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Read Ebook: Tom Thatcher's Fortune by Alger Horatio Jr
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Ebook has 2881 lines and 82187 words, and 58 pages
Mrs. Thatcher went to the bureau, and from the top drawer took out an old letter, grown yellow with age, and unfolding it handed it to Tom. It was quite long, but a large part of it would be of no interest to my readers. I only transcribe the parts which are material to my story.
"I am glad to say, my dear Mary, that I have been very fortunate. John Simpson and I, some three months ago, chanced upon some very rich diggings, which, lying out of the ordinary course of travel and exploration, had thus far failed to attract attention. For a month or more we worked alone, managing in that time to 'feather our nests' pretty well. Then we sold out a portion of our claims to a third party for a large sum, and worked the balance ourselves. I don't dare to tell you how much we are worth, but enough to make us very comfortable. I can say as much as that. It won't be long before I come home. I could come now, but I think it a shame to leave so much treasure in the ground, when it can be had for the digging. A little patience, dear wife, and I shall come home, and place you and our darling children in a position where you will never again know the limitations of poverty.
"Simpson's plans are the same as mine. We shall probably go home together, and build two nice houses near each other. It will be pleasant in years to come to refer to our days of struggle when we worked together at the shoe bench for a dollar and a half a day, and had to support our families on that paltry sum. Those days, thank God! are over, and I am still a young man with half my life before me, as I hope."
"Poor father!" said Tom. "How little he thought that his good luck was to prove the cause of his death, and that the money he had secured would never find its way to his family."
"It always makes me sad to read that letter," said Mrs. Thatcher. "It is so bright and hopeful, and death was even then so near."
As Tom gave back the letter to his mother, a knock was heard at the door.
Tom rose to open it, and admitted a boy of about his own age, Harry Julian, the minister's son, one of his most intimate friends.
THE YOUNG RIVALS.
"Good-evening, Harry," said Mrs. Thatcher, cordially. "Won't you sit down and take a cup of tea?"
"No, thank you, Mrs. Thatcher; I have just got through supper. You must excuse my coming so early, but I wanted to be sure to find Tom at home."
The speaker was a slender, pleasant-faced boy of about Tom's age. He was better dressed than Tom, for though his father received but a small annual salary from his parish, he was possessed of a considerable private fortune, which enabled him to live with more freedom from pecuniary anxiety than most ministers. The boys had always been intimate, and Tom had more than once been favored by the loan of books from his friend's library.
"You have found me at home, Julian," said Tom. "Is there anything going on this evening?"
"Yes, and that's what brings me here. There's going to be a large skating party on Round Pond, and we want you to join it."
"I should like it, but I can't go quite yet. I must saw and split some wood for to-morrow first."
"How long will it take you?"
"Less than an hour."
"Let me help you. Then it won't take so long."
"I'm afraid I can't afford to pay a hired man," said Tom, laughing.
"The pleasure of your company will pay me," said Harry.
"Thank you. I would take off my hat in return for the compliment if I happened to have it on. I will soon be through supper."
"Won't you change your mind, Harry, and let me give you a cup of tea?" asked Mrs. Thatcher.
"On second thoughts I will. It will keep me warm."
The boys were soon through supper, and, adjourning to the wood-shed, set to work energetically on the wood-pile.
"Will you saw or split, Harry?" asked Tom.
"I might break the saw if I attempted to use it. I will try the ax."
"What would Rupert Simpson say if he should see you helping me?" said Tom, in a moment's pause. "He would think you were lowering yourself."
"And he might be welcome to his opinion," said Harry, independently.
"You are a good deal together."
"Yes, but he seeks my company, not I his."
"Mother tells me that he and I were like two brothers when we were quite young. But he wasn't rich then."
"That has spoiled him."
"At any rate, it has cured him of his liking for my company. Doesn't he ever speak to you about your being intimate with me?"
"Yes, often. He thinks I like you better than I do him, and he is right there."
"I can guess what he says to you, Harry?"
"Try it."
Tom changed his voice, adopting Rupert's rather affected tone.
"I shouldn't think," he began, "that you would associate with that Tom Thatcher. He pegs shoes in father's shop, and isn't fit for gentlemen like us to notice. My father doesn't like me to keep such low company."
Harry laughed heartily.
"You must have been listening some time when Rupert was speaking to me," he said.
"Then I hit right, did I?"
"Couldn't come nearer."
"I thought so. Yet father and Mr. Simpson worked side by side at the shoe bench. They went to California together. Both secured a great deal of money, but my poor father didn't live to come home."
"And his money? What became of that?" inquired Harry.
"No one knows. He was probably robbed of it."
"It is a sad story, Tom."
"Yes. My poor father's fate is often in my mind. I cannot bring him back to life, but I hope some day to learn something more of his last days, and, if possible, of the manner in which he died."
"Couldn't Mr. Simpson tell you something about it?"
"He called on mother after his return, but gave her no definite information. I am sometimes tempted to call on him and inquire on my own account."
"I would if I were you."
"I will, then. I won't speak to mother about it, because it always makes her sad to speak about father's death."
"There's the last stick, Harry," said Tom, a few moments later. "Now I sha'n't have to keep you waiting any longer. I have only to put on my coat, and get my skates."
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