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    Joe the Hotel Boy
    Joe the Hotel Boy
    Joe the Hotel Boy
    Ebook190 pages2 hours

    Joe the Hotel Boy

    By Horatio, Jr. Alger

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    About this ebook

    There was a good deal of a mystery surrounding Joe's parentage. It was claimed that he was a nephew of Hiram Bodley, and that, after the death of his mother and sisters, his father had drifted out to California and then to Australia. What the real truth concerning him was we shall learn later (Excerpt)
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOtbebookpublishing
    Release dateJun 20, 2017
    ISBN9783958642522
    Joe the Hotel Boy
    Author

    Horatio, Jr. Alger

    Horatio Alger Jr. ; January 13, 1832 – July 18, 1899) was a prolific 19th-century American writer, best known for his many young adult novels about impoverished boys and their rise from humble backgrounds to lives of middle-class security and comfort through hard work, determination, courage, and honesty. (Excerpt from Wikipedia)

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      Book preview

      Joe the Hotel Boy - Horatio, Jr. Alger

      advancement.

      CHAPTER I.

      OUT IN A STORM.

      What do you think of this storm, Joe?

      I think it is going to be a heavy one, Ned. I wish we were back home, replied Joe Bodley, as he looked at the heavy clouds which overhung Lake Tandy.

      Do you think we’ll catch much rain before we get back? And Ned, who was the son of a rich man and well dressed, looked at the new suit of clothes that he wore.

      I’m afraid we shall, Ned. Those black clouds back of Mount Sam mean something. If this new suit gets soaked it will be ruined, grumbled Ned, and gave a sigh.

      I am sorry for the suit, Ned; but I didn’t think it was going to rain when we started.

      Oh, I am not blaming you, Joe. It looked clear enough this morning. Can’t we get to some sort of shelter before the rain reaches us?

      We can try.

      Which is the nearest shelter?

      Joe Bodley mused for a moment.

      The nearest that I know of is over at yonder point, Ned. It’s an old hunting lodge that used to belong to the Cameron family. It has been deserted for several years.

      Then let us row for that place, and be quick about it, said Ned Talmadge. I am not going to get wet if I can help it.

      As he spoke he took up a pair of oars lying in the big rowboat he and Joe Bodley occupied. Joe was already rowing and the rich boy joined in, and the craft was headed for the spot Joe had pointed out.

      The lake was one located in the central part of the State of Pennsylvania. It was perhaps a mile wide and more than that long, and surrounded by mountains and long ranges of hills. At the lower end of the lake was a small settlement of scant importance and at the upper end, where there was a stream of no mean size, was the town of Riverside. At Riverside were situated several summer hotels and boarding houses, and also the elegant mansion in which Ned Talmadge resided, with his parents and his four sisters.

      Joe Bodley was as poor as Ned Talmadge was rich, yet the two lads were quite friendly. Joe knew a good deal about hunting and fishing, and also knew all about handling boats. They frequently went out together, and Ned insisted upon paying the poorer boy for all extra services.

      Joe’s home was located on the side of the mountain which was just now wrapped in such dark and ominous looking clouds. He lived with Hiram Bodley, an old man who was a hermit. The home consisted of a cabin of two rooms, scantily furnished. Hiram Bodley had been a hunter and guide, but of late years rheumatism had kept him from doing work and Joe was largely the support of the pair,—taking out pleasure parties for pay whenever he could, and fishing and hunting in the between times, and using or selling what was gained thereby.

      There was a good deal of a mystery surrounding Joe’s parentage. It was claimed that he was a nephew of Hiram Bodley, and that, after the death of his mother and sisters, his father had drifted out to California and then to Australia. What the real truth concerning him was we shall learn later.

      Joe was a boy of twelve, but constant life in the open air had made him tall and strong and he looked to be several years older.

      He had dark eyes and hair, and was much tanned by the sun. The rowboat had been out a good distance on the lake and a minute before the shore was gained the large drops of rain began to fall.

      We are going to get wet after all! cried Ned, chagrined.

      Pull for all you are worth and we’ll soon be under the trees, answered Joe.

      They bent to the oars, and a dozen more strokes sent the rowboat under a clump of pines growing close to the edge of the lake. Just as the boat struck the bank and Ned leaped out there came a great downpour which made the surface of Lake Tandy fairly sizzle.

      Run to the lodge, Ned; I’ll look after the boat! shouted Joe.

      But you’ll get wet.

      Never mind; run, I tell you!

      Thus admonished, Ned ran for the old hunting lodge, which was situated about two hundred feet away. Joe remained behind long enough to secure the rowboat and the oars and then he followed his friend.

      Just as one porch of the old lodge was reached there came a flash of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder that made Ned jump. Then followed more thunder and lightning, and the rain came down steadily.

      Ugh! I must say I don’t like this at all, remarked Ned, as he crouched in a corner of the shelter. I hope the lightning doesn’t strike this place.

      We can be thankful that we were not caught out in the middle of the lake, Ned.

      I agree on that, Joe,—but it doesn’t help matters much. Oh, dear me! And Ned shrank down, as another blinding flash of lightning lit up the scene.

      It was not a comfortable situation and Joe did not like it any more than did his friend. But the hermit’s boy was accustomed to being out in the elements, and therefore was not so impressed by what was taking place.

      The rain will fill the boat, said Ned, presently.

      Never mind, we can easily bail her out or turn her over.

      When do you think this storm will stop?

      In an hour or two, most likely. Such storms never last very long. What time is it, Ned?

      Half-past two, answered Ned, after consulting the handsome watch he carried.

      Then, if it clears in two hours, we’ll have plenty of time to get home before dark.

      I don’t care to stay here two hours, grumbled Ned. It’s not a very inviting place.

      It’s better than being out under the trees, answered Joe, cheerfully. The hermit’s boy was always ready to look on the brighter side of things.

      Oh, of course.

      And we have a fine string of fish, don’t forget that, Ned. We were lucky to get so many before the storm came up.

      Do you want the fish, or are you going to let me take them?

      I’d like to have one fish. You may take the others.

      Not unless you let me pay for them, Joe.

      Oh, you needn’t mind about paying me.

      But I insist, came from Ned. I won’t touch them otherwise.

      All right, you can pay me for what I caught.

      No, I want to pay for all of them. Your time is worth something, and I know you have to support your—the old hermit now.

      All right, Ned, have your own way. Yes, I admit, I need all the money I get.

      Is the old hermit very sick?

      Not so sick, but his rheumatism keeps him from going out hunting or fishing, so all that work falls to me.

      It’s a good deal on your shoulders, Joe.

      I make the best of it, for there is nothing else to do.

      By the way, Joe, you once spoke to me about—well, about yourself, went on Ned, after some hesitation. Did you ever learn anything more? You need not tell me if you don’t care to.

      At these words Joe’s face clouded for an instant.

      No, I haven’t learned a thing more, Ned.

      Then you don’t really know if you are the hermit’s nephew or not?

      Oh, I think I am, but I don’t know whatever became of my father.

      Does the hermit think he is alive?

      He doesn’t know, and he hasn’t any means of finding out.

      Well, if I were you, I’d find out, some way or other.

      I’m going to find out—some day, replied Joe. But, to tell the truth, I don’t know how to go at it. Uncle Hiram doesn’t like to talk about it. He thinks my father did wrong to go away. I imagine they had a quarrel over it.

      Has he ever heard from your father since?

      Not a word.

      Did he write?

      He didn’t know where to write to.

      Humph! It is certainly a mystery, Joe.

      You are right, Ned; and as I said before, I am going to solve it some time, even if it takes years of work to do it, replied the hermit’s boy.

      CHAPTER II.

      A MYSTERIOUS CONVERSATION.

      The old hunting lodge where the two boys had sought shelter was a rambling affair, consisting of a square building built of logs, and half a dozen wings, running to the rear and to one side. There were also two piazzas, and a shed, where wood had been kept for winter use.

      In another year or two this old lodge will fall down, remarked Ned, as he gazed around him.

      It must have been a nice place in its day, returned Joe. What a pity to let it run down in this fashion.

      The rain is coming around on this side now, Joe; let us shift to the other.

      The hermit’s boy was willing, and watching their chance, between the downpours, they ran around to another portion of the old lodge.

      It certainly is a little better here, observed Joe, as he dashed the water from his cap.

      A minute later the rumbling of the thunder ceased for the time being, and they heard a murmur of voices coming from one of the rooms of the lodge.

      Why, somebody must be here! ejaculated Ned. Who can it be?

      Two men, by their voices, answered the hermit’s boy. Wait till I take a look at them?

      Why not go in? questioned the rich youth, carelessly.

      They may not be persons that we would care to meet, Ned. You know there are some undesirable characters about the lake.

      That’s true.

      Not far off was a narrow window, the panes of glass of which had long since been broken out. Moving toward this, Joe peered into the apartment beyond.

      Close to an old fireplace, in which a few sticks of half-green timber were burning, sat two men. Both were well dressed, and Joe rightfully surmised that they were from the city. Each wore a hunting outfit and had a gun, but neither had any game.

      We came on a wild-goose chase, grumbled one, as he stirred the fire. Got nothing but a soaking for our pains.

      Never mind, Malone, returned the other, who was evidently the better educated of the two. As we had to make ourselves scarce in the city this was as good a place to come to as any.

      Don’t you think they’ll look for us here?

      Why should they? We were sharp enough not to leave any trail behind—at least, I was.

      Reckon I was just as sharp, Caven.

      You had to be—otherwise you would have been nabbed. Gaff Caven chuckled to himself. We outwitted them nicely, I must say. We deserve credit.

      I’ve spent more than half of what I got out of the deal, went on Pat Malone, for such was the full name of one of the speakers.

      I’ve spent more than that. But never mind, my boy, fortune will favor us again in the near future.

      A crash of thunder drowned out the conversation following, and Joe hurried back to where he had left Ned.

      Well, have you found out who they are? demanded the rich youth, impatiently.

      No, Ned, but I am sure of one thing.

      What is that?

      They are two bad men.

      What makes you think that?

      They said something about having to get out of the city, and one spoke about being nabbed. Evidently they went away to avoid arrest.

      At this announcement Ned Talmadge whistled softly to himself.

      Phew! What shall we do about it? he asked, with a look of concern on his usually passive face.

      Joe shrugged his shoulders.

      I don’t know what to do.

      Let us listen to what they have to say. Maybe we’ll strike some clew to what they have been doing.

      Would that be fair—to play the eaves-dropper?

      Certainly—if they are evildoers. Anybody who has done wrong ought to be locked up for it, went on Ned boldly.

      With caution the two boys made their way to the narrow window, and Ned looked in as Joe had done. The backs of the two men were still towards the opening, so the lads were not discovered.

      What is this new game? they heard the man called Malone ask, after a peal of thunder had rolled away among the mountains.

      It’s the old game of a sick miner with some valuable stocks to sell, answered Gaff Caven.

      Have you got the stocks?

      To be sure—one thousand shares of the Blue Bell Mine, of Montana, said to be worth exactly fifty thousand dollars.

      Phew! You’re flying high, Gaff! laughed Pat Malone.

      And why not, so long as I sell the stocks?

      What did they cost you?

      Well, they didn’t cost me fifty thousand dollars, and Gaff Caven closed one eye suggestively.

      "You bet they didn’t! More

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