Mark Mason's Victory

"I am getting very tired and must stop. God bless you!

"Your unfortunate cousin,

"John Lillis.

"P. S. The man in whose house I am stopping is named Nahum Sprague."

"You see, Mark, your mission will be one of mercy. The sooner the poor boy is rescued from such people as Mr. and Mrs. Sprague the better for him. By the way, I don't want them to say my cousin has been an expense to them. Therefore I will authorize you to obtain from them an itemized account of what they have spent for him and the boy and pay it. You will see that they don't impose upon me by presenting too large a bill."

"Yes, sir. I will look sharply after your interests."

"I shall give you more than enough to get you to San Francisco, and I will give you a letter to a firm there, authorizing you to draw upon them for any sum you may require up to a thousand dollars."

"But that will be a great deal more than I shall need."

"I presume so, but I give you so large a credit to use in case of emergencies."

"You are trusting me very far, Mr. Gilbert."

"I am aware of that, but I feel entirely safe in doing so."

"Thank you, sir."

Other directions were given, and it was agreed that Mark should start on his long journey on Monday morning.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

MARK AT OMAHA

Some days later Mark found himself at Omaha. Here he was to transfer himself to the Union Pacific Railroad; at that time the only Pacific road built with the exception of the Central Pacific, which formed with it a continuous line to San Francisco. Mark decided to remain in Omaha for a single day and then take the train for his destination.

At the hotel Mark found himself sitting next to a man with bronzed face and rough attire who embodied his ideas of a miner. The stranger during the meal devoted himself strictly to business, but going out of the dining-room at the same time with Mark he grew sociable.

"Well, young pard.," he said, "what's your trail?"

Mark looked puzzled.

"I mean which way are you going – East or West?"

"I am going to San Francisco."

"Ever been there before?"

Mark shook his head.

"I never was as far West as this before," he answered. "I came from New York."

"So I thought. You look like a tenderfoot. Are you going out to stay?"

"Only a short time. I am going after a young boy. I am going to carry him back with me."

"A kid, eh? You're not much more than a kid yourself."

"I guess I can take care of myself," said Mark with a smile.

"Shouldn't wonder. You look like it. Nothing soft about you."

"I hope I haven't got a soft head. As to my heart, I hope that isn't hard."

"Good for you. I reckon you're a likely kind of boy."

"I suppose you have been to California," said Mark, thinking it his turn to ask questions.

"Yes; I've been on the coast for three years, more or less."

"How do you like it out there?"

"Well, I've had my ups and downs. A year ago, six months for that matter, I was dead broke."

"Did your luck change?"

"Not till I struck Nevada. Then I got a small interest in the Golden Hope mine – "

"The Golden Hope mine?" exclaimed Mark in excitement.

"Do you know anything of that mine, youngster?"

"Yes; I have a – a friend who owns some stock in it."

"Then your friend is in luck. Why, do you know where the stock stands to-day?"

"No, but I should like to know."

"At 110."

Mark's eyes sparkled with joyous excitement.

"Is it possible?" he exclaimed.

"It's so. I've got a block of a hundred shares myself, which I bought eighteen months ago for a song. I give you my word I didn't think it worth more than a dollar or two a share – what I gave – when I learned not long since that they'd struck it rich, and I was no longer a pauper."

"That's good news for me," said Mark slowly.

"Why? Have you got any of it?"

"My mother is entitled to two hundred shares from her father's estate."

"Whew! Have you come out to see about it?"

"No; that was not my object, but I shall find what I can about it."

"You're in luck."

"Well, perhaps so. But my uncle is trying to cheat my mother out of it."

"Then he must be a rascal. Tell me about it."

The man looked sympathetic and trustworthy, and Mark without hesitation told him the story as it is already known to the reader.

"Do you think the stock has reached its highest point?" he asked anxiously.

"No; it will probably rise to two hundred."

"Then my uncle probably won't close it out just at present."

"No; he will hear how the matter stands, and if he is sharp he will hold on."

"I am glad of that, for I want a little time to decide how to act."

"I am going to stop at the mine on my way to 'Frisco."

"I will give you my address and ask you to write me a line to the care of my banker there, letting me know what you can about the mine."

"All right, boy! I like you, and I'll do it. When do you start?"

"To-morrow."

"We'll start together, and I'll get off the train in Nevada."

CHAPTER XXIX.

NAHUM SPRAGUE AND HIS ORPHAN WARD

Leaving Mark on his way we will precede him, and carry the reader at once to Gulchville, in California, where he was to find the young boy of whom Mr. Gilbert had requested him to take charge.

In an unpainted frame house lived Mr. Nahum Sprague. In New England such a building would hardly have cost over five hundred dollars, but here it had been erected at more than double the expense by the original owner. When he became out of health and left California it was bought for a trifling price by Nahum Sprague.

The latter was a man of forty-five with small eyes and a face prematurely wrinkled. He was well-to-do, but how he had gained his money no one knew. He and his wife, however, were mean and parsimonious.

They had one son, a boy of fifteen, who resembled them physically and mentally. He was named Oscar, after a gentleman of wealth, in the hope that at his death the boy would be remembered. Unfortunately for Oscar the gentleman died without a will and his namesake received nothing.

The disappointed parents would gladly have changed the boy's name, but Oscar would not hear of it, preferring the name that had become familiar.

This was the family whose grudging hospitality had embittered the last days of John Lillis, and to them he was obliged to commit the temporary guardianship of his little son Philip.

In the field adjoining, Philip Lillis, a small pale boy, was playing when Oscar Sprague issued from the house.

"Come here, you little brat!" he said harshly.

Philip looked with a frightened expression.

"What do you want of me?" he asked.

"What do I want? Come here and see."

The little fellow approached.

He was received with a sharp slap in the face.

"Why do you hit me, Oscar?" Philip asked tearfully.

"Because you didn't come quicker," answered the young tyrant.

"I didn't know you were in a hurry."

"Well, you know it now."

"You wouldn't have hit me when papa was alive," said Philip with a flash of spirit.

"Well, he isn't alive, see?"

"I know he isn't, and I am alone in the world."

"Well, don't snivel! If anything makes me sick at the stomach it is to see a boy snivel."

"Maybe you'd cry if your papa was dead."

"There ain't much fear. The old man's too tough," responded Oscar, who had no sentimental love for his father. Indeed, it would have been surprising if he had shown any attachment to Nahum Sprague, who was about as unattractive in outward appearance as he was in character and disposition.

"You didn't tell me what you wanted me to do."

"Just wait till I tell you, smarty. Do you see this bottle?"

"Yes."

"Take it to the saloon and get it full of whisky."

"Papa didn't want me to go into a liquor saloon."

"Well, your papa ain't got nothing to do with you now. See? You just do as I tell you."

Philip took the bottle unwillingly and started for the saloon.

"Mind you don't drink any of it on the way home," called out Oscar.

"As if I would," said Philip indignantly. "I don't drink whisky and I never will."

"Oh, you're an angel!" sneered Oscar. "You're too good for this world. Ain't you afraid you'll die young, as they say good boys do?"

"I don't believe you'll die young, Oscar."

"Hey? Was that meant for an insult? But never mind! I don't pretend to be one of the goody-goody Sunday-school kids. Now mind you don't loiter on the way."

Oscar sat down on the doorstep and began to whittle.

The door opened and his father came out.

"Why didn't you go to the saloon as I told you?" he asked hastily.

"It's all the same. I sent Philip."

"You sent that boy? He ain't fit to send on such an errand."

"Why ain't he? He can ask to have the bottle filled, can't he?"

"What did he say? Was he willing to go?"

"He said his papa," mimicked Oscar, "didn't want him to go into a liquor saloon."

"He did, hey? All the more reason for making him go. His poverty-stricken father can't help him now. Why, I am keeping the boy from starving."

"Are you going to keep him always, dad?"

"I ought to turn him over to the town, but folks would talk. There's a man in New York that his father said would send for him. I don't know whether he will or not. There's a matter of fifty dollars due to me for burying John Lillis. That's the way I get imposed upon."

Philip kept on his way to the saloon. He was a timid, sensitive boy, and he shrank from going into the place which was generally filled with rough men. Two miners were leaning against the front of the wooden shanty used for the sale of liquor when Philip appeared.

As he passed in one said to the other, "Well, I'll be jiggered if here isn't a kid comin' for his liquor. I say, kid, what do you want?"

"Some whisky," answered Philip timidly.

"How old are you?"

"Ten."

"I say, young 'un, you're beginnin' early."

"I don't want it for myself," returned Philip half indignantly.

"Oh, no, of course not. You won't take a sip yourself, of course not."

"No, I won't. My papa never drank whisky, and he told me not to."

"Where is your papa?"

"Gone to Heaven."

The miner whistled.

"Then who sent you for whisky?"

"Mr. Sprague."

"Old Nahum?"

"His name is Nahum."

"I thought he was too mean to buy whisky. Do you live with him?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is he any kin to you?"

"No," answered Philip quickly.

"Does he treat you well?"

"I don't like to answer such questions," said Philip guardedly.

"I suppose you are afraid to. Did your father leave any money?"

"No," answered Philip sadly.

"Then I understand how it is. Do you expect to keep on living with Mr. Sprague?"

"Papa wrote to a gentleman in New York. I expect he will send for me."

"I hope he will for your sake, poor little chap. Well, go on and get your whisky. I don't want to take up your time."

As Philip entered the first speaker remarked, "Well, Bill, I don't pretend to be an angel, but I wouldn't send a kid like that for whisky. I drink it myself, but I wouldn't want a boy like that to go for it. I'd go myself."

"I agree with you," said Bill. "That Sprague ain't of much account any way. I'd lick him myself for a dollar. He's about as mean as they make 'em."

CHAPTER XXX.

PHILIP FINDS A FRIEND

When the two unauthorized ministers of justice had departed Oscar and his father looked at each other in anger and stupefaction.

"It's an outrage!" exclaimed Nahum Sprague.

"I'd like to shoot them!" returned Oscar. "I'd like to see them flayed within an inch of their lives."

"So would I. They are the most audacious desperadoes I ever encountered."

"Do you know them, dad?"

"Yes; they are Bill Murphy and Joe Hastings. They are always hanging round the drinking saloon."

"We can lick Philip at any rate!" said Oscar, with a furious look at poor Phil. "He brought it on us."

But Nahum Sprague was more prudent. He had heard the threat of Bill and Joe to repeat the punishment if Philip were attacked, and he thought it best to wait.

"Leave it to me," he said. "I'll flog him in due time."

"Ain't you going to do anything to him, dad?" asked Oscar in disappointment.

"Yes. Come here, you, sir!"

Phil approached his stern guardian with an uncomfortable sense of something unpleasant awaiting him.

Nahum Sprague seized him by the collar and said, "Follow me."

He pushed the boy before him and walked him into the house, then up the stairs into an attic room, where he locked him in. Just then the bell rang for dinner.

Poor Phil was hungry, but nothing was said about dinner for him. A dread suspicion came to him that he was to be starved. But half an hour later the door opened, and Oscar appeared with two thin slices of bread without butter.

"Here's your dinner," he said.

It was a poor enough provision for a hungry boy, but Phil ate them with relish, Oscar looking on with an amused smile.

"Is that all I am to have?" asked Phil.

"Yes; it is all you deserve."

"I don't know what I have done."

"You don't, hey? You broke the bottle and spilled the whisky."

"I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't pushed me."

"There you go, laying it off on me. You'd better not."

"But it's true, Oscar."

"No, it isn't. You broke the bottle to spite pa."

"I wouldn't have dared to do it," said Philip.

"You dared a little too much, anyway. Didn't you get those men to follow you and interfere with what was none of their business?"

"No, I didn't."

"Hadn't you spoken with them at the saloon?"

"Yes."

"I thought so."

"They asked me who sent me for the whisky and I told them."

"You didn't need to tell them. If it hadn't been for that they wouldn't have come round to our place and assaulted pa and me. They'll catch it, pa says. Shouldn't wonder if they'd be put in prison for five years."

Young as he was Phil put no faith in this ridiculous statement, but he thought it best not to make any comment.

"How long is your father going to keep me here?" he asked.

"Maybe a month."

This opened a terrible prospect to poor Phil, who thought Mr. Sprague quite capable of inflicting such a severe punishment.

"If he does I won't live through it," he said desperately.

"You don't mean to kill yourself!" said Oscar, startled.

"No, but I shall starve. I am awfully hungry now."

"What, after eating two slices of bread?"

"They were very thin, and I have exercised a good deal."

"Then I advise you to make it up with pa. If you get down on your knees and tell him you are sorry, perhaps he will forgive you, and let you out."

Phil did not feel willing to humiliate himself in that way, and remained silent.

"There ain't any bed for me to sleep on," he said, looking around.

"You will have to sleep on the floor. I guess you'll get enough of it."

Oscar locked the door on the outside and went down-stairs. Disagreeable as he was Phil was sorry to have him go. He was some company, and when left to himself there was nothing for him to do. If there had been any paper or book in the room it would have helped him tide over the time, but the apartment was bare of furniture.

There was one window looking out on the side of the house. Phil posted himself at this, and soon saw Oscar and his father leave the premises and go down the street. Nahum had a bottle in his hand, and Phil concluded he was going to the drinking saloon to get a fresh bottle of whisky.

Phil continued to look out of the window.

Presently he saw a boy pass whom he knew – a boy named Arthur Burks.

He opened the window and called out eagerly, "Arthur!"

Arthur turned round and looking up espied Philip.

"Hello!" he cried. "What are you doing up there?"

"I am locked in."

"What for?"

"I accidentally dropped a bottle of whisky, and spilled it. Mr. Sprague got mad and locked me up here."

"That's a shame. How long have you got to stay?"

"Oscar says he may keep me here a month."

"He's only frightening you. Old Sprague wouldn't dare to do it."

"That isn't all. I am half starved. He only gave me two small slices of bread for dinner."

"He's a mean old hunks. I just wish you could come round to our house. We'd give you enough to eat."

"I wish I were there now," sighed Philip.

"I've got an idea," said Arthur, brightening up. "What time do Mr. Sprague and Oscar go to bed?"

"Very early. About nine o'clock."

"Would you run away if you could?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll tell you what I'll do. At half-past nine Albert Frost and I will come around with a tall ladder – Mr. Frost has got one – and we'll put it up against your window. Will you dare to get out of the window, and come down?"

"Yes, I'll do anything to get away. But can you get the ladder?"

"Yes; Albert will manage it. Do you think the old man will be likely to see or hear us?"

"No; he sleeps on the other side of the house."

"All right! You can expect us. I guess I had better go now, for fear I may be seen, and they might suspect something."

"But where can I go when I leave here?"

"Come to our house. You can sleep with Rob, my little brother."

"Thank you, Arthur. I'll expect you."

Philip felt a good deal more cheerful after Arthur had gone. He knew that in Arthur's house he would be very differently treated from what he had been by Nahum Sprague. He did not feel it wrong to leave the Spragues', as they were constantly complaining that he was a burden.

"If Mr. Burks would only let me live with him," he thought, "I should be happy, and I would be willing to work hard."

At half-past five Oscar came up to the room again, this time accompanied by his father.

"How do you like being locked up here?" asked Nahum.

"Not very well."

"Get down on your knees and beg my pardon for your bad conduct, and I will let you out."

"I would rather not, sir."

"Do you hear that, Oscar? He would rather not."

"I heard it, pa."

"It is only right that he should suffer the penalty of his headstrong conduct. Give him his supper and we will leave him to think of his sinfulness."

Oscar produced two more thin slices of bread and a cup of very weak tea.

"You are not entitled to tea," said Nahum. "It is only because we are kind-hearted that I permitted Mrs. Sprague to send up a cup. I have not put in milk or sugar because I refuse to pamper you."

Philip made no comment, but disposed of the tea and bread in a very short space of time. He felt ready to join in with Oliver, in Dickens's immortal story, when he asked for "more." But he knew it would be of no use.

"Now, we will go down, Oscar."

"All right, pa. I hope the house won't catch fire in the night," he added, with the laudable purpose of terrifying Philip, "for we might not be able to come up and unlock the door."

Philip felt uncomfortable, but he reflected that before many hours, if Arthur Burks kept his promise, he would no longer be an inmate of Mr. Sprague's home.

"He'll have a sweet time sleeping on the floor, pa," said Oscar as they went down-stairs.

"It will serve the little fool right," returned Nahum Sprague grimly.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE MINING STOCK IS SOLD

"But I understood that you were poor," said Mr. Rockwell, surprised at Mark's statement.

"That we are so is because Mr. Talbot as executor has concealed from my mother the existence of the stock as a part of grandfather's estate."

"How long since you grandfather died?"

"Nearly two years."

"And the stock is only now to be sold?"

"Yes; my uncle had advices that it would be well to wait, as it was likely to go up."

"And your mother's share is half – say, two hundred shares?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then she will be comfortable for life. At the price I am thinking of paying, this will amount to over fifty thousand dollars. Now can you give me any information about the mine?"

"Yes, sir; I made it my business to inquire. It is confidently expected to go considerably higher. It is growing richer every day."

"I shall rely upon your statements and buy the stock. After it is sold I advise you to take immediate steps to secure your share. Have you consulted a lawyer?"

"Yes; a young man."

"In a matter of this importance an older and more experienced lawyer will be better, I will give you a note to my own lawyer."

"Thank you, sir."

"I am now going to the office of Crane & Lawton where I shall meet your uncle, and conclude the business. Come here in less than two hours and I may be able to tell you the result."

"I will do so."

Solon Talbot was much elated when informed by Crane & Lawton that they had found a purchaser for his mining stock in the person of Luther Rockwell, the well-known banker.

"Do you think he would stand a higher price?" asked Talbot.

"It would not be wise to ask it."

"He is very rich. He could afford to pay more."

"True; but he became rich through prudence and shrewdness. Sell to him and you won't have to wait for your money."

"No doubt you are right. I will be guided by your advice."

When Solon Talbot was introduced to Mr. Rockwell he made a deferential bow.

"I am honored in making your acquaintance, Mr. Rockwell," he said.

"Thank you, sir."

The banker would have been more cordial but for what he had heard from Mark.

"How long have you owned this stock, Mr. Talbot?" inquired Mr. Rockwell.

"Three years."

"It is not held in your name."

"No; it belongs to the estate of my late father-in-law, Elisha Doane."

"I take it that you are the executor of the estate."

"Yes, sir."

Solon Talbot would not have been so communicative if he had supposed that the banker was a friend to Mark. He had forgotten Mark's agency in protecting Mr. Rockwell from the dynamite fiend.

"The stock was probably purchased at a very low figure."

"I presume so, though I do not know what was paid for it. Indeed I never heard of it until I came to examine the items of my father-in-law's estate. He didn't have much else."

"It is fortunate for his heirs."

"Yes," answered Talbot rather nervously.

He was afraid Mr. Rockwell might inquire who were the other heirs. Had he done so, he would have evaded the question or boldly declared that there was no other heirs except himself.

After half an hour's conversation the purchase was made, and a check for one hundred and four thousand dollars was handed to Mr. Talbot.

"I hope you will not have occasion to regret your purchase, Mr. Rockwell," said Solon.

"I think I shall not from advices I have received about increasing richness."

At the time appointed Mark called at Mr. Rockwell's office.

"Well, Mark," said the lawyer, "I made the purchase."

"At two hundred and sixty?"

"Yes. I congratulate you."

"That is, if I succeed in getting our share from my uncle."

"I will give you a letter to my lawyer, Mr. Gerrish. Obtain a letter from him, as your counsel, and call to-morrow upon your uncle with a formal demand for your mother's share of the proceeds of the mining stock."

CHAPTER XXXII.

CONCLUSION

Solon Talbot went home in high spirits. It was only recently that he had become aware of the great value of the Golden Hope shares. It had come to him as an agreeable surprise.

"With what I was worth before," he soliloquized, "I may now rate myself at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That is very good – for a beginning. I can afford to buy the house in Forty-Seventh Street, for I shall still have a hundred thousand dollars over, and in five years I mean to make it half a million."

He paced up and down his library in a state of joyous excitement. No thought of giving his sister-in-law her rightful due entered his mind.

"How can she find out?" he reflected. "Old Mr. Doane never told any of us of his mining shares. I presume he looked upon them as rather a risky investment. It has proved to be a splendid speculation, but it was rather a lucky accident than a shrewd purchase."

It was after breakfast on the morning succeeding the sale of stock. Mr. Talbot was preparing to go over to the house which he proposed to purchase for a last examination before making up his mind, when the servant entered the library.