The Store Boy. Alger Horatio Jr.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ her. Some boys of his age are ashamed to show their love for the mother who is devoted to them, but it a false shame, that does them no credit.

      "Still, mother, you work too hard," said Ben. "Wait till I am a man, and you shall not need to work at all."

      Mrs. Barclay had been a widow for five years. Her husband had been a commercial traveler, but had contracted a fever at Chicago, and died after a brief illness, without his wife having the satisfaction of ministering to him in his last days. A small sum due him from his employers was paid over to his family, but no property was discovered, though his wife had been under the impression that her husband possessed some. He had never been in the habit of confiding his business affairs to her, and so, if he had investments of any kind, she could not learn anything about them. She found herself, therefore, with no property except a small cottage, worth, with its quarter acre of land, perhaps fifteen hundred dollars. As Ben was too small to earn anything, she had been compelled to raise about seven hundred dollars on mortgage, which by this time had been expended for living. Now, Ben was earning four dollars a week, and, with her own earnings, she was able to make both ends meet without further encroachments upon her scanty property; but the mortgage was a source of anxiety to her, especially as it was held by Squire Davenport, a lawyer of considerable means, who was not overscrupulous about the methods by which he strove to increase his hoards. Should he at any time take it into his head to foreclose, there was no one to whom Mrs. Barclay could apply to assume the mortgage, and she was likely to be compelled to sacrifice her home. He had more than once hinted that he might need the money but as yet had gone no further.

      Mrs. Barclay had one comfort, however, and a great one. This was a good son. Ben was always kind to his mother—a bright, popular, promising boy—and though at present he was unable to earn much, in a few years he would be able to earn a good income, and then his mother knew that she would be well provided for. So she did not allow herself to borrow trouble but looked forward hopefully, thanking God for what He had given her.

      "Won't you go up to the Town Hall with me, mother?" asked Ben. I am sure you would enjoy it."

      "Thank you, Ben, for wishing me to have a share in your amusements," his mother replied, "but I have a little headache this evening, and I shall be better off at home."

      "It isn't on account of the expense you decline, mother, is it? You know Mr. Crawford gave me a dollar, and the tickets are but twenty-five cents."

      "No, it isn't that, Ben. If it were a concert I might be tempted to go in spite of my headache, but a magical entertainment would not amuse me as much as it will you."

      "Just as you think best, mother; but I should like to have you go.

      You won't feel lonely, will you?"

      "I am used to being alone till nine o'clock, when you are at the store."

      This conversation took place at the supper table. Ben went directly from the store to the Town Hall, where he enjoyed himself as much as he anticipated. If he could have foreseen how his mother was to pass that evening, it would have destroyed all is enjoyment.

      CHAPTER III MRS. BARCLAY'S CALLERS

      About half-past eight o'clock Mrs. Barclay sat with her work in her hand. Her headache was better, but she did not regret not having accompanied Ben to the Town Hall.

      "I am glad Ben is enjoying himself," she thought, "but I would rather stay quietly at home. Poor boy! he works hard enough, and needs recreation now and then."

      Just then a knock was heard at the outside door.

      "I wonder who it can be?" thought the widow. "I supposed everybody would be at the Town Hall. It may be Mrs. Perkins come to borrow something."

      Mrs. Perkins was a neighbor much addicted to borrowing, which was rather disagreeable, but might have been more easily tolerated but that she seldom returned the articles lent.

      Mrs. Barclay went to the door and opened it, fully expecting to see her borrowing neighbor. A very different person met her view. The ragged hat, the ill-looking face, the neglected attire, led her to recognize the tramp whom Ben had described to her as having attempted to rob him in the afternoon. Terrified, Mrs. Barclay's first impulse was to shut the door and bolt it. But her unwelcome visitor was too quick for her. Thrusting his foot into the doorway, he interposed an effectual obstacle in the way of shutting the door.

      "No, you don't, ma'am!" he said, with as laugh. "I understand your little game. You want to shut me out."

      "What do you want?" asked the widow apprehensively.

      "What do I want?" returned the tramp. "Well, to begin with, I want something to eat—and drink," he added, after a pause.

      "Why don't you go to the tavern?" asked Mrs. Barclay, anxious for him to depart.

      "Well, I can't afford it. All the money I've got is a bogus dollar your rogue of a son gave me this afternoon."

      "You stole it from him," said the widow indignantly.

      "What's the odds if I did. It ain't of no value. Come, haven't you anything to eat in the house? I'm hungry as a wolf."

      "And you look like one!" thought Mrs. Barclay, glancing at his unattractive features; but she did not dare to say it.

      There seemed no way of refusing, and she was glad to comply with his request, if by so doing she could soon get rid of him.

      "Stay here," she said, "and I'll bring you some bread and butter and cold meat."

      "Thank you, I'd rather come in," said the tramp, and he pushed his way through the partly open door.

      She led the way uneasily into the kitchen just in the rear of the sitting room where she had been seated.

      "I wish Ben was here," she said to herself, with sinking heart.

      The tramp seated himself at the kitchen table, while Mrs. Barclay, going to the pantry, brought out part of a loaf of bread, and butter, and a few slices of cold beef, which she set before him. Without ceremony he attacked the viands and ate as if half famished. When about half through, he turned to the widow, and asked:

      "Haven't you some whisky in the house?"

      "I never keep any," answered Mrs. Barclay.

      "Rum or gin, then?" I ain't partic'lar. I want something to warm me up."

      "I keep no liquor of any kind. I don't approve of drink, or want Ben to touch it."

      "Oh, you belong to the cold water army, do you?" said the tramp with a sneer. "Give me some coffee, then."

      "I have no fire, and cannot prepare any."

      "What have you got, then?" demanded than unwelcome guest impatiently.

      "I can give you a glass of excellent well water."

      "[illegible] Do you want to choke me?" returned the tramp in disgust.

      "Suppose I mix you some molasses and water," suggested the widow, anxious to propitiate her dangerous guest.

      "Humph! Well, that will do, if you've got nothing better. Be quick about it, for my throat is parched."

      As soon as possible the drink was prepared and set beside his plate. He drained it at a draught, and called for a second glass, which was supplied him. Presently, for СКАЧАТЬ