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When young Andy came to town, he found a mutual dislike with Master Godfrey, Colonel Preston's son. Though Andy was of low station (not considered fit company for Godfrey's circle), he was not to be deterred. But snooty Godfrey and his ilk have always been a pain!
"John, saddle my horse, and bring him around to the door."
The speaker was a boy of fifteen, handsomely dressed, and, to judge from his air and tone, a person of considerable consequence, in his own opinion, at least. The person addressed was employed in the stable of his father, Colonel Anthony Preston, and so inferior in social condition that Master Godfrey always addressed him in imperious tones.
John looked up and answered, respectfully:
"Master Godfrey, your horse is sick of the disease, and your father left orders that he wasn't to go out on no account."
"It's my horse," said Godfrey; "I intend to take him out."
"Maybe it's yours, but your father paid for him."
"None of your impudence, John," answered Godfrey, angrily. "Am I master, or are you, I should like to know!"
"Neither, I'm thinking," said John, with a twinkle in his eye. "It's your father that's the master."
"I'm master of the horse, anyway, so saddle him at once."
"The colonel would blame me," objected John.
"If you don't, I'll report you and get you dismissed."
"I'll take the risk, Master Godfrey," said the servant, good-humoredly. "The colonel won't be so unreasonable as to send me away for obeying his own orders."
Here John was right, and Godfrey knew it, and this vexed him the more. He had an inordinate opinion of himself and his own consequence, and felt humiliated at being disobeyed by a servant, without being able to punish him for his audacity. This feeling was increased by the presence of a third party, who was standing just outside the fence.
As this third party is our hero, I must take a separate paragraph to describe him. He was about the age of Godfrey, possibly a little shorter and stouter. He had a freckled face, full of good humor, but at the same time resolute and determined. He appeared to be one who had a will of his own, but not inclined to interfere with others, though ready to stand up for his own rights. In dress he compared very unfavorably with the young aristocrat, who was biting his lips with vexation. In fact, though he is my hero, his dress was far from heroic. He had no vest, and his coat was ragged, as well as his pants. He had on a pair of shoes two or three times too large for him. They had not been made to order, but had been given him by a gentleman of nearly double his size, and fitted him too much. He wore a straw hat, for it was summer, but the brim was semi-detached, and a part of his brown hair found its way through it.
Now Godfrey was just in the mood for picking a quarrel with somebody, and as there was no excuse for quarreling any further with John, he was rather glad to pitch into the young stranger.
"Who are you?" he demanded, in his usual imperious tone, and with a contraction of the brow.
"Only an Irish boy!" answered the other, with a droll look and a slight brogue.
"Then what business have you leaning against my fence?" again demanded
Godfrey, imperiously.
"Shure, I didn't know it was your fence."
"Then you know now. Quit leaning against it."
"Why should I, now? I don't hurt it, do I?"
"No matter-I told you to go away. We don't want any beggars here."
"Shure, I don't see any," said the other boy, demurely.
"What are you but a beggar?"
"Shure, I'm a gintleman of indepindent fortune."
"You look like it," said Godfrey, disdainfully. "Where do you keep it?"
"Here!" said the Irish boy, tapping a bundle which he carried over his shoulder, wrapped in a red cotton handkerchief, with a stick thrust through beneath the knot.
"What's your name?"
"Andy Burke. What's yours?"
"I don't feel under any obligations to answer your questions," said
Godfrey, haughtily.
"Don't you? Then what made you ask me?"
"That's different. You are only an Irish boy."
"And who are you?"
"I am the only son of Colonel Anthony Preston," returned Godfrey, impressively.
"Are you, now? I thought you was a royal duke, or maybe Queen
Victoria's oldest boy."
"Fellow, you are becoming impertinent."
"Faith, I didn't mean it. You look so proud and gintale that it's jist a mistake I made."
"You knew that we had no dukes in America," said Godfrey, suspiciously.
"If we had, now, you'd be one of them," said Andy.
"Why? What makes you say so?"
"You're jist the picture of the Earl of Barleycorn's ildest son that I saw before I left Ireland."
Godfrey possessed so large a share of ridiculous pride that he felt pleased with the compliment, though he was not clear about its sincerity.
"Where do you live?" he asked, with a slight lowering of his tone.
"Where do I live? Shure, I don't live anywhere now, but I'm going to live in the village. My mother came here a month ago."
"Why didn't you come with her?"
"I was workin' with a farmer, but the work gave out and I came home.
Maybe I'll find work here."
"I think I know where your mother lives," said John, who had heard the conversation. "She lives up the road a mile or so, in a little house with two rooms. It's where old Jake Barlow used to live."
"Thank you, sir. I guess I'll be goin', then, as my mother'll be expectin' me. Do you know if she's well?" and a look of anxiety came over the boy's honest, good-natured face.
The question was addressed to John, but of this Godfrey was not quite sure. He thought the inquiry was made of him, and his pride was touched.
"What should I know of your mother, you beggar?" he said, with a sneer. "I don't associate with such low people."
"Do you mane my mother?" said Andy, quickly, and he, too, looked angry and threatening.
"Yes, I do. What are you going to do about it?" demanded Godfrey.
"You'd better take it back," said Andy, his good-humored face now dark with passion.
"Do you think I am afraid of such a beggar as you?" sneered Godfrey.
"You appear to forget that you are speaking to a gentleman."
"Shure, I didn't know it," returned Andy, hotly. "You're no gentleman if you insult my mother, and if you'll come out here for a minute I'll give you a bating."
"John," said Godfrey, angrily, "will you drive that beggar away?"
Now, John's sympathies were rather with Andy than with his young master. He had no great admiration for Godfrey, having witnessed during the year he had been in his father's employ too much of the boy's arrogance and selfishness to feel much attachment for him. Had he taken any part in the present quarrel, he would have preferred espousing the cause of the Irish boy; but that would not have been polite, and he therefore determined to preserve his neutrality.
"That ain't my business, Master Godfrey," he said. "You must fight your own battles."
"Go away from here," said Godfrey, imperiously advancing toward that part of the fence against which Andy Burke was leaning.
"Will you take back what you said agin' my mother?"
"No, I won't."
"Then you're a blackguard, if you are a rich man's son."
The blood rushed to Godfrey's face on the instant. This was a palpable insult. What! he, a rich man's son, the only son and heir of Colonel Anthony Preston, with his broad acres and ample bank account-he to be called a blackguard by a low Irish boy. His passion got the better of him, and he ran through the gate, his eyes flashing fire, bent on exterminating his impudent adversary.
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...
After being kicked out of her home, Harlee learned she wasn't the biological daughter of her family. Rumors had it that her impoverished biological family favored sons and planned to profit from her return. Unexpectedly, her real father was a zillionaire, catapulting her into immense wealth and making her the most cherished member of the family. While they anticipated her disgrace, Harlee secretly held design patents worth billions. Celebrated for her brilliance, she was invited to mentor in a national astronomy group, drew interest from wealthy suitors, and caught the eye of a mysterious figure, ascending to legendary status.
Five years ago, Alessia La Rosa's life took a drastic turn when, suffering from memory loss, she wed to Dominic Carter under her grandfather's mysterious arrangement. But their marriage was a facade, bringing her only humiliation and heartache as Dominic showed no love, and she couldn't conceive. Upon discovering Dominic's infidelity, Alessia sought liberation through divorce. Yet, fate had more in store for her. Five years later, spurred by an anonymous email hinting at her lost child's whereabouts, she returns to the city with her twin babies in tow, determined to uncover the truth. As she navigates the tangled web of her past, a surprising twist awaits. Dominic, upon meeting her again, finds himself drawn to the woman she has become, unaware of her true identity as his former wife. Little does he know, the woman he's falling for is not only his ex-wife but also a powerful Doctor and Master Hacker.
"You're a creepy bastard." His eyes smolder me and his answering grin is nothing short of beautiful. Deadly. "Yet you hunger for me. Tell me, this appetite of yours, does it always tend toward 'creepy bastards'?" **** Widower and ex-boss to the Mafia, Zefiro Della Rocca, has an unhealthy fixation on the woman nextdoor. It began as a coincidence, growing into mere curiosity, and soon, it was an itch he couldn't ignore, like a quick fix of crack for an addict. He didn't know her name, but he knew every inch of her skin, how it flushed when she climaxed, her favourite novel and that every night she contemplated suicide. He didn't want to care, despising his rapt fascination of the woman. She was in love with her abusive husband. She was married, bound by a contract to the Bratva's hitman. She was off-limits. But when Zefiro wanted something, it was with an intensity that bordered on madness. He obsessed, possessed, owned. There'd be bloodshed if he touched her, but the sight of blood always did fascinate him. * When Susanna flees from her husband, she stumbles right into the arms of her devilishly handsome neighbour with a brooding glare. He couldn't stand her, but she needed him, if she was ever going to escape her husband who now wanted her dead. Better the devil you know than the angel you don't. She should have recalled that before hopping into Zefiro's car and letting him whisk her away to Italy. Maybe then, she wouldn't have started an affair with him. He was the only man who touched her right, and the crazy man took no small pains in ensuring he would be the last.
Linsey was stood up by her groom to run off with another woman. Furious, she grabbed a random stranger and declared, "Let's get married!" She had acted on impulse, realizing too late that her new husband was the notorious rascal, Collin. The public laughed at her, and even her runaway ex offered to reconcile. But Linsey scoffed at him. "My husband and I are very much in love!" Everyone thought she was delusional. Then Collin was revealed to be the richest man in the world. In front of everyone, he got down on one knee and held up a stunning diamond ring. "I look forward to our forever, honey."
"Please trust me, I didn't do anything." "I don't believe you. I am rejecting you as my Queen and giving you the punishment of death." Alina was living outside her pack for five years. Her parents didn't try to contact her and always ignored her. Her best friend convinced her to go back to their pack and she agreed. But she had never imagined what was waiting there for her. She never thought she would meet her mate and had to face betrayal from everywhere. She had to pay for the crime which she never committed. Aaron Robertson is the king of Lycans. He is a very dominant and powerful King who not only rules Lycans but also rules other ranks of werewolves. Everyone is afraid of Lycans and he is the king of them. But who knew that he would get a mate who was just a simple Omega with no powers and strengths? He called her weak all the time but little did he know that his weak Omega would give him the biggest betrayal of his life for which he had to give her the sentence of death.
Elin spent twenty years deeply loving her husband, finally marrying him just as she'd always dreamed. But reality shattered her illusions—he wasn't the man she believed. Instead, he callously destroyed her family, crushing her heart beyond repair. At her lowest point, Ruben, equally betrayed that night, approached her steadily. "Marry me, Elin. I'll help you take revenge." Yet, after their wedding, she quickly discovered he was dangerously unpredictable. "I made a mistake. Let's divorce..." Ruben slid his arm possessively around her waist, whispering a chilling promise, "Only in death."