Paul Prescott's Charge : a story for boys

by Horatio Alger, Jr.

  "I'm truly thankful for that," said Aunt Lucy; "I've laid awake more than one night thinking of him."

  "So has Mrs. Mudge, I'm thinking," said Ben, slyly.

  Aunt Lucy laughed.

  "There isn't much love lost between them," said Aunt Lucy, smiling. "He was very badly treated here, poor boy."

  "Was he, though?" repeated Mrs. Mudge? who had been listening at the keyhole, but not in an audible voice. "Perhaps he will be again, if I get him back. I thought that letter was from Paul. I must get hold of it some time to-day."

  "I believe I must go," said Ben. "If you answer the letter, I will put it into the office for you. I shall be passing here to-morrow."

  "You are very kind," said Aunt Lucy. "I am very much obliged to you for bringing me this letter to-day. You can't tell how happy it makes me. I have been so afraid the dear boy might be suffering."

  "It's no trouble at all," said Ben.

  "She's a pretty good woman," thought he, as he left the house. "I wouldn't play a trick on her for a good deal. But that Mrs. Mudge is a hard case. I wonder what she would have said if she had known that I was the "scamp" that troubled her so much Monday. If I had such a mother as that, by jingo, I'd run away to sea."

  Mrs. Mudge was bent upon reading Aunt Lucy's letter. Knowing it to be from Paul, she had a strong curiosity to know what had become of him. If she could only get him back! Her heart bounded with delight as she thought of the annoyances to which, in that case, she could subject him. It would be a double triumph over him and Aunt Lucy, against whom she felt that mean spite with which a superior nature is often regarded by one of a lower order.

  After some reflection, Mrs. Mudge concluded that Aunt Lucy would probably leave the letter in the little chest which was appropriated to her use, and which was kept in the room where she slept. The key of this chest had been lost, and although Aunt Lucy had repeatedly requested that a new one should be obtained, Mrs. Mudge had seen fit to pay no attention to her request, as it would interfere with purposes of her own, the character of which may easily be guessed.

  As she suspected, Paul's letter had been deposited in this chest.

  Accordingly, the same afternoon, she left her work in the kitchen in order to institute a search for it. As a prudent precaution, however, she just opened the door of the common room, to make sure that Aunt Lucy was at work therein.

  She made her way upstairs, and entering the room in which the old lady lodged, together with two others, she at once went to the chest and opened it.

  She began to rummage round among the old lady's scanty treasures, and at length, much to her joy, happened upon the letter, laid carefully away in one corner of the chest. She knew it was the one she sought, from the recent postmark, and the address, which was in the unformed handwriting of a boy. To make absolutely certain, she drew the letter from the envelope and looked at the signature.

  She was right, as she saw at a glance. It was from Paul.

  "Now I'll see what the little rascal has to say for himself," she muttered, "I hope he's in distress; oh, how I'd like to get hold of him."

  Mrs. Mudge began eagerly to read the letter, not dreaming of interruption. But she was destined to be disappointed. To account for this we must explain that, shortly after Mrs. Mudge looked into the common room, Aunt Lucy was reminded of something essential, which she had left upstairs. She accordingly laid down her work upon the chair in which she had been sitting, and went up to her chamber.

  Mrs. Mudge was too much preoccupied to hear the advancing steps.

  As the old lady entered the chamber, what was her mingled indignation and dismay at seeing Mrs. Mudge on her knees before her chest, with the precious letter, whose arrival had gladdened her so much, in her hands.

  "What are you doing there, Mrs. Mudge?" she said, sternly.

  Mrs. Mudge rose from her knees in confusion. Even she had the grace to be ashamed of her conduct.

  "Put down that letter," said the old lady in an authoritative voice quite new to her.

  Mrs. Mudge, who had not yet collected her scattered senses, did as she was requested.

  Aunt Lucy walked hastily to the chest, and closed it, first securing the letter, which she put in her pocket.

  "I hope it will be safe, now," she said, rather contemptuously. "Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Mrs. Mudge?"

  "Ashamed of myself!" shrieked that amiable lady, indignant with herself for having quailed for a moment before the old lady.

  "What do you mean--you--you pauper?"

  "I may be a pauper," said Aunt Lucy, calmly, "But I am thankful to say that I mind my own business, and don't meddle with other people's chests."

  A red spot glowed on either cheek of Mrs. Mudge. She was trying hard to find some vantage- ground over the old lady.

  "Do you mean to say that I don't mind my business?" she blustered, folding her arms defiantly.

  "What were you at my trunk for?" said the old lady, significantly.

  "Because it was my duty," was the brazen reply.

  Mrs. Mudge had rapidly determined upon her line of defense, and thought it best to carry the war into the enemy's country.

  "Yes, I felt sure that your letter was from Paul Prescott, and as he ran away from my husband and me, who were his lawful guardians, it was my duty to take that means of finding out where he is. I knew that you were in league with him, and would do all you could to screen him. This is why I went to your chest, and I would do it again, if necessary."

  "Perhaps you have been before," said Aunt Lucy, scornfully. "I think I understand, now, why you were unwilling to give me another key. Fortunately there has been nothing there until now to reward your search."

  "You impudent trollop!" shrieked Mrs. Mudge, furiously.

  Her anger was the greater, because Aunt Lucy was entirely correct in her supposition that this was not the first visit her landlady had made to the little green chest.

  "I'll give Paul the worst whipping he ever had, when I get him back," said Mrs. Mudge, angrily.

  "He is beyond your reach, thank Providence," said Aunt Lucy, whose equanimity was not disturbed by this menace, which she knew to be an idle one. "That is enough for you to know. I will take care that you never have another chance to see this letter. And if you ever go to my chest again"--

  "Well, ma'am, what then?"

  "I shall appeal for protection to 'Squire Newcome."

  "Hoity, toity," said Mrs. Mudge, but she was a little alarmed, nevertheless, as such an appeal would probably be prejudicial to her interest.

  So from time to time Aunt Lucy received, through Ben, letters from Paul, which kept her acquainted with his progress at school. These letters were very precious to the old lady, and she read them over many times. They formed a bright link of interest which bound her to the outside world, and enabled her to bear up with greater cheerfulness against the tyranny of Mrs. Mudge.

  XX.

  PAUL OBTAINS A SITUATION.

  THE month after Paul Prescott succeeded in reaching the head of his class, George Dawkins exerted himself to rise above him. He studied better than usual, and proved in truth a formidable rival. But Paul's spirit was roused. He resolved to maintain his position if possible. He had now become accustomed to study, and it cost him less effort. When the end of the month came, there was considerable speculation in the minds of the boys as to the result of the rivalry. The majority had faith in Paul, but there were some who, remembering how long Dawkins had been at the head of the class, thought he would easily regain his lost rank.

  The eventful day, the first of the month, at length came, and the class-list was read.

  Paul Prescott ranked first.

  George Dawkins ranked second.

  A flush spread over the pale face of Dawkins, and he darted a malignant glance at Paul, who was naturally pleased at having retained his rank.

  Dawkins had his satellites. One of these came to him at recess, and expressed his regret that Dawkins had failed of success.

  Daw
kins repelled the sympathy with cold disdain.

  "What do you suppose I care for the head of the class?" he demanded, haughtily.

  "I thought you had been studying for it."

  "Then you thought wrong. Let the sexton's son have it, if he wants it. It would be of no use to me, as I leave this school at the end of the week."

  "Leave school!"

  The boys gathered about Dawkins, curiously.

  "Is it really so, Dawkins?" they inquired.

  "Yes," said Dawkins, with an air of importance; "I shall go to a private school, where the advantages are greater than here. My father does not wish me to attend a public school any longer.

  This statement was made on the spur of the moment, to cover the mortification which his defeat had occasioned him. It proved true, however. On his return home, Dawkins succeeded in persuading his father to transfer him to a private school, and he took away his books at the end of the week. Had he recovered his lost rank there is no doubt that he would have remained.

  Truth to tell, there were few who mourned much for the departure of George Dawkins. He had never been a favorite. His imperious temper and arrogance rendered this impossible.

  After he left school, Paul saw little of him for two or three years. At their first encounter Paul bowed and spoke pleasantly, but Dawkins looked superciliously at him without appearing to know him.

  Paul's face flushed proudly, and afterwards he abstained from making advances which were likely to be repulsed. He had too much self-respect to submit voluntarily to such slights.

  Meanwhile Paul's school life fled rapidly. It was a happy time,--happy in its freedom from care, and happy for him, though all school boys do not appreciate that consideration, in the opportunities for improvement which it afforded. These opportunities, it is only just to Paul to say, were fully improved. He left school with an enviable reputation, and with the good wishes of his schoolmates and teachers.

  Paul was now sixteen years old, a stout, handsome boy, with a frank, open countenance, and a general air of health which formed quite a contrast to the appearance he presented when he left the hospitable mansion which Mr. Nicholas Mudge kept open at the public expense.

  Paul was now very desirous of procuring a situation. He felt that it was time he was doing something for himself. He was ambitious to relieve the kind sexton and his wife of some portion, at least, of the burden of his support.

  Besides, there was the legacy of debt which his father had bequeathed him. Never for a moment had Paul forgotten it. Never for a moment had he faltered in his determination to liquidate it at whatever sacrifice to himself.

  "My father's name shall be cleared," he said to himself, proudly. "Neither Squire Conant nor any one else shall have it in his power to cast reproach upon his memory."

  The sexton applauded his purpose.

  "You are quite right, Paul," he said. "But you need not feel in haste. Obtain your education first, and the money will come by-and- by. As long as you repay the amount, principal and interest, you will have done all that you are in honor bound to do. Squire Conant, as I understand from you, is a rich man, so that he will experience no hardship in waiting."

  Paul was now solicitous about a place. The sexton had little influence, so that he must depend mainly upon his own inquiries.

  He went into the reading-room of the Astor House every day to look over the advertised wants in the daily papers. Every day he noted down some addresses, and presented himself as an applicant for a position. Generally, however, he found that some one else had been before him.

  One day his attention was drawn to the following advertisement.

  "WANTED. A smart, active, wide-awake boy, of sixteen or seventeen, in a retail dry- goods store. Apply immediately at--Broadway."

  Paul walked up to the address mentioned. Over the door he read, "Smith & Thompson." This, then, was the firm that had advertised.

  The store ran back some distance. There appeared to be six or eight clerks in attendance upon quite a respectable number of customers.

  "Is Mr. Smith in?" inquired Paul, of the nearest clerk.

  "You'll find him at the lower end of the store. How many yards, ma'am?"

  This last was of course addressed to a customer.

  Paul made his way, as directed, to the lower end of the store.

  A short, wiry, nervous man was writing at a desk.

  "Is Mr. Smith in?" asked Paul.

  "My name; what can I do for you?" said the short man, crisply.

  "I saw an advertisement in the Tribune for a boy."

  "And you have applied for the situation?" said Mr. Smith.

  "Yes, sir."

  "How old are you?" with a rapid glance at our hero.

  "Sixteen--nearly seventeen."

  "I suppose that means that you will be seventeen in eleven months and a half."

  "No, sir," said Paul, "I shall be seventeen in three months."

  "All right. Most boys call themselves a year older. What's your name?"

  "Paul Prescott."

  "P. P. Any relation to Fanny Fern?"

  "No, sir," said Paul, rather astonished.

  "Didn't know but you might be. P. P. and F. F. Where do you live?"

  Paul mentioned the street and number.

  "That's well, you are near by," said Mr. Smith. "Now, are you afraid of work?"

  "No sir," said Paul, smiling, "not much."

  "Well, that's important; how much wages do you expect?"

  "I suppose," said Paul, hesitating, "I couldn't expect very much at first."

  "Of course not; green, you know. What do you say to a dollar a week?"

  "A dollar a week!" exclaimed Paul, in dismay, "I hoped to get enough to pay for my board."

  "Nonsense. There are plenty of boys glad enough to come for a dollar a week. At first, you know. But I'll stretch a point with you, and offer you a dollar and a quarter. What do you say?"

  "How soon could I expect to have my wages advanced?" inquired our hero, with considerable anxiety.

  "Well," said Smith, "at the end of a month or two."

  "I'll go home and speak to my uncle about it," said Paul, feeling undecided.

  "Can't keep the place open for you. Ah, there's another boy at the door."

  "I'll accept," said Paul, jumping to a decision. He had applied in so many different quarters without success, that he could not make up his mind to throw away this chance, poor as it seemed.

  "When shall I come?"

  "Come to-morrow"

  "At what time, sir?"

  "At seven o'clock."

  This seemed rather early. However, Paul was prepared to expect some discomforts, and signified that he would come.

  As he turned to go away, another boy passed him, probably bent on the same errand with himself.

  Paul hardly knew whether to feel glad or sorry. He had expected at least three dollars a week, and the descent to a dollar and a quarter was rather disheartening. Still, he was encouraged by the promise of a rise at the end of a month or two,--so on the whole he went home cheerful.

  "Well, Paul, what luck to-day?" asked Mr. Cameron, who had just got home as Paul entered.

  "I've got a place, Uncle Hugh."

  "You have,--where?"

  "With Smith & Thompson, No.--Broadway."

  "What sort of a store? I don't remember the name."

  "It is a retail dry-goods store."

  "Did you like the looks of your future employer?"

  "I don't know," said Paul, hesitating, "He looked as if he might be a pretty sharp man in business, but I have seen others that I would rather work for. However, beggars mustn't be choosers. But there was one thing I was disappointed about."

  "What was that, Paul?"

  "About the wages."

  "How much will they give you?"

  "Only a dollar and a quarter a week, at first."

  "That is small, to be sure."

  "The most I think of, Uncle Hugh, is, that I shall still be an expense to you
. I hoped to get enough to be able to pay my board from the first."

  "My dear boy," said the sexton, kindly, "don't trouble yourself on that score. It costs little more for three than for two, and the little I expend on your account is richly made up by the satisfaction we feel in your society, and your good conduct."

  "You say that to encourage me, Uncle Hugh," said Paul. "You have done all for me. I have done nothing for you."

  "No, Paul, I spoke the truth. Hester and I have both been happier since you came to us. We hope you will long remain with us. You are already as dear to us as the son that we lost."

  "Thank you, Uncle Hugh," said Paul, in a voice tremulous with feeling. "I will do all I can to deserve your kindness."

  XXI.

  SMITH AND THOMPSON'S YOUNG MAN.

  AT seven o'clock the next morning Paul stood before Smith & Thompson's store.

  As he came up on one side, another boy came down on the other, and crossed the street.

  "Are you the new boy?" he asked, surveying Paul attentively.

  "I suppose so," said Paul. "I've engaged to work for Smith & Thompson."

  "All right. I'm glad to see you," said the other.

  This looked kind, and Paul thanked him for his welcome.

  "O." said the other, bursting into a laugh, "you needn't trouble yourself about thanking me. I'm glad you've come, because now I shan't have to open the store and sweep out. Just lend a hand there; I'll help you about taking down the shutters this morning, and to-morrow you'll have to get along alone."

  The two boys opened the store.

  "What's your name?" asked Paul's new acquaintance.

  "Paul Prescott. What is yours?"

  "Nicholas Benton. You may call me Mr. Benton."

  "Mr. Benton?" repeated Paul in some astonishment.

  "Yes; I'm a young man now. I've been Smith & Thompson's boy till now. Now I'm promoted."

  Paul looked at Mr. Benton with some amusement. That young man was somewhat shorter than himself, and sole proprietor of a stock of pale yellow hair which required an abundant stock of bear's grease to keep it in order. His face was freckled and expressionless. His eyebrows and eyelashes were of the same faded color. He was dressed, however, with some pretensions to smartness. He wore a blue necktie, of large dimensions, fastened by an enormous breast-pin, which, in its already tarnished splendor, suggested strong doubts as to the apparent gold being genuine.