Alger Horatio Jr.
Sam's Chance, and How He Improved It
CHAPTER XIII.
HENRY'S GOOD FORTUNE
Three months passed. To Henry Martin they passed very satisfactorily. At his new rate of payment he was able to lay up two dollars a week without denying himself anything absolutely necessary to his comfort. At the end of this period, therefore, he had twenty-six dollars on deposit in a new savings-bank. Of his venture he had heard nothing. He remained perfectly easy about this, however, knowing that in due time he would hear from it. Mr. Hamilton, he observed, took more notice of him than formerly. He frequently greeted him, in passing through to his office, with a pleasant word or smile; and Henry felt justified in concluding that he was in favor with him.
It was after the interval of time already mentioned that he again received a summons to the counting-room.
Mr. Hamilton had a long paper before him closely filled with figures.
"Sit down. Henry," he said.
"Thank you, sir."
"You remember our conversation three months since, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir; perfectly."
"You consented to take a share in a venture was sending out to Rotterdam?"
"Yes, sir."
"I have just received a statement of it, and, you are interested, I have called you in to let you know how it has turned out."
"Thank you, sir," said Henry, eagerly.
"I find that, after deducting all expenses, your share of the profits will amount to one hundred dollars."
"One hundred dollars!" exclaimed Henry, in astonishment and delight.
"Yes. I think we have been very successful."
Henry felt flattered by that word "we." It seemed to associate him, humble office boy as he was, with the eminent merchant who employed him.
"That is better than the savings-bank, sir," said Henry.
"Yes, it is; but I ought to add that it is not always so sure. All ventures do not turn out so profitably. To return to your affairs I shall charge you interest on the five hundred dollars you borrowed of me, at the rate of seven per cent. You have had the use of the money for three months."
"Then the interest will amount to eight dollars and three quarters," said Henry, promptly.
"Quite right; you are very quick at reckoning," said Mr. Hamilton, looking pleased.
"That is not a difficult sum," answered Henry, modestly.
"I did not suppose you knew much about computing interest. You left school very young, did you not?"
"At twelve, sir."
"You had not studied interest then, had you?"
"No, sir; I have studied it since."
"At evening-school?"
"No, sir; I studied by myself in the evening."
"How long have you done that?"
"For two years."
"And you keep it up regularly?"
"Yes, sir; occasionally I take an evening for myself, but I average five evenings a week at studying."
"You are a remarkable boy," said the merchant, looking surprised.
"If you flatter me, sir, I may grow self-conceited," said Henry, smiling.
"You have some right to feel satisfied with yourself. Tell me what was your object in commencing this course of work."
"I picked up at a bookstore on Nassau Street an old book containing the lives of some men who rose from obscurity; and I found that many of them studied by themselves in early life, being unable to attend school. It seemed to me that education was necessary to success, and, as I had nothing else to depend upon, I began to work evenings."
"Did you not find it irksome? Were you not tempted sometimes to give it up?"
"Just at first; but afterward I got to enjoy it."
Here Mr. Hamilton asked Henry a few questions, with a view of testing his knowledge both as to extent and accuracy; and the result was so satisfactory as more and more to prepossess him in favor of the boy.
He returned to business.
"It appears," he said, "that, interest deducted, you have ninety-one dollars and a quarter to your credit with me. You are at liberty to draw it, if you wish."
"What would you advise me to do, Mr. Hamilton?" asked Henry.
"You had better leave it in my hands for such use as I may think likely to prove profitable. I shall dispatch a vessel to Marseilles in a week. Would you like to take a share in this venture?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then, I will assign six hundred dollars to you. Five you may continue to borrow of me. One is your own."
"Not quite, sir. You remember the interest."
"That need not be charged till the end of the year. I will still retain the savings-bank book you left with me as a guaranty. Is that satisfactory?"
"Entirely so, sir."
"Have you been able to save up anything lately?"
"Yes, sir; I have twenty-six dollars on depost in another bank."
"Very good. You are, then, provided for in any case of emergency."
Henry went back to work.
His reflections, as may be imagined, were very pleasant. He figured up what he was worth, and it stood thus:
Six-penny Savings Bank............ $35 00
Second bank account.............. 26 00
Proceeds of venture (net)......... 91 25 – $152 25
Thus he figured up a grand total of one hundred and fifty-two dollars and twenty-five cents, making a gain in three months of one hundred and seventeen dollars and twenty-five cents.
"Why, at this rate," thought Henry, "I shall soon be rich."
Of course, he owed a large part of this sum to the favor of his employer; but this, again, was earned by his fidelity and economy – two qualities which I wish were more common among boys of his age.
Returning to his room he looked for his savings-bank book, but to his dismay it was nowhere to be found.
"Where can it be?" he asked himself, perplexed. "Perhaps Sam has seen it."
But Sam had not yet returned from the store, though it was past his usual time.
"It is very strange," thought Henry. "I am sure it was at the bottom of my trunk. Can the trunk have been opened?"
CHAPTER XIV.
THE SAVINGS BANK BOOK
During the three months, which to Henry brought good fortune, Sam had grown no richer. Indeed, just at this time he was very "hard up." He had applied to Henry for a loan, but as he was already indebted to his more prudent roommate, the latter declined to lend.
"I think you are mean, Henry," said Sam, in disappointment.
"I can't help it, Sam. You can live on five dollars a week just as well as I can."
"You've got a lot of money in the bank," said Sam, reproachfully.
"Because I am more prudent than you."
"I thought you were a friend of mine."
"So I am; but I cannot encourage your extravagance. It wouldn't be a friendly thing to do."
"Oh, it's easy enough for you to find excuses; you don't want to lend, that's all."
"I don't want to give, for that is what it would amount to."
Sam saw that it would be of no use to persist in his request, and he went out sulkily.
That day he found a bunch of keys in the street. This was not a very valuable discovery, and he was tempted at first to throw them down again, when an idea struck him. He dropped the keys into his pocket, and when his lunch hour came, instead of going to a restaurant, as usual, he hurried back to his boarding-house.
The landlady met him as he was going upstairs.
"Have you lost your place?" she asked, suspiciously; for in this case Sam would probably be unable to pay his weekly rent.
"Oh, no," said Sam. "I left something at home, that's all."
He entered his room, and carefully locked the door behind him.
Then he got down on his knees, and, one after the other, he tried the lock of Henry's trunk with the keys he had found. The fifth opened it.
Sam blushed with shame, as he saw the inside of the trunk, with its contents neatly arranged. In spite of his faults he had some honorable feelings, and he felt that he was engaged in a contemptible business. He was violating the confidence of his friend and roommate, who had been uniformly kind to him, though he had declined to lend him money latterly. Sam admitted to himself that in this refusal he was justified, for he knew very well that there was very little chance of repayment.
Sam hoped to find some money in the trunk; but in this hope he was destined to be disappointed. Henry was in the habit of making a weekly deposit in the savings-bank, and therefore he had no surplus stock of money. But at the bottom of his trunk was his savings-bank book. Sam opened it, and his eyes sparkled when he counted up the deposits, and found that they amounted to twenty-six dollars.
"I didn't think Henry had so much money," he said to himself.
He thrust the book into his pocket, and hurriedly locked the trunk. He went downstairs, and hastened to the bank, which, unlike the Sixpenny Savings Bank, was located downtown, and not far from the City Hall.
Henry had selected it on account of its nearness.
Sam entered the banking house, and went to the window of the paying clerk. He had accompanied Henry to the bank more than once, and knew just where to go.
"How much do you want?" asked the clerk, in a business-like tone.
"Twenty dollars," replied Sam, who had made up his mind not to take the whole. This was not due to any particular consideration, but on the way he had read the rules of the bank, and ascertained that a week's notice would be necessary before the whole account could be withdrawn.
The clerk filled an order for twenty dollars, and pushed it over to Sam.
"Sign that," he said.
Sam hastily signed the name of "Henry Martin," and passed it back.
The clerk went to a large book, and compared the signature with the one recorded therein. Now, there was a considerable difference between Sam's and Henry's handwriting, and he detected it at once.
"You are not Henry Martin," he said, on his return.
Sam was astonished at this discovery, but was too much alarmed to deny it.
"No, sir," he said.
"What is your name?"
"Sam Barker."
"What made you sign the name of Henry Martin?" asked the bank officer, suspiciously.
"He is my roommate."
"Did he ask you to draw this money for him?"
"Yes," answered Sam.
"He ought to have known that we would not pay it except upon his written order."
"He thought it would do just as well if I signed his name," said Sam, growing bolder.
"Then, he was mistaken."
"Can't you give me the money, then?"
"No, he must come himself."
"All right!" said Sam. "I'll tell him."
He spoke so naturally that the clerk was inclined to think his suspicions were needless, and that Sam was really an authorized agent of the real depositor. But when he got into the street, Sam's vexation found vent.
"Everything goes against me," he grumbled. "It hasn't done me a bit of good taking this book. I shall only have the trouble of putting it back again. I can't do it now, for I must go back to the store, without my lunch, too."
He counted upon replacing the book before it was missed; but Henry reached home first, and discovered his loss, as related in the preceding chapter.
CHAPTER XV.
SAM IS FOUND OUT
Henry was not a little disturbed at the disappearance of his bank-book. He felt confident that he had laid it away in his trunk, and in that case it must have been stolen. But who possessed a key to the trunk? Could it be Sam? Henry recalled Sam's application for a loan, and he feared that it was really he. He determined to make inquiries as soon as his roommate came home.
He had scarcely formed this determination when Sam entered.
"You are home early, Henry," he said.
"No; it is you who are late."
"I didn't get out quite as soon as usual."
"I wonder whether he has missed the bankbook," thought Sam. "If he'd only go out, I'd put it back where I took it from."
Sam was soon informed as to the bank-book being missed.
"I can't find my bank-book anywhere, Sam," said Henry, looking searchingly at his companion.
"Can't you? Where did you put it?" asked Sam, trying to look unconcerned.
"In my trunk."
"Then it must be there now."
"It is not. I have looked carefully."
"Then, you didn't put it there. You must be mistaken."
"No, I am not."
"You may have dropped it out of your pocket on the way from the bank."
"No; I remember distinctly putting it in my trunk."
Sam shrugged his shoulders.
"I suppose you know best; but if you put it there, it must be there now."
"Unless it has been taken from my trunk," said Henry, significantly.
"Just so," said Sam, readily. "Perhaps the landlady has taken it, or Bridget, the chambermaid."
"I don't think they have."
"Will you lose the money if you don't find the book?"
"No; I can report my loss at the bank, and they will give me a new one."
"Then you're all right."
"I don't like the idea of my book being taken. The same one who took the old book may take the new one."
"Well, I haven't got any bank-book to worry about," said Sam. "Are you going out to supper?"
"Yes. Then, you don't know anything about my book?"
"I! Of course not!" answered Sam. "What should I know of it?"
"I don't know. Come, then, we'll go to supper."
Sam saw that he was suspected, and he knew that he deserved it, but he did not want Henry to ascertain definitely that such was the fact, He wanted to return the book as soon as he could without observation, but for this he must wait a while.
When supper was over, they took a walk of half an hour, and then Henry started to return to his room.
"I'll stay out a little longer," said Sam.
"Are you going to the theater?" asked Henry.
"Not unless you lend me the money," said Sam. "I'm hard up myself."
"You generally are."
"Of course I am. How can I help it on such a mean salary?"
"I don't know what to think," said Henry to himself. "If Sam has the book he hasn't drawn any money on it, or he would go to the theater. Perhaps he is innocent."
Sam stayed out late. He did not go to the theater, being, as he said, short of money, but he lounged away the evening in billiard saloons, and it was a quarter past eleven before he got back to his room. When he entered Henry was fast asleep. Sam congratulated himself upon this. He felt that now was his chance to return the book. He might have replaced it in the trunk, but as Henry had thoroughly searched it, he would at once suspect that it bad been replaced. Besides, Henry might wake up, and detect him in the act.
After some consideration, Sam put it into Henry's inside coat pocket, and then, undressing himself, went to bed.
"I've got clear of it now," he thought, "and whatever Henry suspects, he can't prove anything."
The next morning, as Henry was dressing, he chanced to put his hand in his coat pocket, and drew out the book.
"What's that?" asked Sam, who had been watching him.
"It's my savings-bank book," answered Henry.
"Where did you find it?"
"In my pocket."
"Then, you didn't put it in your trunk, after all?"
"Yes, I did."
"That's foolish. If you had, it wouldn't have got into your pocket."
Henry did not reply, but, examining the book, discovered to his satisfaction that no money had been withdrawn.
"You see you were wrong," said Sam.
"At any rate, I am glad to get the book back again," said Henry, quietly.
"I wonder if he suspects anything," thought Sam.
Henry did suspect, but he was determined to verify his suspicions before saying a word on the subject.
During the day he managed to get away from the store long enough to visit the savings-bank. He went at once to the desk where payments were made, and, showing his book, asked the clerk if he remembered whether any one had presented it the day before.
"Yes," was the answer. "A friend of yours wanted to draw out some money on your account; but of course we did not pay it without your order."
"I am glad you didn't."
"Then you did not send the boy who presented it?"
"No."
"I thought it might be so."
"How much did he want to draw?"
"Twenty dollars."
Henry looked serious. This certainly looked bad for Sam. He did not like to think that a boy to whom he had always been kind would so abuse his confidence.
"I shall take better care of my book in future," he said. "The boy had no authority from me to draw money."
"We saw that the signature was not correct, and refused to honor the draft."
Henry made a deposit of two dollars, increasing the amount to twenty-eight dollars, and then left the bank. On his way back to the store, he made up his mind that he would no longer room with Sam. Even if he increased his expenses, he could not consent to have for a roommate one who had made an attempt to defraud him.
CHAPTER XVI.
SAM LOSES HIS PLACE
"Mr. Dalton wants you to go to the bank, and make a deposit," said William Budd, to Sam, on the forenoon of the same day.
"All right," said Sam.
"Be particularly careful, as the deposit is unusually large."
"Oh, yes, I'll be careful."
Sam received the checks and drafts, amounting to several thousand dollars, and started for the Fourth National Bank, on Nassau Street. When he had accomplished a part of the distance, he met an old acquaintance, whom he had known in his boot-blacking days.
"How are you, Sam?" said Tim Brady. "I haven't seen you for a long time."
"I'm all right, Tim. I haven't seen you, either. Where have you been?"
"To Boston," answered Tim, briefly.
"You have!" exclaimed Sam, interested. "How did you like it?"
"I don't like it as well as York."
"Why not? Ain't it a nice place?"
"'Tisn't half as big as York. Besides, there ain't half so much fun. There ain't no Old Bowery there, nor Tony Pastor's. I didn't know what to do with myself nights."
"What were you doing? Did you black boots?"
"No," answered Tim. "I was in a store on Dock Square."
"What sort of a store?"
"Clothing store."
"How did you get the place?"
"It is kept by a cousin of the old woman. He wrote that he'd take me if I'd come on. So I went; but I didn't like it."
"Where did you live?"
"With him. He had a house in Chelsea, just over the river, like Brooklyn is. I got my board and a dollar a week."
"That ain't much," said Sam.
"No, I should say not. I had to pay my way over the ferry out of it, too. It didn't leave me no money for cigars nor nothing."
"How long were you there?"
"About three months. I would not have stayed so long, only I couldn't get money to get back."
"You got it at last; or did you walk back?"
"Walk? I guess not. It's three or four hundred miles."
This was not quite exact, but near enough for a guess.
"How much did it cost you to come back?"
"Five dollars."
"That's a good deal. Where did you get so much?"
"I found it in the street one day," answered Tim, with a little hesitation.
"How long have you been back?"
"About a week. I've been looking round for you. Where do you hang out?"
"I've got a room of my own," answered Sam, with an air of importance.
"You have! You're in luck. What are you doin'?"
"I've got a place with Dalton & Co., on Pearl Street."
"What business?
"Merchant. He's awful rich. Just look at that!"
Sam displayed his bundle of checks.
"I don't see nothin' particular except some bits of paper."
"You don't know anything about business, Tim. Them's checks."
"Are they?"
"They're good for a lot of money. Here's a check for twelve hundred dollars, and there's others besides."
"That piece of paper worth twelve hundred dollars!" said Tim, incredulously.
"Yes."
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Take it to the bank."
"What bank?"
"Fourth National Bank."
Tim looked at Sam with respect. He must certainly occupy a responsible business position if he was trusted with such a large amount of money.
Sam, in putting back his checks, was careless enough to drop the twelve-hundred-dollar check. He hurried off, unconscious of his loss, and Tim quietly secured it. He ought to have restored it to Sam, as he easily might have done; but an idea struck him. He would instead carry it round to Mr. Dalton, and in all probability secure a reward for his honesty. This was sharp practice, and hardly consistent with friendship for Sam; but Tim was a boy not particularly scrupulous, who cared more for number one than for any friend. He went into a store near by, ascertained the number of Mr. Dalton's place of business, and hurried down there.
"Is the boss in?" he asked of William Budd, whom he first encountered.
"Yes."
"I'd like to see him."
"What for?"
"Important business," answered Tim.
Budd looked at him rather incredulously.
"If you want to apply for a place, it's no use. We've got a boy already."
"That ain't my business. I've picked up something in the street that belongs to Mr. Dalton, I'm thinkin'."
"What is it?"
"A check."
"Sam must have dropped it," thought William, instantly. "Let me see it," he said, aloud.
"I'll show it to the boss," said Tim, obstinately.
"Come on, then."
"Here is a boy, Mr. Dalton, who thinks he has found something belonging to you," said the young man.
Mr. Dalton looked up.
"What is it, my boy?" he said.
"It's a check," said Tim, and, taking off his ragged hat, he handed the paper to Mr. Dalton.
"It's Nesbitt's check for twelve hundred dollars!" exclaimed the merchant. "Where did you find it?"
"In Nassau Street."
"How could it be there, Mr. Budd?" asked Mr. Dalton.
"I sent Sam to the bank not long since. He must have dropped it. It is not the first time he has been careless."
"I am afraid we shall have to discharge him. How does he perform his duties generally?"
"Not very satisfactorily, sir."
"Send him to me as soon as he returns. Now, my boy, what is your name?"
"Tim Brady, sir."
"Did you know the value of this check?"
"Yes, sir; it's worth twelve hundred dollars."
"How did you know where to bring it?"
"I saw the name, and looked in the 'Directory' to find your place of business."
"You are a good and honest boy."
"Thank you, sir; I try to be," said Tim, meekly.
"You have done me a service. Here are ten dollars."
"Thank you, sir," said Tim, joyfully. "You're a gentleman."
Mr. Dalton smiled.
"Always keep honest. 'Honesty is the best policy.'"
"I think so myself, sir," said Tim.
Tim retired quite elated. From a corner nearly opposite he watched for Sam's return.
"He looks sober," said Tim to himself. "It's likely he'll get 'bounced.' I wonder will I stand a chance for his place."
"Sam," said William Budd, on his entrance, "Mr. Dalton wants to see you."
Sam looked startled. He had ascertained his loss, and was perplexed and troubled about it.
Mr. Dalton looked up as he entered.
"Have you been to the bank, Samuel?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Did you deposit all the checks given you?"
"I lost one check some way," stammered Sam.
"You must have been very careless," said his employer, in a tone of reproof.
"I don't think I was," said Sam.
"You must have been. Did you not know that you had charge of a large amount?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then, knowing this, you should have been particularly careful."
"I'll go back and look for it, sir."
"Fortunately there is no need of this, as it was picked up and brought here by an honest boy. It was a check for twelve hundred dollars."
"Then, you've got it again?" said Sam, relieved. "Shall I go round to the bank and carry it?"
"No, I shall not again trust you to go to the bank. Indeed, I am sorry to say that I cannot retain you in my employ."
"I hope you'll keep me," said Sam, alarmed.
"I cannot do it in justice to myself. Call Mr. Budd."
William Budd entered.
"Mr. Budd," said Mr. Dalton, "I think you told me you had a cousin who desired a place."
"Yes, sir."
"Tell him to come here to-morrow. I have discharged Sam."
"Thank you, sir."
"I do not forget, Sam," continued the merchant, "that you once rendered me a service in bringing home my little boy. I regret that I cannot keep you in my employ. To compensate you for the disappointment, I will give you twenty-five dollars, and you are at liberty to go at once if you desire it."
Sam's eyes sparkled with pleasure. He felt so rich that he cared little for the loss of his place.
"Thank you, sir," he said.
"I wish you good luck, Samuel," said Mr. Dalton, good-naturedly.
Again Sam thanked him, and left the store looking so cheerful that Tim, who was watching for his appearance, was quite bewildered.
"He seems glad he's 'bounced,'" thought Tim. "I'll go and ask him about it."
