Chester Rand; or, The New Path to Fortune

"I have been much interested by your sad story, Mr. Floyd," said the sorrow-stricken mother. "You seem to have a good and sympathetic heart."

"Yes, ma'am," replied Floyd; "that is my weakness."

"Don't call it a weakness! It does you credit."

Mr. Floyd exchanged a sly glance of complacency with Abner Trimble, who was pleased that his agent got off so creditably. He had evidently produced a good impression on Mrs. Trimble.

"You see, my dear," he said, gently, "that there can be no doubt about poor Edward's death. I have thought, under the circumstances, that you would feel like making a will, and seeing that I was suitably provided for. As matters stand your property would go to distant cousins, and second cousins at that, while I would be left out in the cold.

"I know, of course, that you are younger than myself and likely to outlive me, but still, life is uncertain. I don't care much for money, but I wouldn't like to die destitute, and so I asked Mr. Coleman, the lawyer, to come round. I think I hear his ring now. Will you see him?"

"Yes, if you wish it. I care very little what becomes of the property now my boy is no more."

Mr. Trimble went downstairs, and returned with a very respectable-looking man of middle age, whom he introduced as Mr. Coleman.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

MAKING A WILL

"Mr. Coleman," said Trimble, with suavity, "this is my wife, Mrs. Trimble."

The lawyer bowed.

"I believe you wish to execute a will, Mrs. Trimble?" said he.

"Yes," answered the poor mother, in a spiritless tone.

Various questions were asked in relation to the property, and then the lawyer seated himself at a table and wrote the formal part of the will.

"I understand you wish to leave the entire property to your husband?" he said, in a tone of inquiry.

"In the event of my son's death," interpolated Mrs. Trimble.

"But, my dear, he is dead," said Abner Trimble, with a slight frown.

"I would prefer to have it expressed in this way."

"I am sure," continued Trimble, annoyed, "that Mr. Coleman will consider it unnecessary."

"I see no objections to it," said the lawyer. "Of course, the son being dead, it won't count."

"Mr. Coleman," explained Mrs. Trimble, "I have no reason to doubt my poor son's death, but I didn't see him die, and there may have been a mistake."

"How can there be?" demanded Trimble, impatiently. "Didn't my friend Floyd see him drowned?"

"He may have been mistaken. Besides, he only says he did not see him after the boat upset. He may have been picked up by some other boat."

For the first time Trimble and Floyd saw the flaw in the story, which had been invented by Trimble himself.

"Was there any boat near, Floyd?" asked Trimble, winking significantly.

"No, sir; not within a quarter of a mile."

"Edward could swim. He may have reached one by swimming."

This was news to Trimble. He had not been aware that his stepson could swim.

"Under the circumstances," said the lawyer, "I think Mrs. Trimble is right."

Trimble looked panic-stricken. Knowing that Edward Granger was still living he recognized the fact that such a will would do him no good.

"If he were alive he would let us know," he said, after a pause.

"Probably he would."

"So that we may conclude he is dead."

"It might be stipulated that if the missing son does not appear within three years from the time the will is made he may be regarded as dead?" suggested the lawyer.

"One year would be sufficient, it seems to me," put in Trimble.

"I would rather make it three," said his wife.

Abner Trimble looked disappointed, but did not dare object.

The lawyer continued to write.

"I understand, then," he observed, "that you bequeath all your estate to your husband, in the event of your son being decided to be dead."

Mrs. Trimble paused to consider.

"I think," she said, "I will leave the sum of five thousand dollars to charitable purposes as a memorial of Edward."

"I don't think much of charitable societies," growled Trimble.

"Some of them do a great deal of good," said the lawyer. "Are there any particular societies which you would wish to remember, Mrs. Trimble?"

"I leave the choice to my executor," said the lady.

"Whom have you selected for that office?"

"Will you serve?" she asked.

"Then you don't care to appoint Mr. Trimble?"

"No, I think not."

"It is customary to appoint the husband, isn't it, Mr. Coleman?" asked Abner.

"It is quite often done."

"I would prefer you," said Mrs. Trimble, decidedly.

"If it will ease your mind, I will take the office, Mrs. Trimble."

"Now," said the lawyer, after a brief interval; "I will read the draft of the will as I have written it, and you can see if it meets your views."

He had about half completed reading the document when there was heard a sharp ring at the doorbell. Then there were steps on the stairs.

A terrible surprise was in store for Mrs. Trimble.

CHAPTER XL.

AN UNEXPECTED SURPRISE

The door of the sitting room was opened quickly, and two boys dashed into the room. They were Edward Granger and Chester Rand.

Abner Trimble turned pale and uttered an imprecation. All his plans, so carefully laid, were menaced with ignominious defeat.

Floyd looked up in surprise, but did not comprehend the situation. In spite of the positive testimony he had given he did not even know Edward Granger by sight.

Mrs. Trimble uttered a wild cry, but her face lighted up with supreme joy.

"Edward!" she exclaimed, and half rising, opened her arms.

Her son sprang forward and embraced his mother.

"Oh, Edward!" she murmured, "are you really alive?"

"Very much alive, mother," answered Edward, with a smile.

"And I was mourning you as dead! I thought I should never see you again."

"I have not died that I am aware of, mother. Who told you I was dead?"

"Mr. Trimble and—this gentleman," looking at Floyd. "He told me he saw you drowned in New York Bay."

Edward regarded Floyd with curiosity.

"I haven't any recollection of ever seeing the gentleman," he said. "I don't know him."

"How do you explain this, Mr. Floyd?" asked Mrs. Trimble, suspiciously.

Floyd tried to speak, but faltered and stammered. He was in a very awkward position, and he realized it. Abner Trimble came to his assistance.

"You must have been mistaken, Floyd," he said. "The young man you saw drowned must have been a stranger."

"Yes," returned Floyd, grasping the suggestion. "Of course I must have been mistaken. The young man I saw bore a wonderful resemblance to Mr. Granger."

"How long is it since you saw me drowned, Mr. Floyd?" asked Edward.

"About three weeks," answered Floyd, in an embarrassed tone.

"In New York Bay?"

"Yes. You were out in a boat with two other young fellows—that is, a young man who was the perfect image of you was. The boat upset, and all three were spilled out. I saved the life of one, but the others were, as I thought, drowned. I am sorry that I was mistaken."

"Does that mean you are sorry I was not drowned?"

"No; I am sorry to have harrowed up your mother's feelings by a story which proves to be untrue."

"I suppose Mr. Trimble brought you here," said Edward, quietly. He had in former days stood in fear of his stepfather, but now, backed up by Chester, he felt a new sense of courage and independence.

"Of course I brought him here," growled Trimble. "Fully believing in my friend Floyd's story, for I know him to be a gentleman of truth, I thought your mother ought to know it."

"I was about to make my will at Mr. Trimble's suggestion, leaving him all my property," said Mrs. Trimble, regarding her husband suspiciously.

"Of course it was better to leave it to me than to second cousins whom you don't care anything about," interposed Trimble, sourly. "Come, Floyd, our business is at an end. We will go over to the saloon."

"Shan't I get anything for my trouble?" asked Floyd, uneasily, a remark which led the lawyer to regard him sharply.

"Your valuable time will be paid for," said Trimble, sarcastically.

He led the way out, and Floyd followed.

"Mrs. Trimble," said the lawyer, rising, "allow me to congratulate you on the happy event of this day. I am particularly glad that my services are not needed."

"They will be needed, Mr. Coleman. Will you do me the favor of drawing up a will leaving my entire property, with the exception of a thousand dollars, to my son, Edward, and bring it here to-morrow morning, with two trusty witnesses, and I will sign it."

"To whom will you leave the thousand dollars?"

"To my—to Mr. Trimble," answered Mrs. Trimble, coldly. "I will not utterly ignore him."

"Very well, Mrs. Trimble. I will call at half-past ten o'clock to-morrow morning."

The lawyer bowed himself out, leaving Mrs. Trimble and the boys together.

"Mother," said Edward, "I have not yet had a chance to introduce to you my friend, Chester Rand, of New York."

"I am very glad to welcome any friend of yours, Edward."

"You have reason to do so in this case, mother. But for Chester I should not have had the money to come on from New York. He paid my traveling expenses."

"He shall be repaid, and promptly, and he will accept my heartiest thanks, also. I hope, Mr. Rand, you will make your home with us while you are in Portland."

"Thank you, Mrs. Trimble, but I have already secured lodgings at a hotel. At some future time I may accept your invitation."

Chester strongly suspected that he would not be a welcome guest to Mr. Trimble when that gentleman learned that he had been instrumental in bringing home his stepson in time to defeat his plans. But he called every day till, his business being concluded, he started on his return to New York. Edward had expected to go back with him, but to this Mrs. Trimble would not listen.

"We have been separated long enough, Edward," she said. "Henceforth your place is at my side. I feel that I have done you injustice, and I want to repair it. I made a mistake in marrying Mr. Trimble, but it is too late to correct that. I will not permit him, hereafter, to separate me from my son."

"If you wish me to remain, mother, I will," rejoined Edward. "I was not happy away from you. From this time forth I will stand by you and protect you from all that is unpleasant."

Edward spoke with a courage and manliness which he had not formerly shown. It was clear that adversity had strengthened and improved him.

CHAPTER XLI.

CONCLUSION

Let us go back to Wyncombe. Mrs. Greene, living near Mrs. Rand, was a lady who made it her business to know all about her neighbors' affairs. She stepped into Silas Tripp's store to buy a pound of butter.

Mr. Tripp himself waited upon her; Mrs. Greene generally had some item of news, and for this he possessed a keen relish.

"Any news, Mrs. Greene?" he asked, as he handed her the package of butter.

"I suppose you've heard that the widder Rand has lost her boarder?"

"You don't say so!" returned Silas, with genuine interest.

"Yes, it's so. I saw her go off myself yesterday afternoon, bag and baggage."

"Was she dissatisfied, do you think?"

"Like as not. The widder says she's comin' back, but I don't believe it. Between you and me, Mr. Tripp, I wonder that she stayed so long. Now, if she had been boardin' with you it would have been different."

"So it would, Mrs. Greene; so it would. I would have been willing to take her just to oblige."

"So would I, Mr. Tripp. The widder charged her a ridiculous price—eight dollars a week."

"It was extortionate. I never charged such a price."

"Nor I. Miss Dolby's board ran the house, so that Chester didn't need to send any home, and now Chester's lost his place."

"You don't say so!" ejaculated Silas, eagerly.

"Yes. Mrs. Rand told me herself that he had left his work and gone out West in search of a place. I don't see, for my part, what the widder's goin' to do."

"I'm sorry Chester's been so unlucky. But he needn't have gone out West; I'm ready to take him back into my store."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Tripp."

"I want to help along his mother, seein' she's a widder and in hard luck."

"Shall I tell her you will take Chester back?"

"No; I'll call round and see her about it. There may be some dickerin' about the salary. Chester's got rather high notions, but I can't afford to pay extravagant prices."

"Just so. I'm sorry for the widder Rand, but she's sot too much on that boy, and thought there wasn't no other boy in Wyncombe that was equal to him. I'm sure my Fred is just as smart as he."

It was not till the next evening that Mr. Tripp found it convenient to call on Mrs. Rand. She was rather surprised by the visit, and a little curious to learn what it meant.

"Good-evenin', widder," said Silas, coughing.

"Good-evening, Mr. Tripp. Won't you step in for a few minutes?"

"Thank you. I don't care if I do. I heard yesterday from Mrs. Greene that you'd lost your boarder."

"Yes; Miss Dolby has gone to Chicago for a year. She has a sister there."

"Do you expect her back?"

"Yes, after a year."

"I wouldn't calc'late too much upon it if I were you. Women folks is mighty onsartin when they make promises."

Mrs. Rand smiled.

"You may be right, Mr. Tripp," she said.

"I hear, too, that Chester's lost his place."

"No; he has left it for a time, but he expects to go back."

"That's onsartin, too. I'm sorry for you, widder."

"Thank you, Mr. Tripp, but there's no occasion."

"You'll be rather put to it to get along, I reckon."

"Still, I have good friends in Wyncombe," said Mrs. Rand, smiling mischievously. "Now, if I were really 'put to it,' I am sure I could rely upon your assistance."

"I'm very short of money," returned Silas, alarmed at this suggestion. "Still, I've got the will to help you. If Chester's out of work, I'm ready to take him back into the store."

"I will tell him that when I write."

"Where is he now?"

"He's gone out West."

"He's made a mistake. I knew a boy that went out West some years since, and nearly starved. He came home ragged and hungry."

"I am not afraid Chester will have that experience. He had saved up some money when at work in New York."

"It won't last long, widder. It don't take long for fifty dollars to melt away. Did he have that much?"

"I think he did, Mr. Tripp."

"He'd better have put it in a savings bank and come back to Wyncombe to work for me. How soon do you expect him back?"

"Next week."

"When he comes, send him round to see me."

A few days later, Mrs. Greene went into Silas Tripp's store again.

"Well, Mr. Tripp," she said, "Chester Rand's got home."

"You don't say! If you see him, tell him to come round and see me."

"And I can tell you some more news. You know that half-acre lot that j'ins onto the widder's land?"

"The apple orchard? Yes."

"Well, Chester's bought it."

"You don't mean it! Where on earth did he get the money? Do you know what he paid?"

"Two hundred dollars."

"He'll never be able to pay for it."

"He has paid cash down. Besides, he's got a new suit of clothes and a gold watch. I don't believe he will be willing to take a place in your store."

Silas Tripp was amazed. Nay, more, he was incredulous. But it so happened that Chester himself came into the store in five minutes, and confirmed the news.

"Where did you get the money, Chester?" asked Mr. Tripp, curiously, eying the boy with unwonted respect.

"I saved it. I received high pay in New York."

"But you've lost the place?"

"Oh, no! I go back to work next week."

"How much pay do you get?"

"Thirty dollars a week."

"Don't try to fool me!" said Silas, with asperity. "It ain't creditable to deceive a man old enough to be your grandfather."

Chester smiled.

"Do you want me to bring an affidavit from my employers?" he asked.

"But it's ridiculous, payin' a boy such wages!" objected Silas.

"It would be foolish for you to pay it, Mr. Tripp; but they think me worth it."

"What sort of work do you do?"

"I make pictures. I will show you a couple," and Chester produced a copy of The Phœnix.

"Why, I didn't think they paid more'n a quarter apiece for such pictures."

"It's lucky for me that they pay higher than that."

"What was you doin' out West?"

"I went partly to see the country."

"I s'pose it cost you considerable money?"

"Yes, traveling is expensive."

"You'd better have put the money in the bank."

"I don't think so."

"Boys have foolish notions. I s'pose you was sorry to hear that Miss Dolby had gone away?"

"No, I want mother to have a few months' rest."

"Your mother'll miss her board."

"No, for I shall make it up to her."

"You talk as if you was rich, Chester."

"I am not so rich as you, Mr. Tripp."

"You seem to be spending more money; some day you'll be put to it to get along."

But that has not yet come. Two years have passed, and Chester is still in the employ of The Phœnix, but he now receives forty dollars per week. He has sold his other two lots in Tacoma for five thousand dollars each, and still has the cheaper lots he bought as an investment. He could sell these at a handsome profit, but will hold them a while longer.

About a year ago he received intelligence from Edward Granger that his stepfather had died suddenly of heart trouble, brought on by an undue use of alcoholic mixtures. Edward concluded: "Now there is nothing to mar my mother's happiness. I live at home and manage her business, besides filling a responsible place in a broker's office. We hope you will pay us a visit before long. We have never forgotten your kindness to me in my time of need."

A month since Mr. Fairchild was surprised by receiving a remittance from Tacoma. His old bookkeeper, David Mullins, remitted to him the amount he had stolen at the time of his hurried departure from New York, with interest up to date.

"I hope, Mr. Fairchild," he concluded, "you will now forgive me for my treachery. I feel great satisfaction in paying my debt. I have been assisted by a fortunate investment in outside lots. I am glad to hear that Felix is doing well. You were kind to retain him."

Felix is really doing well, and bids fair to make a good business man. He was weak and influenced to evil by his cousin; but with good surroundings he is likely to turn out creditably.

Chester retains the friendship and good opinion of his first friend, Carl Conrad, and is a favorite visitor at the house of Prof. Hazlitt, whose great work has just appeared from the press of a subscription publisher. His nephew, Arthur Burks, is now in college, and he and Chester remain intimate friends.

Silas Tripp has ceased to expect to secure the services of Chester in his store. He had never been able to understand the secret of Chester's success, but has been heard to remark: "It does beat all how that boy gets along!"

Fortunately, prosperity has not spoiled Chester. He is still the same modest and warm-hearted boy, or perhaps I should say young man, and his friends all agree that he deserves his success.

THE END