"I left college at nineteen because my father died," said he."Iam now just twenty-one.A large estate descended to me, and I have had to care for its investments all alone.I have one sister,that is all.""So have I," cried Thorpe, and stopped.
"The estates have not suffered," went on the boy simply."I have done well with them.But," he cried fiercely, "I HATE it! It is petty and mean and worrying and nagging! That's why I was so glad to get out in the woods."He paused.
"Have some tobacco," said Thorpe.
Wallace accepted with a nod.
"Now, Harry, I have a proposal to make to you.It is this; you need thirty thousand dollars to buy your land.Let me supply it, and come in as half partner."An expression of doubt crossed the landlooker's face.
"Oh PLEASE!" cried the boy, "I do want to get in something real!
It will be the making of me!"
"Now see here," interposed Thorpe suddenly, "you don't even know my name.""I know YOU," replied the boy.
"My name is Harry Thorpe," pursued the other."My father was Henry Thorpe, an embezzler.""Harry," replied Wallace soberly, "I am sorry I made you say that.
I do not care for your name--except perhaps to put it in the articles of partnership,--and I have no concern with your ancestry.I tell you it is a favor to let me in on this deal.I don't know anything about lumbering, but I've got eyes.I can see that big timber standing up thick and tall, and I know people make profits in the business.It isn't a question of the raw material surely, and you have experience.""Not so much as you think," interposed Thorpe.
"There remains," went on Wallace without attention to Thorpe's remark, "only the question of---""My honesty," interjected Thorpe grimly.
"No!" cried the boy hotly, "of your letting me in on a good thing!"Thorpe considered a few moments in silence.
"Wallace," he said gravely at last, "I honestly do think that whoever goes into this deal with me will make money.Of course there's always chances against it.But I am going to do my best.
I've seen other men fail at it, and the reason they've failed is because they did not demand success of others and of themselves.
That's it; success! When a general commanding troops receives a report on something he's ordered done, he does not trouble himself with excuses;--he merely asks whether or not the thing was accomplished.Difficulties don't count.It is a soldier's duty to perform the impossible.Well, that's the way it ought to be with us.A man has no right to come to me and say, 'I failed because such and such things happened.' Either he should succeed in spite of it all; or he should step up and take his medicine without whining.Well, I'm going to succeed!"The man's accustomed aloofness had gone.His eye flashed, his brow frowned, the muscles of his cheeks contracted under his beard.In the bronze light of evening he looked like a fire-breathing statue to that great ruthless god he had himself invoked,--Success.
Wallace gazed at him with fascinated admiration.
"Then you will?" he asked tremulously.
"Wallace," he replied again, "they'll say you have been the victim of an adventurer, but the result will prove them wrong.If I weren't perfectly sure of this, I wouldn't think of it, for I like you, and I know you want to go into this more out of friendship for me and because your imagination is touched, than from any business sense.
But I'll accept, gladly.And I'll do my best!""Hooray!" cried the boy, throwing his cap up in the air."We'll do 'em up in the first round!"At last when Wallace Carpenter reluctantly quitted his friends on the Ossawinamakee, he insisted on leaving with them a variety of the things he had brought.
"I'm through with them," said he."Next time I come up here we'll have a camp of our own, won't we, Harry? And I do feel that I am awfully in you fellows' debt.You've given me the best time I have ever had in my life, and you've refused payment for the moccasins and things you've made for me.I'd feel much better if you'd accept them,--just as keepsakes.""All right, Wallace," replied Thorpe, "and much obliged.""Don't forget to come straight to me when you get through estimating, now, will you? Come to the house and stay.Our compact holds now, honest Injin; doesn't it?" asked the boy anxiously.
"Honest Injin," laughed Thorpe."Good-by."The little canoe shot away down the current.The last Injin Charley and Thorpe saw of the boy was as he turned the curve.His hat was off and waving in his hand, his curls were blowing in the breeze, his eyes sparkled with bright good-will, and his lips parted in a cheery halloo of farewell.
"Him nice boy," repeated Injin CharIey, turning to his canoe.
Chapter XX
Thus Thorpe and the Indian unexpectedly found themselves in the possession of luxury.The outfit had not meant much to Wallace Carpenter, for he had bought it in the city, where such things are abundant and excite no remark; but to the woodsman each article possessed a separate and particular value.The tent, an iron kettle, a side of bacon, oatmeal, tea, matches, sugar, some canned goods, a box of hard-tack,--these, in the woods, represented wealth.
Wallace's rifle chambered the.38 Winchester cartridge, which was unfortunate, for Thorpe's.44 had barely a magazineful left.
