Now or Never by Oliver Optic

O >> Oliver Optic >> Now or Never

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

NOW OR NEVER

Or, The Adventures of Bobby Bright.

A Story for Young Folks

by

OLIVER OPTIC

Author of _The Boat Club_, _All Aboard_, _In Doors and Out_, etc.

Boston: Lee and Shepard, Publishers.
New York: Lee, Shepard & Dillingham, 49 Greene Street

1872

TO

MY NEPHEW,

CHARLES HENRY POPE.

This Book

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.

PREFACE

The story contained in this volume is a record of youthful struggles,
not only in the world without, but in the world within; and the success
of the little hero is not merely a gathering up of wealth and honors,
but a triumph over the temptations that beget the pilgrim on the plain
of life. The attainment of worldly prosperity is not the truest
victory, and the author has endeavored to make the interest of his
story depend more on the hero's devotion to principles than on his
success in business.

Bobby Bright is a smart boy; perhaps the reader will think he is
altogether too smart for one of his years. This is a progressive age,
and any thing which Young America may do need not surprise any person.
That little gentleman is older than his father, knows more than his
mother, can talk politics, smoke cigars, and drive a 2:40 horse. He
orders "one stew" with as much ease as a man of forty, and can even
pronounce correctly the villanous names of sundry French and German
wines and liqueurs. One would suppose, to hear him talk, that he had
been intimate with Socrates and Solon, with Napoleon and Noah Webster;
in short, that whatever he did not know was not worth knowing.

In the face of these manifestations of exuberant genius, it would be
absurd to accuse the author of making his hero do too much. All he has
done is to give this genius a right direction; and for politics,
cigars, 2:40 horses, and "one stew," he has substituted the duties of a
rational and accountable being, regarding them as better fitted to
develop the young gentleman's mind, heart, and soul.

Bobby Bright is something more than a smart boy. He is a good boy, and
makes a true man. His daily life is the moral of the story, and the
author hopes that his devotion to principle will make a stronger
impression upon the mind of the young reader, than even the most
exciting incidents of his eventful career.

WILLIAM T. ADAMS.

DORCHESTER, Nov. 15, 1856.

CONTENTS.

CHAP. I.--In which Bobby goes a fishing, and catches a Horse.

CHAP. II.--In which Bobby blushes several Times, and does a Sum in
Arithmetic.

CHAP. III.--In which the Little Black House is bought, but not paid for.

CHAP. IV.--In which Bobby gets out of one Scrape, and into another.

CHAP. V.--In which Bobby gives his Note for Sixty Dollars.

CHAP. VI.--In which Bobby sets out on his Travels.

CHAP. VII.--In which Bobby stands up for certain "Inalienable Rights."

CHAP. VIII.--In which Mr. Timmins is astonished, and Bobby dines in
Chestnut Street.

CHAP. IX.--In which Bobby opens various Accounts, and wins his first
Victory.

CHAP X.--In which Bobby is a little too smart.

CHAP. XI.--In which Bobby strikes a Balance, and returns to Riverdale.

CHAP. XII.--In which Bobby astonishes sundry Persons, and pays Part of
his Note.

CHAP. XIII.--In which Bobby declines a Copartnership, and visits B----
again.

CHAP. XIV.--In which Bobby's Air Castle is upset, and Tom Spicer takes
to the Woods.

CHAP. XV.--In which Bobby gets into a Scrape, and Tom Spicer turns up
again.

CHAP. XVI.--In which Bobby finds "it is an ill wind that blows no one
any good."

CHAP. XVII.--In which Tom has a good Time, and Bobby meets with a
terrible Misfortune.

CHAT. XVIII.--In which Bobby takes French Leave, and camps in the Woods.

CHAP. XIX.--In which Bobby has a narrow Escape, and goes to Sea with
Sam Ray.

CHAP. XX.--In which the Clouds blow over, and Bobby is himself again.

CHAP. XXI.--In which Bobby steps off the Stage, and the Author must
finish "Now or Never."

CHAPTER I.

IN WHICH BOBBY GOES A FISHING, AND CATCHES A HORSE.

"By jolly! I've got a bite!" exclaimed Tom Spicer, a rough,
hard-looking boy, who sat on a rock by the river's side, anxiously
watching the cork float on his line.

"Catch him, then," quietly responded Bobby Bright, who occupied another
rock near the first speaker, as he pulled up a large pout, and, without
any appearance of exultation, proceeded to unhook and place him in his
basket.

"You are a lucky dog, Bob," added Tom, as he glanced into the basket of
his companion, which now contained six good-sized fishes. "I haven't
caught one yet."

"You don't fish deep enough."

"I fish on the bottom."

"That is too deep."

"It don't make any difference how I fish; it is all luck."

"Not all luck, Tom; there is something in doing it right."

"I shall not catch a fish," continued Tom, in despair.

"You'll catch something else, though, when you go home."

"Will I?"

"I'm afraid you will."

"Who says I will?"

"Didn't you tell me you were 'hooking jack'?

"Who is going to know any thing about it?"

"The master will know you are absent."

"I shall tell him my mother sent me over to the village on an errand."

"I never knew a fellow to 'hook jack,' yet, without getting found out."

"I shall not get found out unless you blow on me; and you wouldn't be
mean enough to do that;" and Tom glanced uneasily at his companion.

"Suppose your mother should ask me if I had seen you."

"You would tell her you have not, of course."

"Of course?"

"Why, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you do as much as that for a fellow?"

"It would be a lie."

"A lie! Humph!"

"I wouldn't lie for any fellow," replied Bobby, stoutly, as he pulled
in his seventh fish, and placed him in the basket.

"Wouldn't you?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"Then, let me tell you this; if you peach on me I'll smash your head."

Tom Spicer removed one hand from the fish pole and, doubling his fist,
shook it with energy at his companion.

"Smash away," replied Bobby, coolly. "I shall not go out of my way to
tell tales; but if your mother or the master asks me the question, I
shall not lie."

"Won't you?"

"No, I won't."

"I'll bet you will;" and Tom dropped his fish pole, and was on the
point of jumping over to the rock occupied by Bobby, when the float of
the former disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

"You have got a bite," coolly interposed Bobby, pointing to the line.

Tom snatched the pole, and with a violent twitch, pulled up a big pout;
but his violence jerked the hook out of the fish's mouth, and he
disappeared beneath the surface of the river.

"Just my luck!" muttered Tom.

"Keep cool, then."

"I will fix you yet."

"All right; but you had better not let go your pole again, or you will
lose another fish."

"I'm bound to smash your head, though."

"No, you won't."

"Won't I?"

"Two can play at that game."

"Do you stump me?"

"No; I don't want to fight; I won't fight if I can help it."

"I'll bet you won't!" sneered Tom.

"But I will defend myself."

"Humph!"

"I am not a liar, and the fear of a flogging shall not make me tell a
lie."'

"Go to Sunday school--don't you?"

"I do; and besides that, my mother always taught me never to tell a
lie."

"Come! you needn't preach to me. By and by, you will call me a liar."

"No, I won't; but just now you told me you meant to lie to your mother,
and to the master."

"What if I did? That is none of your business."

"It is my business when you want me to lie for you, though; and I shall
not do it."

"Blow on me, and see what you will get."

"I don't mean to blow on you."

"Yes you do."

"I will not lie about it; that's all."

"By jolly! see that horse!" exclaimed Tom, suddenly, as he pointed to
the road leading to Riverdale centre.

"By gracious!" added Bobby, dropping his fish pole, as he saw the horse
running at a furious rate up the road from the village.

The mad animal was attached to a chaise, in which was seated a lady,
whose frantic shrieks pierced the soul of our youthful hero.

The course of the road was by the river's side for nearly half a mile,
and crossed the stream at a wooden bridge but a few rods from the place
where the boys were fishing.

Bobby Bright's impulses were noble and generous; and without stopping
to consider the peril to which the attempt would expose him, he boldly
resolved to stop that horse, or let the animal dash him to pieces on
the bridge.

"Now or never!" shouted he, as he leaped from the rock, and ran with
all his might to the bridge.

The shrieks of the lady rang in his ears, and seemed to command him,
with an authority which he could not resist, to stop the horse. There
was no time for deliberation; and, indeed, Bobby did not want any
deliberation. The lady was in danger; if the horse's flight was not
checked, she would be dashed in pieces; and what then could excuse him
for neglecting his duty? Not the fear of broken limbs, of mangled
flesh, or even of a sudden and violent death.

It is true Bobby did not think of any of these things; though, if he
had, it would have made no difference with him. He was a boy who would
not fight except in self-defence, but he had the courage to do a deed
which might have made the stoutest heart tremble with terror.

Grasping a broken rail as he leaped over the fence, he planted himself
in the middle of the bridge, which was not more than half as wide as
the road at each end of it, to await the coming of the furious animal.
On he came, and the piercing shrieks of the affrighted lady nerved him
to the performance of his perilous duty.

The horse approached him at a mad run, and his feet struck the loose
planks of the bridge. The brave boy then raised his big club, and
brandished it with all his might in the air. Probably the horse did
not mean any thing very bad; was only frightened, and had no wicked
intentions towards the lady; so that when a new danger menaced him in
front, he stopped suddenly, and with so much violence as to throw the
lady forward from her seat upon the dasher of the chaise. He gave a
long snort, which was his way of expressing his fear. He was evidently
astonished at the sudden barrier to his further progress, and commenced
running back.

"Save me!" screamed the lady.

"I will, ma'am; don't be scared!" replied Bobby, confidently, as he
dropped his club, and grasped the bridle of the horse, just as he was
on the point of whirling round to escape by the way he had come.

"Stop him! Do stop him!" cried the lady.

"Whoa!" said Bobby, in gentle tones, as he patted the trembling horse
on his neck. "Whoa, good horse! Be quiet! Whoa!"

The animal, in his terror, kept running backward and forward; but Bobby
persevered in his gentle treatment, and finally soothed him, so that he
stood quiet enough for the lady to get out of the chaise.

"What a miracle that I am alive!" exclaimed she when she realized that
she stood once more upon the firm earth.

"Yes, ma'am, it is lucky he didn't break the chaise. Whoa! Good
horse! Stand quiet!"

"What a brave little fellow you are!" said the lady, as soon as she
could recover her breath so as to express her admiration of Bobby's
bold act.

"O, I don't mind it," replied he, blushing like a rose in June. "Did
he run away with you?"

"No; my father left me in the chaise for a moment while he went into a
store in the village, and a teamster who was passing by snapped his
whip, which frightened Kate so that she started off at the top of her
speed. I was so terrified, that I screamed with all my might, which
frightened her the more. The more I screamed, the faster she ran."

"I dare say. Good horse! Whoa, Kate!"

"She is a splendid creature; she never did such a thing before. My
father will think I am killed."

By this time, Kate had become quite reasonable, and seemed very much
obliged to Bobby for preventing her from doing mischief to her
mistress; for she looked at the lady with a glance of satisfaction,
which her deliverer interpreted as a promise to behave better in
future. He relaxed his grasp upon the bridle, patted her upon the
neck, and said sundry pleasant things to encourage her in her assumed
purpose of doing better. Kate appeared to understand Bobby's kind
words, and declared as plainly as a horse could declare that she would
be sober and tractable.

"Now, ma'am, if you will get into the chaise again, I think Kate will
let me drive her down to the village."

"O, dear! I should not dare to do so."

"Then, if you please, I will drive down alone, so as to let your father
know that you are safe."

"Do."

"I am sure he must feel very bad, and I may save him a great deal of
pain, for a man can suffer a great deal in a very short time."

"You are a little philosopher, as well as a hero, and if you are not
afraid of Kate, you may do as you wish."

"She seems very gentle now;" and Bobby turned her round, and got into
the chaise.

"Be very careful," said the lady.

"I will."

Bobby took the reins, and Kate, true to the promise she had virtually
made, started off at a round pace towards the village.

He had not gone more than a quarter of a mile of the distance when he
met a wagon containing three men, one of whom was the lady's father.
The gestures which he made assured Bobby he had found the person whom
he sought, and he stopped.

"My daughter! Where is she?" gasped the gentleman, as he leaped from
the wagon.

"She is safe, sir," replied Bobby, with all the enthusiasm of his warm
nature.

"Thank God!" added the gentleman, devoutly as he placed himself in the
chaise by the side of Bobby.

CHAPTER II.

IN WHICH BOBBY BLUSHES SEVERAL TIMES, AND DOES A SUM IN ARITHMETIC.

Mr. Bayard, the owner of the horse, and the father of the lady whom
Bobby had saved from impending death, was too much agitated to say
much, even to the bold youth who had rendered him such a signal
service. He could scarcely believe the intelligence which the boy
brought him; it seemed too good to be true. He had assured himself
that Ellen--for that was the young lady's name--was killed, or
dreadfully injured.

Kate was driven at the top of her speed, and in a few moments reached
the bridge, where Ellen was awaiting his arrival.

"Here I am, father, alive and unhurt!" cried Ellen, as Mr. Bayard
stopped the horse.

"Thank Heaven my child!" replied the glad father, embracing his
daughter. "I was sure you were killed."

"No, father; thanks to this bold youth, I am uninjured."

"I am under very great obligations to you, young man," continued Mr.
Bayard, grasping Bobby's hand.

"O, never mind, sir;" and Bobby blushed just as he had blushed when the
young lady spoke to him.

"We shall never forget you--shall we, father?" added Ellen.

"No, my child; and I shall endeavor to repay, to some slight extent,
our indebtedness to him. But you have not yet told me how you were
saved."

"O, I merely stopped the horse; that's all," answered Bobby, modestly.

"Yes, father, but he placed himself right before Kate when she was
almost flying over the ground. When I saw him, I was certain that he
would lose his life, or be horribly mangled for his boldness,"
interposed Ellen.

"It was a daring deed, young man, to place yourself before an
affrighted horse in that manner," said Mr. Bayard.

"I didn't mind it, sir."

"And then he flourished a big club, almost as big as he is himself, in
the air, which made Kate pause in her mad career, when my deliverer
here grasped her by the bit and held her."

"It was well and bravely done."

"That it was, father; not many men would have been bold enough to do
what he did," added Ellen, with enthusiasm.

"Very true; and I feel, that I am indebted to him for your safety.
What is your name, young man?"

"Robert Bright, sir."

Mr. Bayard took from his pocket several pieces of gold, which he
offered to Bobby.

"No, I thank you, sir," replied Bobby, blushing.

"What! as proud as you are bold?"

"I don't like to be paid for doing my duty."

"Bravo! You are a noble little fellow! But you must take this money,
not as a reward for what you have done, but as a testimonial of my
gratitude."

"I would rather not, sir."

"Do take it, Robert," added Ellen.

"I don't like to take it. It looks mean to take money for doing one's
duty."

"Take it, Robert, to please me;" and the young lady smiled so sweetly
that Bobby's resolution began to give way. "Only to please me, Robert."

"I will, to please you; but I don't feel right about it."

"You must not be too proud, Robert," said Mr. Bayard, as he put the
gold pieces into his hand.

"I am not proud, sir; only I don't like to be paid for doing my duty."

"Not paid, my young friend. Consider that you have placed me under an
obligation to you for life. This money is only an expression of my own
and my daughter's feelings. It is but a small sum, but I hope you will
permit me to do something more for you, when you need it. You will
regard me as your friend as long as you live."

"Thank you, sir."

"When you want any assistance of any kind, come to me. I live in
Boston; here is my business card."

Mr. Bayard handed him a card, on which Bobby read, "F. Bayard & Co.,
Booksellers and Publishers, No. ---- Washington Street, Boston."

"You are very kind, sir."

"I want you should come to Boston and see us too," interposed Ellen.
"I should be delighted to show you the city, to take you to the
Athenaeum and the Museum."

"Thank you."

Mr. Bayard inquired of Bobby about his parents, where he lived, and
about the circumstances of his family. He then took out his memorandum
book, in which he wrote the boy's name and residence.

"I am sorry to leave you now, Robert, but I have over twenty miles to
ride to-day. I should be glad to visit your mother, and next time I
come to Riverdale, I shall certainly do so."

"Thank you, sir; my mother is a very poor woman, but she will be glad
to see you."

"Now, good by, Robert."

"Good by," repeated Ellen.

"Good by."

Mr. Bayard drove off, leaving Bobby standing on the bridge with the
gold pieces in his hand.

"Here's luck!" said Bobby, shaking the coin. "Won't mother's eyes
stick out when she sees these shiners? There are no such shiners in
the river as these."

Bobby was astonished, and the more he gazed at the gold pieces, the
more bewildered he became. He had never held so much money in his hand
before. There were three large coins and one smaller one. He turned
them over and over, and finally ascertained that the large coins were
ten dollar pieces, and the smaller one a five dollar piece. Bobby was
not a great scholar, but he knew enough of arithmetic to calculate the
value of his treasure. He was so excited, however, that he did not
arrive at the conclusion half so quick as most of my young readers
would have done.

"Thirty-five dollars!" exclaimed Bobby, when the problem was solved.
"Gracious!"

"Hallo, Bob!" shouted Tom Spicer, who had got tired of fishing;
besides, the village clock was just striking twelve, and it was time
for him to go home.

Bobby made no answer, but hastily tying the gold pieces up in the
corner of his handkerchief, he threw the broken rail he had used in
stopping the horse where it belonged, and started for the place where
he had left his fishing apparatus.

"Hallo, Bob!"

"Well, Tom?"

"Stopped him--didn't you?"

"I did."

"You were a fool; he might have killed you."

"So he might; but I didn't stop to think of that. The lady's life was
in danger."

"What of that?"

"Every thing, I should say."

"Did he give you any thing?"

"Yes;" and Bobby continued his walk down to the river's side.

"I say, what did he give you, Bobby?" persisted Tom, following him.

"O, he gave me a good deal of money."

"How much?"

"I want to get my fish line now; I will tell you all about it some
other time," replied Bobby, who rather suspected the intentions of his
companion.

"Tell me now; how much was it?"

"Never mind it now."

"Humph! Do you think I mean to rob you?"

"No."

"Ain't you going halveses?"

"Why should I?"

"Wasn't I with you?"

"Were you?"

"Wasn't I fishing with you?"

"You did not do any thing about stopping the horse."

"I would, if I hadn't been afraid to go up to the road."

"Afraid?"

"Somebody might have seen me, and they would have known that I was
hooking jack."

"Then you ought not to share the money."

"Yes, I had. When a fellow is with you, he ought to have half. It is
mean not to give him half."

"If you had done any thing to help stop the horse, I would have shared
with you. But you didn't."

"What of that?"

Bobby was particularly sensitive in regard to the charge of meanness.
His soul was a great deal bigger than his body, and he was always
generous, even to his own injury, among his companions. It was evident
to him that Tom had no claim to any part of the reward; but he could
not endure the thought even of being accused of meanness.

"I'll tell you what I will do, if you think I ought to share with you.
I will leave it out to Squire Lee; and if he thinks you ought to have
half, or any part of the money, I will give it to you."

"No, you don't; you want to get me into a scrape for hooking jack. I
see what you are up to."

"I will state the case to him without telling him who the boys are."

"No, you don't! You want to be mean about it. Come, hand over half
the money."

"I will not," replied Bobby, who, when it became a matter of
compulsion, could stand his ground at any peril.

"How much have you got?"

"Thirty-five dollars."

"By jolly! And you mean to keep it all yourself?"

"I mean to give it to my mother."

"No, you won't! If you are going to be mean about it, I'll smash your
head!"

This was a favorite expression with Tom Spicer, who was a noted bully
among the boys of Riverdale. The young ruffian now placed himself in
front of Bobby, and shook his clinched fist in his face.

"Hand over."

"No, I won't. You have no claim to any part at the money; at least, I
think you have not. If you have a mind to leave it out to Squire Lee,
I will do what is right about it."

"Not I; hand over, or I'll smash your head!"

"Smash away," replied Bobby, placing himself on the defensive.

"Do you think you can lick me?" asked Tom, not a little embarrassed by
this exhibition of resolution on the part of his companion.

"I don't think any thing about it; but you don't bully me in that kind
of style."

"Won't I?"

"No."

But Tom did not immediately put his threat in execution, and Bobby
would not be the aggressor; so he stepped one side to pass his
assailant. Tom took this as an evidence of the other's desire to
escape, and struck him a heavy blow on the side of the head The next
instant the bully was floundering in the soft mud of a ditch; Bobby's
reply was more than Tom had bargained for, and while he was dragging
himself out of the ditch, our hero ran down to the river, and got his
fish pole and basket.

"You'll catch it for that!" growled Tom.

"I'm all ready, whenever it suits your convenience," replied Bobby.

"Just come out here and take it in fair fight," continued Tom, who
could not help bullying, even in the midst of his misfortune.

"No, I thank you; I don't want to fight with any fellow. I will not
fight if I can help it."

"What did you hit me for, then?"

"In self-defence."

"Just come out here, and try it fair?"

"No;" and Bobby hurried home, leaving the bully astonished, and
discomfited by the winding up of the morning's sport.

CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH THE LITTLE BLACK HOUSE IS BOUGHT BUT NOT PAID FOR.

Probably my young readers have by this time come to the conclusion that
Bobby Bright was a very clever fellow--one whose acquaintance they
would be happy to cultivate. Perhaps by this time they have become so
far interested in him as to desire to know who his parents were, what
they did, and in what kind of a house he lived.

I hope none of my young friends will think any less of him when I
inform them that Bobby lived in an old black house which had never been
painted, which had no flower garden in front of it, and which, in a
word, was quite far from being a palace. A great many very nice city
folks would not have considered it fit to live in, would have turned up
their noses at it, and wondered that any human beings could be so
degraded as to live in such a miserable house. But the widow Bright,
Bobby's mother, thought it was a very comfortable house, and considered
herself very fortunate in being able to get so good a dwelling. She
had never lived in a fine house, knew nothing about velvet carpets,
mirrors seven feet high, damask chairs and lounges, or any of the smart
things which very rich and very proud city people consider absolutely
necessary for their comfort. Her father had been a poor man, her
husband had died a poor man, and her own life had been a struggle to
keep the demons of poverty and want from invading her humble abode.

Mr. Bright, her deceased husband, had been a day laborer in Riverdale.
He never got more than a dollar a day, which was then considered very
good wages in the country. He was a very honest, industrious man, and
while he lived, his family did very well. Mrs. Bright was a careful,
prudent woman, and helped him support the family. They never knew what
it was to want for any thing.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10