Chester Rand; or, The New Path to Fortune. Alger Horatio Jr.
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the purchase money."
"Well, I'd have to pay taxes and repairs," explained Tripp.
"I don't care to sell, Mr. Tripp," said Mrs. Rand, decisively.
"You may have to, ma'am."
"If we do we shall try to get somewhere near its real value."
"Just as you like, ma'am," said Silas, disappointed. "I'd pay you cash down."
"If I decide to sell on your terms I'll let you know," said Mrs. Rand.
"Oh, well, I ain't set upon it. I only wanted to do you a favor."
"We appreciate your kindness," said Mrs. Rand, dryly.
"Women don't know much about business," muttered Silas, as he plodded home, disappointed.
CHAPTER VI.
ROBERT RAMSAY
Mrs. Rand was as much amazed as Chester himself at his success as an artist.
"How long were you in making the drawing?" she asked.
"Twenty minutes."
"And you received ten dollars. It doesn't seem possible."
"I wish I could work twenty minutes every week at that rate," laughed Chester. "It would pay me better than working for Silas Tripp."
"Perhaps you can get some more work of the same kind?"
"I shall send two more sketches to Mr. Conrad in a day or two. I shall take pains and do my best."
Two days later Chester sent on the sketches, and then set about trying to find a job of some kind in the village. He heard of only one.
An elderly farmer, Job Dexter, offered him a dollar a week and board if he would work for him. He would have eight cows to milk morning and night, the care of the barn, and a multitude of "chores" to attend to.
"How much will you give me if I board at home, Mr. Dexter?" asked Chester.
"I must have you in the house. I can't have you trapesing home when you ought to be at work."
"Then I don't think I can come, Mr. Dexter. A dollar a week wouldn't pay me."
"A dollar a week and board is good pay for a boy," said the farmer.
"It may be for some boys, but not for me."
Chester reflected that if he worked all day at the farmer's he could not do any artistic work, and so would lose much more than he made. The sketch sold by Mr. Conrad brought him in as much as he would receive in ten weeks from Farmer Dexter.
"Wyncombe people don't seem very liberal, mother," said Chester. "I thought Mr. Tripp pretty close, but Job Dexter beats him."
In the meantime he met Abel Wood carrying groceries to a family in the village.
"Have you got a place yet, Chester?" he asked.
"No; but I have a chance of one."
"Where?"
"At Farmer Dexter's."
"Don't you go! I worked for him once."
"How did you like it?"
"It almost killed me. I had to get up at half past four, work till seven in the evening, and all for a dollar a week and board."
"Was the board good?" inquired Chester, curiously.
"It was the poorest livin' I ever had. Mrs. Dexter don't know much about cookin'. We had baked beans for dinner three times a week, because they were cheap, and what was left was put on for breakfast the next mornin'."
"I like baked beans."
"You wouldn't like them as Mrs. Dexter cooked them, and you wouldn't want them for six meals a week."
"No, I don't think I should," said Chester, smiling. "How do you get along with Silas Tripp?"
"He's always scoldin'; he says I am not half as smart as you."
"I am much obliged to Mr. Tripp for his favorable opinion, but he didn't think enough of me to give me decent pay."
"He's awful mean. He's talkin' of reducin' me to two dollars a week. He says business is very poor, and he isn't makin' any money."
"I wish you and I were making half as much as he."
"There's one thing I don't understand, Chester. You ain't workin', yet you seem to have money."
"How do you know I have?"
"Mr. Tripp says you came into the store three or four days ago and changed a five-dollar bill."
"Yes; Mr. Tripp seemed anxious to know where I got it."
"You didn't use to have five-dollar bills, Chester, when you were at work."
"This five-dollar bill dropped down the chimney one fine morning," said Chester, laughing.
"I wish one would drop down my chimney. But I must be gettin' along, or old Tripp will give me hail Columbia when I get back."
About nine o'clock that evening, as Chester was returning from a lecture in the church, he was accosted by a rough-looking fellow having very much the appearance of a tramp, who seemed somewhat under the influence of liquor.
"I say, boss," said the tramp, "can't you give a poor man a quarter to help him along?"
"Are you out of work?" asked Chester, staying his step.
"Yes; times is hard and work is scarce. I haven't earned anything for a month."
"Where do you come from?"
"From Pittsburg," answered the tramp, with some hesitation.
"What do you work at when you are employed?"
"I am a machinist. Is there any chance in that line here?"
"Not in Wyncombe."
"That's what I thought. How about that quarter?"
"I am out of work myself and quarters are scarce with me."
"That's what you all say! There's small show for a good, industrious man."
Chester thought to himself that if the stranger was a good, industrious man he was unfortunate in his appearance.
"I have sympathy for all who are out of work," he said. "Mother and I are poor. When I did work I only got three dollars a week."
"Where did you work?"
"In Mr. Tripp's store, in the center of the village."
"I know. It's a two-story building, ain't it, with a piazza?"
"Yes."
"Has the old fellow got money?"
"Oh, yes; Silas Tripp is rich."
"So? He didn't pay you much wages, though."
"No; he feels poor. I dare say he feels poorer than I do."
"Such men ought not to have money," growled the tramp. "They're keepin' it out of the hands of honest men. What sort of a lookin' man is this man Tripp? Is he as big as me?"
"Oh, no, he is a thin, dried-up, little man, who looks as if he hadn't had a full meal of victuals in his life."
"What time does he shut up shop?"
"About this time," answered Chester, rather puzzled by the tramp's persistence in asking questions.
"What's your name?"
"Chester Rand."
"Can't you give me a quarter? I'm awful hungry. I ain't had a bit to eat since yesterday."
"I have no money to give you, but if you will come to our house I'll give you some supper."
"Where do you live?"
"About five minutes' walk."
"Go ahead, then; I'm with you."
Mrs. Rand looked up with surprise when the door opened and Chester entered, followed by an ill-looking tramp, whose clothes were redolent of tobacco, and his breath of whisky.
"Mother,"