Cast Upon the Breakers

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CAST UPON THE BREAKERS

by Horatio Alger, Jr.





CHAPTER I.


A FAITHLESS GUARDIAN.


"Well, good by, Rodney! I leave school tomorrow. I am going to learn a
trade."

"I am sorry to part with you, David. Couldn't you stay another term?"

"No: my uncle says I must be earning my living, and I have a chance to
learn the carpenter's trade."

"Where are you going?"

"To Duffield, some twenty miles away. I wish I were in your shoes. You
have no money cares, and can go on quietly and complete your education."

"I don't know how I am situated, David. I only know that my guardian
pays my expenses at this boarding school."

"Yes, you are a star boarder, and have the nicest room in the
institution. I am only a poor day scholar. Still I feel thankful that I
have been allowed to remain as long as I have. Who is your guardian?"

"A Mr. Benjamin Fielding, of New York."

"Is he a business man?"

"I believe so."

"Do you know how much you will inherit when you come of age?" asked
David, after a short pause.

"I haven't an idea."

"It seems to me your guardian ought to have told you."

"I scarcely know my guardian. Five years ago I spent a week at his home.
I don't remember much about it except that he lives in a handsome house,
and has plenty of servants. Since then, as you know, I have passed most
of my time here, except that in the summer I was allowed to board at the
Catskills or any country place I might select."

"Yes, and I remember one year you took me with you and paid all my
expenses. I shall never forget your kindness, and how much I enjoyed
that summer."

Rodney Ropes smiled, and his smile made his usually grave face look very
attractive.

"My dear David," he said, "it was all selfishness on my part. I knew I
should enjoy myself much better with a companion."

"You may call that selfishness, Rodney, but it is a kind of selfishness
that makes me your devoted friend. How long do you think you shall
remain at school?"

"I don't know. My guardian has never told me his plans for me. I wish he
would."

"I shall miss you, Rodney, but we will correspond, won't we?"

"Surely. You know I shall always feel interested in you and your
welfare."

David was a plain boy of humble parentage, and would probably be a hard
working mechanic. In fact he was looking for nothing better.

But Rodney Ropes looked to be of genteel blood, and had the air of
one who had been brought up a gentleman. But different as they were in
social position the two boys had always been devoted friends.

The boarding school of which Rodney was, as his friend expressed
himself, a star pupil, was situated about fifty miles from the city of
New York. It was under the charge of Dr. Sampson, a tall, thin man
of fair scholarship, keenly alive to his own interest, who showed
partiality for his richer pupils, and whenever he had occasion to
censure bore most heavily upon boys like David Hull, who was poor.

Rodney occupied alone the finest room in the school. There was a great
contrast between his comfortable quarters and the extremely plain
dormitories occupied by less favored pupils.

In the case of some boys the favoritism of the teacher would have led
them to put on airs, and made them unpopular with their school
fellows. But Rodney had too noble a nature to be influenced by such
considerations. He enjoyed his comfortable room, but treated his school
fellows with a frank cordiality that made him a general favorite.

After David left his room Rodney sat down to prepare a lesson in Cicero,
when he was interrupted by the entrance through the half open door of a
younger boy.

"Rodney," he said, "the doctor would like to see you in his office."

"Very well, Brauner, I will go down at once."

He put aside his book and went down to the office of Dr. Sampson on the
first floor.

The doctor was sitting at his desk. He turned slightly as Rodney
entered.

"Take a seat, Ropes," he said curtly.

His tone was so different from his usual cordiality that Rodney was
somewhat surprised.

"Am I in disgrace?" he asked himself. "Dr. Sampson doesn't seem as
friendly as usual."

After a brief interval Dr. Sampson wheeled round in his office chair.

"I have a letter for you from your guardian, Ropes," he said. "Here it
is. Do me the favor to read it here."

With some wonder Rodney took the letter and read as follows:


DEAR RODNEY--I have bad news to communicate. As you know, I was left by
your father in charge of you and your fortune. I have never told you
the amount, but I will say now that it was about fifty thousand dollars.
Until two years since I kept it intact but then began a series of
reverses in which my own fortune was swallowed up. In the hope of
relieving myself I regret to say that I was tempted to use your money.
That went also, and now of the whole sum there remains but enough to
pay the balance of your school bills, leaving you penniless. How much I
regret this I cannot tell you. I shall leave New York at once. I do not
care at present to say where I shall go, but I shall try to make good
the loss, and eventually restore to you your lost fortune. I may be
successful or I may not. I shall do my best and I hope in time to have
better news to communicate.

One thing I am glad to say. I have a casket containing your mother's
jewels. These are intact. I shall send you the casket by express,
knowing that you will wish to keep them out of regard for your mother's
memory. In case you are reduced to the necessity of pawning or selling
them, I am sure that your mother, could she be consulted, would advise
you to do so. This would be better than to have you suffer from want.

There is nothing further for me to write except to repeat my regret, and
renew my promise to make up your lost fortune if I shall ever to able to
do so. Your Guardian, BENJAMIN FIELDING.


Rodney read this like one dazed. In an instant he was reduced from the
position of a favorite of fortune to a needy boy, with his living to
make.

He could not help recalling what had passed between his friend David and
himself earlier in the day. Now he was as poor as David--poorer, in fact
for David had a chance to learn a trade that would yield him a living,
while he was utterly without resources, except in having an unusually
good education.

"Well," said Dr. Sampson, "have you read your letter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your guardian wrote to me also. This is his letter," and he placed the
brief epistle in Rodney's hands.


DR. SAMPSON--I have written my ward, Rodney Ropes, an important
letter which he will show you. The news which it contains will make it
necessary for him to leave school. I inclose a check for one hundred and
twenty five dollars. Keep whatever is due you, and give him the balance.
BENJAMIN FIELDING.


"I have read the letter, but I don't know what it means," said Dr.
Sampson. "Can you throw any light upon it?"

"Here is my letter, doctor. You can read it for yourself."

Dr. Sampson's face changed as he read Rodney's letter. It changed and
hardened, and his expression became quite different from that to which
Rodney had been accustomed.

"This is a bad business, Ropes," said the doctor in a hard tone.

He had always said Rodney before.

"Yes, sir."

"That was a handsome fortune which your father left you."

"Yes, sir. I never knew before how much it amounted to."

"You only learn when you have lost it. Mr. Fielding has treated you
shamefully."

"Yes, sir, I suppose he has, but he says he will try to make it up to me
in the future."

"Pish! that is all humbug. Even if he is favored by fortune you will
never get back a cent."

"I think I shall, sir."

"You are young. You do not know the iniquities of business men. I do."

"I prefer to hope for the best."

"Just as you please."

"Have you anything more to say to me?"

"Only that I will figure up your account and see how much money is to
come to you out of the check your guardian has sent. You can stay here
till Monday; then you will find it best to make new arrangements."

"Very well, sir."

Rodney left the room, realizing that Dr. Sampson's feelings had been
changed by his pupil's reverse of fortune.

It was the way of the world, but it was not a pleasant way, and Rodney
felt depressed.



CHAPTER II.


THE CASKET OF JEWELS.


It was not till the latter part of the afternoon that the casket
arrived. Rodney was occupied with a recitation, and it was only in
the evening that he got an opportunity to open it. There was a pearl
necklace, very handsome, a pair of bracelets, two gold chains, some
minor articles of jewelry and a gold ring.

A locket attracted Rodney's notice, and he opened it. It contained the
pictures of his father and mother.

His father he could barely remember, his mother died before he was old
enough to have her image impressed upon his memory. He examined the
locket and his heart was saddened. He felt how different his life would
have been had his parents lived.

He had never before realized the sorrow of being alone in the world.
Misfortune had come upon him, and so far as he knew he had not a friend.
Even Dr. Sampson, who had been paid so much money on his account, and
who had always professed so great friendship for him, had turned cold.

As he was standing with the locket in his hand there was a knock at the
door.

"Come in!" he called out.

The door opened and a stout, coarse looking boy, dressed in an expensive
manner, entered.

"Good evening, John," said Rodney, but not cordially.

Next to himself, John Bundy, who was the son of a wealthy saloon keeper
in the city of New York, had been a favorite with Dr. Sampson.

If there was anything Dr. Sampson bowed down to and respected it was
wealth, and Mr. Bundy, senior, was reputed to be worth a considerable
fortune.

In Rodney's mood John Bundy was about the last person whom he wanted to
see.

"Ha!" said John, espying the open casket, "where did you get all that
jewelry?"

"It contains my mother's jewels," said Rodney gravely.

"You never showed it to me before."

"I never had it before. It came to me by express this afternoon."

"It must be worth a good pile of money," said John, his eyes gleaming
with cupidity.

"I suppose it is."

"Have you any idea what it is worth?"

"I have no thought about it."

"What are you going to do with it? It won't be of use to you, especially
the diamond earrings," he added, with a coarse laugh.

"No," answered Rodney shortly.

"My eyes, wouldn't my mother like to own all this jewelry. She's fond of
ornament, but pa won't buy them for her."

Rodney did not answer.

"I say, Ropes, I mustn't forget my errand. Will you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Lend me five dollars till the first of next month. My allowance comes
due then. Now I haven't but a quarter left."

"What makes you apply to me, Bundy?"

"Because you always have money. I don't suppose you are worth as much as
my father, but you have more money for yourself than I have."

"I have had, perhaps, but I haven't now."

"Why, what's up? What has happened?"

"I have lost my fortune."

John whistled. This was his way of expressing amazement.

"Why, what have you been doing? How could you lose your fortune?"

"My guardian has lost it for me. That amount to the same thing."

"When did you hear that?"

"This morning."

"Is that true? Are you really a poor boy?"

"Yes."

John Bundy was astonished, but on the whole he was not saddened. In the
estimation of the school Rodney had always ranked higher than he, and
been looked upon as the star pupil in point of wealth.

Now that he was dethroned John himself would take his place. This would
be gratifying, though just at present, and till the beginning of the
next month, he would be distressed for ready money.

"Well, that's a stunner!" he said. "How do you feel about it? Shall you
stay in school?"

"No; I can't afford it. I must get to work."

"Isn't there anything left--not a cent?"

"There may be a few dollars."

"And then," said Bundy with a sudden thought, "there is this casket of
jewelry. You can sell it for a good deal of money."

"I don't mean to sell it."

"Then you're a fool; that's all I've got to say."

"I don't suppose you will understand my feeling in the matter, but these
articles belonged to my mother. They are all I have to remind me of her.
I do not mean to sell them unless it is absolutely necessary."

"I would sell them quicker'n a wink," said Bundy. "What's the good of
keeping them?"

"We won't discuss the matter," said Rodney coldly.

"Do you mind my telling the other boys about your losing your money?"

"No; it will be known tomorrow at any rate; there is no advantage in
concealing it."

A heavy step was heard outside. It stopped before the door.

"I must be getting," said Bundy, "or I'll get into trouble."

It was against the rule at the school for boys to make calls upon each
other in the evening unless permission were given.

John Bundy opened the door suddenly, and to his dismay found himself
facing the rigid figure of Dr. Sampson, the principal.

"How do you happen to be here, Bundy?" asked the doctor sternly.

"Please, sir, I was sympathizing with Ropes on his losing his money,"
said Bundy with ready wit.

"Very well! I will excuse you this time."

"I'm awful sorry for you, Ropes," said Bundy effusively.

"Thank you," responded Rodney.

"You can go now," said the principal. "I have a little business with
Master Ropes."

"All right, sir. Good night."

"Good night."

"Won't you sit down, Dr. Sampson?" said Rodney politely, and he took the
casket from the chair.

"Yes, I wish to have five minutes' conversation with you. So these are
the jewels, are they?"

"Yes, sir."

"They seem to be quite valuable," went on the doctor, lifting the pearl
necklace and poising it in his fingers. "It will be well for you to have
them appraised by a jeweler."

"It would, sir, if I wished to sell them, but I mean to keep them as
they are."

"I would hardly advise it. You will need the money. Probably you do not
know how near penniless you are."

"No, sir; I don't know."

"Your guardian, as you are aware, sent me a check for one hundred and
twenty five dollars. I have figured up how much of this sum is due to
me, and I find it to be one hundred and thirteen dollars and thirty
seven cents."

"Yes, sir," said Rodney indifferently.

"This leaves for you only eleven dollars and sixty three cents. You
follow me, do you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you any money saved up from your allowance?"

"A few dollars only, sir."

"Ahem! that is a pity. You will need all you can raise. But of course
you did not anticipate what has occurred?"

"No, sir."

"I will throw off the thirty seven cents," said the principal
magnanimously, "and give you back twelve dollars."

"I would rather pay you the whole amount of your bill," said Rodney.

"Ahem! Well perhaps that would be more business-like. So you don't wish
to part with any of the jewelry, Ropes?"

"No, sir."

"I thought, perhaps, by way of helping you, I would take the earrings,
and perhaps the necklace, off your hands and present them to Mrs.
Sampson."

Rodney shuddered with aversion at the idea of these precious articles,
which had once belonged to his mother, being transferred to the stout
and coarse featured consort of the principal.

"I think I would rather keep them," he replied.

"Oh well, just as you please," said Dr. Sampson with a shade of
disappointment for he had no idea of paying more than half what the
articles were worth. "If the time comes when you wish to dispose of them
let me know."

Rodney nodded, but did not answer in words.

"Of course, Ropes," went on the doctor in a perfunctory way, "I am very
sorry for you. I shall miss you, and, if I could afford it, I would tell
you to stay without charge. But I am a poor man."

"Yes," said Rodney hastily, "I understand. I thank you for your words
but would not under any circumstances accept such a favor at your
hands."

"I am afraid you are proud, Ropes. Pride is--ahem--a wrong feeling."

"Perhaps so, Dr. Sampson, but I wish to earn my own living without being
indebted to any one."

"Perhaps you are right, Ropes. I dare say I should feel so myself. When
do you propose leaving us?"

"Some time tomorrow, sir."

"I shall feel sad to have you go. You have been here so long that
you seem to me like a son. But we must submit to the dispensations of
Providence--" and Dr. Sampson blew a vigorous blast upon his red silk
handkerchief. "I will give you the balance due in the morning."

"Very well, sir."

Rodney was glad to be left alone. He had no faith in Dr. Sampson's
sympathy. The doctor had the reputation of being worth from thirty to
forty thousand dollars, and his assumption of being a poor man Rodney
knew to be a sham.

He went to bed early, for tomorrow was to be the beginning of a new life
for him.



CHAPTER III.


A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.


When it was generally known in the school that Rodney was to leave
because he had lost his property much sympathy was felt and expressed
for him.

Though he had received more than ordinary attention from the principal
on account of his pecuniary position and expectations, this had not
impaired his popularity. He never put on any airs and was on as cordial
relations with the poorest student as with the richest.

"I'm awfully sorry you're going, Rodney," said more than one. "Is it
really true that you have lost your property?"

"Yes, it is true."

"Do you feel bad about it?"

"I feel sorry, but not discouraged."

"I say, Rodney," said Ernest Rayner, in a low voice, calling Rodney
aside, "are you very short of money?"

"I haven't much left, Ernest."

"Because I received five dollars last week as a birthday present. I
haven't spent any of it. You can have it as well as not."

Rodney was much moved. "My dear Ernest," he said, putting his arm
caressingly around the neck of the smaller boy, "you are a true friend.
I won't forget your generous offer, though I don't need to accept it."

"But are you sure you have money enough?" asked Ernest.

"Yes, I have enough for the present. By the time I need more I shall
have earned it."

There was one boy, already introduced, John Bundy, who did not share in
the general feeling of sympathy for Rodney. This was John Bundy.

He felt that Rodney's departure would leave him the star pupil and give
him the chief social position in school. As to scholarship he was not
ambitious to stand high in that.

"I say, Ropes," he said complacently, "I'm to have your room after
you're gone."

"I congratulate you," returned Rodney. "It is an excellent room."

"Yes, I s'pose it'll make you feel bad. Where are you going?"

"I hope you will enjoy it as much as I have done."

"Oh yes, I guess there's no doubt of that. I'm going to get pa to send
me some nice pictures to hang on the wall. When you come back here on a
visit you'll see how nice it looks."

"I think it will be a good while before I come here on a visit."

"Yes. I s'pose it'll make you feel bad. Where are you going?"

"To the City of New York."

"You'll have to live in a small hall bedroom there."

"Why will I?"

"Because you are poor, and it costs a good deal of money to live in New
York. It'll be a great come down."

"It will indeed, but if I can earn enough to support me in plain style
I won't complain. I suppose you'll call and see me when you come to New
York?"

"Perhaps so, if you don't live in a tenement house. Pa objects to my
going to tenement houses. There's no knowing what disease there may be
in them."

"It is well to be prudent," said Rodney, smiling.

It did not trouble him much to think he was not likely to receive a call
from his quondan schoolmate.

"Here is the balance of your money, Ropes," said Dr. Sampson, drawing
a small roll of bills from his pocket, later in the day. "I am quite
willing to give you the odd thirty seven cents."

"Thank you, doctor, but I shan't need it."

"You are poorly provided. Now I would pay you a good sum for some of
your mother's jewelry, as I told you last evening."

"Thank you," said Rodney hastily, "but I don't care to sell at present."

"Let me know when you are ready to dispose of the necklace."

Here the depot carriage appeared in the street outside and Rodney with
his gripsack in one hand and the precious casket in the other, climbed
to a seat beside the driver.

His trunk he left behind, promising to send for it when he had found a
new boarding place.

There was a chorus of good byes. Rodney waved his handkerchief in
general farewell, and the carriage started for the depot.

"Be you goin' for good?" asked Joel, the driver, who knew Rodney well
and felt friendly to him.

"Yes, Joel."

"It's kind of sudden, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"What makes you go?"

"Bad news, Joel."

"Be any of your folks dead?"

"It is not death. I haven't any 'folks.' I'm alone in the world.
It's because I've lost my property and am too poor to remain in school."

"That's too bad," said the driver in a tone of sympathy. "Where are you
goin'?"

"To the city."

"Are you goin' to work?"

"Yes, I shall have to."

"If you was a little older you might get a chance to drive a street car,
but I s'pose you're too young."

"Yes, I don't think they would take me."

"I've thought sometimes I should like such a chance myself," said Joel.
"I've got tired of the country. I should like to live in the city where
there's theaters, and shows, and such like. Do you know what the drivers
on street cars get?"

"No, I never heard."

"I wish you'd find out and let me know. You can send the letter to Joel
Phipps, Groveton. Then find out if it's easy to get such a chance."

"I will. I shall be glad to oblige you."

"You always was obligin', Rodney. I've asked Jack Bundy to do it--you
know his folks live in the city--but he never would. He's a mighty
disagreeable boy. He never liked you."

"Didn't he?"

"No, I surmise he was jealous of you. He used to say you put on so many
airs it made him sick."

"I don't think any of the other boys would say that."

"No, but they could say it of him. Do you think his father is rich?"

"I have always heard that he was."

"I hope he's better about paying his debt than Jack. I lent him twenty
five cents a year ago and I never could get it back."

The distance from the school to the station was a mile. Joel fetched the
carriage round with a sweep and then jumped off, opened the door, and
then helped the passengers to disembark, if that word is allowable.

"How soon does the train start, Joel?" asked Rodney.

"In about five minutes."

"Then I had better purchase my ticket without delay."

"Don't forget to ask about horse car drivers!"

"No, I won't. I should like to have you come to New York. I know no one
there, and I should feel glad to see a familiar face."

The train came up in time, and Rodney was one of half a dozen passengers
who entered the cars.

He obtained a place next to a stout man dressed in a pepper and salt
suit.

"Is this seat engaged?" asked Rodney.

"Yes--to you," and his fellow passenger laughed.

Rodney laughed too, for he saw that the remark was meant to be jocose.

He put his gripsack on the floor at his feet, but held the casket in his
lap. He did not like to run any risk with that.

"Are you a drummer?" asked the stout man, with a glance at the casket.

"No, sir."

"I thought you might be, and that THAT might contain your samples."

"No, sir. That is private property."

He had thought of telling what it contained, but checked himself. He
knew nothing of his companion, and was not sure how far it might be safe
to trust a stranger.

"I used to be a drummer myself--in the jewelry line--" continued his
companion, "and I carried a box just like that."

"Ah, indeed! Then you are not in that business now?"

"No, I got tired of it. I deal in quite a different article now."

"Indeed?"

"Suburban lot."

"You don't happen to have any of them with you?"

The stout man roared with laughter, giving Rodney the impression that he
had said a very witty thing.

"That's a good one," he remarked, "the best I've heard for a long time.
No, I haven't any of the lots with me, but I've got a circular. Just
cast your eye over that," and he drew a large and showy prospectus from
his pocket.

"If you should be looking for a good investment," he continued, "you
can't do any better than buy a lot at Morton Park. It is only eighteen
miles from the city and is rapidly building up. You can buy lot on easy
installments, and I will myself pick one out for you that is almost sure
to double in value in a year or two."

"Thank you," said Rodney, "but I shall have to invest my money, if I get
any, in a different way."

"As what for instance?"

"In board and lodging."

"Good. That is even more necessary than real estate."

"How long have you been in the business, sir?"

"About six months."

"And how does it pay?"

"Very well, if you know how to talk."

"I should think you might do well, then."

"Thank you. I appreciate the compliment. What business are you going
into, that is, if you are going to the city?"

"I am going to the city, but I have no idea yet what I shall do."