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HERBERT CARTER’S LEGACY
Or The Inventor’s Son
By Horatio Alger, Jr.
AUTHOR OF “Strong and Steady,” “Strive and Succeed,” “Try and Trust,” “Bound To Rise,” Etc.
NEW YORK
BIOGRAPHY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY
Horatio Alger, Jr., an author who lived among and for boys and himselfremained a boy in heart and association till death, was born at Revere,Mass., January 13, 1834. He was the son of a clergyman; was graduatedat Harvard College in 1852, and at its Divinity School in 1860; and waspastor of the Unitarian Church at Brewster, Mass., in 1862-66.
In the latter year he settled in New York and began drawing publicattention to the condition and needs of street boys. He mingled withthem, gained their confidence, showed a personal concern in theiraffairs, and stimulated them to honest and useful living. With his firststory he won the hearts of all red-blooded boys everywhere, and of theseventy or more that followed over a million copies were sold during theauthor’s lifetime.
In his later life he was in appearance a short, stout, bald-headed man,with cordial manners and whimsical views of things that amused all whomet him. He died at Natick, Mass., July 18, 1899.
Mr. Alger’s stories are as popular now as when first published, becausethey treat of real live boys who were always up and about--just likethe boys found everywhere to-day. They are pure in tone and inspiringin influence, and many reforms in the juvenile life of New York may betraced to them. Among the best known are:
Strong and Steady; Strive and Succeed; Try and Trust; Bound to Rise;Risen from the Ranks; Herbert Carter’s Legacy; Brave and Bold; Jack’sWard; Shifting for Himself; Wait and Hope; Paul the Peddler; Philthe Fiddler; Slow and Sure; Julius the Street Boy; Tom the Bootblack;Struggling Upward; Facing the World; The Cash Boy; Making His Way; Tonythe Tramp; Joe’s Luck; Do and Dare; Only an Irish Boy; Sink or Swim;A Cousin’s Conspiracy; Andy Gordon; Bob Burton; Harry Vane; Hector’sInheritance; Mark Mason’s Triumph; Sam’s Chance; The Telegraph Boy; TheYoung Adventurer; The Young Outlaw; The Young Salesman, and Luke Walton.
{Illustration: It is practical. I will pay one thousand dollars a yearfor ten years for a half interest in the invention.}
CHAPTER I
MRS. CARTER RECEIVES A LETTER
“Is that the latest style?” inquired James Leech, with a sneer, pointingto a patch on the knee of Herbert Carter’s pants.
Herbert’s face flushed. He was not ashamed of the patch, for he knewthat his mother’s poverty made it a necessity. But he felt that it wasmean and dishonorable in James Leech, whose father was one of the richmen of Wrayburn, to taunt him with what he could not help. Some boysmight have slunk away abashed, but Herbert had pluck and stood hisground.
“It is my style,” he answered, firmly, looking James boldly in the face.
“I admire your taste, then,” returned James, with a smooth sneer.
“Then, you had better imitate it,” retorted Herbert.
“Thank you,” said James, in the same insulting tone. “Would you lend meyour pants for a pattern? Excuse me, though; perhaps you have no otherpair.”
“For shame, James!” exclaimed one or two boys who had listened to thecolloquy, stirred to indignation by this heartless insult on the part ofJames Leech to a boy who was deservedly a favorite with them all.
Herbert’s fist involuntarily doubled, and James, though he did not knowit, ran a narrow chance of getting a good whipping. But our young herocontrolled himself, not without some difficulty, and said: “I have oneother pair, and these are at your service whenever you require them.”
Then turning to the other boys, he said, in a changed tone: “Who’s infor a game of ball?”
“I,” said one, promptly.
“And I,” said another.
Herbert walked away, accompanied by the other boys, leaving James Leechalone.
James looked after him with a scowl. He was sharp enough to see thatHerbert, in spite of his patched pants, was a better scholar and agreater favorite than himself. He had intended to humiliate him on thepresent occasion, but he was forced to acknowledge that he had come offsecond best from the encounter. He walked moodily away, and took whatcomfort he could in the thought that he was far superior to a boy whoowned but two pairs of pants, and one of them patched. He was foolishenough to feel that a boy or man derived importance from the extent ofhis wardrobe; and exulted in the personal possession of eight pairs ofpants.
This scene occurred at recess. After school was over, Herbert walkedhome. He was a little thoughtful. There was no disgrace in a patch,as he was sensible enough to be aware. Still, he would have a littlepreferred not to wear one. That was only natural. In that point, Isuppose, my readers will fully agree with him. But he knew very wellthat his mother, who had been left a widow, had hard work enough to getalong as it was, and he had no idea of troubling her on the subject.Besides, he had a better suit for Sundays, neat though plain, and hefelt that he ought not to be disturbed by James Leech’s insolence.
So thinking, he neared the small house which he called home. It was asmall cottage, with something less than an acre of land attached,enough upon which to raise a few vegetables. It belonged to his mother,nominally, but was mortgaged for half its value to Squire Leech, thefather of James. The amount of the mortgage, precisely, was sevenhundred and fifty dollars. It had cost his father fifteen hundred. Whenhe built it, obtaining half this sum on mortgage, he hoped to pay it upby degrees; but it turned out that, from sickness and other causes, thisproved impossible. When, five months before, he had died suddenly, thehouse, which was all he left, was subject to this incumbrance. Uponthis, interest was payable semi-annually at the rate of six per cent.Forty-five dollars a year is not a large sum, but it seemed verylarge to Mrs. Carter, when added to their necessary expenses for food,clothing and fuel. How it was to be paid she did not exactly see. Thesame problem had perplexed Herbert, who, like a good son as he was,shared his mother’s cares and tried to lighten them. But in a smallvillage like Wrayburn there are not many ways of getting money, at anyrate for a boy. There were no manufactories, as in some large villages,and money was a scarce commodity.
Herbert had, however, one source of income. Half a dozen families,living at some distance from the post office, employed him to bringany letters or papers that might come for them, and for this service hereceived a regular tariff of two cents for each letter, and one cent foreach paper. He was not likely to grow rich on this income, but he feltthat, though small, it was welcome.
According to custom, Herbert called at the post office on his way home.He found a letter for Deacon Crossleigh, one for Mr. Duncan, two for Dr.Waffit, and papers for each of the two former.
“Ten cents!” he thought with satisfaction. “Well, that is better thannothing, though it won’t buy me a new pair of pants.”
He was about to leave the office, when the postmaster called after him:“Wait a minute, Herbert; I believe there’s a letter for your mother.”
Herbert returned, and received a letter bearing the followingsuperscription: “Mrs. Almira Carter, Wrayburn, New York.”
“I hope it isn’t bad news,” said the postmaster. “I see it’s edged withblack.”
“I can’t make out where it’s from,” said Herbert, scanning the postmarkcritically.
“Nor I,” said the postmaster, rubbing his glasses, and taking anotherlook. “The postmark is very indistinct.”
“There’s an n and a p,” said Herbert, after a little examination. “Ithink it must be Randolph.”
“Randolph? So it is, I declare. Have you got any friends or relativesliving there?”
“Yes, my mother’s Uncle Herbert, for whom I was named, lives there.”
“Then he must be dead.”
“What makes you think so?”
“The envelope is edged with black. You had better carry it home beforeyou go round with the others.”
“Perhaps I had,” said Herbert. “I’ll run, so as not to keep the otherswaiting. Deacon Crossleigh is always in a hurry for his paper.”
“Yes, the deacon’s always in a fidget to know what’s going on,particularly when Congress is in session. He takes a wonderful interestin politics.”
Herbert ran up the street with a quick step, pausing a minute at hishumble home.
“You are out of breath, Herbert. Have you been running?”
“Yes, I’ve got a letter for you, and I wanted to bring it before I wentround with the rest.”
“A letter! Where from?” asked the widow, with curiosity, for she heldvery little intercourse with the world outside of Wrayburn.
“It’s postmarked Randolph, as well as I can make out. While you arereading it, I’ll run and leave my letters, and be back to hear thenews.”
In a hurry to do all his errands and get back, Herbert ran all the way.While his eyes were fixed on one of the envelopes, he ran full againstJames Leech, who was walking up the street with a pompous air.
In the encounter James’s hat came off, and he was nearly thrown down.
“What made you run into me?” he demanded, wrath-fully.
“Excuse me, James,” said Herbert, recovering himself.
“You did it on purpose,” said his enemy, glaring at him angrily.
“That isn’t very likely,” said Herbert. “I got hit as hard as you did.”
“Your hat didn’t get knocked off. Pick it up,” said James, imperiously,pointing to it as it lay in the path.
“I will, because it is by my fault that it fell,” said Herbert, stoopingover and picking it up. “You needn’t have ordered me to do it.”
“The next time take care how you run against a gentleman,” said James,arrogantly.
“Take care the next time to speak like a gentleman.” said Herbert. “Goodnight! I must be off.”
“Insolent beggar!” muttered James. “He don’t know his place. How dare hespeak to me in that way?”