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. Helping Himself; Or, Grant Thornton's Ambition by Jr. Horatio Alger (e books free to read .txt) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Helping Himself; Or, Grant Thornton's Ambition by Jr. Horatio Alger (e books free to read .txt) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“Now, dear papa, if you will send me money enough to pay for railroad tickets, Abner and I will start just as soon as we get it. I don't know as he ought to run away from home, but he says his father and mother don't care for him, and I don't believe they do. His father doesn't care for anything but whisky, and his mother is scolding him all the time. I don't think she would do that if she cared much for him, do you?
“I have filled the paper, and must stop. Be sure to send the money to your loving son,
“HERBERT REYNOLDS.”
“How easy you write!” said Abner, in wonder, as he saw Herbert's letter growing long before his eyes. “It would take me a week to write as long a letter as that, and then I couldn't do it.”
“I can't write so easy generally,” said the little boy, “but, you see, I have a good deal to write about.”
“Then there's another thing,” said Abner. “I shouldn't know how to spell so many words. You must be an awful good scholar.”
“I always liked to study,” said Herbert. “Don't you like to read and study?”
“No; I'd rather play ball or go fishin', wouldn't you?”
“I like to play part of the time, but I wouldn't like to grow up ignorant.”
“I expect I'll always be a know-nothin', but I reckon I know as much as dad. The old man's awful ignorant. He don't care for nothin' but whisky.”
“And I hope you won't be like him in that, Abner.”
“No, I won't. I wouldn't like to have the boys flingin' stones at me, as they did at dad once when he was tight. I licked a couple of 'em.”
Mrs. Estabrook read Herbert's letter with intense interest. She saw that the little boy's testimony would seriously incriminate Willis Ford, if he were recovered, as he would be if this letter came into his father's hands.
“There's only one thing to do,” the housekeeper reflected, closing her thin lips tightly.
She lit the gas jet in her chamber, and, without a trace of compunction, held the letter in the flame until it was thoroughly consumed.
CHAPTER XXXII — HOPE DEFERRED
Day after day Herbert and Abner went to the post office and inquired for letters, but alas! none came. Poor Herbert was in despair. He thought his father would have instantly sent the money, or come out himself to take him home. Was it possible his father had forgotten him, or was indifferent to his absence? He could not believe it, but what was he to think?
“I reckon your father didn't get the letter,” suggested Abner.
Herbert hailed this suggestion with relief.
“Or, maybe, marm has told the postmaster to give her any letters that come.”
This suggestion, too, seemed not improbable.
“What can we do?” asked Herbert, helplessly. “I reckon we'd better run away.”
“Without money?”
“We'll hire out to somebody for a week or two and write from where we are.”
“I'm afraid I couldn't do much work,” said the little boy.
“Then I'll work for both,” said Abner, stoutly. “I've got tired of stayin' at home, anyway.”
“I'll do whatever you say,” said Herbert, feeling that any change would be for the better.
“I'll tell you when I'm ready,” said Abner. “We'll start some time when marm's gone to the village.”
There was another reason for Herbert's being dissatisfied with his new home. A month had passed—the full time for which Willis Ford had paid the boy's board—and there were no indications that any more was to be paid. During the the first week the fare had been tolerable, though Mrs. Barton was not a skillful cook; but now there was no money left, and the family fell back upon what their limited resources could supply. Mush and milk now constituted their principal diet. It is well enough occasionally, but, when furnished at every meal, both Herbert and Abner became tired of it.
“Haven't you got anything else for dinner, marm?” asked Abner, discontentedly.
“No, I haven't,” answered the mother, snappishly.
“You used to have sassiges and bacon.”
“That was when I had money to buy 'em.”
“Where's all that money gone the man left with him?” indicating Herbert.
“It's spent, and I wish Willis Ford would send along some more mighty quick. He needn't expect me to take a free boarder.”
She looked severely at Herbert, as if he were in fault. Certainly the poor boy had no desire to live on the liberality of Mrs. Barton.
“Maybe he's sent you some money in a letter,” suggested Abner.
“Well, I never thought of that. It's a bright idee, ef it did come from you, Abner Barton. Jest go up to the postoffice after dinner, and ask if there's any letter for me. Ef there is, mind you, don't open it.”
“All right, marm.”
“Come along, bub,” said Abner.
This was the name he gave to Herbert, whom he liked in his own rough way.
“I don't think,” said Herbert, as they walked along, “that your mother can have got any letter written by my father. If she had, she would not be out of money.”
“I reckon you're right. Do you think that Ford feller will send money for your board?”
“I think he will, if he can, for he wants to keep me here; but I don't think he has much money with him.”
“All the worse for marm.”
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