CHAPTER XXIV. — ANDY MAKES AN INVESTMENT.
Andy wrote to his friend, Walter Gale, who, it will be remembered, was watching in Pennsylvania by the bedside of his uncle, giving him an account of his change of business. He received the following reply:
Rich, but was pleased that it led to your advantage. I am inclined
to think that you will find your new business a better one than the
jewelry trade. The latter, if you went in for yourself, would call
for a large capital. In the real estate business capital is not so
much needed as good judgment and a large lot of acquaintances. I am
not personally acquainted with Mr. Crawford, but know him by
reputation as an energetic and honorable business man. If you do not
find your income adequate, all you have to do is to apply to me. I
will send you fifty dollars or more at any time.
"Now, as to the prospects of my return, they are remote. My uncle
seems cheered by my presence, and his health has improved. He cannot
live more than a year or two at the best, but when I came here it
seemed to be only a matter of months. I shall remain while I can do
him good.
"When Mr. Flint returns he will do you justice. You can afford to
wait, as your income is larger than before. You suggest that I need
not continue to pay your board. This, however, I intend to do, and
will advise you to lay aside some money every week, and deposit in a
savings bank. The habit of saving is excellent, and cannot be formed
too early."
"I am lucky to have such a friend," reflected Andy, as he finished reading this letter. "I will try to make myself worthy of such good fortune."
At the end of six months Andy had acquired a large practical acquaintance with the real estate business. He displayed a degree of judgment which surprised Mr. Crawford.
"You seem more like a young man than a boy," he said. "I am not at all sure but I could leave my business in your hands if I wished to be absent."
This compliment pleased Andy. He had also been raised to seven dollars a week, and this he regarded as a practical compliment.
One evening on his return from West Fifty-sixth Street he strayed into the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where he sat down to rest in the reading room.
Two men were sitting near him whose conversation he could not help hearing.
"I own a considerable plot in Tacoma," said one. "I bought it two years since, when I was on my way back from California. I should like to sell the plot if I could get a purchaser."
"If the Northern Pacific Railroad is ever completed, the land will be valuable," replied the other.
"True; but will it ever be completed? That date will be very remote, I fancy."
"I don't think so. I would buy the land myself if I had the money, but just at present I have none to spare. How much did you invest?"
"A thousand dollars."
"You might sell, perhaps, through a real estate agent?"
"The real estate agents here know very little of Western property. I should not know to whom to apply."
Andy thought he saw a chance to procure business for his firm.
"Gentlemen," he said, "will you excuse my saying that I am in a real estate office, and think you can make some satisfactory arrangement with us?"
At the same time he handed the owner of the Tacoma property a card of the firm.
"Crawford!" repeated his friend. "Yes, that is a reputable firm. You cannot do better than adopt the young man's suggestion."
Andy Grant had written his name on the card.
"You are rather young for a real estate agent, Mr. Grant," remarked the lot owner.
Andy smiled.
"I am only a subordinate," he said.
"Has your principal ever dealt in Western property?" asked Mr. Bristol.
"Not to any extent, but I have heard him speak favorably of it."
"I will call at your office to-morrow forenoon, then."
Andy apprised Mr. Crawford of the appointment made.
"I shall be glad to see your acquaintance, Andy," said Mr. Crawford. "I have advices from a friend of mine in Washington that the railroad is sure to be completed within a short time. This land will be worth buying. Have you any money?"
"I have a hundred dollars in a savings bank," answered Andy.
"Then I will give you a quarter interest in the purchase, and you can give me a note for the balance which at present you are unable to pay. I am sure we shall make a good deal of money within a short time, and I want you to reap some advantage, as it will have come to me through you."
"Thank you, sir. I shall be very glad to have a share in the investment."
About eleven o'clock, James Bristol, who proved to be a resident of Newark, New Jersey, presented himself at the office and was introduced by Andy to Mr. Crawford.
"Andy has told me of your business," said the real estate agent. "You have some property in Tacoma."
"Yes; I was persuaded to invest in some two years since. Now I need the money. Do you think you can find me a customer?"
"What do you ask for it?"
"A thousand dollars—the same price I paid."
"Is it eligibly situated?"
"If the town ever amounts to anything, it will be in the business part."
"How many lots will it divide into?"
"Twenty-five of the usual city dimensions."
"Then I think I will take it off your hands. Part I will reserve for myself, and a part I will allot to a friend."
"Can you pay me cash?"
"Yes. I will make out a check at once."
Mr. Bristol breathed a sigh of satisfaction.
"I don't mind telling you," he said, "that I am very glad to realize on the investment. I have to meet a note for five hundred dollars in three days, and I was at a loss to know how to raise the money."
"Then the transaction will be mutually satisfactory," rejoined Mr. Crawford.
"Well, Andy," said his employer, when his customer left the office, "we are now Western land owners. I will draw up a note, which I will get you to sign, for a hundred and fifty dollars, and you can assign to me the money in the savings bank. I shall expect interest at the rate of six per cent."
"I shall be very glad to pay it, sir."
It was a satisfaction to Andy to think that he had made an investment which was likely ere many years to make him golden returns. He began to read with interest the accounts of the growth and development of the West, and decided to be unusually economical in the future, so as to be able to pay up the note due to Mr. Crawford, that he might feel that he owned his Western property without incumbrance.
While Andy, as a rule, dressed neatly, there was one respect in which he did not win the approval of his neighbor, Sam Perkins.
"I should think a boy with your income would be more particular about his neckties," said Sam.
"What's the matter with my neckties, Sam? Are they not neat?"
"Yes; but they are plain, such as a Quaker might wear. Why don't you get a showy tie, like mine?"
Andy smiled as he noticed the gorgeous tie which his friend wore.
"I don't like to be showy," he said.
"You'll never attract the attention of the girls with such a plain tie as you wear. Now, when I walked on Fifth Avenue last Sunday afternoon, as many as twenty girls looked admiringly at my tie."
"That would make me feel bashful, Sam."
"Let me bring you one from the store like mine. You shall have it at the wholesale price."
"No; I think not. It wouldn't be as becoming to me as to you. I don't want to be considered a dude."
"I don't mind it. Next week I'm going to buy a pair of patent leathers. They will be really economical, as I shall not have to spend money on shines."
One Saturday afternoon, when Andy was walking through one of the quiet streets west of Bleecker, his attention was drawn to a small boy, apparently about eleven years old, who was quietly crying as he walked along the sidewalk. He had never seen the boy before that he could remember, yet his face wore a familiar expression.
CHAPTER XXV. — SQUIRE CARTER'S RELATIVES.
Andy was kind-hearted, and the boy's evident sorrow appealed to him. He went forward and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.
"What is the matter?" he asked.
"I went to the baker's to buy some bread for mother, and the baker tells me that the quarter is a bad one."
"Let me look at it."
The coin had a dull appearance and a greasy feeling. It was unquestionably counterfeit.
"Yes, it is bad," said Andy. "Is your mother poor?"
"Very poor," answered the boy. "This quarter was all the money she had, and now we shall have no supper."
"Whom do you mean by 'we'?"
"My little brother and myself."
Andy intended at first simply to give the boy a good coin for the bad one, but he saw that there was a call for something more.
"Do you live near here?" he asked.
"Yes, sir; just across the street."
"I will go back with you to the baker's, and then I will go with you to see your mother. Perhaps I can help her."
The boy put his hand confidingly in Andy's, and the two went a little distance to the baker's.
"Now make your purchases," said Andy.
"If you have brought back that bad quarter I won't take it," announced the baker, sharply.
"I will pay you," said Andy, quietly.
"Then it's all right. The boy brought me a very bad quarter. I have to look sharp, for a good many bad coins are offered me."
Andy produced a genuine silver piece, and the bread was handed to the boy, with the change.
The boy looked at it hesitatingly.
"It is yours," he said to Andy.
"No, I have changed quarters with you. I will keep the bad one."
Again he looked at the boy, and again the resemblance to some familiar face puzzled him.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Ben Carter."
Carter! That explained it. The boy looked like Conrad Carter, though he had a pleasanter expression.
"Have you an Uncle Philemon?" he inquired.
"How did you know?" asked the boy, in surprise.
"Because you look like Conrad Carter."
"He is my cousin."
"And you are poor?"
"Yes."
"Your uncle is considered rich."
"I know he is, but he won't do anything for mother."
Andy was now all the more desirous of seeing the boy's family.
"I know your uncle," he said. "Do you think he knows you are so poor?"
"Yes, for mother has written to him."
By this time they had reached the place which Ben called home.
"Go upstairs and I will follow," said Andy.
They went up two flights, and the boy opened a door at the top of the landing.
There was a woman not far from forty in the room. On her face was a look of settled sorrow. At her knee was a small boy five years of age. She looked at Andy inquiringly.
"Mother," said Ben, "here is the bread. I couldn't have bought it, for the quarter was bad, if this boy had not given me another quarter."
"This young gentleman," corrected the mother.
"No, Mrs. Carter; I am a boy, and I prefer to be called so. I came up with Ben, for I find that he is related to Squire Carter, of Arden, whom I know very well."
"You know Philemon Carter?"
"Yes; he lives in Arden. That is my birthplace."
Mrs. Carter's countenance fell.
"Philemon Carter was my husband's brother," she said; "but there is little friendship between us."
"He is reputed rich."
"And we are poor. I see you wonder at that. When my husband's father died, Philemon was executor. It was understood that he was worth twenty-five thousand dollars. Yet of this amount my poor husband received but one thousand. I may be uncharitable, but I have always felt that Philemon cheated us out of our rightful share."
"I should not be surprised. I never liked Squire Carter. He always seemed to me to be a selfish man."
"He has certainly acted selfishly toward us."
"Does he know of your poverty?"
"Yes. Only two weeks since, in a fit of despair, I wrote to him for help. Here is his answer."
She handed a letter to Andy. He instantly recognized the handwriting of the magnate of Arden.
"Shall I read it?" he asked.
"Yes, do so, and let me know what you think of it."
This was the letter:
should expect me to help support you. You are my brother's widow, it
is true, but your destitution is no fault of mine. My brother was
always shiftless and unpractical, and to such men good luck never
comes. He might at any rate have insured his life, and so made
comfortable provision for you. You cannot expect me to repair his
negligence. You say you have two boys, one eleven years of age. He
is certainly able to earn money by selling papers or tending an
office.
"As for myself, I am not a rich man, but have always been careful to
meet my expenses and provide for the future. I, too, have a son,
Conrad, whom I think it my duty to educate and start in life. Any
money I might send you would be so much taken from him. I advise you
to apply to some charitable society if you need temporary
assistance. It will be much better than to write me begging letters.
Yours truly,
"PHILEMON CARTER."
"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:
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."
Mr. Grayling, after a brief consideration, said:
"That seems reasonable. I will buy the house. How soon can you give me possession?"
"In a week."
"Very good. Then our business seems to be concluded. We will catch the next train back to the city."
"Would you mind giving me a memorandum stating that you will buy the house?"
"I will do so. We will stop at a stationery store, and I will make it out."
When Andy re-entered Mr. Crawford's office the real estate agent inquired:
"How does Mr. Grayling like the house?"
"He has bought it."
"Is it possible? At what figure?"
"Eight thousand dollars."
"Good! I was authorized to take two hundred dollars less, if need be."
"He asked no reduction."
"I hope he won't change his mind."
"He won't. Here is his written agreement to take the house."
"Excellent. Did he offer this assurance?"
"No, sir. I asked for it."
"Andy, you have succeeded admirably. I shall have great pleasure in keeping my promise and paying you eighty dollars, or one per cent, on the purchase money."
"That will be very acceptable, Mr. Crawford. I don't often earn eighty dollars in one day."
In reply to Mr. Crawford's inquiries, Andy gave a detailed account of his visit, and his employer drew a check for eighty dollars, which he placed in his hands.
"Now that I see what you can do," he said, "I shall send you out again."
"Perhaps you will find my services too expensive."
"No. In addition to my regular percentage I receive an extra hundred dollars for getting the full eight thousand dollars."
Andy cashed the check, and deposited the money in a savings bank. He did not pay it to Mr. Crawford on account of the land in Tacoma, for it occurred to him that he might have occasion to use it.
In this he proved correct.
Three weeks later he received a letter from his father. Sterling Grant was a farmer, little used to writing letters, and Andy knew that there must be some special reason for his writing at this time.
He opened the letter quickly, and this was what he read:
on Squire Carter's three thousand dollars falls due, and I have but
twenty dollars to meet it. My crops have not been up to the average.
I have lost my best cow, and somehow everything seems to have gone
against me. I expected to sell ten tons of hay, and have had but
seven to spare. This alone made a difference of sixty dollars.
"I saw the squire yesterday, and told him how I was situated. I
asked him if he would kindly wait for the greater part of the
interest, accepting twenty dollars on account. He at once refused.
'I am sorry you have been unlucky, Mr. Grant,' he said, 'but of
course I am not responsible for your misfortune. The three thousand
dollars I lent you I regard strictly as an investment. Had I
supposed the interest would not be paid promptly, I should, of
course, have declined to lend. You will have to meet the interest,
or take the consequences.'
"I have tried to borrow the money in the village, but thus far I
have been unable to do so. I may have to sell two of my cows, but
that will cripple me, for, as you know, I depend a good deal on
selling milk and butter. Of course this worries me a good deal. I
don't know why I write to you, for with your small pay it is hardly
likely that you can help me. Still, if you have ten or fifteen
dollars to spare, it will aid me. If your friend, Mr. Gale, were
near at hand, perhaps he would advance a little money. I might get
along with selling one cow, in that case. Two would cripple me.
"Let me know at once what you can do, that I may make plans. Your
mother is as well as usual, except that she is worried. We both send
love.
"Your affectionate father,
"STERLING GRANT."
When Andy read this letter he felt, with a thrill of joy, that he had it in his power to relieve his father from anxiety. He had, with the commission received recently from Mr. Crawford, a hundred and fifty dollars in the bank. He withdrew eighty dollars of this, and then explaining to Mr. Crawford his reason for it, asked for time for a visit home.
"Certainly, Andy," said the real estate agent. "Can I lend you any money?"
"No, sir; I have enough."
As he could not leave till the next day, he telegraphed his father in this way:
CHAPTER XXVIII. — ANDY'S VISIT HOME.
When Andy stepped on the station platform at Arden, he looked about him to see if any of his friends were in sight.
To his great satisfaction he saw Valentine Burns, who had come to escort an aunt to the cars.
"Where did you drop from, Andy?" he asked, in surprise.
"From the city. I am going to stop over Sunday."
"Good! I am delighted to see you."
"And I to see you. You are my dearest friend—except Conrad."
Valentine smiled.
"Of course no one is so near to me as he. Well, what's the news?"
"The only news I know of comes from Conrad. I hope it isn't true."
"What did he say?"
"That your father couldn't pay the interest on the mortgage held by his father, and was going to be turned out, though the squire might take your two best cows and call it even."
"He seems to be a good friend of the family, doesn't he?" remarked Andy, quietly.
"It isn't true, is it?"
"It is true that father hasn't money enough to pay the interest."
"What will happen, then?"
"You forget that he has a rich son," said Andy, with a smile.
"Can you help him out?"
"That is what I am here for."
"I am very glad to hear it," said Valentine, with an air of relief. "Even if I didn't like your family, I wouldn't like to see Conrad triumph over you."
"Come around this evening, Val. We shall have plenty to talk about."
"I will."
When Andy entered the farmhouse he received a warm welcome from his mother, and a cordial grasp of the hand from his father, who was less demonstrative. But there was an air of grave anxiety on the faces of both.
"I am glad to see you, Andy," said Sterling Grant, "but I wish you had come under more cheerful circumstances. We are in a good deal of trouble."
"I have come to get you out of it."
"Can you?" asked the farmer, in surprise.
"Yes. How much have you got toward the interest?"
"Only twenty dollars."
"And the whole sum is—"
"Ninety dollars."
"I can give you the seventy dollars you require."
"Where did you get the money? Have you borrowed it?"
"No. It belongs to me. I will explain later. Now I am hungry, and while mother is looking for some lunch for me we will talk about other matters."
"I am very much relieved, Andy. I will go and tell the squire I shall be able to meet the interest."
"Don't do it, father. We will leave him to suppose it will not be paid, and see what course he intends to pursue. Don't breathe a word to undeceive him."
"I will do as you say, Andy, though I don't know your object. Do you still like your place in New York?"
"Yes; I am learning the business fast, and have good hopes for the future. Mr. Crawford is an excellent man, and takes an interest in me."
"That is good. After all, things are brightening. When I got up this morning I felt about discouraged."
"I telegraphed you not to worry, father."
Meanwhile Mrs. Grant was preparing an appetizing lunch for her son. She knew just what he liked. When it was placed on the table, he did full justice to it.
"It tastes better than anything I get in the city, mother," he said.
"I didn't suppose our plain table would compare with city meals."
"They're not in it with you," said Andy. "I am only afraid I shall make myself sick by overeating."
Mrs. Grant was greatly pleased that Andy had not lost his taste for home fare.
"How you have grown, Andy!" she said. "And you are looking so well, too! Do you have to work very hard?"
"Hard work agrees with me, mother. No; I don't hurt myself."
"I wish I could be here when the squire comes for the interest," Andy said, later.
"He will call this evening. You will see him," said Sterling Grant.
"Then I shall be sure to stay at home."
Meanwhile, at the house of Squire Carter, there was a conference between father and son.
Conrad had a new and bright idea. He had always coveted Andy's boat, which, as we know, was much better than his own had been. It occurred to him that here would be a good opportunity to get it for a trifle.
"Pa," he said, "will you do me a favor?"
"What is it?" asked his father, suspiciously.
"You know I haven't got a boat now. Won't you let Mr. Grant pay part of the interest in Andy's boat?"
"What do I want with the boat?" asked the squire, impatiently.
"Pa, you can make a great bargain. I hear that it cost seventy-five dollars. You can allow the farmer twenty dollars, and sell it for forty dollars cash."
"I don't know about that."
But the squire's tone was less decided. He liked a bargain, and he knew that there was some reason in what Conrad said.
"Mr. Grant might not feel at liberty to sell his son's boat," he argued.
"Andy would let him. He thinks a good deal of his family."
"I'll think of it; but I intended to propose taking two of his cows."
"That you can do next time. Probably he won't have the interest six months from now."
"I'll see about it."
"There is one other thing; you would have a better chance to sell the boat for a profit than the cows."
"Well, Conrad, I will think of it, as I said. I am going around to Farmer Grant's this evening, and I will broach the subject."
Later in the day Conrad met Jimmy Morris.
"Have you heard the news, Conrad?" asked Jimmy.
"What is it?"
"Andy Grant is in Arden. He arrived from the city this morning."
"I am glad to hear it."
"Why? Are you and Andy such great friends?"
"It isn't on account of friendship; it's on account of business."
"What business?"
"I can't tell you, but you will very likely hear soon."
Conrad hoped to meet Andy and broach the subject of buying the boat. He decided from his knowledge of the farmer's son that, much as he valued his boat, he would be willing to sacrifice it for the sake of his father. In this thought he paid an unconscious tribute to Andy, for in similar circumstances he would have been incapable of anything so unselfish.
About half-past seven, Andy, looking out of the window, saw the stately and dignified figure of Squire Carter coming up the front path.
"The squire is coming, father," he said. "I want you to look sober, just as if you were unprepared to pay the interest."
Squire Carter had already been informed by Conrad that Andy was in the village. He showed no surprise, therefore, when he saw him.
He had also been down to the river and taken a look at Andy's boat. He could see that it was a very handsome one, and doubtless worth as much as Conrad reported.
"So you have come home, Andrew?" he said.
"Yes, Squire Carter."
"You haven't lost your place, have you?"
"No, sir. I have come home on a visit."
"Ahem! You arrived at an unfortunate time for your father. He has had bad luck. Things seem to have gone against him."
"So I heard, sir."
"If you had been at home to help him on the farm, things would have been different, maybe."
"I hope to help him by staying in the city."
"That isn't very likely. I don't approve, for my part, of boys leaving home to work."
"I think I shall succeed in the end, sir."
"Ahem! I have no doubt you think so, but boys like you haven't much judgment. I suppose you know that interest is due on the mortgage for the first six months, and that your father can't meet it."
"I have heard so, Squire Carter."
"As a friend of your father I have a plan to propose that may make things easy for him. I am glad to see you, for a part of my business is with you."