Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Joe the Hotel Boy; Or, Winning out by Pluck by Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger (best book series to read .txt) 📖
- Author: Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Joe the Hotel Boy; Or, Winning out by Pluck by Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger (best book series to read .txt) 📖». Author Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger
The office building was a large one, running from one street to the next. On the street in the rear was a bookstore, the proprietor of which had advertised for a clerk.
Joe had applied for the position and was waiting for the proprietor to address him when, on chancing to look up, he saw Henry Davis rush past as if in a tremendous hurry.
“Hullo, that's the fellow who was with the old farmer,” he told himself.
“What can I do for you, young man?” asked the proprietor of the bookshop, approaching at that instant.
“I believe you wish a clerk,” answered our hero.
“Have you had experience in this line?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you won't do. I must have someone who is experienced.”
“I am willing to learn.”
“It won't do. I want an experienced clerk or none at all,” was the sharp answer.
Leaving the bookstore, Joe stood out on the sidewalk for a moment and then walked around the corner.
A moment later he caught sight of Josiah Bean, gazing up and down the thoroughfare and acting like one demented.
“What's the matter?” he asked.
“Matter?” bawled the old farmer. “I've been took in! Robbed! Swindled! Oh, wot will Mirandy say!”
“Who robbed you?”
“Thet Mr. Davis I reckon! He counted the money last, an' now it's gone!”
“I saw Mr. Davis a minute ago.”
“Where?”
“Around the corner, walking as fast as he could.”
“He's got my money! Oh, I must catch him!”
“I'll help you,” answered Joe, with vigor. “I thought he looked like a slick one,” he added.
He led the way and Josiah Bean came behind. The old farmer looked as if he was ready to drop with fright. The thought of losing his wife's money was truly horrifying.
“Mirandy won't never forgive me!” he groaned. “Oh, say, boy, we've got to catch that rascal!”
“If we can,” added our hero.
He had noted the direction taken by the swindler, and now ran across the street and into a side thoroughfare leading to where a new building was being put up.
Here, from a workman, he learned that the sharper had boarded a street car going south. He hailed the next car and both he and the old farmer got aboard.
“This ain't much use,” said Josiah Bean, with quivering lips. “We dunno how far he took himself to.”
“Let us trust to luck to meet him,” said Joe.
They rode for a distance of a dozen blocks and then the car came to a halt, for there was a blockade ahead.
“We may as well get off,” said our hero. “He may be in one of the forward cars.”
They alighted and walked on, past half a dozen cars. Then our hero gave a cry of triumph.
“There he is!” he said, and pointed to the swindler, who stood on a car platform, gazing anxiously ahead.
CHAPTER XVI.
A MATTER OF SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS.
“Say, you, give me my money!”
Such were Josiah Bean's words, as he rushed up to Henry Davis and grabbed the swindler by the shoulder.
The slick-looking individual was thoroughly startled, for he had not dreamed that the countryman would get on his track so soon. He turned and looked at the man and also at Joe, and his face fell.
“Wha—what are you talking about?” he stammered.
“You know well enough what I am talking about,” answered Josiah Bean, wrathfully. “I want my money, every cent o' it,—an' you are a-goin' to jail!”
“Sir, you are making a sad mistake,” said the swindler, slowly. “I know nothing of you or your money.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Make him get off the car,” put in Joe.
“Boy, what have you to do with this?” asked the swindler, turning bitterly to our hero.
“Not much perhaps,” answered Joe. “But I'd like to see justice done.”
“I want that money,” went on the countryman, doggedly. “Come off the car.”
He caught the swindler tighter than ever and made him walk to the sidewalk. By this time a crowd of people began to collect.
“What's the trouble here?” asked one gentleman.
“He's robbed me, that's what's the matter,” answered the countryman. “He has got six hundred dollars o' mine!”
“Six hundred dollars!” cried several and began to take a deeper interest.
“Gentleman this man must be crazy. I never saw him before,” came loudly from the swindler.
“That is not true!” cried Joe. “He was with the man who lost the money. I saw them together yesterday.”
“I am a respectable merchant from Pittsburg,” went on the swindler. “It is outrageous to be accused in this fashion.”
“Somebody had better call a policeman,” said Joe.
“I'll do dat,” answered a newsboy, and ran off to execute the errand.
As the crowd began to collect the swindler saw that he was going to have difficulty in clearing himself or getting away. He looked around, and seeing an opening made a dash for it.
He might have gotten away had it not been for Joe. But our hero was watching him with the eyes of a hawk, and quick as a flash he caught the rascal by the coat sleeve.
“No, you don't!” he exclaimed. “Come back here!”
“Let go!” cried the man and hit Joe in the ear. But the blow did not stop Joe from detaining him and in a second more Josiah Bean caught hold also.
“Ain't goin' to git away nohow!” exclaimed the countryman, and took hold of the swindler's throat.
“Le—let go!” came back in a gasp. “Don't—don't strangle me!”
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