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POPULAR JUVENILE BOOKS.

BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.


_RAGGED DICK SERIES._

_To be completed in Six Volumes._

  I. RAGGED DICK; OR, STREET LIFE IN NEW YORK.

 II. FAME AND FORTUNE; OR, THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD
       HUNTER.

III. MARK, THE MATCH BOY.

 IV. ROUGH AND READY; OR, LIFE AMONG THE NEW YORK
       NEWSBOYS.

  V. BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY. (In April, 1870.)

 VI. RUFUS AND ROSE; OR, THE FORTUNES OF ROUGH AND
     READY. (In December, 1870.)

_Price, $1.25 per volume._


_CAMPAIGN SERIES._

_Complete in Three Vols._

  I. FRANK'S CAMPAIGN.
 II. PAUL PRESCOTT'S CHARGE.
III. CHARLIE CODMAN'S CRUISE.

_Price, $1.25 per volume._


_LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES._

_To be completed in Six Volumes._

 I. LUCK AND PLUCK; OR, JOHN OAKLEY'S INHERITANCE.

OTHERS IN PREPARATION.

_Price, $1.50 per volume._




[Illustration]




[Illustration: LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES.
BY HORATIO ALGER JR.
LUCK and PLUCK.]




  LUCK AND PLUCK;
  OR,
  JOHN OAKLEY'S INHERITANCE.


  BY
  HORATIO ALGER, JR.

  AUTHOR OF "RAGGED DICK," "FAME AND FORTUNE," "MARK, THE MATCH
  BOY," "ROUGH AND READY," "CAMPAIGN SERIES," ETC.


  LORING, Publisher,
  819 WASHINGTON STREET,
  BOSTON.




  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by
  A. K. LORING,
  In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
  Massachusetts.


  Rockwell & Churchill, Printers and Stereotypers,
  122 Washington Street.




  To
  MY YOUNG FRIENDS,
  ISAAC AND GEORGE,
  THIS VOLUME
  IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.




PREFACE.


"Luck and Pluck" appeared as a serial story in the juvenile department
of Ballou's Magazine for the year 1869, and is therefore already
familiar to a very large constituency of young readers. It is now
presented in book form, as the first of a series of six volumes,
designed to illustrate the truth that a manly spirit is better than
the gifts of fortune. Early trial and struggle, as the history of the
majority of our successful men abundantly attests, tend to strengthen
and invigorate the character.

The author trusts that John Oakley, his young hero, will find many
friends, and that his career will not only be followed with interest,
but teach a lesson of patient fortitude and resolute endeavor, and a
determination to conquer fortune, and compel its smiles. He has no
fear that any boy-reader will be induced to imitate Ben Brayton, whose
selfishness and meanness are likely to meet a fitting recompense.

    NEW YORK, NOV. 8, 1869.




LUCK AND PLUCK;
OR,
JOHN OAKLEY'S INHERITANCE.




CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCING TWO BOYS AND A HORSE.


"What are you going to do with that horse, Ben Brayton?"

"None of your business!"

"As the horse happens to belong to me, I should think it was
considerable of my business."

"Suppose you prove that it belongs to you," said Ben, coolly.

"There is no need of proving it. You know it as well as I do."

"At any rate, it doesn't belong to you now," said Ben Brayton.

"I should like to know why not?"

"Because it belongs to me."

"Who gave it to you?"

"My mother."

"It wasn't hers to give."

"You'll find that the whole property belongs to her. Your father left
her everything, and she has given the horse to me. Just stand aside
there; I'm going to ride."

John Oakley's face flushed with anger, and his eyes flashed. He was
a boy of fifteen, not tall, but stout and well-proportioned, and
stronger than most boys of his age and size, his strength having
been developed by rowing on the river, and playing ball, in both of
which he was proficient. Ben Brayton was a year and a half older,
and half a head taller; but he was of a slender figure, and, having
no taste for vigorous out-of-door amusements, he was not a match in
strength for the younger boy. They were not related by blood, but
both belonged to the same family, Ben Brayton's mother having three
years since married Squire Oakley, with whom she had lived for a year
previous as house-keeper. A week since the squire had died, and when,
after the funeral, the will had been read, it was a matter of general
astonishment that John, the testator's only son, was left entirely
unprovided for, while the entire property was left to Mrs. Oakley.
John, who was of course present at the reading of the will, was
considerably disturbed at his disinheritance; not because he cared for
the money so much as because it seemed as if his father had slighted
him. Not a word, however, had passed between him and his father's widow
on the subject, and things had gone on pretty much as usual, until
the day on which our story commences. John had just returned from the
village academy, where he was at the head of a class preparing for
college, when he saw Ben Brayton, the son of Mrs. Oakley by a former
marriage preparing to ride out on a horse which for a year past had
been understood to be his exclusive property. Indignant at this, he
commenced the conversation recorded at the beginning of this chapter.

"Stand aside there, John Oakley, or I'll ride over you!"

"Will you, though?" said John, seizing the horse by the bridle. "That's
easier said than done."

Ben Brayton struck the horse sharply, hoping that John would be
frightened and let go; but our hero clung to the bridle, and the horse
began to back.

"Let go, I tell you!" exclaimed Ben.

"I won't!" said John, sturdily.

The horse continued to back, until Ben, who was a coward at heart,
becoming alarmed, slid off from his back.

"That's right," said John, coolly. "Another time you'd better not
meddle with my horse."

"I'll meddle with you, and teach you better manners!" exclaimed Ben, a
red spot glowing in each of his pale cheeks.

As he spoke, he struck John smartly over the shoulders with the small
riding-whip he carried.

John was not quarrelsome. I am glad to bear this testimony to his
character, for I have a very poor opinion of quarrelsome boys; but he
had a spirit of his own, and was not disposed to submit tamely to a
blow. He turned upon Ben instantly, and, snatching the whip from his
hand, struck him two blows in return for the one he had received.

"I generally pay my debts with interest, Ben Brayton," he said, coolly.
"You ought to have thought of that before you struck me."

A look of fierce vindictiveness swept over the olive face of his
adversary as he advanced for another contest.

"Stand back there!" exclaimed John, flourishing the whip in a
threatening manner. "I've paid you up, and I don't want to strike you
again."

"I'll make you smart for your impudence!" fumed Ben, trying to get
near enough to seize the whip from his hands.

"I didn't strike first," said John, "and I shan't strike again, unless
I am obliged to in self-defence."

"Give me that whip!" screamed Ben, livid with passion.

"You can't have it."

"I'll tell my mother."

"Go and do it if you like," said John, a little contemptuously.

"Let go that horse."

"It's my own, and I mean to keep it."

"It is not yours. My mother gave it to me."

"It wasn't hers to give."

John still retained his hold of the saddle, and kept Ben at bay
with one hand. He watched his opportunity until Ben had retreated
sufficiently far to make it practicable, then, placing his foot in the
stirrup, lightly vaulted upon the horse, and, touching him with the
whip, he dashed out of the yard. Ben sprang forward to stop him; but he
was too late.

"Get off that horse!" he screamed.

"I will when I've had my ride," said John, turning back in his saddle.
"Now, Prince, do your best."

This last remark was of course addressed to the horse, who galloped up
the street, John sitting on his back, with easy grace, as firmly as if
rooted to the saddle; for John was an admirable horseman, having been
in the habit of riding ever since he was ten years old.

Ben Brayton looked after him with a face distorted with rage and envy.
He would have given a great deal to ride as well as John; but he was
but an indifferent horseman, being deficient in courage, and sitting
awkwardly in the saddle. He shook his fist after John's retreating
form, muttering between his teeth, "You shall pay for this impudence,
John Oakley, and that before you are twenty-four hours older! I'll see
whether my mother will allow me to be insulted in this way!"

Sure of obtaining sympathy from his mother, he turned his steps towards
the house, which he entered.

"Where's my mother?" he inquired of the servant.

"She's upstairs in her own room, Mr. Benjamin," was the answer.

Ben hurried upstairs, and opened the door at the head of the staircase.
It was a spacious chamber, covered with a rich carpet, and handsomely
furnished. At the time of his mother's marriage to Squire Oakley, she
had induced him to discard the old furniture, and refurnish it to suit
her taste. There were some who thought that what had been good enough
for the first Mrs. Oakley, who was an elegant and refined lady, ought
to have been good enough for one, who, until her second marriage, had
been a house-keeper. But, by some means,--certainly not her beauty, for
she was by no means handsome,--she had acquired an ascendency over the
squire, and he went to considerable expense to gratify her whim.

Mrs. Oakley sat at the window, engaged in needlework. She was tall and
thin, with a sallow complexion, and pale, colorless lips. Her eyes were
gray and cold. There was a strong personal resemblance between Ben and
herself, and there was reason to think that he was like her in his
character and disposition as well as in outward appearance. She was
dressed in black, for the husband who had just died.

"Why have you not gone out to ride, Ben?" she asked, as her son entered
the room.

"Because that young brute prevented me."

"Whom do you mean?" asked his mother.

"I mean John Oakley, of course."

"How could he prevent you?"

"He came up just as I was going to start, and told me to get off the
horse,--that it was his."

"And you were coward enough to do it?" said his mother, scornfully.

"No. I told him it was not his any longer; that you had given it to me."

"What did he say then?"

"That you had no business to give it away, as it was his."

"Did he say that?" demanded Mrs. Oakley, her gray eyes flashing angrily.

"Yes, he did."

"Why didn't you ride off without minding him?"

"Because he took the horse by the bridle, and made him contrary; I
didn't want to be thrown, so I jumped off."

"Did you have the whip in your hand?"

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you lay it over his back? That might have taught him
better manners."

"So I did."

"You did right," said his mother, with satisfaction; for she had never
liked her husband's son. His frank, brave, generous nature differed too
much from her own to lead to any affection between them. She felt that
he outshone her own son, and far exceeded him in personal gifts and
popularity with the young people of the neighborhood, and it made her
angry with him. Besides, she had a suspicion that Ben was deficient in
courage, and it pleased her to think that he had on this occasion acted
manfully.

"Then I don't see why you didn't jump on the horse again and ride
away," she continued.

"Because," said Ben, reluctantly, "John got the whip away from me."

"Did he strike you with it?" asked Mrs. Oakley, quickly.

"Yes," said Ben, vindictively. "He struck me twice, the ruffian! But
I'll be even with him yet!"

"You shall be even with him," said Mrs. Oakley, pressing her thin lips
firmly together. "But I'm ashamed of you for standing still and bearing
the insult like a whipped dog."

"I tried to get at him," said Ben; "but he kept flourishing the whip,
so that I couldn't get a chance."

"Where is he now?"

"He's gone to ride."

"Gone to ride! You let him do it?"

"I couldn't help it; he was too quick for me. He jumped on the horse
before I knew what he was going to do, and dashed out of the yard at
full speed."

"He is an impertinent young rebel!" said Mrs. Oakley, angrily. "I am
ashamed of you for letting him get the advantage of you; but I am very
angry with him. So he said that I had no business to give you the
horse, did he?"

"Yes; he has no more respect for you than for a servant," said Ben,
artfully, knowing well that nothing would be so likely to make his
mother angry as this. Having once been in a subordinate position,
she was naturally suspicious, and apprehensive that she would not be
treated with a proper amount of respect by those around her. It was
Ben's object to incense his mother against John, feeling that in this
way he would best promote his own selfish ends.

"So he has no respect for me?" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley, angrily.

"None at all," said Ben, decisively. "He says you have no right here,
nor I either."

This last statement was an utter fabrication, as Ben well knew; for
John, though he had never liked his father's second wife, had always
treated her with the outward respect which propriety required. He was
not an impudent nor a disrespectful boy; but he had a proper spirit,
and did not choose to be bullied by Ben, whom he would have liked if
he had possessed any attractive qualities. It had never entered his
mind to grudge him the equal advantages which Squire Oakley, for his
mother's sake, had bestowed upon her son. He knew that his father was
a man of property, and that there was enough for both. When, however,
Ben manifested a disposition to encroach upon his rights, John felt
that the time for forbearance had ceased, and he gave him distinctly to
understand that there was a limit beyond which he must not pass. Very
soon after Ben first entered the family John gave him a thrashing,--in
self-defence, however,--of which he complained to his mother. Though
very angry, she feared to diminish her influence with his father
by moving much in the matter, and therefore contented herself by
cautioning Ben to avoid him as much as possible.

"Some time or other he shall be punished," she said; "but at present it
is most prudent for us to keep quiet and bide our time."

Now, however, Mrs. Oakley felt that the power was in her own hands.
She had no further necessity for veiling her real nature, or
refraining from gratifying her resentment. The object for which she
had schemed--her husband's property--was hers, and John Oakley was
dependent upon her for everything. If she treated him ungenerously, it
would create unfavorable comments in the neighborhood; but for this
she did not care. The property was hers by her husband's will, and
no amount of censure would deprive her of it. She would now be able
to enrich Ben at John's expense, and she meant to do it. Henceforth
Ben would be elevated to the position of heir, and John must take a
subordinate position as a younger son, or, perhaps, to speak still more
accurately, as a poor relation with a scanty claim upon her bounty.

"I'll break that boy's proud spirit," she said to herself. "He has
been able to triumph over Ben; but he will find that I am rather more
difficult to deal with."

There was an expression of resolution upon her face, and a vicious
snapping of the eyes, which boded ill to our hero. Mrs. Oakley
undoubtedly had the power to make him uncomfortable, and she meant to
do it, unless he would submit meekly to her sway. That this was not
very likely may be judged from what we have already seen of him.

Mrs. Oakley's first act was to bestow on Ben the horse, Prince, which
had been given to John a year before by his father. John had been
accustomed to take a daily ride on Prince, whom he had come to love.
The spirited horse returned his young master's attachment, and it
was hard to tell which enjoyed most the daily gallop, the horse or
his rider. To deprive John of Prince was to do him a grievous wrong,
since it was, of all his possessions, the one which he most enjoyed.
It was the more unjustifiable, since, at the time Prince had been
bought for John, Squire Oakley, in a spirit of impartial justice, had
offered to buy a horse for Ben also; but Ben, who had long desired to
own a gold watch and chain, intimated this desire to his mother, and
offered to relinquish the promised horse if the watch and chain might
be given him. Squire Oakley had no objection to the substitution, and
accordingly the same day that Prince was placed in the stable, subject
to John's control, a valuable gold watch and chain, costing precisely
the same amount, was placed in Ben's hands. Ben was delighted with his
new present, and put on many airs in consequence. Now, however, he
coveted the horse as well as the watch, and his mother had told him he
might have it. But it seemed evident that John would not give up the
horse without a struggle. Ben, however, had enlisted his mother as his
ally, and felt pretty confident of ultimate victory.




CHAPTER II.

JOHN RECEIVES SOME PROFESSIONAL ADVICE.


John Oakley had triumphed in his encounter with Ben Brayton, and rode
off like a victor. Nevertheless he could not help feeling a little
doubtful and anxious about the future. There was no doubt that Ben
would complain to his mother, and as it was by her express permission
that he had taken the horse, John felt apprehensive that there would
be trouble between himself and his stepmother. I have already said,
that, though a manly boy, he was not quarrelsome. He preferred to live
on good terms with all, not excepting Ben and his mother, although he
had no reason to like either of them. But he did not mean to be imposed
upon, or to have his just rights encroached upon, if he could help it.

What should he do if Ben persevered in his claim and his mother
supported him in it? He could not decide. He felt that he must be
guided by circumstances. He could not help remembering how four years
before Mrs. Brayton (for that was her name then) answered his father's
advertisement for a house-keeper; how, when he hesitated in his choice,
she plead her poverty, and her urgent need of immediate employment; and
how, influenced principally by this consideration, he took her in place
of another to whom he had been more favorably inclined. How she should
have obtained sufficient influence over his father's mind to induce
him to make her his wife after the lapse of a year, John could not
understand. He felt instinctively that she was artful and designing,
but his own frank, open nature could hardly be expected to fathom hers.
He remembered again, how, immediately after the marriage, Ben was sent
for, and was at once advanced to a position in the household equal to
his own. Ben was at first disposed to be polite, and even subservient
to himself, but gradually, emboldened by his mother's encouragement,
became more independent, and even at times defiant. It was not,
however, until now that he had actually begun to encroach upon John's
rights, and assume airs of superiority. He had been feeling his way,
and waited until it would be safe to show out his real nature.

John had never liked Ben,--nor had anybody else except his mother
felt any attachment for him,--but he had not failed to treat him with
perfect politeness and courtesy. Though he had plenty of intimations
from the servants and others that it was unjust to him that so much
expense should be lavished upon Ben, he was of too generous a nature to
feel disturbed by it, or to grudge him his share of his father's bounty.

"There's enough for both of us," he always said, to those who tried to
stir up his jealousy.

"But suppose your father should divide his property between you? How
would you like to see Ben Brayton sharing the estate?"

"If my father chooses to leave his property in that way, I shan't
complain," said John. "Fortunately there is enough for us both, and
half will be enough to provide for me."

But John had never anticipated such a contingency as Ben and his mother
claiming the whole property, and, frank and unsuspicious as he was, he
felt that his father would never have left him so entirely dependent
upon his stepmother unless improper means had been used to influence
his decision. There was a particular reason which he had for thinking
thus. It was this: Three days before his father died, he was told by
the servant, on entering the house, that the sick man wished to see
him. Of course he went up instantly to the chamber where, pale and
wasted, Squire Oakley lay stretched out on the bed.

He was stricken by a disease which affected his speech, and prevented
him from articulating anything except in a whisper. He beckoned John to
the bedside, and signed for him to place his ear close to his mouth.
John did so. His father made a great effort to speak, but all that John
could make out was, "My will."

"Your will, father?" he repeated.

The sick man nodded, and tried to speak further. John thought he could
distinguish the word "drawer," but was not certain. He was about to
inquire further, when his stepmother entered the room, and looked at
him suspiciously.

"Why have you come here to disturb your sick father?" she asked, coldly.

"I did not come here to disturb him," said John. "I came because he
wished to speak to me."

"Has he spoken to you?" she asked, hastily.

"He tried to, but did not succeed."

"You should not allow him to make the effort. It can only do him harm.
The doctor says he must be kept very quiet. You had better leave the
room. He is safest in my care."

John did leave the room, and though he saw his father afterwards,
it was always in his stepmother's presence, and he had no farther
opportunity of communicating with him.

He could not help thinking of this as he rode along, and wondering what
it was that his father wished to say. He knew that it must be something
of importance, from the evident anxiety which the dying man manifested
to speak to him. But whatever it was must remain unknown. His father's
lips were hushed in death, and with such a stepmother John felt himself
worse than alone in the world. But he had a religious nature, and had
been well trained in the Sunday school, and the thought came to him
that whatever trials might be in store for him he had at least one
Friend, higher than any earthly friend, to whom he might look for help
and protection. Plunged in thought, he had suffered Prince to subside
into a walk, when, all at once, he heard his name called.

"Hallo, John!"

Looking up, he saw Sam Selwyn, son of Lawyer Selwyn, and a classmate of
his at the academy.

"Is that you, Sam?" he said, halting his horse.

"That is my impression," said Sam, "but I began to think it wasn't just
now, when my best friend seemed to have forgotten me."

"I was thinking," said John, "and didn't notice."

"Where are you bound?"

"Nowhere in particular. I only came out for a ride."

"You're a lucky fellow, John."

"You forget, Sam, the loss I have just met with;" and John pointed to
his black clothes.

"Excuse me, John, you know I sympathize with you in that. But I'm very
fond of riding, and never get any chance. You have a horse of your own."

"Just at present."

"Just at present! You're not going to lose him, are you?"

"Sam, I am expecting a little difficulty, and I shall feel better if I
advise with some friend about it. You are my best friend in school, and
I don't know but in the world, and I've a great mind to tell you."

"I'll give you the best advice in my power, John, and won't charge
anything for it either, which is more than my father would. You know
he's a lawyer, and has to be mercenary. Not that I ought to blame him,
for that's the way he finds us all in bread and butter."

"I'll turn Prince up that lane and tie him, and then we'll lie down
under a tree, and have a good talk."

John did as proposed. Prince began to browse, apparently well contented
with the arrangement, and the two boys stretched themselves out lazily
beneath a wide-spreading chestnut-tree, which screened them from the
sun.

"Now fire away," said Sam, "and I'll concentrate all my intellect upon
your case gratis."

"I told you that Prince was mine for the present," commenced John. "I
don't know as I can say even that. This afternoon when I got home I
found Ben Brayton just about to mount him."

"I hope you gave him a piece of your mind."

"I ordered him off," said John, quietly, "when he informed me that the
horse was his now,--that his mother had given it to him."

"What did you say?"

"That it was not hers to give. I seized the horse by the bridle,
till he became alarmed and slid off. He then came at me with his
riding-whip, and struck me."

"I didn't think he had pluck enough for that. I hope you gave him as
good as he sent."

"I pulled the whip away from him, and gave him two blows in return.
Then watching my opportunity I sprang upon the horse, and here I am."

"And that is the whole story?"

"Yes."

"And you want my advice?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll give it. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, stick
to that horse, and defy Ben Brayton to do his worst."

"It seems to me I've heard part of that speech before," said John,
smiling. "As to the advice, I'll follow it if I can. I'm not afraid of
anything Ben Brayton can do; but suppose his mother takes his part?"

"Do you think she will?"

"I am afraid she will."

"Then defy her too," said Sam, hastily.

"I don't know about that," said John. "I am only a boy of fifteen, and
she is my father's widow. If she chooses to take the horse away, I
don't know that I can do anything."

"Ben Brayton is a mean rascal. Didn't he get a gold watch at the same
time that you got the horse?"

"Yes; he might have had a horse too, but he preferred the watch and
chain. They cost as much as Prince."

"And now he wants the horse too?"

"So it seems."

"That's what I call hoggish. I only wish Ben Brayton would come to
school, and sit next to me."

"What for?" asked John, a little surprised at this remark.

"Wouldn't I stick pins into him, that's all. I'd make him yell like--a
locomotive," said Sam, the simile being suggested by the sound of the
in-coming train.

John laughed.

"That's an old trick of yours," he said, "I remember you served me so
once. And yet you profess to be my friend."

"I didn't stick it in very far," said Sam, apologetically; "it didn't
hurt much, did it?"

"Didn't it though?"

"Well, I didn't mean to have it. Maybe I miscalculated the distance."

"It's all right, if you don't try it again. And now about the advice."

"I wouldn't be imposed upon," said Sam. "Between you and me I don't
think much of your stepmother."

"Nor she of you," said John, slyly. "I heard her say the other day that
you were a disgrace to the neighborhood with your mischievous tricks."

"That is the'most unkindest' cut of all," said Sam. "I'd shed a few
tears if I hadn't left my handkerchief at home. I have a great mind to
tell you something," he added, more gravely.

"Well?" said John, inquiringly.

"It's something that concerns you, only I happened to overhear it,
which isn't quite fair and aboveboard, I know. Still I think I had
better tell you. You know my father was your father's lawyer?"

"Yes."

"Well, he as well as everybody else was surprised at the will that
left everything to your stepmother, only he had the best reason to be
surprised. I was sitting out on our piazza when I heard him tell my
mother that only three months ago your father came to his office, and
had a will drawn up, leaving all the property to you, except the thirds
which your stepmother was entitled to."

"Only three months ago?" said John, thoughtfully.

"Yes."

"And did he take away the will with him?"

"Yes; he thought at first of leaving it in my father's charge, but
finally decided to keep it himself."

"What can have become of it? He must have destroyed it since."

"My father doesn't think so," said Sam.

"What does he think?"

"Mind you don't say a word of what I tell you," said Sam, lowering his
voice. "He thinks that Mrs. Oakley has put it out of the way, in order
to get hold of the whole property herself."

"I can hardly think she would be so wicked," said John, shocked at the
supposition.

"Isn't it easier to believe that of her, than to believe that your
father would deal so unjustly by you?"

"I won't call it unjustly, even if he has really left her the whole
property," said John. "Still, I was surprised at being left out of the
will. Besides," he added, with a sudden reflection, "there's something
that makes me think that the will you speak of is still in existence."

"What's that?" asked Sam.

In reply John gave the particulars of his father's attempt to
communicate with him, and the few words he was able to make out.

"I understand it all now," said Sam, quickly.

"Then you're ahead of me."

"It's plain as a pike-staff. Your father hid the will, fearing that
your stepmother would get hold of it and destroy it. He wanted to tell
you where it was. Do you know of any secret drawer in your house?"

John shook his head.

"There must be one somewhere. Now, if you want my advice, I'll give it.
Just hunt secretly for the drawer, wherever you think it may possibly
be, and if you find it, and the will in it, just bring it round to
my father, and he'll see that justice is done you. Come, I'm not a
lawyer's son for nothing. What do you say?"

"I shouldn't wonder if you were right, Sam."

"You may depend upon it I am. I'm your lawyer, remember, and you are
my client. I give advice on the 'no cure no pay' system. If it don't
amount to anything I won't charge you a cent."

"And if it does?"

"If you get your property by my professional exertions, I trust to your
generosity to reward me."

"All right, Sam."

"Of course you won't let your stepmother suspect what you're after.
Otherwise she might get the start of you, and find it herself, and then
much good it would do you."

"I'm glad to think it is still in existence, and that she hasn't
destroyed it."

"She would if she could, you may