Alger Horatio Jr.
Hector's Inheritance, Or, the Boys of Smith Institute
CHAPTER XXXV. THE PRODIGAL
As the best way of getting into communication with the youth whom he suspected to be the object of his search, Hector asked him the name of the street.
On receiving an answer, he said, in an explanatory way:
“I am a stranger here. I only arrived on the last steamer.”
The other looked interested.
“Where do you come from?”
“From New York.”
“I used to live there,” said Gregory—for it was he—with a sigh.
“Have you bettered yourself by coming out here?” asked Hector.
Gregory shook his head.
“No,” he said; “I begin to think I was a fool to come at all.”
“Perhaps you had poor prospects in New York?” said Hector.
“No; my uncle is a rich merchant there. I have some property, also, and he is my guardian.”
“Did he favor your coming?”
“No; he was very much opposed to it.”
“Perhaps I ought not to take such a liberty, but I begin to agree with you about your being a fool to leave such prospects behind you.”
“Oh, I am not offended. It is true enough.”
“I suppose you haven’t prospered, then,” said Hector.
“Prospered? Look at me! Do you see how shabby I am?”
Gregory certainly did look shabby. His clothes were soiled and frayed, and he had the appearance of a young tramp.
“That isn’t the worst of it,” he added, bitterly. “I have spent my last cent, and am penniless.”
“That is bad, certainly. Did you lose any of it in there?” said Hector, indicating the gaming house.
“I have lost full half of it there,” answered Gregory. “This morning I found myself reduced to four bits—”
“To what?” inquired Hector, puzzled.
“Oh, I forgot you had just arrived. Four bits is fifty cents. Well, I was reduced to that, and, instead of saving it for my dinner, I went in there and risked it. If I had been lucky, I might have raised it to ten dollars, as a man next to me did; but I’m out of luck, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Why don’t you go back to your uncle in New York?”
“What! and walk all the way without food?” said Gregory, bitterly.
“Of course you couldn’t go without money. Suppose you had the money, would you go?”
“I should be afraid to try it,” said Gregory, smiling.
“Why? Don’t you think he would receive you back?”
“He might but for one thing,” answered Gregory.
“What is that?”
“I may as well tell you, though I am ashamed to,” said Gregory, reluctantly. “I left New York without his knowledge, and, as I knew he wouldn’t advance me money out of my own property, I took five hundred dollars from his desk.”
“That was bad,” said Hector, quietly, but he didn’t look shocked or terror-stricken, for this would probably have prevented any further confidence.
“It wasn’t exactly stealing,” said Gregory, apologetically, “for I knew he could keep back the money from my property. Still, he could represent it as such and have me arrested.”
“I don’t think he would do that.”
“I don’t want to run the risk. You see now why I don’t dare to go back to New York. But what on earth I am to do here I don’t know.”
“Couldn’t you get employment?” asked Hector, for he wished Gregory to understand his position fully.
“What! in this shabby suit? Respectable business men would take me for a hoodlum.”
Hector knew already that a “hoodlum” in San Francisco parlance is a term applied to street loafers from fifteen to twenty-five years of age, who are disinclined to work and have a premature experience of vice.
“Suppose you were assured that your uncle would receive you back and give you another chance?”
Gregory shook his head.
“I don’t believe he would, and I am afraid I don’t deserve it. No, I must try to get to the mines in some way. How are you fixed?” said Gregory, turning suddenly to Hector. “Could you spare a five-dollar gold piece for a chap that’s been unfortunate?”
“Perhaps I might; but I am afraid you would go back into the gambling house and lose it, as you did your other money.”
“No, I won’t; I promise you that. Four bits was nothing. Five dollars would give me a chance of going somewhere where I could earn a living.”
Gregory seemed to speak sincerely, and Hector thought it would do him no harm to reveal himself and his errand.
“Your name is Gregory Newman, isn’t it?” he inquired.
Gregory stared at him in uncontrollable amazement.
“How do you know that?” he inquired.
“And your uncle’s name is Titus Newman?”
“Yes, but—”
“He lives on Madison Avenue, does he not?”
“Yes, yes; but who are you that seem to know so much about me?”
“My name is Hector Roscoe.”
“Did I know you in New York?”
“No; I never met you, to my knowledge.”
“Then how do you recognize me and know my name?”
In answer, Hector took from his pocket a photograph of Gregory and displayed it.
“How did you come by that?” asked Gregory, hurriedly. “Are you a detective?”
Gregory looked so startled that Hector had hard work not to laugh. It seemed ludicrous to him that he should be supposed to be a detective on Gregory’s track, as the boy evidently suspected.
“No,” he answered, “I am not a detective, but a friend. I have come out to San Francisco especially to find you.”
“You won’t inform against me?” asked Gregory, nervously.
“Not at all. I come as a friend, with a message from your uncle—”
“What is it?” asked Gregory, eagerly.
“He wants you to come back to New York, and he will give you another chance.”
“Is this true?”
“Yes; will you come?”
“I shall be glad to leave San Francisco,” said Gregory, fervently. “I have had no luck since I arrived here.”
“Do you think you deserved any?” said Hector, significantly.
“No, perhaps not,” Gregory admitted.
“When will you be ready to return?”
“You forget that I have no money.”
“I have, and will pay your passage.”
Gregory grasped the hands of our hero gratefully.
“You are a trump!” said he.
Then he looked at his wretched and dilapidated suit.
“I don’t like to go home like this,” he said. “I should be mortified if I met my uncle or any of my old acquaintances.”
“Oh, that can be remedied,” said Hector. “If you can lead the way to a good clothing house, where the prices are moderate, I will soon improve your appearance.”
“That I will!” answered Gregory, gladly.
Within five minutes’ walk was a good clothing house, on Kearney Street. The two entered, and a suit was soon found to fit Gregory. Then they obtained a supply of underclothing, and Gregory breathed a sigh of satisfaction. His self-respect returned, and he felt once more like his old self.
“Now,” said Hector, “I shall take you to my hotel, and enter your name as a guest. You and I can room together.”
“Do you know,” said Gregory, “I almost fear this is a dream, and that I shall wake up again a tramp, as you found me half an hour ago? I was almost in despair when you met me.”
Though Gregory seemed quite in earnest in his desire to turn over a new leaf, Hector thought it prudent to keep the funds necessary for their journey in his own possession. He gave a few dollars to Gregory as spending money, but disregarded any hints looking to a further advance.
CHAPTER XXXVI. HOW HECTOR SUCCEEDED IN SACRAMENTO
Now that Hector had succeeded in the main object of his journey, he had time to think of his own affairs. It was most important for him to visit Sacramento and make inquiries into the matter that so nearly concerned him.
“I must find out,” he said to himself, “whether I am entitled to the name I bear, or whether I only received it by adoption.”
The second day after his discovery of Gregory Newman, he said to him:
“Gregory, business of importance calls me to Sacramento. Do you wish to go with me?”
“Does the business in any way relate to me?” asked Gregory.
“Not at all.”
“Then I prefer to remain in San Francisco.”
“Can I trust you not to fall back into your old ways?” asked Hector.
“Yes; I have had enough of them,” answered Gregory, and there was a sincerity in his tone which convinced Hector that he might safely leave him.
“I shall probably stay overnight,” he said. “If I stay any longer, I will telegraph to you.”
Arrived in Sacramento, Hector sought out the residence of the Rev. Mr. Richards, whose acquaintance he had made on board the steamer.
His clerical friend received him with evident pleasure.
“How have you fared, my young friend?” he asked.
“Very well, sir. I have succeeded in my mission.”
“Then you have found the youth you were in search of?”
“Yes, sir; moreover, I have induced him to return home with me, and turn over a new leaf.”
“That is indeed good news. And now, I think I have also good news for you.”
“Please let me know it, sir,” said Hector, eagerly.
“I have found the lady with whom your father and mother boarded while they were in Sacramento.”
“What does she say?”
“She says,” answered Mr. Richards, promptly, “that you are Mr. Roscoe’s own son, and were born in her house.”
“Thank Heaven!” ejaculated Hector.
“Nor is this all. I have found the minister who baptized you. He is still living, at a very advanced age—the Rev. Mr. Barnard. I called upon him, and recalled his attention to the period when your father lived in the city. I found that he remembered both your parents very well. Not only that, but he has a very full diary covering that time, in which he showed me this record:
“‘Baptized, June 17th, Hector, the son of Thomas and Martha Roscoe; a bright, healthy child, in whom the parents much delight.”
“Then it seems to me,” said Hector, “that my case is a very strong one.”
“Unusually so. In fact, it could not be stronger. I marvel how Allan Roscoe, your uncle, could have ventured upon a fraud which could be so easily proved to be such.”
“He depended upon Sacramento being so far away,” said Hector. “He thought I would accept my father’s letter without question.”
“That letter was undoubtedly forged,” said the minister.
“It must have been, but it was very cleverly forged. The handwriting was a very close copy of my father’s.” It was a great pleasure to Hector that he could say “my father” without a moment’s doubt that he was entitled to say so.
“He thought, also, that you would not have the means to come here to investigate for yourself,” said Mr. Richards.
“Yes, and he would have been right but for the commission Mr. Newman gave me. What course would you advise me to take,” asked Hector, a little later, “to substantiate my claim?”
“Get Mrs. Blodgett’s and Rev. Mr. Barnard’s sworn affidavits, and place them in the hands of a reliable lawyer, requesting him to communicate with your uncle.”
This advice seemed to Hector to be wise, and he followed it. Fortunately, he had no difficulty in inducing both parties to accede to his request. The next day he returned to San Francisco.
CHAPTER XXXVII. A NARROW ESCAPE
Armed with the affidavits which were to restore to him the position in life of which his uncle had wickedly deprived him, Hector returned to San Francisco. He found Gregory unaffectedly glad to see him.
“Glad to see you back, Hector,” he said; “I missed you.”
Hector was glad to find that Gregory had not taken advantage of his absence to indulge in any of his old excesses. He began to hope that he had already turned over the new leaf which was so desirable.
“I know what you are thinking of,” said Gregory, after Hector had returned his salutation. “You are wondering whether I ‘cut up’ any while you were gone.”
“You don’t look as if you had,” said Hector, smiling.
“No; I have had enough of sowing wild oats. It doesn’t pay. Shall I tell you what I did last evening?”
“If you like.”
“I attended a lecture illustrated with the stereopticon. I was in bed at ten.”
“Gregory,” said Hector, taking his hand, “you don’t know how glad I am to hear this. I am sure your uncle will be delighted when you return to him so changed.”
“I’ve made a great fool of myself,” said Gregory, candidly. “Hereafter I am going to make you my model.”
Hector blushed deeply, for he was a modest boy.
“You compliment me too much, Gregory,” he said. “Still, if you are in earnest, I will try to set you a good example.”
“You won’t have any trouble in doing that. You are one of the fellows that find it easy to be good.”
“I am not sure of that, Gregory. Still, I mean to do my best.”
In the evening the two boys attended a theatrical performance. It was not till after eleven o’clock that they emerged from the theatre, and slowly, not by the most direct way, sauntered home.
There was no thought of danger in the mind of either, yet, as a fact, Hector had never in his life been exposed to peril so serious as that evening. Lurking behind in the shadow a shabby-looking man followed the two boys, keeping his eyes steadily on Hector. At a place specially favorable, our hero was startled by hearing a bullet whiz by his ear. He turned instantly, and so did Gregory. They saw a man running, and they pursued him. They might not have caught up with him, but that he stumbled and fell. Instantly they were upon him.
“Well,” he said, sullenly, “you’ve caught me after all.”
“Were you the man who fired at me?” asked Hector, “or was it my friend here you sought to kill?”
“I was firing at you,” answered their captive, coolly. “Now, what are you going to do with me?”
“Was this forced upon you by want? Did you wish to rob me?”
“No; I had another motive.”
“What was it?”
“If I tell you, will you let me go free?”
Hector hesitated.
The man proceeded, speaking with emphasis.
“If I tell you who put me up to this, and furnish you proofs so that you can bring it to him, will you let me go?”
“You will not renew the attempt?” asked Hector.
“No,” answered the man; “it isn’t likely; I shall have no further motive.”
“Yes, I agree.”
“Read that letter, then.”
“There isn’t light enough. Will you accompany me to the hotel, where I can read it?”
“I will.”
The three walked together to the hotel, where Hector and Gregory were staying. There Hector read the letter. He was astonished and horrified when he discovered that it was from his uncle to this man, with whom he seemed to have an acquaintance, describing Hector, and promising him a thousand dollars if he would put him out of the way.
“This is very important,” said Hector, gravely. “Are you ready to accompany me to New York and swear to this?”
“Yes, if you will pay my expenses.”
By the next steamer Hector, Gregory and the stranger, who called himself Reuben Pearce, sailed for New York.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION
Allan Roscoe sat at the breakfast table with Guy opposite him. Though Mr. Roscoe was not altogether free from anxiety since he had learned of Hector’s expedition to California, he had taught himself to believe that there was little chance of the boy’s ferreting out the imposition he had practiced upon him. He had been a poor and struggling man most of his life, having, when quite a young man, squandered his inheritance, and his present taste of affluence was most agreeable. He felt that he could not part with Castle Roscoe.
“But I am safe enough,” he said to himself; “even if Hector discovered anything, something might happen to him, so that he might be unable to return.”
“Father,” said Guy, who had just dispatched an egg, “I want ten dollars this morning.”
“Ten dollars!” said his father, frowning. “How is this? Did I not give you your week’s allowance two days since?”
“Well, I’ve spent it,” answered Guy, “and I need some more.”
“You must think I am made of money,” said his father, displeased.
“It’s pretty much so,” said Guy, nonchalantly. “Your income must be ten thousand a year.”
“I have a great many expenses. How have you spent your allowance?”
“Oh, I can’t tell exactly. It’s gone, at any rate. You mustn’t become mean, father.”
“Mean! Don’t I give you a handsome allowance? Look here, Guy, I can’t allow such extravagance on your part. This once I’ll give you five dollars, but hereafter, you must keep within your allowance.”
“Can’t you make it ten?”
“No, I can’t,” said his father, shortly.
Guy rose from the table, and left the room, whistling.
“The old man’s getting mean,” he said. “If he doesn’t allow me more, I shall have to get in debt.”
As Guy left the room, the mail was brought in. On one of the envelopes, Mr. Roscoe saw the name of his lawyer. He did not think much of it, supposing it related to some minor matter of business. The letter ran thus:
“ALLAN ROSCOE, ESQ.:
“DEAR SIR: Be kind enough to come up to the city at once. Business of great importance demands your attention.
“Yours respectfully, TIMOTHY TAPE.”
“Mr. Tape is unusually mysterious,” said Allan Roscoe to himself, shrugging his shoulders. “I will go up to-day. I have nothing to keep me at home.”
Mr. Roscoe ordered the carriage, and drove to the depot. Guy, noticing his departure, asked permission to accompany him.
“Not to-day, Guy,” he answered. “I am merely going up to see my lawyer.”
Two hours later Mr. Roscoe entered the office of his lawyer.
“Well, Tape, what’s up?” he asked, in an easy tone. “Your letter was mysterious.”
“I didn’t like to write explicitly,” said Mr. Tape, gravely.
“The matter, you say, is of great importance?”
“It is, indeed! It is no less than a claim for the whole of your late brother’s estate.”
“Who is the claimant?” asked Allan Roscoe, perturbed.
“Your nephew, Hector.”
“I have no nephew Hector. The boy called Hector Roscoe is an adopted son of my brother.”
“I know you so stated. He says he is prepared to prove that he is the lawful son of the late Mr. Roscoe.”
“He can’t prove it!” said Allan Roscoe, turning pale.
“He has brought positive proof from California, so he says.”
“Has he, then, returned?” asked Allan, his heart sinking.
“He is in the city, and expects us to meet him at two o’clock this afternoon, at the office of his lawyer, Mr. Parchment.”
Now, Mr. Parchment was one of the most celebrated lawyers at the New York bar, and the fact that Hector had secured his services showed Allan Roscoe that the matter was indeed serious.
“How could he afford to retain so eminent a lawyer?” asked Allan Roscoe, nervously.
“Titus Newman, the millionaire merchant, backs him.”
“Do you think there is anything in his case?” asked Allan, slowly.
“I can tell better after our interview at two o’clock.”
At five minutes to two Allan Roscoe and Mr. Tape were ushered into the private office of Mr. Parchment.
“Glad to see you, gentlemen,” said the great lawyer, with his usual courtesy.
Two minutes later Hector entered, accompanied by Mr. Newman. Hector nodded coldly to his uncle. He was not of a vindictive nature, but he could not forget that this man, his own near relative, had not only deprived him of his property, but conspired against his life.
“Hector,” said Allan Roscoe, assuming a confidence he did not feel, “I am amazed at your preposterous claim upon the property my brother left to me. This is a poor return for his kindness to one who had no claim upon him.”
“Mr. Parchment will speak for me,” said Hector, briefly.
“My young client,” said the great lawyer, “claims to be the son of the deceased Mr. Roscoe, and, of course, in that capacity, succeeds to his father’s estate.”
“It is one thing to make the claim, and another to substantiate it,” sneered Allan Roscoe.
“Precisely so, Mr. Roscoe,” said Mr. Parchment. “We quite agree with you. Shall I tell you and your learned counsel what we are prepared to prove?”
Mr. Roscoe nodded uneasily.
“We have the affidavits of the lady with whom your brother boarded in Sacramento, and in whose house my young client was born. We have, furthermore, the sworn testimony of the clergyman, still living, who baptized him, and we can show, though it is needless, in the face of such strong proof, that he was always spoken of in his infancy by Mr. and Mrs. Roscoe as their child.”
“And I have my brother’s letter stating that he was only adopted,” asserted Allan Roscoe.
“Even that, admitting it to be genuine,” said Mr. Parchment, “cannot disprove the evidence I have already alluded to. If you insist upon it, however, we will submit the letter to an expert, and—”
“This is a conspiracy. I won’t give up the estate,” said Allan, passionately.
“We also claim that there is a conspiracy,” said Mr. Parchment, smoothly, “and there is one circumstance that will go far to confirm it.”
“What is that?” demanded Allan Roscoe.
“It is the attempt made upon my young client’s life in San Francisco by an agent of yours, Mr. Roscoe.”
“It is a lie!” said Allan, hoarsely, shaking, nevertheless, with fear.
At a sign from Mr. Parchment, Hector opened the door of the office to give admission to Reuben Pearce.
At a sight of this man Allan Roscoe utterly collapsed. He felt that all was lost!
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I will give up the estate, but for Heaven’s sake, don’t prosecute me for this!”
There was an informal conference, in which it was agreed that Allan Roscoe should make no resistance to Hector’s claim, but restore the estate to him. Hector promised, though this was against his lawyer’s advice, to give his uncle, who would be left penniless, the sum of two thousand dollars in cash, and an allowance of a hundred dollars per month for his life. He appointed Mr. Newman his guardian, being a minor, and was once more a boy of fortune. He resolved to continue his studies, and in due time go to college, thus preparing himself for the high position he would hereafter hold.
As for Allan Roscoe, he and his son, Guy, lost no time in leaving the neighborhood. Guy was intensely mortified at this turn of the wheel, which had again brought his cousin uppermost, and was quite ready to accompany his father to Chicago, where they are living at present. But he had formed extravagant tastes, and has been a source of trouble and solicitude to his father, who, indeed, hardly deserves the comfort of a good son.
Hector lost no time, after being restored to his old position, in re-engaging Larry Deane’s father, who had been discharged by his uncle.
He paid him his usual wages for all the time he had been out of place, and considerably raised his pay for the future.
“Larry shall never want a friend as long as I live,” he assured Mr. Deane. “He was a friend to me when I needed one, and I will take care to give him a good start in life.” He redeemed this promise by securing Larry a place in Mr. Newman’s employ, and voluntarily allowed him as large a weekly sum as the merchant paid him in addition, so that Larry could live comfortably in the city. I am glad to say that Larry has shown himself deserving of this kindness, and has already been promoted to an important and better paid position.
A word about Smith Institute. It never recovered from the blow that it had received at the time when Hector found himself forced to leave it. One after another the pupils left, and Mr. Smith felt that his race as a schoolmaster was run. He advertised the institute for sale, and who do you think bought it? Who but Hector Roscoe, who probably paid more for it than anyone else would.
My readers will hardly suppose that he wanted it for himself. In a cordial letter he presented it to Mr. Crabb, the late usher, when he had finished his engagement with Walter Boss, and the name was changed to “Crabb Institute.” It was not long before it regained its old patronage, for Mr. Crabb was not only a good scholar, but was fair and just to the pupils, ruling them rather by love than fear. He has married the daughter of a neighboring clergyman, who is a judicious helper and contributes to the success of the school.
As for Jim Smith, the last heard of him was to this effect: He had strayed out to St. Louis, and, after a few months of vicissitude, had secured the position of bartender in a low liquor saloon. He has very little chance of rising higher. The young tyrant of Smith Institute has not done very well for himself, but he has himself to blame for it.
To return to Hector. I think we are justified in predicting for him a prosperous future. He behaved well in adversity. He is not likely to be spoiled by prosperity, but promises to grow up a good and manly man, who will seek to do good as he goes along, and so vindicate his claim to the exceptional good fortune which he enjoys.
