THE NEW ACQUAINTANCE.
When Grant appeared with the stranger, Tom and his father looked amazed.
Where could he have picked up an acquaintance in this wilderness was
their thought.
“Tom,” said Grant quickly, “you needn’t kill Dobbin.”
“Are you ready to take his place?” asked Tom. “Food we must have.”
“My friends,” interposed the stranger, “I come with your young companion
to invite you to breakfast at my cabin. Perhaps etiquette requires that
I should tell you who I am. Permit me to introduce myself as Giles
Crosmont, an Englishman by birth and a citizen of the world.”
“I’m Tom Cooper,” responded Tom briefly; “and there are my father and
mother. As for your invitation, we’ll accept it thankfully. Do you keep
a hotel hereabout?”
“Well, not exactly,” smiled Crosmont; “but I have a cabin a short
distance away, and am able to offer you some refreshment. Let me suggest
that you follow me at once. Grant and I will lead the way.”
“So you succeeded better than I, Grant?” remarked Tom.
“Yes; I found Mr. Crosmont’s cabin, and was wondering if it were
occupied, when he entered and made me welcome.”
“Have you lived here long, Mr. Crosmont?” asked Tom curiously.
“Four weeks only.”
“Alone?”
“Yes; I told Grant that it was a whim of mine to try the experiment of
living in utter solitude.”
“How do you like it, as far as you’ve got?”
Giles Crosmont laughed. He was amused by the frank curiosity of his
young acquaintance.
“I’ve got as far as I care to go in this particular direction. After
breakfast I may have a proposal to make to you.”
They reached the cabin, and Crosmont hospitably produced his stock of
provisions, to which his visitors did ample justice.
“Now for my proposal,” said Crosmont. “I should like to join your
party.”
“You are welcome, sir; but, as Grant has probably told you, we are all
out of provisions.”
“I will turn over to you the balance of mine, and I have more concealed
in the woods, at a little distance.”
“Good!” said Tom, in a tone of satisfaction. “We will buy them of you.”
“No, you won’t. I freely contribute them as my share of the common
expense. I can help you in another way also. I am a good shot, and I
hope to add a deer or an antelope to your stock at frequent intervals.”
“We shall be glad to have you join us,” said Mrs. Cooper hospitably.
“Our meeting with you is quite providential.”
Giles Crosmont took off his hat and bowed respectfully to Mrs. Cooper.
It was evident that he was a gentleman by birth and training.
“It was what I was waiting for,” he said; “an invitation from the lady.
I am afraid I must ask you to help convey the provisions to the camp.”
“Grant and I will undertake that,” said Tom, with alacrity.
“And I will help you,” added the blacksmith. “We are in luck to find
food on such an easy condition.”
In half an hour the providential supply was stowed in the wagon, and the
party, augmented to five, started on its way.
Generally Tom and Grant had walked together, but the stranger showed
such a preference for Grant’s society that Tom fell back and joined his
father, leaving his friend and their new acquaintance to journey
together.
“So you are going to California to dig for gold, Grant?” said Crosmont,
as he moderated his pace to adapt himself to Grant’s shorter steps.
“Yes, sir,” answered Grant enthusiastically. “I wish I were there now.”
“Suppose now that you should be fortunate, and secure, say, ten thousand
dollars; you would be happy?”
“Oh, yes.”
“To a boy like you, the possession of money seems sure to bring
happiness.”
“In my case, yes. Remember, Mr. Crosmont, I have a mother to care for. I
should like to take her from Mr. Tarbox’s house, where she is a slave,
and give her a nice home of her own. That wouldn’t take more than two
thousand dollars, and with the balance I could go into business.”
“Yes, you have your mother to live for,” said Crosmont; and he dropped
into a thoughtful mood.
“Will you go to the mines also?” asked Grant, less from curiosity than
in order to break the silence.
“No—yes; I will go with you for a time; but the mines have no attraction
for me.”
“Don’t you care for gold?”
“I have enough already.”
Then, seeing that Grant’s curiosity was excited, he added: “I don’t mind
telling you, Grant, that I am a rich man, rich beyond my wants, and I
have no temptation to increase my wealth.”
Grant regarded his companion with the respect that a boy of his age is
apt to feel for a rich man—so rich that he doesn’t care to increase his
wealth.
“I wonder how it would seem to be rich,” he said thoughtfully.
“Perhaps you will have a chance to experience the feeling some time.”
“I hope so.”
“You are young, strong, self-reliant. In your favored country this will
help you to become rich. But after you have acquired wealth, I doubt if
you will find it makes you as happy as you expect.”
“But,” said Grant, “if I am rich I can help others. That will make me
happy.”
“True!” returned the other, as if it were a new idea. “This ought to
have occurred to me before. I will remember it.”
“Were you always rich, sir?”
“Yes. I was born to wealth. My father was a wealthy gentleman living in
Devonshire, England. From my earliest years I was accustomed to all that
wealth could buy. I never knew what poverty meant.”
“I should think you would wish to live in England.”
“If I lived there it would be alone.”
“Then you have no family!”
Giles Crosmont was silent, and a pained expression showed itself on his
face.
“Excuse me if I have shown too much curiosity,” said Grant
apologetically.
“There is no need to apologize, yet your question called up painful
memories. I had a son—I don’t know if he is still alive—who must now be
twenty-five years old. He disappointed me. I sent him to college, and he
plunged into extravagance. I paid his debts twice. The last time, in my
anger, I declined to do so. He forged a check on me for a large sum,
paid his debts with part of the proceeds, and then disappeared.”
“How long ago was that?” inquired Grant, in a sympathetic tone.
“Four years. For a year I remained at my home, hoping to hear something
from him, but no tidings came. Then I began to travel, and am still
travelling. Sometime I may meet him, and if I do——”
“You will forgive him?”
“I will try to reclaim him.”
“I wish my father were living.”
“You have your mother.”
“Yes, I wish I could see her at this moment.”
“I think you are a good boy. I wish my boy had been like you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Crosmont. I will try to deserve your compliment.”
“Grant and the Englishman are getting pretty thick,” said Tom to his
mother.
“Yes, Tom. He seems to have taken a fancy to the boy.”
“No wonder. Grant is a good fellow. I wonder if this Mr. Crosmont is
rich?” For Grant had respected the confidence of his new acquaintance
and had not communicated what he had learned to his companions.
“I hope he is. Then he might do something for Grant, and the boy
deserves it.”
“He’ll never get much from old Tarbox, I’ll be bound.”
Day by day they drew nearer to the land of gold. The stock of provisions
held out wonderfully, for Mr. Crosmont made good his promise, and more
than one deer and antelope fell before his unerring aim, and eked out
the supply. At length, after some weeks, they crossed the mountains and
looked upon the promised land. From this point on there were
settlements, and there was no fear of starvation.