CHAPTER III.
HOW TOM GOT ON.
About this time Tom took account of stock. He had come out to Californiawith the noble and praiseworthy purpose of earning money to help hisfather pay off the mortgage on his little farm. He was the more anxiousto succeed, because two hundred dollars of the amount had been raised todefray his expenses across the continent. The mortgage, amounting now totwenty-two hundred dollars, was held by Squire Hudson, a wealthyresident of the same town, who hoped eventually to find an excuse forfore-closing the mortgage, and ejecting Mr. Nelson's family. He wasactuated not alone by mercenary motives, but also to gratify an ancientgrudge. In early life Mrs. Nelson, Tom's mother, had rejected the suitof the wealthy squire, and this insult, as he chose to characterize it,he had never forgotten or forgiven.
Had Tom been aware of the Squire's feelings, towards his family, henever would have been willing to have the mortgage increased for hissake, much as he wished to go to California. But neither Tom nor hisfather dreamed of Squire Hudson's secret animosity, and regarded hiswillingness to advance the extra two hundred dollars as an evidence offriendship.
But I have said that Tom took account of stock--in other words,ascertained how much he was worth. First, then, of the money borrowedfor his trip--the original two hundred dollars--he had twenty-fivedollars left over. Besides this sum, after paying all expenses, he hadaccumulated, by hard work and strict economy, fifty dollars' worth ofgold-dust.
"I wish father had this money," said Tom to his tent-mate, Ferguson. "Iam afraid he stands in need of it."
"There may be a way to send it to him, Tom."
"I wish there were."
"There's one of our party going to San Francisco next week. He can buya draft there, and send it to your father."
"Who is going?" asked Tom, eagerly.
"John Miles. You can trust him with the money, Tom."
"Of course I can. I'd trust John Miles with any sum."
"Who's that taking liberties with my name?" asked a manly voice, andJohn Miles himself stepped into the tent, bending his head as heentered.
"I hear you are going to San Francisco, John?"
"Yes, I start next week."
"Will you come back again?"
"I intend to. I am going to prospect a little, and buy some things formyself and Captain Fletcher."
"Will you do me a favor?"
"Of course I will, if it isn't too large a one," answered Miles.
Tom explained what he wished, and John Miles cordially assented.
"You're a good boy, Tom," he said, "to think of your father so soon."
"I feel anxious about him," said Tom. "He raised money to send me outhere, and I don't want him to suffer for it."
"That's the right way to feel, Tom. I wish I had a father and mother tolook out for," said Miles, soberly, "but you're in better luck than I.Both died when I was a mere lad. How much do you want to send?"
"Seventy-five dollars."
"Have you saved up so much already?" asked Miles, in surprise.
"Part of it I had left over when I got here."
"Will you have any left?"
"No."
"Isn't it well to reserve a little, then?"
"Oh, I shall have some more soon," answered Tom, sanguine, as most boysare.
"Suppose you are sick?"
"If he is sick he shall suffer for nothing," said the Scotchman. "WhileI have money, Tom shall not feel the want of it."
"Thank you, Mr. Ferguson," said Tom, gratefully.
"That old fellow has a heart, after all," thought Miles, who had beendisposed to look upon Ferguson ever since their first acquaintance, asrather miserly.
The Scotchman was certainly frugal, and counted his pennies carefully,but he was not mean, and had conceived a strong affection for his youngcompanion, whom he regarded much as a son or a nephew.
"Suppose you take the money now, John," said Tom.
"Shall I scribble a receipt, Tom? I am afraid my writing materials havegiven out."
"I don't want any receipt," said Tom; "I'll trust you without one."
"Nevertheless, lad," said the cautious Scotchman, "it may be well--"
"Yes, Tom, Mr. Ferguson is right. Of course I know that you trust me;but if anything should happen to me,--any accident, I mean,--the papermay be useful to you."
"Just as you like, Mr. Miles, but I don't ask it, remember that."
"Yes, I will remember it, and I don't mean to meet with any accident ifI can help it. Mr. Ferguson, can you oblige me with a pipeful oftobacco? I'll join you in smoking."
Smoking was the Scotchman's solitary extravagance, not a costly one,however, as he never smoked cigars, but indulged only in a democraticclay pipe.
John Miles threw himself on the ground between Tom and his Scotchfriend, and watched complacently the wreaths of smoke as they curledupwards.
"Tom, you ought to smoke," he said. "You don't know how much enjoymentyou lose."
"Don't tempt the lad," said Ferguson. "It's a bad habit."
"You smoke yourself."
"That is true, but it isn't well for a growing boy. It can do him nogood."
"I smoked before I was as old as Tom."
"So did I, but I wish I had not."
"Well, perhaps you're right, but it's a comfort when a man's tired orout of spirits."
"I am not troubled in that way," said Tom. "I mean with being out ofspirits."
"Youth is a hopeful age," said the Scotchman. "When we are young we arealways hoping for something good to befall us."
"And when one is older, how is it, Mr. Ferguson?"
"We fear ill more than we hope for good," he replied.
"Then I want to remain young as long as I can."
"A good wish, Tom. Some men are always young in spirit; but those thathave seen the evil there is in the world find it harder to be hopeful."
"You speak as if you had had experience of the evil, Mr. Ferguson."
"So I have," answered the Scotchman slowly. Then, after a pause, "I willtell you about it: it's no secret."
"Not if it is going to pain you."
"Oh, the pain is past. It's only a matter of money, and those woundsheal."
"Only a matter of money!" said John Miles to himself. "I must havemisjudged Ferguson. I thought money was all in all with him. I did notthink he would speak so lightly of it."
"When I was a young man," Ferguson began, "my father died, leaving me athousand pounds, and a small annuity to my mother. With this money Ifelt rich, but I knew it would not support me, nor was I minded to beidle. So I began to look about me, to consider what business I had bestgo into, when a young man, about my own age, a clerk in a mercantilehouse, came to me and proposed a partnership. He was to put in fivehundred pounds, and contribute his knowledge of business, which wasgreater than mine. He was a young man of good parts, and had a brisk,pleasant way with him, that made him a favorite in business circles. Ithought it was a good chance, and, after taking a little time forthought, agreed to his proposal. So the firm of McIntire and Fergusonwas formed. We went into business, and for a time all seemed to gowell. As my partner chose to keep the books, I was not so clear as Iwished to be about matters, but we seemed to be prospering. One morning,however, on coming to business, I found that my partner had disappeared,after possessing himself of all the money he could collect on the creditof the firm. Of course we were bankrupts, or rather I was, for he leftme to bear the brunt of failure."
"Have you ever seen him since, Mr. Ferguson?"
"From that day to this--twenty years--I have never set eyes on SandyMcIntire."
"It was a mean trick to serve you, Ferguson," said Miles.
"Yes," said the Scotchman, soberly. "I minded the loss of money, but theloss of confidence was a sore thought too, after all the trust I had putin that man."
Presently Miles rose to go.
"I'll take care of your money, Tom," he said, "and do my best to get itsafely to your father."
"Thank you,
John."
As Miles left the tent, he did not observe a crouching figure on theother side of it. It was the figure of Bill Crane, a crony of MissouriJack, in fact, the man who helped him to fleece poor Peabody of hisscanty hoard.
Bill looked after Miles enviously.
"I wonder how much money he's got?" thought Bill. "I'd like some of it,for I'm bust. I must tell Jack. I don't dare to tackle him alone."