Helping Himself; Or, Grant Thornton's Ambition by Jr. Horatio Alger (e books free to read .txt) 📖

never shall be happy anywhere's else.”

“Tell me what you fellows do there. I dunno but I'd like to go myself.”

Before Herbert had a chance to answer Mrs. Barton broke in:

“Abner, you take care of Sam while I go to the village.”

“What are you goin' there for, marm?”

“I'm going to buy some sausages for dinner. We haven't got anything in the house.”

“Me and Sam will go, if you'll give us the money.”

“I know you too well, Abner Barton. I won't trust you with the money. Ef I gave you a five-dollar bill, I'd never see any on't back again.”

“Say, mam, you haven't got a five-dollar bill, have you?” asked Abner, with distended eyes.

“Never you mind!”

“I'll tell dad ef you don't give me some.”

“You jest dare to do it!” returned Mrs. Barton, in a menacing tone. “Your father ain't got nothin' to do with it. It's money for Sam's board.”

“My name isn't Sam,” expostulated Herbert, who had a natural preference for his own appellation.

“That's what I'm goin' to call you. You can call yourself George Washington, or General Jackson, ef you want to. Mebbe you're Christopher Columbus.”

“My name is Herbert Reynolds,” said Herbert, annoyed.

“That's what you call yourself to-day. There's no knowin' who you'll be to-morrow.”

“Don't you believe me, Mrs. Barton?” asked Herbert, distressed.

“No, I don't. The man who brung you—I dis-remember his name—”

“Willis Ford.”

“Well, Willis Ford, then! It seems you know his name. Well, he told me you was loony, and thought you was somebody else than your own self.”

“He told you that I was crazy?” ejaculated Herbert.

“Yes; and I have no doubt it's so.”

“It's a wicked lie!” exclaimed Herbert, indignantly; “and I'd like to tell him so to his face.”

“Well, you won't have a chance for some time. But I can't stand here talkin'. I must be goin' to the store. You two behave yourselves while I'm gone!”

Herbert felt so dull and dispirited that he did not care to speak, but Abner's curiosity had been excited about New York, and he plied his young companion with questions, which Herbert answered wearily. Though he responded listlessly, and did not say any more than he felt obliged to, he excited Abner's interest.

“I mean to go to New York some time,” he said. “Is it far?”

“It's as much as a thousand miles. It may be more.”

“Phew! That's a big distance. How did you come?”

“We came in the cars.”

“Did it cost much?”

“I don't know. Mr. Ford paid for the tickets.”

“Has he got plenty of money?”

“I don't think he has. He used to be pa's clerk.”

“I wish we had enough money. You and me would start some fine mornin', and mebbe your father would give me something to do when we got there.”

For the first time Herbert began to feel an interest in the conversation.

“Oh, I wish we could,” he said, fervently. “I know pa would give you a lot of money for bringing me back.”

“Do you really think he would?” asked Abner, briskly.

“I know he would. But your mother wouldn't let us go.”

“She wouldn't know it,” said Abner, winking.

“You wouldn't run away from home?” questioned Herbert.

“Why wouldn't I? What's to keep me here? Marm's always scoldin', and dad gets drunk whenever he has any money to spend for drink. I reckon they wouldn't care much if I made myself scarce.”

Herbert was not sure whether he ought not to feel shocked. He admitted to himself, however, that if he had a father and mother answering the description of Abner's, that he would not so much regret leaving them. At any rate, Abner's words awoke a hope of sometime getting away from the place he already hated, and returning to his city home, now more valued than ever.

“We can't go without money,” he said, in a troubled voice.

“Couldn't we walk?”

“It's too far, and I'm not strong.”

“I could walk it, ef I took time enough,” asserted Abner, positively. “Hello! there's dad!”

Herbert looked up, and, following Abner's glance, saw a man approaching the farmhouse. Mr. Barton—for it was he—was a tall man, shabbily attired, his head crowned with a battered hat, whose gait indicated a little uncertainty, and betrayed some difficulty about the maintenance of his equilibrium.

“Is that your father?” asked Herbert.

“It's the old man, sure enough. He's about half full.”

“What's that?”

“He's been drinkin', as usual; but he didn't drink enough to make him tight. Guess his funds give out.”

Herbert was rather shocked at Abner's want of respect in speaking of his father, but even to him Mr. Barton hardly seemed like a man who could command a son's respect.

“Wonder whether dad met marm on the way?” said Abner, musing.

By this time, Mr. Barton had entered the yard, and caught sight of his son and Herbert.

“Abner,” said he, in a thick voice, “who's that boy?”

“Then he didn't meet marm,” thought Abner. “He's a boy that's goin' to board with us, dad,” he answered.

“You don't say! Glad to make your acquaintance, boy,” he said, straightening up.

“Thank you, sir,” answered Herbert, faintly.