Hector's Inheritance, Or, the Boys of Smith Institute by Jr. Horatio Alger (short novels to read .txt) 📕

Hector continued his walk downtown. Despite the crowds of persons who thronged the sidewalks, he did not anticipate meeting anyone else that he knew. But he was destined to another surprise. On the corner of Murray Street he saw two persons advancing toward him, the last, perhaps, that he expected to see. Not to keep the reader in suspense, it was Allan Roscoe and his son, Guy.

Guy was the first to recognize Hector. Of course, he, too, was surprised.

“Why, there’s Hector!” he exclaimed, directing his father’s attention to our hero.

Allan Roscoe looked up quickly. It is hard to tell whether he felt glad or the reverse at this meeting with the boy whom he called his ward.

An instant later Hector recognized Guy and his father.

“How do you do, Mr. Roscoe?” he said, politely.

“Very well. When did you reach New York?”

“On Saturday.”

It should have been explained that Hector had spent Sunday quietly with Mr. Ross and Walter, and that this was Monday.

“Ahem! I was very much surprised at your leaving the institute,” said Mr. Roscoe.

“I explained to you in my letter why I proposed to leave it,” Hector answered, coldly.

“I did not think your reason sufficient.”

“As Mr. Smith saw fit to bring a base charge against me, and persisted in it, even after he must have been convinced that his nephew was guilty, I was unwilling to remain under his charge any longer.”

“The circumstances were against you,” said Mr. Roscoe.

“You might have known me better than that, Mr. Roscoe,” said Hector, proudly. “Yet you condemned me unheard.”

“Of course, I am very glad that the charge is unfounded,” said Mr. Roscoe, awkwardly.

“Where there is smoke there is generally fire,” said Guy, spitefully.

“I understand you, Guy,” said Hector, half turning to look at the boy who had usurped his place. “I hope you won’t think it impolite if I say that I care nothing whatever for your opinion.”

“You put on as many airs as ever,” sneered Guy. “I should think you would be a little more humble in your changed position.”

“I have not changed, even if my position has,” answered Hector. “Money is nothing to be proud of.”

“I apprehend that the world judges differently,” said Allan Roscoe. “Since you have taken your destiny into your own hands, you will excuse me for asking how you intend to earn your living?”

“I hope to get a mercantile position,” answered Hector.

“Take my advice,” said Guy, with a derisive smile, “and buy yourself a blacking box and brush. I am told bootblacks make a good deal of money.”

“Hush, Guy!” said his father. “Do not insult Hector.”

But Hector concerned himself but little with any slight received from Guy Roscoe. His words, however, recalled his thoughts to the boy he had so recently met, Larry Deane, and he resolved to see if he could not help him by an appeal to Allan Roscoe.

“Mr. Roscoe,” said he, quickly, “I nearly forgot something I want very much to say to you.”

“What is it?” asked his guardian, suspiciously. It occurred to him that Hector wished to borrow some money, and he was considering how little he could decently give him.

“I hear you have discharged Reuben Deane from his position?”

“How did you hear it?”

“From his son, Larry.”

“Where did you see Larry?” asked Allan, in some curiosity.

“He has been driven to take up that employment which Guy so kindly recommended to me.”

“Larry Deane a bootblack! That’s a good one!” exclaimed Guy, with evident relish.

“I don’t think so,” said Hector. “The poor boy is picking a poor living, and sending home what he can to his father, who cannot get new employment. Mr. Roscoe, why did you discharge him?”

“I can answer that question, though it’s none of your business all the same,” volunteered Guy. “The boy Larry was impudent to me, and his father took his part.”