Horatio Alger - Making His Mark

This thought was strengthened by the knowledge that his whole available stock of money amounted to but seven cents. Lifting his eyes casually, his glance rested on a sign over a small office building on the opposite side of the street.

This was the sign:

As a rule, the tramp avoided any person who had any connection with the law, but he was about to pose as a virtuous man returning lost property. Again, a lawyer would know the worth of the paper. At any rate he decided to call upon him and open negotiations.

Mr. Perkins was sitting at his desk making out a conveyance, when he heard a furtive step at the door of his office.

Lifting his eyes, he noticed James Skerrett opening the door, with an apologetic look upon his face. Now, a client was always welcome, for Mr. Perkins was a young man, and his business was as yet limited. But the visitor did not look like a client.

"What do you want, my man?" he asked, rather gruffly.

"Are you a lawyer?"

"Yes; do you want me to make your will?" asked Perkins, smiling.

"Well, no; not at present. I expect to live a little longer."

"Just so. Still, life is uncertain, and if you should die suddenly your property might go into the wrong hands."

"That's so, squire; but I guess there's no hurry about my will. I wanted to ask your advice."

"Exactly. I am ready to give it for a consideration."

"Oh, you're a sharp one!" said the tramp. "But I'll come to the point. I was walkin' along the street five minutes since, when I saw a folded paper on the sidewalk. I picked it up and I'll show it to you, for I think the party that lost it might be willin' to pay me somethin' for it."

Enoch Perkins took the paper from his strange client. As he unfolded and read it, he looked surprised.

"Where did you pick this up?" he asked, abruptly.

"A little way down the road."

"Near a house with two elm trees in front?"

"Yes," replied Skerrett, eagerly.

"I think I know the party that lost it. I will take charge of it and return it to her."

"All right, squire; but there may be a reward."

"Exactly. Well, you ought to have some thing for picking it up. Here's a dollar."

"Thank you, sir," said Skerrett, taking the bill with avidity.

"I suppose you are only passing through the town?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't mention finding the paper; it might annoy the lady who lost it."

"Yes, sir; I'll remember, sir."

He left the office, and the lawyer said to himself:

"I will keep this letter. It may be worth a good deal to me some time."

The train which reached Portville at four o'clock was full, and half a dozen persons were standing up. One seat, however, was not taken. At a window sat a boy of sixteen—a sallow-complexioned boy, with a face that was neither good-looking nor amiable. On the seat beside him was a valise.

"Is this seat taken?" asked a pale, tired-looking woman, who had made her way up from the other end of the car.

"Yes," answered Abel, gruffly, for this was the son of Mrs. Lane, now on his way to his mother's home.

The woman sighed, for she was in poor health and very tired.

A man sitting just behind said, indignantly:

"No, madam, it is not taken. Remove your valise, boy, and let the lady sit down."

"I am expecting a friend to get in at the next station," said Abel, crossly.

"That makes no difference. This lady is here, and is better entitled to a seat than a passenger in the next town."

"I don't see what business it is of yours," said Abel, irritably.

He made no offer to remove the valise.

"Then I will show you."

The gentleman took Abel's bag and set it down in the aisle.

"Now sit down, madam," he said.

"Thank you, sir, but I don't want to incommode the young gentleman."

"He has no right to feel incommoded. Take the seat. It is your right."

She sank into the seat with a sigh of relief.

Abel felt and looked very indignant. He was a boy who had always been accustomed to consult his own comfort and convenience, and he was vexed that he had been compelled to yield in the present instance.

The woman coughed. She evidently had a severe cold. Abel had opened the window, and a strong east wind entered. It would have been uncomfortable even to a person perfectly well, but to one having a cough it was very trying.

"Would you mind putting down the window?" she asked, timidly. "I have a terrible cold."

"I prefer it open," said Abel, rudely.

The passenger behind was cognizant of all that passed.

"Madam," he said, "will you exchange seats with me?"

She rose and took the rear seat while the gentleman seated himself beside Abel. He was a stout man, and filled more than half the seat. Abel looked disgusted.

"Now, young man, close that window!" said the stout man, in a tone of command.

Abel obeyed, but it was with great unwillingness. He did not dare to do otherwise.

"It is very close," he grumbled. "I like a little air."

"There is no other open window on this side the car. If the others can stand it, you can."

"I wish people would mind their own business," grumbled Abel, peevishly.

"Look here, young man, if you give me any more of your impudence I will give you a thrashing!" said the stout man, sternly.

He looked quite capable of carrying out his threat, and Abel, thoroughly cowed, relapsed into silence.

At length they reached Portville, and Abel, picking up his valise, stepped out of the car.

He looked about him on the platform, thinking he might see his mother, but she was not quite sure as to the train by which Abel would come, and had not come to meet him.

Abel looked about and espied a boy rather younger than himself. It was John Holman.

"Boy," he said, "can you tell me where Mrs. Lane lives?"

"The widow Lane?"

"Yes, she is a widow."

"About half a mile away. You go up this road and take two turns."

"Oh, bother, why didn't she come to meet me? How can I find the way?"

"Come along with me. I am going that way."

"All right! Won't you take my valise, too? That's a good fellow. I will pay you five cents."

"I will take it to oblige you. I won't charge you anything."

"You'd better take the nickel. You look like a poor boy."

"I am not in any special need of five cents," said John, not pleased with the patronizing tone of his new companion.

Abel was pleased, however, with the idea of not having to pay for the service.

"Do you know Mrs. Lane?" asked Abel.

"Yes. Gerald Lane is my intimate friend."

"Gerald? Oh, yes! that is Mr. Lane's son. What sort of a boy is he?"

"He is a tip-top boy. Everybody likes him."

"Humph! isn't he rather independent?"

"Why shouldn't he be? His family was one of the most prominent in the village."

"Ah, just so!" said Abel, complacently, for he felt that this made his mother's position the stronger.

"I suppose you wonder who I am," said Abel, after a pause.

"I suppose you are a friend of the family."

"I should say I was. I am Mrs. Lane's son."

This surprised John, for Gerald had neglected to tell him the information he had only just obtained himself.

"I never heard Gerald speak of you," he said, half incredulous.

"Gerald knew nothing about me."

"How is that?"

"Mother and Mr. Lane thought it best not to tell him."

"But, of course, he will know now."

"Certainly. I am going to live here."

John made no comments, but he thought it rather a strange state of things. However, they had by this time reached the Lane residence, and John, indicating it, gave the valise to Abel.

From the window Mrs. Lane saw the arrival of her son and opened the door for him. "Oh, my darling boy!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms about his neck. "So you have come home at last!"