The Young Outlaw Part 12

The deacon found him so stolid and unteachable that he was forced to give up in despair, and Sam became master of his own time in the evening. He usually strayed into the village, where he found company at the village store. Here it was that he met a youth who was destined to exercise an important influence upon his career. This was Ben Barker, who had for a few months filled a position in a small retail store in New York city. Coming home, he found himself a great man.

Country boys have generally a great curiosity about life in the great cities, and are eager to interview any one who can give them authentic details concerning it. For this reason Ben found himself much sought after by the village boys, and gave dazzling descriptions of life in the metropolis, about which he professed to be fully informed. Among his interested listeners was Sam, whose travels had been limited by a very narrow circle, but who, like the majority of boys, was possessed by a strong desire to see the world.

"I suppose there as many as a thousand houses in New York," he said to Ben.

"A thousand!" repeated Ben, in derision. "There's a million!"

"Honest?"

"Yes, they reach for miles and miles. There's about twenty thousand streets."

"It must be awfully big. I'd like to go there."

"Oh, you!" said Ben, contemptuously. "It wouldn't do for you to go there."

"Why not?"

"You couldn't get along nohow."

"I'd like to know why not?" said Sam, rather nettled at this depreciation.

"Oh, you're a country greenhorn. You'd get taken in right and left."

"I don't believe I would," said Sam. "I aint as green as you think."

"You'd better stay with the deacon, and hoe potatoes," said Ben, disparagingly. "It takes a smart fellow to succeed in New York."

"Is that the reason you had to come home?" retorted Sam.

"I'm going back pretty soon," said Ben. "I shan't stay long in such a one-horse place as this."

"Is it far to New York?" asked Sam, thoughtfully.

"Over a hundred miles."

"Does it cost much to go there?"

"Three dollars by the cars."

"That isn't so very much."

"No, but you've got to pay your expenses when you get there."

"I could work."

"What could you do? You might, perhaps, black boots in the City Hall Park."

"What pay do boys get for doing that?" asked Sam, seriously.

"Sometimes five cents, sometimes ten."

"I'd like it better than farmin'!"

"It might do for you," said Ben, turning up his nose.

"What were you doing when you were in New York, Ben?"

"I was chief salesman in a dry goods store," said Ben, with an air of importance.

"Was it a good place?"

"Of course it was, or I wouldn't have stayed there."

"What made you leave it?"

"I had so much care and responsibility that the doctor told me I must have rest. When the boss was away, I run the store all alone."

There was no one to contradict Ben's confident a.s.sertions, and though some doubt was entertained by his listener none was expressed.

Considering Ben's large claims, it was surprising that his services were not sought by leading New York firms, but, then, merit is not always appreciated at once. That was Ben's way of accounting for it.

Sam was never tired of asking Ben fresh questions about New York. His imagination had been inflamed by the glowing descriptions of the latter, and he was anxious to pa.s.s through a similar experience. In fact, he was slowly making up his mind to leave the deacon, and set out for the brilliant Paradise which so dazzled his youthful fancy.

There was one drawback, however, and that a serious one,--the lack of funds. Though the deacon supplied him with board, and would doubtless keep him in wearing apparel, there was no hint or intimation of any further compensation for his services, and Sam's whole available money capital at this moment amounted to only three cents. Now three cents would purchase three sticks of candy, and Sam intended to appropriate them in this way, but they formed a slender fund for travelling expenses; and the worst of it was that Sam knew of no possible way of increasing them. If his journey depended upon that, it would be indefinitely postponed.

But circ.u.mstances favored his bold design, as we shall see.

One evening as Sam was returning from the store, a man from a neighboring town, who was driving by, reined up his horse, and said, "You live with Deacon Hopkins, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you going home now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I'll hand you a note for him. Will you think to give it to him?"

"Yes, sir."

"I would stop myself, but I haven't time this evening."

"All right. I'll give it to him."

"Take good care of it, for there's money in it," said the man, as he pa.s.sed it to the boy.

_Money in it!_ This attracted Sam's attention, and excited his curiosity.

"I wonder how much there is in it," he thought to himself. "I wish it was mine. I could go to New York to-morrow if I only had it."

With this thought prominent in his mind, Sam entered the house. Mrs.

Hopkins was at the table knitting, but the deacon was not to be seen.