The Cash Boy

BY
Horatio Alger, Jr.

PREFACE

``The Cash Boy,'' by Horatio Alger, Jr., as the name
implies, is a story about a boy and for boys.

Through some conspiracy, the hero of the story
when a baby, was taken from his relatives and
given into the care of a kind woman.

Not knowing his name, she gave him her husband's
name, Frank Fowler.  She had one little
daughter, Grace, and showing no partiality in the
treatment of her children, Frank never suspected
that she was not his sister.  However, at the death
of Mrs. Fowler, all this was related to Frank.

The children were left alone in the world.  It
seemed as though they would have to go to the
poorhouse but Frank could not become reconciled to that.

A kind neighbor agreed to care for Grace, so
Frank decided to start out in the world to make
his way.

He had many disappointments and hardships, but
through his kindness to an old man, his own relatives
and right name were revealed to him.

CHAPTER I

A REVELATION

A group of boys was assembled in an open field to
the west of the public schoolhouse in the town of
Crawford.  Most of them held hats in their hands,
while two, stationed sixty feet distant from each
other, were ``having catch.''

Tom Pinkerton, son of Deacon Pinkerton, had just
returned from Brooklyn, and while there had witnessed
a match game between two professional clubs. 
On his return he proposed that the boys of Crawford
should establish a club, to be known as the
Excelsior Club of Crawford, to play among themselves,
and on suitable occasions to challenge clubs belonging
to other villages.  This proposal was received
with instant approval.

``I move that Tom Pinkerton address the meeting,''
said one boy.

``Second the motion,'' said another.

As there was no chairman, James Briggs was
appointed to that position, and put the motion, which
was unanimously carried.

Tom Pinkerton, in his own estimation a personage
of considerable importance, came forward in a
consequential manner, and commenced as follows:

``Mr. Chairman and boys.  You all know what
has brought us together.  We want to start a club
for playing baseball, like the big clubs they have in
Brooklyn and New York.''

``How shall we do it?'' asked Henry Scott.

``We must first appoint a captain of the club, who
will have power to assign the members to their different
positions.  Of course you will want one that
understands about these matters.''

``He means himself,'' whispered Henry Scott, to
his next neighbor; and here he was right.

``Is that all?'' asked Sam Pomeroy.

``No; as there will be some expenses, there must be
a treasurer to receive and take care of the funds, and
we shall need a secretary to keep the records of the
club, and write and answer challenges.''

``Boys,'' said the chairman, ``you have heard Tom
Pinkerton's remarks.  Those who are in favor of
organizing a club on this plan will please signify it
in the usual way.''

All the boys raised their hands, and it was declared
a vote.

``You will bring in your votes for captain,'' said
the chairman.

Tom Pinkerton drew a little apart with a conscious
look, as he supposed, of course, that no one but himself
would be thought of as leader.

Slips of paper were passed around, and the boys
began to prepare their ballots.  They were brought
to the chairman in a hat, and he forthwith took them
out and began to count them.

``Boys,'' he announced, amid a universal stillness,
``there is one vote for Sam Pomeroy, one for Eugene
Morton, and the rest are for Frank Fowler, who is
elected.''

There was a clapping of hands, in which Tom
Pinkerton did not join.

Frank Fowler, who is to be our hero, came
forward a little, and spoke modestly as follows:

``Boys, I thank you for electing me captain of the
club.  I am afraid I am not very well qualified for
the place, but I will do as well as I can.''

The speaker was a boy of fourteen.  He was of
medium height for his age, strong and sturdy in
build, and with a frank prepossessing countenance,
and an open, cordial manner, which made him a
general favorite.  It was not, however, to his
popularity that he owed his election, but to the fact that
both at bat and in the field he excelled all the boys,
and therefore was the best suited to take the lead.

The boys now proceeded to make choice of a treasurer
and secretary.  For the first position Tom Pinkerton
received a majority of the votes.  Though not
popular, it was felt that some office was due him.

For secretary, Ike Stanton, who excelled in
penmanship, was elected, and thus all the offices were
filled.

The boys now crowded around Frank Fowler, with
petitions for such places as they desired.

``I hope you will give me a little time before I
decide about positions, boys,'' Frank said; ``I want to
consider a little.''

``All right!  Take till next week,'' said one and
another, ``and let us have a scrub game this afternoon.''

The boys were in the middle of the sixth inning,
when some one called out to Frank Fowler:  ``Frank,
your sister is running across the field.  I think she
wants you.''

Frank dropped his bat and hastened to meet his
sister.

``What's the matter, Gracie?'' he asked in alarm.

``Oh, Frank!'' she exclaimed, bursting into tears. 
``Mother's been bleeding at the lungs, and she looks
so white.  I'm afraid she's very sick.''

``Boys,'' said Frank, turning to his companions,
``I must go home at once.  You can get some one to
take my place, my mother is very sick.''

When Frank reached the little brown cottage
which he called home, he found his mother in an
exhausted state reclining on the bed.

``How do you feel, mother?'' asked our hero, anxiously.

``Quite weak, Frank,'' she answered in a low voice.
``I have had a severe attack.''

``Let me go for the doctor, mother.''

``I don't think it will be necessary, Frank.  The
attack is over, and I need no medicines, only time
to bring back my strength.''

But three days passed, and Mrs. Fowler's nervous
prostration continued.  She had attacks previously
from which she rallied sooner, and her present weakness
induced serious misgivings as to whether she
would ever recover.  Frank thought that her eyes
followed him with more than ordinary anxiety, and
after convincing himself that this was the case, he
drew near his mother's bedside, and inquired:

``Mother, isn't there something you want me to do?''

``Nothing, I believe, Frank.''

``I thought you looked at me as if you wanted to