Helping Himself; Or, Grant Thornton's Ambition — John Shaqi
Helping Himself; Or, Grant Thornton's AmbitionAlger, Horatio, Jr.
History
Helping Himself; Or, Grant Thornton's Ambition
Alger, Horatio, Jr.
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Kidnapping -- Juvenile fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- History -- 19th century -- Juvenile fiction
“Then you lose what you put up.”
“Isn't it rather risky?”
“Of course there's some risk, but if you have a good point there
isn't much.”
This was Tom Calder's view of the matter. As a matter of fact, the
great majority of those who visit the bucket shops lose all they put
in, and are likely sooner or later to get into difficulty; so that
many employers will at once discharge a clerk or boy known to
speculate in this way.
“If I had any money I'd buy some stock to-day; that is, as soon as I
get to the city,” continued Tom. “You couldn't lend me five dollars,
could you?”
“No, I couldn't,” answered Grant, shortly.
“I'd give you half the profits.”
“I haven't got the money,” Grant explained.
“That's a pity. The fact is, I'm rather short. However, I know
plenty of fellows in the city, and I guess I can raise a tenner or
so.”
“Then your credit must be better in New York than in Colebrook,”
thought Grant, but he fore-bore to say so.
Grant was rather glad the little package of pearls was in the pocket
furthest away from Tom, for his opinion of his companion's honesty
was not the highest.
When half an hour had passed, Tom vacated his seat.
“I'm going into the smoking car,” he said, “to have a smoke. Won't
you come with me?”
“No, thank you. I don't smoke.”
“Then it's time you began. I've got a cigarette for you, if you'll
try it.”
“Much obliged, but I am better off without it.”
“You'll soon get over that little-boy feeling. Why, boys in the city
of half your age smoke.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
“Well, ta-ta! I'll be back soon.”
Grant was not sorry to have Tom leave him. He didn't enjoy his
company, and besides he foresaw that it would be rather embarrassing
if Tom should take a fancy to remain with him in the city. He didn't
care to have anyone, certainly not Tom, learn on what errand he had
come to the city.
Two minutes had scarcely elapsed after Tom vacated his seat, when a
pleasant-looking gentleman of middle age, who had been sitting just
behind them, rose and took the seat beside Grant.
“I will sit with you if you don't object,” said he.
“I should be glad of your company,” said Grant, politely.
“You live in the country, I infer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I overheard your conversation with the young man who has just left
you. I suspect you are not very much alike.”
“I hope not, sir. Perhaps Tom would say the same, for he thinks me
green.”
“There is such a thing as knowing too much--that isn't desirable to
know. So you don't smoke?”
“No, sir.”
“I wish more boys of your age could say as much. Do I understand
that you are going to the city in search of employment?”
“That is not my chief errand,” answered Grant, with some hesitation.
“Still, if I could hear of a good chance, I might induce my parents
to let me accept it.”
“Where do you live, my young friend?”
“In Colebrook. My father is the minister there.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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