FINDING THE PRODIGAL.
“Now,” said Mr. Crosmont on the morning after Grant’s arrival, “I have
some work for you to do.”
“I am glad of it, sir,” replied Grant. “I should be homesick if I were
idle.”
“I have great faith in the future of San Francisco,” continued the
Englishman. “Real estate is sure to make rapid advances, and I am
investing in lots all over the city. By the way, you are the owner of
two lots on this street.”
“You are very kind, Mr. Crosmont,” said Grant gratefully.
“I mean to be. The lots are of large size, and only cost fifty dollars
apiece. I could sell them for double that sum to-day, though I bought
them only two months since. How much money have you belonging to Cooper
and yourself?”
“Fifteen hundred dollars.”
“I advise you to invest a thousand in lots, under my direction.”
“You can invest the whole, sir. Tom Cooper has seven hundred dollars
left in gold-dust, and that will be all the reserve we need.”
“Very well! For every dollar you invest, I feel sure that you can get
five within a comparatively short time.”
“I will be guided by your judgment, sir.”
Grant succeeded in getting twenty lots for his money, half of which were
entered in the name of Tom Cooper. When he had in his possession the
deeds for all his property he began to feel like a capitalist.
“I wonder what Mr. Tarbox would say if he knew how I was fixed,” thought
Grant. “He would want to be my guardian. I shall be glad when I can buy
a nice home for my mother away from the whole Tarbox tribe. She works
altogether too hard. If things go well she shall have an easier time
henceforth.”
Mr. Crosmont opened a real estate office and put Grant in charge. Though
he was the responsible head, he left the principal work, including the
bookkeeping, in the hands of his _protégé_.
“You must have a regular salary, Grant,” he said. “Now, what shall it
be?”
“Anything you like, Mr. Crosmont.”
“That isn’t business-like. The laborer is worthy of his hire.”
“Would ten dollars a week be too much? Then I could pay you my board.”
Mr. Crosmont smiled.
“I see, Grant,” he said, “you have no idea of the value of your
services. You will have nothing to pay for board, for I consider your
society sufficient compensation. I will, besides that, pay you a fixed
salary of one hundred and fifty dollars a month.”
Grant opened his eyes in amazement.
“But, sir, you forget that I am only sixteen.”
“No, I don’t. In London or New York I should be unable to pay you
anything like that sum, but here the case is different. Your salary,
however, will be small compared with the profits you will realize on
your lots.”
“I won’t count my chickens before they are hatched, Mr. Crosmont,” said
Grant, smiling.
“That is usually the prudent course, but you are sure to gain a good
profit on your land investment.”
Of this belief Grant had a very speedy confirmation, for within a week
he was waited upon by a gentleman who wished to erect a hotel, on a site
a part of which was owned by Grant and the balance by Mr. Crosmont. Mr.
Crosmont managed the negotiations, and in the end Grant received two
thousand dollars for his two lots.
“I should like to keep that money,” said Grant, “as I may have a use for
it at home.”
“Very well. You can let it out on call at three per cent. a month. That
won’t pay as well as real estate, but you will have it when you need
it.”
A month later Grant received a letter from Tom Cooper. The important
part of the communication was the following paragraph:
Somehow it has leaked out, I don’t know how, that our claim is unusually
rich, and I have been waited upon by a couple of New York men who have
offered me five thousand dollars for it. I think it will be well to
accept, especially as I am now alone. I have on hand now about twelve
hundred dollars in gold-dust, which I mean to take to San Francisco
myself. I shall make arrangements to receive the money in a draft on a
San Francisco banker, and will pay you your share when we meet. Perhaps
I might make more money by retaining the claim, but it is dull work
living here alone, though I have a good home with the Crambos. You may
expect to see me in a short time.
“I congratulate you, Grant,” said Mr. Crosmont. “You seem to be a
favorite of fortune.”
About this time an event occurred which calls for special mention. One
evening Grant was walking through Montgomery Street, in the neighborhood
of Telegraph Hill, when his attention was called to a young man who was
walking in advance of him with unsteady steps. Something in his manner
led Grant to think he was in trouble. After some hesitation, he hastened
his steps and touched the stranger on the shoulder.
The other turned, and revealed the face of a young man of perhaps
twenty-seven. His expression was troubled, almost despairing.
“Can I be of any assistance to you?” asked Grant gently.
“I have eaten nothing for forty-eight hours,” said the other, in a
hopeless tone. “I am without money and without hope.”
“Will you allow me to help you?” repeated Grant.
“You have spoken the first kind words I have listened to for weeks,”
said the other. “I should enjoy a cup of coffee and a plate of meat.”
“Come with me, then,” said Grant.
He led the way to a restaurant near by, and ordered a plain but
substantial meal. The young man’s face brightened, as a plate of
beef-steak and a cup of coffee were placed before him. He ate with
avidity and evident appetite.
When the meal was finished, he said: “You seem to be only a boy. What
brought you to this city?”
“I was poor and wanted to earn a living.”
“Have you prospects?”
“Beyond my expectations.”
“I, too, came here to earn a living. I had some money with me when I
arrived, but it is all gone now. Nothing that I took hold of prospered.
When you spoke to me I was in despair. I was making up my mind to commit
suicide.”
“That would be very foolish—and wicked.”
“Perhaps so, but consider my situation. I had no prospects and no money.
I have none now, but somehow when a man has filled his stomach he feels
less despondent.”
“I may be able to put something in your way. I came here a poor boy, but
I am not poor now.”
“And I—would you be surprised to hear that I am the son of a rich man
and the heir of a large estate?”
“Yes,” answered Grant, “I am surprised. You don’t look much like it. In
that case I don’t understand why you should be in this condition.”
“I can explain easily. I have been a prodigal son. I have wasted money
in folly and dissipation, and alienated my father’s affections.”
“Have you seen or heard from him lately?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know that he is estranged?”
“It can hardly be otherwise. He is an honorable man, and my conduct has
shamed and humiliated him.”
“It is not too late to repent and turn over a new leaf.”
“I fear it is. At any rate, I never expect to be reinstated in my
father’s favor.”
“You can at any rate work for an honest living.”
“Yes, I am ready to do that, if the chance is offered me.”
“I am quite sure that you will have the chance. I could give it to you
myself, but I have a friend here who is much better able than I.”
“You give me new hope. What is your friend’s name?”
“Giles Crosmont.”
The young man started as if he had been shot. He showed signs of
excitement.
“What name did you say?” he asked. “Repeat it.”
“Giles Crosmont.”
“Is he an Englishman?”
“Yes; he has a large estate in Devonshire.”
“Great Heavens!” exclaimed the young man; “Giles Crosmont is my father.”
“Your father? Come, then, let me lead you to him at once.”
“No, no,” said the young man, hanging back. “He would not receive me.”
“Would not receive you? He is in California for the express purpose of
hunting you up.”
“Are you sure of that?” asked the young man eagerly.
“Yes; he told me so himself.”
“That is the best news I have heard for many a day. Take me to him,
then, at once.”
The surprise and deep thankfulness of Mr. Crosmont when Grant arrived
with his son may be imagined. He held out his arms without a word, and
folded the young man in his embrace.
“I am ashamed to come back to you, father,” said young Crosmont, “after
the way I have behaved.”
“Let us forget the past, my son,” responded the father. “Let us look
forward to a bright future!” Then, turning to Grant, he said: “In
restoring my son to me, Grant, you have fully paid me for all I have
done for you. You have placed me under the deepest obligations.”
“And I, too, look upon you as my guardian angel,” added young Crosmont,
as he grasped the boy’s hand in his.
“It was a mere chance,” said Grant modestly.
“Say, rather, it was a providence,” corrected Giles Crosmont reverently.