CHAPTER XXXVII — WILLIS FORD FINDS THE RUNAWAYS CHAPTER XXXVII — WILLIS FORD FINDS THE RUNAWAYS “I shall be absent for a few days, Mrs. Estabrook,” said Grant to the housekeeper, as he entered the house. “Where are you going?” she inquired. “I can't tell you definitely.” “Hadn't you better wait till Mr. Reynolds gets back?” “No; business is not very pressing in the office, and I can be spared.” The housekeeper concluded that Grant was going to Colebrook, and did not connect his journey with the lost boy. “Oh, well, I suppose you understand your own business best. Herbert will miss you if he finds you away when his father brings him back.” “Do you think he will?” asked Grant, eyeing the housekeeper sharply. “I'm sure I don't know. I suppose he expects to, or he would not have traveled so far in search of him.” “Shall you be glad to see him back, Mrs. Estabrook?” “Of course! What makes you doubt it?” demanded the housekeeper, sharply. “I thought you didn't like Herbert.” “I wasn't always petting him. It isn't in my way to pet boys.” “Do you often hear from Willis Ford?” “That is my business,” answered Mrs. Estabrook, sharply. “Why do you ask?” “I was wondering whether he knew that Herbert had been abducted.” “That is more than we know. Very likely the boy ran away.” Grant called on the cashier at his private residence, confided to him his plan, and obtained a sum of money for traveling expenses. He left the Grand Central Depot by the evening train, and by morning was well on his way to Chicago. Meanwhile, Willis Ford had left no stone unturned to obtain news of the runaways. This he did not find difficult, though attended with delay. He struck the right trail, and then had only to inquire, as he went along, whether two boys had been seen, one small and delicate, the other large and well-grown, wandering through the country. Plenty had seen the two boys, and told him so. “Are they your sons, mister?” asked a laborer of whom he inquired. “Not both of them—only the smaller,” answered Ford, with unblushing falsehood. “And what made them run away now?” “My son probably did not like the boarding place I selected for him.” “Why didn't he write to you?” “He didn't know where to direct.” “Who is the other lad?” “The son of the man I placed him with. I think he may have induced Sam to run away.” Finally Ford reached Claremont, the town where the boys had actually found refuge. Here he learned that two boys had been taken in by Dr. Stone, answering to the description he gave. One, the younger one, had been sick, but now was better. This information he obtained at the hotel. Ford's eyes sparkled with exultation. He had succeeded in his quest, and once more Herbert was in his hands, or would be very soon. He inquired the way to Dr. Stone's. Everybody knew where the doctor lived, and he had no trouble in securing the information he sought. Indeed, before he reached the house, he caught sight of Abner, walking in the same direction with himself, but a few rods ahead. He quickened his pace, and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. Abner turned, and an expression of dismay overspread his face. “Ha, my young friend! I see that you remember me,” said Ford, ironically. “Well, what do you want?” asked Abner, sullenly. “You know well enough. I want the boy you have persuaded to run away with you.” “I didn't persuade him.” “Never mind about quibbling. I know where the boy is, and I mean to have him.” “Do you want me, too?” “No; I don't care where you go.” “I reckon Herbert won't go with you.” “And I reckon he will. That is Dr. Stone's, isn't it? Never mind answering. I know well enough it is.” “He'll have bub sure,” said Abner, disconsolately. “But I'll follow 'em, and I'll get him away, as sure as my name's Abner Barton.” CHAPTER XXXVIII — FORD TAKES A BOLD STEP, BUT FAILS “I wish to see Miss Stone,” said Willis Ford, to the servant. “I'll tell her. What name shall I say?” “Never mind about the name. I wish to see her on business of importance.” “I don't like his looks,” thought the maid. “Shure he talks as if he was the boss.” She told Miss Stone, however, that a gentleman wished to see her, who would not tell his name. Miss Stone was in Herbert's chamber, and the boy—now nearly well, quite well, in fact, but for a feeling of languor and weakness—heard the message. “What is he like?” he asked, anxiously. “He's slender like, with black hair and a black mustache, and he talks like he was the master of the house.” “I think it is Willis Ford,” said Herbert, turning pale. “The man who abducted you?” ejaculated Miss Stone. “Yes, the same man. Don't let him take me away,” implored Herbert. “I wish my brother were here,” said Miss Stone, anxiously. “Won't he be here soon?” “I am afraid not. He has gone on a round of calls. Bridget, tell the young man I will be down directly.” Five minutes later Miss Stone descended, and found Willis Ford fuming with impatience. “I am here, sir,” she said, coldly. “I understand you wish to see me.” “Yes, madam; will you answer me a few questions?” “Possibly. Let me hear what they are.” “You have a boy in this house, named Herbert Reynolds?” “Yes.” “A boy who ran away from Mr. Joel Barton, with whom I placed him?” “What right had you to place him anywhere, Mr. Ford?” demanded the lady. “That's my business. Permit me to say that it is no affair of yours.” “I judge differently. The boy is sick and under my charge.” “I am his natural guardian, madam.” “Who made you so, Mr. Ford?” “I shall not argue that question. It is enough that I claim him as my cousin and ward.” “Your cousin?” “Certainly. That doubtless conflicts with what he has told you. He was always a liar.” “His story is, that you beguiled him from his home in New York, and brought him against his will to this part of the country.” “And you believe him?” sneered Ford. “I do.” “It matters little whether you do or not. He is my sister's child, and is under my charge. I thought fit to place him with Mr. Joel Barton, of Scipio, but the boy, who is flighty, was induced to run away with Barton's son, a lazy, shiftless fellow.” “Supposing this to be so, Mr. Ford, what is your object in calling?” “To reclaim him. It does not suit me to leave him here.” Ford's manner was so imperative that Miss Stone became alarmed. “The boy is not fit to travel,” she said. “Wait till my brother comes, and he will decide, being a physician, whether it is safe to have him go.” “Madam, this subterfuge will not avail,” said Ford, rudely. “I will not wait till your brother comes. I prefer to take the matter into my own hands.” He pressed forward to the door of the room, and before Miss Stone could prevent it, was on his way upstairs. She followed as rapidly as she could, but before she could reach him, Ford had dashed into the room where Herbert lay on the bed. Herbert was stricken with terror when he saw the face of his enemy. “I see you know me,” said Ford, with an evil smile. “Get up at once, and prepare to go with me.” “Leave me here, Mr. Ford. I can't go with you; Indeed, I can't,” said Herbert. “We'll see about that,” said Ford. “I give you five minutes to rise and put on your clothes. If you don't obey me, I will flog you.” Looking into his cruel face, Herbert felt that he had no other resource. Trembling, he slipped out of bed, and began to draw on his clothes. He felt helpless, but help was nearer than he dreamed. “Mr. Ford, I protest against this high-handed proceeding,” exclaimed Miss Stone, indignantly, as she appeared at the door of the chamber. “What right have you to go over my house without permission?” “If it comes to that,” sneered Ford, “what right have you to keep my ward from me?” “I am not his ward,” said Herbert, quickly. “The boy is a liar,” exclaimed Ford, harshly. “Get back into the bed, Herbert,” said Miss Stone. “This man shall not take you away.” “Perhaps you will tell me how you are going to help it,” retorted Ford, with an evil smile. “If my brother were here—-” “But your brother is not here, and if he were, I would not allow him to interfere between me and my cousin. Herbert, unless you continue dressing, I shall handle you roughly.” But sounds were heard upon the stairs, and Ford, as well as Miss Stone, turned their eyes to the door. The first to enter was Abner. “Oh, it's you, is it?” said Ford, contemptuously. He had thought it might be Dr. Stone, whom he was less inclined to face than he professed. “Yes, it is. What are you doing here?” “It is none of your business, you cub. He's got to come with me.” “Maybe you want me, too?” “I wouldn't take you as a gift.” “Ho, ho,” laughed Abner, “I reckon you'd find me a tough customer. You won't take bub, either.” “Who is to prevent me?” “I will!” said a new voice, and Grant Thornton, who had fallen in with Abner outside, walked quietly into the room. Willis Ford started back in dismay. Grant was the last person he expected to meet here. He had no idea that any one of the boy's home friends had tracked him this far. He felt that he was defeated, but he hated to acknowledge it. “How are you going to prevent me, you young whippersnapper?” he said, glaring menacingly at Grant. “Mr. Willis Ford, unless you leave this room and this town at once,” said Grant, firmly, “I will have you arrested. There is a local officer below whom I brought with me, suspecting your object in coming here.” “Oh, Grant, how glad I am to see you! Is papa with you?” exclaimed Herbert, overjoyed. “I will tell you about it soon, Herbert.” “You won't let him take me away?” “There is no danger of that,” said Grant, reassuringly. “I shall take you home to New York as soon as this good lady says you are well enough to go.” Ford stood gnawing his nether lip. If it had been Mr. Reynolds, he would not have minded so much; but for a mere boy, like Grant Thornton, to talk with such a calm air of superiority angered him. “Boy,” he said, “it sounds well for you to talk of arrest—you who stole my aunt's bonds, and are indebted to her forbearance for not being at this moment in State's prison.” “Your malicious charge does not affect me, Mr. Ford,” returned Grant. “It was proved before you left New York that you were the thief, and even your stepmother must have admitted it. Mr. Reynolds discharged you from his employment, and this is the mean revenge you have taken—the abduction of his only son.” “I will do you an injury yet, you impudent boy,” said Ford, furiously. “I shall be on my guard, Mr. Ford,” answered Grant. “I believe you capable of it.” “Don't you think you had better leave us, sir?” said Miss Stone. “I shall take my own time about going,” he answered, impudently. But his words were heard by Dr. Stone, who had returned sooner than he anticipated, and was already at the door of the room. He was a powerful man, and of quick temper. His answer was to seize Ford by the collar and fling him downstairs. “This will teach you to be more polite to a lady,” he said. “Now, what does all this mean, and who is this man?” The explanation was given. “I wish I had been here before,” said the doctor. “You were in good time,” said Grant, smiling. “I see that Herbert has found powerful friends.” Willis Ford, angry and humiliated, picked himself up, but did not venture to return to the room he had left so ignominiously. Like most bullies, he was a coward, and he did not care to encounter the doctor again. Within an hour, Grant telegraphed to the broker at his office: “I have found Herbert, and will start for New York with him to-morrow.” Mr. Reynolds had only just returned from his fruitless Southern expedition, weary and dispirited. But he forgot all his fatigue when he read this message. “God bless Grant Thornton!” he ejaculated. CHAPTER XXXIX — THE HOUSEKEEPER'S RETRIBUTION The train from Chicago had just reached the Grand Central Depot. From the parlor car descended two boys who are well known to us, Grant Thornton and Herbert Reynolds. Herbert breathed a sigh of satisfaction. “Oh, Grant,” he said, “how glad I am to see New York once more! I wonder if papa knows we are to come by this train?” The answer came speedily. The broker, who had just espied them, hurried forward, and his lost boy was lifted to his embrace. “Thank God, I have recovered you, my dear son,” he exclaimed, fervently. “You must thank Grant, too, papa,” said the little boy. “It was he who found me and prevented Mr. Ford stealing me again.” Mr. Reynolds grasped Grant's hand and pressed it warmly. “I shall know how to express my gratitude to Grant in due time,” he said. On their way home Grant revealed to Mr. Reynolds for the first time the treachery of the housekeeper, who had suppressed Herbert's letter to his father, and left the latter to mourn for his son when she might have relieved him of the burden of sorrow. As Mr. Reynolds listened, his face became stern. “That woman is a viper!” he said. “In my house she has enjoyed every comfort and every consideration, and in return she has dealt me this foul blow. She will have cause to regret it.” When they entered the house Mrs. Estabrook received them with false smiles. “So you are back again, Master Herbert,” she said. “A fine fright you gave us!” “You speak as if Herbert went away of his own accord,” said the broker sternly. “You probably know better.” “I know nothing, sir, about it.” “Then I may inform you that it was your stepson, Willis Ford, who stole my boy—a noble revenge, truly, upon me for discharging him.” “I don't believe it,” said the housekeeper. “I presume it is your office boy who makes this charge?” she added, pressing her thin lips together. “There are others who are cognizant of it, Mrs. Estabrook. Grant succeeded in foiling Mr. Ford in his attempt to recover Herbert, who had run away from his place of confinement.” “You are prejudiced against my son, Mr. Reynolds,” said Mrs. Estabrook, her voice trembling with anger. “Not more than against you, Mrs. Estabrook. I have a serious charge to bring against you.” “What do you mean, sir?” asked the housekeeper, nervously. “Why did you suppress the letter which my boy wrote to me revealing his place of imprisonment?” “I don't know what you mean, sir,” she answered, half defiantly. “I think you do.” “Did Master Herbert write such a letter?” “Yes.” “Then it must have miscarried.” “On the contrary, the postman expressly declares that he delivered it at this house. I charge you with concealing or suppressing it.” “The charge is false. You can't prove it, sir.” “I shall not attempt to do so; but I am thoroughly convinced of it. After this act of treachery, I cannot permit you to spend another night in my house. You will please pack at once, and arrange for a removal.” “I am entitled to a month's notice, Mr. Reynolds.” “You shall have a month's wages in lieu of it. I would as soon have a serpent in my house.” Mrs. Estabrook turned pale. She had never expected it would come to this. She thought no one would ever be able to trace the suppressed letter to her. She was not likely again to obtain so comfortable and desirable a position. Instead of attributing her ill fortune to her own malice and evil doing, she chose to attribute it to Grant. “I am to thank you for this, Grant Thornton,” she said, in sudden passion. “I was right in hating you as soon as I first saw you. If ever I am able I will pay you up for this.” “I don't doubt it, Mrs. Estabrook,” said Grant, quietly, “but I don't think you will have it in your power.” She did not deign to answer, but hurried out of the room. In half an hour she had left the house. “Now I can breathe freely,” said the broker. “That woman was so full of malice and spite that it made me uncomfortable to feel that she was in the house.” “I am so glad that she has gone, papa,” said Herbert. That evening, after Herbert had gone to bed, Mr. Reynolds invited Grant into his library. “My boy,” he said, “I have settled accounts with Mrs. Estabrook; now I want to settle with you.” “Not in the same way, I hope, sir,” said Grant. “Yes, in the same way, according to your deserts. You have done me a service, that which none can be greater. You have been instrumental in restoring to me my only son.” “I don't want any reward for that, sir.” “Perhaps not; but I owe it to myself to see that this service is acknowledged. I shall raise your salary to fifteen dollars a week.” “Thank you, sir,” said Grant, joyfully. “How glad my mother will be.” “When you tell her this, you may also tell her that I have deposited on your account in the Bowery Savings Bank the sum of five thousand dollars.” “This is too much, Mr. Reynolds,” said Grant, quite overwhelmed. “Why, I shall feel like a man of fortune.” “So you will be in time, if you continue as faithful to business as in the past.” “It seems to me like a dream,” said Grant. “I will give you a week's leave of absence to visit your parents, and tell them of your good fortune.” CHAPTER XL — CONCLUSION There were anxious hearts in the parsonage at Colebrook. For some weeks the minister had shown signs of overwork. His appetite had failed, and he seemed weary and worn. “He needs change,” said the doctor. “A run over to Europe would do him good. He has no disease; he only wants change.” “A trip to Europe,” said Mr. Thornton, shaking his head. “It is impossible. It has been the dream of my life, but a country minister could not, in half a dozen years, save money enough for that.” “If your brother Godfrey would lend you the money, Grant might, in time, help you to pay it.” Godfrey never had forgiven Grant for running counter to his plans. “I wish I could spare the money myself, Mr. Thornton,” said the doctor. “Five hundred dollars would be sufficient, and it would make a new man of you.” “It might as well be five thousand,” said the minister, shaking his head. “No, my good friend, I must toil on as well as I can, and leave European trips to more favored men.” It was noised about through the parish that the minister was sick, and the doctor recommended a European trip. “It's ridikilus,” was Deacon Gridley's comment. “I work harder than the minister, and I never had to go to Europe. It's just because it's fashionable.” “Mr. Thornton is looking pale and haggard,” said Mrs. Gridley. “What if he is? He ought to work outdoors like me. Then he'd know what work was. Ac-cordin' to my notion, ministers have a pooty easy time.” Mr. Tudor was of the same opinion. “It's all nonsense, deacon,” he said. “Father wanted me to be a minister, and I'd have had a good deal easier time if I had followed his advice.” “You wouldn't have had so much money, Mr. Tudor,” said Miss Lucretia Spring, who heard this remark. “Mebbe not; but what I've got I've worked for.” “For my part, although I am not near as rich as you are, I'd give twenty dollars toward sending the minister abroad,” said kindly Miss Spring. “I wouldn't give a cent,” said Mr. Tudor, with emphasis. “Nor I,” said Deacon Gridley. “I don't believe in humorin' the clergy.” Saturday came, and the minister was worse. It seemed doubtful if he would be able to officiate the next day. No wonder he became dispirited. Just before supper the stage drove up to the door, and Grant jumped out. “I am afraid he has been discharged,” said Mr. Thornton, nervously. “He does not look like it,” said Mrs. Thornton, noticing Grant's beaming countenance. “What is the matter with father?” asked Grant, stopping short as he entered. “He is not feeling very well, Grant. He has got run down.” “What does the doctor say?” “He says your father ought to take a three-months trip to Europe.” “Which, of course, is impossible,” said Mr. Thornton, smiling faintly. “Not if your brother would open his heart, and lend you the money.” “He would not do it.” “And we won't ask him,” said Grant, quickly, “but you shall go, all the same, father.” “My son, it would cost five hundred dollars.” “And for twice as much, mother, could go with you; you would need her to take care of you. Besides she needs a change, too.” “It is a pleasant plan, Grant; but we must not think of it.” “That's where I don't agree with you. You and mother shall go as soon as you like, and I will pay the expenses.” “Is the boy crazy?” said the minister. “I'll answer that for myself, father. I have five thousand dollars in the Bowery Savings Bank, in New York, and I don't think I can spend a part of it better than in giving you and mother a European trip.” Then the explanation came, and with some difficulty the minister was made to understand that the dream of his life was to be realized, and that he and his wife were really going to Europe. “Well, well! who'd have thought it?” ejaculated Deacon Gridley. “That boy of the minister's must be plaguey smart. I never thought he'd be so successful. All the same, it seems to me a mighty poor investment to spend a thousand dollars on racin' to Europe. That money would buy quite a sizable farm.” Others, however, less narrow in their notions, heartily approved of the European trip. When three months later the minister came home, he looked like a new man. His eye was bright, his face bronzed and healthy, his step elastic, and he looked half a dozen years younger. “This all comes of having a good son,” he said, smiling, in reply to congratulations, “a son who, in helping himself, has been alive to help others.” Half a dozen years have passed. Grant Thornton is now a young man, and junior partner of Mr. Reynolds. He has turned his money to good account, and is counted rich for one of his age. He has renewed his acquaintance with Miss Carrie Clifton, whom he met for the first time as a summer boarder in Colebrook, and from their intimacy it wouldn't be surprising if Grant should some day become the wealthy jeweler's son-in-law. Uncle Godfrey has become reconciled to Grant's following his own course. It is easy to become reconciled to success. Willis Ford is confined in a penitentiary in a Western State, having been convicted of forgery, and there is small chance of his amendment. He has stripped his stepmother of her last penny, and she is compelled to live on the charity of a relative, who accords her a grudging welcome, and treats her with scant consideration. The bitterest drop in her cup of humiliation is the prosperity of Grant Thornton, toward whom she feels a fierce and vindictive hatred. As she has sown, so she reaps. Malice and uncharitableness seldom bring forth welcome fruit. THE END *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELPING HIMSELF; OR, GRANT THORNTON'S AMBITION *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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