The Errand Boy; or, How Phil Brent Won Success

by Horatio Alger, Jr.

  Don't blame him. I think any one of us would have done the same.

  ”Oh, mother! mother!“ said Fred aloud, to himself, ”do come home! do come home!“

  Ellen looked very sympathizing when she came in with his tea, and found his dinner untouched.

  ”Eat your tea, Master Fred,“ she said, gently. ”The like of ye can't go without your victuals, no way. I don't know what you've done, but I ain't afeared there is any great harm in it, though your collar is on crooked and there's a tear in your jacket, to say nothing of a black and blue place under your left eye. But eat your tea. Here's some fruit cake Biddy sent o' purpose.“

  Somebody did think of and feel sorry for him! Fred felt comforted on the instant by Ellen's kind words and Biddy's plum cake; and I must say, ate a hearty, hungry boy's supper; then went to bed and slept soundly until late the next morning

  We have not space to follow Fred through the tediousness of the following week. His father strictly carried out the punishment to the letter No one came near him but Ellen, though he heard the voices of his sisters and the usual happy home sounds constantly about him.

  Had Fred really been guilty, even in the matter of a street fight, he would have been the unhappiest boy living during this time; but we know he was not, so we shall be glad to hear that with his books and the usual medley of playthings with which a boy's room is piled, he contrived to make the time pass without being very wretched. It was the disgrace of being punished, the lost position in school, and above all, the triumph which it would be to Sam, which made him the most miserable. The very injustice of the thing was its balm in this case. May it be so, my young readers, with any punishment which may ever happen to you!

  All these things, however, were opening the way to make Fred's revenge, when it came, the more complete.

  ----

  Fred Sargent, of course, had lost his place, and was subjected to a great many curious inquiries when he returned to school.

  He had done his best, in his room, to keep up with his class, but his books, studied ”in prison,“ as he had learned to call it, and in the sitting-room, with his sister Nellie and his mother to help him, were very different things. Still, ”doing your best“ always brings its reward; and let me say in passing, before the close of the month Fred had won his place again.

  This was more easily done than satisfying the kind inquiries of the boys. So after trying the first day to evade them, Fred made a clean breast of it and told the whole story.

  I think, perhaps, Mr. Sargent's severe and unjust discipline had a far better effect upon the boys generally than upon Fred particularly. They did not know how entirely Fred had acted on the defensive, and so they received a lesson which most of them never forgot on the importance which a kind, genial man, with a smile and a cheery word for every child in town, attached to brawling.

  After all, the worst effect of this punishment came upon Sam Crandon himself. Very much disliked as his wicked ways had made him before, he was now considered as a town nuisance. Everybody avoided him, and when forced to speak to him did so in the coldest, and often in the most unkind manner.

  Sam, not three weeks after his wanton assault upon Fred, was guilty of his first theft and of drinking his first glass of liquor. In short, he was going headlong to destruction and no one seemed to think him worth the saving. Skulking by day, prowling by night--hungry, dirty, beaten and sworn at--no wonder that he seemed God-forsaken as well as man-forsaken.

  Mr. Sargent had a large store in Rutgers street. He was a wholesale dealer in iron ware, and Andrewsville was such an honest, quiet town ordinary means were not taken to keep the goods from the hands of thieves.

  Back doors, side doors and front doors stood open all the day, and no one went in or out but those who had dealings with the firm.

  Suddenly, however, articles began to be missed--a package of knives, a bolt, a hatchet, an axe, a pair of skates, flat-irons, knives and forks, indeed hardly a day passed without a new thing being taken, and though every clerk in the store was on the alert and very watchful, still the thief, or thieves remained undetected.

  At last matters grew very serious. It was not so much the pecuniary value of the losses--that was never large--but the uncertainty into which it threw Mr. Sargent. The dishonest person might be one of his own trusted clerks; such things had happened, and sad to say, probably would again.

  ”Fred,“ said his father, one Saturday afternoon, ”I should like to have you come down to the store and watch in one of the rooms. There is a great run of business to-day, and the clerks have their hands more than full. I must find out, if possible who it is that is stealing so freely. Yesterday I lost six pearl-handled knives worth two dollars apiece. Can you come?“

  ”Yes, sir,“ said Fred, promptly, ”I will be there at one, to a minute; and if I catch him, let him look out sharp, that is all.“

  This acting as police officer was new business to Fred and made him feel very important, so when the town clock was on the stroke of one he entered the store and began his patrol.

  It was fun for the first hour, and he was so much on the alert that old Mr. Stone, from his high stool before the desk, had frequently to put his pen behind his ear and watch him. It was quite a scene in a play to see how Fred would start at the least sound. A mouse nibbling behind a box of iron chains made him beside himself until he had scared the little gray thing from its hole, and saw it scamper away out of the shop. But after the first hour the watching for nothing became a little tedious. There was a ”splendid“ game of base ball to come off on the public green that afternoon; and after that the boys were going to the ”Shaw- seen“ for a swim; then there was to be a picnic on the ”Indian Ridge,“ and--well, Fred had thought of all these losses when he so pleasantly assented to his father's request, and he was not going to complain now. He sat down on a box, and commenced drumming tunes with his heels on its sides. This disturbed Mr. Stone. He looked at him sharply, so he stopped and sauntered out into a corner of the back store, where there was a trap-door leading down into the water. A small river ran by under the end of the store, also by the depot, which was near at hand, and his father used to have some of his goods brought down in boats and hoisted up through this door.

  It was always one of the most interesting places in the store to Fred; he liked to sit with his feet hanging down over the water, watching it as it came in and dashed against the cellar walls.

  To-day it was high, and a smart breeze drove it in with unusual force. Bending down as far as he could safely to look under the store, Fred saw the end of a hatchet sticking out from the corner of one of the abutments that projected from the cellar, to support the end of the store in which the trap-door was.

  ”What a curious place this is for a hatchet!“ thought Fred, as he stooped a little further, holding on very tight to the floor above. What he saw made him almost lose his hold and drop into the water below. There, stretched along on a beam was Sam Crandon, with some stolen packages near him.

  For a moment Fred's astonishment was too great to allow him to speak; and Sam glared at him like a wild beast brought suddenly to bay.

  ”Oh, Sam! Sam!“ said Fred, at length, ”how could you?“

  Sam caught up a hatchet and looked as if he was going to aim it at him, then suddenly dropped it into the water.

  Fred's heart beat fast, and the blood came and went from his cheeks; he caught his breath heavily, and the water, the abutment and even Sam with his wicked ugly face were for a moment darkened. Then, recovering himself, he said:

  ”Was it you, Sam? I'm sorry for you!“

  ”Don't lie!“ said Sam, glowering back, ”you know you're glad!“

  ”Glad? Why should I be glad to have you steal?“

  ”Cause I licked you, and you caught it.“

  ”So I did; but I am sorry, for all that.“

  ”You lie!“

  Fred had thought very fast while this conversation was going on. He had only to lift his head and call his father,
then the boat would be immediately pushed in under the store, Sam secured and his punishment certain. There were stolen goods enough to convict him, and his mode of ingress into the store was now certain. This trap-door was never locked; very often it was left open--the water being considered the most effectual bolt and bar that could be used; but Sam, a good swimmer and climber, had come in without difficulty and had quite a store of his own hidden away there for future use. This course was very plain; but for some reason, which Fred could not explain even to himself, he did not feel inclined to take it; so he sat looking steadily in Sam's face until he said:

  ”Look here, Sam, I want to show you I mean what I say. I'm sorry you have turned thief and if I can help you to be a better boy, I should be glad to.“

  Again Fred's honest kindly face had the same effect upon Sam that it had at the commencement of their street fight; he respected and trusted it unconsciously.

  ”Here!“ said he, crawling along on the beam and handing back the package of knives, the last theft of which his father had complained.

  ”Yes, that is right,“ said Fred, leaning down and taking it, ”give them all back, if you can; that is what my father calls `making restitution,' and then you won't be a thief any longer.“

  Something in the boy's tone touched Sam's heart still more; so he handed back one thing after another as rapidly as he could until nearly everything was restored.

  ”Bravo for you, Sam! I won't tell who took them, and there is a chance for you. Here, give me your hand now, honor bright you'll never come here again to steal, if I don't tell my father.“

  Sam looked at him a moment, as if he would read his very soul; then he said sulkily:

  ”You'll tell; I know you will, 'cause I licked you when you didn't want me to; but you've got 'em all back, and I s'pose it won't go very hard.“

  ”What won't go very hard?“

  ”The prison.“

  ”You sha'n't go to prison at all. Here, give me your hand; I promise not to tell if you will promise not to steal any more. Ain't that fair?“

  ”Yes,“ said Sam, a sudden change coming over his face, ”but you will!“

  ”Try me and see.“

  Sam slowly and really at a great deal of peril, considering his situation, put his rough, grimed hand into Fred's--a dishonest hand it was, and that more than the other thing made Fred recoil a little as he touched it; but that clasp sealed the compact between these two boys. It began Fred Sargent's revenge.

  ”Now be off, will you, before the clerks come? They will see the things and catch you here. I'll be round to your house soon and we will see.“

  Even in this short time Fred had formed a general plan for saving Sam.

  The boy, stretching himself out flat, slipped down the tranverse beam into the water, dived at once and came up under the bridge a few rods distant, then coolly passed down the river and swam to shore under a bunch of alder-bushes, by which he was concealed from the sight of the passers-by.

  Fred sought his father, told him the story, then brought him to the spot, showed the goods which the boy had returned, and begged as a reward for the discovery to be allowed to conceal his name.

  His father of course hesitated at so unusual a proposition; but there was something so very much in earnest in all Fred did and said that he became convinced it was best, for the present at least, to allow him to have his own way; and this he was very glad he had done when a few days after Fred asked him to do something for Sam Crandon.

  ”Sam Crandon?“ he asked in surprise. ”Is not that the very boy I found you fighting in the street with?“

  ”Yes, sir,“ said Fred, hanging his head, ”but he promises to do well, if he can only find work-- honest work; you see, sir, he is so bad nobody helps him.“

  Mr. Sargent smiled. ”A strange recommendation, Fred,“ he said, ”but I will try what can be done. A boy who wants to reform should have a helping hand.“

  ”He does want to--he wants to heartily; he says he does. Father, if you only will!“

  Fred, as he stood there, his whole face lit up with the glow of this generous, noble emotion, never was dearer to his father's heart; indeed his father's eyes were dim, and his voice a little husky, as he said again:

  ”I will look after him, Fred, for your sake.“

  And so he did; but where and how I have not space now to tell my readers. Perhaps, at some future time, I may finish this story; for the present let me say there is a new boy in Mr. Sargent's store, with rough, coarse face, voice and manners; everybody wonders at seeing him there; everybody prophesies future trouble; but nobody knows that this step up in Sam Crandon's life is Fred Sargent's revenge.

  CHAPTER XLII

  THE SMUGGLER'S TRAP.

  HUBERT had accompanied his father on a visit to his uncle, who lived in a fine old country mansion, on the shore of Caermarthen Bay.

  In front of the house spread a long beach, which terminated in precipitous cliffs and rocky ledges. On the, afternoon of the day following his arrival, he declared his intention of exploring the beach.

  ”Don't get caught in `The Smuggler's Trap,' “ said his uncle, as he mentioned his plan.

  ” `The Smuggler's Trap?' “

  ”Yes. It's at the end of the beach where you see the cliffs. It's a hollow cave, which you can only walk at very low tide. You'd better not go in there.“

  ”Oh, never fear,“ said Hubert carelessly, and in a few minutes he was wandering over the beach, and after walking about two miles reached the end of the beach at the base of the great cliffs.

  The precipice towered frowningly overhead, its base all worn and furrowed by the furious surges that for ages had dashed against it. All around lay a chaos of huge boulders covered with seaweed. The tide was now at the lowest ebb. The surf here was moderate, for the seaweed on the rocks interfered with the swell of the waters, and the waves broke outside at some distance.

  Between the base of the precipice and the edge of the water there was a space left dry by the ebb tide about two yards in width; and Hubert walked forward over the space thus uncovered to see what lay before him.

  He soon found himself in a place which seemed like a fissure rent in a mountain side, by some extraordinary convulsion of nature. All around rose black, precipitous cliffs. On the side nearest was the precipice by whose base he had passed; while over opposite was a gigantic wall of dark rock, Which extended far out into the sea. Huge waves thundered at its feet and dashed their spray far upward into the air. The space was about fifty yards across.

  The fissure extended back for about two hundred yards, and there terminated in a sharp angle formed by the abrupt walls of the cliffs which enclosed it. All around there were caverns worn into the base of the precipices by the action of the sea.

  The floor of this place was gravelly, but near the water it was strewn with large boulders. Further in there were no boulders and it was easy to walk about.

  At the furthest extremity there was a flat rock that seemed to have fallen from the cliff above in some former age. The cliffs around were about two hundred feet in height. They were perfectly bare, and intensely black. On their storm-riven summits not a sign of verdure appeared. Everything had the aspect of gloom, which was heightened by the mournful monotone of the sea waves as they dashed against the rock.

  After the first feeling of awe had passed, Hubert ran forward, leaping from rock to rock, till he came to where the beach or floor of the fissure was gravelly. Over this he walked and hastened to the caverns, looking into them one after another.

  Then he busied himself by searching among the pebbles for curious stones and shells. He found here numerous specimens of the rarest and finest treasures of the sea--shells of a delicacy of tint and perfection of outline; seaweeds of new and exquisite forms with rich hues which he had hitherto believed impossible.

  In the hollows of the rocks, where the water yet lay in pools, he found little minnows; and delicate jelly fish, with their long slender fibers; and sea anemones; and
sea urchins with their spires extended; and star-fish moving about with their innumerable creepers. It was a new world, a world which had thus far been only visible to him in the aquarium, and now as it stood before him he forgot all else.

  He did not feel the wind as it blew in fresh from the sea--the dread ”sou'wester,“ the terror of fishermen. He did not notice the waves that rolled in more furiously from without, and were now beginning to break in wrath upon the rocky ledges and boulders. He did not see that the water had crept on nearer to the cliff, and that a white line of foam now lay on that narrow belt of beach which he had traversed at the foot of the cliff.

  Suddenly a sound burst upon his ears that roused him, and sent all the blood back to his heart. It was his own name, called out in a voice of anguish and almost of despair by his father.

  He sprang to his feet, started forward and rushed with the speed of the wind to the place by which he had entered the enclosure. But a barrier lay before him. The rolling waves were there, rushing in over the rocks, dashing against the cliff, tossing their white and quivering spray exulting in the air.

  At once Hubert knew his danger.

  He was caught in the ”Smuggler's Trap,“ and the full meaning of his uncle's warning flashed upon his mind as in his terror he shrieked back to his father.

  Then there was silence for a time

  While Hubert had been in the ”Trap,“ his father and uncle had been walking along the beach, and the former heard for the first time the nature and danger of the ”Smuggler's Trap.“ He was at once filled with anxiety about his son, and had hurried to the place to call him back, when to his horror he found that the tide had already covered the only way by which the dangerous place might be approached.

  No sooner had he heard Hubert's answering cry than he rushed forward to try and save him. But the next moment a great wave came rolling in and dashed him upon the cliff. Terribly bruised, he clung to the cliff till the surf fell back, and then ran on again.