have lost my wallet," he said anxiously. "Have you found it?"
In reply Tom produced the missing article. The squire took it hurriedly, and, at once opening it, counted the money. It was all there, and he heaved a sigh of relief, for he was a man who cared for money more than most people.
"Where did you find it?" he asked.
Tom answered the question.
"It is very fortunate you came along before anyone else saw it. I rode that way on horse-back this morning. I told Mrs. Hudson that my pocket needed repairing, but she put it off, according to her usual custom. If it had not been found, I would have kept her on short allowance for a year to come."
Tom felt rather embarrassed, for, of course, it would not do to join in with the squire in his complaints of his wife. Suddenly Squire Hudson said, eying him keenly: "Do you know how much money there is in this wallet?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you counted it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why did you do it?"
"I wanted to know how much there was, so that no one might blame me if any were missing."
"Didn't you want to take any?" asked the squire bluntly.
"Yes," answered Tom promptly.
"Why didn't you? For fear you would be found out?"
"That may have had something to do with it, but it was principally because it would have been stealing and stealing is wrong."
"What would you have done with the money if you had taken it?"
"Started for California next week," answered Tom directly.
"Eh?" ejaculated the squire, rather astonished. "Why do you want to go to California – a boy like you?"
"To dig gold. I suppose a boy can dig gold, as well as a man. There doesn't seem to be much chance for me here. There's nothing to do but to work on the farm, and father and Walter can do all there is to be done there."
"How is your father getting along?" asked the rich man, with an interest which rather surprised Tom.
"Poorly," said Tom. "He makes both ends meet; but we all have to do without a great many things that we need."
The squire looked thoughtful. He took half a dollar from his wallet and tendered it to Tom.
"You've done me a service," he said. "Take that."
Tom drew back.
"I would rather not take money for being honest," he said.
"That's all nonsense," said Squire Hudson sharply.
"That's the way I feel about it," said Tom stoutly.
"Then you're a fool."
"I hope not, sir."
"This would have been quite a large loss to me. I am perfectly willing to give you this money."
Then Tom gathered courage and said boldly, "You can do me a great favor, Squire Hudson, if you choose."
"What is it?"
"Lend me enough money to go to California," said Tom nervously.
"Good gracious! Is the boy crazy?" ejaculated the astonished squire.
"No, sir, I am not crazy. I'll tell you what my plans are. I shall go to work directly I get there, and shall devote the first money I make to paying you. Of course, I shall expect to pay high interest. I am willing to pay you three hundred dollars for two; unless I am sick, I think I can do it inside of twelve months."
"How much money do you suppose you will need for this wild-goose expedition?"
"About two hundred dollars, sir; and, as I just said, I will give you my note for three."
"A boy's note is worth nothing."
"Perhaps it isn't in law; but I wouldn't rest till it was paid back."
"What security have you to offer?"
"None, sir, except my word."
"Do you know what I would be if I lent you this money?"
"You would be very kind."
"Pish! I should be a fool."
"I don't think you'd lose anything by it, sir; but, of course, I can't blame you for refusing," and Tom rose to go.
"Sit down again," said the squire; "I want to talk to you about this matter. How long have you been thinking of California?"
"Only two or three days, sir."
"What made you think of it?"
"I wanted to help father."
"Who has told you about California?"
"I have read about it in the papers."
"Have you spoken to your father about going there?"
"I have spoken to him about leaving home, and seeking my fortune; but I have not mentioned going to California, because I thought it impossible to raise the necessary money."
"Of course. That's sensible, at least."
Squire Hudson rose and walked thoughtfully about the room, occasionally casting a keen glance at Tom, who remained sitting, with his pail of huckleberries in his cap.
After a while the squire spoke again.
"Your father might let you have the money," he suggested.
"My father has no money to spare," said Tom quickly.
"Couldn't he raise some?"
"I don't know how."
"Then I'll tell you. I hold a mortgage for two thousand dollars on his farm. I suppose you know that?"
"Yes, sir."
"I might be willing to increase the mortgage to twenty-two hundred, and he could lend you the extra two hundred."
This was a new idea to Tom, and he took a little time to think it over.
"I don't like to ask father to do that," he said. "He finds it very hard now to pay the interest on the mortgage."
"I thought you intended to pay the money in a year," said the squire sharply.
"So I do," said Tom, and he began to think more favorably of the plan.
"In that case your father wouldn't suffer."
"You are right, sir. If father would only consent to do so, I would be happy. But I might die."
"Your father would have to take the risk of that. You can't expect me to."
This seemed fair enough, and, in fact, the danger didn't seem very great to Tom. He was about sixteen; and to a boy of sixteen death seems very far off, provided he is strong and vigorous, as Tom was. He rapidly decided that the squire's offer was not to be refused without careful consideration. It opened to him a career which looked bright and promising. Once in California, what could he not do? Tom was hopeful and sanguine, and did not allow himself to think of failure.
"I understand that you are willing to advance the money, Squire Hudson?" he said, determined to know just what to depend upon.
"I will advance two hundred dollars, on condition that your father will secure me by an increased mortgage. It is no particular object to me, for I can readily invest the money in some other way."
"I will speak to father about it, Squire Hudson, and meanwhile I am thankful to you for making the offer."
"Very well. Let me know as soon as possible," said the squire carelessly.
As Tom went out, the rich man soliloquized: "I have no faith in the boy's scheme, and I don't believe half the stories they tell about the California mines; but it will give me an extra hold on Nelson, and hasten the day when the farm will come into my hands. When Mary Nelson refused my hand I resolved some day to have my revenge. I have waited long, but it will come at last. When she and her children are paupers, she may regret the slight she put upon me."
CHAPTER