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Chester Rand; or, The New Path to Fortune, a fiction by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 18. Dick Ralston |
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_ CHAPTER XVIII. DICK RALSTON Chester was new to the city and a novice in worldly affairs, but the discovery that the bookkeeper was on intimate terms with a gambler astounded him. He felt that Mr. Fairchild ought to know it, but he shrank from telling him. Of course, the presumption was that Mullins was also a gambler, but this was not certain. Chester decided to say nothing, but to be watchful. David Mullins had been five years in his present place, and his services must have been satisfactory or he would not have been retained. There was one thing, however, that Chester did not know. This gambler--Dick Ralston, as he was familiarly called--was only a recent acquaintance. Mullins had known him but three months, but had already, through his influence, been smitten by the desire to become rich more quickly than he could in any legitimate way. He had accompanied Dick to the gaming table, and tried his luck, losing more than he could comfortably spare. He was in debt to his dangerous friend one hundred and fifty dollars, and on the evening in question Dick had intimated that he was in need of the money. "But how can I give it to you?" asked Mullins, in a tone of annoyance. "You receive a good salary." "One hundred dollars a month, yes. But I can't spare more than thirty dollars a month toward paying the debt." "Which would take you five months. That won't suit me. Haven't you got any money saved up?" "No; I ought to have, but I have enjoyed myself as I went along, and it has taken all I earned." "Humph! Very pleasant for me!" "And for me, too. It isn't very satisfactory to pinch and scrape for five months just to get out of debt. If it was for articles I had had--in other words, for value received--it would be different. But it is just for money lost at the gaming table--a gambling debt." "Such debts, among men of honor," said Dick, loftily, "are the most binding. Everywhere they are debts of honor." "I don't see why," grumbled Mullins. "Come," said Ralston, soothingly, "you are out of sorts, and can't see things in their right light. I'll lend you fifty dollars more, making the debt two hundred dollars." "I don't see how that will help me." "I'll tell you. You must win the money to pay your debt at the gaming table. Why, two hundred dollars is a trifle. You might win it in one evening." "Or lose as much more." "There's no such word as fail! Shall I tell you what I did once?" "Yes," answered Mullins, in some curiosity. "I was in Nashville--dead broke! I was younger then, and losses affected me more. I was even half inclined--you will laugh, I know--to blow my brains out or to throw myself into the river, when a stranger offered to lend me ten dollars to try my luck again. Well, I thought as you did, that it was of little use. I would lose it, and so make matters worse. "But desperation led me to accept. It was one chance, not a very good one, but still a chance. From motives of prudence I only risked five dollars at first. I lost. Savagely I threw down the remaining five and won twenty-five. Then I got excited, and kept on for an hour. At the end of that time, how do you think I stood?" "How?" asked Mullins, eagerly. "I had won eight hundred and sixty-five dollars," answered Dick Ralston, coolly. "I paid back the ten dollars, and went out of the gambling house a rich man, comparatively speaking." Now, all this story was a clever fiction, but David Mullins did not know this. He accepted it as plain matter of fact, and his heart beat quickly as he fancied himself winning as large a sum. "But such cases must be rare," he ventured. "Not at all. I could tell you more wonderful stories about friends of mine, though it was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me. Now, will you take the fifty dollars I offered you?" "Yes, but I don't want to play again to-night. I feel nervous." "Very good. Meet me to-morrow evening at the gambling house, and the money shall be ready for you." Then they parted, and the bookkeeper, who had a headache, went home and to bed. He had that evening lost fifty dollars to Dick Ralston, and so increased his debt from one hundred to one hundred and fifty dollars. But his heart was filled with feverish excitement. The story told by Ralston had its effect upon him, and he decided to keep on in the dangerous path upon which he had entered. Why pinch himself for five months to pay his debt, when a single evening's luck would clear him from every obligation? If Dick Ralston and others could be lucky, why not he? This was the way Mullins reasoned. He never stopped to consider what would be the result if things did not turn out as he hoped--if he lost instead of won. Some weeks passed. The bookkeeper met with varying success at the gaming table. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost, but on the whole his debt to Dick Ralston didn't increase. There were reasons why the gambler decided to go slow. He was playing with Mullins as a cat plays with a mouse. But our chief concern is with Chester Rand. He found a comfortable room on Twelfth Street, not far from the office, which, with board, only cost him five dollars per week. This, to be sure, took all his salary, but he was earning something outside. On account of so much time being taken up by his work for the professor, he did little for the comic weeklies. But occasionally, through his friend, the artist, a five or ten-dollar bill came into his hands. He bought himself a new suit, and some other articles which he found he needed, and wrote home to ask his mother if she wished any assistance. "Thank you for your offer," she replied, "but the money Miss Dolby pays me defrays all my housekeeping expenses and a little more. She is certainly peculiar, but is good-natured, and never finds fault. She is a good deal of company for me. Of course, I miss you very much, but it cheers me to think you are doing well, and are happy, with good prospects for the future. There is nothing for you in Wyncombe, as I very well know; that is, nothing you would be willing to accept. "That reminds me to say that Mr. Tripp is having a hard time with boys. He discharged Abel Wood soon after you went to New York. He has tried two boys since, but doesn't seem to get suited. When I was in the store yesterday, he inquired after you. 'Tell him,' he said, 'that if he gets tired of New York, he can come back to the store, and I will pay him three dollars a week!" He said this with an air of a man who is making a magnificent offer. I told him you were satisfied with your position in the city. I must tell you of one mean thing he has done. "He has been trying to induce Miss Dolby to leave me and take board with him, offering to take her for two dollars a week less. She told me of this herself. 'I wouldn't go there if he'd take me for nothing,' she said, and I believe she meant it. She is not mean, and is willing to pay a fair, even a liberal, price, where she is suited. You see, therefore, that neither you nor I need borrow any trouble on this point!" This letter relieved Chester of all anxiety. All things seemed bright to him. What he did for the comic weeklies, added to his work for Prof. Hazlitt, brought him in ten dollars a week on an average. This, added to the five dollars a week from Mr. Fairchild, gave him an aggregate salary of fifteen dollars a week, so that he was always amply provided with money. "Cousin David," said Felix to the bookkeeper one day, "I don't see how it happens that Chester is so well supplied with cash." "Is he?" asked Mullins. "Yes; he has just bought a new suit, a new hat and new shoes. They must have cost him altogether as much as thirty dollars. How much wages do you pay him?" "Five dollars a week." "And he pays all that for board, for he told me so." "It does seem a little mysterious. Perhaps his friend the artist helps him." "No, he doesn't. I intimated as much one day, but he said no, that he paid his own way. One evening last week, I saw him going into Daly's Theatre with a young fellow handsomely dressed--quite a young swell. They had two-dollar seats, and I learned that Chester paid for them. He doesn't have any chance to pick up any money in this office, does he?" asked Felix, significantly. "I can't say as to that. I haven't missed any." "I wish he would help himself. Of course, he would be discharged, and then you might find a place for me." "I may do so yet." "Is there any chance of it?" asked Felix, eagerly. "In about two weeks, Mr. Fairchild is going West on business. He will be gone for a month, probably. In his absence, I shall run the office." "I see." "And I shall probably find some reason for discharging Chester Rand," added the bookkeeper, significantly. "In that case, you will hold yourself ready to slip into his place." "Bully for you, Cousin David," exclaimed Felix, in exultation. _ |
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