Alger Horatio Jr.
The Store Boy
CHAPTER XXX BEN "GOES WEST"
Undisturbed by the thought that his departure was viewed with joy by Conrad and his mother, Ben set out on his Western journey.
His destination was Centerville, in Western Pennsylvania. I may as well say that this is not the real name of the place, which, for several reasons, I conceal.
Though Ben was not an experienced traveler, he found no difficulty in reaching his destination, having purchased a copy of "Appleton's Railway Guide," which afforded him all the information he required. About fifty miles this side of Centerville he had for a seat companion a man of middle age, with a pleasant face, covered with a brown beard, who, after reading through a Philadelphia paper which he had purchased of the train-boy, seemed inclined to have a social chat with Ben.
"May I ask your destination, my young friend?" he asked.
Ben felt that it was well for him to be cautious, though he was pleasantly impressed with the appearance of his companion.
"I think I shall stop over at Centerville," he said.
"Indeed! That is my destination."
"Do you live there?" asked Ben.
"No," said the other, laughing. "Do I look like it? I thought you would read 'New York' in my face and manner."
"I am not an experienced observer," said Ben modestly.
"Centerville has a prosperous future before it," said the stranger.
"Has it? I don't know much about the place. I never was there."
"You know, of course, that it is in the oil region?"
"I didn't even know that."
"A year ago," resumed the stranger, "it was a humdrum farming town, and not a very prosperous one either. The land is not of good quality, and the farmers found it hard work to get a poor living. Now all is changed."
Ben's attention was aroused. He began to understand why Mr. Jackson wished to buy the farm he rented from Mrs. Hamilton.
"This is all new to me," he said. "I suppose oil has been found there?"
"Yes; one old farm, which would have been dear at three thousand dollars, is now yielding hundreds of barrels daily, and would fetch fifty thousand dollars easily."
Ben began to be excited. If he could only sell Mrs. Hamilton's farm for half that he felt that he would be doing an excellent thing.
"I suppose you are interested in some of the petroleum wells?" he said.
"Not yet, but I hope to be. In fact, I don't mind confessing that I represent a New York syndicate, and that my object in making this journey is to purchase, if I can, the Jackson farm."
"The Jackson farm!" repeated Ben, his breath almost taken away by his surprise.
"Yes; do you know anything about it?" asked his companion.
"I have heard of a farmer in Centerville named Peter Jackson."
"That is the man."
"And his farm is one of the lucky ones, then?"
"It promises to be."
"I suppose, then, you will have to pay a large sum for it?" said Ben, trying to speak calmly.
"Jackson is very coy, and, I think, grasping. He wants fifty thousand dollars."
"Of course you won't pay so much?"
"I should hardly feel authorized to do so. I may go as high as forty thousand dollars."
Ben was dazzled. If he could effect a sale at this price he would be doing a splendid stroke of business, and would effectually defeat the plans of Mr. Jackson, who, it appeared, had pretended that he was the owner of the farm, hoping to obtain it from Mrs. Hamilton at a valuation which would have been suitable before the discovery of oil, but now would be ludicrously disproportionate to its real value.
"Shall or shall I not, tell this gentleman the truth?" he reflected.
He thought over the matter and decided to do so. The discovery must be made sooner or later, and there would be no advantage in delay.
"I don't think Jackson will sell," he said.
"Why not?" asked the stranger, in surprise. "Do you know him?"
"I never saw him in my life."
"Then how can you form any opinion on the subject?"
Ben smiled.
"The answer is easy enough," he said. "Mr. Jackson can't sell what he doesn't own."
"Do you mean to say that he is not the owner of the farm which he proposes to sell us?"
"That is just what I mean. He is no more the owner than you or I."
"You speak confidently, young man. Perhaps you can tell me who is the owner?"
"I can. The owner is Mrs. Hamilton, of New York."
"Indeed! That is a genuine surprise. Can you give me her address? I should like to communicate with her."
"I will cheerfully give you her address, but it won't be necessary, for I represent her."
"You!" exclaimed the stranger incredulously.
"Yes; and I am going out to Centerville now as her agent. This Jackson, who is her tenant, has been urging her to sell him the farm for some time. He has offered a sum larger than the farm would be worth but for the discovery of petroleum, but has taken good care not to speak of this."
"How much does he offer?"
"Five thousand dollars."
"The rascal!" He offers five thousand, and expects us to pay him fifty thousand dollars for his bargain. What an unmitigated swindle it would have been if he had carried out his scheme!"
"Perhaps you would like to see his last letter?" said Ben.
"I should. I want to see what the old rascal has to say for himself."
Ben took from his pocket the letter in question, and put it into the hands of his new acquaintance.
It was dated at Centerville, October 21. It was written in a cramped hand, showing that the farmer was not accustomed to letter-writing.
It ran thus:
"Respected Madam:
"As I have already wrote you, I would like to buy the farm, and will give you more than anybody else, because I am used to living on it, and it seems like home. I am willing to pay five thousand dollars, though I know it is only worth four, but it is worth more to me than to others. I offer you more because I know you are rich, and will not sell unless you get a good bargain. Please answer right away.
"Yours respectfully,Peter Jackson.
"P.S.—My offer will hold good for only two weeks."
"He seems to be very much in earnest," said Ben.
"He has reason to be so, as he hopes to make forty-five thousand dollars on his investment."
"He will be bitterly disappointed," said Ben.
"I don't care anything about Jackson," said the stranger. "I would just as soon negotiate with you. Are you authorized to sell the farm?"
"No," answered Ben; "but Mrs. Hamilton will probably be guided by my advice in the mater."
"That amounts to the same thing. I offer you forty thousand dollars for it."
"I think favorably of your proposal, Mr. –"
"My name is Taylor."
"Mr. Taylor; but I prefer to delay answering till I am on the ground and can judge better of the matter."
"You are right. I was surprised at first that Mrs. Hamilton should have selected so young an agent. I begin to think her choice was a judicious one."
CHAPTER XXXI MR. JACKSON RECEIVES A CALL
"Suppose we join forces, Ben," said Mr. Taylor familiarly.
"How do you mean?"
"We will join forces against this man Jackson. He wants to swindle both of us—that is, those whom we represent.
"I am willing to work with you" answered Ben, who had been favorably impressed by the appearance and frankness of his traveling companion.
"Then suppose to-morrow morning—it is too late to-day—we call over and see the old rascal."
"I would rather not have him know on what errand I come, just at first."
"That is in accordance with my own plans. You will go as my companion. He will take you for my son, or nephew, and, while I am negotiating, you can watch and judge for yourself."
"I like the plan," said Ben.
"When he finds out who you are he will feel pretty badly sold."
"He deserves it."
The two put up at a country hotel, which, though not luxurious, was tolerably comfortable. After the fatigue of his journey, Ben enjoyed a good supper and a comfortable bed. The evening, however, he spent in the public room of the inn, where he had a chance to listen to the conversation of a motley crowd, some of them native and residents, others strangers who had been drawn to Centerville by the oil discoveries.
"I tell you," said a long, lank individual, "Centerville's goin' to be one of the smartest places in the United States. It's got a big future before it."
"That's so," said a small, wiry man; "but I'm not so much interested in that as I am in the question whether or not I've got a big future before me."
"You're one of the owners of the Hoffman farm, ain't you?"
"Yes. I wish I owned the whole of it. Still, I've made nigh on to a thousand dollars durin' the last month for my share of the profits. Pretty fair, eh?"
"I should say so. You've got a good purchase; but there's one better in my opinion."
"Where's that?"
"Peter Jackson's farm."
Here Ben and Mr. Taylor began to listen with interest.
"He hasn't begun to work it any, has he?"
"Not much; just enough to find out its value."
"What's he waitin' for?"
"There's some New York people want it. If he can get his price, he'll sell it to them for a good sum down."
"What does he ask?"
"He wants fifty thousand dollars."
"Whew! that's rather stiffish. I thought the property belonged to a lady in New York."
"So it did; but Jackson says he bought it a year ago."
"He was lucky."
Ben and Mr. Taylor looked at each other again. It was easy to see the old farmer's game, and to understand why he was so anxious to secure the farm, out of which he could make so large a sum of money.
"He's playing a deep game, Ben," said Taylor, when they had left the room.
"Yes; but I think I shall be able to put a spoke in his wheel."
"I shall be curious to see how he takes it when he finds the negotiation taken out of his hands. We'll play with him a little, as a cat plays with a mouse."
The next morning, after a substantial breakfast, Ben and his new friend took a walk to the farm occupied by Peter Jackson. It was about half a mile away, and when reached gave no indication of the wealth it was capable of producing. The farmhouse was a plain structure nearly forty years old, badly in need of paint, and the out-buildings harmonized with it in appearance.
A little way from the house was a tall, gaunt man, engaged in mending a fence. He was dressed in a farmer's blue frock and overalls, and his gray, stubby beard seemed to be of a week's growth. There was a crafty, greedy look in his eyes, which overlooked a nose sharp and aquiline. His feet were incased in a pair of cowhide boots. He looked inquiringly at Taylor as he approached, but hardly deigned to look at Ben, who probably seemed too insignificant to notice. He gave a shrewd guess at the errand of the visitor, but waited for him to speak first.
"Is this Mr. Jackson?" asked Taylor, with a polite bow.
"That's my name, stranger," answered the old man.
"My name is Taylor. I wrote to you last week."
"I got the letter," said Jackson, going on with his work. It was his plan not to seem too eager but to fight shy in order to get his price. Besides, though he would have been glad to close the bargain on the spot, there was an embarrassing difficulty. The farm was not his to sell, and he was anxiously awaiting Mrs. Hamilton's answer to his proposal.
"She can't have heard of the oil discoveries," he thought, "and five thousand dollars will seem a big price for the farm. She can't help agreeing to my terms."
This consideration made him hopeful, but for all that, he must wait, and waiting he found very tantalizing.
"Have you decided to accept my offer, Mr. Jackson?"
"Waal, I'll have to take a leetle time to consider. How much did you say you'd give?"
"Forty thousand dollars."
"I'd ought to have fifty."
"Forty thousand dollars is a big sum of money."
"And this farm is a perfect gold mine. Shouldn't wonder if it would net a hundred thousand dollars."
"There is no certainty of that, and the purchasers will have to take a big risk"
"There isn't much risk. Ask anybody in Centerville what he thinks of the Jackson farm."
"Suppose I were ready to come to your terms—mind, I don't say I am—would you sign the papers to-day?"
Jackson looked perplexed. He knew could not do it.
"What's your hurry?" he said.
"The capitalists whom I represent are anxious to get to work as soon as possible. That's natural, isn't, it?"
"Ye-es," answered Jackson.
"So, the sooner we fix matters the better. I want to go back to New York to-morrow if I can."
"I don't think I can give my answer as soon as that. Wait a minute, though."
A boy was approaching, Jackson's son, if one could judge from the resemblance, holding a letter in his hand.
"Come right here, Abner," he called out eagerly.
Abner approached, and his father snatched the letter from his hand. It bore the New York postmark, but, on opening it, Jackson looked bitterly disappointed. He had hoped it was from Mrs. Hamilton, accepting his offer for the farm; but, instead of that, it was an unimportant circular.
"I'll have to take time to think over your offer, Mr. Taylor," he said. "You see, I'll have to talk over matters with the old woman."
"By the way," said Taylor carelessly, "I was told in the village that you didn't own the farm—that it was owned by a lady in New York."
"She used to own it," said the fanner, uneasily; "but I bought it of her a year ago."
"So that you have the right to sell it?"
"Of course I have."
"What have you to say to that, Ben?" asked Taylor quietly.
"That if Mrs. Hamilton has sold the farm to Mr. Jackson she doesn't know it."
"What do you mean, boy?" gasped Jackson.
"I mean that when I left New York Mrs. Hamilton owned the farm."
"It's a lie!" muttered the farmer; but he spoke with difficulty. "I bought it a year ago."
"In that case it is strange that you should have written a week ago offering five thousand dollars for the farm."
"Who says I wrote?"
"I do; and I have your letter in my pocket," answered Ben firmly.
CHAPTER XXXII BEN SELLS THE FARM
The farmer stared at Ben panic-stricken. He had thought success within his grasp. He was to be a rich man—independent for life—as the result of the trick which he was playing upon Mrs. Hamilton. His disappointment was intense, and he looked the picture of discomfiture.
"I don't believe you," he faltered after a pause.
Ben drew a letter from his inside pocket and held it up.
"Do you deny the writing?" he said.
"Give it to me!" said Jackson, with a sudden movement.
"No, thank you; I prefer to keep it. I shall make no use of it unless it is necessary. I called here to notify you that Mrs. Hamilton does not propose to sacrifice the farm. If it is sold at all it will be to someone who will pay its full value."
"You can't sell it," said Jackson sullenly. "I have a lease."
"Produce it."
"At any rate, I shall stay till my year's out."
"That will depend upon the new owner. If he is willing, Mrs. Hamilton will not object."
"I think you've got him there, Ben," said Mr. Taylor, with a laugh. "Mr. Jackson, I think it won't be worth while to continue our conversation. You undertook to sell what was not yours. I prefer to deal with the real owner or her representative."
"That boy is an impostor!" muttered Jackson. "Why, he's only a school boy. What does he know about business?"
"I think he has proved a match for you. Good-morning, Mr. Jackson.
Ben, let us be going."
"Now," said Taylor as they were walking toward the inn, "what do you say to my offer?"
"Please state it, Mr. Taylor."
"I offer forty thousand dollars for the farm. It may be worth considerably more than that; but, on the other hand, the wells may soon run dry. I have to take the chances."
"That seems a fair offer, Mr. Taylor," said Ben frankly. "If I were the owner I would accept it; but I am acting for another who may not think as I do."
"Will you consult her and let me know?"
"I will write at once."
"Why not telegraph? The delay would be too great if you trust to the mail."
"I will do as you suggest," answered Ben, "if there is an opportunity to telegraph from this place."
"There is an office at the depot."
"Then I will take that on my way back to the hotel."
At one corner of the depot Ben found a telegraph operator. After a little consideration, he dashed off the following telegram:
"No. – Madison Avenue, New York.
"To Mrs. Hamilton:
"Oil has been discovered on your farm. I am offered forty thousand dollars for it by a responsible party. What shall I do?
"Ben Barclay."
"Send answer to the hotel," said Ben, to the operator.
Four hours later a messenger brought to Ben the following dispatch:
"Your news is most surprising. Sell at the figure named if you think it best. You have full powers.
"Helen Hamilton."
Mr. Taylor watched Ben's face eagerly as he read the telegram, for he knew that it must relate to his offer.
"What does your principal say?" he inquired.
"You can read the telegram, Mr. Taylor."
Taylor did so.
"So you have full powers?" he said. "Mrs. Hamilton must feel great confidence in you."
There was a proud flush on Ben's cheek as he replied:
"I have reason to think that she does. I hope it is not misplaced."
"I hope you won't drive a hard bargain with me, Ben."
"I don't mean to bargain at all. You have made a fair offer, and I will accept it."
Taylor looked pleased.
"Some boys in your position," he said, "would have stipulated for a present."
"I shall do nothing of the kind," said Ben promptly. "I should not think it honest."
"Your honesty, my boy, is of the old-fashioned kind. It is not the kind now in vogue. I like you the better for it, and if you were not in Mrs. Hamilton's employ I would try to secure your services myself."
"Thank you, Mr. Taylor. The time may come when shall remind you of your promise."
"You will find I have not forgotten it. And now to business. We will go to a lawyer and have the necessary papers drawn up, which you shall sign in behalf of your principal."
The business was speedily arranged, and by supper-time Ben found that he had nothing further to detain him in Centerville. He felt that he had done a smart stroke of business. Mrs. Hamilton had been surprised at receiving an offer of five thousand dollars for the farm, yet he had sold it for forty thousand!
As they were returning from the lawyer's office they met farmer Jackson just returning from the post office.
"By the way, Mr. Jackson," said Taylor, "you will perhaps be interested to learn that your farm has been sold."
The farmer paused, and looked troubled.
"Are you going to turn me out of the house?" he asked.
"Not if you wish to live in it. I shall employ workmen at once to sink wells, and develop the property. They will need to board somewhere. Are you willing to board them?"
"Yes; I shall be glad to," answered Jackson. "I am a poor man, and it's hard work living by farming."
"Very well; we can no doubt make an arrangement. I am obliged to go to New York to complete arrangements for the transfer of the property, but I shall come back as soon as possible and commence operations."
"I wouldn't mind workin' for myself," said Jackson.
"Then you are the first man I engage."
The old farmer brightened up. He was to make money out of the new discoveries after all, though not in the way he had comtemplated.
"When are you going back to New York, Ben?" asked Taylor.
"There is nothing to detain me here any longer."
"We can go back together, then."
"I shall be glad to travel in your company, sir."
"Do you expect to remain in Mrs. Hamilton's employ?"
"I don't know," answered Ben.
"What were you doing?"
"Keeping accounts and acting as her private secretary."
"Do you like it?"
"Yes; I find it very pleasant, or would be but for one thing."
"What is that?"
"She has relatives living in the house who do not like me."
"Jealous, eh?"
"Perhaps so."
"Let me say frankly, that you are fitted for something higher. I am a good judge of men—"
Ben smiled.
"Boys, then; and I consider you a boy of excellent business capacity. After I have got my oil wells under way, I should like to engage you as superintendent."
"I am flattered by your good opinion, Mr. Taylor, but it is a business I know nothing of."
"You would make it your business to learn it, or I mistake you."
"You are right there, sir."
"However, there will be plenty of time to arrange about this matter. It would probably be two months before I felt justified in leaving another in charge."
The two started for New York. About fifty miles before reaching the city, as Ben was reading a magazine he had purchased from the train-boy, he felt a touch upon his shoulder.
Looking up, he recognized, to his amazement, the tramp with whom he had had an adventure some weeks before in Pentonville.
"I see you know me," said the tramp, with a smile.
