Walter Sherwood's Probation by Jr. Horatio Alger (unputdownable books txt) 📖

Three months passed without any incident worth recording. Professor Robinson's success was variable, but upon the whole he had reason to feel encouraged. He was an excellent salesman, and his balm, though it could not perform all the wonderful cures claimed for it, really had merit, and this helped materially.

So far as Walter was concerned, he found the professor an indulgent and honorable employer, whose word was as good as his bond. Every Saturday night there was a statement of sales for the week, and Walter was paid his commission of ten per cent. Though he was obliged to make some disbursements, the largest being for a suit of clothes, he found himself, at the end of fourteen weeks, possessed of a balance of a hundred dollars. This was a source of great satisfaction to Walter, who had known in Chicago how inconvenient it was to be without money.

One day the professor found himself in a Minnesota village. He had secured a vacant lot on the principal street for the display of his merchandise. He met with rather unusual success, a local celebration having drawn a considerable crowd to the town of Warwick. Walter, after playing on the violin, passed among the crowd with a supply of bottles of balm, while the professor was expatiating in an eloquent manner upon its merits. Among the crowd his attention was drawn to a roughly dressed man, in hunting costume, wearing a sombrero with a broad brim. His face was dark and his expression sinister. His eyes were very black and keen. He looked like a Spaniard, and the thought came to Waiter that he would make an ideal highway-man. He was leaning carelessly against the fence that separated the lot from the street. As Walter approached he moved slightly and accosted him.

“Say, young feller, is it all true that he”—with a jerk of his hand toward the professor—“says about this balm?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Walter, in a business-like tone. “It is a very valuable remedy in all cases of bruise, sprain, rheumatism, headache, and other kindred troubles. Can I sell you a bottle?”

“Well, I don't mind,” and the stranger drew out a silver quarter and tendered it in payment.

“Do you sell much of this stuff?” he asked carelessly.

“Yes, we have large sales.”

“You are making money fast, I reckon?”

“We are doing very well,” answered Walter, cautiously.

“It's an easy life to lead.”

“Not so very easy. We are on the road early and late.”

“Do you stop here overnight?”

“No; I think we will push on to Fremont.”

“You'll get there late.”

“Perhaps so. We shall not commence our sales till to-morrow.

“Why is he so inquisitive?” thought Walter, and as he turned back to scan once more the face of his recent customer he became more and more distrustful of him.

“Does that man live in town?” he inquired of a boy.

“Who? That man leaning against the fence?”

“Yes.”

The boy shook his head.

“I never saw him before,” he said. “I guess he came to the celebration.”

When the sale was over Walter and the professor went to the hotel for supper. Walter caught sight of the mysterious stranger in the barroom, and could not avoid seeing that he himself was an object of attention. Why this should be he did not understand. If only he were a mind-reader and could interpret the man's thoughts it would have relieved his anxiety, for in spite of himself he was becoming anxious and apprehensive, though he could not explain why.

At supper the stranger sat opposite him. He ate heartily and with great rapidity, yet found time to glance repeatedly at Walter and his employer, as if he felt an interest in them.

Walter sought the professor after supper and communicated to him his fears.

Professor Robinson shrugged his shoulders.

“Your imagination is running away with you,” he said. “I don't see anything extraordinary about this stranger, except that he is far from good-looking.”

“Don't you think he has a sinister look?”

“He is as homely as the ace of spades, if that is what you mean. Suppose he is. All homely men are not suspicious characters. If they were, how would we be judged?” and the professor laughed in a jolly way.

“You have quite decided to go through to Fremont this evening?”

“Yes; I want to reach Stillman on Saturday—there is to be a county fair there—and to make it in time we must be moving to-night.”

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