Grit or The Young Boatman of Pine Point 33
There was something in this, no doubt. Still Grit need not have felt in
such a hurry. He was young enough to wait. Waiting, however, is a very
bad thing for boys of his age. I only want to show how his mind was
affected, in order that the reader may understand how it happened that
he fell unsuspiciously into a trap which Colonel Johnson prepared for
him.
After supper--it was two days later--Grit prepared to go to the village.
He had a little errand of his own, and besides, his mother wanted a few
articles at the grocery-store. Our hero, unlike some boys that I know,
was always ready to do any errands for his mother, so that she was
spared the trouble of exacting unwilling service.
Grit had done all his business, when he chanced to meet his friend
Jesse Burns, who, as I have already said, was the son of the postmaster.
"How are you, Jesse?" said Grit.
"All right, Grit. Have you got your letter?"
"My letter!" returned Grit, in surprise.
"Yes; there's a letter for you in the post-office."
"I wonder who it can be from?"
"Perhaps it's from your affectionate stepfather," suggested Jesse,
smiling.
"I hope not, I don't want to see or hear from him."
"Well, you can easily solve the problem. You have only to take the
letter out."
"That's good advice, Jesse. I'll follow it."
Grit called for his letter, and noticed, with some surprise, that it was
addressed to him, not under his real name, but under that familiar name
by which we know him.
"Grit Morris," said Jesse, scanning the envelope. "Who can it be from?"
The letter was postmarked Boston, and was addressed in a bold, business
hand.
Grit opened the envelope, read it through hastily, and with a look of
evident pleasure.
"What's it all about, Grit?" asked Jesse.
"Read it for yourself, Jesse," said the young boatman, handing the
letter to his friend.
This was the letter:
"DEAR SIR: I need a young person on whom I can rely to travel for
me at the West. I don't know you personally, but you have been
recommended to me as likely to suit my purpose. I am willing to pay
twelve dollars per week and traveling expenses. If this will suit
your views, come to Boston at once, and call upon me at my private
residence, No. ----, Essex Street.
"Yours truly,
"SOLOMON WEAVER."
"What are you going to do about it, Grit?" asked Jesse, when he had
finished reading the letter.
"I shall go to Boston to-morrow morning," answered Grit promptly.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
GRIT LEAVES PINE POINT.
"It does seem to be a good offer," said Jesse thoughtfully.
"I should think it was--twelve dollars a week and traveling expenses,"
said Grit enthusiastically.
"I wonder how this Mr. Weaver came to hear of you?"
"I can't think. That's what puzzles me," said Grit.
"He says that you have been recommended to him, I see."
"Yes. At any rate, I am very much obliged to the one who recommended
me."
"What will your mother say?"
"She won't want to part with me; but when I tell her how good the offer
is, she will get reconciled to it."
When Grit went home and read the letter to his mother, it was a shock to
the good woman.
"How can I part from you, Grit?" she said, with a troubled look.
"It won't be for long, mother," said Grit hopefully. "I shall soon be
able to send for you, and we can settle down somewhere near Boston. I've
got tired of this place, haven't you?"
"No, Grit. I think Pine Point is very pleasant, as long as I can keep
you with me. When you are gone, of course, it will seem very different.
I don't see how I am going to stand it."
"It won't be for long, mother; and you'll know I am doing well."
"You can make a living with your boat, Grit."
"Yes, mother; but it isn't going to lead to anything. It's all very well
now, but half a dozen years from now I ought to be established in some
good business."
"Can't you put off going for a year, Grit?"
"A year hence there may be no such chance as this, mother."
"That is true."
"You'll give your consent, then, mother?"
"If you really think it is best, Grit--that is, if you've set your heart
on it."
"I have, mother," said Grit earnestly. "I was getting tired of boating
before this letter came, but I kept at it because there didn't seem to
be anything else. Now it would seem worse than ever, and I'm afraid I
should be very discontented."
"I wish you would call on your friend Mr. Jackson, at the hotel, and see
what he thinks of it," said Mrs. Brandon. "He is an experienced man of
business, and his judgment will be better than ours."
"I will do as you say, mother. I am sure he will recommend me to go."
Grit went to the hotel, arriving there about eight o'clock, and inquired
for Mr. Jackson. He was told that that gentleman had started in the
morning for Augusta, and would not return for a day or two. The young
boatman was not, on the whole, sorry to hear this, for it was possible
that the broker might not think favorably of the plan proposed, and he
felt unwilling, even in that case, to give it up. He returned, and
acquainted his mother with the result of his visit.
"Can't you wait till Mr. Jackson returns?" asked his mother.
"No, mother; I should run the risk of losing the chance."
The evening was spent in getting ready to go. Grit left in his mother's
hands all the money he had, except the ten dollars he had last received,
and gave an order for the sixty dollars in the hands of Mr. Lawrence,
the lawyer, so that even if this Western journey were prolonged for
three months, his mother would have enough to provide for her wants.
"Now, mother, I can leave home without any anxiety," he said.
"You will write me often, Grit?" said Mrs. Brandon anxiously.
"Oh, yes, mother; there is no danger I shall forget that."
"Your letters will be all I shall have to think of, you know, Grit."
"I won't forget it, mother."
Grit kissed his mother good-by, and bent his steps toward the railway
station.
On the way he met Ephraim Carver.
"Where are you going, Grit?" asked the bank messenger.
"I am going to Boston."
"It seems to me you have a good deal of business in Boston."
"I hope to have."
"You ain't going to stay, are you?"
"I expect to stay. I've got an offer from a party there."
"Of what sort?"
"That letter will tell you."
Ephraim Carver looked over the letter, and he smiled to himself, for he
recognized the handwriting of Colonel Johnson, though the letter was
signed by another name.
"You're walking into the lion's den, young man," he thought; but he only
said: "It seems to be a good offer. Why, you will be paid as much as I
get. How old are you?"
"Almost sixteen."
"Boys get on more rapidly now than they did when I was of your age. Why,
I'm more'n twenty years older than you are, and I haven't got any higher
than twelve dollars a week yet."
Mr. Carver laughed in what seemed to be an entirely uncalled-for
manner.
"I don't believe you'll keep your place long," thought the young
boatman; but he, too, was not disposed to tell all he knew. So the two
parted, each possessed of a secret in regard to the other.
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기