ONLY AN IRISH BOY
Or, Andy Burke's Fortunes
by
Horatio Alger, Jr.
Author of "Paul the Peddler," "Phil the Fiddler,"
"Strive and Succeed," "Slow and Sure,"
"Try and Trust," etc.
CONTENTS
Chapter
I. ANDY BURKE
II. A SKIRMISH
III. ANDY AND HIS MOTHER
IV. MRS. PRESTON
V. A PROFITABLE JOB
VI. THE TWO OLD MAIDS
VII. ANDY OBTAINS A PLACE
VIII. THE MIDNIGHT ALARM
IX. WHAT FOLLOWED
X. ANDY'S DEBUT AT SCHOOL
XI. A GAME OF BALL
XII. A LITTLE DIFFICULTY
XIII. GODFREY'S REBELLION
XIV. MR. STONE IS CALLED TO ACCOUNT
XV. MRS. PRESTON'S DISCOMFITURE
XVI. THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT
XVII. INTRODUCES AN ADVENTURER
XVIII. RIDING WITH A HIGHWAYMAN
XIX. BAFFLED A ROBBER
XX. HOW THE NEWS WAS RECEIVED
XXI. A MODEL WIFE
XXII. COLONEL PRESTON'S RECOVERY
XXIII. MRS. BURKE HAS GOOD FORTUNE
XXIV. ANDY'S JOURNEY
XXV. THE MERCHANT FROM PORTLAND
XXVI. SPINNING THE WEB
XXVII. THE DROP GAME
XXVIII. THE GUEST OF TWO HOTELS
XXIX. A STARTLING EVENT
XXX. COLONEL PRESTON'S WILL
XXXI. MRS. PRESTON'S INTENTIONS
XXXII. MRS. PRESTON'S REVENGE
XXXIII. ANDY LOSES HIS PLACE
XXXIV. THE WILL AT LAST
XXXV. MRS. PRESTON IS UNPLEASANTLY SURPRISED
XXXVI. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
ONLY AN IRISH BOY
CHAPTER I
ANDY BURKE
"John, saddle my horse, and bring him around to the door."
The speaker was a boy of fifteen, handsomely dressed, and, to judge
from his air and tone, a person of considerable consequence, in his
own opinion, at least. The person addressed was employed in the stable
of his father, Colonel Anthony Preston, and so inferior in social
condition that Master Godfrey always addressed him in imperious tones.
John looked up and answered, respectfully:
"Master Godfrey, your horse is sick of the disease, and your father
left orders that he wasn't to go out on no account."
"It's my horse," said Godfrey; "I intend to take him out."
"Maybe it's yours, but your father paid for him."
"None of your impudence, John," answered Godfrey, angrily. "Am I
master, or are you, I should like to know!"
"Neither, I'm thinking," said John, with a twinkle in his eye. "It's
your father that's the master."
"I'm master of the horse, anyway, so saddle him at once."
"The colonel would blame me," objected John.
"If you don't, I'll report you and get you dismissed."
"I'll take the risk, Master Godfrey," said the servant,
good-humoredly. "The colonel won't be so unreasonable as to send me
away for obeying his own orders."
Here John was right, and Godfrey knew it, and this vexed him the more.
He had an inordinate opinion of himself and his own consequence, and
felt humiliated at being disobeyed by a servant, without being able to
punish him for his audacity. This feeling was increased by the
presence of a third party, who was standing just outside the fence.
As this third party is our hero, I must take a separate paragraph to
describe him. He was about the age of Godfrey, possibly a little
shorter and stouter. He had a freckled face, full of good humor, but
at the same time resolute and determined. He appeared to be one who
had a will of his own, but not inclined to interfere with others,
though ready to stand up for his own rights. In dress he compared very
unfavorably with the young aristocrat, who was biting his lips with
vexation. In fact, though he is my hero, his dress was far from
heroic. He had no vest, and his coat was ragged, as well as his pants.
He had on a pair of shoes two or three times too large for him. They
had not been made to order, but had been given him by a gentleman of
nearly double his size, and fitted him too much. He wore a straw hat,
for it was summer, but the brim was semi-detached, and a part of his
brown hair found its way through it.
Now Godfrey was just in the mood for picking a quarrel with somebody,
and as there was no excuse for quarreling any further with John, he
was rather glad to pitch into the young stranger.
"Who are you?" he demanded, in his usual imperious tone, and with a
contraction of the brow.
"Only an Irish boy!" answered the other, with a droll look and a
slight brogue.
"Then what business have you leaning against my fence?" again demanded
Godfrey, imperiously.
"Shure, I didn't know it was your fence."
"Then you know now. Quit leaning against it."
"Why should I, now? I don't hurt it, do I?"
"No matter--I told you to go away. We don't want any beggars here."
"Shure, I don't see any," said the other boy, demurely.
"What are you but a beggar?"
"Shure, I'm a gintleman of indepindent fortune."
"You look like it," said Godfrey, disdainfully. "Where do you keep
it?"
"Here!" said the Irish boy, tapping a bundle which he carried over his
shoulder, wrapped in a red cotton handkerchief, with a stick thrust
through beneath the knot.
"What's your name?"
"Andy Burke. What's yours?"
"I don't feel under any obligations to answer your questions," said
Godfrey, haughtily.
"Don't you? Then what made you ask me?"
"That's different. You are only an Irish boy."
"And who are you?"
"I am the only son of Colonel Anthony Preston," returned Godfrey,
impressively.
"Are you, now? I thought you was a royal duke, or maybe Queen
Victoria's oldest boy."
"Fellow, you are becoming impertinent."
"Faith, I didn't mean it. You look so proud and gintale that it's jist
a mistake I made."
"You knew that we had no dukes in America," said Godfrey,
suspiciously.
"If we had, now, you'd be one of them," said Andy.
"Why? What makes you say so?"
"You're jist the picture of the Earl of Barleycorn's ildest son that I
saw before I left Ireland."
Godfrey possessed so large a share of ridiculous pride that he felt
pleased with the compliment, though he was not clear about its
sincerity.
"Where do you live?" he asked, with a slight lowering of his tone.
"Where do I live? Shure, I don't live anywhere now, but I'm going to
live in the village. My mother came here a month ago."
"Why didn't you come with her?"
"I was workin' with a farmer, but the work gave out and I came home.
Maybe I'll find work here."
"I think I know where your mother lives," said John, who had heard the
conversation. "She lives up the road a mile or so, in a little house
with two rooms. It's where old Jake Barlow used to live."
"Thank you, sir. I guess I'll be goin', then, as my mother'll be
expectin' me. Do you know if she's well?" and a look of anxiety came
over the boy's honest, good-natured face.
The question was addressed to John, but of this Godfrey was not quite
sure. He thought the inquiry was made of him, and his pride was
touched.
"What should I know of your mother, you beggar?" he said, with a
sneer. "I don't associate with such low people."
"Do you mane my mother?" said Andy, quickly, and he, too, looked angry
and threatening.
"Yes, I do. What are you going to do about it?" demanded Godfrey.
"You'd better take it back," said Andy, his good-humored face now dark
with passion.
"Do you think I am afraid of such a beggar as you?" sneered Godfrey.
"You appear to forget that you are speaking to a gentleman."
"Shure, I didn't know it," returned Andy, hotly. "You're no gentleman
if you insult my mother, and if you'll come out here for a minute I'll
give you a bating."
"John," said Godfrey, angrily, "will you drive that beggar away?"
Now, John's sympathies were rather with Andy than with his young
master. He had no great admiration for Godfrey, having witnessed
during the year he had been in his father's employ too much of the
boy's arrogance and selfishness to feel much attachment for him. Had
he taken any part in the present quarrel, he would have preferred
espousing the cause of the Irish boy; but that would not have been
polite, and he therefore determined to preserve his neutrality.
"That ain't my business, Master Godfrey," he said. "You must fight
your own battles."
"Go away from here," said Godfrey, imperiously advancing toward that
part of the fence against which Andy Burke was leaning.
"Will you take back what you said agin' my mother?"
"No, I won't."
"Then you're a blackguard, if you are a rich man's son."
The blood rushed to Godfrey's face on the instant. This was a palpable
insult. What! he, a rich man's son, the only son and heir of Colonel
Anthony Preston, with his broad acres and ample bank account--he to be
called a blackguard by a low Irish boy. His passion got the better of
him, and he ran through the gate, his eyes flashing fire, bent on
exterminating his impudent adversary.