Alger Horatio Jr.
Sam's Chance, and How He Improved It
CHAPTER XVII.
TIM IS UNMASKED
Before Sam had gone far Tim Brady managed to throw himself in his way.
"Where are you goin', now?" he asked. "Have you been to the bank?"
"Yes," answered Sam. "I lost one of them checks."
"You don't say!" said hypocritical Tim.
"It was the twelve-hundred-dollar one."
"What did the boss say? Did he blow you up?" inquired Tim, puzzled by Sam's cheerful manner.
"Yes; I'm 'bounced.'"
"You don't seem to care much," said Tim, watching him curiously.
"No, I don't. I'm tired of the old place."
"What are you goin' to do? Are you goin' back to boot blackin'?"
"No," answered Sam, scornfully; "I should say not."
"You ain't goin' to retire on a fortune, are you?"
"Look here, Tim," said Sam, displaying a roll of bills. "What do you say to that?"
"Did you save all that?" asked Tim, in great astonishment.
"No; Mr. Dalton just gave it to me."
"Give it to you when he 'bounced' you?"
"Yes; you see, I found his little boy in the street one day, and took him home. He give me a place for that, and now that I'm sacked he's give me this money."
"I say, Sam, you're in luck. How much is there?"
"Twenty-five dollars."
"You couldn't lend a feller five dollars?" said Tim, insinuatingly.
"Yes, I could," answered Sam, cooly; "but I won't."
"Why not?"
"I want it all myself."
"You might let me have a little," pleaded Tim.
"I'll give you a square meal," said Sam, "but I can't do no more. I'm goin' to Boston."
"What's put in into your head to go to Boston?"
"You have."
"Well, I hope you'll like it better than I do."
"Which way would you go?" asked Sam.
"Fall River line. They're got nice steamers."
"When do they go?"
"Five o'clock."
"All right. I'll go this afternoon."
"You'll be comin' back soon," said Tim.
"Maybe I will, but I want to see the place. I ain't never traveled much, and now I'm goin'."
"You'd better stay, and take me to Tony Pastor's to-night."
Sam shook his head.
"Oh, yes, you'd like me to spend all my money on you; but I don't see it."
"You needn't be so afraid. I've got some money, too," said Tim, nettled.
"You've got fifty cents, I s'pose."
"Does that look like fifty cents?"
Tim displayed the ten dollars he had received from Mr. Dalton for restoring the lost check.
Sam was astonished beyond measure.
"Where did you get that money?" he asked.
"It's some I had over when I failed,"
"And with all that money in your pocket you asked me for five dollars!" exclaimed Sam, with justifiable indignation.
"Why shouldn't I? Haven't you got more than I have?"
Tim began to see that he had made a mistake in proclaiming his riches; especially when Sam added that he might buy his own dinner – that he wasn't going to treat him.
"You promised you would," said Tim.
"I didn't know you had so much money. I thought you was hard up.
You're a fraud."
"So are you," said Tim, resentfully.
"I don't want no more to do with you."
Tim was nettled. He wanted to be revenged, and his secret slipped out.
"You needn't feel so big," he said. "I got you 'bounced.'"
Here was much cause for astonishment.
"You got me 'bounced'?" repeated Sam, in surprise.
"Yes, I did. I found that check you dropped, and took it round to your boss. He give me this ten dollars, and 'bounced' you."
This was too much for Sam's equanimity. That a boy who had so injured him should try to wheedle money and a treat out of him struck him as so atrocious, that he felt action to be imperative. A sudden movement of the foot upset Tim; and Sam, without waiting to see how he relished his downfall, fled round a corner before Tim could retaliate.
"He's the meanest boy I ever knew!" thought our retreating hero. "He got me sacked, and then wanted me to treat him. I guess he won't ask me again."
Sam was still determined to go to Boston that afternoon. Before he went he wanted to say good-by to Henry Martin, and, as the boat would sail before business hours was over, he decided to go round to the store where he was employed.
Henry was just leaving the store on an errand when Sam came up. It was the first time they had met since Henry's discovery of Sam's attempt to appropriate his savings. He could hardly be expected to feel very friendly toward him.
"I'll walk along with you, Henry," said Sam; "I want to talk with you."
"And I want to talk with you," said Henry, coldly. "I've found out all about my bankbook."
"Have you?" replied Sam, disconcerted.
"Yes; I've found out that you opened my trunk and took it out, then went to the bank and tried to get twenty dollars on it. And all the while you were rooming with me, and pretending to be my friend."
Sam felt conscience-stricken. The enormity of his act flashed upon him. Still, he wanted to extenuate his conduct.
"It's true, Henry," he admitted, "and I ought to be ashamed of myself. But I didn't get any money, after all, and I returned the book to you."
"I know that; but it was only because they wouldn't let you have anything on it."
"Don't think too hard of me, Henry," said Sam.
"I can't help thinking hard of you. You wanted to rob me."
"I only wanted to borrow the money."
"Without my leave."
"I meant to return it to you as soon as I could. The fact is, Henry, I was awful hard up."
"That's your own fault. As for returning the money, I hope you don't think me quite such a fool as to believe that."
Sam was really disturbed. He saw that Henry was perfectly justified in being angry, and that his representation was the correct one.
"I'm very sorry I did it," he said. "I hope you'll forgive me."
"I'll forgive you, but we can no longer occupy the same room. I will move out and leave the room to you, or you can move out and leave the room to me."
"I'll move, Henry. That's what I came to speak to you about. I came to bid you good-by."
"There is no need of saying good-by. We shall see each other again."
"No, we shan't – for a good while, anyway. I'm just goin' to Boston."
"What?" exclaimed Henry in astonishment.
"I'm goin' on this afternoon."
"Why, Sam, what's up?"
Sam explained.
"I don't know whether it's a good plan," said Henry, when he had ended.
"Nor I," said Sam; "but I'm goin', anyway. If I don't like it, I'll come back somehow. Good-by!"
"Good-by, and good luck, Sam!" said Henry, offering his hand.
"Sam's a strange boy!" he said to himself, as he pursued his way alone. "It's hard to tell how he's coming out. I hope he'll get wiser as he grows older."
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE FALL RIVER BOAT
When Sam left Henry, somehow he felt in lower spirits than before. He had become attached to his roommate in spite of the difference in character between them, and Henry's reproaches seemed to throw a new light upon his conduct. He felt it the more because he was about to leave him.
"I did treat him mean," he admitted to himself, his conscience touched, for the first time, perhaps, in years. "I'm glad they wouldn't let me have any of his money at the bank. I won't act so mean again."
It is not to be supposed that this repentant mood lasted long. As Sam neared the wharf from which the Fall River line of steamers left for Boston, his thoughts were on the journey he was about to take, and his spirits rose.
The steamer was moored alongside the wharf, perhaps halfway down. There was a confused mass of trunks, bales and baggage of various kinds on the pier waiting to be stowed away on board. It was early, but a few passengers were already on board, and others were passing over the gang plank at intervals. Sam thought he would go on board, too, and look about a little. He had never been on board one of these steamers, and was curious to see the accommodations. He went upstairs, and found himself in a long and elegantly furnished saloon, with lines of staterooms on either side. Three passengers were seated on sofas or in armchairs. Two were engaged in reading an afternoon paper, and the third, a girl of about fifteen, had her attention absorbed by a bird cage containing a canary.
She looked up as Sam passed, and asked pleasantly: "Is it almost time for the boat to start, sir?"
It was the first time Sam had been addressed as "sir," and he felt flattered.
"I guess not," he said. "There's only a few people on board. I don't think it'll start for an hour."
"I wish it would go soon," said the girl. "I am in a hurry to get home."
"Do you live in Boston?" asked Sam.
"Yes; I've been to visit my uncle in Brooklyn, and now I'm going back.
Are you going to Boston, too?"
"Yes," answered Sam.
"Do you live there?"
"No; I never was there."
"I suppose you've got relations there?" said the young lady, in an inquiring tone.
"No; I'm going on to see if I can't get a place."
The young girl surveyed him with interest.
"Do you have to earn your own living?" she asked.
"Yes."
"You are young to do that."
"Oh, I've had to earn my living ever since I was eleven or twelve."
"You don't mean it. Why, what did you do?"
"I was clerk in a store on Pearl Street," said Sam, who did not care to mention his previous experience as a bootblack and newsboy.
"Well, I hope you'll get a good place. I've got a brother almost as old as you, but he'd never think he could earn his own living; his name is Frank."
"What's his last name?" asked Sam, bluntly.
"Stockton – I am Julia Stockton."
"My name is Sam Barker," said Sam, thinking such confidence ought to be requited.
"I've got a cousin Sam," Julia remarked, "but I never knew any one of the name of Barker before."
"Is that your bird?" inquired Sam, by way of prolonging the conversation.
"Yes; he sings sweetly, sometimes, but I guess he's frightened now. I'm glad he's with me, it isn't quite so lonely. I never traveled alone before. Are you used to traveling alone, Mr. Barker?"
"I never traveled much," answered Sam, trying to look dignified, on first being addressed as Mr. Barker; "but I don't mind being alone."
"That's because you're a boy. Boys can take care of themselves better than girls. Do you know what time we get to Boston?"
"No, I don't; but I'll inquire," said Sam. "Shall I find you here?"
"Oh, yes, I'll be here."
Sam went down below, and noticed that some were already procuring tickets at the captain's office. It struck him that he might as well obtain his. Accordingly he joined the line, and when his turn came inquired for a ticket.
"Fall River or Boston?" asked the man in charge.
"Boston."
"Five dollars."
"That's pretty steep," thought Sam. "I shall have only twenty dollars left."
A ticket was handed him, with 159 on it.
"What's that for?" asked Sam.
"It's the number of your berth."
"When will we get to Boston?"
"Between six and seven in the morning."
As Sam turned away he was accosted by a newsboy: "Papers, sir?"
An idea struck Sam. He would get a picture paper for his new acquaintance. It was probably the first mark of attention he had ever paid to a girl, but the idea pleased him, and he bought a Harper's Weekly, and carried it upstairs.
He found Miss Julia Stockton sitting where he had left her. She smiled pleasantly when she saw Sam.
"I bought you a picture paper," he said, feeling a little awkward. "I thought you might like to read it."
"Oh, thank you. You are very kind. Did you find out when we would reach Boston?"
"Yes, Miss Julia. We shall get there between six and seven in the morning."
"That's pretty early. I hope papa will be at the depot waiting."
"At the depot? Does the boat go into a depot?" asked Sam.
Julia laughed. "Oh, no," she said. "Did you think we went all the way by boat?"
"Yes, I thought so."
"We go the last fifty miles by cars – that is, from Fall River."
"All the better," said Sam. "That will give us a little variety."
Meanwhile, the passengers were pouring in, and the cabin was getting full.
"I guess I'll go out on deck," said Sam; "I want to see the boat start."
"I should like to, ever so much."
"Come with me, then. I'll take care of you," said Sam, manfully. "Let me carry your cage. It's too heavy for you."
So the two went out on deck together.
CHAPTER XIX.
MUTUAL CONFIDENCES
The reader who has followed Sam's fortunes closely may wonder how a boy so shabbily dressed as Sam, could be treated as an equal by a young lady of good family. This leads me to explain that about a month before Sam had been presented with a neat suit of clothes, originally made for a nephew of his employer, but which had proved too small. Thus it happened that, with the exception of his hat, which was rather the worse for wear, our hero presented quite a respectable appearance.
Julia Stockton remained outside with Sam till the boat rounded the Battery, and for three-quarters of an hour longer. Sam was very well qualified to answer her numerous questions about the different places they passed.
"What is that island?" asked Julia.
"That is Blackwell's Island," answered Sam.
"Is that where the penitentiary is?" she inquired, with interest.
"Yes, it is that long stone building."
"How gloomy it is!" said Julia, with a shudder. "How can people be so wicked as to need to go to such a place?"
Sam winced. He knew very well that he had done things, or, at any rate, planned them, which would have entitled him to a place in the prison they were now passing.
"How ashamed I should be if I were ever sent there, and Julia should know it!" he thought.
"What makes you look so sober?" asked Julia.
"I was pitying the poor people who are confined there."
"It must be horrid, but I suppose it can't be helped. I don't see how anybody can want to steal."
Sam thought he could understand. It was not so long since he himself had tried to appropriate the property of another; but he only determined that this should not happen again. He could not consent to forfeit the good opinion of Julia Stockton, and the class to which she belonged. A new ambition began to stir in Sam's soul – the ambition to lead a thoroughly respectable life, and to rise to some creditable position.
"I will turn over a new leaf, I really will," he said to himself.
"I'll be a very different boy from what I have been."
They remained outside a while longer, till the steamer had passed through the channel into the broader waters of the Sound, and then re-entered the cabin. The gong for supper had already sounded.
"Won't you go down to supper?" asked Sam.
"Yes, I think I will. You will come, too?"
"Yes, I will go, too," answered Sam, feeling complimented by the invitation.
As they were approaching the stairs, Julia dropped a scarf from her neck. It was picked up by a gentleman, who handed it to Sam, with the remark, "Your sister has dropped her scarf."
"He takes you for my sister," said Sam, turning to Julia with evident pleasure.
"I am afraid you wouldn't own me for a sister," said Julia, smiling coquettishly.
"I should be proud to have such a sister," said Sam, earnestly.
"Would you, really?"
"Yes, I would."
"I am afraid you only say so to compliment me."
"I mean it; but I am sure you would not want me for a brother."
"I don't know," said Julia, with a roguish glance. "Do you always behave well?"
"I am afraid I don't always."
"Nor I either," returned Julia, in a burst of confidence. "I used to play tricks on my governess sometimes."
"I don't think that is so very wicked," said Sam. "Won't you tell me about some of them?"
"After supper I will; but I wouldn't like to have anybody else hear."
They sat down to the table side by side, and made a satisfactory repast. Sam tried to pay for Julia's, but here the young lady was firm. She insisted on paying her own bill, as indeed propriety required.
When the supper was over, they returned to the saloon.
CHAPTER XX.
TOO LATE FOR THE TRAIN
A stateroom had been engaged for Julia, but Sam did not feel justified in paying a dollar extra for such a luxury, when he was already entitled to a comfortable berth.
"Do you know when we reach Fall River?" asked the young lady.
"About half-past four in the morning, and the cars start by five."
"That's awful early!" exclaimed Julia, in dismay. "How shall I wake up in time?"
"The gong will sound," answered Sam; "but if that don't wake you, I'll pound on your door."
"I wish you would. What should I do if I were left?"
"You could wait for the next train."
"But I should not have you to go with me, Sam – Mr. Barker, I mean."
"I wish you would call me Sam. I like it better than Mr. Barker."
"Then I will," said Julia, frankly. "It does seem stiff to call you Mr. Barker."
"If you should be too late for the first train, I will wait, too," said Sam, answering what she had said before.
"Will you? I should like that; but won't it put you out?"
"Oh, no," said Sam, laughing; "there isn't any very important business to call me early to Boston. I had just as lieve wait as not."
"But you won't have to. I am sure the gong will wake me up. But you'll come to the door, and go into the cars with me."
"Oh, yes, I'll be on hand."
"Then, good-night, Sam. I hope you'll have a good sleep."
"I shall sleep like a top; I always do. Good-night, Julia."
So they parted.
"He seems to be a real nice boy, and very polite," thought Julia. "I should feel very lonely without him."
"She's a tiptop girl," thought Sam. "I never saw one I liked so well before."
Sam had never had a sister, and his acquaintance with girls had been exceedingly limited. This was necessarily the case in the rough street life he had led in New York. Julia was a new revelation to him. He was quite too young to be in love, but he certainly liked Julia very much, and thought how pleasant it would be to have such a sister.
"She says she's got a brother," thought Sam. "I wonder what sort of a boy he is, and whether he will like me? I suppose I never shall see him though, or Julia either, after we get to Boston."
This thought was rather disheartening, and made Sam feel sober. But he brightened up at the thought that he should be in the same city, and should, therefore, have some chance of meeting his pretty traveling acquaintance.
The berth Sam was to occupy was on one side of the dining-room. The tables were now cleared, and there was nothing to prevent his retiring. He took off his shoes and his coat, and, without undressing himself any further, got into the berth. It was not long before he was asleep. He did not wake until morning, and then not voluntarily. On opening his eyes he saw one of the attendants on the boat at his bedside.
"You must sleep pretty sound," said the attendant.
"Did you wake me up?" asked Sam.
"Yes; but I had hard work to do it."
"Is it time to get up?"
"I should think it was. Didn't you hear the gong?"
"No."
"It sounded loud enough. Well, you'd better hurry, or you'll be too late for the cars."
This roused Sam. He thought of Julia, and jumped out of the birth. He quickly put on his coat and shoes, and went up two flights of stairs to the saloon, on either side of which were the staterooms.
He went to Julia's – No. 11 – near the forward end of the boat, and found the door shut.
He knocked, but was not immediately answered.
"Julia must have overslept herself, too," he thought.
He knocked again, and presently he heard her ask, in the tone of one just waking up, "Who's there?"
"It's I – it's Sam," he answered. "Are you dressed?"
"No. What time is it?"
"It's very late. Didn't you hear the gong?"
"No; is it morning?"
"The cars are almost ready to start."
"Oh, dear; what shall I do?" exclaimed Julia, in dismay.
"Dress as quick as you can, and we may be in time."
After the lapse of five minutes the door opened, and the young lady appeared.
"I'm so sorry, Sam," she said, excusing herself. "Shall we be in time?"
"We'll go down and see," said Sam.
They went below, and out over the gangway, but were only just in time to see the long train speeding on its way.
"We are left!" said Julia, mournfully.
"Well," said Sam, philosophically, "it can't be helped, can it?"
"Shall we have to stay here all day?" inquired the young lady, alarmed.
"Oh, no; there is another train at half-past six, but it is a slower train than this."
"When will it reach Boston?"
"At nine o'clock. I asked the steward just now. It won't make very much difference. We'll get to the city pretty early."
"Father will be down to the depot, and when he doesn't see me he'll think I am not coming. Then how am I to get home?"
"I'll be with you," said Sam, valiantly. "I'll see that you get home all right."
"Will you?" said Julia, brightly. "Then I don't mind so much. How stupid I was not to wake up!"
"I didn't wake up either. One of the men woke me up. I ran up as quick as I could, but it was too late."
"I got very tired yesterday," said Julia, apologetically. "That was what made me sleep so sound. When did you say the next train went?"
"At six-thirty."
"What shall we do till then?"
"You can lie down if you want to, and I will call you in time."
"I don't dare to," said Julia. "Besides, I don't feel sleepy now."
They decided to sit down and while away the time, and were not at a loss for topics of conversation. At half-past six they had taken their places in the cars, in the full anticipation of a pleasant journey.
