THE YOUNG CAPITALIST.
The cars swept on at the rate of twenty miles an hour, the engineer
wholly unconscious of the peril in front. Robert saw the fated train
with its freight of human lives, and his heart grew sick within him as
he thought of the terrible tragedy which was about to be enacted. Was
there any possibility of his averting it? He threw himself against the
rock and pushed with all the strength he could command. But, nerved as
he was by desperation, he found the task greater than he could compass.
And still the train came thundering on. He must withdraw to a place of
safety, or he would himself be involved in the destruction which
threatened the train.
There was one thing more he could do, and he did it.
He took his station on the rock which was just in the path of the
advancing train, and waved his handkerchief frantically. It was a
position to test the courage of the bravest.
Robert was fully aware that he was exposing himself to a horrible
death. Should he not be seen by the engineer it would be doubtful
whether he could get out of the way in time to escape death--and that of
the most frightful nature. But unless he did something a hundred lives
perhaps might be lost. So he resolutely took his stand, waving, as we
have said, his handkerchief and shouting, though the last was not likely
to be of any avail.
At first he was not seen. When the engineer at last caught sight of him
it was with a feeling of anger at what he regarded as the foolhardiness
of the boy. He slackened his speed, thinking he would leave his place,
but Robert still maintained his position, his nerves strung to their
highest tension, not alone at his own danger, but at the peril which he
began to fear he could not avert.
Reluctantly the engineer gave the signal to stop the train. He was only
just in time. When it came to a stop there was an interval of only
thirty-five feet between it and Robert Rushton, who, now that he had
accomplished his object, withdrew to one side, a little paler than
usual, but resolute and manly in his bearing.
"What is the meaning of this foolery?" the engineer demanded, angrily.
Robert pointed in silence to the huge rock which lay on the track.
"How came that rock there?" asked the engineer, in a startled tone, as
he took in the extent of the peril from which they had been saved.
"I don't know," said Robert. "I tried to move it, but I couldn't."
"You are a brave boy," said the engineer. "You have in all probability
saved the train from destruction. But you ran a narrow risk yourself."
"I know it," was the reply; "but it was the only thing I could do to
catch your attention."
"I will speak to you about it again. The first to be done is to move the
rock."
He left the engine and advanced toward the rock. By this time many of
the passengers had got out, and were inquiring why the train was stopped
at this point. The sight of the rock made a sensation. Though the peril
was over, the thought that the train might have been precipitated down
the embankment, and the majority of the passengers killed or seriously
injured, impressed them not a little. They pressed forward, and several
lending a hand, the rock was ousted from its its position, and rolled
crashing over the bank.
Among the passengers was a stout, good-looking man, a New York merchant.
He had a large family at home waiting his return from a Western
journey. He shuddered as he thought how near he had been to never
meeting them again on earth.
"It was providential, your seeing the rock," he said to the engineer.
"We owe our lives to you."
"You do me more than justice," replied the engineer. "It was not I who
saved the train, but that boy."
All eyes were turned upon Robert, who, unused to being the center of so
many glances, blushed and seemed disposed to withdraw.
"How is that?" inquired the merchant.
"He saw the obstruction, and tried to remove it, but, not being able to
do so, took his station on the rock, and, at the risk of his own life,
drew my attention, and saved the train."
"It was a noble act, my boy; what is your name?"
"Robert Rushton."
"It is a name that we shall all have cause to remember. Gentlemen,"
continued the merchant, turning to the group around him, "you see before
you the preserver of your lives. Shall his act go unrewarded?"
"No, no!" was the general exclamation.
"I don't want any reward," said Robert, modestly. "Any boy would have
done as much."
"I don't know about that, my young friend. There are not many boys, or
men, I think, that would have had the courage to act as you did. You may
not ask or want any reward, but we should be forever disgraced if we
failed to acknowledge our great indebtedness to you. I contribute one
hundred dollars as my share of the testimonial to our young friend."
"I follow with fifty!" said his next neighbor, "and shall ask for the
privilege of taking him by the hand."
Robert had won honors at school, but he had never before been in a
position so trying to his modesty. The passengers, following the example
of the last speaker, crowded around him, and took him by the hand,
expressing their individual acknowledgments for the service he had
rendered them. Our hero, whom we now designate thus appropriately, bore
the ordeal with a self-possession which won the favor of all.
While this was going on, the collection was rapidly being made by the
merchant who had proposed it. The amounts contributed varied widely, but
no one refused to give. In ten minutes the fund had reached over six
hundred dollars.
"Master Robert Rushton," said the merchant, "I have great pleasure in
handing you this money, freely contributed by the passengers on this
train, as a slight acknowledgment of the great service which you have
rendered them at the risk of your own life. It does not often fall to
the lot of a boy to perform a deed so heroic. We are all your debtors,
and if the time ever comes that you need a friend, I for one shall be
glad to show my sense of indebtedness."
"All aboard!" shouted the conductor.
The passengers hurried into the cars, leaving our hero standing by the
track, with one hand full of bank notes and in the other the card of the
New York merchant. It was only about fifteen minutes since Robert had
first signaled the train, yet how in this brief time had his fortunes
changed! From the cars now rapidly receding he looked to the roll of
bills, and he could hardly realize that all this money was his own. He
sat down and counted it over.
"Six hundred and thirty-five dollars!" he exclaimed. "I must have made a
mistake."
But a second count turned out precisely the same.
"How happy mother will be!" he thought, joyfully. "I must go and tell
her the good news."
He was so occupied with the thoughts of his wonderful good fortune that
he nearly forgot to take the berries which he had picked.
"I shan't need to sell them now," he said. "We'll use a part of them
ourselves, and what we can't use I will give away."
He carefully stored away the money in his coat pocket, and for the sake
of security buttoned it tight. It was a new thing for him to be the
custodian of so much treasure. As Halbert Davis usually spent the latter
part of the afternoon in promenading the streets, sporting his kids and
swinging his jaunty cane, it was not surprising that Robert encountered
him again.
"So, you've been berrying again?" he said, stopping short.
"Yes," said Robert, briefly.
"You haven't got the boat repaired, I suppose."
"Not yet."
"It's lucky for you this is berrying season."
"Why?"
"Because you'd probably have to go to the poorhouse," said Halbert,
insolently.
"I don't know about that," said Robert, coolly. "I rather think I could
buy you out, Halbert Davis, watch, gloves, cane and all."
"What do you mean?" demanded Halbert, haughtily. "You seem to forget
that you are a beggar, or next to it."
Robert set down his pails, and, opening his coat, drew out a handful of
bills.
"Does that look like going to the almshouse?" he said.
"They're not yours," returned Halbert, considerably astonished, for,
though he did not know the denomination of the bills, it was evident
that there was a considerable amount of money.
"It belongs to me, every dollar of it," returned Robert.
"I don't believe it. Where did you get it? Picking berries, I suppose,"
he added, with a sneer.
"It makes no difference to you where I got it," said our hero, returning
the money to his pocket. "I shan't go to the almshouse till this I is
all gone."
"He must have stolen it," muttered Halbert, looking after Robert with
disappointment and chagrin. It was certainly very vexatious that, in
spite of all his attempts to humble and ruin our hero, he seemed more
prosperous than ever.