Mark Mason's Victory Part 1

Mark Mason's Victory.

by Horatio Alger.

CHAPTER I.

TWO STRANGERS FROM SYRACUSE.

"THAT is the City Hall over there, Edgar."

The speaker was a man of middle age, with a thin face and a nose like a Hawk. He was well dressed, and across his vest was visible a showy gold chain with a cameo charm attached to it.

The boy, probably about fifteen, was the image of his father. They were crossing City Hall Park in New York and Mr. Talbot was pointing out to his son the public buildings which make this one of the noted localities in the metropolis.

"s.h.i.+ne?" asked a bootblack walking up to the pair.

"I'd like to take a s.h.i.+ne, father," said Edgar. "What do you charge?"

"Five cents, but I don't object to a dime," replied the bootblack.

"Can I have a s.h.i.+ne, father?"

"Why didn't you get one at the hotel?"

"Because they charged ten cents. I thought I could get it for less outside."

"Good boy!" said the father in a tone of approval. "Get things as low as you can. That's my motto, and that's the way I got rich. Here, boy, you can get to work."

Instantly the bootblack was on his knees, and signed for Edgar to put his foot on the box.

"What's your name, boy?" asked Edgar with a condescending tone.

"No, it ain't boy. It's Tom."

"Well, Tom, do you make much money?"

"Well, I don't often make more'n five dollars a day."

"Five dollars? You are trying to humbug me."

"It's true though. I never made more'n five dollars in a day in my life, 'cept when I s.h.i.+ned shoes for swells like you who were liberal with their cash."

Edgar felt rather flattered to be called a swell, but a little alarmed at the suggestion that Tom might expect more than the usual sum.

"That's all right, but I shall only pay you five cents."

"I knew you wouldn't as soon as I saw you."

"Why?"

"'Cause you don't look like George W. Childs."

"Who's he?"

"The _Ledger_ man from Philadelphia. I once blacked his shoes and he gave me a quarter. General Was.h.i.+ngton once paid me a dollar."

"What!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Edgar. "Do you mean to say that you ever blacked General Was.h.i.+ngton's shoes?"

"No; he wore boots."

"Why, my good boy, General Was.h.i.+ngton died almost a hundred years ago."

"Did he? Well, it might have been some other general."

"I guess it was. You don't seem to know much about history."

"No, I don't. I spent all my time studyin' 'stronomy when I went to school."

"What's your whole name?"

"Tom Trotter. I guess you've heard of my father. He's Judge Trotter of the Supreme Court?"

"I am afraid you don't tell the truth very often."

"No, I don't. It ain't healthy. Do you?"

"Of course I do."

This conversation was not heard by Mr. Talbot, who had taken a seat on one of the park benches, and was busily engaged in reading the morning _World_.

By this time Tom began to think it was his time to ask questions.

"Where did you come from?" he inquired.

"How do you know but I live in the city?"

"'Cause you ain't got New York style."

"Oh!" said Edgar rather mortified. Then he added in a tone which he intended to be highly sarcastic: "I suppose you have."

"Well, I guess. You'd ought to see me walk down Fifth Avener Sunday mornin' with my best girl."

"Do you wear the same clothes you've got on now?"

"No, I guess not. I've got a little Lord Fauntleroy suit of black velvet, with kid gloves and all the fixin's. But you ain't told me where you live yet."

"I live in Syracuse. My father's one of the most prominent citizens of that city."