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. Andy Grant's Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger (books to read to get smarter txt) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Andy Grant's Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger (books to read to get smarter txt) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
"On Madison Avenue."
"Madison Avenue? You must be a swell."
Andy smiled.
"If you work hard you may become a swell, too."
When they entered the flat, John stared about him in amazement.
"How can you afford to live in such a fine place?" he said.
"Because a friend bears the greater part of the expense. Now, let me help you undress. We have a spare room, and I will let you occupy it. In the morning I will wake you up for breakfast."
John Crandall was soon fast asleep. A few minutes later Mr. Gale came in.
"We have a visitor to-night," said Andy.
"A friend of yours?"
"He may become so, but thus far he has been anything but that."
Andy told the story of John's attempt to injure him.
"And yet you befriend him?"
"Yes. Wouldn't you?"
Walter Gale smiled.
"Tell me your reasons," he said.
"I have no grudge against him. Besides, if we only benefit those whom we like, there isn't much credit in that."
"Exactly. There isn't much credit in my doing you favors."
"Don't think I am ungrateful, Mr. Gale; I appreciate all you have done for me."
"I understand you, Andy, and I like you better for what you have done. What further plans have you?"
"I should like to get John a place, and give him a chance to redeem himself. He needs a friend badly."
"He shall have one. We will both help him."
When John Crandall awoke the next morning he was himself again. The effects of his intoxication had passed off, and he seemed ashamed of the predicament in which Andy had found him.
"Have you any home, John?" asked Andy.
"No; that is, I have a room, but I spent all the money that was coming to me, and they won't let me stay. I don't know what I shall do," he said, despondently.
"If Mr. Gale and I will find you a new place, will you try to keep it?"
"Yes, I will."
"Then we will stand by you. You can stay here till I come from the office this afternoon, and I will find you a boarding place."
"You are a good fellow, Andy. You are my very best friend."
"I will try to be."
"And I will try to deserve your kindness."
Before the week was out John had a new place on Pearl Street, and was an inmate of the boarding house in Clinton Place, where Andy stayed when he first came to the city.
He really turned over a new leaf, and became a favorite and trusted employee in the Pearl Street store. Andy had saved him.
CHAPTER XXXVI. — SAD FOREBODINGS.
The day which had been so eagerly awaited by Squire Carter dawned at last. The mortgage on Sterling Grant's farm was due, and he intended to foreclose. There was a gentleman from the city who had taken a fancy to the farm and had offered him eight thousand dollars for it. The squire hoped to obtain it by foreclosure at less than five thousand. This would be taking advantage of the farmer; but, as the squire said to himself, complacently, "Business is business!" These words are used as an excuse for a great many mean acts.
At supper time, the evening before, Sterling Grant looked sad and troubled.
"Wife," he said, "I am afraid we shall have to bid good-by to the old farm to-morrow."
"Do you really think the squire will foreclose, Sterling?"
"I know he will. I called on him to-day, and begged and pleaded with him to extend the mortgage another year, but it was all in vain."
"I don't see how people can be so hard-hearted," said Mrs. Grant, indignantly.
"It's the squire's nature. He says that business is business."
"I thought perhaps Andy might do something. He has five hundred dollars, and maybe a little more."
"It would do no good, wife. I hinted that I might be able to pay a part of the mortgage, but the squire wouldn't hear of it. He said the whole or none."
"I am sure Andy would help us if he could."
"I know that, but the mortgage is for three thousand dollars. It is quite beyond his ability to lift."
"I am afraid you are right, Sterling," said his wife, with a sigh. "I thought perhaps Andy would be here by this time."
"It would do no good to come unless he brought the money with him."
"He may come yet by the seven o'clock train."
"We had better not count on that, or we shall only be the more disappointed."
"What shall you do, Sterling, if the squire takes the farm?"
"There will be some money left, but I am afraid not much."
"Isn't the place worth six thousand dollars?"
"Yes but it won't fetch that at a forced sale. The squire told me this afternoon that it wasn't worth more than fifteen hundred dollars over and above the face of the mortgage."
"It would be wicked to sell for that."
"We must be content with what we can get."
After supper the farmer took his hat, and walked slowly and soberly about the farm. He felt that it was his farewell. Till now it had been his. To-morrow it would pass from his possession.
"It is hard," he sighed, "but it can't be helped. At any rate, we won't starve."
There was a small house, with half an acre of land attached on the outskirts of the village, which he could get at a moderate rental. He had inquired about it, and had made up his mind to secure it.
"But it is humble," objected his wife.
"We must not be proud, wife," he said. We can make it look homelike with
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