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MAKING HIS WAY
_or_
Frank Courtney's Struggle Upward
By HORATIO ALGER, Jr.
Whitman Publishing Co.RACINE, WISCONSINPRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TABLE OF CONTENTS
I. Two School FriendsII. The TelegramIII. Frank's BereavementIV. Mrs. Manning's WillV. DisinheritedVI. An Unsatisfactory InterviewVII. A School FriendVIII. A New PlanIX. The New Owner of AjaxX. Mark Yields to TemptationXI. Mark Gets into TroubleXII. SuspendedXIII. Mr. Manning's New PlanXIV. Good-byeXV. Erastus Tarbox of NewarkXVI. An Unpleasant DiscoveryXVII. The Way of the WorldXVIII. Frank Arrives in New YorkXIX. Frank Seeks Employment in VainXX. An Adventure in Wall StreetXXI. The CaptureXXII. The Young Tea MerchantXXIII. Frank Meets Mr. Manning and MarkXXIV. A Discouraging DayXXV. PerplexityXXVI. Frank Hears Something to His AdvantageXXVII. An Incident in a Street CarXXVIII. Frank Makes an Evening CallXXIX. Frank Is Offered a PositionXXX. Frank as Private SecretaryXXXI. A Letter from Mr. TarboxXXXII. Mr. Percival's ProposalXXXIII. Preparing for a JourneyXXXIV. Frank Reaches JacksonXXXV. Dick HamlinXXXVI. Mr. Fairfield, the AgentXXXVII. Frank Receives a Letter from Mr. PercivalXXXVIII. The Agent Is NotifiedXXXIX. An Important DiscoveryXL. Jonas BartonXLI. Conclusion
MAKING HIS WAY
CHAPTER I
TWO SCHOOL FRIENDS
Two boys were walking in the campus of the Bridgeville Academy. Theywere apparently of about the same age--somewhere from fifteen tosixteen--but there was a considerable difference in their attire.
Herbert Grant was neatly but coarsely dressed, and his shoes were ofcowhide, but his face indicated a frank, sincere nature, and wasexpressive of intelligence.
His companion was dressed in a suit of fine cloth, his linen was of thefinest, his shoes were calfskin, and he had the indefinable air of a boywho had been reared in luxury.
He had not the broad, open face of his friend--for the two boys wereclose friends--but his features were finely chiseled, indicating a shareof pride, and a bold, self-reliant nature.
He, too, was an attractive boy, and in spite of his pride possessed awarm, affectionate heart and sterling qualities, likely to endear him tothose who could read and understand him.
His name was Frank Courtney, and he is the hero of my story.
"Have you written your Latin exercises, Frank?" asked Herbert.
"Yes; I finished them an hour ago."
"I was going to ask you to write them with me. It is pleasanter tostudy in company."
"Provided you have the right sort of company," rejoined Frank.
"Am I the right sort of company?" inquired Herbert, with a smile.
"You hardly need to ask that, Herbert. Are we not always together? If Idid not like your company, I should not seek it so persistently. I don'tcare to boast, but I have plenty of offers of companionship which Idon't care to accept. There is Bob Stickney, for instance, who is alwaysinviting me to his room; but you know what he is--a lazy fellow, whocares more to have a good time than to study. Then there is JamesCameron, a conceited, empty-headed fellow, who is very disagreeable tome."
"You don't mention your stepbrother, Mark Manning."
"For two reasons--he doesn't care for my company, and of all the boys Idislike him the most."
"I don't like him myself. But why do you dislike him so much?"
"Because he is a sneak--a crafty, deceitful fellow, always scheming forhis own interest. He hates me, but he doesn't dare to show it. Hisfather is my mother's husband, but the property is hers, and will bemine. He thinks he may some day be dependent on me, and he conceals hisdislike in order to stand the better chance by and by. Heaven grant thatit may be long before my dear mother is called away!"
"How did she happen to marry again, Frank?"
"I can hardly tell. It was a great grief to me. Mr. Manning was apenniless lawyer, who ingratiated himself with my mother, andpersecuted her till she consented to marry him. He is very soft-spoken,and very plausible, and he managed to make mother--who has been aninvalid for years--think that it would be the best thing for her todelegate her cares to him, and provide me with a second father."
Frank did not like his stepfather, he did not trust him.
"Your stepbrother, Mark Manning, enjoys the same advantages as yourself,does he not?" inquired Herbert.
"Yes."
"Then his father's marriage proved a good thing for him."
"That is true. When he first came to the house he was poorly dressed,and had evidently been used to living in a poor way. He was at onceprovided with a complete outfit as good as my own, and from that time asmuch has been spent on him as on me. Don't think that I am mean enoughto grudge him any part of the money expended upon him. If he were likeyou, I could like him, and enjoy his society; but he is just another ashis father."
Here Herbert's attention was drawn to a boy who was approaching with ayellow envelope in his hand.
"Frank," he said, suddenly, "there's Mark Manning. He looks as if he hadsomething to say to you. He has either a letter or a telegram in hishand."
CHAPTER II
THE TELEGRAM
Frank's heart gave a great bound at the suggestion of a telegram. Atelegram could mean but one thing--that his mother had become suddenlyworse.
He hurried to meet his stepbrother.
"Is that a telegram, Mark?" he asked, anxiously.
"Yes."
"Is it anything about mother? Tell me quick!"
"Read it for yourself, Frank."
Frank drew the telegram from the envelope, and read it hastily:
"My wife is very sick. I wish you and Frank to come home at once."
"When does the next train start, Herbert?" asked Frank, pale withapprehension.
"In an hour."
"I shall go by that train."
"I don't think I can get ready so soon," said Mark, deliberately.
"Then you can come by yourself," replied Frank, impetuously. "I beg yourpardon, Mark," he added. "I cannot expect you to feel as I do. It is notyour mother."
"It is my stepmother," said Mark.
"That is quite different. But I must not linger here. I will go at onceto Dr. Brush, and tell him of my summons home. Good-bye, Herbert, tillwe meet again."
"I will go with you to the depot, Frank," said his friend,sympathizingly. "Don't wait for me. Go ahead, and make your preparationfor the journey. I will be at your room in a quarter of an hour."
"You won't go by the next train, Mark?" said Herbert.
"No. I don't care to rush about as Frank is doing."
"You would if it were your own mother who was so ill."
"I am not sure. It wouldn't do any good, would it?"
"You would naturally feel anxious," said Herbert.
"Oh, yes, I suppose so!" answered Mark, indifferently.
Mark Manning was slender and dark, with a soft voice and rathereffeminate ways. He didn't care for the rough sports in which most boysdelight; never played baseball or took part in athletic exercises, butliked to walk about, sprucely dressed, and had even been seen on thecampus on a Saturday afternoon with his hands incased in kid gloves.
For this, however, he was so ridiculed and laughed at that he had todraw them off and replace them in his pocket.
As Frank and Herbert walked together to the railway station, the lattersaid:
"It seems to me, Frank, that the telegram should have been sent to yo
u,rather than to Mark Manning. You are the one who is most interested inthe contents."
"I thought of that, Herbert, but I was too much affected by the contentsto speak of it. I am not surprised, however. It is like Mr. Manning. Itjarred upon me to have him speak of mother as his wife. She is so, but Inever could reconcile myself to the fact."
"Do you remember your father--your own father, Frank?"
"You need not have said 'your own father.' I don't recognize Mr.Manning as a father, at all. Yes, I remember him. I was eight years oldwhen he died. He was a fine-looking man, always kind--a man to be lovedand respected. There was not a particle of similarity between him andMr. Manning. He was strong and manly."
"How did it happen that he died so young?"
"He was the victim of a railway accident. He had gone to New York onbusiness, and was expected back on a certain day. The train on which hewas a passenger collided with a freight train, and my poor father wasamong the passengers who were killed. The news was almost too much formy poor mother, although she had not yet become an invalid. It broughton a fit of sickness lasting for three months. She has never beenaltogether well since."
"After all, Frank, the gifts of fortune, or rather Providence, are notso unequally distributed as at first appears. You are rich, butfatherless. I am poor enough but my father and mother are both spared tome."
"I would gladly accept poverty if my father could be restored to life,and my mother be spared to me for twenty years to come."
"I am sure you would, Frank," said Herbert. "Money is valuable, butthere are some things far more so."
They had reached the station by this time, and it was nearly the timefor the train to start. Frank bought his ticket, and the two friendsshook hands and bade each other good-bye.
In an hour Frank was walking up the long avenue leading to the frontdoor of the mansion.
The door was opened by his stepfather.
"How is mother?" asked Frank, anxiously.
"I am grieved to say that she is very sick," said Mr. Manning, in a softvoice. "She had a copious hemorrhage this morning, which has weakenedher very much."
"Is she in danger?" asked Frank, anxiously.
"I fear she is," said Mr. Manning.
"I suppose I can see her?"
"Yes; but it will be better not to make her talk much."
"I will be careful, sir."
Frank waited no longer, but hurried to his mother's chamber. As heentered, and his glance fell on the bed and its occupant, he was shockedby the pale and ghastly appearance of the mother whom he so dearlyloved. The thought came to him at once:
"She cannot live."
He found it difficult to repress a rising sob, but he did so for hismother's sake. He thought that it might affect her injuriously if heshould display emotion.
His mother smiled faintly as he approached the bed.
"Mother," said Frank, kneeling by the bedside, "are you very weak?"
"Yes, Frank," she answered, almost in a whisper. "I think I am going toleave you."
"Oh, don't say that, mother!" burst forth in anguish from Frank's lips."Try to live for my sake."
"I should like to live, my dear boy," whispered his mother; "but if itis God's will that I should die, I must be reconciled. I leave you inhis care."
Here Mr. Manning entered the room.
"You will be kind to my boy?" said the dying mother.
"Can you doubt it, my dear?" replied her husband, in the soft tonesFrank so much disliked. "I will care for him as if he were my own."
"Thank you. Then I shall die easy."
"Don't speak any more, mother. It will tire you, and perhaps bring onanother hemorrhage."
"Frank is right, my dear. You had better not exert yourself any more atpresent."
"Didn't Mark come with you?" asked Mr. Manning of Frank.
"No, sir."
"I am surprised that he should not have done so. I sent for him as wellas you."
"I believe he is coming by the next train," said Frank, indifferently."He thought he could not get ready in time for my train."
"He should not have left you to come at such a time."
"I didn't wish him to inconvenience himself, Mr. Manning. If it had beenhis mother, it would have been different."
Mr. Manning did not reply. He understood very well that there was nolove lost between Mark and his stepson.
CHAPTER III
FRANK'S BEREAVEMENT
Early in the evening Mark made his appearance. Supper had been over foran hour, and everything was cold. In a house where there is sickness,the regular course of things is necessarily interrupted, and, because hecould not have his wants attended to immediately, Mark saw fit togrumble and scold the servants. He was not a favorite with them, andthey did not choose to be bullied.
Deborah, who had been in the house for ten years, and so assumed theindependence of an old servant, sharply reprimanded the spoiled boy.
"You ought to be ashamed, Mr. Mark," she said, "of making such a fusswhen my poor mistress lies upstairs at the point of death."
"Do you know who you are talking to?" demanded Mark, imperiously, for hecould, when speaking with those whom he regarded as inferiors, exchangehis soft tones for a voice of authority.
"I ought to know by this time," answered Deborah, contemptuously. "Thereis no other in the house like you, I am glad to say."
"You are very impertinent. You forget that you are nothing but aservant."
"A servant has the right to be decently treated, Mr. Mark."
"If you don't look out," said Mark, in a blustering tone, "I will reportyou to my father, and have you kicked out of the house."
Deborah was naturally incensed at this rude speech, but she was sparedthe trouble of replying. Frank entered the room at this moment in timeto hear Mark's last speech.
"What is this about being kicked out of the house?" he asked, lookingfrom Mark to Deborah, in a tone of unconscious authority, whichdispleased his stepbrother.
"That is my business," replied Mark, shortly.
"Mr. Mark has threatened to have me kicked out of the house because hehas to wait for his supper," said Deborah.
"It wasn't for that. It was because you were impertinent. All the same,I think it is shameful that I can't get anything to eat."
"I regret, Mark," said Frank, with cool sarcasm, "that you should beinconvenienced about your meals. Perhaps you will excuse it, as my poormother is so sick that she requires extra attention from the servants.Deborah, if possible, don't let Mark wait much longer. It seems to bevery important that he should have his supper."
"He shall have it," assured Deborah, rather enjoying the way in whichMark was put down; "that is, if he don't get me kicked out of thehouse."
"You had better not make any such threats in the future, Mark," saidFrank, significantly.
"Who's to hinder?" blustered Mark.
"I am," answered Frank, pointedly.
"You are nothing but a boy like me," retorted Mark.
"My mother is mistress here, and I represent her."
"Things may change soon," muttered Mark; but Frank had left the room anddid not hear him.
Mark did not trouble himself even to inquire for his stepmother, butwent out to the stable and lounged about until bedtime. He seemed verymuch bored, and so expressed himself.
Frank wished to sit up all night with his mother, but, as she had aprofessional nurse, it was thought best that he should obtain hisregular rest, the nurse promising to call the family if any changeshould be apparent in her patient's condition.
About half-past four in the morning there was a summons.
"Mrs. Manning is worse," said the nurse. "I don't think she can lastlong."
One last glance of love--though she could no longer speak--assured Frankthat she knew him and loved him to the last.
The memory of that look often came back to him in the years thatfollowed, and he would not have parted with it for anything that earthcould give.
J
ust as the clock struck five, his mother breathed her last. The boygazed upon the inanimate form, but he was dazed, and could not realizethat his mother had left him, never to return.
"She is gone," said Mr. Manning, softly.
"Dead!" ejaculated Frank.
"Yes, her sufferings are over. Let us hope she is better off. My boy, Ithink you had better return to your bed. You can do nothing for yourmother now."
"I would rather stay here," said Frank, sadly. "I can at least look ather, and soon I shall lose even that comfort."
The thought was too much for the poor boy, and he burst into tears.
"Do as you please, Frank," assented Mr. Manning. "I feel for you, and Ishare in your grief. I will go and tell Mark of our sad loss."
He made his way to Mark's chamber and entered. He touched Mark, who wasin a doze, and he started up.
"What's the matter?" he asked, crossly.
"Your poor mother is dead, Mark."
"Well, there was no need to wake me for that," said the boy, irritably."I can't help it, can I?"
"I think, my son, you might speak with more feeling. Death is a solemnthing."
"There's nobody here but me," said Mark, sneering.
"I don't catch your meaning," said his father, showing some annoyance,for it is not pleasant to be seen through.
"Why should you care so much?" continued Mark. "I suppose you will bewell provided for. Do you know how she has left the property? How muchof it goes to Frank?"