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The Boat Club
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Little by Little
Now or Never
Poor and Proud
Try Again
Fighting Joe
Haste and Waste
Hope and Have
In School and Out
Rich and Humble
Work and Win
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[Illustration: “I want to leave you my card. There it is!”]
RICH AND HUMBLE
A STORY FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
BY
OLIVER OPTIC
AUTHOR OF
“THE BOAT CLUB,” “ALL ABOARD,” “POOR AND PROUD,”
“TRY AGAIN,” “NOW OR NEVER,” ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY
1911
[Illustration: BIOGRAPHY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY
William Taylor Adams, American author, better known and loved by boys
and girls through his pseudonym “Oliver Optic,” was born July 30, 1822,
in the town of Medway, Norfolk County, Massachusetts, about twenty-five
miles from Boston. For twenty years he was a teacher in the Public
Schools of Boston, where he came in close contact with boy life. These
twenty years taught him how to reach the boy’s heart and interest as
the popularity of his books attest.
His story writing began in 1850 when he was twenty-eight years old and
his first book was published in 1853. He also edited “The Oliver Optic
Magazine,” “The Student and Schoolmate,” “Our Little Ones.”
Mr. Adams died at the age of seventy-five years, in Boston, March 27,
1897.
He was a prolific writer and his stories are most attractive and
unobjectionable. Most of his books were published in series. Probably
the most famous of these is “The Boat Club Series” which comprises the
following titles:
“The Boat Club,” “All Aboard,” “Now or Never,” “Try Again,” “Poor and
Proud,” “Little by Little.” All of these titles will be found in this
edition.
Other well-known series are his “Soldier Boy Series,” “Sailor Boy
Series,” “Woodville Stories.” The “Woodville Stories” will also be
found in this edition.]
RICH AND HUMBLE
CHAPTER I
A MISSIONARY TO THE HEATHEN
“Please give me ten dollars, father?” said Bertha Grant.
“Ten dollars!” exclaimed Mr. Grant, with a smile which looked very
encouraging to the applicant. “What in the world do you want ten
dollars for?”
“Oh, I want to use it, father.”
“Well, I suppose you do. I have not the slightest doubt on that point.”
“You are in a hurry now, father, and I will tell you all about it
another time,” replied Bertha, casting an anxious glance at her
brother, who appeared to be an interested listener.
“Well, child, there is ten dollars,” added Mr. Grant, as he handed her
two half eagles.
“Now, dad, do only half as much as that for me, and I will be
satisfied,” said Richard Grant, the only brother of Bertha.
“Not a dollar, Richard. Where did you study politeness, my son? Dad! Do
you think that is a proper term to apply to your father?”
“I meant papa,” whined the boy, in affected tones of humility.
“If you ever call me ‘dad’ again, I will send you off to a boarding
school to mend your manners. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“I am, papa, and I promise you I never will call you so again, though
that is what all the fellows call their governors.”
“Enough of this. I do not wish to hear any slang talk in my house.
Don’t call me ‘dad,’ or ‘governor,’ either; before my face or behind my
back.”
“I will not, papa.”
“Nor papa, either. You need not be a little rowdy, nor a great calf.”
“I will not, father. Now give me five dollars,” whined the youth, as he
extended his hand to receive the gift.
“Not a dollar, Richard!” replied Mr. Grant, sternly. “Money does you no
good.”
“I don’t think that is fair, father,” protested Richard. “When Bertha
asks you for ten dollars, you give it to her. When I ask you for only
five, you will not give it to me. If she had asked for twenty or fifty,
you would have let her have it.”
“Very likely I should,” replied the father, so coolly that it was clear
the argument of his son had not moved him.
“I think you are partial.”
“You can think what you please, Richard.”
“Why won’t you give me money when I ask for it, as well as Bertha? I am
older than she is, and I don’t see why I should be treated like a baby.”
“Because you act like one. When you behave like a man, you shall be
treated like one.”
“What have I done, father?”
“You have not done anything that is noble, generous or manly. You want
five dollars to enable you to visit some bowling alley, billiard saloon
or horse race.”
“I don’t want it for any such use.”
“What do you want it for?”
“You did not ask Bertha what she wanted her money for; at least you did
not make her tell you.”
“I know very well she will apply it to a good use.”
“Humph!” growled Richard. “She has gathered a crowd of beggars and
paupers in the Glen, and she will waste the whole ten dollars upon
them. I don’t think it is very proper for her to associate with those
dirty savages from the Hollow.”
“It is more proper than to associate with the better-dressed savages
from the other side of the river.”
“Now won’t you please let me have the five dollars, father?” pleaded
Richard, who had a point to gain, and therefore was not disposed to
carry his argument any further.
“I will not, Richard. I gave you five dollars the other day, and the
next morning I heard that you had been seen with most disgraceful
companions in a bowling saloon. Richard, if you have any respect for
yourself, or regard for me and your sisters, do not associate with low
and vile company.”
As Mr. Grant uttered this earnest warning, he put on his hat and left
the room. When he had gone, and the wayward son realized that his
father fully understood his position, he threw himself upon the sofa
with an exclamation of anger and resentment. It was evident that the
warning he had received produced no effect upon him, and that he was
only smarting under the pain of disappointment.
His father had so often given him money when he asked for it that
he did not expect to be refused in the present instance, especially
when he saw his sister so liberally supplied. He remained for a few
moments upon the sofa, venting his anger and disappointment by kicking
and crying, as a very small child does when deprived of some coveted
plaything.
“That’s too confounded bad!” exclaimed he, at last, rising from the
sofa and walking toward Bertha, who had been a sad and silent spectator
of the scene which had just transpired. “All my fun for the day is
spoiled. Berty, won’t you help me out of this scrape?”
“What scrape, Dick?”
“I want five dollars very badly. I must have it, too. I can’t get along
without it. I shall be a byword among all the fellows if I don’t have
it,” added Richard, with a great deal of earnestness. “Lend me five
dollars of the money father gave you, and I will pay you in a few
days, when the governor is better natured.”
“The governor?” suggested Bertha, with a reproving smile.
“Father, I mean, of course. What is the use of being so nice about
little things. I never saw the old man in such a ferment before in my
life.”
“The old man?”
“There it is again!”
“I don’t like to hear such names applied to father. It really hurts my
feelings, and I hope you will not do so.”
“Pooh! All the fellows call their fathers by these names. It sounds
babyish to say ‘my father’; and I don’t like to be different from the
rest of the fellows.”
“I hope you will not be like the young men on the other side of the
river with whom you associate.”
“Nonsense! They are real good fellows. They don’t go to the prayer
meetings, it is true, but, for all that, they are better than hundreds
that do go.”
“I think they are bad boys, and I hope you won’t go with them any more.”
“Then it was you that told father I went with them,” said Richard,
suddenly stopping in his walk across the room, and looking his sister
full in the face.
“I did tell him, Richard; but you know I did so for your good.”
“Pooh! For my good! Do you think I cannot take care of myself?”
“I hope you can.”
“I didn’t think you were a little telltale, Berty,” sneered Richard.
“I have spoken to you about going with those bad boys, and begged
you to keep away from them. If you knew how bad I feel when I see my
brother in such company, you would not complain of me for telling
father.”
“I won’t complain, Berty,” replied Richard, suddenly changing his tone.
“You are a real good girl, and you intended to do me a heap of good
when you told father. You are the best sister in the world. Now lend
me the five dollars, Berty, and I never will find fault with you for
anything you may do.”
“I cannot, Richard.”
“You cannot? Yes, you can. Haven’t you got two half eagles in your
hand?”
“I have, but I got them for a particular use.”
“But I will pay you again.”
“I suppose you will, if you can.”
“If I can! Do you think dad--father, I mean--will always be as savage
as he was this morning?”
“I am afraid you don’t understand him, Richard. He thinks that giving
you money does you injury.”
“Don’t preach any more, Berty. Will you lend me the five dollars?”
“I cannot. It would not be right for me to do so, even if I could spare
the money.”
“Why not?”
“Father refused to give it to you because he thought it would be an
injury to you, and it would certainly be wrong for me to thwart his
purpose.”
“Then you won’t let me have it?” demanded Richard, struggling to keep
down his resentment.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“What odds does it make what I want it for?”
“If you want it for any good purpose I might let you have it,” answered
Bertha, who was wavering between a desire to oblige her brother and the
fear of doing wrong.
“I want it to put in the contribution box for the Hottentots in the
Sandwich Islands, of course,” replied Richard, with a sneer.
“Tell me what you want it for Dick.”
“Well, I scorn to lie about it. I offered to bet five dollars with Tom
Mullen that our sailboat would beat his, and he has taken me up. The
race is to come off to-day, and if I don’t get the money I shall have
to back down.”
“I hope you will, Dick,” said Bertha, sorrowfully. “What would father
say if he knew you were betting on boats?”
“If he had any spunk at all he would hand out the money, and tell me to
go it.”
“You know very well he would disapprove of it. I think it is very
wicked to gamble and bet.”
“No preaching. Are you willing to have me tabooed as a sneak; to have
me a byword and the laughingstock of the fellows?”
“I would rather have such fellows hate you than like you, Richard,”
answered Bertha, sadly. “I did not think you had gone so far as to
gamble.”
“Pshaw! There is no gambling about it. I am not going to be branded as
a sneak. If you won’t lend me the money, I must get it somewhere else.”
“I cannot lend it to you, Richard, for such a purpose. You will be a
disgrace to your family if you go on in this way.”
“I should like to know what you are doing! Don’t you spend half your
time with those dirty savages from the Hollow? Do you think it is right
for the daughter of Franklin Grant to associate with those dirty,
filthy, half-civilized ragamuffins?”
“It will not injure either them or me.”
“I am ashamed of you. If it does not hurt your feelings it does mine,
to hear that you spend your time with these dregs of society. The
fellows on the other side are all laughing at you.”
“Let them laugh. While I do my duty, I need not fear them.”
“Come, Berty, we won’t quarrel. Let me have one of those half eagles,
and I will let you go with the savages as much as you please.”
“No, Richard,” replied Bertha, shaking her head, with a smile which
showed that there was no anger or resentment in her heart.
“Do, Berty!”
“I cannot; my conscience will not let me do so.”
“Confound your conscience!” exclaimed Richard, rushing out of the room
in a paroxysm of anger.
Bertha was sorely tried by the conduct of her brother. She had
observed, with anxiety and pain, the dissolute course of Richard. She
had reasoned and pleaded with him to abandon his wayward companions,
but no good result had attended her efforts to reform him.
Mr. Grant was a broker in the city of New York. He had the reputation
of being a very wealthy man. He lived upon a magnificent estate on the
Hudson, about twenty-five miles from the city. His wife had been dead
several years, and his three children were under the guidance of a
housekeeper, who, though an excellent woman, did not possess a mother’s
influence, nor did she exercise a mother’s authority over her young
charge.
Woodville, the residence of the broker, was a beautiful place. The
mansion and its appointments were all that wealth and taste could make
them. Servants, without number, came and went at the bidding of the
children. Tutors and governesses had been employed to superintend the
education of the young people. Boats on the river, carriages on the
land, were ever ready to minister to their inclinations. There was no
end to the dogs, ponies, rabbits, monkeys, squirrels, deer and other
pets which were supplied to beguile their leisure hours.
Mr. Grant believed himself to be a rich man, and none of his friends
or neighbors had any reason to suspect he was not a rich man. He lived
like a nabob; but more than this, he was a generous and kind-hearted
man, and those who knew him best respected him most, while his wealth
purchased for him the worldly esteem of all within the circle of his
influence.
As my young readers have already discovered, he was an indulgent
parent. Since the death of Mrs. Grant, his children had been his sole
domestic happiness. He was wholly devoted to them; but his immense
business transactions obliged him to be absent from an early hour in
the morning till a late hour in the evening, and they were thus left,
for the greater portion of the time, to the care of the housekeeper and
their instructors.
Our story opens in the month of July, and it was vacation with the
young people. The tutor and the governess had two months’ leave of
absence. Richard, Bertha and Fanny were free from the restraints of
study. They had nothing to do but enjoy themselves. How Richard, who
was fifteen years old, spent his time has already been shown.
Bertha, while wandering alone one May day in the Glen, a secluded
valley on the bank of the river, half a mile from Woodville, had met a
party of poor children from Dunk’s Hollow, which is a little village
a mile or more from the mansion house. There were seven of them, and
they were children of the poorest people in the neighborhood. They were
dirty, ragged, barefoot, and their condition excited the pity of the
child of plenty.
She gave them the cake and confectionery she had brought to grace
her lonely May-day festival in the Glen, told them stories, and made
herself as agreeable as though she had been an angel sent to mitigate
the woes of poverty and want. The event opened a new vista to Bertha,
and she at once began to devise means to instruct these children of
want and improve their worldly condition. Without going to a far-off
land, she became a missionary to the heathen, the friend and companion
of the needy and neglected. Despising the taunts of her brother and
sister, she spent most of her leisure hours with her ragged disciples
in the Glen.