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Robert Coverdale's Struggle; or, On The Wave Of Success, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 32. Once More In Cook's Harbor |
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_ CHAPTER XXXII. ONCE MORE IN COOK'S HARBOR Various had been the conjectures in Cook's Harbor as to what had become of Robert Coverdale. Upon this point the hermit was the only person who could have given authentic information, but no one thought of applying to him. Naturally questions were put to Mrs. Trafton, but she herself had a very vague idea of Robert's destination, and, moreover, she had been warned not to be communicative. Mr. Jones, the landlord, supposed he had gone to try to raise the amount of his mortgage among distant relatives, but on this point he felt no anxiety. "He won't succeed," said he to his wife; "you may depend on that. I don't believe he's got any relations that have money, and, even if he has, they're goin' to think twice before they give a boy two hundred dollars on the security of property they don't know anything about." "What do you intend to do with the cottage, Mr. Jones?" "It's worth five hundred dollars, and I can get more than the interest of five hundred dollars in the way of rent." "Is anybody likely to hire it?" "John Shelton's oldest son talks of getting married. He'll be glad to hire it of me." "What's to become of Mrs. Trafton?" "I don't know and I don't care," answered the landlord carelessly. "The last time I called she was impudent to me; came near ordering me out of the house till I made her understand that I had more right to the house than she had." "She puts on a good many airs for a poor woman," said Mrs. Jones. "It's too ridiculous for a woman like her to be proud." "If anything, she isn't as bad as that young whelp. Bob Coverdale. The boy actually told me I wasn't respectful enough to his precious aunt. I wonder if they'll be respectful to her in the poorhouse--where it's likely she'll fetch up?" "I don't see where the boy got money enough to go off," said Mrs. Jones. "He didn't need much to get to Boston or New York. He's probably blackin' boots or sellin' papers in one of the two." "I hope he is. I wonder how that sort of work will suit the young gentleman?" "To-morrow the time's up, and I shall foreclose the mortgage. I'll fix up the place a little and then offer it to young Shelton. I guess he'll be willin' to pay me fifty dollars a year rent, and that'll be pretty good interest on my two hundred dollars." "Have you given Mrs. Trafton any warning?" "No, why should I? She knows perfectly well when the time is out, and she's had time to get the money. If she's got it, well and good, but if she hasn't, she can't complain. Oh, there's young Shelton," said the landlord, looking out of the window. "I'll call him and see if we can make a bargain about renting the cottage." "Frank Shelton!" called out Mr. Jones, raising the window. The young fisherman paused. "Come in; I want to speak to you." Frank Shelton turned in from the street and the landlord commenced his attack. "Frank, folks say you're thinkin' of gettin' married?" "Maybe I shall," said the young man bashfully. "Whereabouts do you cal'late to live?" "Well, I don't know any place." "What do you say to the Widder Trafton's house?" "Is she goin' to leave?" "I think she'll have to. Fact is, Frank, I've got a mortgage on the place which she can't pay, and I'll have to foreclose. You can have it as soon as you want it." "How much rent did you cal'late to ask, Mr. Jones?" "I'd ought to have five dollars a month, but, seein' it's you," said the politic landlord, "you may have it for fifty dollars a year." "I'll speak to Nancy about it," said the young fisherman. "I don't want to turn Mrs. Trafton out, but if she's got to go, I suppose I might as well hire the house as any one else." "Just so. I tell you, Frank, I'm offerin' you a bargain." Just then Frank Shelton, who was looking out of the window, exclaimed in surprise: "Why, there's Bob Coverdale!" "Where?" "He just walked by, with a smaller boy alongside." "You don't say so!" uttered Mr. Jones, hardly knowing whether to be glad or sorry. "Well, he's come in time to bid good-by to his old home. I'll go up to-morrow, first thing, and settle this matter. I s'pose they'll try to beg off, but it won't be any use." Robert had written to the hermit from Columbus a letter which conveyed the glad tidings of his success. It filled the heart of the recluse with a great and abounding joy. Life seemed wholly changed for him. Now he felt that he had something to live for, and he determined to change his course of life entirely. He would move to Boston or New York and resume the social position which he had abandoned. There he would devote himself to the training and education of his boy. And Robert--yes, he would richly reward the boy who had restored to him the son lost so long. He would not yet decide what he would do for him, but he felt that there was no reward too great for such a service. He knew on what day to expect the two boys, for Robert had informed him by letter. Restless, he waited for the moment which should restore his son to his arms. He took a position on the beach in front of the entrance to the cave and looked anxiously for the approach of the two boys. No longer was he clad in his hermit dress, but from a trunk he had drawn out a long-disused suit, made for him in other days by a fashionable tailor on Broadway, and he had carefully trimmed and combed his neglected locks. "My boy must not be ashamed of my appearance," he said proudly. "My hermit life is over. Henceforth I will live as a man among men." Presently his waiting glance was rewarded. Two boys, one of whom he recognized as Robert, descended the cliff and walked briskly toward him on the firm sand beach. He did not wait now, but hurried toward them. He fixed his eyes eagerly upon the second boy. Julian had much improved in appearance since we first made his acquaintance. It does not take long to restore strength and bloom into a boy of sixteen. He was slender still, but the hue of health mantled his cheeks; he was no longer sad, but hopeful, and in his delicate and refined features his father could see a strong resemblance to the wife he had lost. "Julian!" said Robert Coverdale, "that's your father who is coming. Let him see that you are glad to meet him. "Mr. Huet," he said, "this is your son." "You do not need to tell me. He is too like his mother. Julian, my boy, Heaven be praised that has restored you to me!" It is hardly to be expected that Julian should feel the rapture that swelled the father's heart, for the thought of having a father at all was still new and strange, but it was not long before he learned to love him. The poor boy had received so little kindness that his father's warm affection touched his heart, and he felt glad and happy to have such a protector. "God bless and reward you, Robert!" said Mr. Huet, taking the hand of our hero. "You shall find that I am not ungrateful for this great service. I want to talk to my boy alone for a time, but I will come to your aunt's house to supper with Julian. Please tell her so, and ask her to let it be a good one." "I will, Mr. Huet." From Julian his father drew the story of his years of hardship and ill treatment, and his heart was stirred with indignation as he thought of the cruelty of the relative who had subjected him and his son to that long period of grief and suffering. "Your trials are over now, Julian," he said. "You will be content to live with me, will you not?" "Will Robert live with us?" asked the boy. "Do you like Robert?" asked his father. "I love him like a brother," said Julian impulsively. "You don't know how kind he has been to me, father!" "Yes, Robert shall live with us, if he will," said Mr. Huet. "I will speak about it to him tomorrow." "Will you live here, father?" "Oh, no! You must be educated. I shall take you to Boston or New York, and there you shall have every advantage that money can procure. Hitherto I have not cared to be rich. Now, Julian, I value money for your sake." Together they went to Mrs. Trafton's cottage to supper. "What makes you look so sober, Robert?" asked Mr. Huet, observing that the boy looked grave. "I have heard that Mr. Jones will foreclose his mortgage to-morrow." "Not if you pay it," said Mr. Huet quietly. "Come with me after supper, and I will hand you all the money you require." Robert was about to express his gratitude, but Mr. Huet stopped him. "You owe me no thanks," he said. "It is only the first installment of a great debt which I can never wholly repay." _ |
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