HARRY OBTAINS A PLACE.
On the way back from Squire Turner’s, Harry stepped into the village
store, as he had one or two small articles to purchase for his mother.
This store was kept by Jonas Porter, a man over fifty, in rather poor
health. On this account he was obliged to depend considerably upon two
young men, whom he employed as assistants. One of them, John Gaylord, was
twenty-five years of age, and an efficient salesman. The other, Alfred
Harper, was about eighteen, and of course less experienced and valuable.
The last was employed partly in driving the store wagon with goods to
different parts of the village.
Harry entered the store, and, going up to the counter, said to the
proprietor, who was standing behind, “Mr. Porter, I want two pounds of
brown sugar.”
“How is your mother?” asked the store-keeper.
“Not very well,” answered Harry.
“No, I suppose not. Your father’s death must be a great blow to her.”
“Yes, sir. It is to all of us.”
“I hope she will soon be feeling better. Health is a blessing we don’t
appreciate till we lose it. I have not been feeling very well, lately. In
fact, I am not fit to be in the store.”
“Where is Alfred Harper? I have not seen him for a day or two.”
“He has been taken sick, and has gone home. He may be sick some weeks. It
is unlucky just now, for I am not fit to be in the store. I wish I could
get somebody to take his place for a few weeks.”
Here an idea struck Harry. He was not as old as Alfred Harper, but he was
strong, and he thought he might be able to do his work. He decided to
suggest it to the store-keeper.
“If you thought I would do,” he said, “I should be glad to come into the
store. I have got to go to work now.”
“I am afraid you are too young,” said Mr. Porter, doubtfully. “How old
are you?”
“Fifteen, sir.”
“That is young.”
“Yes, sir; but I am pretty stout and strong of my age.”
“You look so. Can you drive a horse?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I have done that a good many times.”
“I don’t know,” said the store-keeper, hesitating a little. “You couldn’t
do as much as Alfred; still, you could help a good deal. I have always
heard good accounts of you. Mr. Gaylord, how will it do to engage Harry
Raymond a few weeks while Alfred is away?”
“I think it would be a good plan, sir,” said John Gaylord, who was
familiar with Harry’s good reputation, and had a very favorable opinion
of him. “It would lighten your labors a good deal.”
“Very true; and I am really not able to be in the store. Well, Harry,” he
proceeded, “I guess you may come.”
“When shall I come?”
“The sooner the better.”
“Then I’ll come this afternoon,” said Harry promptly. “I want to go home
and split up a little wood for mother, enough to last her.”
“Very well. About the pay, I will give you six dollars a week.”
Six dollars a week! This seemed to Harry a large sum. His father had
only been paid two dollars per day, and therefore received but twice
as much. He had hoped, to be sure, to earn more as a peddler but then
his expenses would be large, and, after all he might fail, for it was
but an experiment. Here there was no risk, but a certain weekly income.
Besides,—and this was an important consideration,—it would enable him
to continue at home, and he knew that just at this time his mother and
little Katy would feel his absence more than at any other time.
Good news always quickens the step. Harry entered the house briskly, and
placed the parcels he had brought from the store upon the table.
“Here are the sugar and butter, mother,” he said. “Now I’ll go out and
split you some wood, for I’ve got to go to work this afternoon.”
“What kind of work?” asked Mrs. Raymond, looking up.
“Alfred Harper is sick, and so is Mr. Porter. So he has engaged me to
take Alfred’s place for the present, at a salary of six dollars a week. I
think that’s pretty lucky.”
“Then you won’t have to leave home,” said his mother, brightening up for
the first time. “I was so afraid you would have to, and that would make
it very lonely for Katy and me.”
“No, I shall be at home, only you won’t see much of me, for I’ve got to
go to the store early, and I suppose I shall get home late.”
“At any rate, you won’t be away from Vernon. I don’t think I could bear
to part from you just now.”
“Did you call and see Squire Turner, Harry?” asked Katy.
“Oh, yes; I almost forgot to tell you. He has taken the paper, and is
going to write to a lawyer in Milwaukie about it.”
“Does he think it is worth anything?”
“He doesn’t give much hope, it’s so many years ago; so we won’t count
upon it. I asked him about letting me have a hundred dollars to start in
business with, and he said he would let me know to-morrow. I didn’t know
then that I could get a place with Mr. Porter.”
“I would rather have you with Mr. Porter.”
“Yes, I would rather stay there for the present. But you must remember
that it won’t last but a few weeks. After that I may have to do as I
proposed.”
Harry went out, and labored manfully at the wood-pile for a couple of
hours. Then he got the basket and carried in considerable and piled it up
in the kitchen, so that his mother might not have the trouble of going
out to get it.
Meanwhile Squire Turner was writing a letter to a Mr. Robinson, a
Milwaukie lawyer, whom he knew. He stated the matter fully, giving his
correspondent, however, the idea that the warrant had come into his own
possession. In fact, he had made up his mind, in case the paper should be
worth anything, to turn it to his own benefit, by hook or by crook. He
was a rich man already, to be sure; but he was not contented with what
he had, nor was he likely to be. He was, as I have already stated, a
grasping, avaricious man, and as long as money went into his pocket he
cared very little that it was at the expense of the widow and orphan. He
did not build any very high hopes on the warrant. Still he was not a man
to let a chance slip by.
In the course of a fortnight he received an answer to his letter. As it
is of some importance, I will transcribe it here:
“MILWAUKIE, WIS., May 27, 18—.
“MR. TURNER,—Dear sir: yours of the 21st, asking information
as to the probable value of a certain land warrant in your
possession, has come to hand. It appears that the land was
located, though the owner never appeared to take possession
of it. In consequence it has fallen into the hands of others.
The tract in question is a valuable one, being situated only a
few miles out of Milwaukie, and has upon it several valuable
buildings. My own opinion is, that if the matter is followed
up, though you might not be able to get possession without a
protracted lawsuit, so much value being involved, the present
holders would be willing to pay a considerable sum by way of
compromise. It might be worth while for you to come on, and see
about the matter yourself. I will assist you to the best of my
ability.
“Yours respectfully,
“FRANCIS ROBINSON.”
Squire Turner read this letter with a lively interest. So the neglected
yellow paper promised to be valuable, after all. Perhaps, indeed, it
might be worth thousands of dollars. In that case, Mrs. Raymond would be
very well off.
The main question in Squire Turner’s mind was, how could he manage so as
to profit by it himself. He was meditating upon this as he walked home
from the post-office, when he met Harry Raymond, driving the store-wagon.
Harry paused, and hailed the squire.
“Squire Turner,” he said, “have you found out anything yet about that
paper I left with you?”
“Not yet,” said the squire, falsely; for he had no intention of
disclosing the truth at present. “I am afraid we can’t get anything for
it after so many years. When I hear anything I will let you know.”
“I was afraid it was too long ago,” said Harry; “so I am not much
disappointed.”
“I am thinking of taking a little trip to the West before long,” said
Squire Turner. “I may be able to find out something about it then.”
Harry started the horse towards the store, and thought so little of the
land warrant that he quite forgot to mention the matter to his mother in
the evening.