Alger Horatio Jr.
Andy Gordon

CHAPTER XXVIII.
ANDY ARRIVES IN CATO

Mary Ann was an overgrown girl, with red arms and prominent knuckles, and no personal beauty to speak of. She was good-natured, however, and thus had an advantage over her mother.

She stared at the two guests as they sat up to the table, and was evidently favorably impressed by the appearance of Andy, who was a good-looking boy. Peter did not appear to please her so much, and merely received a look.

Mrs. Simpson was bustling about the kitchen and adjoining room, and left Mary Ann to entertain her guests. The girl showed her partiality for Andy by putting three sausages on his plate, and only two on Peter’s; but the latter took no notice of the discrimination, but set to work at once on his share.

Mary Ann looked at Andy with what she meant to be an engaging smile, though it looked more like a broad grin.

“I hope you like the sassidges?” she said.

“They are very good, thank you,” replied Andy, politely.

He spoke correctly, for Mrs. Simpson was famed for the excellence of her sausages, of which she annually made a large stock, part of which were sent to market.

“They was made out of one of our best hogs,” said Mary Ann, with engaging frankness.

“I don’t think I ever ate better,” said Andy.

“They’re hunky!” chimed in Peter, with his mouth full.

“Is you travelin’ far?” asked Mary Ann, who was not very well versed in grammar.

“Not very,” answered Andy.

“Be you a peddler?”

“No; but I may take up the business some time.”

“If you ever do, be sure to call round and see us, whenever you come our way,” said the young lady.

“I certainly will. I shan’t forget your nice sausages.”

“Won’t you have another?” asked Mary Ann, looking pleased.

“No, thank you.”

“I will,” said Peter.

Mary Ann supplied his wants, though not with as good a grace as she would have done for his companion.

“I guess you’ll have some pie?” she suggested, to Andy.

“Thank you.”

A liberal slice of apple pie was put on his plate. Andy would have preferred a clean plate, as sausages and apple pie do not go well together, but he did not care to be so particular.

The pie was good, also, and our hero, whose appetite was of that kind sometimes described as “healthy,” felt that he was getting his full money’s worth. As for Peter, he ate as if he were ravenous, and, not being engaged in conversation, like Andy, was able to give his undivided attention to the subject in hand.

“How are you gettin’ on, young men?” asked Mrs. Simpson, as she passed through the room.

“Bully!” mumbled Peter, whose utterance was somewhat impeded by the half section of apple pie which he had thrust into his mouth.

“Your daughter is taking excellent care of us,” said Andy.

Mary Ann looked delighted at this tribute to her attention, and mentally pronounced Andy the handsomest and most polite boy she had ever chanced to meet.

“What is your name?” she inquired, by no means bashful.

“You may call me Henry Miller,” said Andy, using his assumed name for the first time.

“That’s a nice name,” said Mary Ann.

“Do you think so?” asked Andy, smiling.

“I’ve got a nice name myself,” said Peter, complacently.

“What’s your name?” asked the young lady, indifferently.

“My name’s Peter Jenks.”

“I don’t like it,” said Mary Ann, decidedly, looking unfavorably at the red-headed boy.

“You wouldn’t like to be Mrs. Jenks?” asked Peter, grinning.

“No, I wouldn’t. I don’t want to marry no red head.”

“Maybe you’d like him better,” said Peter, pointing to Andy. “I guess anybody would.”

Andy was amused. He saw that he had made a conquest of the young lady, but did not feel much flattered. He would have been perfectly willing to transfer all her admiration to his companion, if the young lady had been willing.

When the dinner was over the two boys rose from the table, and, bidding good-by to Mary Ann and her mother, left the farmhouse.

“I say, that was a hunky dinner,” said Peter.

“It was very good, indeed.”

“It was enough sight better than I got at old Brackett’s.”

“Don’t they live well there?”

“No, they don’t. The old woman ain’t much of a cook. Besides, she’s mean. We didn’t have pie, only now and then, and she’d cut a pie into eight pieces, and there wasn’t no chance of a second slice for me.”

“By the way, Peter,” said Andy, with a sudden thought, “how would you like to work at a hotel?”

“First class!” answered Peter, promptly.

“Were you ever in Seneca?”

“Once.”

“You know the way, then?”

“Yes; straight ahead.”

“The landlord of the hotel there offered me a place, to work round the hotel and stable, for five dollars a month and board.”

“Why didn’t you take it?”

“I didn’t care to, just now.”

“I wish I could get it,” said Peter, wistfully.

“I think you can. Go straight there, and tell the landlord you were sent to him by a boy you met on the road. He’ll know it was I who sent you, and I shouldn’t wonder if you’d get the place.”

“I’ll do it,” said Peter, with a look of determination; “but I don’t see why you don’t go back and take it yourself?”

“Oh, I don’t care for it,” said Andy.

Peter would have been very much surprised had he known that Andy’s reason for declining to enter the landlord’s services was on account of his desire to step into the old place which he had just left with so much disgust.

“You must have a lot of money,” he said.

“Oh, no,” said Andy, laughing. “What makes you think so?”

“You wouldn’t give up a good place if you hadn’t.”

“Haven’t you given up your place, Peter?”

“Yes; but it wasn’t a good one. I’m much obliged to you for the dinner you’ve given me.”

“Oh, you are quite welcome. I suppose we part here. Of course you’ll go right on to Seneca, while I trudge on to Cato.”

“Yes,” said Peter. “I’ll try for that place before night.”

“I hope you’ll get it.”

So the two boys parted, and Andy kept on. He felt considerably more comfortable now that he had eaten a hearty dinner, but did not feel like walking rapidly. There was plenty of time to get to Cato, for he was not over five miles away.

“I guess I’ll go round to see Mr. Brackett to-night,” thought our hero, “so as to reach him before he has had a chance to hire another boy. I expect, from Peter’s account, I shan’t have a very pleasant time, but I shall soon see how the land lies, and whether there is any chance of helping uncle Simon or not. If I don’t get enough to eat, there’s one comfort – I have money in my pocket, and I can buy something outside. Money’s a pretty good friend, under all circumstances.”

Arrived in the village, Andy walked slowly along the road, keeping his eyes wide open.

A little in advance of him he saw an old man, with white hair, who was walking slowly, and appeared rather feeble.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if that is uncle Simon,” he thought. “I’ll speak to him, and try to find out.”

CHAPTER XXIX.
SIMON DODGE

Andy quickened his pace until he found himself walking beside the old gentleman. He was in doubt how to address him, in order to ascertain whether it was really his mother’s uncle. If he were not, he must be on his guard not to say anything which might excite the suspicions of any one as to his having a special purpose in visiting Cato. The way was made easy for him, however.

The old man was Simon Dodge, and he was in daily expectation of the appearance of his niece’s son.

When he saw Andy, in his traveling garb, with his little bundle of clothes under his arm, his eyes lighted up with hope, and he immediately accosted him.

“Where are you traveling, my boy?” he asked, eagerly.

“I have come from the East,” answered Andy. “I shall stay here, if I can find a place.”

“Would you be willing to work on a farm?” asked the old man.

“Yes,” answered our hero. “I hear that there is a farmer named Brackett who wants to hire a boy. Do you know where he lives?”

“Yes – yes, I can tell you. I am Mr. Brackett’s father-in-law,” said the old man, quickly.

Andy looked about him cautiously, to make sure that no one could overhear him, and said, in a low voice:

“Then you are my mother’s uncle – Mr. Dodge!”

The old man’s face lighted up with satisfaction.

“So I thought,” he answered. “I thought you were Mary’s son as soon as I looked at you. My dear boy, I am glad, heartily glad, to see you!”

Andy looked up in the old man’s face, and he saw there an expression of a kind and amiable disposition.

He could understand how such a man should have allowed himself to be imposed upon by a selfish and unscrupulous man like Brackett.

“I am glad to see you, Uncle Simon!” he said. “I hope I may be able to be of service to you.”

“You seem like a strong, active boy,” said the old man, surveying, with approval, the sturdy frame and manly, handsome features of his great-nephew.

“Yes,” returned Andy, smiling, “I am tolerably strong.”

“What is your name?”

“Andrew Gordon; they generally call me Andy.”

“I should like to call you by that name, but it will be more prudent to go by some other.”

“You may call me Henry Miller, Uncle Simon.”

“Henry Miller? I will try to remember it. But you mustn’t call me Uncle Simon; that would ruin all, if Mr. Brackett should hear it.”

“I’ll be cautious – never fear! Can you advise me how to act? Shall I call at the farm to-night?”

“Yes. Mr. Brackett is looking out for a boy. His boy left him this morning.”

“I know it.”

“You know it?” said the old man, in surprise. “How did you hear of it?”

“I met Peter on the road and treated him to a dinner.”

“Indeed! What did he say about leaving?”

“He doesn’t seem to be in love with Mr. Brackett,” laughed Andy. “He says you are a nice old gentleman.”

“Yes; Peter and I always got along well together.”

“What sort of a boy is he?” asked Andy, with some curiosity.

“He’s not a bad sort of boy; he liked to play now and then, but he is as good as the average. Mr. Brackett expects too much of boys.”

“I suppose he will expect too much of me.”

“I am afraid you won’t like the place,” said Mr. Dodge, anxiously. “But bear in mind, you shall have all the money you want, only Brackett mustn’t know anything about it. We will have a secret understanding together, Andy – I mean Henry.”

“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t stay, if it were not for the sake of helping you.”

“Thank you! It will make me feel better to think I have one friend in the house; only we must be cautious.”

“Uncle Simon,” said Andy, boldly, “why do you stay here with this man? My mother asked me to invite you to come back with me to Hamilton. Our house is small, but we can make room for you. You won’t have anything to complain of there, and you can leave your money where you like. You won’t have any hints from us.”

Mr. Dodge’s face lighted up with pleasure, and he asked eagerly:

“Will your mother be really willing to be trouble with me for the little time I have to stay on earth?”

“She will be glad to have you with us,” answered Andy, emphatically. “If you were a man like Mr. Brackett – as I suppose he is – she wouldn’t want you; but I am sure we shall find you a pleasant visitor.”

“It is what has come into my mind, my boy,” said the old man; “but I was afraid your mother wouldn’t like it. I could ask nothing better. I am not happy where I am. Mr. and Mrs. Brackett are continually asking me for money and scheming to have me leave them what money I have left. Only this morning, Brackett was urging me to make a will, for he knows that, if I die, he is no relative of mine, and the law wouldn’t give him the money.”

“You have given him the farm already, haven’t you, Uncle Simon?”

“Yes; and a good farm it is. I not only gave it to him, but I gave him the stock and tools, and all I asked in return was that I should receive my board.”

“I don’t think he has any right to complain.”

“No, he has no right to complain; but he does complain. He pretends that the farm doesn’t give him a living, and is always wanting to borrow money.”

“Do you let him have it?”

“Sometimes. I cannot help it, he is so importunate.”

“Does he ever pay you back?”

“Never!” said Mr. Dodge, emphatically. “He pretends he can’t.”

Andy looked the disgust he felt.

“Uncle Simon,” he said, “you treat him altogether too well. I wouldn’t give in to him that way.”

“And I suppose you think I ought not to?”

“Yes, I do think so.”

“Andy, you don’t know what it is to be old and weak. When a man gets to be seventy-five,” said Simon, in a pathetic voice, “he doesn’t want to be at strife. He wants peace and rest. Twenty years ago, or even ten years ago, I should have been better able to resist Mr. Brackett; now he annoys and worries me.”

“How long has he been trying to get you to make a will in his favor?”

“For at least two years.”

“I almost wonder you didn’t do it to get rid of him.”

“I will never do that,” said Simon Dodge, with an energy that surprised Andy. “It wouldn’t be safe,” he added, lowering his voice.

“Why wouldn’t it be safe?” inquired our hero, not without curiosity.

“I believe Brackett and his wife would take care that they didn’t have to wait long for their money.”

“You don’t mean to say that they would make away with you?” said Andy, startled.

“I hope not – I hope not. But I don’t think it safe to expose them to temptation,” said Mr. Dodge, shaking his head.

They had been walking slowly. At a point in the road, the prospect widened out before them.

“That is where we live,” said the old man, pointing to a farmhouse, perhaps a quarter of a mile away. “We had better separate here, for it is not best that Mr. Brackett should suppose there is any understanding or acquaintance between us. You might come round in about an hour and apply for a place. Be prepared to accept fifty cents a week.”

“All right!”

And he sat down by the side of the road to rest, for he was really tired, while the old man bent his steps toward home.

CHAPTER XXX.
MR. JEREMIAH BRACKETT

Mr. Brackett, a loose-jointed, shambling figure of a man, was leaning against the well curb, smoking a pipe, when his wife appeared at the back door and called out:

“Jeremiah!”

“What’s wanted?” asked Brackett, impatiently.

“I want some firewood, right off!”

“You’re always wanting firewood!” grumbled her husband.

“I should like to know how you expect me to cook your supper without wood to burn,” retorted Mrs. Brackett.

“Send out Tom for some.”

Tom was the eldest of Mr. Brackett’s children, and had now attained the age of eight years.

“So I have; and he says there isn’t any split,” said Mrs. Brackett. “Just fly around and saw and split some, or I shall have the fire out.”

Mr. Brackett took the pipe from his mouth and sauntered toward the wood pile in a very discontented frame of mind.

“My wife burns a sight of wood,” he said to himself. “It’s saw and split all the time. That’s where I miss Peter. The lazy little vagabond, to leave me this morning, and now I’ve to do his work and my own, too.”

Peter might be a lazy little vagabond, but the work he did was certainly more than fell to the lot of his employer, though he had worked for almost nothing.

The fact was, Mr. Brackett was a lazy man, and considered that in superintending others he was doing all that could be expected of him.

Peter had milked three of the six cows, foddered them, cleaned out the stalls, sawed and split the wood, and done the numberless chores Mrs. Brackett found for him, besides doing a share of the farm work.

At times during the year, Mr. Brackett hired a man by the day, but generally had a quarrel with him when pay day came, being as mean as he was lazy.

Jeremiah Brackett began to ply the saw and ax, knowing that his supper depended upon it, and soon little Tommy was able to carry in an armful to his mother.

He sawed a little more, and then resumed his smoking.

“It’s slave, slave all the time!” he muttered. “The old man might help me a little, now that I’ve lost Peter – but no, he’s too much of a gentleman. He must take his cane and walk off for pleasure. I wish I had nothing else to do but to walk for pleasure.”

It would have occurred to any one else that at the age of seventy-five a man might have been allowed to rest, particularly when his life up to seventy had been spent in active duty; but Mr. Brackett was intensely selfish and grudged his father-in-law his well-earned leisure.

He never seemed to think of the rich and productive farm, worth fully ten thousand dollars, which he had received from Mr. Dodge, and was disposed to think that in giving the old gentleman a room for it in his own house, with fare at a very meager table, he was really making a hard bargain.

“If the old man would only give me two thousand dollars in money,” he reflected, “it would make me easy. Of course, it’s coming to me some time – there isn’t anybody else that has any claim – but it looks as if he meant to live forever.”

Mr. Brackett did not, however, feel quite so sure of the personal property as he wished. He knew that Mr. Dodge had relations in Hamilton, and it was the fear of his life that they would inherit the coveted stocks and bonds.

He was somewhat reassured, however, by the knowledge that his father-in-law never appeared to write or receive a letter.

Of the letter which had been received by Mrs. Gordon, and led to the journey of our young hero, he knew nothing. It would have occasioned him a great amount of uneasiness if he had heard anything of it.

He was still smoking when Simon Dodge, fresh from his interview with Andy, entered the yard.

“Been out walking, father?” asked Brackett.

He was careful never to let the old man forget the relationship which existed between them, though, in truth, there was no relationship at all.

“Yes, Jeremiah, I must take a little exercise, so as not to get stiff in the joints.”

“I have plenty of exercise at home,” grumbled Brackett. “I have had to attend to all Peter’s chores, in addition to my own work.”

“Oh, well, you’ll get another boy soon,” said old Simon, cheerfully.

“I hope so, for I don’t want to get worn out. When a man has a wife and children to support, he’s got a tough job before him.”

“Not when he’s got a good farm like this,” said Mr. Dodge.

“There ain’t any money to be made by farming,” muttered Brackett.

“That wasn’t my experience,” said Mr. Dodge. “When I was twenty-five I inherited this farm from my father; but there was a debt of three thousand dollars on it, which I was to pay my brother for his share. I hadn’t a cent outside. Well, I worked hard, and I waited patiently, and in time I paid off the mortgage I put on it to pay my brother, and when I gave it up to you, it was in good condition and well stocked. You started a good deal better off than I did.”

“Some folks have more luck than others,” said Brackett.

“If there was any difference in luck,” said the old man, dryly, “it was in your favor. It’s labor more than luck that counts in this world, according to my thinking.”

“You didn’t have four children to support, father.”

“I had three, and while only one lived to grow up, the other two lived to be older than any of yours.”

“I don’t know how it is,” said Brackett, “but I’m always hard up. The children ought to have new clothes, but where I am to get the money I don’t know.”

Mr. Dodge did not offer to tell Mr. Brackett where it was to be got, but he could have done so.

Mrs. Brackett had five hundred dollars in a savings-bank, which, in spite of his laziness, Brackett, with her help, had been able to save.

The two had decided that Mr. Dodge was on no account to know anything of this, as it might prevent his doing anything for them; but the old man had learned it indirectly; and the knowledge helped him to remain deaf to their application for assistance. So, when they pleaded poverty, he remained politely silent.

“Father,” said Brackett, “will you lend me fifty dollars for six weeks, till I’ve had a chance to sell some of my grain?”

Mr. Dodge knew very well from repeated experience that there wasn’t one chance in ten of any such loan being repaid to him. In fact, Brackett owed him, in the aggregate, nearly a thousand dollars, borrowed on just such conditions – to be repaid in six weeks.

“I think you must excuse me, Jeremiah,” said Simon Dodge, quietly.

“It would set me on my feet,” said Brackett.

As he leaned against the well curb in a languid attitude, it really seemed as if he needed somebody or something to set him on his feet.

“I think you will have to look for the money somewhere else,” replied his father-in-law.

“I thought you was having some interest coming in at this time, father.”

“Jeremiah, I gave you the farm, and with good management, you never need to borrow. It ought to support you handsomely, as it did me. I have told you that more than once.”

Simon Dodge left his son-in-law, and entered the house.

“How the old miser hangs on to his money!” growled Brackett. “He’s getting more and more selfish and mean as he grows older. I wish he’d make his will. If he should die now, I’m afraid them Eastern relatives would be after the property.”

Just then, however, his attention was drawn to a boy, with a bundle under his arm, who was entering the gate. It was Andy.