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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_VI">CHAPTER VI.</h2></div> HOW DICK RUNS ACROSS A DESERTED FARMHOUSE, AND WHAT HE FINDS THERE. Caspar’s was simply a small roadhouse, situated near a bridge. Dick Armstrong crossed the bridge and struck out across the country, following the country road. He had general directions how to proceed, but expected to depend on people he might meet along the road to keep him from going astray. The morning was young when he set out, and as he was in good spirits and accustomed to plenty of exercise, he walked along at a swinging gait. About eleven o’clock he was overtaken by a farm wagon, the owner of which not only gave him a lift for several miles on his way, but his dinner also at a neat farmhouse a short distance back from the turnpike. Although the farmer refused payment, Dick insisted on helping him for an hour about the barn, and when he finally left to continue his journey the farmer’s wife handed him a substantial package of eatables which included a pint bottle of milk. About dark Dick reached a junction of two roads. It was a lonesome neighborhood, and as nobody was in sight to direct him which was the better one to take, he turned into the road leading off to the right. He was glancing around for a large stone or a tree-stump for a seat on which to rest while he ate his supper, when he spied a light dimly shining through a window a little distance back from the road. “I’ve walked enough for to-day,” he mused. “I’ll see if I can’t get a bed or a chance to sleep on the hay in the barn, perhaps, up yonder.” The gate opening on the lane leading to the house was wide open and hanging by one hinge only. As Dick approached the dwelling he was impressed by the air of neglect and desolation which hung about the place. But for the solitary gleam of light which penetrated the gloom he would have believed the premises to be deserted. The boy knocked several times on the weather-seamed door, but no one answered his summons. Finally he decided to turn the handle of the door. It yielded to his touch, and he entered a large room that was quite bare and cheerless from floor to ceiling. The dim light from a candle stuck in the neck of a bottle standing on a dusty mantel shelf showed him the motionless figure of a man crouching over an old stove, in which was a fire, at one side of the room. “Hello!” Dick exclaimed, by way of introduction. Slowly the figure turned its head and presented a face almost ghostly from its whiteness. “What’s the trouble with you?” asked Dick, for he easily made out that something ailed the man. “I’m sick,” was the half moaned reply. “Sick,” repeated the boy, looking at him attentively. “Gee! You do look bad, for a fact. What can I do for you?” “If you would do me a favor, go out to the barn back of the building. You’ll find my team there. There’s a couple of blankets in the wagon and a number of gunny-sacks. Bring them in here so I can make a bed and lie down,” said the man, slowly and with much difficulty. Dick put his bundle of food on the floor and hastened to do as the stranger had requested. He found the team—a pair of stout horses hitched to a large, covered wagon—just as it had been led into the deserted and mildewed barn and left standing there. With the aid of a match or two, a supply of which Dick from habit always carried about with him, he climbed into the wagon and found the things the man wanted. The only other articles the boy noticed in the vehicle were a couple of empty bushel baskets, a sack half filled with oats, a horse bucket, a long whip and a small wicker hamper. Dick carried the bags and blankets into the house and spread them out so as to form a bed. “There,” he said, in his cheery tones, “you can lie down now. If there’s anything else I can do for you, let me know.” “You’re very kind, my lad,” gratefully replied the man, who seemed to be about fifty years of age. “You might get a few sticks for the fire; the night is cold, and I’ll be glad if you could find me a drink of water anywhere near by—you’ll find a cup in the hamper in the wagon. And then, if you’d not feel it was too much trouble to give those animals a mess of oats which you will find in a bag in the wagon, you will do all that I would ask of you.” “All right,” said Dick, and he cheerfully proceeded to do what the sick man asked of him. He found a tin cup in the hamper, which also contained a neat sandwich, half of an apple pie, a piece of gingerbread and two pieces of candle wrapped in a bit of newspaper. Dick fortunately turning his steps in the right direction, found a spring at the back of the barn, and fetched a cupful of the cold water to the stricken stranger, which he drank with evident relish. The boy then replenished the fire in the stove and returned to the barn. Lighting one of the bits of candle, he took the bucket and watered the horses. Then he released them from their traces, led them into two of the dusty stalls, and dumping a liberal quantity of oats into the bins, left them to themselves. “Have a drink of milk?” said Dick to the sick man as he untied his bundle preparatory to eating his supper. The stranger thankfully accepted his offer, then turned on his side and apparently went to sleep. Dick had brought in a horse blanket which he had found folded on the wagon seat, and after he had eaten all he wanted and put more wood in the grate, curled himself up near the stove and was presently oblivious to his surroundings. He was up before sunrise, as he was accustomed to being routed out of bed at five o’clock at that season of the year by Mr. Maslin. The morning was chilly, so he started a fire in the stove for the benefit of the stranger, who seemed to be sleeping easily. After that Dick went to the barn and fed the horses. Then, as the sun was beginning to peep above the horizon, he thought he would take a look around the place, which seemed to be going to rack and ruin. His investigations did not extend very far, for just beyond the line of broken fence which marked the boundary of what had probably been the truck patch Dick found an apple orchard. A large number of the trees were not only loaded with this fruit, but the boy’s experienced eye told him that many of the trees were of a superior variety. The apples on these trees were large, solid, and rosy. Dick gathered an armful and carried them to the house. The strange man was awake, but very weak and not in condition to get up. “You’d better drink the rest of this milk,” said Dick, offering the tin cup. “Thank you, lad. What is your name?” he asked after drinking it. “Dick Armstrong.” “Mine is Hiram Bond. You’ve been very kind to me. I don’t know what I should have done if you hadn’t turned up. Where do you live?” “I don’t live anywhere just at present,” answered the boy, frankly. “How is that?” asked Bond, with some surprise. Dick gave him a brief outline of his life, and more particularly of his recent experiences. “You’ve had a hard time of it,” said the man, feebly, “and I don’t wonder you cut loose from that storekeeper. I live in Albany, and make a living—not a very good one—with my team, carrying loads of stuff around the country. I just moved a family from the city suburbs to Wayback, some fifteen miles from here, and was on my return when I was took bad. I’m subject to spells of heart trouble, and I’m afraid I sha’n’t last long. I don’t feel at all good this morning. Perhaps I’ll feel better by and by. If you don’t mind staying with me till the afternoon, I may feel able to sit up in the wagon, and you can drive me back to the city. It’ll save you a walk of thirty odd miles.” Dick immediately agreed to this proposition, and then his eyes resting on the pile of rosy apples he had brought in, an idea struck him. “There’s an orchard back of the barn that’s full of this kind of apples,” he said, showing a couple to Bond. “If you don’t mind, I could load the wagon with them, and we could sell them at a good profit in Albany. They’re only going to waste here, and as your wagon is empty, it’s a chance for both of us to make a stake.” “Do so, my lad, if you think there’s anything in it for you. I won’t touch a cent of what you may get. I’ll give you the use of the team for what you’ve done for me already.” Dick was delighted and thanked him heartily. “Can you eat anything at all this morning?” he asked Bond. The man shook his head, said he felt tired, turned over, and tried to go to sleep again. <hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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