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. Try and Trust; Or, Abner Holden's Bound Boy by Jr. Horatio Alger (best romantic novels to read TXT) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Try and Trust; Or, Abner Holden's Bound Boy by Jr. Horatio Alger (best romantic novels to read TXT) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“Yes, sir; you are right.”
“What explanation, then, can you offer? Your case looks bad.”
“The six dollars I saved from my wages, at the rate of two dollars a week. The twenty dollars is a part of the money I was robbed of. I succeeded in recovering forty dollars of it yesterday.”
Here, Herbert related the circumstances already known to the reader.
“A likely story,” said Tom, scornfully.
“Be silent, Thomas,” said Mr. Godfrey. “Your story does not seem probable,” he proceeded, speaking to Herbert.
“It is true, sir,” said our hero, firmly.
“What could he have done with your wallet, however?” said the merchant, turning to Mr. Walton.
“He has been out to the post office since,” said Tom. “He might have thrown it away.”
This unfortunately for Herbert, was true. He had been out, and, of course, could have disposed of the wallet in the way mentioned.
“I don't know what to think, Mr. Walton,” said Mr. Godfrey. “I'm afraid the boy's guilty.”
“I'm afraid so. I don't care so much for the money, if he will give me back the papers.”
“I can't do it, sir,” said Herbert, “for I never had them.”
“What shall we do?”
“The other boy declares that he saw this one take the wallet from the floor, where I probably dropped it. It seems to me that settles the matter.”
“I am afraid it does.”
“Once more, Herbert, will you confess?” asked Mr. Godfrey.
“I can only say, sir, that I am innocent.”
“Mr. Walton, what shall we do?”
“Let the boy go. I will leave it to his honor to return me the papers, and he may keep the money. I think he will make up his mind to do so by tomorrow.”
“You hear, Herbert,” said Mr. Godfrey. “While this matter remains in doubt, you cannot retain your situation.”
“Thank you, Mr. Walton, for your indulgence,” said Herbert; “but I am sorry you think me guilty. The truth will some time appear. I shall TRY to do my duty, and TRUST to God to clear me.”
He took his hat and left the counting-room with a heavy heart, feeling himself in disgrace.
“I had great confidence in that boy, Walton,” said Mr. Godfrey. “Even now, I can hardly believe him guilty.”
CHAPTER XXXI MR. STANTON IS SURPRISED
While the events recorded in the last chapter were taking place in Mr. Godfrey's counting-room another and a different scene took place at the office of Mr. Stanton.
He had just finished reading the morning paper, and, as it slipped from his hand, his thoughts turned, transiently, to the nephew whose persistent failure to claim relationship puzzled him not a little. He was glad not to be called upon for money, of course; still, he felt a little annoyed at Herbert's reticence, especially as it left him unable to decide whether our hero knew of the tie which connected them. It was scarcely possible to suppose that he did not. But in that case, why did he not make some sign? The truth did suggest itself to Mr. Stanton's mind that the boy resented his cold and indifferent letter, and this thought made him feel a little uncomfortable.
While he was thinking over this subject, one of his clerks entered the office.
“A gentleman to see you, Mr. Stanton,” he said, briefly.
Mr. Stanton raised his head, and his glance rested on a tall, vigorous man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, who closely followed the clerk. The stranger's face was brown from exposure, and there was a certain appearance of unconventionality about his movements which seemed to indicate that he was not a dweller in cities or a frequenter of drawing-rooms, but accustomed to make his home in the wilder haunts of nature.
In brief, for there is no occasion for mystery, Mr. Stanton's visitor was Ralph the Ranger, who had assisted Herbert from the clutches of Abner Holden.
Mr. Stanton gazed at the stranger with some curiosity, but was unable to recognize him.
“Have you any business with me?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the visitor, in a voice whose depth carried with it an assurance of strength.
“State it, then, as briefly as possible,” said the merchant, with a little asperity, for there was not as much deference in the manner of the other as he thought there should have been. Like most new men, he was jealous of his position, and solicitous lest he should not be treated with due respect.
“I will do so,” said the stranger, “but as it cannot be summed up in a sentence, I will take the liberty of seating myself.”
As he spoke he sat down in an office chair, which was placed not far from that in which Mr. Stanton was sitting.
“My time is valuable,” said the merchant, coldly. “I cannot listen to a long story.”
As the visitor was plainly, if not roughly, dressed, he suspected that he desired pecuniary assistance on some pretext or other, and that his story was one of misfortune, intended to appeal to his sympathies. Had such been the case, there was very little prospect of help from Mr. Stanton, and that gentleman already enjoyed in anticipation the pleasure of refusing him.
“Don't you know me?” demanded Ralph, abruptly.
Mr. Stanton did not anticipate such a commencement. It had never occurred to him to suppose that his rough visitor was one whom he had ever before met.
“No,” he said, “I never saw you before.”
Ralph smiled a little bitterly.
“So I have passed entirely out of your remembrance, have I?” he said. “Well, it is twelve years since we met.”
“Twelve years,” repeated Mr. Stanton. He scanned the stranger's face with curiosity, but not a glimmer of recollection came to him.
“I dare say I met many persons at that distance of time, whom I cannot remember in the least now, even by name.”
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