OVERREACHED.
Bushrod, or "Bush" Wyckoff was only twelve years old when he went towork for Zeph Ashton, who was not only a crusty farmer, but one of themeanest men in the country, and his wife was well fitted to be the lifepartner of such a parsimonious person.
They had no children of their own, and had felt the need for years of awilling, nimble-footed youngster to do the odd chores about the house,such as milking cows, cutting and bringing in wood, running of errands,and the scores of odd little jobs which are easy enough for boys, butsorely try the stiff and rheumatic limbs of a man in the decline oflife.
Bush was a healthy little fellow--not very strong for his years, butquick of movement, bright-witted, willing, and naturally a generalfavorite. The misfortunes which suddenly overtook his home roused thekeenest sympathy of his neighbors. His father was a merchant in NewYork, who went to and from the metropolis each week day morning andevening, to his pleasant little home in New Jersey. One day hislifeless body was brought thither, and woe and desolation came to thehappy home. He was killed in a railway accident.
The blow was a terrible one, and for weeks it seemed as if his strickenwidow would follow him across the dark river; but her Christianfortitude and her great love for their only child sustained her in herawful grief, and she was even able to thank her Heavenly Father thather dear boy was spared to her.
But how true it is that misfortunes rarely come singly. Her husbandhad amassed a competency sufficient to provide comfortably for thoseleft behind; but his confidence in his fellow-men was wofully betrayed.He was one of the bondsmen of a public official who made a hastydeparture to Canada, one evening, leaving his business in such a shapethat his securities were compelled to pay fifty thousand dollars. Twoothers were associated with Mr. Wyckoff, and with the aid of theirtricky lawyers they managed matters so that four-fifths of the lossfell upon the estate of the deceased merchant.
The result swept it away as utterly as were the dwellings in theJohnstown Valley by the great flood. The widow and her boy left theirhome and moved into a little cottage, with barely enough left to keepthe wolf of starvation from the door.
It was then that Bush showed the stuff of which he was made. Hereturned one afternoon and told his mother, in his off-hand way, thathe had engaged to work through the summer months for Mr. Ashton, whonot only agreed to pay him six dollars a month, but would allow him toremain at home over night, provided, of course, that he was there earlyeach morning and stayed late enough each day to attend to all thechores.
The tears filled the eyes of the mother as she pressed her little boyto her heart, and comprehended his self-sacrificing nature.
"You are too young, my dear child, to do this; we have enough left tokeep us awhile, and I would prefer that you wait until you are olderand stronger."
"Why, mother, I am old enough and strong enough now to do all that Mr.Ashton wants me to do. He explained everything to me, and it won't bework at all, but just fun."
"Well, I hope you will find it so, but if he does not treat you kindly,you must not stay one day."
Bush never complained to his mother, but he did find precious littlefun and plenty of the hardest kind of work. The miserly farmer boredown heavily on his young shoulders. He and his wife seemed to becontinually finding extra labor for the lad. The little fellow was onhand each morning, in stormy as well as in clear weather, at daybreak,ready and willing to perform to the best of his ability whatever he wasdirected to do. Several times he became so weak and faint from thesevere labor, that the frugal breakfast he had eaten at home provedinsufficient, and he was compelled to ask for a few mouthfuls of foodbefore the regular dinner hour arrived. Although he always remainedlate, he was never invited to stay to supper, Mr. Ashton'sunderstanding being that the mid-day meal was the only one to which thelad was entitled.
But for his love for his mother, Bush would have given up more thanonce. His tasks were so severe and continuous that many a time he washardly able to drag himself homeward. Every bone in his body seemed toache, and neither his employer nor his wife ever uttered a pleasant orencouraging word.
But no word of murmuring fell from his lips. He resolutely held backall complaints, and crept away early to his couch under the plea thatit was necessary in order to be up betimes. The mother's heart wasdistressed beyond expression, but she comforted herself with the factthat his term of service was drawing to a close, and he would soon haveall the rest and play he wanted.
Bush allowed his wages to stand until the first of September, when histhree months expired. He had counted on the pride and happiness thatwould be his when he walked into the house and tossed the wholeeighteen dollars in his mother's lap. How her eyes would sparkle, andhow proud he would be!
"Lemme see," said the skinflint, when settling day arrived; "I was togive you four dollars a month, warn't I?"
"It was six," replied Bush, respectfully.
"That warn't my understanding, but we'll let it go at that; I've allersbeen too gin'rous, and my heart's too big for my pocket. Lemme see."
He uttered the last words thoughtfully, as he took his smallaccount-book from his pocket, and began figuring with the stub of apencil. "Three months at six dollars will be eighteen dollars."
"Yes, sir; that's right."
"Don't interrupt me, young man," sternly remarked the farmer, frowningat him over his spectacles. "The full amount is eighteendollars--Kerrect--L--em--m--e see; you have et seven breakfasts here;at fifty cents apiece that is three dollars and a half. Then,l--em--m--e see; you was late eleven times, and I've docked youtwenty-five cents for each time; that makes two dollars andseventy-five cents."
Inasmuch as Bush's wages amounted hardly to twenty-five cents a day, itmust be admitted that this was drawing it rather strong.
"L--em--m--e see," continued Mr. Ashton, wetting the pencil stubbetween his lips, and resuming his figuring; "your board amounts tothree dollars and a half; your loss of time to two seventy-five; thatmakes six and a quarter, which bein' took from eighteen dollars, leaves'leven seventy-five. There you are!"
As he spoke, he extended his hand, picked up a small canvas bag fromthe top of his old-fashioned writing-desk, and tossed it to thedumfounded boy. The latter heard the coins inside jingle, as it fellin his lap, and, as soon as he could command his voice, he swallowedthe lump in his throat, and faintly asked:
"Is that--is that right, Mr. Ashton?"
"Count it and see for yourself," was the curt response.
This was not exactly what Bush meant, but he mechanically unfastenedthe cord around the throat of the little bag, tumbled the coins out inhis hat and slowly counted them. They footed up exactly eleven dollarsand seventy-five cents, proving that Mr. Ashton's figuring wasaltogether unnecessary, and that he had arranged the businessbeforehand.
While Bush was examining the coins, his heart gave a sudden quickthrob. He repressed all signs of the excitement he felt, however.
"How do you find it?" asked the man, who had never removed his eyesfrom him, "Them coins have been in the house more'n fifty year--thatis, some of 'em have, but they're as good as if they's just from themint, and bein' all coin, you can never lose anything by the bankbustin'."
"It is correct," said Bush.
"Ar' you satisfied?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then sign this receipt, and we're square."
The lad sat down at the desk and attached his name in a neat round handto the declaration that he had received payment in full for hisservices from Mr. Zephaniah Ashton, up to the first of September of thecurrent year.
"This is all mine, Mr. Ashton?"
"Of course--what do you mean by axin' that?"
"Nothing; good-day."
"Good-day," grunted the miser, turning his back, as a hint for him toleave--a hint which Bush did not need, for he was in a tumult ofexcitement.
"That is the queerest thing that ever happened," he said to himselfwhen he reached the public highway, and began hurrying along
the roadin the direction of Newark. "If he had paid me my full wages I wouldhave told him, but all these are mine, and I shall sell them; won'tProfessor Hartranft be delighted, but not half as much as mother and Iwill be."
That evening Mr. Ashton and his wife had just finished their supperwhen Professor Hartranft, a pleasant, refined-looking gentleman,knocked at their door.
"I wish to inquire," said he, after courteously saluting the couple,"whether you have any old coins in the house."
"No," was the surly response of the farmer, "we don't keep 'em."
"But you _had_ quite a collection."
"I had 'leven dollars and seventy-five cents' worth, but I paid 'em outthis mornin'."
"To a boy named Bushrod Wyckoff?"
"Yas."
"They were given to him unreservedly?--that is, you renounce all claimupon them?"
"What the blazes ar' you drivin' at?" demanded the angry farmer. "Iowed him 'leven dollars and seventy-five cents for wages, and I paidhim purcisely that amount, and have his receipt in full. I'd like toknow what business it is of yours anyway."
Now came the professor's triumph.
"Young Wyckoff called at my office this afternoon, and I bought anumber of the coins from him."
"What!" exclaimed the amazed farmer, "you didn't pay him nothin' extrafor that rusty old money, did you? You must be crazy."
"I did, and shall make a handsome thing of it. For instance, among thecoins which you gave him was a copper penny, with a liberty cap, of1793; I paid Bush three dollars for that; I gave him twenty-fivedollars for a half dime coined in 1802; twenty dollars for a quarterdollar of 1827; the same sum for a half dollar, fillet head, of 1796;and, what caps all, five hundred dollars for a silver dollar of 1804.There are only five or six of the latter in existence, and I shall sellthis specimen for at least eight hundred dollars. Mr. Ashton,sometimes a mean man overreaches himself, and it looks as though youhad made a mistake. I bid you good-day, sir."
The numismatist spoke the truth; and when the miserly old farmerrealized how completely he had turned the tables on himself, it isenough to say that his feelings may be "better imagined than described."
The Jungle Fugitives: A Tale of Life and Adventure in India Page 37