CHAPTER XVII.
THE YOUNG CAPITALIST.
The cars swept on at the rate of twenty miles an hour, the engineerwholly unconscious of the peril in front. Robert saw the fated trainwith its freight of human lives, and his heart grew sick within him ashe thought of the terrible tragedy which was about to be enacted. Wasthere any possibility of his averting it? He threw himself against therock and pushed with all the strength he could command. But, nerved ashe was by desperation, he found the task greater than he could compass.
And still the train came thundering on. He must withdraw to a place ofsafety, or he would himself be involved in the destruction whichthreatened the train.
There was one thing more he could do, and he did it.
He took his station on the rock which was just in the path of theadvancing train, and waved his handkerchief frantically. It was aposition to test the courage of the bravest.
Robert was fully aware that he was exposing himself to a horribledeath. Should he not be seen by the engineer it would be doubtfulwhether he could get out of the way in time to escape death--and that ofthe most frightful nature. But unless he did something a hundred livesperhaps might be lost. So he resolutely took his stand, waving, as wehave said, his handkerchief and shouting, though the last was not likelyto be of any avail.
At first he was not seen. When the engineer at last caught sight of himit was with a feeling of anger at what he regarded as the foolhardinessof the boy. He slackened his speed, thinking he would leave his place,but Robert still maintained his position, his nerves strung to theirhighest tension, not alone at his own danger, but at the peril which hebegan to fear he could not avert.
Reluctantly the engineer gave the signal to stop the train. He was onlyjust in time. When it came to a stop there was an interval of onlythirty-five feet between it and Robert Rushton, who, now that he hadaccomplished his object, withdrew to one side, a little paler thanusual, but resolute and manly in his bearing.
"What is the meaning of this foolery?" the engineer demanded, angrily.
Robert pointed in silence to the huge rock which lay on the track.
"How came that rock there?" asked the engineer, in a startled tone, ashe took in the extent of the peril from which they had been saved.
"I don't know," said Robert. "I tried to move it, but I couldn't."
"You are a brave boy," said the engineer. "You have in all probabilitysaved the train from destruction. But you ran a narrow risk yourself."
"I know it," was the reply; "but it was the only thing I could do tocatch your attention."
"I will speak to you about it again. The first to be done is to move therock."
He left the engine and advanced toward the rock. By this time many ofthe passengers had got out, and were inquiring why the train was stoppedat this point. The sight of the rock made a sensation. Though the perilwas over, the thought that the train might have been precipitated downthe embankment, and the majority of the passengers killed or seriouslyinjured, impressed them not a little. They pressed forward, and severallending a hand, the rock was ousted from its its position, and rolledcrashing over the bank.
Among the passengers was a stout, good-looking man, a New York merchant.He had a large family at home waiting his return from a Westernjourney. He shuddered as he thought how near he had been to nevermeeting them again on earth.
"It was providential, your seeing the rock," he said to the engineer."We owe our lives to you."
"You do me more than justice," replied the engineer. "It was not I whosaved the train, but that boy."
All eyes were turned upon Robert, who, unused to being the center of somany glances, blushed and seemed disposed to withdraw.
"How is that?" inquired the merchant.
"He saw the obstruction, and tried to remove it, but, not being able todo so, took his station on the rock, and, at the risk of his own life,drew my attention, and saved the train."
"It was a noble act, my boy; what is your name?"
"Robert Rushton."
"It is a name that we shall all have cause to remember. Gentlemen,"continued the merchant, turning to the group around him, "you see beforeyou the preserver of your lives. Shall his act go unrewarded?"
"No, no!" was the general exclamation.
"I don't want any reward," said Robert, modestly. "Any boy would havedone as much."
"I don't know about that, my young friend. There are not many boys, ormen, I think, that would have had the courage to act as you did. You maynot ask or want any reward, but we should be forever disgraced if wefailed to acknowledge our great indebtedness to you. I contribute onehundred dollars as my share of the testimonial to our young friend."
"I follow with fifty!" said his next neighbor, "and shall ask for theprivilege of taking him by the hand."
Robert had won honors at school, but he had never before been in aposition so trying to his modesty. The passengers, following the exampleof the last speaker, crowded around him, and took him by the hand,expressing their individual acknowledgments for the service he hadrendered them. Our hero, whom we now designate thus appropriately, borethe ordeal with a self-possession which won the favor of all.
While this was going on, the collection was rapidly being made by themerchant who had proposed it. The amounts contributed varied widely, butno one refused to give. In ten minutes the fund had reached over sixhundred dollars.
"Master Robert Rushton," said the merchant, "I have great pleasure inhanding you this money, freely contributed by the passengers on thistrain, as a slight acknowledgment of the great service which you haverendered them at the risk of your own life. It does not often fall tothe lot of a boy to perform a deed so heroic. We are all your debtors,and if the time ever comes that you need a friend, I for one shall beglad to show my sense of indebtedness."
"All aboard!" shouted the conductor.
The passengers hurried into the cars, leaving our hero standing by thetrack, with one hand full of bank notes and in the other the card of theNew York merchant. It was only about fifteen minutes since Robert hadfirst signaled the train, yet how in this brief time had his fortuneschanged! From the cars now rapidly receding he looked to the roll ofbills, and he could hardly realize that all this money was his own. Hesat down and counted it over.
"Six hundred and thirty-five dollars!" he exclaimed. "I must have made amistake."
But a second count turned out precisely the same.
"How happy mother will be!" he thought, joyfully. "I must go and tellher the good news."
He was so occupied with the thoughts of his wonderful good fortune thathe nearly forgot to take the berries which he had picked.
"I shan't need to sell them now," he said. "We'll use a part of themourselves, and what we can't use I will give away."
He carefully stored away the money in his coat pocket, and for the sakeof security buttoned it tight. It was a new thing for him to be thecustodian of so much treasure. As Halbert Davis usually spent the latterpart of the afternoon in promenading the streets, sporting his kids andswinging his jaunty cane, it was not surprising that Robert encounteredhim again.
"So, you've been berrying again?" he said, stopping short.
"Yes," said Robert, briefly.
"You haven't got the boat repaired, I suppose."
"Not yet."
"It's lucky for you this is berrying season."
"Why?"
"Because you'd probably have to go to the poorhouse," said Halbert,insolently.
"I don't know about that," said Robert, coolly. "I rather think I couldbuy you out, Halbert Davis, watch, gloves, cane and all."
"What do you mean?" demanded Halbert, haughtily. "You seem to forgetthat you are a beggar, or next to it."
Robert set down his pails, and, opening his coat, drew out a handful ofbills.
"Does that look like going to the almshouse?" he said.
"They're not yours," returned Halbert, considerably astonished, for,though he did not know the denomination of th
e bills, it was evidentthat there was a considerable amount of money.
"It belongs to me, every dollar of it," returned Robert.
"I don't believe it. Where did you get it? Picking berries, I suppose,"he added, with a sneer.
"It makes no difference to you where I got it," said our hero, returningthe money to his pocket. "I shan't go to the almshouse till this I isall gone."
"He must have stolen it," muttered Halbert, looking after Robert withdisappointment and chagrin. It was certainly very vexatious that, inspite of all his attempts to humble and ruin our hero, he seemed moreprosperous than ever.