The Tin Box, and What it ContainedAlger, Horatio, Jr.
General
The Tin Box, and What it Contained
Alger, Horatio, Jr.
Diligence -- Juvenile fiction; Success -- Juvenile fiction; Youth -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction
“By the way, that was very creditable work of yours, ferreting out the
bond robbers.”
“I was lucky, that is all,” answered Harry, modestly.
“Partly so, but you have showed excellent judgment throughout, and
personal bravery.”
“Don’t flatter me, Mr. Pry. You may make me conceited.”
“You ought to be one of us.”
“I don’t think I should like it,” said Harry, slowly.
“Perhaps not, but you’re fitted for it, for all that. Well, good-day. I
shall see you to-morrow.”
“You are getting to be an important business man, Harry,” said Uncle
Obed, when our hero announced that he had a summons to the city next
day.
“What is it all about, Harry?” asked his mother, rather puzzled.
“Let the boy explain in his own good time, Mrs. Gilbert,” said the old
man. “I know he isn’t in any mischief.”
“I may be able to tell you to-morrow evening, mother. It will be
something that will surprise you.”
“I suppose it is all right, Harry, as Mr. Wilkins says so.”
“Yes, mother, I can assure you of that.”
In due time Harry boarded the morning train. He looked through the cars
till he found Mr. Pry, the detective, and took a seat beside him.
It was not long before his attention was called to a smooth, plausible
voice, proceeding from a person who sat two seats in advance of the one
he occupied.
“My dear sir, if it will be any accommodation to you, I will myself buy
your bond, and pay you the market price.”
There was something in the voice, and in the words, that attracted
Harry’s attention and excited his suspicions.
“Excuse me a moment,” he said to the detective, and, passing through
the aisle, reached a point where he could look back at the speaker.
He knew him at once, not only by his face, but by the profusion of
rings upon his fingers. It was the same man that had cheated the poor
farmer by giving him counterfeit money in payment for his coupons.
If, however, he had any doubt, it was set at rest by what followed.
“I don’t know,” said his seat companion, an industrious mechanic;
“perhaps I’d better wait, and sell it in the city.”
“As you please, my friend,” said the young man. “I only made the
proposal thinking I might accommodate you.”
“Is that your business—buying bonds?” asked the mechanic.
“In the city, yes. I am a member of the well-known firm of Chase &
Atkins. Of course, you have heard of them.”
“Ye-es,” answered the mechanic, doubtfully.
“I am Mr. Chase. We do a general banking and brokerage business. Let me
see, what is the denomination of your bond?”
“Eh?”
“I mean, of what size? Is it a fifty, or a hundred?”
“It’s only a fifty, sir. It was a present to my wife. Now she wants to
use a little money, and so she has got me to sell it.”
“We give rather higher prices than most brokers,” said Chase, smoothly.
“How can you do that?” asked the mechanic, who was a man of good common
sense.
“Well, you see, we ship ’em to Europe, and make a handsome profit. It
would be for your advantage to sell to me; but you must act your own
will.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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