Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp by Jr. Horatio Alger (short novels in english .TXT) 📕

The next morning Mr. Morton was a passenger by the early stage for Webbington, where he took the train for Boston. Thence he was to proceed to New York by the steamboat train.

“Good-by, Mr. Morton,” said Frank, waving his cap as the stage started. “I hope you'll soon be back.”

“I hope so, too; good-by.”

Crack went the whip, round went the wheels. The horses started, and the stage rumbled off, swaying this way and that, as if top-heavy.

Frank went slowly back to the house, feeling quite lonely. He had become so accustomed to Mr. Morton's companionship that his departure left a void which he hardly knew how to fill.

As he reflected upon Mr. Morton's story he began to feel an increased uneasiness at the mortgage held by Squire Haynes upon his father's farm. The time was very near at hand—only ten days off—when the mortgage might be foreclosed, and but half the money was in readiness.

Perhaps, however, Squire Haynes had no intention of foreclosing. If so, there was no occasion for apprehension. But about this he felt by no means certain.

He finally determined, without consulting his mother, to make the squire a visit and inquire frankly what he intended to do. The squire's answer would regulate his future proceedings.

It was Frank's rule—and a very good one, too—to do at once whatever needed to be done. He resolved to lose no time in making his call.

“Frank,” said his mother, as he entered the house, “I want you to go down to the store some time this forenoon, and get me half a dozen pounds of sugar.”

“Very well, mother, I'll go now. I suppose it won't make any difference if I don't come back for an hour or two.”

“No, that will be in time.”

Mrs. Frost did not ask Frank where he was going. She had perfect faith in him, and felt sure that he would never become involved in anything discreditable.

Frank passed through the village without stopping at the store. He deferred his mother's errand until his return. Passing up the village street, he stopped before the fine house of Squire Haynes. Opening the gate he walked up the graveled path and rang the bell.

A servant-girl came to the door.

“Is Squire Haynes at home?” inquired Frank.

“Yes, but he's eating breakfast.”

“Will he be through soon?”

“Shure and I think so.”

“Then I will step in and wait for him.”

“Who shall I say it is?”

“Frank Frost.”

Squire Haynes had just passed his cup for coffee when Bridget entered and reported that Frank Frost was in the drawing-room and would like to see him when he had finished his breakfast.

“Frank Frost!” repeated the squire, arching his eyebrows. “What does he want, I wonder?”

“Shure he didn't say,” said Bridget.

“Very well.”

“He is captain of the boys' company, John, isn't he?” asked the squire.

“Yes,” said John sulkily. “I wish him joy of his office. I wouldn't have anything to do with such a crowd of ragamuffins.”

Of course the reader understands that this was “sour grapes” on John's part.

Finishing his breakfast leisurely, Squire Haynes went into the room where Frank was sitting patiently awaiting him.

Frank rose as he entered.

“Good morning, Squire Haynes,” he said, politely rising as he spoke.

“Good morning,” said the squire coldly. “You are an early visitor.”

If this was intended for a rebuff, Frank did not choose to take any notice of it.

“I call on a little matter of business, Squire Haynes,” continued Frank.

“Very well,” said the squire, seating himself in a luxurious armchair, “I am ready to attend to you.”

“I believe you hold a mortgage on our farm.”

Squire Haynes started. The thought of Frank's real business had not occurred to him. He had hoped that nothing would have been said in relation to the mortgage until he was at liberty to foreclose, as he wished to take the Frosts unprepared. He now resolved, if possible, to keep Frank in ignorance of his real purpose, that he might not think it necessary to prepare for his attack.

“Yes,” said he indifferently; “I hold quite a number of mortgages, and one upon your father's farm among them.”

“Isn't the time nearly run out?” asked Frank anxiously.

“I can look if you desire it,” said the squire, in the same indifferent tone.

“I should be glad if you would.”

“May I ask why you are desirous of ascertaining the precise date?” asked the squire. “Are you intending to pay off the mortgage?”

“No, sir,” said Frank. “We are not prepared to do so at present.”

Squire Haynes felt relieved. He feared for a moment that Mr. Frost had secured the necessary sum, and that he would be defeated in his wicked purpose.

He drew out a large number of papers, which he rather ostentatiously scattered about the table, and finally came to the mortgage.

“The mortgage comes due on the first of July,” he said.

“Will it be convenient for you to renew it, Squire Haynes?” asked Frank anxiously. “Father being absent, it would be inconvenient for