He sought an interview at once with Dr. Crabb, the principal, and informed him of the necessity he was under of leaving the institution.
"I am really sorry, Andrew," said the doctor. "You are one of my best pupils. I am not sure but the best. There is scarcely one that I would not sooner lose. I shall be willing to take you for half price—that is, for one hundred and fifty dollars—till you are ready for college."
"Thank you, Dr. Crabb," replied Andy, gratefully. "You are very kind, but even that sum my father, in his changed circumstances, would be unable to pay. Besides, it would be quite out of my power to go to college even if I were prepared."
"It is a thousand pities," said the principal, with concern. "If you must leave, you must. I am not sure but I should be willing to take you gratuitously."
"Thank you; but I feel that I ought to go to work at once to help my father. It is not enough that I free him from expense."
"No doubt you are right. I respect you for your determination. You need not hesitate to apply to me at any time in the future if you see any way in which I can be of service to you."
"I think it will help me if you will give me a letter of recommendation, which I can show to any one from whom I seek employment."
"I will give you such a letter with great pleasure;" and the doctor, sitting down at his desk, wrote a first-class recommendation of his favorite pupil.
There was general regret in the academy when it was learned that Andy must leave them. One little boy of twelve—Dudley Cameron, a special favorite of Andy—came to him to ask if there was no way by which he could manage to stay.
"No, Dudley! I am too poor," said Andy.
"If I write to papa and ask him to send you a thousand dollars, will you stay?" asked the little boy, earnestly.
"No, Dudley; you mustn't do anything of the kind. Even if your father liked me as well as you do, and would give me the money, I could not take it. I must go to work to help my father."
"You will write to me sometimes, Andy?"
"Yes; I will be sure to do that."
The little fellow's warm-hearted offer, and the expressions of sympathy and regret on the part of his schoolmates, cheered Andy. It was pleasant to think that he would be missed.
On the closing day he received the first prize for scholarship from the hands of Dr. Crabb.
"You will take my best wishes with you, Andy," said the venerable principal. "Let me hear from you when you have made any business arrangement."
The farewells were said, and Andy set out on his return home.
He was leaving the old life behind him. A new one lay before him, but what it was to be he could not foresee.
He reached Arden in due course and set out to walk home. He had barely started when he heard his name called.
Looking around, he saw Conrad Carter, the squire's only son, on his bicycle.
"So you've come home from the academy?" said Conrad, curiously.
"Yes," answered Andy, briefly.
He never could bring himself to like Conrad, who made himself offensive and unpopular by his airs of superiority. Indeed, there was no boy in Arden so thoroughly disliked as Conrad.
"You'll have a pretty long vacation," went on Conrad, with a significant laugh.
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Oh, well, it's the best thing for you. I thought it foolish when your father sent you off to the academy. If the Arden grammar school is good enough for me it is good enough for you."
"There is nothing to prevent your going to the academy."
"I know that. My father could afford it, even if it cost a good deal more. You wanted to go to college, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"It was very foolish for a poor boy like you."
"Of course your age and experience make your opinion of value," said
Andy, with a sarcasm which he did not care to conceal.
"I advise you not to be too independent," returned Conrad, displeased.
"Are you going to work on the farm?"
"I may till I get a situation."
"I'll speak to father. He might take you for an errand boy."
"I don't think that place would suit me."
"Why not?"
"I want to go into some mercantile establishment and learn business."
"That's what I am going to do when I get through school. Of course there is no hurry in my case."
"I suppose not."
"I suppose you know that my father has taken a mortgage on your father's farm?"
"Yes, I know that."
"If your father can't pay the mortgage when it is due, father will have to take the farm."
Andy made no answer, but thought Conrad more disagreeable than ever. By way of changing the conversation, he said:
"That's a new bicycle, isn't it?"
"Yes; I got tired of the old one. This is a very expensive one.
Wouldn't you like to own a bicycle?"
"Yes."
"Of course, you never will."
"Then I must be content without one."
"Well, I must leave you. I'll come around soon and see you ride a horse to plow."
As Conrad sped away on his wheel, Andy said to himself:
"I shouldn't like to be rich if it made me as disagreeable as Conrad."
