Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp by Jr. Horatio Alger (book club reads .TXT) 📖

“I'd do it in a minute, Frank, but I hain't got the money by me. What money I have got besides the farm is lent out in notes. Only last week I let my brother-in-law have five hundred dollars, and that leaves me pretty short.”

“Perhaps somebody else will advance the money,” said Frank, feeling a little discouraged at the result of his first application.

“Yes, most likely. But I guess you won't need any assistance. I look upon it as certain that the mortgage will be renewed. Next fall I shall have the money, and if the squire wants to dispose of the mortgage, I shall be ready to take it off his hands.”

Frank tried to feel that he was foolish in apprehending trouble from Squire Haynes, but he found it impossible to rid himself of a vague feeling of uneasiness.

He made application to another farmer—an intimate friend of his father's—but he had just purchased and paid for a five-acre lot adjoining his farm, and that had stripped him of money. He, too, bade Frank lay aside all anxiety, and assured him that his fears were groundless.

With this Frank had to be content.

“Perhaps I am foolish,” he said to himself. “I'll try to think no more about it.”

He accordingly returned to his usual work, and, not wishing to trouble his mother to no purpose, resolved not to impart his fears to her. Another ground of relief suggested itself to him. Mr. Morton would probably be back on the 27th of June. Such, at least, was his anticipation when he went away. There was reason to believe that he would be both ready and willing to take up the mortgage, if needful. This thought brought back Frank's cheerfulness.

It was somewhat dashed by the following letter which he received a day or two later from his absent friend. It was dated New York, June 25, 1863. As will appear from its tenor, it prepared Frank for a further delay in Mr. Morton's arrival.

“DEAR FRANK: I shall not be with you quite as soon as I intended. I hope, however, to return a day or two afterward at latest. My business is going on well, and I am assured of final success. Will you ask your mother if she can accommodate an acquaintance of mine for a day or two? I shall bring him with me from New York, and shall feel indebted for the accommodation.

“Your true friend,

“HENRY MORTON.”

Frank understood at once that the acquaintance referred to must be the clerk, whose evidence was so important to Mr. Morton's case. Being enjoined to secrecy, however, he, of course, felt that he was not at liberty to mention this.

One day succeeded another until at length the morning of the thirtieth of June dawned. Mr. Morton had not yet arrived; but, on the other hand, nothing had been heard from Squire Haynes.

Frank began to breathe more freely. He persuaded himself that he had been foolishly apprehensive. “The squire means to renew the mortgage,” he said to himself hopefully.

He had a talk with his mother, and she agreed that it would be well to pay the four hundred dollars they could spare, and have a new mortgage made out for the balance. Frank accordingly rode over to Brandon in the forenoon, and withdrew from the bank the entire sum there deposited to his father's credit. This, with money which had been received from Mr. Morton in payment of his board, made up the requisite amount.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, as Mrs. Frost was sewing at a front window, she exclaimed to Frank, who was making a kite for his little brother Charlie, “Frank, there's Squire Haynes coming up the road.”

Frank's heart gave an anxious bound.

“Is he coming here?” he asked, with anxiety.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Frost, after a moment's pause. Frank turned pale with apprehension.

A moment afterward the huge knocker was heard to sound, and Mrs. Frost, putting down her work, smoothed her apron and went to the door.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Frost,” said the squire, lifting his hat.

“Good afternoon, Squire Haynes. Won't you walk in?”

“Thank you; I will intrude for a few minutes. How do you do?” he said, nodding to Frank as he entered.

“Pretty well, thank you, sir,” said Frank nervously.

The squire, knowing the odium which would attach to the course he had settled upon, resolved to show the utmost politeness to the family he was about to injure, and justify his action by the plea of necessity.

“Take a seat, Squire Haynes,” said Mrs. Frost “You'll find this rocking-chair more comfortable.'

“I am very well seated, thank you. I cannot stop long. I have merely called on a matter of business.”

“About the mortgage?” interrupted Frank, who could keep silence no longer.

“Precisely so. I regret to say that I have urgent occasion for the money, and shall be unable to renew it.”

“We have got four hundred dollars,” said Mrs. Frost, “which we are intending to pay.”

“I am sorry to say that this will not answer my purpose.”

“Why did you not let us know before?” asked Frank abruptly.

“Frank!” said his mother reprovingly.

“It was only this morning that the necessity arose. I have a note due which must be paid.”

“We are not provided with the money, Squire Haynes,” said Mrs. Frost. “if, however, you will wait a few days, we can probably raise it among our friends.”

“I regret to say that this will not do,” said the squire, “I would gladly postpone the matter. The investment has been satisfactory to me, but necessity knows no law.”

Frank was about to burst out with some indignant exclamation, but his mother, checking him, said: “I think there is little chance of our being able to pay you to-morrow. May I inquire what course you propose to take?”

“It will be my painful duty to foreclose the mortgage.”

“Squire Haynes,” said Frank boldly, “haven't you intended to foreclose the mortgage all along? Hadn't you decided about it when I called upon you ten days ago?”

“What do you mean by your impertinence, sir?” demanded the squire, giving vent to his anger.

“Just what I say. I believe you bear a grudge against my father, and only put me off the other day in order to prevent my being able to meet your demands to-morrow. What do you suppose we can do in less than twenty-four hours?”

“Madam!” said the squire, purple with rage, “do you permit your son to