Out For Business or Robert Frost's Strange Career

Out For Business or Robert Frost's Strange Career
Horatio Alger

Edward Stratemeyer

Horatio Alger Jr.

Out For Business / or Robert Frost's Strange Career

PREFACE

"Out for Business" is a complete tale in itself, but forms the first of two companion stories, the second being entitled "Falling in with Fortune."

In this tale are related the various haps and mishaps which befall a sturdy country youth, of high moral aim, who, by the harsh actions of his step-father, is compelled to leave what had once been the best of homes, and go forth into the world to make his own way.

Robert Frost finds his path to fortune no easy one to tread. The thorns of adversity line the way, and there is many a pitfall to be avoided. But the lad is possessed of a good stock of hard, common sense, and in the end we find him on the fair road to success—and a success richly deserved.

The two stories, "Out for Business" and "Falling in with Fortune," give to the reader the last tales begun by that prince of juvenile writers, Mr. Horatio Alger, Jr., whose books have sold to the extent of hundreds of thousands of copies, not only in America, but also in England and elsewhere. The gifted writer was stricken when on the point of finishing the stories, and when he saw that he could not complete them himself, it was to the present writer that he turned, and an outline for a conclusion was drawn up which met with his approval,—and it is this outline which has now been filled out in order to bring the tales to a finish, so that both stories might be as nearly as possible what Mr. Alger intended they should be. It may be that the stories will not be found as interesting as if Mr. Alger had written them entirely, nevertheless the present writer trusts that they will still hold the reader's attention to the end.

    Arthur M. Winfield.

March 1st, 1900.

CHAPTER I.

A GREAT SURPRISE

Robert Frost, with his books under his arm, turned into the front yard of a handsome residence in the village of Granville. He was a boy of sixteen, strongly built, and with a handsome, expressive face.

"I wish mother were at home," he soliloquized. "It seems very lonesome when she is away."

He opened the front door and let himself into the house. It was a handsome and spacious hall. Two paintings hung on the walls, and both were portraits. One represented a lady, with a pretty, but rather weak face. She looked as if she had very little resolution, and might easily be influenced by one with stronger will. The other picture was that of a man of near forty. It was an attractive face. The strong resemblance which it bore to the boy made it probable that it was his father, and such was the case. Robert looked up to it regretfully, for he had not yet got over the loss of his father, hardly twelve months dead.

"I wish dad were alive," he thought sadly, "we were such good friends, he and I."

Mr. Frost had not died of disease. He was cut off in the full vigor of life, the victim of a railroad accident. Robert remembered well when he was taken home, mangled and hardly to be recognized.

His death did not entail any privation upon his little family—Robert was the only child—for he left a considerable fortune and was heavily insured besides, so that they were still able to live in handsome style.

"When will supper be ready, Jane?" Robert asked of the servant, as he passed into the dining-room.

"At half-past five o'clock, Master Robert."

"All right, Jane. I will be on hand, and with a good appetite."

He put on his hat, after laying down his books, and was about to go out, when Jane arrested his steps.

"Wait a minute, Master Robert. There's a telegram for you."

He took the yellow envelope in some surprise.

"When was it left?" he asked.

"Half an hour since."

"It must be from mother," he said thoughtfully.

"Very likely—I hope it isn't bad news."

Robert echoed the wish, but did not say a word. He took out his penknife and opened the envelope.

There it was—just a few words, but they puzzled him.

"What is it?" asked Jane, whose curiosity was excited.

Robert read the telegram. It ran thus:

"Gloucester, June 5.

"Shall be at home to-morrow. Prepare for a great surprise.

"Mother."

Robert looked surprised and bewildered.

"What can it mean, Jane, do you think?" he asked.

"I don't know, I'm sure, Master Robert. Perhaps your mother is going to bring you a present."

"But she wouldn't call that a great surprise."

"I don't know then. You'll know to-morrow."

Yes, he would know to-morrow, but he could not help letting his mind dwell on the mystery. It occurred to him that it might be a gold watch, which he had long wanted, and which his mother had promised to get him very soon. But this would scarcely be considered a great surprise.

"Well, there's no use guessing," he decided at length. "I'll only have to wait till to-morrow, and then I shall know."

The next day was Saturday, and school did not keep. Robert looked over the railroad time-table, and concluded that his mother would arrive about twelve o'clock. This would bring her in time for dinner, which was usually on the table at half past twelve. He suggested to Jane to get a better dinner than usual, as his mother would probably be present to partake of it.

This suggestion proved unnecessary, for about ten o'clock Jane herself received a telegram to this effect.

"Have a good dinner ready at the usual time. I shall reach home in time for it, and bring another with me."

"So that's the surprise!" reflected Jane. "She is going to bring a friend with her. I wonder who it is. Maybe it's the lady she's been visiting. I hope it isn't, for lady visitors are so fussy."

However, Jane went to the market and ordered a pair of chickens, with a variety of vegetables, and prepared apple dumplings, which she knew Mrs. Frost always enjoyed.

"Now," she said, "I'll have a dinner good enough for anybody."

Robert intended to go to the depot to meet his mother, but he went on an expedition with one of his schoolmates, and found that he would scarcely have time to do so. So he returned home.