Chester Rand | Page 9

and having a little
money, bought the lots for a song. They are worth very little now, but
some time they may be of value."

"To whom do you wish to give them?" asked Mr. Gardner.
"To this boy," answered Bruce, looking affectionately toward Chester.
"He and his have been my best friends."
"But your uncle--he is a relative!" suggested Chester.
"He has no claim upon me. Lawyer, make out a deed of gift of these
lots to Chester Rand, and I will sign it."
The writing was completed, Bruce found strength to sign it, and then
sank back exhausted. Two days later he died. Of course the eight
dollars a week from the minister's fund ceased to be paid to the Rands.
Chester had not succeeded in obtaining work. To be sure he had the
five lots in Tacoma, but he who had formerly owned them had died a
pauper. The outlook was very dark.
CHAPTER V.
CHESTER'S FIRST SUCCESS.
Chester and his mother and a few friends attended the funeral of Walter
Bruce. Silas Tripp was too busy at the store to pay this parting
compliment to his nephew. He expressed himself plainly about the
folly of the Rands in "runnin' into debt for a shif'less fellow" who had
no claim upon them. "If they expect me to pay the funeral expenses
they're mistaken," he added, positively. "I ain't no call to do it, and I
won't do it."
But he was not asked to defray the expenses of the simple funeral. It
was paid for out of the minister's charitable fund.
"Some time I will pay you back the money, Mr. Morris," said Chester.
"I am Mr. Bruce's heir, and it is right that I should pay."
"Very well, Chester. If your bequest amounts to anything I will not
object. I hope for your sake that the lots may become valuable."

"I don't expect it, Mr. Morris. Will you be kind enough to take care of
the papers for me?"
"Certainly, Chester. I will keep them with my own papers."
At this time Tacoma contained only four hundred inhabitants. The
Northern Pacific Railroad had not been completed, and there was no
certainty when it would be. So Chester did not pay much attention or
give much thought to his Western property, but began to look round
anxiously for something to do.
During the sickness of Walter Bruce he had given up his time to
helping his mother and the care of the sick man. The money received
from the minister enabled him to do this. Now the weekly income had
ceased, and it became a serious question what he should do to bring in
an income.
He had almost forgotten his meeting with Herbert Conrad, the young
artist, when the day after the funeral he received a letter in an unknown
hand, addressed to "Master Chester Rand, Wyncombe, New York."
As he opened it, his eyes opened wide with surprise and joy, when two
five-dollar bills fluttered to the ground, for he had broken the seal in
front of the post office.
He read the letter eagerly. It ran thus:
"DEAR CHESTER:--I am glad to say that I have sold your sketch for
ten dollars to one of the papers I showed you at Wyncombe. If you
have any others ready, send them along. Try to think up some bright,
original idea, and illustrate it in your best style. Then send to me.
"Your sincere friend, HERBERT."
Chester hardly knew whether he was standing on his head or his heels.
It seems almost incredible that a sketch which he had dashed off in
twenty minutes should bring in such a magnificent sum.

And for the first time it dawned upon him he was an artist. Fifty dollars
gained in any other way would not have given him so much satisfaction.
Why, it was only three weeks that he had been out of a place, and he
had received more than he would have been paid in that time by Mr.
Tripp.
He decided to tell no one of his good luck but his mother and the
minister. If he were fortunate enough to earn more, the neighbors might
wonder as they pleased about the source of his supplies. The money
came at the right time, for his mother needed some articles at the store.
He concluded to get them on the way home.
Silas Tripp was weighing out some sugar for a customer when Chester
entered. Silas eyed him sharply, and was rather surprised to find him
cheerful and in good spirits.
"How's your mother this mornin', Chester?" asked the grocer.
"Pretty well, thank you, Mr. Tripp."
"Are you doin' anything yet?"
"There doesn't seem to be much work to do in Wyncombe," answered
Chester, noncommittally.
"You was foolish to