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- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience by Jr. Horatio Alger (golden son ebook TXT) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
During the meal Miss Norris questioned Carl closely as to his home experiences. Having no reason for concealment Carl frankly related his troubles with his stepmother, eliciting expressions of sympathy and approval from his hostess.
“Your stepmother must be an ugly creature?” she said.
“I am afraid I am prejudiced against her,” said Carl, “but that is my opinion.”
“Your father must be very weak to be influenced against his own son by such a woman.”
Carl winced a little at this outspoken criticism, for he was attached to his father in spite of his unjust treatment.
“My father is an invalid,” he said, apologetically, “and I think he yielded for the sake of peace.”
“All the same, he ought not to do it,” said Miss Norris. “Do you ever expect to live at home again?”
“Not while my stepmother is there,” answered Carl. “But I don’t know that I should care to do so under any circumstances, as I am now receiving a business training. I should like to make a little visit home,” he added, thoughtfully, “and perhaps I may do so after I return from Chicago. I shall have no favors to ask, and shall feel independent.”
“If you ever need a home,” said Miss Norris, abruptly, “come here. You will be welcome.”
“Thank you very much,” said Carl, gratefully. “It is all the more kind in you since you have known me so short a time.”
“I have known you long enough to judge of you,” said the maiden lady. “And now if you won’t have anything more we will go into the next room and talk business.”
Carl followed her into the adjoining room, and Miss Norris at once plunged into the subject. She handed him a business card bearing this inscription:
JOHN FRENCH, BOOTS, SHOES AND RUBBER GOODS, 42a State Street, CHICAGO.
“This young man wants me to lend him two thousand dollars to extend his business,” she said. “He is the son of an old school friend, and I am willing to oblige him if he is a sober, steady and economical business man. I want you to find out whether this is the case and report to me.”
“Won’t that be difficult?” asked Carl.
“Are you afraid to undertake anything that is difficult?”
“No,” answered Carl, with a smile. “I was only afraid I might not do the work satisfactorily.”
“I shall give you no instructions,” said Miss Norris. “I shall trust to your good judgment. I will give you a letter to Mr. French, which you can use or not, as you think wise. Of course, I shall see that you are paid for your trouble.”
“Thank you,” said Carl. “I hope my services may be worth compensation.”
“I don’t know how you are situated as to money, but I can give you some in advance,” and the old lady opened her pocketbook.
“No, thank you, Miss Norris; I shall not need it. I might have been short if you had not kindly paid me a reward for a slight service.”
“Slight, indeed! If you had lost a bank book like mine you would be glad to get it back at such a price. If you will catch the rascal who stole it I will gladly pay you as much more.”
“I wish I might for my own sake, but I am afraid it would be too late to recover my money and clothing.”
At an early hour Carl left the house, promising to write to Miss Norris from Chicago.
CHAPTER XXXII. A STARTLING DISCOVERY.
“Well,” thought Carl, as he left the house where he had been so hospitably entertained, “I shall not lack for business. Miss Norris seems to have a great deal of confidence in me, considering that I am a stranger. I will take care that she does not repent it.”
“Can you give a poor man enough money to buy a cheap meal?” asked a plaintive voice.
Carl scanned the applicant for charity closely. He was a man of medium size, with a pair of small eyes, and a turnup nose. His dress was extremely shabby, and he had the appearance of one who was on bad terms with fortune. There was nothing striking about his appearance, yet Carl regarded him with surprise and wonder. Despite the difference in age, he bore a remarkable resemblance to his stepbrother, Peter Cook.
“I haven’t eaten anything for twenty-four hours,” continued the tramp, as he may properly be called. “It’s a hard world to such as me, boy.”
“I should judge so from your looks,” answered Carl.
“Indeed you are right. I was born to ill luck.”
Carl had some doubts about this. Those who represent themselves as born to ill luck can usually trace the ill luck to errors or shortcomings of their own. There are doubtless inequalities of fortune, but not as great as many like to represent. Of two boys who start alike one may succeed, and the other fail, but in nine cases out of ten the success or failure may be traced to a difference in the qualities of the boys.
“Here is a quarter if that will do you any good,” said Carl.
The man clutched at it with avidity.
“Thank you. This will buy me a cup of coffee and a plate of meat, and will put new life into me.”
He was about to hurry away, but Carl felt like questioning him further. The extraordinary resemblance between this man and his stepbrother led him to think it possible that there might be a relationship between them. Of his stepmother’s family he knew little or nothing. His father had married her on short acquaintance, and she was very reticent about her former life. His father was indolent, and had not troubled himself to make inquiries. He took her on her own representation as the widow of a merchant who had failed in business.
On the impulse of the moment—an impulse which he could not explain—Carl asked abruptly—“Is your name Cook?”
A look of surprise, almost of stupefaction, appeared
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