Chapter XI The Train Boy by Jr. Horatio Alger
PAUL GETS INTO TROUBLE
With a glad heart, notwithstanding the loss of Miss Framley's patronage, Paul bent his steps toward his humble home.
Grace was still up, not being willing to go to bed till her brother came home.
"What is there in that bundle, Paul?" she asked.
"You have not brought the work back, Paul?" asked his mother, apprehensively, for it would have been a serious thing to spend more time on it, when her time was so poorly paid for.
"No," answered Paul; "I left the work."
"Was Miss Framley at home? Did you collect the money?"
"Yes; but I had some difficulty about it. Do you think, she was mean enough to try to turn me off with a dollar."
"A dollar for four days' work! How can the rich be so inconsiderate?" sighed Mrs. Palmer.
"Inconsiderate!" exclaimed Paul, indignantly. "That isn't the word—it's downright meanness."
"Wouldn't she pay you the dollar and a half?"
"Yes; I insisted on it. I gave her a piece of my mind."
"I hope you didn't make her angry, Paul. She won't give me any more work."
"No, she won't; but you mustn't mind that. I'll find some one that will pay you better. Here is the money, mother."
The widow took the three half-dollars which were handed her, with a sigh. In spite of Paul's confident assurance, she felt disappointed at having lost Miss Framley's custom. She was not so hopeful as she had been at Paul's age, having met with her share of the world's rebuffs.
"You haven't told me what you've got in that bundle, Paul," said Grace, returning to the charge.
"I'll show you, Miss Curiosity," said Paul, and proceeded to open it.
"Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed Grace, spell-bound with rapturous admiration as the beautiful little cloak was held up before her.
"It's for me," said Paul, gravely. "How does it fit?" and he threw it over his shoulders and walked about, the little cloak barely descending to his waist.
"It doesn't fit you at all, Paul. Isn't it for me?"
"For you? Who would buy such a nice cloak for you, do you think?"
"I am afraid you have been very extravagant, Paul," said his mother. "The cloak is very pretty, but we cannot afford such things."
"It didn't cost me a cent, mother."
"Then who gave it to you? Not Miss Framley?"
"I should say not," answered Paul, contemptuously. "Catch her giving five cents' worth to anybody! No; it was Miss Grace Dearborn, the same young lady that sent Grace the gold piece."
"Where did you see her? Did you call at the house?"
So Paul had to tell the story, which does not require repeating, and Grace tried on the cloak, which proved to be an excellent fit, though it hardly harmonized with the child's plain print dress.
"Some time I'll buy you a new dress, Grace," said her brother, "a dress that you can wear with the cloak. I wish you had it by next Thursday evening."
"Why then, Paul?" asked his mother.
"Because I have promised to take Grace with me to see Miss Dearborn on that evening."
The pleasure excited by the gift was such that Mrs. Palmer was unusually jubilant, notwithstanding the loss of one of her customers. She did not seem wholly forsaken, and fortune appeared again to have smiled upon her.
Meanwhile, though Paul did not know it, trouble was preparing for him. He had two enemies—one his own brother, Stephen, already introduced; the other Luke Denton, whose designs he had frustrated in the car. Luke had not forgiven him for the leap which he was obliged to make from the moving train, and the bruises which he received in consequence.
"I'll be even with the young sneak—see if I don't," said Luke, vengefully, to Stephen, as they sat together in the room of the latter, smoking.
"Don't blame you a bit," said Stephen.
"I can't help it if he is your brother," continued Luke. "He's injured me, and I'll make him suffer for it."
"You needn't think I'm going to stand up for him," said Stephen; "I hate him myself. Didn't he prevent me from——"
"Robbing your little sister," said Luke, finishing out the sentence.
"I didn't mean to rob her," said Stephen, half-angrily. "I needed the money, and was only goin' to borrow it for a day or two."
Luke Denton laughed. He did not admire Stephen, though he kept his company, and felt a malicious pleasure in saying disagreeable things.
"Of course; that's understood," he said. "You'd have gone round and returned the loan, with interest; that's the way you always do."
"I don't like your way of talkin', Luke," said Stephen, frowning. "You may not mean anything; but I don't like it."
"Well, never mind that. The main thing is—we both hate that impertinent stripling, and you won't feel very bad if he gets into a scrape, even if you are his brother."
"No; I shall be glad of it."
"Then I reckon you'll have a chance to be glad very soon."
"How is that? Is there anything in the wind?"
Luke nodded, and in a few sentences detailed a plan which he had devised during the time his physical injuries had obliged him to remain in the retirement of his friend's room.
Stephen laughed approvingly.
"Good!" he said. "Couldn't be better! Good enough for the pious little fraud! After that, he won't lecture me so much—me, his elder brother! I wonder I haven't wrung his neck before now."
"He might resist, you know," said Luke, dryly.
"Do you think I ain't a match for the little cur?" blustered Stephen.
"I think he might give you more trouble than you think for. He's strong and muscular for a boy of his age, and he isn't a coward. I'll give him credit for so much."
This led to more boasts on the part of Stephen, to which his companion listened, with an amused smile. He despised Stephen, who was far inferior to himself in education and manners; for Luke was fitted for a better career than he had been led to adopt.
The next afternoon Paul was returning to Chicago by the usual train. He had met with fair success in selling his papers and books; indeed with rather more than the average, having sold three bound novels, which sale afforded him a handsome profit.
In passing through the cars, his attention had been turned more than once to an old man, with a long gray beard and hair of the same color, who was dressed in rather an old-fashioned suit. Experience had taught him that men of that appearance are seldom likely to buy anything more than a daily paper, and he had not left any circulars with the old Quaker, for such his broad-brimmed hat showed him to be.
"Come here, boy!" called the old gentleman, as he was passing the second time. "What has thee to sell?"
"All the illustrated papers and magazines," answered Paul. "I have besides some novels, if you want to look at them."
"Nay, my young friend; life is too brief to read such light books. Has thee the Atlantic Monthly?"
"Yes, sir; here it is."
The old man took it, and began gravely to turn over the pages.
"What does thee ask for it?" he inquired.
"Thirty-five cents."
"My wife Ruth likes to read it. I think I will purchase it," said the old man.
So saying, he put his hand into his pocket to feel for his wallet.
Quickly an expression of alarm came over his face, and he exclaimed, loud enough to be heard by all the passengers near by:
"I have been robbed! I cannot find my wallet!"
"It may have dropped out of your pocket," suggested Paul.
"Nay, I see it. It is in thy pocket, thou young thief!" exclaimed the old man, reaching out his hand and drawing forth a large wallet from the side pocket of Paul's sack coat. "It is truly sad to see such depravity in one so young."
"Do you mean to say I took your wallet?" asked Paul, thunderstruck.
"It cannot be otherwise. Did I not find it in thy pocket? Is there an officer present? This boy should be arrested."
"I am a detective," said a man near by, showing his badge.
"Then it is thy duty to arrest the boy. He is a thief!"
Poor Paul! Brave as he was, his heart sank as he saw the passengers regarding him with suspicion.
"I am innocent," he said. "I never stole in my life."
"So young and so hardened!" said the old man, sorrowfully; and Paul saw that his denial was not credited.