IN WHICH HARRY MEETS WITH AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE AND GETS A HARD KNOCK ON
THE HEAD
It was in vain that Harry searched beneath the broken floor for his
lost treasure; it could not be found. He raised the boards up, and
satisfied himself that it had not slipped away into any crevice, or
fallen through into the room below; and the conclusion was inevitable
that the box had been stolen.
Who could have done it? The mystery confused Harry, for he was certain
that no one had seen him deposit the box beneath the floor. No one
except Edward even knew that he had any money. He was sure that
neither Mrs. Flint nor Katy would have stolen it; and he was not
willing to believe that his room-mate would be guilty of such a mean
and contemptible act.
He tried to assure himself that it had not been stolen--that it was
still somewhere beneath the floor; and he pulled up another board, to
resume the search. He had scarcely done so before Edward joined him.
"What are you about, Harry?" he asked, apparently very much astonished
at his chum's occupation. "Are you going to pull the house down?"
"Not exactly. You know my pill box?" replied Harry, suspending
operations to watch Edward's expression when he told him of his loss.
"The one you kept your money in?"
"Yes. Well, it is gone."
"Gone!" exclaimed Edward, starting back with surprise.
"It is either lost or stolen."
"What did you do with it?"
"Put it here, under this loose board."
"It must be there now, then. I will help you find it."
Edward manifested a great deal of enthusiasm in the search. He was
sure it must be where Harry had put it, or that it had rolled back out
of sight; and he began tearing up the floor with a zeal that
threatened the destruction of the building. But the box could not be
found, and they were obliged to abandon the search.
"Too bad, Harry."
"That is a fact; I can't spare that money, anyhow. I have been a good
while earning it, and it is too thundering bad to lose it."
"I don't understand it," continued Edward.
"Nor I either," replied Harry, looking his companion sharp in the eye.
"No one knew I had it but you."
"Do you mean to say I stole it?" exclaimed Edward, doubling his fist,
while his cheek reddened with anger.
"I don't say so."
"Humph! Well, you better not!"
"Don't get mad, Edward. I didn't mean to lay it to you."
"Didn't you?" And Edward was very glad to have the matter compromised.
"I did not; perhaps I spoke hastily. You know how hard I worked for
this money; and it seems hard to lose it. But no matter; I will try
again."
Mrs. Flint and Katy were much grieved when Harry told of his loss.
They looked as though they suspected Edward, but said nothing, for it
was very hard to accuse a son or a brother of such a crime.
Mrs. Flint advised Harry to put his money in the savings bank in
future, promising to take care of his spare funds till they amounted
to five dollars, which was then the smallest sum that would be
received. It was a long time before our hero became reconciled to his
loss. He had made up his mind to be a rich man; and he had carefully
hoarded every cent he could spare, thus closely imitating the man who
got rich by saving his fourpences.
A few days after the loss he was reading in one of Katy's Sunday
school books about a miser. The wretch was held up as a warning to
young folks by showing them how he starved his body and soul for the
sake of gold.
"That's why I lost my money!" exclaimed Harry, as he laid the book
upon the window.
"What do you mean, Harry?" asked Katy, who sat near him.
"I have been hoarding up my money just like this old man in the book."
"You are not a miser, Harry. You couldn't be mean and stingy if you
tried."
"Yes, I could. I love money."
"So does everybody."
"A miser wouldn't do what you did for us, Harry," added Mrs. Flint.
"We ought to be careful and saving."
"I have been thinking too much of money. After all, perhaps it was
just as well that I lost that money."
"I am sorry you lost it; for I don't think there is any danger of your
becoming a miser," said Katy.
"Perhaps not; at any rate, it has set me to thinking."
Harry finished the book; and it was, fortunately, just such a work as
he required to give him right and proper views in regard to the value
of wealth. His dream of being a rich man was essentially modified by
these views; and he renewedly resolved that it was better to be a good
man than a rich man, if he could not be both. It seemed to him a
little remarkable that the minister should preach upon this very topic
on the following Sunday, taking for his text the words, "Seek ye first
the kingdom of heaven and all these things shall be added unto you."
He was deeply impressed by the sermon, probably because it was on a
subject to which he had given some attention.
A few days after his return from Rockville, Harry received a very
cheerful letter from Mr. Bryant, to which Julia had added a few lines
in a postscript. The little angel was rapidly recovering, and our hero
was rejoiced beyond expression. The favorable termination of her
illness was a joy which far outbalanced the loss of his money, and he
was as cheerful and contented as ever. As he expressed it, in rather
homely terms, he had got "the streak of fat and the streak of lean."
Julia was alive; was to smile upon him again; was still to inspire him
with that love of goodness which had given her such an influence over
him.
Week after week passed by, and Harry heard nothing of his lost
treasure; but Julia had fully recovered, and for the treasure lost an
incomparably greater treasure had been gained. Edward and himself
continued to occupy the same room, though ever since the loss of the
money box Harry's chum had treated him coldly. There had never been
much sympathy between them; for while Edward was at the theatre, or
perhaps at worse places, Harry was at home, reading some good book,
writing a letter to Rockville, or employed in some other worthy
occupation. While Harry was at church or at the Sunday school, Edward,
in company with some dissolute companion, was riding about the
adjacent country.
Mrs. Flint often remonstrated with her son upon the life he led, and
the dissipated habits he was contracting; and several times Harry
ventured to introduce the subject. Edward, however, would not hear a
word from either. It is true that we either grow better or worse, as
we advance in life; and Edward Flint's path was down a headlong steep.
His mother wept and begged him to be a better boy. He only laughed at
her.
Harry often wondered how he could afford to ride out and visit the
theatre and other places of amusement so frequently. His salary was
only five dollars a week now; it was only four when he had said it was
five. He seemed to have money at all times, and to spend it very
freely. He could not help believing that the contents of his pill box
had paid for some of the "stews" and "Tom and Jerrys" which his
reckless chum consumed. But the nine dollars he had lost would have
been but a drop in the bucket compared with his extravagant outlays.
One day, about six months after Harry's return from Rockville, as he
was engaged behind the counter, a young man entered the store and
accosted him.
"Halloo, Harry! How are you?"
It was a familiar voice; and, to Harry's surprise, but not much to his
satisfaction, he recognized his old companion, Ben Smart, who, he had
learned from Mr. Bryant, had been sent to the house of correction for
burning Squire Walker's barn.
"How do you do, Ben?" returned Harry, not very cordially.
"So you are here--are you?"
"Yes, I have been here six months."
"Good place?"
"First rate."
"Any chance for me?"
"No, I guess not."
"You have got a sign out for a boy, I see."
It was true they had. There were more errands to run than one boy
could attend to; besides, Harry had proved himself so faithful and so
intelligent, that Mr. Wake wished to retain him in the store, to fit
him for a salesman.
"You can speak a good word for me, Harry; for I should like to work
here," continued Ben.
"I thought you were in--in the--"
Harry did not like to use the offensive expression, and Ben's face
darkened when he discovered what the other was going to say.
"Not a word about that," said he. "If you ever mention that little
matter, I'll take your life."
"But how was it?"
"My father got me out, and then I ran away. Not a word more, for I had
as lief be hung for an old sheep as a lamb."
"There is Mr. Wake; you can apply to him," continued Harry.
Ben walked boldly up to Mr. Wake, and asked for the place. The senior
talked with him a few moments, and then retired to his private office,
calling Harry as he entered.
"If you say anything, I will be the death of you," whispered Ben, as
Harry passed him on his way to the office.
Our hero was not particularly pleased with these threats; he certainly
was not frightened by them.
"Do you know that boy, Harry?" asked Mr. Wake, as he presented himself
before the senior.
"I do, sir."
"Who is he, and what is he?"
"His name is Benjamin Smart. He belongs to Redfield."
"To Redfield? He said he came from Worcester."
"I believe Mr. Bryant told you the story about my leaving Redfield,"
said Harry.
"He did."
"That is the boy that run away with me."
"And the one that set the barn afire?"
"Yes, sir."
"That is enough." And Harry returned to his work at the counter.
"What did he say to you?" asked Ben.
Before Harry had time to make any reply, Mr. Wake joined them.
"We don't want you, young man," said he.
With a glance of hatred at Harry, the applicant left the store. Since
leaving Redfield, our hero's views of duty had undergone a change; and
he now realized that to screen a wicked person was to plot with him
against the good order of society. He knew Ben's character; he had no
reason, after their interview, to suppose it was changed; and he could
not wrong his employers by permitting them ignorantly to engage a bad
boy, especially when he had been questioned directly on the point.
Towards evening Harry was sent with a bundle to a place in Boylston
Street, which required him to cross the Common. On his return, when he
reached the corner of the burying ground, Ben Smart, who had evidently
followed him, and lay in wait at this spot for him, sprang from his
covert upon him. The young villain struck him a heavy blow in the eye
before Harry realized his purpose. The blow, however, was vigorously
returned; but Ben, besides being larger and stronger than his victim,
had a large stone in his hand, with which he struck him a blow on the
side of his head, knocking him insensible to the ground.
The wretch, seeing that he had done his work, fled along the side of
the walk of the burying ground, pursued by several persons who had
witnessed the assault. Ben was a fleet runner this time, and succeeded
in making his escape.