Hector's Inheritance, Or, the Boys of Smith Institute

CHAPTER XXXIV. FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF SAN FRANCISCO

Hector was seasick for the first twenty-four hours, but at the end of that time he had become accustomed to the rise and fall of the billows, and was prepared to enjoy himself as well as he could in the confined quarters of an ocean steamer.

Of course, he made acquaintances. Among them was a clergyman, of middle age, who was attracted by our hero’s frank countenance. They met on deck, and took together the “constitutional” which travelers on shipboard find essential for their health.

“You seem to be alone?” said the clergyman.

“Yes, sir.”

“Pardon me, but it is uncommon to meet one so young as yourself who is making so long a journey. I suppose, however, you have friends or relatives in California.”

“No, sir; I know no one, to my knowledge, in the Golden State.”

“Then, perhaps, you go out in search of employment?”

“No, sir; I go out on business.”

“You are a young business man,” said the clergyman, smiling.

“Perhaps I should rather say, on a mission. I am sent out, by a New York merchant, in search of his nephew, who is somewhere in San Francisco.”

Hector explained himself further. The minister, Mr. Richards, listened with attention.

“Certainly,” he said, “a great responsibility rests upon you. Mr. Newman must have great confidence in you.”

“I hope he will not find it misplaced,” answered Hector, modestly.

“It is certainly a compliment to you that a shrewd business man should consider you worthy of such confidence. The presumption is that he has good reason for his confidence. I think, my young friend, that you will enjoy your visit to our State.”

“Then you reside there, sir?”

“Oh, yes. I went out twenty years since; in fact, just after I graduated from the theological school. I spent a year at the mines; but, at the end of that time, finding an opening in my profession, I accepted the charge of a church in Sacramento.”

“In Sacramento?” exclaimed Hector, eagerly.

“Yes. Have you any associations with that city?”

“It is my birthplace, sir.”

“Then you are not a stranger to California?”

“Yes, sir; I came away so early that I have no recollection of the place.”

“What is your name?” asked the clergyman.

“Hector Roscoe.”

“Roscoe? The name sounds familiar to me,” said the minister, thoughtfully.

“How long since you went to Sacramento, Mr. Richards?”

“I went there in 1855.”

“And I was born there in 1856. My father and mother lived there for some time afterwards.”

“It is probable that I met them, for Sacramento was a small place then. Shall you go there?”

“Yes, sir. I have a special reason for going—a reason most important to me.”

As Mr. Richards naturally looked inquisitive, Hector confided in him further.

“You see, sir,” he concluded, “that it is most important to me to ascertain whether I am really the son of the man whom I have always regarded as my father. If so, I am heir to a large fortune. If not, my uncle is the heir, and I certainly should not wish to disturb him in the enjoyment of what the law awards him.”

“That is quite proper,” said Mr. Richards. “In your investigation, it is quite possible that I may be able to help you materially, through my long residence and extensive acquaintance in Sacramento. When you come there, lose no time in calling upon me. Whatever help I can render you shall cheerfully be given.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Shall you be much disappointed if you find that you are only the adopted, instead of the real, son of Mr. Roscoe?”

“Yes, sir; but it won’t be chiefly on account of the property. I shall feel alone in the world, without relations or family connections, with no one to sympathize with me in my successes, or feel for me in my disappointments.”

“I understand you, and I can enter into your feelings.”

Arrived in San Francisco, Hector took lodgings at a comfortable hotel on Kearney Street. He didn’t go to the Palace Hotel, or Baldwin’s, though Mr. Newman had supplied him with ample funds, and instructed him to spend whatever he thought might be necessary.

“I mean to show myself worthy of his confidence,” said Hector to himself.

He arrived in the evening, and was glad to remain quietly at the hotel the first evening, and sleep off the effects of his voyage. After the contracted stateroom, in which he had passed over twenty days, he enjoyed the comfort and luxury of a bed on shore and a good-sized bedroom. But, in the morning, he took a long walk, which was full of interest. Less than five minutes’ walk from his hotel was the noted Chinese quarter. Curiously enough, it is located in the central part of the business portion of San Francisco. Set a stranger down in this portion of the city, and the traveler finds it easy to imagine himself in some Chinese city. All around him, thronging the sidewalks, he will see almond-eyed men, wearing long queues, and clad in the comfortable, but certainly not elegant, flowing garments which we meet only occasionally in our Eastern cities, on the person of some laundryman. Then the houses, too, with the curious names on the signs, speak of a far-off land. On every side, also, is heard the uncouth jargon of the Chinese tongue.

There is a part of San Francisco that is known as the Barbary Coast. It is that part which strangers will do well to avoid, for it is the haunt of the worst portion of the population. Here floats many a hopeless wreck, in the shape of a young man, who has yielded to the seductions of drink and the gaming table—who has lost all hope and ambition, and is fast nearing destruction.

If Hector allowed himself to explore this quarter, it was not because he found anything to attract him, for his tastes were healthy, but he thought, from the description of Gregory Newman, that he would stand a better chance of meeting him here than in a more respectable quarter.

Hector halted in front of a building, which he judged to be a gambling house. He did not care to enter, but he watched, with curiosity, those who entered and those who came out.

As he was standing there, a man of forty touched him on the shoulder.

Hector turned, and was by no means attracted by the man’s countenance. He was evidently a confirmed inebriate, though not at that time under the influence of liquor. There was an expression of cunning, which repelled Hector, and he drew back.

“I say, boy,” said the stranger, “do you want to go in?”

“No, sir.”

“If you do, I know the ropes, and I’ll introduce you and take care of you.”

“Thank you,” said Hector, “but I don’t care to go in.”

“Are you afraid?” asked the man, with a slight sneer.

“Yes. Haven’t I a reason?”

“Come, sonny, don’t be foolish. Have you any money?”

“A little.”

“Give it to me and I’ll play for you. I’ll double it in ten minutes, and I’ll only ask you five dollars for my services.”

“Suppose you lose?”

“I won’t lose,” said the man, confidently. “Come,” he said, in a wheedling tone, “let me make some money for you.”

“Thank you, but I would rather not. I don’t want to make money in any such way.”

“You’re a fool!” said the man, roughly, and with an air of disgust he left the spot, much to Hector’s relief.

Still Hector lingered, expecting he hardly knew what, but it chanced that fortune favored him. He was just about to turn away, when a youth, two or three years older than himself in appearance, came out of the gambling house. He was pale, and looked as if he had kept late hours. He had the appearance, also, of one who indulges in drink.

When Hector’s glance fell upon the face of the youth, he started in great excitement.

“Surely,” he thought, “that must be Gregory Newman!”

CHAPTER XXXV. THE PRODIGAL

As the best way of getting into communication with the youth whom he suspected to be the object of his search, Hector asked him the name of the street.

On receiving an answer, he said, in an explanatory way:

“I am a stranger here. I only arrived on the last steamer.”

The other looked interested.

“Where do you come from?”

“From New York.”

“I used to live there,” said Gregory—for it was he—with a sigh.

“Have you bettered yourself by coming out here?” asked Hector.

Gregory shook his head.

“No,” he said; “I begin to think I was a fool to come at all.”

“Perhaps you had poor prospects in New York?” said Hector.

“No; my uncle is a rich merchant there. I have some property, also, and he is my guardian.”

“Did he favor your coming?”

“No; he was very much opposed to it.”

“Perhaps I ought not to take such a liberty, but I begin to agree with you about your being a fool to leave such prospects behind you.”

“Oh, I am not offended. It is true enough.”

“I suppose you haven’t prospered, then,” said Hector.

“Prospered? Look at me! Do you see how shabby I am?”

Gregory certainly did look shabby. His clothes were soiled and frayed, and he had the appearance of a young tramp.

“That isn’t the worst of it,” he added, bitterly. “I have spent my last cent, and am penniless.”

“That is bad, certainly. Did you lose any of it in there?” said Hector, indicating the gaming house.

“I have lost full half of it there,” answered Gregory. “This morning I found myself reduced to four bits—”

“To what?” inquired Hector, puzzled.

“Oh, I forgot you had just arrived. Four bits is fifty cents. Well, I was reduced to that, and, instead of saving it for my dinner, I went in there and risked it. If I had been lucky, I might have raised it to ten dollars, as a man next to me did; but I’m out of luck, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Why don’t you go back to your uncle in New York?”

“What! and walk all the way without food?” said Gregory, bitterly.

“Of course you couldn’t go without money. Suppose you had the money, would you go?”

“I should be afraid to try it,” said Gregory, smiling.

“Why? Don’t you think he would receive you back?”

“He might but for one thing,” answered Gregory.

“What is that?”

“I may as well tell you, though I am ashamed to,” said Gregory, reluctantly. “I left New York without his knowledge, and, as I knew he wouldn’t advance me money out of my own property, I took five hundred dollars from his desk.”

“That was bad,” said Hector, quietly, but he didn’t look shocked or terror-stricken, for this would probably have prevented any further confidence.

“It wasn’t exactly stealing,” said Gregory, apologetically, “for I knew he could keep back the money from my property. Still, he could represent it as such and have me arrested.”

“I don’t think he would do that.”

“I don’t want to run the risk. You see now why I don’t dare to go back to New York. But what on earth I am to do here I don’t know.”

“Couldn’t you get employment?” asked Hector, for he wished Gregory to understand his position fully.

“What! in this shabby suit? Respectable business men would take me for a hoodlum.”

Hector knew already that a “hoodlum” in San Francisco parlance is a term applied to street loafers from fifteen to twenty-five years of age, who are disinclined to work and have a premature experience of vice.

“Suppose you were assured that your uncle would receive you back and give you another chance?”

Gregory shook his head.

“I don’t believe he would, and I am afraid I don’t deserve it. No, I must try to get to the mines in some way. How are you fixed?” said Gregory, turning suddenly to Hector. “Could you spare a five-dollar gold piece for a chap that’s been unfortunate?”

“Perhaps I might; but I am afraid you would go back into the gambling house and lose it, as you did your other money.”

“No, I won’t; I promise you that. Four bits was nothing. Five dollars would give me a chance of going somewhere where I could earn a living.”

Gregory seemed to speak sincerely, and Hector thought it would do him no harm to reveal himself and his errand.

“Your name is Gregory Newman, isn’t it?” he inquired.

Gregory stared at him in uncontrollable amazement.

“How do you know that?” he inquired.

“And your uncle’s name is Titus Newman?”

“Yes, but—”

“He lives on Madison Avenue, does he not?”

“Yes, yes; but who are you that seem to know so much about me?”

“My name is Hector Roscoe.”

“Did I know you in New York?”

“No; I never met you, to my knowledge.”

“Then how do you recognize me and know my name?”

In answer, Hector took from his pocket a photograph of Gregory and displayed it.

“How did you come by that?” asked Gregory, hurriedly. “Are you a detective?”

Gregory looked so startled that Hector had hard work not to laugh. It seemed ludicrous to him that he should be supposed to be a detective on Gregory’s track, as the boy evidently suspected.

“No,” he answered, “I am not a detective, but a friend. I have come out to San Francisco especially to find you.”

“You won’t inform against me?” asked Gregory, nervously.

“Not at all. I come as a friend, with a message from your uncle—”

“What is it?” asked Gregory, eagerly.

“He wants you to come back to New York, and he will give you another chance.”

“Is this true?”

“Yes; will you come?”

“I shall be glad to leave San Francisco,” said Gregory, fervently. “I have had no luck since I arrived here.”

“Do you think you deserved any?” said Hector, significantly.

“No, perhaps not,” Gregory admitted.

“When will you be ready to return?”

“You forget that I have no money.”

“I have, and will pay your passage.”

Gregory grasped the hands of our hero gratefully.

“You are a trump!” said he.

Then he looked at his wretched and dilapidated suit.

“I don’t like to go home like this,” he said. “I should be mortified if I met my uncle or any of my old acquaintances.”

“Oh, that can be remedied,” said Hector. “If you can lead the way to a good clothing house, where the prices are moderate, I will soon improve your appearance.”

“That I will!” answered Gregory, gladly.

Within five minutes’ walk was a good clothing house, on Kearney Street. The two entered, and a suit was soon found to fit Gregory. Then they obtained a supply of underclothing, and Gregory breathed a sigh of satisfaction. His self-respect returned, and he felt once more like his old self.

“Now,” said Hector, “I shall take you to my hotel, and enter your name as a guest. You and I can room together.”

“Do you know,” said Gregory, “I almost fear this is a dream, and that I shall wake up again a tramp, as you found me half an hour ago? I was almost in despair when you met me.”

Though Gregory seemed quite in earnest in his desire to turn over a new leaf, Hector thought it prudent to keep the funds necessary for their journey in his own possession. He gave a few dollars to Gregory as spending money, but disregarded any hints looking to a further advance.

CHAPTER XXXVI. HOW HECTOR SUCCEEDED IN SACRAMENTO

Now that Hector had succeeded in the main object of his journey, he had time to think of his own affairs. It was most important for him to visit Sacramento and make inquiries into the matter that so nearly concerned him.

“I must find out,” he said to himself, “whether I am entitled to the name I bear, or whether I only received it by adoption.”

The second day after his discovery of Gregory Newman, he said to him:

“Gregory, business of importance calls me to Sacramento. Do you wish to go with me?”

“Does the business in any way relate to me?” asked Gregory.

“Not at all.”

“Then I prefer to remain in San Francisco.”

“Can I trust you not to fall back into your old ways?” asked Hector.

“Yes; I have had enough of them,” answered Gregory, and there was a sincerity in his tone which convinced Hector that he might safely leave him.

“I shall probably stay overnight,” he said. “If I stay any longer, I will telegraph to you.”

Arrived in Sacramento, Hector sought out the residence of the Rev. Mr. Richards, whose acquaintance he had made on board the steamer.

His clerical friend received him with evident pleasure.

“How have you fared, my young friend?” he asked.

“Very well, sir. I have succeeded in my mission.”

“Then you have found the youth you were in search of?”

“Yes, sir; moreover, I have induced him to return home with me, and turn over a new leaf.”

“That is indeed good news. And now, I think I have also good news for you.”

“Please let me know it, sir,” said Hector, eagerly.

“I have found the lady with whom your father and mother boarded while they were in Sacramento.”

“What does she say?”

“She says,” answered Mr. Richards, promptly, “that you are Mr. Roscoe’s own son, and were born in her house.”

“Thank Heaven!” ejaculated Hector.

“Nor is this all. I have found the minister who baptized you. He is still living, at a very advanced age—the Rev. Mr. Barnard. I called upon him, and recalled his attention to the period when your father lived in the city. I found that he remembered both your parents very well. Not only that, but he has a very full diary covering that time, in which he showed me this record:

“‘Baptized, June 17th, Hector, the son of Thomas and Martha Roscoe; a bright, healthy child, in whom the parents much delight.”

“Then it seems to me,” said Hector, “that my case is a very strong one.”

“Unusually so. In fact, it could not be stronger. I marvel how Allan Roscoe, your uncle, could have ventured upon a fraud which could be so easily proved to be such.”

“He depended upon Sacramento being so far away,” said Hector. “He thought I would accept my father’s letter without question.”

“That letter was undoubtedly forged,” said the minister.

“It must have been, but it was very cleverly forged. The handwriting was a very close copy of my father’s.” It was a great pleasure to Hector that he could say “my father” without a moment’s doubt that he was entitled to say so.

“He thought, also, that you would not have the means to come here to investigate for yourself,” said Mr. Richards.

“Yes, and he would have been right but for the commission Mr. Newman gave me. What course would you advise me to take,” asked Hector, a little later, “to substantiate my claim?”

“Get Mrs. Blodgett’s and Rev. Mr. Barnard’s sworn affidavits, and place them in the hands of a reliable lawyer, requesting him to communicate with your uncle.”

This advice seemed to Hector to be wise, and he followed it. Fortunately, he had no difficulty in inducing both parties to accede to his request. The next day he returned to San Francisco.

CHAPTER XXXVII. A NARROW ESCAPE

Armed with the affidavits which were to restore to him the position in life of which his uncle had wickedly deprived him, Hector returned to San Francisco. He found Gregory unaffectedly glad to see him.

“Glad to see you back, Hector,” he said; “I missed you.”

Hector was glad to find that Gregory had not taken advantage of his absence to indulge in any of his old excesses. He began to hope that he had already turned over the new leaf which was so desirable.

“I know what you are thinking of,” said Gregory, after Hector had returned his salutation. “You are wondering whether I ‘cut up’ any while you were gone.”

“You don’t look as if you had,” said Hector, smiling.

“No; I have had enough of sowing wild oats. It doesn’t pay. Shall I tell you what I did last evening?”

“If you like.”

“I attended a lecture illustrated with the stereopticon. I was in bed at ten.”

“Gregory,” said Hector, taking his hand, “you don’t know how glad I am to hear this. I am sure your uncle will be delighted when you return to him so changed.”

“I’ve made a great fool of myself,” said Gregory, candidly. “Hereafter I am going to make you my model.”

Hector blushed deeply, for he was a modest boy.

“You compliment me too much, Gregory,” he said. “Still, if you are in earnest, I will try to set you a good example.”

“You won’t have any trouble in doing that. You are one of the fellows that find it easy to be good.”

“I am not sure of that, Gregory. Still, I mean to do my best.”

In the evening the two boys attended a theatrical performance. It was not till after eleven o’clock that they emerged from the theatre, and slowly, not by the most direct way, sauntered home.

There was no thought of danger in the mind of either, yet, as a fact, Hector had never in his life been exposed to peril so serious as that evening. Lurking behind in the shadow a shabby-looking man followed the two boys, keeping his eyes steadily on Hector. At a place specially favorable, our hero was startled by hearing a bullet whiz by his ear. He turned instantly, and so did Gregory. They saw a man running, and they pursued him. They might not have caught up with him, but that he stumbled and fell. Instantly they were upon him.

“Well,” he said, sullenly, “you’ve caught me after all.”

“Were you the man who fired at me?” asked Hector, “or was it my friend here you sought to kill?”

“I was firing at you,” answered their captive, coolly. “Now, what are you going to do with me?”

“Was this forced upon you by want? Did you wish to rob me?”

“No; I had another motive.”

“What was it?”

“If I tell you, will you let me go free?”