Helping Himself; Or, Grant Thornton's Ambition

“It takes a good deal more than that to make a man rich in New York. In the stock business a man is likely to do a larger business in proportion to his capital than in the mercantile business.”

On their way back from the bank, Grant came face to face with Tom Calder. Tom was busily engaged in talking to a companion, some years older than himself, and didn’t observe Grant. Grant was by no means prepossessed in favor of this young man, whose red and mottled face, and bold glance made him look far from respectable.

“Do you know those fellows?” asked Harry Becker.

“The youngest one is from Colebrook.”

“He is in bad company. I hope he is not an intimate friend of yours?”

“Far from it. Still, I know him, and am sorry to see him with such a companion.”

At four o’clock Mr. Reynolds proposed to go home. He beckoned to Grant to accompany him.

CHAPTER XI – GRANT MAKES A FRIEND

“What do you think of your first day in Wall Street?” asked Mr. Reynolds, kindly.

“I have found it very interesting,” answered Grant.

“Do you think you shall like the business?”

“Yes, sir, I think so.”

“Better than if you had been able to carry out your original plan, and go to college?”

“Yes, sir, under the circumstances, for I have a better prospect of helping the family.”

“That feeling does you credit. Have you any brothers and sisters?”

“One of each, sir.”

“I have but one boy, now nine years old. I am sorry to say he is not strong in body, though very bright and quick, mentally. I wish he were more fond of play and would spend less time in reading and study.”

“I don’t think that is a common complaint among boys, sir.”

“No, I judge not from my own remembrance and observation. My wife is dead, and I am such a busy man that I am not able to give my boy as much attention as I wish I could. My boy’s health is the more important to me because I have no other child.”

Grant’s interest was excited, and he looked forward to meeting his employer’s son, not without eagerness. He had not long to wait.

The little fellow was in the street in front of the house when his father reached home. He was a slender, old-fashioned boy in appearance, who looked as if he had been in the habit of keeping company with grown people. His frame was small, but his head was large. He was pale, and would have been plain, but for a pair of large, dark eyes, lighting up his face.

“Welcome home, papa,” he said, running up to meet Mr. Reynolds.

The broker stooped over and kissed his son. Then he said: “I have brought you some company, Herbert. This is Grant Thornton, the boy I spoke to you about.”

“I am glad to make your acquaintance,” said the boy, with old-fashioned courtesy, offering his hand.

“And I am glad to meet you, Herbert,” responded Grant, pleasantly.

The little boy looked up earnestly in the face of his father’s office boy.

“I think I shall like you,” he said.

Mr. Reynolds looked pleased, and so did Grant.

“I am sure we shall be very good friends,” said our hero.

“Herbert,” said his father, “will you show Grant the room he is to occupy?”

“It is next to mine, isn’t it, papa?”

“Yes, my son.”

“Come with me,” said Herbert, putting his hand in Grant’s. “I will show you the way.”

Grant, who was only accustomed to the plain homes in his native village, was impressed by the evidence of wealth and luxury observable in the house of the stock broker. The room assigned to him was small, but it was very handsomely furnished, and he almost felt out of place in it. But it was not many days, to anticipate matters a little, before he felt at home.

Herbert took Grant afterward into his own room.

“See my books,” he said, leading the way to a bookcase, containing perhaps a hundred volumes, the majority of a juvenile character, but some suited to more mature tastes. “Do you like reading?” asked Grant.

“I have read all the books you see here,” answered Herbert, “and some of papa’s besides. I like to read better than to play.”

“But you ought to spend some of your time in play, or you will not grow up healthy.”

“That is what papa says. I try to play some, but I don’t care much about it.”

Grant was no longer surprised at the little boy’s delicacy. It was clear that he needed more amusement and more exercise. “Perhaps,” he thought, “I can induce Herbert to exercise more.”

“When do you take dinner?” he asked.

“At half-past six. There is plenty of time.”

“Then suppose we take a little walk together. We shall both have a better appetite.”

“I should like to,” replied Herbert; “that is, with you. I don’t like to walk alone.”

“How far is Central Park from here?”

“A little over a mile.”

“I have never seen it. Would you mind walking as far as that?”

“Oh, no.”

So the two boys walked out together. They were soon engaged in an animated conversation, consisting, for the most part, of questions proposed by Grant, and answers given by Herbert.

Not far from the park they came to a vacant lot where some boys were playing ball.

“Now, if we only had a ball, Herbert,” said Grant, “we might have a little amusement.”

“I’ve got a ball in my pocket, but I don’t use it much.”

“Let me see it.”

Herbert produced the ball, which proved to be an expensive one, better than any Grant had ever owned.

“There, Herbert, stand here, and I will place myself about fifty feet away. Now, throw it to me, no matter how swiftly.”

They were soon engaged in throwing the ball to each other. Grant was a good ball player, and he soon interested the little boy in the sport. Our hero was pleased to see Herbert’s quiet, listless manner exchanged for the animation which seemed better suited to a boy.

“You are improving, Herbert,” he said, after a while. “You would make a good player in time.”

“I never liked it before,” said the little boy. “I never knew there was so much fun in playing ball.”

“We shall have to try it every day. I suppose it is about time to go home to supper.”

“And we haven’t been to Central Park, after all.”

“That will do for another day. Are boys allowed to play ball in the park?”

“Two afternoons in the week, I believe, but I never played there.”

“We shall have to try it some day.”

“I should like to play—with you.”

They reached home in full time for dinner. At the dinner table Mr. Reynolds was struck by the unusually bright and animated face of his son, and his good appetite.

“What have you been doing to make you so hungry, Herbert?” he asked.

“I took a walk with Grant, and we had a fine game of ball.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said the broker, much pleased. “If you want to become stout and strong like Grant, that is the best thing for you to do.”

“I never liked playing ball before, papa.”

“That is a compliment to you, Grant,” said the broker, smiling.

“I think,” he said to the prim, elderly lady who presided over the household, acting as housekeeper, “Herbert will be the better for having a boy in the house.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Mrs. Estabrook, stiffly. “When he came into the house he had mud on his clothes. He never did that till this boy came.”

“I won’t complain of that, if his health is improved.”

Mrs. Estabrook, who was a poor relation of Herbert’s mother, pursed up her mouth, but did not reply. In her eyes, it was more important that a boy should keep his clothes whole and clean than to have color in his cheeks, and health in his frame.

“I hope that boy won’t stay here long,” she thought, referring, of course, to Grant. “He’ll quite spoil Herbert by making him rough and careless of his appearance.”

“Well, Herbert, and how do you like Grant?” asked Mr. Reynolds, as his son was bidding him good-night before going to bed.

“I am so glad you brought him here, papa. I shall have good times now. You’ll let him stay all the time, won’t you?”

“I’ll see about it, Herbert,” answered his father, smiling.

CHAPTER XII – MRS. ESTABROOK’S PLANS

Grant was going home with Mr. Reynolds at the close of the fourth day, when it occurred to him to say what had been in his mind for some time: “Isn’t it time, Mr. Reynolds, for me to be looking out for a boarding place?”

The broker smiled, and said with assumed concern: “Are you dissatisfied with your present boarding place?”

“How could I be, sir?” returned Grant, earnestly. “But you told me I could stay with you a week, while I was looking about for a suitable place to board.”

“That is true. Now, however, there is a difficulty about your making a change.”

“What is that, sir?”

“Herbert would not give his consent. The fact is, Grant, Herbert finds so much pleasure in your society, and derives so much advantage from the increased exercise you lead him to take, that I think you will have to make up your mind to stay.”

Grant’s face showed the pleasure he felt.

“I shall be very glad to stay, Mr. Reynolds,” he answered, “if you are willing to have me.”

“I had this in view from the first,” said the broker, “but I wanted to see how you and Herbert got along. I wished to be sure, also, that your influence on him would be good. Of that I can have no doubt, and I am glad to receive you as a member of my family.”

There was one member of the household, however, who was not so well pleased with the proposed arrangement. This was Mrs. Estabrook, the housekeeper.

As the week drew to a close, she said, one evening after the boys had retired:

“How much longer is the office boy to stay here, Mr. Reynolds?”

“Why do you ask?” inquired the broker.

“Only with reference to domestic arrangements,” answered the housekeeper, disconcerted.

“He will remain for a considerable time, Mrs. Estabrook.”

“I—I thought he was only going to stay a week.”

“He is company for Herbert, and I think it desirable to keep him.”

“Herbert soils his clothes a deal more now than he used to do,” said the housekeeper, discontentedly. “I am sure I don’t know where the other boy carries him.”

“Nor I, but I am not afraid to trust him with Grant. As to the clothes, I consider them of very small account, compared with my boy’s health.”

Mrs. Estabrook knitted in silence for five minutes. She was by no means pleased with her employer’s plan, having taken a dislike to Grant, for which, indeed, her chief reason was jealousy. She had a stepson, a young man of twenty-one, in Mr. Reynolds’ office, whom she would like to have in the house in place of Grant. But Mr. Reynolds had never taken notice of her occasional hints to that effect. The housekeeper’s plans were far-reaching. She knew that Herbert was delicate, and doubted if he would live to grow up. In that case, supposing her stepson had managed to ingratiate himself with the broker, why might he not hope to become his heir? Now this interloper, as she called Grant, had stepped into the place which her own favorite—his name was Willis Ford—should have had. Mrs. Estabrook felt aggrieved, and unjustly treated, and naturally incensed at Grant, who was the unconscious cause of her disappointment. She returned to the charge, though, had she been wiser, she would have foreborne.

“Do you think a poor boy like this Grant Thornton is a suitable companion for a rich man’s son, Mr. Reynolds? Excuse me for suggesting it, but I am so interested in dear Herbert.”

“Grant Thornton is the son of a country minister, and has had an excellent training,” said the broker, coldly. “The fact that he is poor is no objection in my eyes. I think, Mrs. Estabrook, we will dismiss the subject. I think myself competent to choose my son’s associates.”

“I hope you will excuse me,” said the housekeeper, seeing that she had gone too far. “I am so attached to the dear child.”

“If you are, you will not object to the extra trouble you may have with his clothes, since his health is benefited.”

“That artful young beggar has wound his way into his employer’s confidence,” thought Mrs. Estabrook, resentfully, “but it may not be always so.”

A few minutes later, when the housekeeper was in her own sitting-room, she was told that Willis Ford wanted to see her.

Mrs. Estabrook’s thin face lighted up with pleasure, for she was devotedly attached to her stepson.

“Bring him up here at once,” she said.

A minute later the young man entered the room. He was a thin, sallow-complexioned young man, with restless, black eyes, and a discontented expression—as of one who thinks he is not well used by the world.

“Welcome, my dear boy,” said the housekeeper, warmly. “I am so glad to see you.”

Willis submitted reluctantly to his stepmother’s caress, and threw himself into a rocking chair opposite her.

“Are you well, Willis?” asked Mrs. Estabrook, anxiously.

“Yes, I’m well enough,” muttered the young man.

“I thought you looked out of sorts.”

“I feel so.”

“Is anything the matter?”

“Yes; I’m sick of working at such starvation wages.”

“I thought fifteen dollars a week a very good salary. Only last January you were raised three dollars.”

“And I expected to be raised three dollars more on the first of July.”

“Did you apply to Mr. Reynolds?”

“Yes, and he told me I must wait till next January.”

“I think he might have raised you, if only on account of the connection between our families.”

“Perhaps he would if you would ask him, mother.”

“I will when there is a good opportunity. Still, Willis, I think fifteen dollars a week very comfortable.”

“You don’t know a young man’s expenses, mother.”

“How much do you pay for board, Willis?”

“Six dollars a week. I have a room with a friend, or I should have to pay eight.”

“That leaves you nine dollars a week for all other expenses. I think you might save something out of that.”

“I can’t. I have clothes to buy, and sometimes I want to go to the theatre, and in fact, nine dollars don’t go as far as you think. Of course, a woman doesn’t need to spend much. It’s different with a young man.”

“Your income would be a good deal increased if you had no board to pay.”

“Of course. You don’t know any generous minded person who will board me for nothing, do you?”

“There’s a new office boy in your office, isn’t there?”

“Yes, a country boy.”

“Did you know he was boarding here?”

“No; is he?”

“Mr. Reynolds told me to-night he was going to keep him here permanently, as a companion for his little son.”

“Lucky for him.”

“I wish Mr. Reynolds would give you a home here.”

“I would rather he would make it up in money, and let me board where I please.”

“But you forget. It would give you a chance to get him interested in you, and if Herbert should die, you might take his place as heir.”

“That would be a splendid idea, but there’s no prospect of it. It isn’t for me.”

“It may be for the office boy. He’s an artful boy, and that’s what he’s working for, in my opinion.”

“I didn’t think the little beggar was so evil-headed. He seems quiet enough.”

“Still waters run deep. You’d better keep an eye on him, and I’ll do the same.”

“I will.”

The next day Grant was puzzled to understand why Willis Ford spoke so sharply to him, and regarded him with such evident unfriendliness.

“What have I done to offend you?” he thought.

CHAPTER XIII – TWO VIEWS OF TOM CALDER

Thus far nothing had been said about the compensation Grant was to receive for his work in the broker’s office. He did not like to ask, especially as he knew that at the end of the first week the matter would be settled. When he found that he was to remain for the present at the house of his employer he concluded that his cash pay would be very small, perhaps a dollar a week. However, that would be doing quite as well as if he paid his own board elsewhere, while he enjoyed a much more agreeable and luxurious home. He would be unable to assist his father for a year or two; but that was only what he had a right to expect.

When Saturday afternoon came, Mr. Reynolds said: “By the way, Grant, I must pay you your week’s wages. I believe no sum was agreed upon.”

“No, sir.”

“We will call it six dollars. Will that be satisfactory?”

“Very much so, Mr. Reynolds; but there will be a deduction for board.”

Mr. Reynolds smiled.

“That is a different matter,” he said. “That comes to you as Herbert’s companion. It is worth that to me to have my boy’s happiness increased.”

Grant was overjoyed at the bright prospect opened before him, and he said, with glowing face: “You are very kind, Mr. Reynolds. Now I shall be able to help my father.”

“That is very creditable to you, my boy. Willis, you may pay Grant six dollars.”

Willis Ford did so, but he looked very glum. He estimated that, including his board, Grant would be in receipt of twelve dollars a week, or its equivalent, and this was only three dollars less than he himself received, who had been in the office five years and was a connection of the broker.

“It’s a shame,” he thought, “that this green, country boy should be paid nearly as much as I—I must call and tell mother.”

Grant was a very happy boy that evening. He resolved to lay aside three dollars a week to send to his mother, to save up a dollar a week and deposit it in some savings bank, and make the other two dollars answer for his clothing and miscellaneous expenses.

On the next Monday afternoon Grant walked home alone, Mr. Reynolds having some business which delayed him. He thought he would walk up Broadway, as there was much in that crowded thoroughfare to amuse and interest him.

Just at the corner of Canal Street he came across Tom Calder. Tom was standing in a listless attitude with his hands in his pockets, with apparently no business cares weighing upon his mind.

“Hello, Grant!” he said, with sudden recognition.

“How are you, Tom?”

“I’m all right, but I’m rather hard up.”

Grant was not surprised to hear that.

“You see, there’s a feller owes me seven dollars, and I can’t get it till next week,” continued Tom, watching Grant’s face to see if he believed it.

Grant did not believe it, but did not think it necessary to say so.

“That’s inconvenient,” he remarked.

“I should say it was. You couldn’t lend me a couple of dollars, could you?”

“I don’t think I could.”

Tom looked disappointed.

“How much do you get?” he asked.

“Six dollars a week.”

“That’s pretty good, for a boy like you. I wish you’d take a room with me. It would come cheaper.”

“I shall stay where I am for the present,” said Grant.

He did not care to mention, unless he were asked, that he was making his home at the house of Mr. Reynolds, as it might either lead to a call from Tom, whom he did not particularly care to introduce to his new friends, or might lead to a more pressing request for a loan.

“Where are you boarding?” asked Grant, after a pause.

“In Clinton Place. I have a room there, and get my meals where I like. There’s a chap from your office that lives in the same house.”

“Who is it?” asked Grant, anxiously.

“It’s Willis Ford.”

“Is that so?” returned Grant, in surprise. “Do you know him?”

“Only a little. I don’t like him. He’s too stuck up.”

Grant made no comment, but in his heart he agreed with Tom.

“Are you doing anything?” he asked.

“Not just yet,” answered Tom, “I expect a good job soon. You haven’t a quarter to spare, have you?” Grant produced the desired sum and handed it to his companion. He didn’t fancy Tom, but he was willing to help him in a small way.

“Thanks,” said Tom. “That’ll buy my supper. I’ll give it back to you in a day or two.”

Grant did not think there was much likelihood of that, but felt that he could afford to lose this small sum.

Four days later he met Tom in Wall Street. But what a change! He was attired in a new suit, wore a fancy necktie, while a chain, that looked like gold, dangled from his watch pocket. Grant stared at him in amazement.

“How are you, Grant?” said Tom, patronizingly.

“Very well, thank you.”

“I hope you are a-doin’ well.”

“Very well. You seem to be prosperous.”

“Yes,” answered Tom, languidly, evidently enjoying his surprise. “I told you I expected to get into something good. By the way, I owe you a quarter—there it is. Much obliged for the accommodation.”

Grant pocketed the coin, which he had never expected to receive, and continued to regard Tom with puzzled surprise. He could not understand what business Tom could have found that had so altered his circumstances. He ventured to inquire.

“I wouldn’t mind tellin’ you,” answered Tom, “but, you see, it’s kind of confidential. I’m a confidential agent; that’s it.”

“It seems to be a pretty good business,” remarked Grant.

“Yes, it is; I don’t work for nothin’, I can tell you that.”

“I’m glad of your good luck, Tom,” said Grant, and he spoke sincerely. “I hope you’ll keep your agency.”

“Oh, I guess I will! A feller like me is pretty sure of a good livin’, anyway. Hello, Jim!”

This last was addressed to a flashily dressed individual—the same one, in fact, that Grant had seen on a former occasion with Tom.

“Who’s your friend?” asked Jim, with a glance at Grant.

“Grant Thornton. He’s from my place in the country. He’s in the office of Mr. Reynolds, a broker in New Street.”

“Introduce me.”

“Grant, let me make you acquainted with my friend, Jim Morrison,” said Tom, with a flourish.

“Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Thornton,” said Jim Morrison, jauntily, offering his hand.

“Thank you,” said Grant, in a reserved tone; for he was not especially attracted by the look of Tom’s friend. He shook hands, however.

“Come ‘round and see us some evenin’, Grant,” said Tom. “We’ll take you round, won’t we, Jim?”

“Of course we will. Your friend should see something of the city.”

“You’re the feller that can show him. Well, we must be goin’. It’s lunch time.”

Tom pulled out a watch, which, if not gold, was of the same color as gold, and the two sauntered away.

“What in the world can Tom have found to do?” Grant wondered.

CHAPTER XIV – WILLIS FORD’S NEW FRIENDS

When Harry Decker left the office at the end of two weeks, Grant was fully able to take his place, having, with Harry’s friendly assistance, completely mastered the usual routine of a broker’s office. He had also learned the names and offices of prominent operators, and was, in all respects, qualified to be of service to his employer.

Mr. Reynolds always treated him with friendly consideration, and appeared to have perfect confidence in him. For some reason which he could not understand, however, Willis Ford was far from cordial, often addressing him in a fault-finding tone, which at first disturbed Grant. When he found that it arose from Ford’s dislike, he ceased to trouble himself about it, though it annoyed him. He had discovered Ford’s relationship to Mrs. Estabrook, who treated him in the same cool manner.

“As it appears I can’t please them,” Grant said to himself, “I won’t make any special effort to do so.” He contented himself with doing his work faithfully, and so satisfying his own conscience.

One evening some weeks later, Grant was returning from a concert, to which the broker had given him a ticket, when, to his great surprise, he met Willis Ford walking with Tom Calder and Jim Morrison. The three were apparently on intimate terms.

“Good-evenin’, Grant,” said Tom.

“Good-evening, Tom.”

Grant looked at Willis Ford, but the latter’s lip curled and he did not speak. Grant, however, bowed and passed on. He was surprised at the intimacy which had grown up between Ford and those two, knowing Ford’s spirit of exclusiveness. He would have been less surprised had he known that Morrison had first ingratiated himself with Ford by offering to lend him money, and afterward had lured him into a gambling house, where Ford, not knowing that he was a dupe, had been induced to play, and was now a loser to the extent of several hundred dollars, for which Morrison held his notes.

“I don’t know when I can pay you,” said Ford, gloomily, when he came to realize his situation.

“Oh, something will turn up.” said Jim Morrison, lightly. “I shan’t trouble you.”

Two weeks later, however, he lay in wait for Ford when he left Wall Street.