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. Hector's Inheritance, Or, the Boys of Smith Institute by Jr. Horatio Alger (romance book recommendations TXT) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Hector's Inheritance, Or, the Boys of Smith Institute by Jr. Horatio Alger (romance book recommendations TXT) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“So you say, Mr. Roscoe.”
“So my brother says in his letter to me.”
“Do you think it probable that, with all this affection for me, he would have left me penniless?” asked the boy.
“No; it was his intention to make a will. By that will he would no doubt have provided for you in a satisfactory manner. But I think my poor brother had a superstitious fear of will making, lest it might hasten death. At any rate, he omitted it till it was too late.”
“It was a cruel omission, if your story is a true one.”
“Your—my brother, did what he could to remedy matters. In his last sickness, when too weak to sign his name, he asked me, as the legal heir of his estate, to see that you were well provided for. He wished me to see your education finished, and I promised to do so. I could see that this promise relieved his mind. Of one thing you may be assured, Hector, he never lost his affection for you.”
“Thank Heaven for that!” murmured the boy, who had been deeply and devotedly attached to the man whom, all his life long, he had looked upon as his father.
“I can only add, Hector,” said Mr. Roscoe, “that I feel for your natural disappointment. It is, indeed, hard to be brought up to regard yourself as the heir of a great estate, and to make the discovery that you have been mistaken.”
“I don’t mind that so much, Mr. Roscoe,” said Hector, slowly. “It is the hardest thing to think of myself as having no claim upon one whom I have loved as a father—to think myself as a boy of unknown parentage. But,” he added, suddenly, “I have it only on your word. Why should I believe it?”
“I will give you conclusive proof, Hector. Read this.”
Allan Roscoe took from his pocket a letter, without an envelope. One glance served to show Hector that it was in the handwriting of his late father, or, at any rate, in a handwriting surprisingly like it.
He began to read it with feverish haste.
The letter need not find a place here. The substance of it had been accurately given by Mr. Allan Roscoe. Apparently, it corroborated his every statement.
The boy looked up from its perusal, his face pale and stricken.
“You see that I have good authority for my statement,” said Mr. Roscoe.
“I can’t understand it,” said Hector, slowly.
“I need only add,” said Mr. Roscoe, apparently relieved by the revelation, “that my brother did not repose confidence in me in vain. I accept, as a sacred charge, the duty he imposed upon me. I shall provide for you and look after your education. I wish to put you in a way to prepare yourself for a useful and honorable career. As a first step, I intend, on Monday next, to place you in an excellent boarding school, where you will have exceptional privileges.”
Hector listened, but his mind was occupied by sad thoughts, and he made no comment.
“I have even selected the school with great care,” said Mr. Roscoe. “It is situated at Smithville, and is under the charge of Socrates Smith, A. M., a learned and distinguished educator. You may go now. I will speak with you on this subject later.”
Hector bowed. After what he had heard, his interest in other matters was but faint.
“I shall be glad to get him out of the house,” thought Allan Roscoe. “I never liked him.”
CHAPTER IV. A SKIRMISH.
Hector walked out of the house in a state of mental bewilderment not easily described. Was he not Hector Roscoe, after all? Had he been all his life under a mistake? If this story were true, who was he, who were his parents, what was his name? Why had the man whom he had supposed to be his father not imparted to him this secret? He had always been kind and indulgent; he had never appeared to regard the boy as an alien in blood, but as a dearly loved son. Yet, if he had, after all, left him unprovided for, he had certainly treated Hector with great cruelty.
“I won’t believe it,” said Hector, to himself.
“I won’t so wrong my dear father’s memory at the bidding of this man, whose interest it is to trump up this story, since he and his son become the owners of a great estate in my place.”
Just then Guy advanced toward Hector with a malicious smile upon his face. He knew very well what a blow poor Hector had received, for he was in his father’s confidence, and he was mean enough, and malicious enough, to rejoice at it.
“What’s the matter with you, Hector?” he asked, with a grin. “You look as if you had lost your last friend.”
Hector stopped short and regarded Guy fixedly.
“Do you know what your father has been saying to me?” he asked.
“Well, I can guess,” answered Guy. “Ho! ho! It’s a great joke that you have all the time fancied yourself the heir of Castle Roscoe, when you have no claim to it at all. I am the heir!” he added, drawing himself up proudly; “and you are a poor dependent, and a nobody. It’s funny!”
“Perhaps you won’t think it so funny after this!” said Hector, coolly, exasperated beyond endurance. As he spoke he drew off, and in an instant Guy measured his length upon the greensward.
Guy rose, his face livid with passion, in a frame of mind far from funny. He clinched his fists and looked at Hector as if he wished to annihilate him. “You’ll pay for this,” he screamed. “You’ll repent it, bitterly, you poor, nameless dependent, low-born, very likely—”
“Hold, there!” said Hector, advancing resolutely, and sternly facing the angry boy. “Be careful what you say. If this story of your father’s is true, which I don’t believe, you might have the decency to let me alone, even if you don’t sympathize with me. If you dare to say or hint anything against my birth, I’ll treat you worse than I have yet.”
“You’ll suffer for this!” almost shrieked Guy.
“I am ready to suffer now, if you are able to make me,” said Hector. “Come on, and we’ll settle it now.”
But Guy had no desire for the contest to which he was invited. He had a wholesome fear of Hector’s strong, muscular arms, aided, as they were, by some knowledge of boxing. Hector had never taken regular lessons, but a private tutor, whom his father had employed, a graduate of Yale, had instructed him in the rudiments of the “manly art of self-defense,” and Hector was very well able to take care of himself against any boy of his
Comments (0)