Chester Rand; or, The New Path to Fortune

"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," said Chester, "this man tells me that he hasn't had anything to eat since yesterday."

"No more I haven't," spoke up the tramp, in a hoarse voice.

"He asked for some money. I could not give him that, but I told him we would give him some supper."

"Of course we will," said Mrs. Rand, in a tone of sympathy. She did not admire the appearance of her late visitor, but her heart was alive to the appeal of a hungry man.

"Sit down, sir," she said, "and I'll make some hot tea, and that with some bread and butter and cold meat will refresh you."

"Thank you, ma'am, I ain't overpartial to tea, and my doctor tells me I need whisky. You don't happen to have any whisky in the house, do you?"

"This is a temperance house," said Chester, "we never keep whisky."

"Well, maybe I can get along with the tea," sighed the tramp, in evident disappointment.

"You look strong and healthy," observed Mrs. Rand.

"I ain't, ma'am. Looks is very deceiving. I've got a weakness here," and he touched the pit of his stomach, "that calls for strengthenin' drink. But I'll be glad of the victuals."

When the table was spread with an extemporized supper, the unsavory visitor sat down, and did full justice to it. He even drank the tea, though he made up a face and called it "slops."

"Where did you come from, sir?" asked Mrs. Rand.

"From Chicago, ma'am."

"Were you at work there? What is your business?"

"I'm a blacksmith, ma'am."

"I thought you were a machinist and came from Pittsburg," interrupted Chester, in surprise.

"I came here by way of Pittsburg," answered the tramp, coughing. "I am machinist, too."

"His stories don't seem to hang together," thought Chester.

After supper the tramp, who said his name was Robert Ramsay, took out his pipe and began to smoke. If it had not been a cold evening, Mrs. Rand, who disliked tobacco, would have asked him to smoke out of doors, but as it was she tolerated it.

Both Chester and his mother feared that their unwelcome visitor would ask to stay all night, and they would not have felt safe with him in the house, but about a quarter past ten he got up and said he must be moving.

"Good-night, and good luck to you!" said Chester.

"Same to you!" returned the tramp.

"I wonder where he's going," thought Chester.

But when the next morning came he heard news that answered this question.

CHAPTER VII.

SILAS TRIPP MAKES A DISCOVERY

When Silas Tripp went into his store the next day he was startled to find a window in the rear was partially open.

"How did that window come open, Abel?" he asked, as Abel Wood entered the store.

"I don't know, sir."