Grit. Alger Horatio Jr.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Grit, with a sudden impulse.

      "Yes, I live in what I regard as the city. I mean New York."

      "It must be a fine place," said the young boatman thoughtfully.

      "Yes, it is a fine place, if you have money enough to live handsomely. Did you ever hear of Wall Street?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "I am a Wall Street broker. I commenced as a boy in a broker's office. I don't think I was any better off than you at your age—certainly I did not earn so much money."

      "But you didn't have a mother to take care of, did you, sir?"

      "No; do you?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "You are a good boy to work for your mother. My poor boy has no mother;" and the gentleman looked sad. "What is your name?"

      "Grit."

      "Is that your real name?"

      "No, sir, but everybody calls me so."

      "For a good reason, probably. Willie, do you like to ride in the boat?"

      "Yes, papa," answered the little boy, his bright eyes and eager manner showing that he spoke the truth.

      "Grit," said Mr. Jackson, "I see we are nearly across the river. Unless you are due there at a specified time, you may stay out, and we will row here and there, prolonging our trip. Of course, I will increase your pay."

      "I shall be very willing, sir," said Grit. "My boat is my own, and my time also, and I have no fixed hours for starting from either side."

      "Good! Then we can continue our conversation. Is there a good hotel in Chester?"

      "Quite a good one, sir. They keep summer boarders."

      "That was the point I wished to inquire about. Willie and I have been staying with friends in Portville, but they are expecting other visitors, and I have a fancy for staying a while on your side of the river—that is, if you live in Chester."

      "Yes, sir; our cottage is on yonder bluff—Pine Point, it is called."

      "Then I think I will call at the hotel, and see whether I can obtain satisfactory accommodations."

      "Are you taking a vacation?" asked Grit, with curiosity.

      "Yes; the summer is a dull time in Wall Street, and my partner attends to everything. By and by I shall return, and give him a chance to go away."

      "Do people make a great deal of money in Wall Street?" asked Grit.

      "Sometimes, and sometimes they lose a great deal. I have known a man who kept his span of horses one summer reduced to accept a small clerkship the next. If a broker does not speculate, he is not so liable to such changes of fortune. What is your real name, since Grit is only a nickname?"

      "My real name is Harry Morris."

      "Have you any brothers or sisters?"

      "No, sir; I am an only child."

      "Were you born here?"

      "No, sir; I was born in Boston."

      "Have you formed any plans for the future? You won't be a boatman all your life, I presume?"

      "I hope not, sir. It will do well enough for the present, and I am glad to have such a chance of earning a living for my mother and myself; but when I grow up I should like to go to the city, and get into business there."

      "All the country boys are anxious to seek their fortune in the city. In many cases they would do better to stay at home."

      "Were you born in the city, sir?" asked Grit shrewdly.

      "No; I was born in the country."

      "But you didn't stay there."

      "No; you have got me there. I suppose it was better for me to go to the city, and perhaps it may be for you; but there is no hurry. You wouldn't have a chance to earn six dollars a week in the city, as you say you do here. Besides, it would cost much more for you and your mother to live."

      "I suppose so, sir. I am contented to remain where I am at present."

      "Is your father dead?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "It is a great loss. Then your mother is a widow?"

      "I wish she were," said Grit hastily.

      "But she must be, if your father is dead," said Mr. Jackson.

      "No, sir; she married again."

      "Oh, there is a stepfather, then? Don't you and he get along well together?"

      "There has been no chance to quarrel for nearly five years."

      "Why?"

      "Because he has been in prison."

      "Excuse me if I have forced upon you a disagreeable topic," said the passenger, in a tone of sympathy. "His term of confinement will expire, and then he can return to you."

      "That is just what troubles me, sir," said Grit bluntly. "We are expecting him in a day or two, and then our quiet life will be at an end."

      "Will he make things disagreeable for you?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "At least, you will not have to work so hard."

      "Yes, sir. I shall have to work harder, for I shall have to support him, too."

      "Won't he be willing to work?"

      "No, sir, he is very lazy, and if he can live without work, he will."

      "That is certainly unfortunate."

      "It is worse than having no father at all," said Grit bluntly. "I don't care to have him remain in prison, if he will only keep away from us, but I should be glad if I could never set eyes upon him again."

      "Well, my boy, you must bear the trial as well as you can. We all have our trials, and yours comes in the shape of a disagreeable stepfather–"

      He did not finish the sentence, for there was a startling interruption.

      Mr. Jackson and Grit had been so much engaged in their conversation that they had not watched the little boy. Willie had amused himself in bending over the side of the boat, and dipping his little fingers in the rippling water. With childish imprudence he leaned too far, and fell head first into the swift stream.

      A splash told the startled father what had happened.

      "Good Heaven!" he exclaimed, "my boy is overboard, and I cannot swim."

      He had scarcely got the words out of his mouth than Grit was in the water, swimming for the spot where the boy went down, now a rod or two distant, for the boat had been borne onward by the impulse of the oars.

      The young boatman was an expert swimmer. It would naturally have been expected, since so much of his time СКАЧАТЬ