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Fame and Fortune Weekly No. 2: Born to Good Luck; or The Boy Who Succeeded

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<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</h2></div> ON BOARD THE MINNEHAHA. “So you aren’t going back any more, then?” said Joe Fletcher, after Dick had related to him the exciting experience through which he had passed since the two lads had parted, apparently for good, in Mr. Maslin’s store, a little more than an hour before. “No,” replied Dick, firmly, “I’m not. I am done with Silas Maslin for good and all.” The boys were resting on a decayed tree-trunk by the side of the canal. It was now almost dark, and both of them, having had nothing to eat since noon, were hungry. “I guess you’ve done the right thing, Dick,” said his friend. “You aren’t likely to be any worse off than you’ve been at the Corner.” “I’d have pretty hard luck if I was. I’d never amount to much as long as I stayed with Mr. Maslin. He took care that I didn’t get much chance to get up in the world. I wish now I’d more schooling,” said the boy, regretfully. “I’ll bet you know more than Luke Maslin, and he’s gone regularly to the district school. At his age—he’s a year older than you—he ought to be at the Slocum High School. I don’t think he cares a lot to study.” “Many boys don’t seem to realize what they let get by them until it is too late,” said Dick. “You and I, Joe, have got to cut our own way in life without any help from anybody. I guess you can hold up your end. As for me, I don’t intend to let any grass grow under my feet from this on. If you’ve rested enough, we’ll move on to Norton’s. Perhaps your friend Cap’n Beasley will give us something to eat. I haven’t had a mouthful since dinner, and I feel as if I could clean out a pantry.” “Same here. Captain Beasley is all right, and so is his wife. They wouldn’t see anyone, even a tramp, go hungry if they could help it,” said Joe as the boys resumed their march. “They’ve a daughter, too, named Florrie. She’s as pretty as a picture,” and Joe grinned broadly. Dick wasn’t particularly interested in pretty girls at that moment. He was thinking whether Captain Beasley would consent to take him down to New York along with Joe on the canal-boat. “I guess he will if I pay him something, and I’m willing to put up what’s fair,” mused the boy. Norton’s Lock was about six miles from Cobham’s Corner. Dick and Joe reached there at eight o’clock. Captain Beasley’s boat was moored against the eastern bank of the canal, and a few yards away was a good-sized liquor store, lit up with kerosene lamps, and, judging from the crowd within, doing a thriving trade. There was also an open shed close by, partially filled with bundles of shingles brought there for shipment from the mill a mile or so away. Dick followed Joe aboard the canal-boat and was introduced to Captain Beasley and his wife and daughter. As soon as Mrs. Beasley found out that the boys were hungry, she spread a corner of the table in the little cabin for them, laid out the remains of a joint of cold mutton, boiled a pot of coffee, and upon this, flanked by a plentiful supply of bread and butter, the two lads made a very satisfactory meal. Dick offered to pay his way to New York City, but the good-natured skipper of the Minnehaha wouldn’t hear of it for a moment. “You and Joe here are both of you welcome to go along with us, and it sha’n’t cost you a cent. All I ask of you is to turn your hands to an odd job or two, maybe, till we hitch on behind the tug that takes us down the river.” Dick accepted his generous offer with thanks, as Joe had already done earlier in the day when he brought his meagre bundle aboard on the strength of the captain’s former invitation. “Neither of you lads seems to be encumbered with much dunnage,” said the skipper, with a humorous glance at the two attenuated bundles ranged side by side on a shelf and which contained all they boasted of in the world. “We both lit out in such a hurry that we didn’t have time to pack our trunks,” grinned Joe. “Boggs skinned me out of sixty dollars; and as for Dick, I believe there wasn’t anything coming to him, though he put in many a year of good hard work down at Cobham’s Corner for Silas Maslin, who runs the store and the village post-office.” “I’ve heard of him,” nodded Captain Beasley, recharging his pipe, “and I’ve heard of you, too, Master Dick, afore this,” and the skipper looked at the bright, stalwart, young runaway. “Silas Maslin, I understand, is a hard man to work for, though I reckon Nathan Boggs can give him a few points in that line. Both of ’em have wives that folks say would skin a flea for its fat. From which I judge that one’s appetite isn’t pampered at either place.” “That’s right,” corroborated Dick. “We’ve both been through the mill and ought to know. I haven’t had such a good spread as was set before us to-night right here since I can remember, and I’ve a pretty good recollection.” Mrs. Beasley and her daughter looked at one another in astonishment. “Well,” said the captain’s wife, “you sha’n’t neither of you want for enough to eat as long as you are with us.” “What are you going to do when you reach the city?” asked the captain curiously. “Got any money at all?” “I’ve got about sixteen dollars,” replied Dick, and he told Captain Beasley by what slow and arduous means he had amassed it. “I haven’t a red cent,” admitted Joe, making such a comical face that Florence Beasley burst out laughing. “It’s possible I may start a bank and take Joe in as cashier,” grinned Dick. “Not a bad idea,” smiled the skipper, “so long as it isn’t a faro bank or something of that sort.” “I wouldn’t mind investing my capital in a sand-bank if I thought I could sell the sand and make a profit,” put in Dick. “Perhaps you would make a good speculator,” said the captain, thoughtfully. “Perhaps I would; but I’ve never tried my hand at it.” “A successful speculator should, first of all, have brains, and then money,” said Captain Beasley, punctuating each point in the air with the stem of his briar pipe. “I judge you have the brains——” “So have I,” interrupted Joe, with some animation. “It was a rather poor speculation you entered into with Nathan Boggs, wasn’t it?” and the skipper turned to Joe. “I don’t call that a speculation; that was a dead skin,” cried Fletcher stoutly. “Well, you made an agreement with him to forfeit your wages if you quit work before the end of your term of service; you put yourself at a great disadvantage with such a man. It was to his interest to make you quit beforehand if he could.” “If I hadn’t quit I guess I’d been carried away in a box, so I’d have lost anyway.” “Well, you speculated on the chance of holding out, and came in for the short end of the deal.” “That was because I didn’t know what I was up against.” “Even so; that is a risk that often confronts the speculator. That’s where brains count.” Captain Beasley looked at the clock, laid down his pipe and intimated it was time to turn in. He led the boys to the forward part of the boat, pointed to a small open scuttle in the deck, and told them they’d find a mattress and a couple of blankets down there. Then wishing them good night, he left them to make the best of their narrow quarters. <hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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