JACK'S WARD

OR

THE BOY GUARDIAN

BY

HORATIO ALGER, JR.

1910






[Illustration: Jack seized the old man, thrust him through the secret
door and locked it.]




BIOGRAPHY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY

Horatio Alger, Jr., an author who lived among and for boys and himself
remained a boy in heart and association till death, was born at Revere,
Mass., January 13, 1834. He was the son of a clergyman; was graduated
at Harvard College in 1852, and at its Divinity School in 1860; and was
pastor of the Unitarian Church at Brewster, Mass., in 1862-66.

In the latter year he settled in New York and began drawing public
attention to the condition and needs of street boys. He mingled with
them, gained their confidence, showed a personal concern in their
affairs, and stimulated them to honest and useful living. With his first
story he won the hearts of all red-blooded boys everywhere, and of the
seventy or more that followed over a million copies were sold during the
author's lifetime.

In his later life he was in appearance a short, stout, bald-headed man,
with cordial manners and whimsical views of things that amused all who
met him. He died at Natick, Mass., July 18, 1899.

Mr. Alger's stories are as popular now as when first published, because
they treat of real live boys who were always up and about--just like the
boys found everywhere to-day. They are pure in tone and inspiring in
influence, and many reforms in the juvenile life of New York may be
traced to them. Among the best known are:

_Strong and Steady; Strive and Succeed; Try and Trust; Bound to Rise;
Risen from the Ranks; Herbert Carter's Legacy; Brave and Bold; Jack's
Ward; Shifting for Himself; Wait and Hope; Paul the Peddler; Phil the
Fiddler; Slow and Sure; Julius the Street Boy; Tom the Bootblack;
Struggling Upward; Facing the World; The Cash Boy; Making His Way; Tony
the Tramp; Joe's Luck; Do and Dare; Only an Irish Boy; Sink or Swim; A
Cousin's Conspiracy; Andy Gordon; Bob Burton; Harry Vane; Hector's
Inheritance; Mark Mason's Triumph; Sam's Chance; The Telegraph Boy; The
Young Adventurer; The Young Outlaw; The Young Salesman_, and _Luke
Walton_.






JACK'S WARD




CHAPTER I

JACK HARDING GETS A JOB


"Look here, boy, can you hold my horse a few minutes?" asked a
gentleman, as he jumped from his carriage in one of the lower streets
in New York.

The boy addressed was apparently about twelve, with a bright face and
laughing eyes, but dressed in clothes of coarse material. This was Jack
Harding, who is to be our hero.

"Yes, sir," said Jack, with alacrity, hastening to the horse's head;
"I'll hold him as long as you like."

"All right! I'm going in at No. 39; I won't be long."

"That's what I call good luck," said Jack to himself. "No boy wants a
job more than I do. Father's out of work, rent's most due, and Aunt
Rachel's worrying our lives out with predicting that we'll all be in
the poorhouse inside of three months. It's enough to make a fellow feel
blue, listenin' to her complainin' and groanin' all the time. Wonder
whether she was always so. Mother says she was disappointed in love
when she was young. I guess that's the reason."

"Have you set up a carriage, Jack?" asked a boy acquaintance, coming up
and recognizing Jack.

"Yes," said Jack, "but it ain't for long. I shall set down again pretty
soon."

"I thought your grandmother had left you a fortune, and you had set up a
team."

"No such good news. It belongs to a gentleman that's inside."

"Inside the carriage?"

"No, in No. 39."

"How long's he going to stay?"

"I don't know."

"If it was half an hour, we might take a ride, and be back in time."

Jack shook his head.

"That ain't my style," he said. "I'll stay here till he comes out."

"Well, I must be going along. Are you coming to school to-morrow?"

"Yes, if I can't get anything to do."

"Are you trying for that?"

"I'd like to get a place. Father's out of work, and anything I can earn
comes in handy."

"My father's got plenty of money," said Frank Nelson, complacently.
"There isn't any need of my working."

"Then your father's lucky."

"And so am I."

"I don't know about that. I'd just as lieve work as not."

"Well, I wouldn't. I'd rather be my own master, and have my time to
myself. But I must be going home."

"You're lazy, Frank."

"Very likely. I've a right to be."

Frank Nelson went off, and Jack was left alone. Half an hour passed, and
still the gentleman, who had entered No. 39, didn't appear. The horse
showed signs of impatience, shook his head, and eyed Jack in an
unfriendly manner.

"He thinks it time to be going," thought Jack. "So do I. I wonder what
the man's up to. Perhaps he's spending the day."

Fifteen minutes more passed, but then relief came. The owner of the
carriage came out.

"Did you get tired of waiting for me?" he asked.

"No," said Jack, shrewdly. "I knew the longer the job, the bigger the
pay."

"I suppose that is a hint," said the gentleman, not offended.

"Perhaps so," said Jack, and he smiled too.

"Tell me, now, what are you going to do with the money I give you--buy
candy?"

"No," answered Jack, "I shall carry it home to my mother."

"That's well. Does your mother need the money?"

"Yes, sir. Father's out of work, and we've got to live all the same."

"What's your father's business?"

"He's a cooper."

"So he's out of work?"

"Yes, sir, and has been for six weeks. It's on account of the panic, I
suppose."

"Very likely. He has plenty of company just now."

It may be remarked that our story opens in the year 1867, memorable for
its panic, and the business depression which followed. Nearly every
branch of industry suffered, and thousands of men were thrown out of
work, and utterly unable to find employment of any kind. Among them was
Timothy Harding, the father of our hero. He was a sober, steady man, and
industrious; but his wages had never been large, and he had been unable
to save up a reserve fund, on which to draw in time of need. He had an
excellent wife, and but one child--our present hero; but there was
another, and by no means unimportant member of the family. This was
Rachel Harding, a spinster of melancholy temperament, who belonged to
that unhappy class who are always prophesying evil, and expecting the
worst. She had been "disappointed" in early life, and this had something
to do with her gloomy views, but probably she was somewhat inclined by
nature to despondency.

The family lived in a humble tenement, which, however, was neatly kept,
and would have been a cheerful home but for the gloomy presence of Aunt
Rachel, who, since her brother had been thrown out of employment, was
gloomier than ever.

But all this while we have left Jack and the stranger standing in the
street.

"You seem to be a good boy," said the latter, "and, under the
circumstances, I will pay you more than I intended."

He drew from his vest pocket a dollar bill, and handed it to Jack.

"What! is all this for me?" asked Jack, joyfully.

"Yes, on the condition that you carry it home, and give it to your
mother."

"That I will, sir; she'll be glad enough to get it."

"Well, good-by, my boy. I hope your father'll find work soon."

"He's a trump!" ejaculated Jack. "Wasn't it lucky I was here just as he
wanted a boy to hold his horse. I wonder what Aunt Rachel will have to
say to that? Very likely she'll say the bill is bad."

Jack made the best of his way home. It was already late in the
afternoon, and he knew he would be expected. It was with a lighter heart
than usual that he bent his steps homeward, for he knew that the dollar
would be heartily welcome.

We will precede him, and give a brief description of his home.

There were only five rooms, and these were furnished in the plainest
manner. In the sitting room were his mother and aunt. Mrs. Harding was a
motherly-looking woman, with a pleasant face, the prevailing expression
of which was a serene cheerfulness, though of late it had been harder
than usual to preserve this, in the straits to which the family had been
reduced. She was setting the table for tea.

Aunt Rachel sat in a rocking-chair at the window. She was engaged in
knitting. Her face was long and thin, and, as Jack expressed it, she
looked as if she hadn't a friend in the world. Her voice harmonized with
her mournful expression, and was equally doleful.

"I wonder why Jack don't come home?" said Mrs. Harding, looking at the
clock. "He's generally here at this time."

"Perhaps somethin's happened," suggested her sister-in-law.

"What do you mean, Rachel?"

"I was reading in the _Sun_ this morning about a boy being run over
out West somewhere."

"You don't think Jack has been run over!"

"Who knows?" said Rachel, gloomily. "You know how careless boys are, and
Jack's very careless."

"I don't see how you can look for such things, Rachel."

"Accidents are always happening; you know that yourself, Martha. I don't
say Jack's run over. Perhaps he's been down to the wharves, and tumbled
over into the water and got drowned."

"I wish you wouldn't say such things, Rachel. They make me feel
uncomfortable."

"We may as well be prepared for the worst," said Rachel, severely.

"Not this time, Rachel," said Mrs. Harding, brightly, "for that's Jack's
step outside. He isn't drowned or run over, thank God!"

"I hear him," said Rachel, dismally. "Anybody might know by the noise
who it is. He always comes stamping along as if he was paid for makin' a
noise. Anybody ought to have a cast-iron head that lives anywhere within
his hearing."

Here Jack entered, rather boisterously, it must be admitted, in his
eagerness slamming the door behind him.




CHAPTER II

THE EVENTS OF AN EVENING


"I am glad you've come, Jack," said his mother. "Rachel was just
predicting that you were run over or drowned."

"I hope you're not very much disappointed to see me safe and well, Aunt
Rachel," said Jack, merrily. "I don't think I've been drowned."

"There's things worse than drowning," replied Rachel, severely.

"Such as what?"

"A man that's born to be hanged is safe from drowning."

"Thank you for the compliment, Aunt Rachel, if you mean me. But, mother,
I didn't tell you of my good luck. See this," and he displayed the
dollar bill.

"How did you get it?" asked his mother.

"Holding horses. Here, take it, mother; I warrant you'll find a use for
it."

"It comes in good time," said Mrs. Harding. "We're out of flour, and I
had no money to buy any. Before you take off your boots, Jack, I wish
you'd run over to the grocery store, and buy half a dozen pounds. You
may get a pound of sugar, and quarter of a pound of tea also."

"You see the Lord hasn't forgotten us," she remarked, as Jack started on
his errand.

"What's a dollar?" said Rachel, gloomily. "Will it carry us through the
winter?"

"It will carry us through to-night, and perhaps Timothy will have work
to-morrow. Hark, that's his step."

At this moment the outer door opened, and Timothy Harding entered, not
with the quick, elastic step of one who brings good tidings, but slowly
and deliberately, with a quiet gravity of demeanor in which his wife
could read only too well that he had failed in his efforts to procure
work.

Reading all this in his manner, she had the delicacy to forbear
intruding upon him questions to which she saw it would only give him
pain to reply.

Not so Aunt Rachel.

"I needn't ask," she began, "whether you've got work, Timothy. I knew
beforehand you wouldn't. There ain't no use in tryin'! The times is
awful dull, and mark my words, they'll be wuss before they're better. We
mayn't live to see 'em. I don't expect we shall. Folks can't live
without money; and if we can't get that, we shall have to starve."

"Not so bad as that, Rachel," said the cooper, trying to look cheerful;
"I don't talk about starving till the time comes. Anyhow," glancing at
the table, on which was spread a good plain meal, "we needn't talk about
starving till to-morrow with that before us. Where's Jack?"

"Gone after some flour," replied his wife.

"On credit?" asked the cooper.

"No, he's got money enough to pay for a few pounds," said Mrs. Harding,
smiling with an air of mystery.

"Where did it come from?" asked Timothy, who was puzzled, as his wife
anticipated. "I didn't know you had any money in the house."

"No more we had; but he earned it himself, holding horses, this
afternoon."

"Come, that's good," said the cooper, cheerfully. "We ain't so bad off
as we might be, you see, Rachel."

"Very likely the bill's bad," she said, with the air of one who rather
hoped it was.

"Now, Rachel, what's the use of anticipating evil?" said Mrs. Harding.
"You see you're wrong, for here's Jack with the flour."

The family sat down to supper.

"You haven't told us," said Mrs. Harding, seeing her husband's
cheerfulness in a measure restored, "what Mr. Blodgett said about the
chances for employment."

"Not much that was encouraging," answered Timothy. "He isn't at all sure
when it will be safe to commence work; perhaps not before spring."

"Didn't I tell you so?" commented Rachel, with sepulchral sadness.

Even Mrs. Harding couldn't help looking sober.

"I suppose, Timothy, you haven't formed any plans," she said.

"No, I haven't had time. I must try to get something else to do."

"What, for instance?"

"Anything by which I can earn a little; I don't care if it's only sawing
wood. We shall have to get along as economically as we can--cut our coat
according to our cloth."

"Oh, you'll be able to earn something, and we can live very plain," said
Mrs. Harding, affecting a cheerfulness she didn't feel.

"Pity you hadn't done it sooner," was the comforting suggestion of
Rachel.

"Mustn't cry over spilt milk," said the cooper, good-humoredly. "Perhaps
we might have lived a leetle more economically, but I don't think we've
been extravagant."

"Besides, I can earn something, father," said Jack, hopefully. "You know
I did this afternoon."

"So you can," said his mother, brightly.

"There ain't horses to hold every day," said Rachel, apparently fearing
that the family might become too cheerful, when, like herself, it was
their duty to be profoundly gloomy.

"You're always tryin' to discourage people, Aunt Rachel," said Jack,
discontentedly.

Rachel took instant umbrage at these words.

"I'm sure," said she, mournfully, "I don't want to make you unhappy. If
you can find anything to be cheerful about when you're on the verge of
starvation, I hope you'll enjoy yourselves, and not mind me. I'm a poor,
dependent creetur, and I feel I'm a burden."

"Now, Rachel, that's all foolishness," said Timothy. "You don't feel
anything of the kind."

"Perhaps others can tell how I feel better than I can myself," answered
his sister, with the air of a martyr. "If it hadn't been for me, I know
you'd have been able to lay up money, and have something to carry you
through the winter. It's hard to be a burden on your relations, and
bring a brother's family to this poverty."

"Don't talk of being a burden, Rachel," said Mrs. Harding. "You've been
a great help to me in many ways. That pair of stockings, now, you're
knitting for Jack--that's a help, for I couldn't have got time for them
myself."

"I don't expect," said Aunt Rachel, in the same sunny manner, "that I
shall be able to do it long. From the pains I have in my hands
sometimes, I expect I'm goin' to lose the use of 'em soon, and be as
useless as old Mrs. Sprague, who for the last ten years of her life had
to sit with her hands folded on her lap. But I wouldn't stay to be a
burden--I'd go to the poorhouse first. But perhaps," with the look of a
martyr, "they wouldn't want me there, because I'd be discouragin' 'em
too much."

Poor Jack, who had so unwittingly raised this storm, winced under the
last words, which he knew were directed at him.

"Then why," asked he, half in extenuation, "why don't you try to look
pleasant and cheerful? Why won't you be jolly, as Tom Piper's aunt is?"

"I dare say I ain't pleasant," said Rachel, "as my own nephew twits me
with it. There is some folks that can be cheerful when their house is
a-burnin' down before their eyes, and I've heard of one young man that
laughed at his aunt's funeral," directing a severe glance at Jack; "but
I'm not one of that kind. I think, with the Scriptures, that there's a
time to weep."

"Doesn't it say there's a time to laugh, too?" asked Mrs. Harding.

"When I see anything to laugh about, I'm ready to laugh," said Aunt
Rachel; "but human nater ain't to be forced. I can't see anything to
laugh at now, and perhaps you won't by and by."

It was evidently quite useless to persuade Rachel to
cheerfulness, and the subject dropped.

The tea things were cleared away by Mrs. Harding, who then sat down to
her sewing. Aunt Rachel continued to knit in grim silence, while Jack
seated himself on a three-legged stool near his aunt, and began to
whittle out a boat, after a model lent him by Tom Piper, a young
gentleman whose aunt has already been referred to.

The cooper took out his spectacles, wiped them carefully with his
handkerchief, and as carefully adjusted them to his nose. He then took
down from the mantelpiece one of the few books belonging to his
library--"Dr. Kane's Arctic Explorations"--and began to read, for the
tenth time, it might be, the record of these daring explorers.

The plain little room presented a picture of graceful tranquillity, but
it proved to be only the calm which preceded the storm.

The storm in question, I regret to say, was brought about by the
luckless Jack. As has been said, he was engaged in constructing a boat,
the particular operation he was now intent upon being the excavation, or
hollowing out. Now three-legged stools are not the most secure seats in
the world. This, I think, no one will deny who has any practical
acquaintance with them. Jack was working quite vigorously, the block
from which the boat was to be fashioned being held firmly between his
knees. His knife having got wedged in the wood, he made an unusual
effort to draw it out, in which he lost his balance, and disturbed the
equilibrium of his stool, which, with its load, tumbled over backward.
Now, it very unfortunately happened that Aunt Rachel sat close behind,
and the treacherous stool came down with considerable force upon her
foot.

A piercing shriek was heard, and Aunt Rachel, lifting her foot, clung to
it convulsively, while an expression of pain disturbed her features.

At the sound, the cooper hastily removed his spectacles, and, letting
"Dr. Kane" fall to the floor, started up in great dismay. Mrs. Harding
likewise dropped her sewing, and jumped to her feet in alarm.

It did not take long to see how matters stood.

"Hurt ye much, Rachel?" inquired Timothy.

"It's about killed me," groaned the afflicted maiden. "Oh, I shall have
to have my foot cut off, or be a cripple anyway." Then, turning upon
Jack fiercely: "You careless, wicked, ungrateful boy, that I've been
wearin' myself out knittin' for. I'm almost sure you did it a purpose.
You won't be satisfied till you've got me out of the world, and
then--then, perhaps"--here Rachel began to whimper--"perhaps you'll get
Tom Piper's aunt to knit your stockings."

"I didn't mean to, Aunt Rachel," said Jack, penitently, eying his aunt,
who was rocking to and fro in her chair. "You know I didn't. Besides, I
hurt myself like thunder," rubbing himself vigorously.

"Served you right," said his aunt, still clasping her foot.

"Shan't I get something for you to put on it, Rachel?" asked Mrs.
Harding.

But this Rachel steadily refused, and, after a few more postures
indicating a great amount of anguish, limped out of the room, and
ascended the stairs to her own apartment.




CHAPTER III

JACK'S NEW PLAN


Aunt Rachel was right in one thing, as Jack realized. He could not find
horses to hold every day, and even if he had succeeded in that, few
would have paid him so munificently as the stranger of the day before.
In fact, matters came to a crisis, and something must be sold to raise
funds for immediate necessities. Now, the only article of luxury--if it
could be called so--in the possession of the family was a sofa, in very
good preservation, indeed nearly new, for it had been bought only two
years before when business was good. A neighbor was willing to pay
fifteen dollars for this, and Mrs. Harding, with her husband's consent,
agreed to part with it.

"If ever we are able we will buy another," said Timothy.

"And, at any rate, we can do without it," said his wife.

"Rachel will miss it."

"She said the other day that it was not comfortable, and ought never to
have been bought; that it was a shameful waste of money."

"In that case she won't be disturbed by our selling it."

"No, I should think not; but it's hard to tell how Rachel will take
anything."

This remark was amply verified.

The sofa was removed while the spinster was out, and without any hint to
her of what was going to happen. When she returned, she looked around
for it with surprise.

"Where's the sofy?" she asked.

"We've sold it to Mrs. Stoddard," said Mrs. Harding, cheerfully.

"Sold it!" echoed Rachel, dolefully.

"Yes; we felt that we didn't need it, and we did need money. She offered
me fifteen dollars for it, and I accepted."

Rachel sat down in a rocking-chair, and began straightway to show signs
of great depression of spirits.

"Life's full of disappointments!" she groaned. "Our paths is continually
beset by 'em. There's that sofa. It's so pleasant to have one in the
house when a body's sick. But, there, it's gone, and if I happen to get
down, as most likely I shall, for I've got a bad feeling in my stummick
this very minute, I shall have to go upstairs, and most likely catch my
death of cold, and that will be the end of me."

"Not so bad as that, I hope," said Mrs. Harding, cheerfully. "You know
when you was sick last, you didn't want to use the sofa; you said it
didn't lay comfortable. Besides, I hope before you are sick we may be
able to buy it back again."

Aunt Rachel shook her head despondingly.

"There ain't any use in hoping that," she said. "Timothy's got so much
behindhand that he won't be able to get up again; I know he won't!"

"But, if he only manages to find steady work soon, he will."

"No, he won't," said Rachel, positively. "I'm sure he won't. There won't