“I was afraid it was too long ago,” said Harry; “so I am not much disappointed.”
“I am thinking of taking a little trip to the West before long,” said Squire Turner. “I may be able to find out something about it then.”
Harry started the horse towards the store, and thought so little of the land warrant that he quite forgot to mention the matter to his mother in the evening.
CHAPTER VII.
A MEAN TRICK.
Harry Raymond had been employed in Mr. Porter’s store but a few days when he had a difficulty with James Turner, which deserves to be chronicled. For various reasons James cherished a dislike of our hero, which he was not likely to get over very soon. Harry had always distanced him in his studies, and, as we have seen, had carried off the prize for declamation, which James persuaded himself would have been his but for the partiality of Mr. Tower. Again, James aspired to be a leader among the boys at school and in the village. He felt that this position was due to him on account of the superior wealth of his father. When boys assert this claim to consideration, it is generally a sign that they have little else to boast of; and this was precisely the case with James Turner.
Now, it may appear strange, that though Squire Turner was the richest man in the village, and Mr. Raymond one of the poorest, the boys paid much more respect to Harry than to the son of the wealthy squire. Harry was put forward prominently on all occasions; as, for example, when a military company was formed, he was elected captain, while James could not even obtain the post of simple corporal. Of course the latter withdrew his name from the roll in disgust; but the company, so far from being thrown into consternation, appeared to thrive about as well as before. This military organization went by the name of the Vernon Guards, and consisted of about thirty boys. They used to parade on Saturday afternoons, when a sufficient number could be gathered for duty, and the young captain, who had studied up his duties, discharged them in a very creditable manner.
James Turner, however, had one consolation in all this strange neglect. His superiority was conceded by one boy, who was in the habit of revolving round him like a humble satellite. This was Tom Barton, who has already been referred to. Tom was a born sycophant, and was ready on all occasions to natter James and join him in abusing Harry and Harry’s friends. Tom’s father was in California at the mines. His mother was a weak woman, of an envious disposition, who was always bewailing her fate in having married a poor man instead of a certain other person who had turned out rich, and who, as she asserted, had offered her his hand in early life. In fact, it was generally supposed that her complaints had driven her husband to California to seek for the fortune for which she was continually pining. As for Tom, she considered him one of the smartest boys in America, and, as might be expected, asserted that he took after her, and not after his father.
“There aint any Barton about him,” she said. “He’s all Jessup.”