Andy Grant's Pluck 16

Andy Grant's Pluck 16

"This is a very cold-blooded letter," said Andy, indignantly. "He might

at least have inclosed a five-dollar bill."

 

"He inclosed nothing. I shall never apply to him again."

 

"Philemon Carter is considered to be one of the richest men in Arden. He

is taxed for twenty-five thousand dollars, and is probably worth double

that sum. People wonder where he got all his money."

 

"A part of it is my husband's rightful share of the estate, I have no

doubt."

 

"Can you do nothing about it?"

 

"How can I? I am poor and have no influential friends. He denies

everything."

 

"I will think of that, Mrs. Carter. I know a lawyer down town who may

some time look into the matter for you. In the meanwhile, is there any

special work you can do?"

 

"Before I was married I was for a time a typewriter."

 

"I will see if I can hear of a situation of that kind. The lawyer I

spoke of may require an operator."

 

"I would thankfully accept such a position."

 

"Does Ben earn anything?"

 

"He makes a little selling papers."

 

"He ought to be going to school at his age."

 

"If I could get any work to do I would send him."

 

"Mrs. Carter, will you accept a little help from me?"

 

Andy drew a five-dollar bill from his pocketbook and tendered it to the

widow.

 

"But," she said, "can you spare this? It is a large sum, and you are

only a boy, probably not earning much."

 

"I am a boy, but I am handsomely paid for my services. Besides, I have

good friends to whom I can apply if I run short of money."

 

"Heaven bless you!" said Mrs. Carter, earnestly. "You cannot tell how

much good this money will do me. This morning I was utterly discouraged.

I felt that the Lord had forsaken me. But I was mistaken. He has raised

up for me a good friend, who--"

 

"Hopes to be of a good deal more service to you. I must leave you now,

but I shall bear you in mind, and hope soon to be the bearer of good

tidings. I will take down your address, and call upon you again soon.

Will you allow me to offer you a suggestion?"

 

"Certainly."

 

"Then send out and buy some meat. This dry bread is not sufficient for

you. Don't be afraid to spend the money I leave with you. I will see

that you have more."

 

As Andy left Mrs. Carter's humble home he felt more than ever the cold

and selfish character of the man who, himself living luxuriously,

suffered his brother's family to want.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXVI.

 

MR. WARREN AND HIS SUCCESS.

 

 

Andy told Mr. Crawford about the poor family he had visited, and what he

had done to help them.

 

"You must let me refund the money, Andy," said his employer. "Five

dollars is a good deal for a boy to give."

 

"Don't forget that I have a double income, Mr. Crawford. I would prefer

that this money should come from me. If you are willing to give another

five dollars, it will be appreciated."

 

"Then I will make it ten. Will you take charge of this bill and give it

to Mrs. Carter?"

 

"With the greatest pleasure, Mr. Crawford. You have no idea what

happiness it will give the family."

 

"I am glad you called my attention to their needs. If I could do

anything more to help them--"

 

"You can if you know any one who wants a typewriter."

 

"Is the boy able to work a typewriter?"

 

"No, but the mother is. Before her marriage she was in a lawyer's

office."

 

"That is a fortunate suggestion. I have a college friend--a classmate at

Columbia--Mr. Gardner, who has just parted with his typewriter, who is

about to be married."

 

"May I call at his office, and ask for the situation for Mrs. Carter?"

 

"Yes; it is on Nassau Street."

 

Andy seized his hat and went over to the lawyer's office.

 

It was 132 Nassau Street, in the Vanderbilt Building. He went up in the

elevator and found Mr. Gardner in.

 

"I come from Mr. Crawford," said Andy. "He says you need a typewriter."

 

"Are you a typewriter?"

 

"No; I ask for the position for a lady;" and he told the story.

 

"You say she has had experience in a lawyer's office?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"That will make her more desirable. When can she call?"

 

"I will have her here to-morrow morning at any hour."

 

"Say ten o'clock--a little before, perhaps."

 

The lawyer was a pleasant-looking man of medium age, and Andy felt sure

that he would be a kind and considerate employer.

 

After office hours, and before going up to his pupil, Andy called at the

humble home of Mrs. Carter. The widow's face brightened as she saw him.

 

"You are my good friend," she said. "You are welcome."

 

"My employer, Mr. Crawford, sends you this," and Andy displayed the

bill.

 

"It is a godsend. It will enable me to pay my rent, due on Saturday, and

give me three dollars over."

 

"But that is not all. I have procured you a situation as typewriter in a

lawyer's office. You will have to be on hand to-morrow morning a little

before ten. The office is Mr. Gardner's, at 132 Nassau Street."

 

"I can hardly believe in my good fortune. I will be there."

 

"Can you leave the children?"

 

"I will ask my neighbor, Mrs. Parker, to look after them. What a good

young man you are!" she exclaimed, gratefully.

 

"Not young man--boy," corrected Andy, with a smile.

 

"Won't you stay and take a cup of tea?"

 

"Thank you, Mrs. Carter, but I have an evening engagement. Oh, by the

way, I forgot to say that Mr. Gardner will pay you ten dollars a week."

 

"I shall feel rich. I shall no longer be worried by thoughts of

starvation."

 

"Some time you might consult Mr. Gardner about your brother-in-law's

withholding your share of the estate. He will be able to advise you."

 

Andy felt a warm glow in his heart at the thought of the happiness he

had been instrumental in bringing to the poor family. He had learned the

great lesson that some never learn, that there is nothing so

satisfactory as helping others. We should have a much better world if

that was generally understood.

 

The next day Andy received a letter from his stanch friend, Valentine

Burns. He read it eagerly, for it brought him some home news, and in

spite of his success he had not forgotten Arden and his many friends

there.

 

This was the letter:

 

"DEAR ANDY: How long it seems since I saw you! You know that you

were my most intimate friend, and of course I miss you very much. To

be sure, there is Conrad, who seems willing to bestow his company

upon me, as my father happens to be pretty well off, but I look upon

Conrad as a snob, and don't care much about him. When we met

yesterday, he inquired after you.

 

"'What's your friend, Andy Grant, doing in the city?'

 

"'He is in a real estate office,' I replied.

 

"'Humph! how much does he get paid?'

 

"'Five dollars.'

 

"'That is probably more than he earns, but it isn't much to live

upon.'

 

"I didn't care to tell him that you had another income, but said:

'Don't you think you could live on it?'

 

"'I couldn't live on ten dollars a week,' said Conrad, loftily.

'But, then, I haven't been accustomed to live like Andy Grant.'

 

"It must be pleasant to you to know that Conrad feels so much

interest in your welfare.

 

"Sometimes I see your father. He looks careworn. I suppose he is

thinking of the difficult position in which he is placed. I am sorry

to say that last week he lost his best cow by some disease. I heard

that he valued it at fifty dollars. I hope that you won't let this

worry you. The tide will turn some time. I saw your mother day

before yesterday. She is glad of your success, but of course she

misses you. She always receives me very cordially, knowing that we

are intimate friends.

 

"I wish I could see you, Andy. You have no idea how I miss you. I

like quite a number of the boys, but none is so near to me as you

were.

 

"Well, Andy, I must close. Come to Arden soon, if you can. It will

do us good to see you, and I think even Conrad will be glad, as it

will give him a chance to pump you as to your position.

 

"Your affectionate friend,

 

"VALENTINE BURNS."

 

"So father has lost his best cow--old Whitey," said Andy, thoughtfully.

"If I were not owing money to Mr. Crawford for the land in Tacoma I

would buy him a new one, but some time I hope the land will be valuable,

and then I can make the loss good to father."

 

The reader has not, I hope, forgotten Andy's fellow lodger, S. Byron

Warren. Mr. Warren was always writing something for the _Century_, the

_Atlantic_, or some other leading magazine, but never had been cheered

by an acceptance. The magazine editors seemed leagued against him.

 

But one evening, when Andy returned from the office, he found Mr. Warren

beaming with complacence.

 

"You look happy to-night, Mr. Warren," he said.

 

"Yes," answered the author; "look at that."

 

He held out to Andy an eight-page paper called _The Weekly Magnet_, and

pointed out a story of two columns on the second page. Under the title

Andy read, "By S. Byron Warren." It was called "The Magician's Spell; A

Tale of Sunny Spain."

 

"I congratulate you," said Andy. "When did you write the story?"

 

"Last winter."

 

"How does it happen to be published so late?"

 

"You see, I sent it first to _Scribner's_, then to _Harper's_, and then

to the _Atlantic_. They didn't seem to fancy it, so I sent it to the

_Magnet_."

 

"I hope they paid you for it."

 

"Yes," answered Warren, proudly. "They gave me a dollar and a half for

it."

 

"Isn't that rather small?"

 

"Well, it is small, but the paper is poor. The editor wrote to me that

he would be glad to pay me ten dollars for such a sketch when they are

more prosperous."

 

"I suppose you will write again? You must feel greatly encouraged."

 

"I have been writing another story to-day. I shall mail it to them

to-morrow."

 

"I hope the _Magnet_ will prosper for your sake."

 

"Thank you. I hope so, too. Ah, Andy, you don't know how it seems to

see your own words in print!" said the author.

 

"I am afraid I never shall, Mr. Warren. I was not intended for an

author."

 

"Oh, I think you might write something," said Warren, patronizingly.

 

"No; I shall leave the literary field to you."

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXVII.

 

ANDY MAKES A COMMISSION.

 

 

Mr. Crawford was busy in his office when a gentleman of fifty entered.

 

"I hope you are at leisure, Crawford," he said.

 

"But I am not, Mr. Grayling. I am unusually busy."

 

"I wanted you to go out and show me that house in Mount Vernon which you

mentioned to me the other day. My wife is desirous of moving from the

city for the sake of the children."

 

"Won't to-morrow do?"

 

"To-morrow I shall be busy myself. To-day is so fine that I managed to

get off. Can't you manage to go?"

 

"No, Grayling, I can't possibly be spared from the office."

 

"Is there no one you can send with me?"

 

Mr. Crawford hesitated a moment. Then, as his eye fell upon Andy, he had

a sudden thought.

 

"I will send this young man," he said.

 

Mr. Grayling smiled.

 

"He seems quite a young man," he said.

 

"Yes," said Mr. Crawford, with an answering smile, "he is several years

short of forty."

 

"If you think he will do I shall be glad of his company."

 

"Wait five minutes, and I will give him the necessary instructions."

 

"Have you ever been in Mount Vernon, Andy?" asked his employer.

 

"Yes, sir; I have a boy friend there, and I once spent a Sunday there."

 

"Mr. Grayling wishes to purchase a residence there. I shall place him in

your charge, and give you an order for the key. I will mention some

points to which I wish you to call his attention."

 

Andy was pleased with the commission. It seemed like a step in advance.

 

"Thank you, Mr. Crawford, for your confidence in me."

 

"If you succeed in selling the house to Mr. Grayling, I will give you

one per cent. commission."

 

"I will do my best, sir. I have no claim to anything except through

your kindness."

 

"Now let me see how much business ability you have."

 

Andy and the prospective purchaser took the cars at the Grand Central

Station, and in forty minutes found themselves in Mount Vernon.

 

At the depot, much to his satisfaction, Andy found his friend, Tom

Blake.

 

"What brings you here, Andy?" asked Tom, in surprise.

 

"I have come to show the Griffith house to this gentleman. Can you

direct me to it?"

 

"I will go with you."

 

"Thank you, Tom. You will be doing me a favor. Is it far?"

 

"Little more than half a mile."

 

"Shall we walk or ride, Mr. Grayling?"

 

"Walk, by all means. It is a charming day, and a walk will do me good."

 

They reached the house. It was a spacious country residence in good

condition, and Mr. Grayling was favorably impressed. The key was

procured and they entered.

 

The interior bore out the promise of the exterior. The rooms were well

and even handsomely finished. They were twelve in number, and there was

a good-sized bathroom.

 

"I wonder if the plumbing is good?" said Mr. Grayling.

 

"I will test it as far as I can," said Andy.

 

"You seem to have a good deal of experience for one so young."

 

"No, sir, not very much, but I have made a careful study of the subject.

Mr. Crawford has a good architectural library, and I have made use of

it."

 

After a careful inspection, Andy made a favorable report.

 

"Of course," he said, "if I am mistaken we will make matters right."

 

"That will be satisfactory. What is your price for the house?"

 

"Eight thousand dollars."