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                              TOM TEMPLE’S
                                 CAREER


                         By HORATIO ALGER, JR.

                Author of “Tom Thatcher’s Fortune,”
                “Tom Turner’s Legacy,” “The Train Boy,”
                “Ben Bruce,” Etc.


                       [Illustration: Decoration]




                     A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
                                NEW YORK




------------------------------------------------------------------------




                    Copyright, 1888. BY A. L. BURT.

                                -------

                          TOM TEMPLE’S CAREER.

                         BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.




------------------------------------------------------------------------




                          TOM TEMPLE’S CAREER.

                                -------


                               CHAPTER I

                           NATHAN MIDDLETON.


ON THE main street, in the town of Plympton, stood a two-story house,
with a narrow lawn in front. It had a stiff, staid look of decorum, as
if no children were ever allowed to create disorder within its
precincts, or interfere with its settled regularity. It appeared to be a
place of business as well as a residence, for there was a thin plate on
one side of the front door, bearing the name of

                           NATHAN MIDDLETON,

                            INSURANCE AGENT.

Some people might object to turning even a part of their dwellings into
a business office, but then it saved rent, and Mr. Middleton was one of
the saving kind. He had always been saving from the first time he
received a penny at the mature age of five, and triumphing over the
delusive pleasures of an investment in candy, put it in a tin
savings-bank to the present moment. He didn’t marry until the age of
forty, not having dared to undertake the expense of maintaining two
persons. At that time, however, he fortunately encountered a maiden lady
of about his own age, whose habits were equally economical, who
possessed the sum of four thousand dollars. After a calculation of some
length he concluded that it would be for his pecuniary benefit to marry.
He proposed, was accepted, and in due time Miss Corinthia Carver became
Mrs. Nathan Middleton.

Their married life had lasted eight years, when they very unexpectedly
became the custodian of my hero.

One day Mr. Middleton sat in his office, drawing up an application for
insurance, when a stranger entered.

“Wants to insure his life, I hope,” thought Nathan, in the hope of a
commission.

“Take a chair, sir. What can I do for you?” he asked urbanely. “Have you
been thinking of insuring your life? I represent some of the best
companies in the country.”

“That isn’t my business,” said the visitor decisively.

Nathan looked disappointed, and waited for the business to be announced.

“You had a school-mate named Stephen Temple, did you not, Mr.
Middleton?”

“Yes; we used to go to school together. What has become of him?”

“He is dead.”

“I am sorry to hear it. Any family?”

“One son, a boy of sixteen. That is why I am here.”

“Really, I don’t understand you.”

“He has left his son to you,” said the stranger.

“What!” exclaimed Nathan, in dismay.

“Having no other friends, for he has been away from home nearly all his
life, he thought you would be willing to give the boy a home.”

Instantly there rose in the economical mind of Mr. Middleton an
appalling array of expenses, including board, washing, clothes, books
and so on, which would be likely to be incurred on behalf of a
well-grown boy, and he actually shuddered.

“Stephen Temple had no right to expect such a thing of me,” he said.
“The fact that we went to school together doesn’t give him any claim
upon me. If the boy hasn’t got any relations willing to support him he
should be sent to the poor-house.”

The visitor laughed heartily, much to Nathan Middleton’s bewilderment.

“I don’t see what I have said that is so very amusing,” he said stiffly.

“You talk of a boy worth forty thousand dollars going to the
poor-house!”

“What!” exclaimed Nathan, in open-eyed wonder.

“As his father directs that his guardian shall receive a thousand
dollars a year for his care, most persons would not refuse so hastily.”

“My dear sir!” said Nathan persuasively, feeling as if he had suddenly
discovered a gold mine, “is this really true?”

“I can show you a copy of the will, if you are in doubt.”

“I believe you implicitly, my dear sir; and so poor Stephen is dead!”
and the insurance agent took out his handkerchief and placed it before
his eyes to wipe away the imaginary tears. “We were _very_ intimate when
we were boys—like brothers, in fact. Excuse my tears, I shall soon
recover the momentary shock of your sad announcement.”

“I hope so,” said the visitor dryly. “As you are not willing to take the
boy, I will look elsewhere.”

“My dear sir,” hastily exclaimed Nathan, alarmed at the prospect of
losing a thousand dollars a year, “you are quite mistaken. I have not
refused.”

“You suggested his being cared for by some relative.”

“It was a misapprehension, I assure you. I will gladly receive my poor
friend’s son into my happy home circle. I will be his second father. I
have no sons of my own. I will lavish upon him the tenderness of a
parent.”

The visitor laughed shortly.

“I am afraid you have very little idea of what Tom Temple is.”

“He is the son of my early friend.”

“That may be, but that don’t make him a model, or a very desirable
boarder.”

“Is he a bad boy?”

“He is known among us as ‘The Bully of the Village.’ He is fond of
teasing and domineering over other boys, and is full of mischief. He is
sure to give you trouble.”

“I’d rather he was a good boy,” thought Nathan, “but a thousand dollars
will make up for a good deal of trouble.”

“Does my description frighten you?” said the visitor.

“No,” said Nathan. “Out of regard for the lamented friend of my early
days, I will receive this misguided boy, and try to correct his faults
and make him steady and well-behaved.”

“You’ll find it a hard job, my friend.”

“I shall have the co-operation of Mrs. Middleton, an admirable lady,
whose precepts and example will have a most salutary effect upon my
young charge.”

“Well, I hope so, for your sake. When shall I send Tom to you?”

“As soon as you like,” said Nathan, who desired that the allowance of
twenty dollars a week should commence at once. “To whom am I to send my
bills?”

“To me. I am a lawyer, and the executor of Mr. Temple’s will.”

“I wonder this lawyer didn’t try to secure the thousand dollars a year
for himself,” thought Nathan, and he inwardly rejoiced that he had not
done so.

“Am I expected to provide the boy’s clothes?” he asked anxiously, the
thought suddenly occurring to him. “Is that to come out of the thousand
dollars?”

“No; not at all. You will furnish the clothes, however, and send the
bills to me. Here is my card.”

“I believe my business is at an end,” he said rising; “at least for the
present. The boy will be forwarded at once. He will probably present
himself to you day after to-morrow.”

The card which he placed in the hand of Nathan contained the name of

               EPHRAIM SHARP,

                    ATTORNEY-AT-LAW,

                         CENTERVILLE

“Very well, Mr. Sharp. We will be ready to receive him. Good-morning,
sir.”

“Good-morning, Mr. Middleton. I hope you will not repent your decision.”

“That isn’t likely,” said Nathan to himself gleefully, when he was left
alone. “A thousand dollars a year, and the boy’s board won’t probably
cost me more’n a hundred. We don’t pamper ourselves with luxurious
living. It is wrong. Besides, it is wasteful. I must go and acquaint
Mrs. Middleton with the news.”

“Corinthia, my dear, we are about to have a boarder,” he said, on
reaching the presence of his fair partner.

Corinthia’s eyes flashed, not altogether amiably.

“Do you mean to say, Mr. Middleton, you have agreed to take a boarder
without consulting me?”

“I knew you would consent, my dear.”

“How did you know?”

“You would be crazy to refuse a boarder that is to pay a thousand
dollars a year.”

“What!” ejaculated the lady incredulously.

“Listen, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He told the story, winding up with:

“Now wasn’t it right to say ‘yes?’”

“How much of this money am I going to receive?” asked his wife abruptly.

Mr. Middleton was taken aback.

“What do you mean, my dear?”

“What I say. Do you expect me to have the care of a boy—I always hated
boys—and all for your benefit?”

“We two are one, my dear.”

“Not in money matters. I repeat it. I won’t take him unless you give me
three hundred dollars of the money every year for my own use.”

Mr. Middleton didn’t like it, but he was finally compelled to give in.
After all, it would leave him seven hundred, and at least five hundred
would be clear profit.

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                               CHAPTER II

                         INTRODUCES TOM TEMPLE.


THE STAGE stopped in front of the Plympton Hotel two days afterward.
There were several inside passengers, but with these we have nothing to
do. Beside the driver sat a stout boy, with a keen, expressive face, who
looked full of life and activity.

“Here you are,” said the driver, with a final flourish of the whip.

“I see that, old chap,” said the boy; “but I don’t stop here.”

“Where are you goin’ to put up?”

“The man’s name is Middleton. He is to have the honor of feeding and
lodging me for the present.”

“I suppose you mean Nathan Middleton. I don’t envy you. He keeps the
meanest table in town.”

“Does he? Then I shall take the liberty to reform his table.”

“I don’t believe you can do it. There’s only one person in town meaner
than old Middleton, and that’s his wife. What makes you board with
them?”

“Can’t help it. He went to school with my father, and he left orders in
his will that I should be taken care of by Middleton. You’ll take me up
there?”

“Yes; you’ll have to wait till I land the mail and discharge cargo.”

“All right.”

A few minutes later Tom Temple was deposited at the gate of his future
guardian. Nathan Middleton hastened to welcome him with the
consideration due to so wealthy a boarder.

“My dear young friend,” he begun expansively, “I am indeed glad to
welcome the son of my old friend to my humble home.”

If Mr. Middleton expected Tom to reply in a similar manner, he soon
realized his mistake. Our hero was not one of the gushing kind.

“All right,” he answered coolly. “Will you help me in with my trunk?”

Mr. Middleton mechanically obeyed, not seeing his way clear to any more
sentiment.

Mrs. Middleton appeared in the front entry as the trunk was set down.

“Corinthia, my dear, this is the son of my deceased friend, Stephen
Temple.”

Mrs. Middleton’s thin figure was clad in a thin, slazy silk of very
scant pattern, and her pinched features wore an artificial smile.

“How do you do, Mr. Temple?” she said.

“I’m well, but hungry,” responded Tom readily.

“Is tea nearly ready, Corinthia?” asked her husband.

“It will be