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. Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp by Jr. Horatio Alger (book club reads .TXT) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp by Jr. Horatio Alger (book club reads .TXT) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“I leave it to your conscience, Squire Haynes, whether his charges are not deserved. I do not like to think ill of any man, but your course is very suspicious.”
“Madam,” said Squire Haynes, now thoroughly enraged, “you are a woman, and can say what you please; but as for this young rascal, I'll beat him within an inch of his life if I ever catch him out of your presence.”
“He is under the protection of the laws,” said Mrs. Frost composedly, “which you, being a lawyer, ought to understand.”
“I'll have no mercy on you. I'll sell you up root and branch,” said Squire Haynes, trembling with passion, and smiting the floor with his cane.
“At all events the house is ours to-day,” returned Mrs. Frost, with dignity, “and I must request you to leave us in quiet possession of it.”
The squire left the house in undignified haste, muttering threats as he went.
“Good, mother!” exclaimed Frank admiringly. “You turned him out capitally. But,” he added, an expression of dismay stealing over his face, “what shall we do?”
“We must try to obtain a loan,” said Mrs. Frost, “I will go and see Mr. Sanger, while you go to Mr. Perry. Possibly they may help us. There is no time to be lost.”
An hour afterward Frank and his mother returned, both disappointed. Mr. Sanger and Mr. Perry both had the will to help but not the ability. There seemed no hope left save in Mr. Morton. At six o'clock the stage rolled up to the gate.
“Thank Heaven! Mr. Morton has come!” exclaimed Frank eagerly.
Mr. Morton got out of the stage, and with him a feeble old man, or such he seemed, whom the young man assisted to alight. They came up the gravel walk together.
“How do you do, Frank?” he said, with a cheerful smile.
“We are in trouble,” said Frank. “Squire Haynes is going to foreclose the mortgage to-morrow.”
“Never mind!” said Mr. Morton. “We will be ready for him. He can't do either of us any more mischief, Frank. His race is about run.”
A heavy weight seemed lifted from Frank's heart. For the rest of the day he was in wild spirits. He asked no questions of Mr. Morton. He felt a firm confidence that all would turn out for the best.
CHAPTER XXXII. TURNING THE TABLES
The next morning Mr. Morton made inquiries of Frank respecting the mortgage. Frank explained that a loan of four hundred dollars would enable him to cancel it.
“That is very easily arranged, then,” said Henry Morton.
He opened his pocketbook and drew out four crisp new United States notes, of one hundred dollars each.
“There, Frank,” said he; “that will loosen the hold Squire Haynes has upon you. I fancy he will find it a little more difficult to extricate himself from my grasp.”
“How can I ever thank you, Mr. Morton?” said Frank, with emotion.
“It gives me great pleasure to have it in my power to be of service to you, Frank,” said his friend kindly.
“We will have a mortgage made out to you,” continued Frank.
“Not without my consent, I hope,” said Mr. Morton, smiling.
Frank looked puzzled.
“No, Frank,” resumed Mr. Morton, “I don't care for any security. You may give me a simple acknowledgment of indebtedness, and then pay me at your leisure.”
Frank felt with Justice that Mr. Morton was acting very generously, and he was more than ever drawn to him.
So passed the earlier hours of the forenoon.
About eleven o'clock Squire Haynes was observed approaching the house. His step was firm and elastic, as if he rejoiced in the errand he was upon. Again he lifted the knocker, and sounded a noisy summons. It was in reality a summons to surrender.
The door was opened again by Mrs. Frost, who invited the squire to enter. He did so, wondering at her apparent composure.
“They can't have raised the money,” thought he apprehensively. “No, I am sure the notice was too short.”
Frank was in the room, but Squire Haynes did not deign to notice him, nor did Frank choose to make advances. Mrs. Frost spoke upon indifferent subjects, being determined to force Squire Haynes to broach himself the business that had brought him to the farm.
Finally, clearing his throat, he said: “Well, madam, are you prepared to cancel the mortgage which I hold upon your husband's farm?”
“I hope,” said Mrs. Frost, “you will give us time. It is hardly possible to obtain so large a sum in twenty-four hours.”
“They haven't got it,” thought the squire exultingly.
“As to that,” he said aloud, “you've had several years to get ready in.”
“Have you no consideration? Remember my husband's absence, and I am unacquainted with business.”
“I have already told you,” said the squire hastily, “that I require the money. I have a note to pay, and——”
“Can you give us a week?”
“No, I must have the money at once.”
“And if we cannot pay?”
“I must foreclose.”
“Will that give you the money any sooner? I suppose you would have to advertise the farm for sale before you could realize anything, and I hardly think that car be accomplished sooner than a week hence.”
“The delay is only a subterfuge on your part,” said the squire hotly. “You would be no better prepared at the end of a week than you are now.”
“No, perhaps not,” said Mrs. Frost quietly.
“And yet you ask me to wait,” said the squire indignantly. “Once for all, let me tell you that all entreaties are vain. My mind is made up to foreclose, and foreclose I will.”
“Don't be too sure of that,” interrupted Frank, with a triumphant smile.
“Ha, young impudence!” exclaimed the squire, wheeling round. “Who's to prevent me, I should like to know?”
“I am,” said Frank boldly.
The squire fingered his cane nervously. He was very strongly tempted to lay it on our hero's back. But he reflected that the power was in his hands, and that he was sure
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