[Illustration: CHESTER RAND
HORATIO ALGER Jr.]
CHESTER RAND
OR
THE NEW PATH TO FORTUNE
BY
HORATIO ALGER, Jr.
AUTHOR OF “ANDY GRANT’S PLUCK,”
“SINK OR SWIM,” “ADRIFT IN NEW YORK.”
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Transcriber’s Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Dialect spellings, contractions and discrepancies have
been retained. The Table of Contents was not contained in the book
and has been created for the convenience of the reader.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. SILAS TRIPP
II. OUT OF WORK
III. A NOTEWORTHY EVENING
IV. A DYING GIFT
V. CHESTER’S FIRST SUCCESS
VI. ROBERT RAMSAY
VII. SILAS TRIPP MAKES A DISCOVERY
VIII. A SCENE IN THE GROCERY STORE
IX. NEW PLANS FOR CHESTER
X. A RAILROAD ACQUAINTANCE
XI. CHESTER’S FIRST EXPERIENCES IN NEW YORK
XII. A REAL ESTATE OFFICE
XIII. MR. MULLINS, THE BOOKKEEPER
XIV. THE TABLES TURNED
XV. A PLOT AGAINST CHESTER
XVI. PROF. HAZLITT AT HOME
XVII. CHESTER TAKES A LESSON IN BOXING
XVIII. DICK RALSTON
XIX. MR. FAIRCHILD LEAVES THE CITY
XX. PAUL PERKINS, OF MINNEAPOLIS
XXI. MR. PERKINS MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE
XXII. DICK RALSTON’S FATHER
XXIII. CHESTER IS DISCHARGED
XXIV. INTRODUCES MR. SHARPLEIGH, THE DETECTIVE
XXV. CHESTER MEETS ANOTHER ARTIST
XXVI. A STRANGER IN NEW YORK
XXVII. MR. TRIPP IS DISAPPOINTED
XXVIII. PROF. NUGENT
XXIX. MR. FAIRCHILD’S TELEGRAM
XXX. THE ATTEMPTED ROBBERY
XXXI. A DAY OF SURPRISES
XXXII. EDWARD GRANGER
XXXIII. A FRIEND FROM OREGON
XXXIV. AFTER A YEAR
XXXV. PREPARING FOR THE JOURNEY
XXXVI. A GREAT SURPRISE
XXXVII. DAVID MULLINS AGAIN
XXXVIII. ABNER TRIMBLE’S PLOT
XXXIX. MAKING A WILL
XL. AN UNEXPECTED SURPRISE
XLI. CONCLUSION
CHESTER RAND.
CHAPTER I.
SILAS TRIPP.
Probably the best known citizen of Wyncombe, a small town nestling
among the Pennsylvania mountains, was Silas Tripp. He kept the village
store, occasionally entertained travelers, having three spare rooms,
was town treasurer, and conspicuous in other local offices.
The store was in the center of the village, nearly opposite the
principal church—there were two—and here it was that the townspeople
gathered to hear and discuss the news.
Silas Tripp had one assistant, a stout, pleasant-looking boy of
fifteen, who looked attractive, despite his well-worn suit. Chester
Rand was the son of a widow, who lived in a tiny cottage about fifty
rods west of the Presbyterian church, of which, by the way, Silas Tripp
was senior deacon, for he was a leader in religious as well as secular
affairs.
Chester’s father had died of pneumonia about four years before the
story commences, leaving his widow the cottage and about two hundred
and fifty dollars. This sum little by little had melted, and a month
previous the last dollar had been spent for the winter’s supply of
coal.
Mrs. Rand had earned a small income by plain sewing and binding shoes
for a shoe shop in the village, but to her dismay the announcement had
just been made that the shop would close through the winter on account
of the increased price of leather and overproduction during the year.
“What shall we do, Chester?” she asked, in alarm, when the news came.
“We can’t live on your salary, and I get very little sewing to do.”
“No, mother,” said Chester, his own face reflecting her anxiety; “we
can’t live on three dollars a week.”
“I have been earning two dollars by binding shoes,” said Mrs. Rand. “It
has been hard enough to live on five dollars a week, but I don’t know
how we can manage on three.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, mother. I’ll ask Mr. Tripp to raise my pay
to four dollars a week.”
“But will he do it? He is a very close man, and always pleading
poverty.”
“But I happen to know that he has ten thousand dollars invested in
Pennsylvania Railroad stock. I overheard him saying so to Mr. Gardner.”
“Ten thousand dollars! It seems a fortune!” sighed Mrs. Rand. “Why do
some people have so much and others so little?”
“It beats me, mother. But I don’t think either of us would exchange
places with Silas Tripp with all his money. By the way, mother, Mr.
Tripp is a widower. Why don’t you set your cap for him?”
Mrs. Rand smiled, as her imagination conjured up the weazened and
wrinkled face of the village storekeeper, with his gray hair standing
up straight on his head like a natural pompadour.
“If you want Mr. Tripp for a stepfather,” she said, “I will see what I
can do to ingratiate myself with him.”
“No, a thousand times no!” replied Chester, with a shudder. “I’d rather
live on one meal a day than have you marry him.”
“I agree with you, Chester. We will live for each other, and hope for
something to turn up.”
“I hope the first thing to turn up will be an increase of salary.
To-morrow is New Year’s Day, and it will be a good time to ask.”
Accordingly, that evening, just as the store was about to close,
Chester gathered up courage and said: “Mr. Tripp.”
“Well, that’s my name,” said Silas, looking over his iron-bowed
spectacles.
“To-morrow is New Year’s Day.”
“What if ’tis? I reckon I knew that without your tellin’ me.”
“I came here last New Year’s Day. I’ve been here a year.”
“What if you have?”
“And I thought perhaps you might be willing to raise my salary to four
dollars a week,” continued Chester, hurriedly.
“Oho, that’s what you’re after, is it?” said Silas, grimly. “You think
I’m made of money, I reckon. Now, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t; but, Mr. Tripp, mother and I find it very hard to get
along, really we do. She won’t have any more shoes to bind for three
months to come, on account of the shoe shop’s closing.”
“It’s going to hurt me, too,” said Silas, with a frown. “When one
business suspends it affects all the rest. I’ll have mighty hard work
to make both ends meet.”
This struck Chester as ludicrous, but he did not feel inclined to
laugh. Here was Silas Tripp gathering in trade from the entire village
and getting not a little in addition from outlying towns, complaining
that he would find it hard to make both ends meet, though everyone said
that he did not spend one-third of his income. On the whole, things did
not look very encouraging.
“Perhaps,” he said, nervously, “you would raise me to three dollars and
a half?”
“What is the boy thinkin’ of? You must think I’m made of money. Why,
three dollars is han’some pay for what little you do.”
“Why, I work fourteen hours a day,” retorted Chester.
“I’m afraid you’re gettin’ lazy. Boys shouldn’t complain of their work.
The fact is, Chester, I feel as if I was payin’ you too much.”
“Too much! Three dollars a week too much!”
“Too much, considerin’ the state of business, and yourself bein’ a boy.
I’ve been meanin’ to tell you that I’ve got a chance to get a cheaper
boy.”
“Who is it?” asked Chester, in dismay.
“It’s Abel Wood. Abel Wood is every mite as big and strong as you are,
and he come round last evenin’ and said he’d work for two dollars and a
quarter a week.”
“I couldn’t work for that,” said Chester.
“I don’t mind bein’ generous, considerin’ you’ve been working for me
more than a year. I’ll give you two dollars and a half. That’s
twenty-five cents more’n the Wood boy is willin’ to take.”
“Abel Wood doesn’t know anything about store work.”
“I’ll soon learn him. Sitooated as I am, I feel that I must look after
every penny,” and Mr. Tripp’s face looked meaner and more weazened than
ever as he fixed his small, bead-like eyes on his boy clerk.
“Then I guess I’ll have to leave you, Mr. Tripp,” said Chester, with a
deep feeling of disgust and dismay.
“Do just as you like,” said his employer. “You’re onreasonable to
expect to get high pay when business is dull.”
“High pay!” repeated Chester, bitterly. “Three dollars a week!”
“It’s what I call high pay. When I was a boy, I only earned two dollars
a week.”
“Money would go further when you were a boy.”
“Yes, it did. Boys wasn’t so extravagant in them days.”
“I don’t believe you were ever extravagant, Mr. Tripp,” said Chester,
with a tinge of sarcasm which his employer didn’t detect.
“No, I wasn’t. I don’t want to brag, but I never spent a cent
foolishly. Do you know how much money I spent the first three months I
was at work?”
“A dollar?” guessed Chester.
“A dollar!” repeated Mr. Tripp, in a tone of disapproval. “No, I only
spent thirty-seven cents.”
“Then I don’t wonder you got rich,” said Chester, with a curl of the
lip.
“I ain’t rich,” said Silas Tripp, cautiously. “Who told you I was?”
“Everybody says so.”
“Then everybody is wrong. I’m a leetle ’forehanded, that’s all.”
“I’ve heard people say you could afford to give up work and live on the
interest of your money.”
Silas Tripp held up his hands as if astounded.
“’Tain’t so,” he said, sharply. “If I gave up business, I’d soon be in
the poorhouse. Well, what do you say? Will you stay along and work for
two dollars and a half a week?”
“I couldn’t do it,” said Chester, troubled.
“All right! It’s jest as you say. Your week ends to-morrow night. If
you see Abel Wood, you can tell him I want to see him.”
“I will,” answered Chester, bitterly.
As he walked home he felt very despondent. Wouldn’t it have been
better, he asked himself, to accept reduced wages than to give up his
job? It would have been hard enough to attempt living on two dollars
and a half a week, but that was better than no income at all. And yet,
it looked so mean in Silas Tripp to present such an alternative, when
he was abundantly able to give him the increase he asked for.
“I must tell mother and see what she thinks about it,” he said to
himself.