JACK'S WARD
OR
THE BOY GUARDIAN
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
1910
[Illustration: Jack seized the old man, thrust him through the secret
door and locked it.]
BIOGRAPHY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY
Horatio Alger, Jr., an author who lived among and for boys and himself
remained a boy in heart and association till death, was born at Revere,
Mass., January 13, 1834. He was the son of a clergyman; was graduated
at Harvard College in 1852, and at its Divinity School in 1860; and was
pastor of the Unitarian Church at Brewster, Mass., in 1862-66.
In the latter year he settled in New York and began drawing public
attention to the condition and needs of street boys. He mingled with
them, gained their confidence, showed a personal concern in their
affairs, and stimulated them to honest and useful living. With his first
story he won the hearts of all red-blooded boys everywhere, and of the
seventy or more that followed over a million copies were sold during the
author's lifetime.
In his later life he was in appearance a short, stout, bald-headed man,
with cordial manners and whimsical views of things that amused all who
met him. He died at Natick, Mass., July 18, 1899.
Mr. Alger's stories are as popular now as when first published, because
they treat of real live boys who were always up and about--just like the
boys found everywhere to-day. They are pure in tone and inspiring in
influence, and many reforms in the juvenile life of New York may be
traced to them. Among the best known are:
_Strong and Steady; Strive and Succeed; Try and Trust; Bound to Rise;
Risen from the Ranks; Herbert Carter's Legacy; Brave and Bold; Jack's
Ward; Shifting for Himself; Wait and Hope; Paul the Peddler; Phil the
Fiddler; Slow and Sure; Julius the Street Boy; Tom the Bootblack;
Struggling Upward; Facing the World; The Cash Boy; Making His Way; Tony
the Tramp; Joe's Luck; Do and Dare; Only an Irish Boy; Sink or Swim; A
Cousin's Conspiracy; Andy Gordon; Bob Burton; Harry Vane; Hector's
Inheritance; Mark Mason's Triumph; Sam's Chance; The Telegraph Boy; The
Young Adventurer; The Young Outlaw; The Young Salesman_, and _Luke
Walton_.
JACK'S WARD
CHAPTER I
JACK HARDING GETS A JOB
"Look here, boy, can you hold my horse a few minutes?" asked a
gentleman, as he jumped from his carriage in one of the lower streets
in New York.
The boy addressed was apparently about twelve, with a bright face and
laughing eyes, but dressed in clothes of coarse material. This was Jack
Harding, who is to be our hero.
"Yes, sir," said Jack, with alacrity, hastening to the horse's head;
"I'll hold him as long as you like."
"All right! I'm going in at No. 39; I won't be long."
"That's what I call good luck," said Jack to himself. "No boy wants a
job more than I do. Father's out of work, rent's most due, and Aunt
Rachel's worrying our lives out with predicting that we'll all be in
the poorhouse inside of three months. It's enough to make a fellow feel
blue, listenin' to her complainin' and groanin' all the time. Wonder
whether she was always so. Mother says she was disappointed in love
when she was young. I guess that's the reason."
"Have you set up a carriage, Jack?" asked a boy acquaintance, coming up
and recognizing Jack.
"Yes," said Jack, "but it ain't for long. I shall set down again pretty
soon."
"I thought your grandmother had left you a fortune, and you had set up a
team."
"No such good news. It belongs to a gentleman that's inside."
"Inside the carriage?"
"No, in No. 39."
"How long's he going to stay?"
"I don't know."
"If it was half an hour, we might take a ride, and be back in time."
Jack shook his head.
"That ain't my style," he said. "I'll stay here till he comes out."
"Well, I must be going along. Are you coming to school to-morrow?"
"Yes, if I can't get anything to do."
"Are you trying for that?"
"I'd like to get a place. Father's out of work, and anything I can earn
comes in handy."
"My father's got plenty of money," said Frank Nelson, complacently.
"There isn't any need of my working."
"Then your father's lucky."
"And so am I."
"I don't know about that. I'd just as lieve work as not."
"Well, I wouldn't. I'd rather be my own master, and have my time to
myself. But I must be going home."
"You're lazy, Frank."
"Very likely. I've a right to be."
Frank Nelson went off, and Jack was left alone. Half an hour passed, and
still the gentleman, who had entered No. 39, didn't appear. The horse
showed signs of impatience, shook his head, and eyed Jack in an
unfriendly manner.
"He thinks it time to be going," thought Jack. "So do I. I wonder what
the man's up to. Perhaps he's spending the day."
Fifteen minutes more passed, but then relief came. The owner of the
carriage came out.
"Did you get tired of waiting for me?" he asked.
"No," said Jack, shrewdly. "I knew the longer the job, the bigger the
pay."
"I suppose that is a hint," said the gentleman, not offended.
"Perhaps so," said Jack, and he smiled too.
"Tell me, now, what are you going to do with the money I give you--buy
candy?"
"No," answered Jack, "I shall carry it home to my mother."
"That's well. Does your mother need the money?"
"Yes, sir. Father's out of work, and we've got to live all the same."
"What's your father's business?"
"He's a cooper."
"So he's out of work?"
"Yes, sir, and has been for six weeks. It's on account of the panic, I
suppose."
"Very likely. He has plenty of company just now."
It may be remarked that our story opens in the year 1867, memorable for
its panic, and the business depression which followed. Nearly every
branch of industry suffered, and thousands of men were thrown out of
work, and utterly unable to find employment of any kind. Among them was
Timothy Harding, the father of our hero. He was a sober, steady man, and
industrious; but his wages had never been large, and he had been unable
to save up a reserve fund, on which to draw in time of need. He had an
excellent wife, and but one child--our present hero; but there was
another, and by no means unimportant member of the family. This was
Rachel Harding, a spinster of melancholy temperament, who belonged to
that unhappy class who are always prophesying evil, and expecting the
worst. She had been "disappointed" in early life, and this had something
to do with her gloomy views, but probably she was somewhat inclined by
nature to despondency.
The family lived in a humble tenement, which, however, was neatly kept,
and would have been a cheerful home but for the gloomy presence of Aunt
Rachel, who, since her brother had been thrown out of employment, was
gloomier than ever.
But all this while we have left Jack and the stranger standing in the
street.
"You seem to be a good boy," said the latter, "and, under the
circumstances, I will pay you more than I intended."
He drew from his vest pocket a dollar bill, and handed it to Jack.
"What! is all this for me?" asked Jack, joyfully.
"Yes, on the condition that you carry it home, and give it to your
mother."
"That I will, sir; she'll be glad enough to get it."
"Well, good-by, my boy. I hope your father'll find work soon."
"He's a trump!" ejaculated Jack. "Wasn't it lucky I was here just as he
wanted a boy to hold his horse. I wonder what Aunt Rachel will have to
say to that? Very likely she'll say the bill is bad."
Jack made the best of his way home. It was already late in the
afternoon, and he knew he would be expected. It was with a lighter heart
than usual that he bent his steps homeward, for he knew that the dollar
would be heartily welcome.
We will precede him, and give a brief description of his home.
There were only five rooms, and these were furnished in the plainest
manner. In the sitting room were his mother and aunt. Mrs. Harding was a
motherly-looking woman, with a pleasant face, the prevailing expression
of which was a serene cheerfulness, though of late it had been harder
than usual to preserve this, in the straits to which the family had been
reduced. She was setting the table for tea.
Aunt Rachel sat in a rocking-chair at the window. She was engaged in
knitting. Her face was long and thin, and, as Jack expressed it, she
looked as if she hadn't a friend in the world. Her voice harmonized with
her mournful expression, and was equally doleful.
"I wonder why Jack don't come home?" said Mrs. Harding, looking at the
clock. "He's generally here at this time."
"Perhaps somethin's happened," suggested her sister-in-law.
"What do you mean, Rachel?"
"I was reading in the _Sun_ this morning about a boy being run over
out West somewhere."
"You don't think Jack has been run over!"
"Who knows?" said Rachel, gloomily. "You know how careless boys are, and
Jack's very careless."
"I don't see how you can look for such things, Rachel."
"Accidents are always happening; you know that yourself, Martha. I don't
say Jack's run over. Perhaps he's been down to the wharves, and tumbled
over into the water and got drowned."
"I wish you wouldn't say such things, Rachel. They make me feel
uncomfortable."
"We may as well be prepared for the worst," said Rachel, severely.
"Not this time, Rachel," said Mrs. Harding, brightly, "for that's Jack's
step outside. He isn't drowned or run over, thank God!"
"I hear him," said Rachel, dismally. "Anybody might know by the noise
who it is. He always comes stamping along as if he was paid for makin' a
noise. Anybody ought to have a cast-iron head that lives anywhere within
his hearing."
Here Jack entered, rather boisterously, it must be admitted, in his
eagerness slamming the door behind him.