In Search of Treasure

Horatio Alger

Jr. Horatio Alger

In Search of Treasure

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCES GUY AND HIS FATHER

“I wish I could send you to college, Guy,” said Mr. Fenwick, as they sat in the library, reading by the soft light of a student lamp.

The speaker was the Rev. Mr. Fenwick, the pastor of a church in Bayport, a few miles from New Bedford, Massachusetts.

“I don’t think I care much about going to college, father,” said Guy, a bright, manly, broad-shouldered boy of sixteen.

“When I was of your age, Guy,” replied his father, “I was already a student of Harvard. You are ready for college, but my means are not sufficient to send you there.”

“Don’t worry about that, father. There are other paths to success than through college.”

“I am rather surprised to hear you speak so indifferently, Guy. At the academy you are acknowledged to be the best Latin and Greek scholar they have had for years.”

“That may be, father.”

“It is so. The principal so assured me, and he would not misrepresent just to please me.”

“I am glad that I have so good a reputation.”

“With such qualifications it seems certain you would achieve success in college, graduate high, and, in time, become a distinguished professional man, or perhaps professor.”

“Perhaps I might; but, father, in spite of my taste for study, I have one taste still stronger.”

“What is that?”

“A taste for adventure. I want to see the world, to visit strange countries, to become acquainted with strange people.”

As the boy spoke his face became flushed and animated.

Mr. Fenwick looked surprised.

“Certainly,” he said, “you don’t get this taste from me. When I was a boy I used to stay indoors to read and study. I cared nothing for the sports and games that interested my school companions.”

Guy smiled.

“I believe you, father,” he said. “You don’t go out half enough now. Instead of shutting yourself up in your study, you would be stronger and healthier if you would walk five miles a day.”

Mr. Fenwick slightly shuddered.

He was a pale, thin man, with an intellectual look, but had the air of a scholar and a recluse.

“I couldn’t do it, Guy,” he said. “Even if I walk a mile, I feel that it is a hardship. It is tame and monotonous. I don’t see where you get your red cheeks and exuberant spirits from.”

“From my mother’s family, I think, father.”

“Very likely. Your mother was bright and animated when I married her, but she broke down under the manifold duties and engagements of a minister’s wife.”

“That is true. Poor mother!”

Guy sighed, and his bright face looked sorrowful, for it was only a twelvemonth since his mother was laid away in the little graveyard at Bayport.

“You look very much like your uncle George, your mother’s brother, as he was at your age.”

“He became a sailor?”

“Yes. He had an extraordinary love for the sea. If he had been content to live on land and follow some mercantile business, he would, in all probability, be living to-day.”

“How did he die?”

“He took a fever at some infected port, and died on shipboard. The poor fellow was still a comparatively young man, little more than thirty, and it seemed sad that he should be cut off at such an early age.”

“Was his body brought home?”

“No. Sailors are superstitious, and they don’t like to sail in a ship that has a dead body on board. So poor George was sewed up in a sack, and committed to the ocean depths. His chest was sent to us, and is stored in the attic.”

“Have you ever opened it?”

“Yes, I opened it, but didn’t examine the contents. Probably there was nothing except a sailor’s plain outfit. As to money, George was not a man to save anything. He was extravagant and prodigal, like most of his class.”

“Was he a common sailor?”

“No; he was second mate, and received fair wages. He did not have your education, but had good native talent, but nothing could divert him from his plan of going to sea.”

“Well, father, I suppose there must