Alger Horatio Jr.
Mark Mason's Victory
CHAPTER XXIX.
NAHUM SPRAGUE AND HIS ORPHAN WARD
Leaving Mark on his way we will precede him, and carry the reader at once to Gulchville, in California, where he was to find the young boy of whom Mr. Gilbert had requested him to take charge.
In an unpainted frame house lived Mr. Nahum Sprague. In New England such a building would hardly have cost over five hundred dollars, but here it had been erected at more than double the expense by the original owner. When he became out of health and left California it was bought for a trifling price by Nahum Sprague.
The latter was a man of forty-five with small eyes and a face prematurely wrinkled. He was well-to-do, but how he had gained his money no one knew. He and his wife, however, were mean and parsimonious.
They had one son, a boy of fifteen, who resembled them physically and mentally. He was named Oscar, after a gentleman of wealth, in the hope that at his death the boy would be remembered. Unfortunately for Oscar the gentleman died without a will and his namesake received nothing.
The disappointed parents would gladly have changed the boy's name, but Oscar would not hear of it, preferring the name that had become familiar.
This was the family whose grudging hospitality had embittered the last days of John Lillis, and to them he was obliged to commit the temporary guardianship of his little son Philip.
In the field adjoining, Philip Lillis, a small pale boy, was playing when Oscar Sprague issued from the house.
"Come here, you little brat!" he said harshly.
Philip looked with a frightened expression.
"What do you want of me?" he asked.
"What do I want? Come here and see."
The little fellow approached.
He was received with a sharp slap in the face.
"Why do you hit me, Oscar?" Philip asked tearfully.
"Because you didn't come quicker," answered the young tyrant.
"I didn't know you were in a hurry."
"Well, you know it now."
"You wouldn't have hit me when papa was alive," said Philip with a flash of spirit.
"Well, he isn't alive, see?"
"I know he isn't, and I am alone in the world."
"Well, don't snivel! If anything makes me sick at the stomach it is to see a boy snivel."
"Maybe you'd cry if your papa was dead."
"There ain't much fear. The old man's too tough," responded Oscar, who had no sentimental love for his father. Indeed, it would have been surprising if he had shown any attachment to Nahum Sprague, who was about as unattractive in outward appearance as he was in character and disposition.
"You didn't tell me what you wanted me to do."
"Just wait till I tell you, smarty. Do you see this bottle?"
"Yes."
"Take it to the saloon and get it full of whisky."
"Papa didn't want me to go into a liquor saloon."
"Well, your papa ain't got nothing to do with you now. See? You just do as I tell you."
Philip took the bottle unwillingly and started for the saloon.
"Mind you don't drink any of it on the way home," called out Oscar.
"As if I would," said Philip indignantly. "I don't drink whisky and I never will."
"Oh, you're an angel!" sneered Oscar. "You're too good for this world. Ain't you afraid you'll die young, as they say good boys do?"
"I don't believe you'll die young, Oscar."
"Hey? Was that meant for an insult? But never mind! I don't pretend to be one of the goody-goody Sunday-school kids. Now mind you don't loiter on the way."
Oscar sat down on the doorstep and began to whittle.
The door opened and his father came out.
"Why didn't you go to the saloon as I told you?" he asked hastily.
"It's all the same. I sent Philip."
"You sent that boy? He ain't fit to send on such an errand."
"Why ain't he? He can ask to have the bottle filled, can't he?"
"What did he say? Was he willing to go?"
"He said his papa," mimicked Oscar, "didn't want him to go into a liquor saloon."
"He did, hey? All the more reason for making him go. His poverty-stricken father can't help him now. Why, I am keeping the boy from starving."
"Are you going to keep him always, dad?"
"I ought to turn him over to the town, but folks would talk. There's a man in New York that his father said would send for him. I don't know whether he will or not. There's a matter of fifty dollars due to me for burying John Lillis. That's the way I get imposed upon."
Philip kept on his way to the saloon. He was a timid, sensitive boy, and he shrank from going into the place which was generally filled with rough men. Two miners were leaning against the front of the wooden shanty used for the sale of liquor when Philip appeared.
As he passed in one said to the other, "Well, I'll be jiggered if here isn't a kid comin' for his liquor. I say, kid, what do you want?"
"Some whisky," answered Philip timidly.
"How old are you?"
"Ten."
"I say, young 'un, you're beginnin' early."
"I don't want it for myself," returned Philip half indignantly.
"Oh, no, of course not. You won't take a sip yourself, of course not."
"No, I won't. My papa never drank whisky, and he told me not to."
"Where is your papa?"
"Gone to Heaven."
The miner whistled.
"Then who sent you for whisky?"
"Mr. Sprague."
"Old Nahum?"
"His name is Nahum."
"I thought he was too mean to buy whisky. Do you live with him?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is he any kin to you?"
"No," answered Philip quickly.
"Does he treat you well?"
"I don't like to answer such questions," said Philip guardedly.
"I suppose you are afraid to. Did your father leave any money?"
"No," answered Philip sadly.
"Then I understand how it is. Do you expect to keep on living with Mr. Sprague?"
"Papa wrote to a gentleman in New York. I expect he will send for me."
"I hope he will for your sake, poor little chap. Well, go on and get your whisky. I don't want to take up your time."
As Philip entered the first speaker remarked, "Well, Bill, I don't pretend to be an angel, but I wouldn't send a kid like that for whisky. I drink it myself, but I wouldn't want a boy like that to go for it. I'd go myself."
"I agree with you," said Bill. "That Sprague ain't of much account any way. I'd lick him myself for a dollar. He's about as mean as they make 'em."
CHAPTER XXX.
PHILIP FINDS A FRIEND
When the two unauthorized ministers of justice had departed Oscar and his father looked at each other in anger and stupefaction.
"It's an outrage!" exclaimed Nahum Sprague.
"I'd like to shoot them!" returned Oscar. "I'd like to see them flayed within an inch of their lives."
"So would I. They are the most audacious desperadoes I ever encountered."
"Do you know them, dad?"
"Yes; they are Bill Murphy and Joe Hastings. They are always hanging round the drinking saloon."
"We can lick Philip at any rate!" said Oscar, with a furious look at poor Phil. "He brought it on us."
But Nahum Sprague was more prudent. He had heard the threat of Bill and Joe to repeat the punishment if Philip were attacked, and he thought it best to wait.
"Leave it to me," he said. "I'll flog him in due time."
"Ain't you going to do anything to him, dad?" asked Oscar in disappointment.
"Yes. Come here, you, sir!"
Phil approached his stern guardian with an uncomfortable sense of something unpleasant awaiting him.
Nahum Sprague seized him by the collar and said, "Follow me."
He pushed the boy before him and walked him into the house, then up the stairs into an attic room, where he locked him in. Just then the bell rang for dinner.
Poor Phil was hungry, but nothing was said about dinner for him. A dread suspicion came to him that he was to be starved. But half an hour later the door opened, and Oscar appeared with two thin slices of bread without butter.
"Here's your dinner," he said.
It was a poor enough provision for a hungry boy, but Phil ate them with relish, Oscar looking on with an amused smile.
"Is that all I am to have?" asked Phil.
"Yes; it is all you deserve."
"I don't know what I have done."
"You don't, hey? You broke the bottle and spilled the whisky."
"I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't pushed me."
"There you go, laying it off on me. You'd better not."
"But it's true, Oscar."
"No, it isn't. You broke the bottle to spite pa."
"I wouldn't have dared to do it," said Philip.
"You dared a little too much, anyway. Didn't you get those men to follow you and interfere with what was none of their business?"
"No, I didn't."
"Hadn't you spoken with them at the saloon?"
"Yes."
"I thought so."
"They asked me who sent me for the whisky and I told them."
"You didn't need to tell them. If it hadn't been for that they wouldn't have come round to our place and assaulted pa and me. They'll catch it, pa says. Shouldn't wonder if they'd be put in prison for five years."
Young as he was Phil put no faith in this ridiculous statement, but he thought it best not to make any comment.
"How long is your father going to keep me here?" he asked.
"Maybe a month."
This opened a terrible prospect to poor Phil, who thought Mr. Sprague quite capable of inflicting such a severe punishment.
"If he does I won't live through it," he said desperately.
"You don't mean to kill yourself!" said Oscar, startled.
"No, but I shall starve. I am awfully hungry now."
"What, after eating two slices of bread?"
"They were very thin, and I have exercised a good deal."
"Then I advise you to make it up with pa. If you get down on your knees and tell him you are sorry, perhaps he will forgive you, and let you out."
Phil did not feel willing to humiliate himself in that way, and remained silent.
"There ain't any bed for me to sleep on," he said, looking around.
"You will have to sleep on the floor. I guess you'll get enough of it."
Oscar locked the door on the outside and went down-stairs. Disagreeable as he was Phil was sorry to have him go. He was some company, and when left to himself there was nothing for him to do. If there had been any paper or book in the room it would have helped him tide over the time, but the apartment was bare of furniture.
There was one window looking out on the side of the house. Phil posted himself at this, and soon saw Oscar and his father leave the premises and go down the street. Nahum had a bottle in his hand, and Phil concluded he was going to the drinking saloon to get a fresh bottle of whisky.
Phil continued to look out of the window.
Presently he saw a boy pass whom he knew – a boy named Arthur Burks.
He opened the window and called out eagerly, "Arthur!"
Arthur turned round and looking up espied Philip.
"Hello!" he cried. "What are you doing up there?"
"I am locked in."
"What for?"
"I accidentally dropped a bottle of whisky, and spilled it. Mr. Sprague got mad and locked me up here."
"That's a shame. How long have you got to stay?"
"Oscar says he may keep me here a month."
"He's only frightening you. Old Sprague wouldn't dare to do it."
"That isn't all. I am half starved. He only gave me two small slices of bread for dinner."
"He's a mean old hunks. I just wish you could come round to our house. We'd give you enough to eat."
"I wish I were there now," sighed Philip.
"I've got an idea," said Arthur, brightening up. "What time do Mr. Sprague and Oscar go to bed?"
"Very early. About nine o'clock."
"Would you run away if you could?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll tell you what I'll do. At half-past nine Albert Frost and I will come around with a tall ladder – Mr. Frost has got one – and we'll put it up against your window. Will you dare to get out of the window, and come down?"
"Yes, I'll do anything to get away. But can you get the ladder?"
"Yes; Albert will manage it. Do you think the old man will be likely to see or hear us?"
"No; he sleeps on the other side of the house."
"All right! You can expect us. I guess I had better go now, for fear I may be seen, and they might suspect something."
"But where can I go when I leave here?"
"Come to our house. You can sleep with Rob, my little brother."
"Thank you, Arthur. I'll expect you."
Philip felt a good deal more cheerful after Arthur had gone. He knew that in Arthur's house he would be very differently treated from what he had been by Nahum Sprague. He did not feel it wrong to leave the Spragues', as they were constantly complaining that he was a burden.
"If Mr. Burks would only let me live with him," he thought, "I should be happy, and I would be willing to work hard."
At half-past five Oscar came up to the room again, this time accompanied by his father.
"How do you like being locked up here?" asked Nahum.
"Not very well."
"Get down on your knees and beg my pardon for your bad conduct, and I will let you out."
"I would rather not, sir."
"Do you hear that, Oscar? He would rather not."
"I heard it, pa."
"It is only right that he should suffer the penalty of his headstrong conduct. Give him his supper and we will leave him to think of his sinfulness."
Oscar produced two more thin slices of bread and a cup of very weak tea.
"You are not entitled to tea," said Nahum. "It is only because we are kind-hearted that I permitted Mrs. Sprague to send up a cup. I have not put in milk or sugar because I refuse to pamper you."
Philip made no comment, but disposed of the tea and bread in a very short space of time. He felt ready to join in with Oliver, in Dickens's immortal story, when he asked for "more." But he knew it would be of no use.
"Now, we will go down, Oscar."
"All right, pa. I hope the house won't catch fire in the night," he added, with the laudable purpose of terrifying Philip, "for we might not be able to come up and unlock the door."
Philip felt uncomfortable, but he reflected that before many hours, if Arthur Burks kept his promise, he would no longer be an inmate of Mr. Sprague's home.
"He'll have a sweet time sleeping on the floor, pa," said Oscar as they went down-stairs.
"It will serve the little fool right," returned Nahum Sprague grimly.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE MINING STOCK IS SOLD
"But I understood that you were poor," said Mr. Rockwell, surprised at Mark's statement.
"That we are so is because Mr. Talbot as executor has concealed from my mother the existence of the stock as a part of grandfather's estate."
"How long since you grandfather died?"
"Nearly two years."
"And the stock is only now to be sold?"
"Yes; my uncle had advices that it would be well to wait, as it was likely to go up."
"And your mother's share is half – say, two hundred shares?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then she will be comfortable for life. At the price I am thinking of paying, this will amount to over fifty thousand dollars. Now can you give me any information about the mine?"
"Yes, sir; I made it my business to inquire. It is confidently expected to go considerably higher. It is growing richer every day."
"I shall rely upon your statements and buy the stock. After it is sold I advise you to take immediate steps to secure your share. Have you consulted a lawyer?"
"Yes; a young man."
"In a matter of this importance an older and more experienced lawyer will be better, I will give you a note to my own lawyer."
"Thank you, sir."
"I am now going to the office of Crane & Lawton where I shall meet your uncle, and conclude the business. Come here in less than two hours and I may be able to tell you the result."
"I will do so."
Solon Talbot was much elated when informed by Crane & Lawton that they had found a purchaser for his mining stock in the person of Luther Rockwell, the well-known banker.
"Do you think he would stand a higher price?" asked Talbot.
"It would not be wise to ask it."
"He is very rich. He could afford to pay more."
"True; but he became rich through prudence and shrewdness. Sell to him and you won't have to wait for your money."
"No doubt you are right. I will be guided by your advice."
When Solon Talbot was introduced to Mr. Rockwell he made a deferential bow.
"I am honored in making your acquaintance, Mr. Rockwell," he said.
"Thank you, sir."
The banker would have been more cordial but for what he had heard from Mark.
"How long have you owned this stock, Mr. Talbot?" inquired Mr. Rockwell.
"Three years."
"It is not held in your name."
"No; it belongs to the estate of my late father-in-law, Elisha Doane."
"I take it that you are the executor of the estate."
"Yes, sir."
Solon Talbot would not have been so communicative if he had supposed that the banker was a friend to Mark. He had forgotten Mark's agency in protecting Mr. Rockwell from the dynamite fiend.
"The stock was probably purchased at a very low figure."
"I presume so, though I do not know what was paid for it. Indeed I never heard of it until I came to examine the items of my father-in-law's estate. He didn't have much else."
"It is fortunate for his heirs."
"Yes," answered Talbot rather nervously.
He was afraid Mr. Rockwell might inquire who were the other heirs. Had he done so, he would have evaded the question or boldly declared that there was no other heirs except himself.
After half an hour's conversation the purchase was made, and a check for one hundred and four thousand dollars was handed to Mr. Talbot.
"I hope you will not have occasion to regret your purchase, Mr. Rockwell," said Solon.
"I think I shall not from advices I have received about increasing richness."
At the time appointed Mark called at Mr. Rockwell's office.
"Well, Mark," said the lawyer, "I made the purchase."
"At two hundred and sixty?"
"Yes. I congratulate you."
"That is, if I succeed in getting our share from my uncle."
"I will give you a letter to my lawyer, Mr. Gerrish. Obtain a letter from him, as your counsel, and call to-morrow upon your uncle with a formal demand for your mother's share of the proceeds of the mining stock."
CHAPTER XXXII.
CONCLUSION
Solon Talbot went home in high spirits. It was only recently that he had become aware of the great value of the Golden Hope shares. It had come to him as an agreeable surprise.
"With what I was worth before," he soliloquized, "I may now rate myself at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That is very good – for a beginning. I can afford to buy the house in Forty-Seventh Street, for I shall still have a hundred thousand dollars over, and in five years I mean to make it half a million."
He paced up and down his library in a state of joyous excitement. No thought of giving his sister-in-law her rightful due entered his mind.
"How can she find out?" he reflected. "Old Mr. Doane never told any of us of his mining shares. I presume he looked upon them as rather a risky investment. It has proved to be a splendid speculation, but it was rather a lucky accident than a shrewd purchase."
It was after breakfast on the morning succeeding the sale of stock. Mr. Talbot was preparing to go over to the house which he proposed to purchase for a last examination before making up his mind, when the servant entered the library.
"There is a boy down-stairs wishes to see you, Mr. Talbot," he said.
"Perhaps a boy from Crane & Lawton," he reflected. "Show him up."
Directly afterwards Mark Mason entered the room.
"Mark!" exclaimed Talbot. "What brings you here!"
"A matter of business, Uncle Solon."
"Then you will have to wait, for I am just going out."
"The business is important," said Mark significantly.
"Well, what is it?"
"I understand you sold yesterday the shares in the Golden Hope Mine belonging to grandfather's estate."
"What!" exclaimed Solon Talbot, his face showing his surprise and dismay.
"There were four hundred shares, and they were sold to Luther Rockwell, the banker."
"Who told you this? Have you had any communication from Crane & Lawton?"
"No; though I know the sale was made through them."
Solon Talbot paused long enough to pull himself together. It would never do to surrender at discretion. He would brazen it out to the last.
"Your information is partly true," he said. "I did sell some shares of mining stock, but they belonged to me. You have nothing to do with them."
"Uncle Solon," said Mark composedly, "it is useless to try to deceive me. The four hundred shares were bought by my grandfather, and belonged to his estate. Half of the proceeds rightfully belongs to my mother."
Spots of perspiration stood on Solon Talbot's brow. Should he allow fifty thousand dollars to slip from his grasp?
"You audacious boy!" he exclaimed. "How dare you make such an assertion?"
"Because I happen to know that the four hundred shares stood in the name of my grandfather, Elisha Doane."
"That is a lie. May I ask where you got this information?"
"From the purchaser of the stock, Luther Rockwell."
"What do you know of Luther Rockwell?" demanded Solon Talbot, incredulous.
"He is one of my best friends. Before buying the shares of the Golden Hope mine he asked my advice."
"Do you expect me to believe such ridiculous stuff? What could you know about the mine?"
"I have recently returned from California. On the way I stopped in Nevada, and I have in my pocket a statement signed by the secretary of the company, that four hundred shares of the stock stood in the name of my grandfather."
It was a series of surprises. Solon Talbot walked up and down the library in a state of nervous agitation.
"What do you expect me to do?" he added finally.
"This letter will inform you, Uncle Solon."
"From whom is it?"
"From my lawyer, George Gerrish."
Mr. Gerrish, as Mr. Talbot knew, was one of the leaders of the bar. He opened it with trembling hands, and read the following:
"Mr. Solon Talbot:
"Dear Sir:
"My client, Mark Mason, authorizes me to demand of you an accounting of the sums received by you as executor of the estate of his late grandfather, Elisha Doane, to the end that his mother, co-heiress with your wife, may receive her proper shares of the estate. An early answer will oblige,
"Yours respectfully,
"George Gerrish."
"Do you know Mr. Gerrish well, too?" asked Talbot.
"No, sir, but Mr. Rockwell gave me a note to him. I have had an interview with him."
"Say to him that he will hear from me."
Mark bowed and withdrew. Within a week Solon Talbot had agreed to make over to his sister-in-law, Mrs. Mason, a sum of over fifty thousand dollars, representing her share of her father's estate. He reconsidered his purpose of buying the house in West Forty-Seventh Street, and decided to remain in the flat which he then occupied.
Mrs. Mason and Mark took a handsome flat up town, and henceforth were able to live as well as their pretentious relatives. Mark was advised by Mr. Rockwell as to the investment of his mother's money, and it has already increased considerably. He is himself taking a mercantile course at a commercial college, and will eventually enter the establishment of Mr. Gilbert, with whom he is as great a favorite as ever.
It never rains but it pours. One morning Mrs. Mack, the aged miser, was found dead in bed. She left a letter directing Mark to call on her lawyer. To his surprise he found that he was left sole heir to the old lady's property, amounting to about five thousand dollars.
"What shall I do with it, mother?" he asked. "I have no rightful claim to it. She only left it to me that her nephew might not get it."
"Keep it till he gets out of prison, and then help him judiciously if he deserves it. Meanwhile invest it and give the income to charity."
Mark was glad that he was able to follow this advice. Jack Minton is still in jail, and it is to be feared that his prison life will not reform him, but Mark means to give him a chance when he is released.
Through Mark's influence, his old friend, Tom Trotter, has been taken into a mercantile establishment where his natural sharpness is likely to help him to speedy promotion. Mark has agreed to pay his mother's rent for the next three years, and has given Tom a present of two hundred dollars besides. He is not one of those who in prosperity forget their humble friends.
And now after some years of privation and narrow means Mrs. Mason and Mark seem in a fair way to see life on its sunny side. I hope my readers will agree that they merit their good fortune.
On the other hand, Mr. Talbot has lost a part of his money by injudicious speculation, and his once despised sister-in-law is now the richer of the two. Edgar has got rid of his snobbishness and through Mark's friendship is likely to grow up an estimable member of society.
