The Errand Boy; or, How Phil Brent Won Success

by Horatio Alger, Jr.

  ”Bring the gun round to-night, and I'll pay you for it.“

  ”All right. Do you know of any one who wants to buy a boat?“

  ”What? Going to sell that, too?“

  ”Yes.“

  ”Seems to me you're closin' up business?“ said Reuben shrewdly.

  ”So I am. I'm going to leave Planktown.“

  ”You don't say? Well, I declare! Where are you goin'?“

  ”To New York, I guess.“

  ”Got any prospect there?“

  ”Yes.“

  This was not, perhaps, strictly true--that is, Phil had no definite prospect, but he felt that there must be a chance in a large city like New York for any one who was willing to work, and so felt measurably justified in saying what he did.

  ”I hadn't thought of buyin' a boat,“ said Reuben thoughtfully.

  Phil pricked up his ears at the hint of a possible customer.

  ”You'd better buy mine,“ he said quickly; ”I'll sell it cheap.“

  ”How cheap?“

  ”Ten dollars.“

  ”That's too much.“

  ”It cost me fifteen.“

  ”But it's second-hand now, you know,“ said Reuben.

  ”It's just as good as new. I'm taking off five dollars, though, you see.“

  ”I don't think I want it enough to pay ten dollars.“

  ”What will you give?“

  Reuben finally agreed to pay seven dollars and seventy-five cents, after more or less bargaining, and to pay the money that evening upon delivery of the goods.

  ”I don't think I've got anything more to sell,“ said Phil thoughtfully. ”There's my skates, but they are not very good. I'll give them to Tommy Kavanagh. He can't afford to buy a pair.“

  Tommy was the son of a poor widow, and was very much pleased with the gift, which Phil conveyed to him just before supper.

  Just after supper he took his gun and the key of his boat over to Reuben Gordon, who thereupon gave him the money agreed upon.

  ”Shall I tell Mrs. Brent I am going away?“ Phil said to himself, ”or shall I leave a note for her?“

  He decided to announce his resolve in person. To do otherwise would seem too much like running away, and that he had too much self-respect to do.

  So in the evening, after his return from Reuben Gordon's, he said to Mrs. Brent:

  ”I think I ought to tell you that I'm going away to-morrow.“

  Mrs. Brent looked up from her work, and her cold gray eyes surveyed Phil with curious scrutiny.

  ”You are going away!“ she replied. ”Where are you going?“

  ”I think I shall go to New York.“

  ”What for?“

  ”Seek my fortune, as so many have done before me.“

  ”They didn't always find it!“ said Mrs. Brent with a cold sneer. ”Is there any other reason?“

  ”Yes; it's chiefly on account of what you told me yesterday. You said that I was dependent upon you.“

  ”So you are.“

  ”And that I wasn't even entitled to the name of Brent.“

  ”Yes, I said it, and it's true.“

  ”Well,“ said Phil, ”I don't want to be dependent upon you. I prefer to earn my own living.“

  ”I am not prepared to say but that you are right. But do you know what the neighbors will say?“

  ”What will they say?“

  ”That I drove you from home.“

  ”It won't be true. I don't pretend to enjoy my home, but I suppose I can stay on here if I like?“

  ”Yes, you can stay.“

  ”You don't object to my going?“

  ”No, if it is understood that you go of your own accord.“

  ”I am willing enough to take the blame of it, if there is any blame.“

  ”Very well; get a sheet of note-paper, and write at my direction.“

  Phil took a sheet of note-paper from his father's desk, and sat down to comply with Mrs. Brent's request.

  She dictated as follows:

  ”I leave home at my own wish, but with the consent of Mrs. Brent, to seek my fortune. It is wholly my own idea, and I hold no one else responsible. ”PHILIP BRENT.“

  ”You may as well keep the name of Brent,“ said his step-mother, as you have no other that you know of.“

  Phil winced at those cold words. It was not pleasant to reflect that this was so, and that he was wholly ignorant of his parentage.

  ”One thing more,“ said Mrs. Brent. ”It is only eight o'clock. I should like to have you go out and call upon some of those with whom you are most intimate, and tell them that you are leaving home voluntarily.“

  ”I will,“ answered Phil.

  ”Perhaps you would prefer to do so to-morrow.“

  ”No; I am going away to-morrow morning.“

  ”Very well.“

  ”Going away to-morrow morning?“ repeated Jonas, who entered the room at that moment.

  Phil's plan was briefly disclosed.

  ”Then give me your skates,“ said Jonas.

  ”I can't. I've given them to Tommy Kavanagh.“

  ”That's mean. You might have thought of me first,“ grumbled Jonas.

  ”I don't know why. Tommy Kavanagh is my friend and you are not.“

  ”Anyway, you can let me have your boat and gun.“

  ”I have sold them.“

  ”That's too bad.“

  ”I don't know why you should expect them. I needed the money they brought me to pay my expenses till I get work.“

  ”I will pay your expenses to New York if you wish,“ said Mrs. Brent.

  ”Thank you; but I shall have money enough,“ answered Phil, who shrank from receiving any favor at the hands of Mrs. Brent.

  ”As you please, but you will do me the justice to remember that I offered it.“

  ”Thank you. I shall not forget it.“

  ”That evening, just before going to bed, Mrs. Brent opened a trunk and drew from it a folded paper.

  She read as follows--for it was her husband's will:

  ”To the boy generally known as Philip Brent, and supposed, though incorrectly, to be my son, I bequeath the sum of five thousand dollars, and direct the same to be paid over to any one whom he may select as guardian, to hold in trust for him till he attains the age of twenty-one.“

  ”He need never know of this,“ said Mrs. Brent to herself in a low tone. ”I will save it for Jonas.“

  She held the paper a moment, as if undecided whether to destroy it, but finally put it carefully back in the secret hiding-place from which she had taken it.

  ”He is leaving home of his own accord,“ she whispered. ”Henceforth he will probably keep away. That suits me well. but no one can say I drove him to it.“

  CHAPTER IV.

  MR. LIONEL LAKE.

  SIX MONTHS before it might have cost Philip a pang to leave home. Then his father was living, and from him the boy had never received aught but kindness. Even his step-mother, though she secretly disliked him, did not venture to show it, and secure in the affections of his supposed father, he did not trouble himself as to whether Mrs. Brent liked him or not. As for Jonas, he was cautioned by his mother not to get himself into trouble by treating Phil badly, and the boy, who knew on which side his interests lay, faithfully obeyed. It was only after the death of Mr. Brent that both Jonas and his mother changed their course, and thought it safe to snub Philip.

  Planktown was seventy-five miles distant from New York, and the fare was two dollars and a quarter.

  This was rather a large sum to pay, considering Phil's scanty fund, but he wished to get to the great city as soon as possible, and he decided that it would be actually cheaper to ride than to walk, considering that he would have to buy his meals on the way.

  He took his seat in the cars, placing a valise full of underclothes on the seat next him. The train was not very full, and the seat beside him did not appear to be required.

  Mile after mile they sped on the way, and Phil looked from the w
indow with interest at the towns through which they passed. There are very few boys of his age--sixteen--who do not like to travel in the cars. Limited as were his means, and uncertain as were his prospects, Phil felt not only cheerful, but actually buoyant, as every minute took him farther away from Planktown, and so nearer the city where he hoped to make a living at the outset, and perhaps his fortune in the end.

  Presently--perhaps half way on--a young man, rather stylishly dressed, came into the car. It was not at a station, and therefore it seemed clear that he came from another car.

  He halted when he reached the seat which Phil occupied.

  Our hero, observing that his glance rested on his valise, politely removed it, saying:

  ”Would you like to sit down here, sir?“

  ”Yes, thank you,“ answered the young man, and sank into the seat beside Phil.

  ”Sorry to inconvenience you,“ he said, with a glance at the bag.

  ”Oh, not at all,“ returned Phil. ”I only put the valise on the seat till it was wanted by some passenger.“

  ”You are more considerate than some passengers,“ observed the young man. ”In the next car is a woman, an elderly party, who is taking up three extra seats to accommodate her bags and boxes.“

  ”That seems rather selfish,“ remarked Phil.

  ”Selfish! I should say so. I paused a minute at her seat as I passed along, and she was terribly afraid I wanted to sit down. She didn't offer to move anything, though, as you have. I stopped long enough to make her feel uncomfortable, and then passed on. I don't think I have fared any the worse for doing so. I would rather sit beside you than her.“

  ”Am I to consider that a compliment?“ asked Phil, smiling.

  ”Well, yes, if you choose. Not that it is saying much to call you more agreeable company than the old party alluded to. Are you going to New York?“

  ”Yes, sir.“

  ”Live there?“

  ”I expect to live there.“

  ”Brought up in the country, perhaps?“

  ”Yes, in Planktown.“

  ”Oh, Planktown! I've heard it's a nice place, but never visited it. Got any folks?“

  Phil hesitated. In the light of the revelation that had been made to him by Mrs. Brent, he did not know how to answer. However, there was no call to answer definitely.

  ”Not many,“ he said.

  ”Goin' to school in New York?“

  ”No.“

  ”To college, perhaps. I've got a cousin in Columbia College.“

  ”I wish I knew enough to go to college,“ said Phil; ”but I only know a little Latin, and no Greek at all.“

  ”Well, I never cared much about Latin or Greek, myself. I presume you are thinking about a business position?“

  ”Yes, I shall try to get a place.“

  ”You may find a little time necessary to find one. However, you are, no doubt, able to pay your board for awhile.“

  ”For a short time,“ said Phil.

  ”Well, I may be able to help you to a place. I know a good many prominent business men.“

  ”I should be grateful to you for any help of that kind,“ said Phil, deciding that he was in luck to meet with such a friend.

  ”Don't mention it. I have had to struggle myself--in earlier days--though at present I am well fixed. What is your name?“

  ”Philip Brent.“

  ”Good! My name is Lionel Lake. Sorry I haven't got any cards. Perhaps I may have one in my pocket-book. Let me see!“

  Mr. Lake opened his porte-monnaie and uttered a exclamation of surprise.

  ”By Jove!“ he said, ”I am in a fix.“

  Phil looked at him inquiringly.

  ”I took out a roll of bills at the house of my aunt, where I stayed last night,“ explained Mr. Lake, ”and must have neglected to replace them.“

  ”I hope you have not lost them,“ said Phil politely.

  ”Oh, no; my aunt will find them and take care of them for me, so that I shall get them back. The trouble is that I am left temporarily without funds.“

  ”But you can get money in the city,“ suggested Phil.

  ”No doubt; only it is necessary for me to stay over a train ten miles short of the city.“

  Mr. Lionel Lake seemed very much perplexed.

  ”If I knew some one in the cars,“ he said reflectively.

  It did occur to Phil to offer to loan him something, but the scantiness of his own resources warned him that it would not be prudent, so he remained silent.

  Finally Mr. Lake appeared to have an idea.

  ”Have you got five dollars, Philip?“ he said familiarly.

  ”Yes, sir,“ answered Philip slowly.

  ”Then I'll make a proposal. Lend it to me and I will give you this ring as security. It is worth twenty-five dollars easily.

  He drew from his vest-pocket a neat gold ring, with some sort of a stone in the setting.

  ”There!“ said Mr. Lake, ”I'll give you this ring and my address, and you can bring it to my office to-morrow morning. I'll give you back the five dollars and one dollar for the accommodation. That's good interest, isn't it?“

  ”But I might keep the ring and sell it,“ suggested Phil.

  ”Oh, I am not afraid. You look honest. I will trust you,“ said the young man, in a careless, off- hand manner. ”Say, is it a bargain?“

  ”Yes,“ answered Phil.

  It occurred to him that he could not earn a dollar more easily. Besides, he would be doing a favor to this very polite young man.

  ”All right, then!“

  ”Five dollars of Phil's scanty hoard was handed to Mr. Lake, who, in return, gave Phil the ring, which he put on his finger.

  He also handed Phil a scrap of paper, on which he penciled:

  ”LIONEL LAKE, No. 237 Broadway.“

  ”I'm ever so much obliged,“ he said. ”Good-by. I get out at the next station.“

  Phil was congratulating himself on his good stroke of business, when the conductor entered the car, followed by a young lady. When they came to where Phil was seated, the young lady said:

  ”That is my ring on that boy's finger?“

  ”Aha! we've found the thief, then!“ said the conductor. ”Boy, give up the ring you stole from this young lady!“

  As he spoke he placed his hand on Phil's shoulder.

  ”Stole!“ repeated Phil, gasping. ”I don't understand you.“

  ”Oh, yes, you do!“ said the conductor roughly.

  CHAPTER V.

  AN OVERBEARING CONDUCTOR

  NO MATTER how honest a boy may be, a sudden charge of theft is likely to make him look confused and guilty.

  Such was the case with Phil.

  ”I assure you,“ he said earnestly, ”that I did not steal this ring.“

  ”Where did you get it, then?“ demanded the conductor roughly.

  He was one of those men who, in any position, will make themselves disagreeable. Moreover, he was a man who always thought ill of others, when there was any chance of doing so. In fact, he preferred to credit his fellows with bad qualities rather than with good.

  ”It was handed me by a young man who just left the car,“ said Phil.

  ”That's a likely story,“ sneered the conductor.

  ”Young men are not in the habit of giving valuable rings to strangers.“

  ”He did not give it to me, I advanced him five dollars on it.“

  ”What was the young man's name?“ asked the conductor incredulously.

  ”There's his name and address,“ answered Phil, drawing from his pocket the paper handed him by Mr. Lake.

  ”Lionel Lake, 237 Broadway,“ repeated the conductor. ”If there is any such person, which I very much doubt, you are probably a confederate of his.“

  ”You have no right to say this,“ returned Phil indignantly.

  ”I haven't, haven't I?“ snapped the conductor.

  ”Do you know what I am going to do with you?“

  ”If you wish me to return the ring to
this young lady, I will do so, if she is positive it is hers.“

  ”Yes, you must do that, but it won't get you out of trouble. I shall hand you over to a policeman as soon as we reach New York.“

  Phil was certainly dismayed, for he felt that it might be difficult for him to prove that he came honestly in possession of the ring.

  ”The fact is,“ added the conductor, ”your story is too thin.“

  ”Conductor,“ said a new voice, ”you are doing the boy an injustice.“

  The speaker was an old man with gray hair, but of form still robust, though he was at least sixty five. He sat in the seat just behind Phil.

  ”Thank you, sir,“ said Phil gratefully.

  ”I understand my business,“ said the conductor impertinently, ”and don't need any instructions from you.“

  ”Young man,“ said the old gentleman, in a very dignified tone, ”I have usually found officials of your class polite and gentlemanly, but you are an exception.“

  ”Who are you?“ asked the conductor rudely. ”What right have you to put in your oar?“

  ”As to who I am, I will answer you by and by. In reference to the boy, I have to say that his story is correct. I heard the whole conversation between him and the young man from whom he received the ring, and I can testify that he has told the truth.“

  ”At any rate he has received stolen property.“

  ”Not knowing it to be stolen. The young man was an entire stranger to him, and though I suspected that he was an unscrupulous adventurer, the boy has not had experience enough to judge men.“

  ”Very well. If he's innocent he can prove it when he's brought to trial,“ said the conductor.

  ”As for you, sir, it's none of your business.“

  ”Young man, you asked me a short time since who I am. Do you want to know?“

  ”I am not very particular.“

  ”Then, sir, I have to inform you that I am Richard Grant, the president of this road.“

  The conductor's face was a curious and interesting study when he heard this announcement. He knew that the old man whom he had insulted had a right to discharge him from his position, and bully as he had shown himself, he was now inclined to humble himself to save his place.

  ”I beg your pardon, sir,“ he said in a composed tone. ”If I had known who you were I wouldn't have spoken as I did.“