Chester Rand Part 7

"You have no property to dispose of by will?" asked the doctor.

"Yes," was the unexpected answer, "but I shall not make a will. A will may be contested. I will give it away during my life."

Chester and the doctor looked surprised. They thought the other might refer to a ring or some small article.

"I want everything to be legal," resumed Bruce. "Is there a lawyer in the village?"

"Yes, Lawyer Gardener."

"Send for him. I shall feel easier when I have attended to this last duty."

Within half an hour the lawyer was at his bedside.

"In the inside pocket of my coat," said Walter Bruce, "you will find a doc.u.ment. It is the deed of five lots in the town of Tacoma, in Was.h.i.+ngton Territory. I was out there last year, and having a little money, bought the lots for a song. They are worth very little now, but some time they may be of value."

"To whom do you wish to give them?" asked Mr. Gardner.

"To this boy," answered Bruce, looking affectionately toward Chester.

"He and his have been my best friends."

"But your uncle--he is a relative!" suggested Chester.

"He has no claim upon me. Lawyer, make out a deed of gift of these lots to Chester Rand, and I will sign it."

The writing was completed, Bruce found strength to sign it, and then sank back exhausted. Two days later he died. Of course the eight dollars a week from the minister's fund ceased to be paid to the Rands.

Chester had not succeeded in obtaining work. To be sure he had the five lots in Tacoma, but he who had formerly owned them had died a pauper.

The outlook was very dark.

CHAPTER V.

CHESTER'S FIRST SUCCESS.

Chester and his mother and a few friends attended the funeral of Walter Bruce. Silas Tripp was too busy at the store to pay this parting compliment to his nephew. He expressed himself plainly about the folly of the Rands in "runnin' into debt for a s.h.i.+f'less fellow" who had no claim upon them. "If they expect me to pay the funeral expenses they're mistaken," he added, positively. "I ain't no call to do it, and I won't do it."

But he was not asked to defray the expenses of the simple funeral. It was paid for out of the minister's charitable fund.

"Some time I will pay you back the money, Mr. Morris," said Chester. "I am Mr. Bruce's heir, and it is right that I should pay."

"Very well, Chester. If your bequest amounts to anything I will not object. I hope for your sake that the lots may become valuable."

"I don't expect it, Mr. Morris. Will you be kind enough to take care of the papers for me?"

"Certainly, Chester. I will keep them with my own papers."

At this time Tacoma contained only four hundred inhabitants. The Northern Pacific Railroad had not been completed, and there was no certainty when it would be. So Chester did not pay much attention or give much thought to his Western property, but began to look round anxiously for something to do.

During the sickness of Walter Bruce he had given up his time to helping his mother and the care of the sick man. The money received from the minister enabled him to do this. Now the weekly income had ceased, and it became a serious question what he should do to bring in an income.

He had almost forgotten his meeting with Herbert Conrad, the young artist, when the day after the funeral he received a letter in an unknown hand, addressed to "Master Chester Rand, Wyncombe, New York."

As he opened it, his eyes opened wide with surprise and joy, when two five-dollar bills fluttered to the ground, for he had broken the seal in front of the post office.

He read the letter eagerly. It ran thus:

"DEAR CHESTER:--I am glad to say that I have sold your sketch for ten dollars to one of the papers I showed you at Wyncombe. If you have any others ready, send them along. Try to think up some bright, original idea, and ill.u.s.trate it in your best style. Then send to me.

"Your sincere friend, HERBERT."

Chester hardly knew whether he was standing on his head or his heels.

It seems almost incredible that a sketch which he had dashed off in twenty minutes should bring in such a magnificent sum.

And for the first time it dawned upon him he was an artist. Fifty dollars gained in any other way would not have given him so much satisfaction. Why, it was only three weeks that he had been out of a place, and he had received more than he would have been paid in that time by Mr. Tripp.

He decided to tell no one of his good luck but his mother and the minister. If he were fortunate enough to earn more, the neighbors might wonder as they pleased about the source of his supplies. The money came at the right time, for his mother needed some articles at the store. He concluded to get them on the way home.

Silas Tripp was weighing out some sugar for a customer when Chester entered. Silas eyed him sharply, and was rather surprised to find him cheerful and in good spirits.

"How's your mother this mornin', Chester?" asked the grocer.

"Pretty well, thank you, Mr. Tripp."

"Are you doin' anything yet?"

"There doesn't seem to be much work to do in Wyncombe," answered Chester, noncommittally.

"You was foolish to leave a stiddy job at the store."

"I couldn't afford to work for the money you offered me."

"Two dollars and a quarter is better than nothin'. I would have paid you two and a half. I like you better than that Wood boy. Is your mother workin'?"

"She is doing a little sewing, but she had no time for that with a sick man in the house."

"I don't see what made you keep a man that was no kith or kin to you."

"Would you have had us put him into the street, Mr. Tripp?"

"I'd have laid the matter before the selec'-men, and got him into the poorhouse."

"Well, it is all over now, and I'm not sorry that we cared for the poor fellow. I would like six pounds of sugar and two of b.u.t.ter."

"You ain't goin' to run a bill, be you?" asked Silas, cautiously. "I can't afford to trust out any more."

"We don't owe you anything, do we, Mr. Tripp?"