Books: Helping Himself
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Horatio Alger >> Helping Himself
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11 Produced by Carrie Fellman.
HELPING HIMSELF
Or
Grant Thornton's Ambition
By HORATIO ALGER, JR.
NEW YORK
HELPING HIMSELF
CHAPTER I
THE MINISTER'S SON
"I wish we were not so terribly poor, Grant," said Mrs. Thornton, in
a discouraged tone.
"Is there anything new that makes you say so, mother?" answered the
boy of fifteen, whom she addressed.
"Nothing new, only the same old trouble. Here is a note from Mr.
Tudor, the storekeeper."
"Let me see it, mother."
Grant took a yellow envelope from his mother's hand, and drew out
the inclosure, a half sheet of coarse letter paper, which contained
the following lines:
"July 7, 1857.
REV. JOHN THORNTON:
DEAR SIR: Inclosed you will find a bill for groceries and other
goods furnished to you in the last six months, amounting to
sixty-seven dollars and thirty-four cents ($67.34). It ought to have
been paid before. How you, a minister of the Gospel, can justify
yourself in using goods which you don't pay for, I can't understand.
If I remember rightly, the Bible says: 'Owe no man anything.' As I
suppose you recognize the Bible as an authority, I expect you to pay
up promptly, and oblige,
Yours respectfully, THOMAS TUDOR."
Grant looked vexed and indignant. "I think that is an impudent
letter, mother," he said.
"It is right that the man should have his money, Grant."
"That is true, but he might have asked for it civilly, without
taunting my poor father with his inability to pay. He would pay if
he could."
"Heaven knows he would, Grant," said his mother, sighing.
"I would like to give Mr. Tudor a piece of my mind." "I would rather
pay his bill. No, Grant, though he is neither kind nor considerate,
we must admit that his claim is a just one. If I only knew where to
turn for money!"
"Have you shown the bill to father?" asked Grant.
"No; you know how unpractical your father is. It would only annoy
and make him anxious, and he would not know what to do. Your poor
father has no business faculty."
"He is a very learned man," said Grant, proudly.
"Yes, he graduated very high at college, and is widely respected by
his fellow ministers, but he has no aptitude for business."
"You have, mother. If you had been a man, you would have done better
than he. Without your good management we should have been a good
deal worse off than we are. It is the only thing that has kept our
heads above water."
"I am glad you think so, Grant. I have done the best I could, but no
management will pay bills without money."
It was quite true that the minister's wife was a woman of excellent
practical sense, who had known how to make his small salary go very
far. In this respect she differed widely from her learned husband,
who in matters of business was scarcely more than a child. But, as
she intimated with truth, there was something better than
management, and that was ready cash.
"To support a family on six hundred dollars a year is very hard,
Grant, when there are three children," resumed his mother.
"I can't understand why a man like father can't command a better
salary," said Grant. "There's Rev. Mr. Stentor, in Waverley, gets
fifteen hundred dollars salary, and I am sure he can't compare
with father in ability."
"True, Grant, but your father is modest, and not given to blowing
his own trumpet, while Mr. Stentor, from all I can hear, has a very
high opinion of himself."
"He has a loud voice, and thrashes round in his pulpit, as if he
were a--prophet," said Grant, not quite knowing how to finish his
sentence.
"Your father never was a man to push himself forward. He is very
modest."
"I suppose that is not the only bill that we owe," said Grant.
"No; our unpaid bills must amount to at least two hundred dollars
more," answered his mother.
Grant whistled.
Two hundred and sixty-seven dollars seemed to him an immense sum,
and so it was, to a poor minister with a family of three children
and a salary of only six hundred dollars. Where to obtain so large a
sum neither Grant nor his mother could possibly imagine. Even if
there were anyone to borrow it from, there seemed no chance to pay
back so considerable a sum.
Mother and son looked at each other in perplexity. Finally, Grant
broke the silence.
"Mother," he said, "one thing seems pretty clear. I must go to work.
I am fifteen, well and strong, and I ought to be earning my own
living."
"But your father has set his heart upon your going to college,
Grant."
"And I should like to go, too; but if I did it would be years before
I could be anything but an expense and a burden, and that would make
me unhappy."
"You are almost ready for college, Grant, are you not?"
"Very nearly. I could get ready for the September examination. I
have only to review Homer, and brush up my Latin."
"And your uncle Godfrey is ready to help you through."
"That gives me an idea, mother. It would cost Uncle Godfrey as much
as nine hundred dollars a year over and above all the help I could
get from the college funds, and perhaps from teaching school this
winter. Now, if he would allow me that sum for a single year and let
me go to work, I could pay up all father's debts, and give him a new
start. It would save Uncle Godfrey nine hundred dollars."
"He has set his heart on your going to college. I don't think he
would agree to help you at all if you disappoint him."
"At any rate, I could try the experiment. Something has got to be
done, mother."
"Yes, Grant, there is no doubt of that. Mr. Tudor is evidently in
earnest. If we don't pay him, I think it very likely he will refuse
to let us have anything more on credit. And you know there is no
other grocery store in the village."
"Have you any money to pay him on account, mother?"
"I have eight dollars."
"Let me have that, and go over and see what I can do with him. We
can't get along without groceries. By the way, mother, doesn't the
parish owe father anything?"
"They are about sixty dollars in arrears on the salary."
"And the treasurer is Deacon Gridley?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll tell you what I will do. I'll first go over to the
deacon's and try to collect something. Afterward I will call on Mr.
Tudor."
"It is your father's place to do it, but he has no business faculty,
and could not accomplish anything. Go, then, Grant, but remember one
thing."
"What is that, mother?"
"You have a quick temper, my son. Don't allow yourself to speak
hastily, or disrespectfully, even if you are disappointed. Mr.
Tudor's bill is a just one, and he ought to have his money."
"I'll do the best I can, mother."
CHAPTER II
GRANT MAKES TWO BUSINESS CALLS
Deacon Gridley had a small farm, and farming was his chief
occupation, but he had a few thousand dollars laid away in stocks
and bonds, and, being a thrifty man, not to say mean, he managed to
save up nearly all the interest, which he added to his original
accumulation. He always coveted financial trusts, and so it came
about that he was parish treasurer. It was often convenient for him
to keep in his hands, for a month at a time, money thus collected
which ought to have been paid over at once to the minister, but the
deacon was a thoroughly selfish man, and cared little how pressed
for money Mr. Thornton might be, as long as he himself derived some
benefit from holding on to the parish funds.
The deacon was mowing the front yard of his house when Grant came up
to his front gate.
"Good-morning, Deacon Gridley," said the minister's son.
"Mornin', Grant," answered the deacon. "How's your folks?"
"Pretty well in health," returned Grant, coming to business at once,
"but rather short of money."
"Ministers most gen'ally are," said Deacon Gridley, dryly.
"I should think they might be, with the small salaries they get,"
said Grant, indignantly.
"Some of 'em do get poorly paid," replied the deacon; "but I call
six hundred dollars a pooty fair income."
"It might be for a single man; but when a minister has a wife and
three children, like my father, it's pretty hard scratching."
"Some folks ain't got faculty," said the deacon, adding,
complacently, "it never cost me nigh on to six hundred dollars a
year to live."
The deacon had the reputation of living very penuriously, and Abram
Fish, who once worked for him and boarded in the family, said he was
half starved there.
"You get your milk and vegetables off the farm," said Grant, who
felt the comparison was not a fair one. "That makes a great deal of
difference."
"It makes some difference," the deacon admitted, "but not as much as
the difference in our expenses. I didn't spend more'n a hundred
dollars cash last year."
This excessive frugality may have been the reason why Mrs. Deacon
Gridley was always so shabbily dressed. The poor woman had not had a
new bonnet for five years, as every lady in the parish well knew.
"Ministers have some expenses that other people don't," persisted
Grant.
"What kind of expenses, I'd like to know?"
"They have to buy books and magazines, and entertain missionaries,
and hire teams to go on exchanges."
"That's something," admitted the deacon. "Maybe it amounts to twenty
or thirty dollars a year."
"More likely a hundred," said Grant.
"That would be awful extravagant sinful waste. If I was a minister,
I'd be more keerful."
"Well, Deacon Gridley, I don't want to argue with you. I came to see
if you hadn't collected some money for father. Mr. Tudor has sent in
his bill, and he wants to be paid."
"How much is it?"
"Sixty-seven dollars and thirty-four cents."
"You don't tell me!" said the deacon, scandalized. "You folks must
be terrible extravagant."
Grant hardly knew whether to be more vexed or amused.
"If wanting to have enough to eat is extravagant," he said, "then we
are."
"You must live on the fat of the land, Grant."
"We haven't any of us got the gout, nor are likely to have,"
answered Grant, provoked. "But let us come back to business. Have
you got any money for father?"
Now it so happened that Deacon Gridley had fifty dollars collected,
but he thought he knew where he could let it out for one per cent,
for a month, and he did not like to lose the opportunity.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Grant," he answered, "but folks are
slow about payin' up, and--"
"Haven't you got any money collected?" asked Grant, desperately.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said the deacon, with a bright idea.
"I've got fifty dollars of my own--say for a month, till I can make
collections."
"That would be very kind," said Grant, feeling that he had done the
deacon an injustice.
"Of course," the deacon resumed, hastily, "I should have to charge
interest. In fact, I was goin' to lend out the money to a neighbor
for a month at one per cent; but I'd just as lieve let your father
have it at that price."
"Isn't that more than legal interest?" asked Grant.
"Well, you see, money is worth good interest nowadays. Ef your
father don't want it, no matter. I can let the other man have it."
Grant rapidly calculated that the interest would only amount to
fifty cents, and money must be had.
"I think father'll agree to your terms," he said. "I'll let you know
this afternoon."
"All right, Grant. It don't make a mite of difference to me, but if
your father wants the money he'll have to speak for it to-day."
"I'll see that the matter is attended to," said Grant, and he went
on his way, pleased with the prospect of obtaining money for their
impoverished household, even on such hard terms.
Next he made his way to Mr. Tudor's store.
It was one of those country variety stores where almost everything
in the way of house supplies can be obtained, from groceries to dry
goods.
Mr. Tudor was a small man, with a parchment skin and insignificant
features. He was in the act of weighing out a quantity of sugar for
a customer when Grant entered.
Grant waited till the shopkeeper was at leisure.
"Did you want to see me, Grant?" said Tudor.
"Yes, Mr. Tudor. You sent over a bill to our house this morning."
"And you've come to pay it. That's right. Money's tight, and I've
got bills to pay in the city."
"I've got a little money for you on account," said Grant, watching
Tudor's face anxiously.
"How much?" asked the storekeeper, his countenance changing.
"Eight dollars."
"Eight dollars!" ejaculated Tudor, indignantly. "Only eight dollars
out of sixty-seven! That's a regular imposition, and I don't care ef
your father is a minister, I stick to my words."
Grant was angry, but he remembered his mother's injunction to
restrain his temper.
"We'd like to pay the whole, Mr. Tudor, if we had the money, and--"
"Do you think I can trust the whole neighborhood, and only get one
dollar in ten of what's due me?" spluttered Mr. Tudor. "Ministers
ought to set a better example."
"Ministers ought to get better pay," said Grant.
"There's plenty don't get as much as your father. When do you expect
to pay the rest, I'd like to know? I s'pose you expect me to go on
trustin', and mebbe six months from now you'll pay me another eight
dollars," said the storekeeper, with withering sarcasm.
"I was going to tell you, if you hadn't interrupted me," said Grant,
"that we should probably have some more money for you to-morrow."
"How much?"
"Twenty-five dollars," answered the boy, knowing that part of the
money borrowed must go in other quarters. "Will that be
satisfactory?"
"That's more like!" said Tudor, calming down. "Ef you'll pay that
I'll give you a leetle more time on the rest. Do you want anything
this mornin'? I've got some prime butter just come in."
"I'll call for some articles this afternoon, Mr. Tudor. Here are the
eight dollars. Please credit us with that sum."
"Well, I've accomplished something," said Grant to himself as he
plodded homeward.
CHAPTER III
GRANT WALKS TO SOMERSET
GODFREY THORNTON, Grant's uncle, lived in the neighboring town of
Somerset. He was an old bachelor, three years older than his
brother, the minister, and followed the profession of a lawyer. His
business was not large, but his habits were frugal, and he had
managed to save up ten thousand dollars. Grant had always been a
favorite with him, and having no son of his own he had formed the
plan of sending him to college. He was ambitious that he should be a
professional man.
It might have been supposed that he would have felt disposed to
assist his brother, whose scanty salary he knew was inadequate to
the needs of a family. But Godfrey Thornton was an obstinate man,
and chose to give assistance in his own way, and no other. It would
be a very handsome thing, he thought, to give his nephew a college
education. And so, indeed, it would. But he forgot one thing. In
families of limited means, when a boy reaches the age of fifteen or
sixteen he is very properly expected to earn something toward the
family income, and this Grant could not do while preparing for
college. If his uncle could have made up his mind to give his
brother a small sum annually to make up for this, all would have
been well. Not that this idea had suggested itself to the Rev. John
Thorn-ton. He felt grateful for his brother's intentions toward
Grant, and had bright hopes of his boy's future. But, in truth,
pecuniary troubles affected him less than his wife. She was the
manager, and it was for her to contrive and be anxious.
After Grant had arranged the matters referred to in the preceding
chapter, he told his mother that he proposed to go to Somerset to
call on his uncle.
"No, Grant, I don't object, though I should be sorry to have you
lose the chance of an education."
"I have a very fair education already, mother. Of course I should
like to go to college, but I can't bear to have you and father
struggling with poverty. If I become a business man, I may have a
better chance to help you. At any rate, I can help you sooner. If I
can only induce Uncle Godfrey to give you the sum my education would
cost him, I shall feel perfectly easy."
"You can make the attempt, my son, but I have doubts about your
success."
Grant, however, was more hopeful. He didn't see why his uncle should
object, and it would cost him no more money. It seemed to him very
plain sailing, and he set out to walk to Somerset, full of courage
and hope.
It was a pretty direct road, and the distance--five miles--was not
formidable to a strong-limbed boy like Grant. In an hour and a half
he entered the village, and soon reached the small one-story
building which served his uncle as an office.
Entering, he saw his uncle busy with some papers at his desk.
The old lawyer raised his eyes as the door opened.
"So it's you, Grant, is it?" he said. "Nobody sick at home, eh?"
"No, Uncle Godfrey, we are all well."
"I was afraid some one might be sick, from your coming over.
However, I suppose you have some errand in Somerset."
"My only errand is to call upon you, uncle."
"I suppose I am to consider that a compliment," said the old
bachelor, not ill pleased. "Well, and when are you going to be ready
for college?"
"I can be ready to enter in September," replied Grant.
"That is good. All you will have to do will be to present yourself
for examination. I shall see you through, as I have promised."
"You are very kind, Uncle Godfrey," said Grant; and then he
hesitated.
"It's Thornton family pride, Grant. I want my nephew to be somebody.
I want you to be a professional man, and take a prominent place in
the world."
"Can't I be somebody without becoming a professional man, or---"
"Or, what?" asked his uncle, abruptly.
"Getting a college education?" continued Grant.
"What does this mean?" asked the old lawyer, knitting his brow.
"You're not getting off the notion of going to college, I hope?"
"I should like to go to college, uncle."
"I'm glad to hear that," said Godfrey Thornton, relieved. "I thought
you might want to grow up a dunce, and become a bricklayer or
something of that kind."
Somehow Grant's task began to seem more difficult than he had
anticipated.
"But," continued Grant, summoning up his courage, "I am afraid it
will be rather selfish."
"I can't say I understand you, Grant. As long as I am willing to pay
your college bills, I don't see why there is anything selfish in
your accepting my offer."
"I mean as regards father and mother."
"Don't I take you off their hands? What do you mean?"
"I mean this, Uncle Godfrey," said Grant, boldly, "I ought to be at
work earning money to keep them. Father's income is very small,
and--"
"You don't mean to say you want to give up going to college?" said
Godfrey Thornton, hastily.
"I think I ought to, uncle."
"Why?"
"So that I can find work and help father along. You see, I should be
four years in college, and three years studying a profession, and
all that time my brother and sister would be growing older and more
expensive, and father would be getting into debt."
Uncle Godfrey's brow wore a perceptible frown.
"Tell me who has put this idea into your head?" he said. "I am sure
it isn't your father."
"No one put it into my head, Uncle Godfrey. It's my own idea."
"Humph! old heads don't grow on young shoulders, evidently. You are
a foolish boy, Grant. With a liberal education you can do something
for your family."
"But it is so long to wait," objected Grant.
"It will be a great disappointment to me to have you give up going
to college, but of course I can't force you to go," said his uncle,
coldly. "It will save me three hundred dollars a year for four
years-I may say for seven, however. You will be throwing away a
grand opportunity."
"Don't think I undervalue the advantage of a college training,
uncle," said Grant, eagerly. "It isn't that. It's because I thought
I might help father. In fact, I wanted to make a proposal to you."
"What is it?"
"You say it will cost three hundred dollars a year to keep me in
college?"
"Well?"
"Would you be willing to give father two hundred a year for the next
four years, and let me take care of myself in some business place?"
"So this is your proposal, is it?"
"Yes, sir."
"All I have got to say is, that you have got uncommon assurance. You
propose to defeat my cherished plan, and want me to pay two hundred
dollars a year in acknowledgment of your consideration."
"I am sorry you look upon it in that light, Uncle Godfrey."
"I distinctly decline your proposal. If you refuse to go to college,
I wash my hands of you and your family. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, Uncle Godfrey," answered Grant, crestfallen.
"Go home and think over the matter. My offer still holds good. You
can present yourself at college in September, and, if you are
admitted, notify me."
The lawyer turned back to his writing, and Grant understood that the
interview was over.
In sadness he started on his return walk from Somerset. He had
accomplished nothing except to make his uncle angry. He could not
make up his mind what to do.
He had walked about four miles when his attention was sharply drawn
by a cry of terror. Looking up quickly, he saw a girl of fourteen
flying along the road pursued by a drunken man armed with a big
club. They were not more than thirty feet apart, and the situation
was critical.
Grant was no coward, and he instantly resolved to rescue the girl if
it were a possible thing.
CHAPTER IV
A TIMELY RESCUE
"I will save her if I can," said Grant to himself.
The task, however, was not an easy one. The drunken man was tall and
strongly made, and his condition did not appear to interfere with
his locomotion. He was evidently half crazed with drink, and his
pursuit of the young girl arose probably from a blind impulse; but
it was likely to be none the less serious for her. Grant saw at once
that he was far from being a match for the drunkard in physical
strength. If he had been timid, a regard for his personal safety
would have led him to keep aloof. But he would have despised himself
if he had not done what he could for the girl--stranger though she
was--who was in such peril.
It chanced that Grant had cut a stout stick to help him on his way.
This suggested his plan of campaign. He ran sideways toward the
pursuer, and thrust his stick between his legs, tripping him up. The
man fell violently forward, and lay as if stunned, breathing
heavily. Grant was alarmed at first, fearing that he might be
seriously hurt, but a glance assured him that his stupor was chiefly
the result of his potations.
Then he hurried to overtake the girl, who, seeing what had taken
place, had paused in her flight.
"Don't be frightened," said Grant. "The man can't get up at present.
I will see you home if you will tell me where you live."
"I am boarding at Mrs. Granger's, quarter of a mile back, mamma and
I," answered the girl, the color, temporarily banished by fright,
returning to her cheeks.
"Where did you fall in with this man?" inquired Grant.
"I was taking a walk," answered the girl, "and overtook him. I did
not take much notice of him at first, and was not aware of his
condition till he began to run after me. Then I was almost
frightened to death, and I don't think I ever ran so fast in my
life."
"You were in serious danger. He was fast overtaking you."
"I saw that he was, and I believe I should have dropped if you had
not come up and saved me. How brave you were!"
Grant colored with pleasure, though he disclaimed the praise.
"Oh, it was nothing!" he said, modestly. "But we had better start at
once, for he may revive."
"Oh, let us go then," exclaimed the girl in terror, and, hardly
knowing what she did, she seized Grant's arm. "See, he is beginning
to stir. Do come quickly!"
Clinging to Grant's arm, the two hastened away, leaving the
inebriate on the ground.
Grant now had leisure to view more closely the girl he had rescued.
She was a very pretty girl, a year or two younger than himself, with
a bright, vivacious manner, and her young rescuer thought her very
attractive.
"Do you live round here?" she asked.
"I live in Colebrook, the village close by. I was walking from
Somerset."
"I should like to know the name of the one who has done me so great
a service."
"We will exchange names, if you like," said Grant, smiling. "My name
is Grant Thornton. I am the son of Rev. John Thornton, who is
minister in Colebrook."
"So you are a minister's son. I have always heard that minister's
sons are apt to be wild," said the girl, smiling mischievously.
"I am an exception," said Grant, demurely.
"I am ready to believe it," returned his companion. "My name is
Carrie Clifton; my mother is a minister's daughter, so I have a
right to think well of ministers' families."
"How long have you been boarding in this neighborhood, Miss Carrie?"
"Only a week. I am afraid I shan't dare to stay here any longer."
"It is not often you would meet with such an adventure as this. I
hope you won't allow it to frighten you away."
"Do you know that drunken man? Does he live nearby?"
"I think he is a stranger--a tramp. I never saw him before, and I
know almost everybody who lives about here."
"I am glad he doesn't live here."
"He will probably push on his way and not come this way again during
the summer."
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