Joe's Luck; Or, Always Wide Awake by Jr. Horatio Alger
Joe's Luck; Or, Always Wide Awake by Jr. Horatio Alger
"Come here, you Joe, and be quick about it!"
The boy addressed, a stout boy of fifteen, with an honest, sun-browned face, looked calmly at the speaker.
"What's wanted?" he asked.
"Brush me off, and don't be all day about it!" said Oscar Norton impatiently.
Joe's blue eyes flashed indignantly at the tone of the other.
"You can brush yourself off," he answered independently.
"What do you mean by your impudence?" demanded Oscar angrily. "Have you turned lazy all at once?"
"No," said Joe firmly, "but I don't choose to be ordered round by you."
"What's up, I wonder? Ain't you our servant?"
"I am not your servant, though your father is my employer."
"Then you are bound to obey me-his son."
"I don't see it."
"Then you'd better, if you know what's best for yourself. Are you going to brush me off?"
"No."
"Look out! I can get my father to turn you off."
"You may try if you want to."
Oscar, much incensed, went to his father to report Joe's insubordination. While he is absent, a few words of explanation will enlighten the reader as to Joe's history and present position.
Joe Mason was alone in the world. A year previous he had lost his father, his only remaining parent, and when the father's affairs were settled and funeral expenses paid there was found to be just five dollars left, which was expended for clothing for Joe.
In this emergency Major Norton, a farmer and capitalist, offered to provide Joe with board and clothes and three months' schooling in the year in return for his services. As nothing else offered, Joe accepted, but would not bind himself for any length of time. He was free to go whenever he pleased.
Now there were two disagreeable things in Joe's new place. The first was the parsimony of Major Norton, who was noted for his stingy disposition, and the second was the overbearing manners of Oscar, who lost no opportunity to humiliate Joe and tyrannize over him so far as Joe's independent spirit would allow. It happened, therefore, that Joe was compelled to work hard, while the promised clothing was of the cheapest and shabbiest description. He was compelled to go to school in patched shoes and a ragged suit, which hurt his pride as he compared himself with Oscar, who was carefully and even handsomely dressed. Parsimonious as his father was, he was anxious that his only boy should appear to advantage.
On the very day on which our story begins Oscar had insulted Joe in a way which excited our hero's bitter indignation.
This is the way it happened:
Joe, who was a general favorite on account of his good looks and gentlemanly manners, and in spite of his shabby attire, was walking home with Annie Raymond, the daughter of the village physician, when Oscar came up.
He was himself secretly an admirer of the young lady, but had never received the least encouragement from her. It made him angry to see his father's drudge walking on equal terms with his own favorite, and his coarse nature prompted him to insult his enemy.
"Miss Raymond," he said, lifting his hat mockingly, "I congratulate you on the beau you have picked up."
Annie Raymond fully appreciated his meanness, and answered calmly:
"I accept your congratulations, Mr. Norton."
This answer made Oscar angry and led him to go further than he otherwise would.
"You must be hard up for an escort, when you accept such a ragamuffin as Joe Mason."
Joe flushed with anger.
"Oscar Norton, do you mean to insult Miss Raymond or me," he demanded.
"So you are on your high horse!" said Oscar sneeringly.
"Will you answer my question?"
"Yes, I will. I certainly don't mean to insult Miss Raymond, but I wonder at her taste in choosing my father's hired boy to walk with."
"I am not responsible to you for my choice, Oscar Norton," said Annie Raymond, with dignity. "If my escort is poorly dressed, it is not his fault, nor do I think the less of him for it."
"If your father would dress me better, I should be very glad of it," said Joe. "If I am a ragamuffin, it is his fault."
"I'll report that to him," said Oscar maliciously.
"I wish you would. It would save me the trouble of asking him for better clothes."
"Suppose we go on," said Annie Raymond.
"Certainly," said Joe politely.
And they walked on, leaving Oscar discomfited and mortified.
"What a fool Annie Raymond makes of herself" he muttered. "I should think she'd be ashamed to go round with Joe Mason."
Oscar would have liked to despise Annie Raymond, but it was out of his power. She was undoubtedly the belle of the school, and he would have been proud to receive as much notice from her as she freely accorded to Joe. But the young lady had a mind and a will of her own, and she had seen too much to dislike in Oscar to regard him with favor, even if he were the son of a rich man, while she had the good sense and discrimination to see that Joe, despite his ragged garb, possessed sterling good qualities.
When Oscar got home he sought his father.
"Father," said he, "I heard Joe complaining to Annie Raymond that you didn't dress him decently."
Major Norton looked annoyed.
"What does the boy mean?" he said. "What does he expect?"
"He should be dressed as well as I am," said Oscar maliciously.
"Quite out of the question," said the major hastily. "Your clothes cost a mint of money."
"Of course, you want me to look well, father. I am your son, and he is only your hired boy."
"I don't want folks to talk," said the major, who was sensitive to public opinion. "Don't you think his clothes are good enough?"
"Of course they are; but I'll tell you what, father," said Oscar, with a sudden idea, "you know that suit of mine that I got stained with acid?"
"Yes, Oscar," said the major gravely. "I ought to remember it. It cost me thirty-four dollars, and you spoiled it by your carelessness."
"Suppose you give that to Joe?" suggested Oscar.
"He's a good deal larger than you. It wouldn't fit him; and, besides, it's stained."
"What right has a hired boy to object to a stain? No matter if it is too small, he has no right to be particular."
"You are right, Oscar," said the major, who was glad to be saved the expense of a new suit for Joe. Even he had been unpleasantly conscious that Joe's appearance had become discreditable to him. "You may bring it down, Oscar," he said.
"I dare say Joe won't like the idea of wearing it, but a boy in his position has no right to be proud."
"Of course not," returned the major, his ruling passion gratified by the prospect of saving the price of a suit. "When Joseph comes home-at any rate, after he is through with his chores-you may tell him to come in to me."
"All right, sir."
Before Oscar remembered this message, the scene narrated at the commencement of the chapter occurred. On his way to complain to his father, he recollected the message, and, retracing his steps, said to Joe:
"My father wants to see you right off."
This was a summons which Joe felt it his duty to obey. He accordingly bent his steps to the room where Major Norton usually sat.
Slow and Sure: The Story of Paul Hoffman the Young Street-Merchant by Jr. Horatio Alger
Alger's writings happened to correspond with America's Gilded Age, a time of increasing prosperity in a nation rebuilding from the Civil War.This is another fine work by Alger in the vein of 'rags to riches' tales.
The class of boys described in the present volume was called into existence only a few years since, but they are already so numerous that one can scarcely ride down town by any conveyance without having one for a fellow-passenger. Most of them reside with their parents and have comfortable homes, but a few, like the hero of this story, are wholly dependent on their own exertions for a livelihood.
A youth of sturdy qualities elects to follow the calling of a deckhand on a Hudson River steamboat...
Alger describes young men in the city trying to get a head as newsboys, match boys, pedlars, street musicians, and many others. Through luck and hard work, sixteen-year-old Ohio farm boy Nat finds surprising success in nineteenth-century New York City.
This book is written in the typical Alger style. Herbert is a poor boy who sets out, with the help of his great uncle, to clear his father's name of a crime he did not commit...
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Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun. Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos. As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage. The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice. Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her.
For seventeen years, I was the crown jewel of the Kensington empire, the perfect daughter groomed for a royal future. Then, a cream-colored envelope landed in my lap, bearing a gold crest and a truth that turned my world into ice. The DNA test result was a cold, hard zero percent-I wasn't a Kensington. Before the ink could even dry, my parents invited my replacement, a girl named Alleen, into the drawing room and treated me like a trespasser in my own home. My mother, who once hosted galas in my honor, wouldn't even look me in the eye as she stroked Alleen's arm, whispering that she was finally "safe." My father handed me a one-million-dollar check-a mere tip for a billionaire-and told me to leave immediately to avoid tanking the company's stock price. "You're a thief! You lived my life, you spent my money, and you don't get to keep the loot!" Alleen shrieked, trying to claw the designer jacket off my shoulders while my "parents" watched with clinical detachment. I was dumped on a gritty sidewalk in Queens with nothing but three trunks and the address of a struggling laborer I was now supposed to call "Dad." I traded a marble mansion for a crumbling walk-up where the air smelled of exhaust and my new bedroom was a literal storage closet. My biological family thought I was a broken princess, and the Kensingtons thought they had successfully erased me with a payoff and a non-disclosure agreement. They had no idea that while I was hauling trunks up four flights of stairs, my secret media empire was already preparing to move against them. As I sat on a thin mattress in the dark, I opened my encrypted laptop and sent a single command that would cost my former father ten million dollars by breakfast. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves, but they forgot one thing: I'm the one who leads the pack.
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Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.
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