RICHARD DARE'S VENTURE

 OR

STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF


BY EDWARD STRATEMEYER
Author of Oliver Bright's Search, To Alaska For Gold,
The Last Cruise Of The Spitfire, Shorthand Tom, Etc.





PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION.


"Richard Dare's Venture," although a complete story in itself, forms
the initial volume of the "Bound to Succeed" Series, a line of books
written primarily for boys, but which it would seem not only girls but
also persons of mature age have taken up with more or less interest.

The story relates the adventures of a country youth who comes to New
York to seek his fortune, just as many country lads have done in the
past and many are likely to do in the future. Richard feels that there
is nothing for him to do in the sleepy village in which he resides,
and that he must "strike out for himself," and he does so, with no
cash capital to speak of, but with plenty of true American backbone,
and with the firm conviction that if he does his duty as he finds it,
and watches his chances, he will be sure to make a place for himself.

Richard finds life in the metropolis no bed of roses, and when he at
length gains a footing he is confronted by many a snare and pitfall.
But, thanks to the Christian teachings of the best of mothers, and his
natural uprightness of character, he escapes these evils, and gives
a practical teaching of the Biblical admonition of "returning evil
with good."

When the first edition of this work was placed on the market several
years ago, the author had hoped that it would receive some notice; but
he was hardly prepared for the warm reception which readers and critics
alike all over the country accorded it. For this enthusiasm he is
profoundly grateful. The street scenes in New York have been
particularly commended; the author would add that these are not
fictitious, but are taken from life.

EDWARD STRATEMEYER.

NEWARK, N.J., March 1, 1899.




CONTENTS

I. A Serious Accident

II. Bitter Moments

III. Preparing to Start

IV. On the Train

V. The Smash-up

VI. Under Suspicion

VII. The End of the Journey

VIII. The "Watch Below"

IX. Locked Out

X. The First Night in New York

XI. Robbed

XII. On the Search

XIII. Richard Calls on Mr. Joyce

XIV. Work Obtained

XV. New Quarters

XVI. Pep

XVII. Getting Acquainted

XVIII. A Strange Situation

XIX. The Laurel Club

XX. Trouble Brewing

XXI. Richard in Trouble

XXII. Richard Visits Mr. Joyce Again

XXIII. Strange Discoveries

XXIV. Pep's Home

XXV. Tom Clover

XXVI. A Scene in the Stock-room

XXVII. A Fire and its Result

XXVIII. A Lucky Resolve

XXIX. Frank's Idea

XXX. Mr. Martin's Clerks

XXXI. Tom Clover's Statement

XXXII. The Firm of Massanet and Dare




CHAPTER I.

A SERIOUS ACCIDENT.


"It is high time, mother, that I found something to do. Father seems
to be worse, and I'm afraid before long he won't be able to go to work
every day. Ever since I finished schooling I've felt like a fish out
of water."

And stowing away the remainder of the slice of bread he was eating,
Richard Dare leaned back in his chair and gazed inquiringly across the
breakfast-table to where his mother stood, ready to clear away the
dishes when he had finished his meal.

"I'm sure you have been busy enough, Richard," responded Mrs. Dare
fondly. "I am well satisfied with the way you have planted the garden;
and no carpenter could have made a neater job of the front fence. You
haven't wasted your time."

"Oh, I don't mean that. Fixing up around the house is well enough. But
I mean some regular work--some position where I could bring home my
weekly wages. I know it would be a big help all around. It takes a
heap of money to run a family of three girls and a growing boy."

Mrs. Dare smiled sadly.

"What do you know about that?" she asked. "We all have enough to eat
and drink, and our own roof over our heads."

"Yes, but I know that my dear mother sits up sewing sometimes long
after we have gone to bed, so that our clothing may be cared for, and
I know that she hasn't had a new dress in a year, though she deserves
a dozen," added Richard heartily.

"I haven't much use for a new dress--I go out so little," said his
mother. "But what kind of work do you wish to get?"

"Oh, anything that pays. I'm not particular, so long as it's honest.

"I'm afraid you will find but few chances in Mossvale. Times are dull
here--ever since the hat factory moved away. I guess the stores have
all the help they want. You might get a place on one of the farms."

"I don't think any farmer would pay much besides my board," replied
the boy. "I've got another plan," he continued, with some hesitation.

"And what is that?"

"To try my luck in New York. There ought to be room enough for me in
such a big city."

"New York!" exclaimed Mrs. Dare, in astonishment. "Why, you have never
been there in your whole life!"

"I know it, but I've read the papers pretty well, and I wouldn't be
afraid but what I could get along first rate."

Mrs. Dare shook her head doubtfully.

"It is almost impossible to get a footing there," she declared. "When
we were first married your father struggled hard enough, both there
and in Brooklyn, but somehow, he didn't seem to make it go, and so we
moved here. Everything rushes in the city, and unless you have some
one to speak for you no one will give you a chance."

"I would take the first thing that came to hand, no matter what it
paid, and then watch for something better."

"It might be that you would have luck," said Mrs. Dare reflectively.
"I don't like to discourage you. Still--"

"You wouldn't like to see me go away and then fail, is that it?"

"Yes. Failures at the start of life often influence all the after
years. Suppose you have a talk with your father about this."

"I thought I'd speak to you first, mother. I wanted to know if you
would be willing to let me go."

"If your father thinks it best, I shall be satisfied, Richard. Of
course, I will miss you."

"I know that, mother," returned Richard rising. "But then I could come
home once in a while. The city is not so very far away."

The plan of "striking out" had been in Richard Dare's mind for several
months. The country school at Mossvale had closed for the season early
in the spring--so as to allow the farmer boys to do their work, and
Richard was satisfied that he had about learned all that Mr. Parsons,
the pedagogue, was able or willing to teach, and saw no good reason
for his returning in the fall. He would have liked to continue his
studies, but there was only one other institute of learning in the
neighborhood--a boarding academy, where the rates for tuition were
high, and to this he well knew his parents could not afford to send
him.

Mr. Dare was by trade a house painter and decorator. When a young man
he had served three years in the army, during the great rebellion,
from which he had come away with a bullet in his shoulder, and a strong
tendency towards chronic rheumatism. Shortly after he had married, and
now, twenty years later, his family included four children, of which
Richard, age sixteen, was next to the oldest.

Mr. Dare was a steady, sober man, who disliked excitement, and the
quiet plodding along in Mossvale just suited him. He was only a
journeyman, and it is doubtful if his ambition had ever risen beyond
his present station. By frugality he and his wife had saved enough to
buy a half acre of land in this pretty New Jersey village, on which
they had erected a neat cottage, and here apparently John Dare was
content to spend the remainder of his life.

But Richard Dare partook of but little of his father's retiring
disposition. He was a bright, active boy, with a clear heart and brain,
and he longed to get at some work where energy would be the road to
success. His comprehension was rapid, and beneath an outwardly calm
spirit, lurked the fire of a youth well trained to grapple with noble
purposes and bring them to a successful issue.

Richard's desire to go to the metropolis was a natural one. There was
nothing in quiet Mossvale to entice any one with push to remain there.
The entire population of the district did not number three hundred
people, and the only business places were three general stores, a
blacksmith shop and a cross-roads hotel.

A number of years previous, Mr. Dixon Maillard, a rich man from Newark,
had endeavored to boom the village by starting a hat factory there,
then trying to make his employees buy houses and lots from him on the
installment plan, but this scheme had fallen flat, and the factory
plant was removed to a more promising locality.

The Dare cottage stood some little distance from the village center.
As Mrs. Dare had said, Richard had the garden in excellent condition,
not only the larger portion devoted to the vegetables and small fruits,
but also the front part, in which were planted a great variety of
flowers in which his mother took keen delight.

"Is father coming home to dinner to-day?" asked Richard, a little later
on, as he entered the kitchen with a pail of water which Nancy, the
oldest of his three sisters, had asked him to draw from the well.

"I guess not," replied the girl. "His rheumatism hurt him so much he
said he might not be able to walk from Dr. Melvin's new house."

"Ma put up his dinner," put in Grace, the second oldest.

"Then he won't be back," returned Richard, somewhat disappointed, for
he had been calculating on broaching the subject of going to New York
to his father after the midday meal.

"He said his shoulder hurt him awfully last night," added Grace. "I
heard him tell ma he could almost feel the bullet worrying him in the
flesh."

"It's mighty queer he doesn't get a pension," said Nancy. "I'm sure
he deserves one. Didn't he ever apply, Dick? I read in a Philadelphia
paper the other day about a man getting sixteen dollars a month allowed,
and a whole lot of back pay--more than two or three thousand dollars!"

"Two or three thousand dollars!" cried Grace. "Oh, Nancy, it's a
fortune!"

"But it's true, every word."

"I believe father has tried," replied Richard. "But it seems that he
must have witnesses to prove his identity, and all that--"

"And can't he get them?" asked Grace, eagerly.

"I believe not. All his old comrades are either dead or scattered, and
he hasn't a single address."

"Did he ever hunt for any of them?"

"I think he wrote two or three letters, but that's all. You know how
father is."

"I just guess I wouldn't let it rest there!" declared Grace, diving
into the bread batter with a vim. "I'd advertise in the papers, and
turn the whole country upside down before I'd give up!"

"Well, father looks at it as a kind of charity, anyway," explained
Richard. "And he doesn't care much to accept it so long as he is able
to work."

"Yes, but, Dick, if he's entitled to it by law, don't you think he
ought to take it?"

"He has certainly lost many a day's work on account of his failing,
Nancy. He ought to get something for that."

"Then why don't you speak to him about it?" asked Grace. "He'll listen
to you quicker than he will to any of us."

"Perhaps I will. Maybe he will give me a list of those who knew him
in the army, and then I can start a grand search, as you suggested.
But I've got a little plan of my own to carry out first, and I want
you girls to help me."

"What plan?" asked Nancy; and Grace ceased her bread-making to listen
to what her brother might have to say.

"I'm thinking of going to New York, and I--"

"New York!" both girls ejaculated. They would have been no more
astonished had he said Paris or Pekin. "Why, Dick, what put that idea
into your head?" continued Nancy.

"Take me along if you go," added Grace.

"Nobody but myself put it into my head, Nan," replied Richard, "and
I won't be able to take anybody along, Grace."

"Going to make your fortune?" queried the younger girl.

"You'll get lost," put in the other.

"Nonsense! catch Dick getting lost!" cried Grace indignantly. "Didn't
he bring us all safe through Baker's woods last fall, when we were
nutting?"

"Baker's woods isn't New York city," replied her elder sister. "Hundreds
of streets and millions of people! He'd have to keep his eyes wide
open and his wits about him."

"And that is just what I would do!" broke in Richard. "You don't suppose
I'd stand around like a gawk, staring at people!"

"But is it for fortune?" repeated Grace, freeing her hands from the
dough and coming up close.

"Yes, it's for fortune, if that's what you call it," said Richard
bluntly. "I'm tired of Mossvale, and I'm going to strike out, that is
if I can get consent. I've spoken to mother about it already, and if--"

A heavy knock on the back stoop caused Richard to stop speaking. Going
to the door, he was confronted by Nicholas Boswell, a young farmer who
lived a short distance down the road.

"Hello, Nick!" exclaimed Richard. "That you? Come in!"

Nicholas Boswell was pale, and his face showed a troubled expression.
For several seconds ho seemed hardly able to speak.

"No, thank'ee, Dick," he said at last. "I come to tell you that--" and
here his eyes roved over to Nancy and Grace, and he stopped short.

"What?" asked the boy. "You ain't sick, are you?" he continued, noticing
the unusual pallor on the other's countenance.

"Oh, no, _I_ ain't sick," replied Boswell. "I never get sick. I
was never sick in my life--'cepting when I was a babby. But I--that
is--there's a man--some men wants to see you," he faltered.

"To see me! Where?"

"They are down the road aways. I'll show you."

"What do they want?"

"Come on--never mind asking questions," closing one eye and bobbing
his head, as if he did not wish the girls to hear more.

"All right," returned Richard, and closing the door he followed Boswell
up the lane to the road.

"Accidents is bad things, Dick," began the young farmer, as they drew
away from the house. "But they will happen, you know--they will happen."

"What do you mean?" asked the boy quickly. "Who's had an accident?"

"Well, you see a man with the rheumatism ain't so sure of his footing
as is one who ain't got no such affliction."

"And my father?" began Richard, his heart jumping suddenly into his
throat.

"Your father as a painter often climbed long, limbery ladders as he
hadn't oughter," continued Boswell soberly.

"Is he--is he _dead_?" gasped the boy, standing stock-still.

"No, oh, _no_!" exclaimed the young farmer. "But he had an awful
fall, and he's pretty bad. I thought I'd tell you first, 'cause it
might shock your mother."

"Where is he?"

"The men is bringing him up the road. Here they come now. You'd better
go back, and kinder break the news to the folks. I'm terribly gritty--as
gritty as any man--but I can't do that!"

Richard did not hear the last words. Trembling from head to foot, he
sped up the road to meet four men, carrying a rude stretcher between
them and slowly approaching.




CHAPTER II.

BITTER MOMENTS.


The serious accident that had befallen Mr. Dare was in reality a very
simple one. The ladder that he had been ascending was covered with
early morning dew, and when near the top his foot had slipped, and,
being unable, on account of his rheumatism, to catch a quick hold, he
had fallen on his side to the ground. No one had seen his fall, and
he lay unconscious for full ten minutes before a fellow workman, who
had been busy on the other side of the building, discovered him and
summoned assistance.

The five or six men that were soon gathered did what they could to
bring him to consciousness, but without success. One of them ran off
to hunt up the doctor, and then the others took a door that had not
yet been hung in the new house, and, fastening a heavy strip at either
end for handles, covered it with their coats, and placed the wounded
man upon it.

None of the men cared to face Mrs. Dare with such painful news, and
it was only after repeated urging that Nicholas Boswell had been induced
to go on ahead.

"My father, my poor father!" was all Richard could say, as he gazed
at the motionless form upon the litter.

[Illustration: "My father, my poor father!"]

"Reckon he's hurt pretty bad," said Sandy Stone, a mason, who had been
the first to be called to the scene of the accident. "'Tain't outside
so much as it's in. Wait till we get him home."

For Richard was bending over his father, and trying his best to do
something that would help the unconscious sufferer.

"Did you send for the doctor?"

"Yes; sent for Dr. Melvin first thing," replied one of the others,
"But we don't know where he is."

"I think he is over at old Mrs. Brown's," returned the boy. "I saw him
walking that way a while ago."

"I'll go and see," put in Nicholas Boswell. "Meanwhile you'd better
go and tell your mother."

"My mother! what will she say? And Nancy and Grace and baby Madge! Oh,
it's dreadful!" broke out Richard. "I'm sure none of them can stand
it."

"I'll send my wife over soon as I can," said Sandy Stone. "She's as
good as a doctor, and can quiet your mother, too. Be a brave boy, Dick,
and go and tell her. It will be easier, coming from you, than it would
from any of us."

So Richard returned to the house. His mother was dusting in the parlor,
and going straight to her he said:

"Mother, the men are bringing father home. He slipped on the ladder
and got hurt pretty badly. You had better get a bed ready for him, and
some bandages, because he's got a cut or two on his head," and then,
as the mother's breast began to heave: "Don't worry, mother; it may
not be near as bad as we believe it is."

It was over in a moment, and when the men arrived Mrs. Dare was as
calm as any of them.

In the cottage one of the bedrooms was situated upon the lower floor,
and to this Mr. Dare was carried, and laid down as tenderly as these
men were able to do such an unaccustomed task. He drew a deep breath
when his head touched the pillow, and an instant later opened his eyes.

"Where am I?" were his first words.

"Home, John," replied his wife. "You had a fail, and--"

"Yes, I remember. Oh, how my side hurts!"

"Lie still. The doctor will soon be here. Would you like a drink?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Dare gave him some water, but he only drank a little, and then
began to cough.

"It's inside!" he gasped. "My ribs are broken, I think."

Richard comforted his sisters as best he could. It was not long before
Dr. Melvin arrived, and his coming inspired the little household with
hope.

"Is it very serious?" asked Richard, after an examination into his
father's condition had been made.

"I cannot tell yet. Two of his ribs are dislocated, but I dare not
touch them until I find out the extent of his other internal injuries,"
replied the doctor. "He must keep quiet, and every ten minutes give
him a tablespoonful of this mixture."

But, though Dr. Melvin gave these directions, it was fully an hour
before he left, and then he promised to return late in the afternoon.

The whole family were gathered in the sick chamber, baby Madge, three
years old, sitting on Richard's knee. Nancy and Grace had been
frightened into almost absolute silence, and Mrs. Dare addressed herself
to her husband, with an occasional remark to the boy as to what might
further help the sufferer.

"Don't trouble yourself, Jane," said Mr. Dare feebly. "You've done
enough already," and then the pain caused him to faint away.

When Dr. Melvin came back they all left the room but Mrs. Dare. A
thorough examination was made that lasted nearly an hour. By the grave
look on his face when the doctor called him, Richard knew that he was
to receive no encouraging news.

"Your father is worse than I expected," were the doctor's words. "He
has ruptured a blood vessel, and that is bad."

"Will he die, do you think?" faltered the boy.

"'While there is life there is hope,'" he responded evasively, after
Richard had repeated his question.

"Then you are afraid it will be fatal?" cried the boy, terror-stricken.
"Oh, Dr. Melvin, can't we do something?"

The doctor shook his head.

"I have done all I can. Such things are beyond our reach, and mere
medicine does no good."

"Have you told my mother and my sisters?"

"I have told your mother. She expected it from the start," replied the
doctor. "You had better go in now. Your father wishes to speak to you,"
he added.

Richard entered the front chamber at once. As he did so, his mother
passed out, her eyes filled with tears.

"Did he tell you?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, without being able to utter another word.

"Oh, Richard, I never, never thought that such a thing would happen!
Where are Nan and the rest?"

"In the kitchen."

"I must tell them. It is hard on the poor girls."

"And hard on you," said Dick. "And me, too," he added, with a sigh.

The curtains of the windows had been drawn, and it was quite dark in
the room. Richard approached the bed and grasped his father's hand.

"Is it you, Richard?" questioned the sufferer.

"Yes, father."

"I'm glad you've come. I want to talk to you."

"But it may hurt you to talk too much," said the boy feelingly.

"Never mind. It will all be over soon," replied Mr. Dare with a heavy
cough. "I suppose the doctor has told you. He said he would."

The boy nodded his head.

"It is God's will, and we must bow to His judgment," continued the
injured man. "But I want to talk to you about what to do when I am
gone."

"Oh, father!"

"Hush! I feel that I am sinking, even faster than Dr. Melvin thinks.
Listen then to what I have to say."

"I am listening."

"When I'm gone, Richard, you will have to take my place. Your mother
is strong, and can do much; but she is a woman, and she, as well as
your sisters, will need your help."

"They shall have all that I can possibly give them. I will work, and
do all I can."

"I know you will, Richard. You have always been a good boy. I am sorry
that I cannot leave you all better off than I'm doing."

"Never mind, father; we will get along."

"I suppose I might have done so if I'd had the courage to strike out,"
continued Mr. Dare, with a sigh. "I always calculated to do something
for myself, but that's all over now. But you take after your mother,
the same as your sister Grace, and if you make the right start I feel
you will succeed."

"I shall remember what you say."

"Do so. But remember also to be always sober, industrious, and
considerate of those around you. Be true to yourself, and to every one
with whom you have dealings. You may not get along so fast, but people
will respect you more, and your success will be ten times sweeter than
it would have been had you risen by pushing others down."

"I shall try to deserve success, even if I don't rise very high,
father."

"That's right." Mr. Dare paused for a moment. "I'm sorry that I cannot
leave you more of a capital upon which to start in life."

"Never mind; I have a common school education and my health. What more
can a boy wish?"

"It is as much as I had upon which to start. But I might have left you
more. I deserve a pension as a soldier."

"You never pushed your claim, did you?"

"Yes, once. But I never told any of you, for fear of raising false
hopes. I did apply, and it was all straight, but at the last moment
the Department decided that I must have another witness to prove my
identity, and this I could not get."

"You had one witness, then?"

"Yes. A man named Crawford, who was in our regiment. He was appointed
an officer on the same day I was shot; but, as he was appointed
_after_ the occurrence they held that his single witnessing was
not enough, and so I had to hunt for another."

"And you never found the other?"

"No, though I hunted high and low. Some who saw the affair must be
still living, but I have not their addresses, nor do I know how to
find them."

"Did you ever advertise in the papers?"

"Yes; I spent fifty dollars in the columns of the leading dailies, but
without success."

"You have all the papers in the case?"

"They are in the trunk upstairs. If you can ever push the claim do
so--for the others' sake as well as your own."

"I will, father."

"How much it will be worth I do not know, but it may be several
thousands of dollars, and that, along with this house, which is free
and clear, may suffice to keep the family many a year."

At this juncture a violent fit of coughing seized Mr. Dare, and by the
time he had recovered, his wife and the three girls entered.




CHAPTER III.

PREPARING TO START.


Two days later the blinds of the little cottage were closed, and crape
hung in solemn black upon the front door. The neighbors, and indeed
the whole population of the village, came and went continually--some
few with genuine grief and sympathy, and the many others to satisfy
a morbid curiosity regarding the man whose life had so suddenly ended.

It was a dismal enough time for the inmates. Richard did all a brave
boy can do to comfort his mother and sisters, but he himself needed
consolation fully as much as any of them. He had thought much of his
father, and the cold form lying in the draped coffin in the parlor
sent a chill through his heart that would have an effect in all after
life.

At last the funeral was over, and the last of the neighbors had gone
away. It was nearly sunset, and the entire family had gathered in the
little kitchen to partake of a cup of tea, and to talk over the
situation. Mrs. Dare sat in a rocking-chair beside the table, her face
plainly showing her intense grief, and near her, on a low stool, sat
Richard.

"Well, mother, I suppose I will have to do something very soon now,"
began the boy. "It won't do for me to remain idle when there is no
money coming in."

Mrs. Dare sighed.

"I can't think of money matters yet, Richard," she replied, shaking
her head sadly. "It is all so sudden, so unexpected, I cannot realize
our terrible loss."

"There isn't a chance for any one in Mossvale," put in Nancy. She
herself had been secretly wondering what they were going to do for
support.

"So I told mother some time ago," responded Richard. "The few places
here are all filled."

"Thought you were going to try New York?" said Grace, who was serving
the tea.

"So I was. But--" The boy did not finish, but glanced over to where
his mother sat.

"I could hardly bear to have you go away," said Mrs. Dare. "It would
be so lonely--your father and you both out of the house. I would rather
have you home, even if we had a good deal less to live upon."

"To-morrow I will go out and see what Mossvale has to offer," returned
Richard. "In our circumstances it would not be right for me to waste
any time."

"Do as you think best," was Mrs. Dare's reply. "You are old enough to
think and act for yourself."

But Richard did not wait for the next day before he began his hunt.
That evening he called upon Dr. Melvin to obtain some medicine for his
mother, and after this portion of his errand was over he broached the
subject of securing a position.

"You will find it a hard matter," said the doctor kindly, "unless you
wish to go on one of the farms. But they are poor pay, even if you can
stand the labor, which I doubt."

"I would not go on a farm unless I could find nothing else," replied
the boy. "Could _you_ give me a place?" he asked.

Dr. Melvin nodded his head reflectively.

"I might take you in as an office assistant," he replied. "It would
be a good chance to learn medicine. But there would not be much to do,
and the pay would be necessarily small."

"Then I couldn't afford to accept it," was Richard's prompt reply. "It
is kind in you to make the offer, but I have got to earn enough to
support the family."

"I suppose so. Well, I wish you success. I have known you for a number
of years, and if you need a recommendation I will give it to you
gladly."

"Thank you, doctor. I'll remember that," replied the boy, and after
a few more words of conversation he left.

On the following morning he called upon Mr. Barrows, the master painter
for whom his father had worked. He found the old workman busy in his
shed, mixing up colors for his journeymen to use.

"I suppose you've come down for the money due your father," remarked
Mr. Barrows after he had expressed numerous regrets over the sad
accident. "Well, here it is, the week in full, and I'm mighty sorry
he isn't here to receive it himself, and many another besides," and
he held out the amount.

"No, I didn't come for this exactly," replied the boy. "Besides there
is too much here," he added, as he counted the bills. "Father did not
finish out the week."

"Never mind, you take it anyhow," returned Mr. Barrows briefly. "What
was it you wanted?"

"Work. I want to earn something to support my mother and sisters on.
We can't live on nothing, and what we have saved up won't last long."

"It's hard luck, Dick, so it is!" exclaimed the old painter. "Tell you
what I'll do, though. I'll teach you the trade--teach you it just as
good as your father knew it, and pay you a little in the bargain."

"How much I don't care about the money for myself, but--"

"Yes, I understand," broke in Mr. Barrows. "Well, I'll tell you. I'll
take you to learn the trade for three years, and start you at two
dollars a week. I wouldn't give any other boy half of that, but I know
you're smart, and I feel it my duty to help you along."

Richard bit his lip in disappointment. He knew that what Mr. Barrows
said about the amount was true, but still he needed more, and for that
reason, he had, somehow, expected a larger sum to be offered.

"I'm much obliged, but I'll have to think it over before I decide,"
he said. "Three years is a long time to bind one's self."

"Oh, they'll slip by before you know it. Besides, I'll raise your wages
just as soon as you are worth it," said Mr. Barrows.

"I'll see about it," was all the boy could answer.

"Two dollars a week would not go far towards supporting a family of
five," sighed Richard, as he walked away. "And then to be a house
painter all one's life! I must strike something else."

But "striking something else" was no easy matter, as the boy soon
learned. A visit to the two stores, the blacksmith shop and to several
people whom he thought might give him employment, brought forth no
results of value. Either they had nothing for him to do, or else the
pay offered was altogether too small.

Richard returned home late in the afternoon. Grace met him at the end
of the lane.

"Any luck, Dick?" she asked eagerly.

"No," he replied, and related his experience.

"Never mind," returned his sister. "Maybe it isn't so bad after all.
The minister is here."

"Mr. Cook?"

"Yes, he's in the parlor talking to mamma, and I heard them mention
your name, and say something about New York."

Richard's heart gave a bound. He knew that Mr. Cook, who was their old
family pastor, had great influence with his mother, and that she would
probably go to him for advice.

"Guess I'll go in and hear what he has to say," said Richard, and a
moment later he knocked on the parlor door and entered.

Mr. Cook shook him cordially by the hand.

"We have just been speaking about you," he said. "How have you fared
in your search for employment?"

The boy told him.

"Mossvale is so small, there is hardly any chance," he added.

"Your mother tells me that you have an idea you could do better in New
York," went on the minister. "It is a big place, and nearly every one
is almost too busy to notice a new-comer."

"I know that. But I should watch my chances."

"And there are many temptations there that never arise in such a place
as this," continued Mr. Cook earnestly; "and it very often takes all
the will power a person possesses to keep in the straight and narrow
path."

"I wouldn't do what wasn't right!" burst out Richard. "I'd starve
first!"

Mr. Cook looked down into the clear, outspoken face before him.

"I believe it," he declared. "You have had a good training, thanks to
your mother and father. Well, I have advised her to let you try your
luck in the great metropolis."

"Oh, Mr. Cook!"

"Yes. Now don't get excited. She has thought it over, and agrees to
let you go for two weeks, at least. The fare is only four dollars and
a half, and board for that length of time will not be much. Of course
you can't put up at an expensive hotel."

"I won't put up anywhere until I find a job," declared Richard. "I
only want my railroad ticket, and a dollar or two extra."

"Indeed not!" put in Mrs. Dare. "I would not have you stay out doors
all night, like a tramp. There are plenty of cheap lodging-houses."

"And when can I go?" asked Richard eagerly.

His mother gave a sad little smile.

"Do you want to leave your mother so very soon?" she asked.

"Oh, no, only I want to be doing something--helping you and the rest,"
he replied quickly.

"Then you shall go bright and early next Monday morning," returned
Mrs. Dare, and she turned away to hide the tears that sprang up at the
thought of her only boy leaving the shelter of the quiet country home,
to mingle with strangers in the great city more than a hundred miles
away.

As for Richard he was delighted with the prospects. At last the dream
of many months was to be realized. He was to go to New York, to tread
the streets of the great metropolis, to find a place for himself, and
make a fortune!

Little did he know or care for the many trials and disappointments in
store for him. He was striking out for himself, and intended to do his
level best.

Would he succeed or fail?

We shall see.




CHAPTER IV.

ON THE TRAIN.


Of course there was a good deal of talking about Richard's proposed
venture. The girls seemed never to tire of it, and the amount of advice
that they gave their brother was enough, as the boy declared, "to help
him along until eternity, and two days afterwards."

"You'll want your best clothes, city folks are so particular," declared
Grace. "And your shirts and collars will have to be as stiff as old
Deacon Moore's, I expect."

"I only want things clean and neat," replied Richard. "I'm not going
there to be a dude. I'm going there to work--if I can get anything to
do."

Nevertheless, Grace was bound that he should look his best, and spent
an extra hour over the washtub and ironing-board.

It was decided that he should not be hampered with a trunk, but should
take a valise instead.

This Mrs. Dare packed herself, and placed in the hallway late on
Saturday afternoon.

Meanwhile Richard was not idle. He did not wish to leave any work
around the place unfinished, and early and late he spent many hours
in the house and in the garden, doing the things that were most needed.

Sunday morning the whole family, including little Madge, attended the
pretty white church that was the one pride of Mossvale. Richard
suspected that Mr. Cook had expected him to be there, for the sermon
was on the text, "Be thou strong in the faith," and advised all,
especially the young, to stick to their Christian principles, despite
the alluring, but harmful, enticements of the great world around them.

It was a sober little crowd that gathered in the kitchen in the dusk
after supper. Richard was a trifle louder in his manner than usual,
but this was only an effort to cover up the evidence of his real
seriousness.

"You must not forget to write as soon as you arrive and find a stopping
place," cautioned Mrs. Dare for at least the fifth time.

"Yes, and don't forget to tell us all about what happened on the train,"
put in Grace. "I'm sure that in such a long ride as that you ought to
have some kind of an adventure."

"I trust that he does not," returned the mother. "An adventure would
probably mean an accident, and we have had enough already;" and she
gave a long sigh.

"Don't fear but what I'll write," replied Richard. "And if anything
unusual happens I'll put it down."

But all evenings must come to an end, and finally, as the clock struck
ten, the good-night word went its round, and they separated.

No need to call Richard on the following morning. He was up and dressed
at five, and impatient for the start. Every one turned in towards
serving him a hot breakfast, and in addition Mrs. Dare put him up a
tidy lunch in a box.

There was one thing, though, that the boy was obstinate about. He would
not accept all of the money that Mrs. Dare thought it her duty to make
him take. The price of his ticket and five dollars was Richard's limit,
and to this he stuck.

"If I get real hard up I'll write for more," was his declaration. "You
will need what you have saved, and I am sure I can get along without
it."

Mrs. Dare shook her head. But it was all to no purpose. Richard was
firm, and doubly so when Grace gave him a pert look of approval.

The news of the departure had spread, and at the depot the boy met
several who had come to see him off--Mr. Cook and two or three boy
friends, including Charley Wood, the son of a neighbor, who was not
slow in giving the lion's share of his attention to Grace.

"Here comes the train!" exclaimed Nancy, after a rather long wait, and
a moment later, with ringing bell, the locomotive rounded the curve
below, and the cars rolled into the depot.

"All aboard for Rockvale, Beverly, and New York! Way train for Hurley,
Allendale, Hobb's Dam, and all stations south of Bakersville Junction!"
shouted the conductor. "Lively, please."

There was a hurried hand-shaking, and several warm kisses.

"Good-by, Richard," said Mrs. Dare. "God be with you!" And then she
added in a whisper: "Don't be afraid to come home as soon as you don't
like it any more."

"I'll remember, mother," he replied. "Don't worry about me. It's all
right. Good-by, each and everybody!"

Valise in hand, he climbed up the steps and entered one of the cars.
He had hardly time to reach a window seat, and wave a parting adieu,
when the train moved off.

He looked back as long as he could. Mother and sister were waving their
handkerchiefs, Grace having brought her largest for this special
occasion.

But the train went swiftly on its way, and soon Mossvale and its people
were left behind.

"Off at last!" was Richard's mental comment. "It's sink or swim now.
Good-by to Mossvale and the old life!"

Yet it must in truth be confessed that there was just the suspicion
of a tear in his eye and a lump in his throat as he settled back in
his seat, but he hastily brushed away the one and swallowed the other,
and put on as bold a front as he could.

The car was only partially filled, and he had a double seat all to
himself. He placed his valise beside him, and then gazed at the
ever-varying panorama that rushed past.

But his mind was not given to the scenes that were thus presenting
themselves. His thoughts were far ahead, speculating upon what it would
be best to do when his destination was reached.

He knew New York was a big place, and felt tolerably certain that few,
if indeed any, would care to give him the information that he knew he
needed.

Presently the train began to stop at various stations, and the car
commenced to fill up.

"This seat taken?" said a gentleman, as he stopped beside Richard.

"No, sir," replied the boy, and made room for the other.

"Thank you," returned the gentleman. "Rather crowded," he continued,
as he sat down, and deposited a huge valise beside Richard's, which
had been placed upon the floor.

"I might have checked my satchel," remarked Richard, noting that the
two valises rather crowded things.

"So might I," was the new-comer's reply, "but I thought it would be
too much trouble in New York getting it."

"I'm not used to travelling," explained Richard, "and so I thought it
best to have my baggage where I could lay my hands on it."

The gentleman looked at him curiously.

"Going to the city?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"First trip?"

"Yes, sir."

"You'll see a good many strange sights. Going to stay several days,
I presume."

"Longer than that, sir. I'm going there to try my luck."

The gentleman looked surprised.

"I hope you'll succeed," he said. "You will find it rather uphill work,
I'm afraid. Where are you from, if I may ask?"

"I come from Mossvale. My name is Richard Dare. My father died from
an accident a short while ago, and, as there didn't seem to be anything
in our village for me to work at, I made up my mind to try New York."

The boy's open manner evidently pleased his listener.

"I am glad to know you," he returned. "My name is Joyce--Timothy Joyce.
I am a leather dealer--down in the Swamp. Here is my card."

"The Swamp?" queried Richard, puzzled by the appellation.

"Yes--at least that's what us oldtime folks call it. There used to be
a swamp there years ago. I'm on Jacob Street. Maybe I can help you
around a bit."

"Thank you, Mr. Joyce; I'm glad to know you," replied Richard
gratefully. "I'm a perfect stranger, as I said, and it will be right
handy to have some one to give me a few points."

Mr. Joyce smiled. He was quite taken by the boy's frank manner.

"I'll give you all the points I can," he said. "You must keep your
eyes and ears open, though, for there are many pitfalls for the unwary."

Mr. Joyce felt in his coat pocket. "Here is a map of the city. I am
going out in the smoker presently, to enjoy a cigar. I would advise
you to study it while I am gone, and when I come back I'll explain
anything that you can't understand."

"Thank you, I will."

"Just look to my bag while I am gone, will you?" continued Mr. Joyce,
as he arose. When alone, Richard became absorbed in the map at once.

On and on sped the train, now running faster than ever. But Richard
took no notice. He was deep in the little volume, trying his best to
memorize the names of the streets and their locations.

"It's not a very regular city," he sighed. "Streets run in all
directions, and some of them are as crooked as a ram's horn. If I
ever--"

A sudden jar at this instant caused Richard to pitch forward from his
seat. Then, before he realized what had happened, the car tilted, and
then turned completely over on its side.




CHAPTER V.

THE SMASH-UP.


Richard was bewildered and alarmed by what had happened. As the car
went over upon the side nearest to which he was sitting, he fell down
between the windows, with his head resting upon the bundle-holder,
that a moment before had been over him.

His own valise and that belonging to Mr. Joyce came down on top of
him, and as both were heavy, they knocked the breath completely out
of him.

As soon as the boy had somewhat regained this and his scattered senses,
he scrambled to his feet, and tried to look around him.

Daylight shone into the car from the windows above, but all was dust
and confusion, mingled with the cries of women and the loud exclamations
of men.

Luckily Richard was not far from the rear door, and having somewhat
recovered from the shock, he resolved to get out as speedily as
possible.

The car had now stopped moving, and as there seemed to be no immediate
danger of anything more happening, the boy stopped to get the two
valises.

With such a load it was no easy matter climbing over the seats to the
door. Yet the feat was accomplished, and two minutes later, with an
exclamation of relief, Richard pitched his baggage to the bank beside
the track, and sprang to the solid ground.

His foot had been slightly sprained when the shock came, but in the
excitement he hardly noticed the pain. He could readily see that
assistance was needed on all sides, and he was not slow to render all
that lay in his power.

The cause of the accident could be seen at a glance. A heavy freight
train had backed down from a side track, smashing the locomotive
attached to the passenger cars, and throwing three of the latter off
the track.

One of the cars--the first--had been turned completely over, and to
this every one was hurrying.

"It's the smoking car," replied a man, to Richard's eager question.
"It's full of men, too."

Setting down the two valises within easy reach, the boy hurried forward.

"Mr. Joyce is in there," was his thought. "Oh, I hope he isn't hurt!"

Though Richard had known the man but a short hour, yet the city
merchant's cordial manner had completely captivated the boy.

It was no easy matter for the men in the smoker to free themselves.
In turning over, a number of the seats in the car had become loosened,
falling on many, and blocking up both doors as well.

But presently several windows were smashed out, and the occupants began
to pour from these, some with their clothing badly torn, others hatless,
and several severely injured.

"There are two men in there stuck fast!" exclaimed a short, stout man,
as puffing and blowing he reached the ground. "I tried to help 'em
both, but it was no use,--the seats all piled up atop of 'em. Beckon
they'll have to be cut away, they're jammed in so tight."

Instantly Richard thought of Mr. Joyce. Nowhere in the crowd could he
catch sight of the gentleman. It was possible that one of the two might
be his newly-made friend.

"There's a tool-house down the road a ways," continued the stout man.
"I noticed it as we rode past, a moment before we went over."

"Where?" asked Richard eagerly.

"On the other side, up the embankment," was the reply.

"I'll see if I can get something to work with," returned the boy. "Just
watch my baggage while I'm gone."

In an instant he was off, running as fast as possible. He found the
building just as it had been described. The door was open, and rushing
in, he confronted an Irish laborer, who was cleaning up some tools.

"The train has been wrecked, just below," he exclaimed hurriedly. "We
want some tools--an axe or a crowbar--something--quick!"

"Train wrecked?" repeated the man in astonishment.

"Yes,--just below." Richard picked up an axe and an iron bar.

"Bring some more tools with you!" he cried as he started to go. "It
may mean life or death!" Richard's earnest manner made an impression
upon the laborer, and in a few seconds the man was following the boy,
with his arms full of such implements as were handy.

Down at the wreck Richard found that one of the two men, a lean, sallow-
complexioned individual, had already been liberated, but the other was
still a prisoner.

"Just what we want!" cried one of the workers, as he took the axe from
the boy's hand. "Can you use the bar?"

"I guess so."

"Follow me, then."

Richard crawled into the car after the man. Inside it was full of dust,
and the thick tobacco smoke nearly stifled the boy.

Near the center of the car they found the unfortunate passenger. It
was not Mr. Timothy Joyce.

The man was on his back, and a seat, fastened in some strange manner,
pinned him down.

"Help me! help me!" he gasped. "That thing is staving in all my ribs!"

It did not take Richard long to insert the iron bar under one end of
the slat and thus pry it up. This done the man with the axe gave the
side of the seat a couple of blows, and then the prisoner was free.

"Thank God!" exclaimed the man, as he sprang to his feet, and followed
the others out of the car. "And thank you, too, my hearties," he
continued to the other man and to Richard. "I thought as how I was
strangled sure. But Doc Linyard allers was a lucky tar. Thanky,
messmates, thanky."

He was a nautical-looking fellow of perhaps forty. He wore a blue pea-
jacket and trousers, and under the rolling collar of his gray flannel
shirt was tied a black bandanna in true sailor style.

"Is your chest hurt much?" asked Richard, as he thought he noticed a
look of pain cross the man's countenance.

"No bones broken," was the reply, after a deep breath.

The two were soon standing side by side on the bank near the track.

"Wish I could reward you," went on the man. "But I ain't got a dollar
all told."

And diving into his capacious pocket he brought to light only a
miscellaneous collection of small coins.

"Oh, never mind that," said the boy, coloring a trifle. "I'm glad
you're all right."

"So am I--downright glad, and no mistake. As I said afore, my name is
Linyard, Doc Linyard, general manager, along with my wife, of the Watch
Below, the neatest sailors' lunch-room on West Street, New York. I say
neatest acause my wife keeps it. She's a worker, Betty is. Come and
see me some time. I won't forget to treat you well."

"Thank you, Mr. Lin--"

"Avast there! Don't tackle no mister to my name," interposed the old
sailor. "What's _your_ name?" he continued suddenly.

Richard told him.

"All right, Mr. Dare. I'll remember it, and you too. But don't go for
to put a figure-head to my name. Plain Doc Linyard is good enough for
such a tough customer as me."

"I'll remember it, Mr--"

"Avast, I say--"

"I mean Doc Linyard."

And shaking hands the two separated.

Picking up the two valises, Richard made his way through the crowd,
looking for Mr. Joyce. It seemed rather queer that the gentleman who
had left his baggage in the boy's care was nowhere to be found.

Richard made quite a number of inquiries, especially among the men who
had occupied the smoking-car, but to no avail.

The smash-up was no small affair, and it took fully an hour before the
railroad officials that were present could get assistance to the spot.
In the meantime, the injured were laid out on the grass and made as
comfortable as circumstances would permit. Luckily, several doctors
had been passengers on the train, and as they were uninjured they took
charge of all who needed their aid.

Finally a train backed down to take the passengers to Rockvale, the
next town of importance.

Richard hardly knew what to do. If Mr. Joyce was hurt it was certainly
his duty to remain. But perhaps the gentleman had gone off, to render
assistance, or, it was possible, on a search for his satchel.

"Guess I'll take the train and risk it," was Richard's conclusion. "He
is bound to follow to Rockvale sooner or later, and we will probably
meet in the depot."

Nevertheless, as the boy entered the car he felt rather uncomfortable,
carrying off the property of another, who was comparatively a stranger
to him.




CHAPTER VI.

UNDER SUSPICION.


"Well, I've had an adventure on the road just as Grace hoped I would,"
was Richard's mental comment, as he lay back in the car seat. "So I'll
have something to write home after all. But I don't care particularly
to have any more such happenings."