IN SEARCH OF
TREASURE
By HORATIO ALGER, JR.
Author of “Mark Manning’s Mission,”
“Tom Temple’s Career,” “Tom Thatcher’s Fortune,”
“Tom Turner’s Legacy,” Etc.
[Illustration: colophon]
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS.
Copyright 1894
By FRANK A. MUNSEY & COMPANY
Copyright 1907
By A. L. BURT COMPANY
IN SEARCH OF TREASURE
In Search of Treasure
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCES GUY AND HIS FATHER
“I wish I could send you to college, Guy,” said Mr. Fenwick, as they sat
in the library, reading by the soft light of a student lamp.
The speaker was the Rev. Mr. Fenwick, the pastor of a church in Bayport,
a few miles from New Bedford, Massachusetts.
“I don’t think I care much about going to college, father,” said Guy, a
bright, manly, broad-shouldered boy of sixteen.
“When I was of your age, Guy,” replied his father, “I was already a
student of Harvard. You are ready for college, but my means are not
sufficient to send you there.”
“Don’t worry about that, father. There are other paths to success than
through college.”
“I am rather surprised to hear you speak so indifferently, Guy. At the
academy you are acknowledged to be the best Latin and Greek scholar they
have had for years.”
“That may be, father.”
“It is so. The principal so assured me, and he would not misrepresent
just to please me.”
“I am glad that I have so good a reputation.”
“With such qualifications it seems certain you would achieve success in
college, graduate high, and, in time, become a distinguished
professional man, or perhaps professor.”
“Perhaps I might; but, father, in spite of my taste for study, I have
one taste still stronger.”
“What is that?”
“A taste for adventure. I want to see the world, to visit strange
countries, to become acquainted with strange people.”
As the boy spoke his face became flushed and animated.
Mr. Fenwick looked surprised.
“Certainly,” he said, “you don’t get this taste from me. When I was a
boy I used to stay indoors to read and study. I cared nothing for the
sports and games that interested my school companions.”
Guy smiled.
“I believe you, father,” he said. “You don’t go out half enough now.
Instead of shutting yourself up in your study, you would be stronger
and healthier if you would walk five miles a day.”
Mr. Fenwick slightly shuddered.
He was a pale, thin man, with an intellectual look, but had the air of a
scholar and a recluse.
“I couldn’t do it, Guy,” he said. “Even if I walk a mile, I feel that it
is a hardship. It is tame and monotonous. I don’t see where you get your
red cheeks and exuberant spirits from.”
“From my mother’s family, I think, father.”
“Very likely. Your mother was bright and animated when I married her,
but she broke down under the manifold duties and engagements of a
minister’s wife.”
“That is true. Poor mother!”
Guy sighed, and his bright face looked sorrowful, for it was only a
twelvemonth since his mother was laid away in the little graveyard at
Bayport.
“You look very much like your uncle George, your mother’s brother, as he
was at your age.”
“He became a sailor?”
“Yes. He had an extraordinary love for the sea. If he had been content
to live on land and follow some mercantile business, he would, in all
probability, be living to-day.”
“How did he die?”
“He took a fever at some infected port, and died on shipboard. The poor
fellow was still a comparatively young man, little more than thirty, and
it seemed sad that he should be cut off at such an early age.”
“Was his body brought home?”
“No. Sailors are superstitious, and they don’t like to sail in a ship
that has a dead body on board. So poor George was sewed up in a sack,
and committed to the ocean depths. His chest was sent to us, and is
stored in the attic.”
“Have you ever opened it?”
“Yes, I opened it, but didn’t examine the contents. Probably there was
nothing except a sailor’s plain outfit. As to money, George was not a
man to save anything. He was extravagant and prodigal, like most of his
class.”
“Was he a common sailor?”
“No; he was second mate, and received fair wages. He did not have your
education, but had good native talent, but nothing could divert him from
his plan of going to sea.”
“Well, father, I suppose there must be sailors. You would hardly want
everybody to go to college?”
“No, Guy.”
“Even if they were qualified.”
“Still, I should not care to have my son a sailor.”
“I don’t care to be one, father, but I own I should like to take a
single voyage--a good long one--so as to see a little of the world. I
think, after that, I should be more content to settle down to some
business on shore. By the way, father, is there any objection to my
examining the contents of Uncle George’s chest?”
“I have no objection, Guy; but I think it will hardly repay you for the
time.”
“My time isn’t of very much importance just now. Somehow I have a great
desire to see if I can find anything that will throw light on my uncle’s
life and character.”
“Very well, Guy; do as you like. And now, I must get to work on my
sermon for next Sunday. It is Friday evening, and I must make progress,
as I may have one of my bad headaches to-morrow.”
“Can I help you, father?” asked Guy, with a humorous smile.
Mr. Fenwick smiled, too. Though so different in temperament, he was
really fond and proud of his lively son.
“I hardly think your additions would be for the edification of my
people,” he said.
“Perhaps they might suit some of the young folks,” suggested Guy.
“Doubtless they would. If you would like to try your hand at sermon
writing you can write a sermon and submit it to me. If suitable, I will
preach it, and give you credit for it.”
Guy laughed.
“I’ll think of it, father,” he said. “I am going to make a call on one
of my schoolmates, and will leave you to do your writing undisturbed.”
The schoolmate with whom Guy spent his evening was Tom Todd, a boy of
about his own age. He had a sister some ten years older than himself,
who was a teacher in one of the Bayport schools. She, as well as Tom,
liked the bright son of the minister, and he received a cordial greeting
from both.
“So you have got through school life, Guy?” she said.
“Yes, Miss Todd.”
“And you are fitted for college? Does your father think of Harvard for
you?”
“He would like to have me go, but there are two objections in the way.”
“What are they?”
“First, he can’t afford the expense.”
“What is the second?”
“I have no desire to go.”
“That is the most important. If you really desired to go, I think you
could borrow money enough somewhere, for you are acknowledged to be an
excellent scholar.”
“Thank you for the compliment; but it is no disappointment to me not to
go, though it is to my father. He is a regular bookworm, you know.”
“I know that he is not practical.”
“Come, Guy, let us have our game of checkers,” said Tom. “Let me see, I
beat you last time.”
“Then it is my turn to beat you now.”
The boys played for an hour and a half, then Guy rose to go.
“What is your hurry? It is early yet.”
“That is true, but father is nervous, and he doesn’t like to have me out
after half past nine o’clock. I left him writing his sermon for Sunday.”
“Why don’t you offer to help him, Guy?” asked Tom, with a smile.
“I did.”
“Really and truly?” said Tom, laughing.
“Yes; really and truly.”
“I suppose,” remarked Miss Todd, “he did not accept your offer?”
“No; he thought that what I would write would not be edifying.”
“If you would write a sermon, Guy, I would go to hear it,” said Tom.
“And I, too,” added his sister, the teacher.
“Then I should be sure of a congregation of two. Well, I will think of
it.”
Guy took his hat to go.
“I will walk with you part way,” said Tom. “It is pleasant out, and I
shall sleep the better for a walk.”
“I shall be glad of your company, Tom.”
When they were outside, Tom said, “I had an object in proposing to walk
with you to-night, Guy. There is something I wanted to tell you.”
“Go ahead, Tom.”
“I think it is something you ought to know. I was walking home from
singing school the other evening, when I came up behind Deacon Crane and
another member of the church, Mr. Job Wilkins. I didn’t hear the first
part of the conversation, but as I came within hearing I heard Deacon
Crane say: ‘Yes, Brother Wilkins, I have thought for some time that the
best interests of the church required that we should have a younger
minister, who would stir up the people and draw in a larger number.’”
Guy flushed with indignation.
“Deacon Crane said that?” he ejaculated. “Why, he pretends to be one of
father’s best friends.”
“I think it is a pretense,” said Tom.
“Poor father! If he should hear this it would almost break his heart. He
is so fond of the people here.”
“It is a shame; but don’t worry too much over it. I am sure the majority
of the parish don’t wish any change.”
In spite of this assurance, Guy went home in a sober frame of mind.