Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp by Jr. Horatio Alger (good summer reads .txt) 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp by Jr. Horatio Alger (good summer reads .txt) 📗». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“It must have been quite a sacrifice to you to give up your studies?” said his companion.
“Yes, sir, it was a great sacrifice; but we must all of us sacrifice something in these times. Even the boys can do something for their country.”
“What is your name?” asked Henry Morton, more and more pleased with his chance acquaintance. “I should like to become better acquainted with you.”
Frank blushed, and his expressive face showed that he was gratified by the compliment.
“My name is Frank Frost,” he answered, “and I live about half a mile from here.”
“And I am Henry Morton. I am stopping temporarily at the hotel. Shall you be at leisure this evening, Frank?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I should be glad to receive a call from you. I have no acquaintances, and perhaps we may help each other to make the evening pass pleasantly. I have some pictures collected abroad, which I think you might like to look at.”
“I shall be delighted to come,” said Frank, his eyes sparkling with pleasure.
By this time they had reached the church, which was distant but a few rods from the hotel. They had just turned the corner of the road, when the clang of a bell was heard.
“I suppose that is my breakfast-bell,” said the young man. “It finds me with a good appetite. Good morning, Frank. I will expect you, then, this evening.”
Frank returned home, feeling quite pleased with his invitation.
“I wish,” thought he, “that I might see considerable of Mr. Morton. I could learn a great deal from him, he has seen so much.”
His road led him past the house of Squire Haynes. John was sauntering about the yard with his hands in his pockets.
“Good morning, John,” said Frank, in a pleasant voice.
John did not seem inclined to respond to this politeness. On seeing Frank he scowled, and without deigning to make a reply turned his back and went into the house. He had not forgotten the last occasion on which they had met in the woods, when Frank defeated his cruel designs upon poor Pomp. There was not much likelihood that he would forget it very soon.
“I can't understand John,” thought Frank. “The other boys will get mad and get over it before the next day; John broods over it for weeks. I really believe he hates me. But, of course, I couldn't act any differently. I wasn't going to stand by and see Pomp beaten. I should do just the same again.”
The day wore away, and in the evening Frank presented himself at the hotel, and inquired for Mr. Morton. He was ushered upstairs, and told to knock at the door of a room in the second story.
His knock was answered by the young man in person, who shook his hand with a pleasant smile, and invited him in.
“I am glad to see you, Frank,” he said, very cordially.
“And I am much obliged to you for inviting me, Mr. Morton.”
They sat down together beside the table, and conversed on a variety of topics. Frank had numberless questions to ask about foreign scenes and countries, all of which were answered with the utmost readiness. Henry Morton brought out a large portfolio containing various pictures, some on note-paper, representing scenes in different parts of Europe.
The evening wore away only too rapidly for Frank. He had seldom passed two hours so pleasantly. At half-past nine, he rose, and said half-regretfully, “I wish you were going to live in the village this winter, Mr. Morton.”
The young man smiled. “Such is my intention, Frank,” he said quietly.
“Shall you stay?” said Frank joyfully. “I suppose you will board here?”
“I should prefer a quieter boarding-place. Can you recommend one?”
Frank hesitated.
“Where,” continued Mr. Morton, “I could enjoy the companionship of an intelligent young gentleman of your age?”
“If we lived nearer the village,” Frank began, and stopped abruptly.
“Half a mile would be no objection to me. As I don't think you will find it unpleasant, Frank, I will authorize you to offer your mother five dollars a week for a room and a seat at her table.”
“I am quite sure she would be willing, Mr. Morton, but I am afraid we should not live well enough to suit you. And I don't think you ought to pay so much as five dollars a week.”
“Leave that to me, Frank. My main object is to obtain a pleasant home; and that I am sure I should find at your house.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Frank; “I will mention it to my mother, and let you know in the course of to-morrow.”
CHAPTER XVII. A SHADE OF MYSTERY
Frank found little difficulty in persuading his mother to accept young Morton's proposition. From her son's description she felt little doubt that he would be a pleasant addition to the family circle, while his fund of information would make him instructive as well as agreeable.
There was another consideration besides which determined her to take him. Five dollars a week would go a great way in housekeeping, or, rather, as their income from other sources would probably be sufficient for this, she could lay aside the entire amount toward paying the mortgage held by Squire Haynes. This plan occurred simultaneously to Frank and his mother.
“I should certainly feel myself to blame if I neglected so good an opportunity of helping your father,” said Mrs. Frost.
“Suppose we don't tell him, mother,” suggested Frank; “but when he gets home surprise him with the amount of our savings.”
“No,” said Mrs. Frost, after a moment's thought, “your father will be all the better for all the good news we can send him. It will make his life more tolerable.”
Frank harnessed his horse to a light wagon and drove down to the tavern.
Henry Morton was sitting on the piazza, as the day was unusually-warm, with a book in his hand.
“Well,” he said, looking up with a smile, “I hope you have come for me.”
“That is my errand, Mr. Morton,” answered Frank. “If your trunk is already packed, we will take it along with us.”
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