Digging for Gold. Horatio Alger Jr.
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Digging for Gold / A Story of California
CHAPTER I
GRANT AND HIS MOTHER
“Mother, this is an important day for me,” said Grant Colburn, as he entered the kitchen with an armful of wood, and deposited it in the box behind the stove.
His mother looked up from the table where she was cutting out pie crust, and asked in surprise, “What do you mean, Grant? Why is to-day any different from ordinary days?”
“I am sixteen to-day, mother!”
“So you are, Grant. I ought to have thought of it. I am sorry,” she added wistfully, “that I haven’t got a present for you, but you know Mr. Tarbox – ”
“Is the stingiest man in the country. Yes, I know that well enough.”
“I actually haven’t a cent that I can call my own, Grant.”
“I know that very well, mother. It was an unlucky day when you married that old skinflint.”
“Don’t call him that, Grant,” said his mother, with an apprehensive look in the direction of the door.
“He’s all that, and more if possible. When did he give you any money last?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“And how much did he give you at that time?”
“Twenty-five cents.”
“What a shame! Why, if you had hired out as his housekeeper he would have been compelled to give you more.”
“Yes, Grant,” sighed Mrs. Tarbox, “I wish I were his housekeeper instead of his wife. I should be more independent.”
“He made a good bargain when he married you, mother. But I never understood why you married him.”
“I acted for the best, as I thought, Grant. You know how your poor father left us. After his affairs were settled, there were only two hundred and fifty dollars left, and you were but twelve years old. I took in sewing, and earned what I could, but at the end of a year I had used up a hundred dollars of our small capital. Then Mr. Tarbox asked me to marry him, and I agreed, for I thought it would give us a comfortable home.”
“A comfortable home!” repeated Grant. “We have enough to eat, it is true, but you never worked so hard in your life, and I can say the same for myself. I was barely fourteen when Mr. Tarbox took me away from school, and since then I have had to work early and late. At five o’clock, winter and summer, I have to turn out of bed, and work all day, so that when night comes I am dead tired.”
“That is true, Grant,” said his mother, with a look of distress. “You work too hard for a boy of your age.”
“And what do I get for it?” continued Grant indignantly. “I haven’t any clothes. Charlie Titus asked me the other day why I didn’t go to church. I was ashamed to tell him that it was because I had no clothes fit to wear there. It is a year since I had my last suit, and now I have grown out of it. My coat is too short in the sleeves, and my pantaloons in the legs.”
“Perhaps I can lengthen them out, Grant.”
“You did it six months ago. There is no more chance. No, I’ll tell you what I am going to do. I’ll ask Mr. Tarbox for a new suit, and as it is my birthday, perhaps he will open his heart and be generous for once.”
“It is a good plan, Grant. There he is now, out by the well curb.”
“Then I’ll speak at once. Wish me luck, mother.”
“I do, my son. I heartily wish you good luck now and always.”
Grant opened the side door, and went out into the yard. Seth Tarbox looked up, and his glance fell upon his step-son.
“Come here, Grant,” he said, “I want you to turn the grindstone while I sharpen my scythe.”
“Wait a minute, Mr. Tarbox. I want to speak to you.”
“Go ahead! You can speak if you want to,” said Tarbox, slightly surprised.
“It is my birthday to-day.”
“Is it? How old be you?”
“Sixteen.”
“A boy of sixteen ought to do a great deal of work. Why, you are ’most a man.”
“I do a good deal of work, Mr. Tarbox, but I don’t seem to get much pay for it.”
“Hey? You want pay? Why, don’t you get your victuals and clothes?”
“I get my victuals, yes. But I don’t get clothes, and that is just what I want to speak to you about.”
Mr. Tarbox began to grow uneasy. He knew what was coming.
“What have you got on, I’d like to know?” he inquired.
“Some rags and overalls,” answered Grant bluntly.
“They’re good enough to work in. You’ve got a suit to wear Sundays.”
“Have I? It’s hardly fit to wear common days. Why, it’s a year since I had the suit, and I’ve outgrown it.”
“I’m afraid you’re getting proud, Grant,” said his step-father uneasily.
“I’m not proud of my clothes, I can tell you that. Mr. Tarbox, I’ve worked for you the last year early and late, and I think I ought to have a new suit. It will make a nice birthday present.”
“Money’s very skerce, Grant,” said his step-father uneasily, “and clothes are very high. I gave twelve dollars for that last suit of yours. It came hard. Think how long it takes to earn twelve dollars. I haven’t had a suit myself for ten months.”
“But you can have one if you want it.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Grant,” said Mr. Tarbox, with a bright idea. “You’re ’most as big as I am. You’re unusually large for your age. I’ll buy a new suit for myself, and give you mine. Your mother can fix it over to fit you.”
Grant’s face assumed a look of disgust.
“Thank you, Mr. Tarbox,” he said, “but I don’t want to wear your old clothes. If I can’t have a new suit I don’t want any.”
“’Pears to me you’re mighty particular.”
“I don’t think so. I only want what’s right. Most boys of my age have at least two new suits a year. Charlie Titus had three.”
“Then his father’s very foolish to gratify his love of finery. Come, we’d better go to work.”
“You haven’t answered my question yet, Mr. Tarbox.”
“What is it?” asked Tarbox peevishly.
“Will you buy me a new suit?”
“Wait two or three months, Grant.”
“Why should I wait two or three months? I need the clothes now.”
“Money may be easier then.”
“I am not willing to wait.”
“’Pears to me you’re very headstrong, Grant Colburn,” said the farmer in a tone of displeasure.
“I want my rights. I won’t work if you are going to deal so closely with me.”
Seth Tarbox frowned, and looked perplexed. But presently an idea came to him and his face smoothed.
“Perhaps we can fix it, Grant,” he said in a conciliatory tone.
Grant felt encouraged. It looked as if his request were to be granted.
“I shall be very much obliged to you,” he said.
“Wait a minute! You aint got my idea. Your mother has money.”
“What if she has?” asked Grant suspiciously.
“If she will lend you ten or twelve dollars to buy a suit I’ll make it up to her in, say three or four months.”
Grant’s face darkened. He knew very well that the money never would be repaid, and he penetrated the crafty design of his step-father.
“No, Mr. Tarbox,” he said. “My mother’s