| Author: | Zane Grey | ISBN: | 1230000194370 |
| Publisher: | WDS Publishing | Publication: | November 4, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Zane Grey |
| ISBN: | 1230000194370 |
| Publisher: | WDS Publishing |
| Publication: | November 4, 2013 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
Chase Calloway hurried out of the factory door and bent his steps
homeward. He wore a thoughtful, anxious look, as of one who expected
trouble. Yet there was a briskness in his stride that showed the
excitement under which he labored was not altogether unpleasant.
In truth, he had done a strange and momentous thing; he had asked the
foreman for higher wages, and being peremptorily refused, had thrown
up his place and was now on his way home to tell his mother.
He crossed the railroad tracks to make a short cut, and threaded his way
through a maze of smoke-blackened buildings, to come into narrow
street lined with frame houses. He entered a yard that could not boast of
a fence, and approached a house as unprepossessing as its neighbors.
Chase hesitated on the steps, then opened the door. There was no one
in the small, bare, clean kitchen. With a swing which had something of
an air of finality about it, he threw his dinner-pail into a corner. "There!"
He said grimly, as if he had done with it. "Mother, where are you?"
Mrs. Alloway came in, a slight little woman, pale, with marks of care on
her patient face. She greeted him with a smile, which faded quickly in
surprise and dismay.
"You're home early, Chase," she said anxiously.
"Mother, I told you I was going to ask for more money. Well, I did. The
foreman laughed at me and refused. So I threw up my job."
"My boy! My boy!" faltered Mrs. Alloway
Chase was the only bread-winner in their household of three. His
brother, a bright, studious boy of fifteen, was a cripple. Mrs. Alloway
helped all she could with her needle, but earned little enough. The
winter had been a hard one, and had left them with debts that must
be paid. It was no wonder she gazed up at him in distressed silence.
"I've been sick of this job for a long time," went on Chase. "I've been
doing a lot of thinking. There's no chance for me in the factory. I'm not
quick enough to catch the hang of mechanics. Here I am over seventeen
and big and strong, and I'm making six dollars a week. Think of it!
Why, if I had a chance--See here, mother, haven't I studied
nights ever since I left school to go to work? I'm no dummy. I can make
something of myself. I want to get into business--business for myself,
where I can buy and sell."
"My son, it takes money to go into business. Where on earth can you get
any?"
"I'll make it," replied Chase, eagerly. A flush reddened his cheek.
He would have been handsome then, but for his one defect, a crooked
eye. "I'll make it. I need money quick--and I've hit on the way to
make it. I--"
"How?"
Chase Calloway hurried out of the factory door and bent his steps
homeward. He wore a thoughtful, anxious look, as of one who expected
trouble. Yet there was a briskness in his stride that showed the
excitement under which he labored was not altogether unpleasant.
In truth, he had done a strange and momentous thing; he had asked the
foreman for higher wages, and being peremptorily refused, had thrown
up his place and was now on his way home to tell his mother.
He crossed the railroad tracks to make a short cut, and threaded his way
through a maze of smoke-blackened buildings, to come into narrow
street lined with frame houses. He entered a yard that could not boast of
a fence, and approached a house as unprepossessing as its neighbors.
Chase hesitated on the steps, then opened the door. There was no one
in the small, bare, clean kitchen. With a swing which had something of
an air of finality about it, he threw his dinner-pail into a corner. "There!"
He said grimly, as if he had done with it. "Mother, where are you?"
Mrs. Alloway came in, a slight little woman, pale, with marks of care on
her patient face. She greeted him with a smile, which faded quickly in
surprise and dismay.
"You're home early, Chase," she said anxiously.
"Mother, I told you I was going to ask for more money. Well, I did. The
foreman laughed at me and refused. So I threw up my job."
"My boy! My boy!" faltered Mrs. Alloway
Chase was the only bread-winner in their household of three. His
brother, a bright, studious boy of fifteen, was a cripple. Mrs. Alloway
helped all she could with her needle, but earned little enough. The
winter had been a hard one, and had left them with debts that must
be paid. It was no wonder she gazed up at him in distressed silence.
"I've been sick of this job for a long time," went on Chase. "I've been
doing a lot of thinking. There's no chance for me in the factory. I'm not
quick enough to catch the hang of mechanics. Here I am over seventeen
and big and strong, and I'm making six dollars a week. Think of it!
Why, if I had a chance--See here, mother, haven't I studied
nights ever since I left school to go to work? I'm no dummy. I can make
something of myself. I want to get into business--business for myself,
where I can buy and sell."
"My son, it takes money to go into business. Where on earth can you get
any?"
"I'll make it," replied Chase, eagerly. A flush reddened his cheek.
He would have been handsome then, but for his one defect, a crooked
eye. "I'll make it. I need money quick--and I've hit on the way to
make it. I--"
"How?"
