By Sheer Pluck

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Frank had indeed found the journey easier than that which he had
before undertaken with the others. He had scarcely tried to progress,
but had, after getting sufficiently far out to allow the tide to
take him round the point, drifted quietly.

"I owe my life to you, Frank. I shall never forget it, old fellow."

"It's been a close thing," Frank answered; "but you owe your life
as much to your own coolness as to me, and above all, Ruthven,
don't let us forget that we both owe our lives to God."

"I sha'n't forget it," Ruthven said quietly, and they stood for a
few minutes without speaking. "Now, what had we better do? Shall
we start to run home?"

"I can't," Frank laughed, for he had nothing on but his trousers.
These he had slipped on after the return from his first trip,
pushing the rest of his things into a crevice in the rocks as high
up as he could reach.

"You had better take off your things, Ruthven, and lay them out
to dry in the sun. The boat will be here in half an hour. I wonder
how Childers is getting on!"

"I think he will be safe," Ruthven said. "The tide will not rise
high enough for there to be much danger of his being washed off."

"I don't think so either," Frank agreed, "or I would try and swim
back again; but I really don't think I could get round the point
against the tide again."

In half an hour a boat rowing four oars was seen approaching.

"They are laying out well," Ruthven said. "They couldn't row harder
if they were rowing a race. But had it not been for you, old fellow,
they would have been too late, as far as I am concerned."

As the boat approached, the coxswain waved his hat to the boys.
Frank motioned with his arm for them to row on round the point.
The boat swept along at a short distance from the shore. The boys
watched them breathlessly. Presently as it reached the point they
saw the coxswain stand up and say something to the men, who glanced
over their shoulders as they rowed. Then the coxswain gave a loud
shout. "Hold on! We'll be with you directly."

"Thank God!" Frank exclaimed, "Childers is all right."

It was well, however, that the boat arrived when it did, for Childers
was utterly exhausted when it reached him. The sea had risen so
high that the waves broke against his feet, throwing the spray far
above his head, and often nearly washing him from the ledge on which
he stood. Had it not been, indeed, for the hold which he obtained
of the cliff, it would several times have swept him away. About
eighteen inches above his head he had found a ledge sufficiently
wide to give a grip for his hands, and hanging by these he managed
to retain his place when three times his feet were swept off the
rock by the rush of water. The tide was just on the turn when the
boat arrived, and so exhausted was he that he certainly would not
have been able to hold out for the half hour's buffeting to which
he would have been exposed before the water fell sufficiently to
leave him. After helping him into the boat the men gathered the
clothes jammed in fissures of the cliffs. These were, of course,
drenched with water, but had for the most part remained firm in
their places. They now pulled round to the spot where Frank and
Ruthven were awaiting them.

"Childers must have been pretty nearly done," Frank said. "He must
be lying in the bottom of the boat."

Childers gave a smile of pleasure as his schoolfellows jumped on
board. He had, glancing over his shoulder, seen them drift out of
sight round the point, and had felt certain that they had reached
shore. It was, however, a great pleasure to be assured of the fact.

"You have made quite a stir upon the beach, young gentlemen," the
coxswain of the boat said. "When they two came running up without
their shoes or coats and said there were three of you cut off in
the bay under the Foreland, there didn't seem much chance for you.
It didn't take us two minutes to launch the boat, for there were
a score of hands helping to run her down; and my mates bent to it
well, I can tell you, though we didn't think it would be of any use.
We were glad when we made you two out on this side of the point.
Look, there's half Deal and Walmer coming along the shore."

It was as the boatman said. Numbers of persons were streaming along
the beach, and loud were the cheers which rose as the coxswain
stood up and shouted in a stentorian voice, "All saved!"

Frank put on his things as they approached Walmer. His shoes were
lost, as were those of Ruthven, and he had difficulty in getting his
arms into his wet and shrunken jacket. Quite a crowd were gathered
near the castle as the boat rowed to shore, and a hearty cheer arose
as it was run up on the shingle and the boys were helped out. Frank
and Ruthven, indeed, required no assistance. They were in no way
the worse for the adventure, but Childers was so weak that he was
unable to stand. He was carried up and laid on a fly, the others
sitting opposite, the driver having first taken the precaution of
removing the cushions.

There were among the crowd most of the boys from Dr. Parker's.
Goodall and Jackson had arrived nearly an hour and a half before,
and the news had spread like wildfire. Bats and balls had been
thrown down and every one had hurried to the beach. Goodall and
his companion had already related the circumstance of their being
cut off by the water and taken round the point by Frank; and as
Ruthven on jumping out had explained to his comrades who flocked
round to shake his hand, "I owe my life to Hargate," the enthusiasm
reached boiling point, and Frank had difficulty in taking his place
in the fly, so anxious were all to shake his hand and pat him on
the shoulder. Had it not been for his anxiety to get home as soon
as possible, and his urgent entreaties, they would have carried him
on their shoulders in triumph through the town. They drove first to
the school, where Childers was at once carried up to a bed, which
had been prepared with warm blankets in readiness; Ruthven needed
only to change his clothes.

The moment they had left the fly Frank drove straight home, and
was delighted at finding, from his mother's exclamation of surprise
as he alighted from the cab, that she had not been suffering any
anxiety, no one, in the general excitement, having thought of taking
the news to her. In answer to her anxious inquiries he made light
of the affair, saying only that they had stupidly allowed themselves
to be cut off by the sea and had got a ducking. It was not, indeed,
till the next morning, when the other four boys came around to tell
Mrs. Hargate that they were indebted to Frank for their lives, that
she had any notion that he had been in danger.

Frank was quite oppressed by what he called the fuss which was
made over the affair. A thrilling description of it appeared in the
local papers. A subscription was got up in the school, and a gold
watch with an inscription was presented to him; and he received letters
of heart felt thanks from the parents of his four schoolfellows,
for Childers maintained that it was entirely to Frank's coolness
and thoughtfulness that his preservation was also due.

On the following Wednesday the school broke up. Frank had several
invitations from the boys to spend his holidays with them; but he
knew how lonely his mother would feel in his absence, and he declined
all the invitations. Mrs. Hargate was far from strong, and had had
several fits of fainting. These, however, had taken place at times
when Frank was at school, and she had strictly charged her little
servant to say nothing about it.

One day on returning from a long walk he saw the doctor's carriage
standing at the door. Just as he arrived the door opened and the
doctor came out. Upon seeing Frank he turned.

"Come in here, my boy," he said.

Frank followed him, and seeing that the blinds were down, went to
draw them up. The doctor laid his hand on his arm.

"Never mind that," he said gently.

"My boy," he said, "do you know that your mother has been for some
time ailing?"

"No, indeed," Frank said with a gasp of pain and surprise.

"It is so, my boy. I have been attending her for some time. She
has been suffering from fainting fits brought on by weakness of
the heart's action. Two hours since I was sent for and found her
unconscious. My poor boy, you must compose yourself. God is good and
merciful, though his decrees are hard to bear. Your mother passed
away quietly half an hour since, without recovering consciousness."

Frank gave a short cry, and then sat stunned by the suddenness
of the blow. The doctor drew out a small case from his pocket and
poured a few drops from the phial into a glass, added some water,
and held it to Frank's lips.

"Drink this, my boy," he said.

Frank turned his head from the offered glass. He could not speak.

"Drink this, my boy," the doctor said again; "it will do you good.
Try and be strong for the sake of your little sister, who has only
you in the world now."

The thought of Lucy touched the right chord in the boy's heart,
and he burst into a passionate fit of crying. The doctor allowed
his tears to flow unchecked.

"You will be better now," he said presently. "Now drink this, then
lie down on the sofa. We must not be having you ill, you know."

Frank gulped down the contents of the glass, and, passive as a
child, allowed the doctor to place him upon the sofa.

"God help and strengthen you, my poor boy," he said; "ask help from
Him."

For an hour Frank lay sobbing on the sofa, and then, remembering
the doctor's last words, he knelt beside it and prayed for strength.

A week had passed. The blinds were up again. Mrs. Hargate had been
laid in her last home, and Frank was sitting alone again in the
little parlor thinking over what had best be done. The outlook
was a dark one, enough to shake the courage of one much older than
Frank. His mother's pension, he knew, died with her. He had, on
the doctor's advice, written to the War Office on the day following
his mother's death, to inform the authorities of the circumstances,
and to ask if any pension could be granted to his sister. The reply
had arrived that morning and had relieved him of the greatest of
his cares. It stated that as he was now just fifteen years old he
was not eligible for a pension, but that twenty-five pounds a year
would be paid to his sister until she married or attained the age
of twenty-one.

He had spoken to the doctor that morning, and the latter said that
he knew a lady who kept a small school, and who would, he doubted
not, be willing to receive Lucy and to board and clothe her for
that sum. She was a very kind and motherly person, and he was sure
that Lucy would be most kindly treated and cared for by her. It
was then of his own future only that Frank had to think. There were
but a few pounds in the house, but the letter from the War Office
inclosed a check for twenty pounds, as his mother's quarterly pension
was just due. The furniture of the little house would fetch but a
small sum, not more, Frank thought, than thirty or forty pounds.
There were a few debts to pay, and after all was settled up there
would remain about fifty pounds. Of this he determined to place
half in the doctor's hands for the use of Lucy.

"She will want," he said to himself, "a little pocket money. It is
hard on a girl having no money to spend of her own. Then, as she
gets on, she may need lessons in something or other. Besides, half
the money rightly belongs to her, The question is, What am I to
do?"

CHAPTER V: ALONE IN THE WORLD

"What am I to do?"

A difficult question indeed, for a boy of fifteen, with but twenty-five
pounds, and without a friend in the world. Was he, indeed, without
a friend? he asked himself. There was Dr. Parker. Should he apply
to him? But the doctor had started for a trip on the Continent the
day after the school had broken up, and would not return for six
weeks. It was possible that, had he been at home, he might have
offered to keep Frank for a while; but the boys seldom stayed at
his school past the age of fifteen, going elsewhere to have their
education completed. What possible claim had he to quarter himself
upon the doctor for the next four years, even were the offer made?
No, Frank felt; he could not live upon the doctor's charity. Then
there were the parents of the boys he had saved from drowning. But
even as he sat alone Frank's face flushed at the thought of trading
upon services so rendered. The boy's chief fault was pride. It was
no petty feeling, and he had felt no shame at being poorer than
the rest of his schoolfellows. It was rather a pride which led him
unduly to rely upon himself, and to shrink from accepting favors
from any one. Frank might well, without any derogation, have written
to his friends, telling them of the loss he had suffered and the
necessity there was for him to earn his living, and asking them to
beg their fathers to use their interest to procure him a situation
as a boy clerk, or any other position in which he could earn his
livelihood.

Frank, however, shrunk from making any such appeal, and determined
to fight his battle without asking for help. He knew nothing of his
parents' relations. His father was an only son, who had been left
early an orphan. His mother, too, had, he was aware, lost both
her parents, and he had never heard her speak of other relations.
There was no one, therefore, so far as he knew, to whom he could
appeal on the ground of ties of blood. It must be said for him
that he had no idea how hard was the task which he was undertaking.
It seemed to him that it must be easy for a strong, active lad to
find employment of some sort in London. What the employment might
be he cared little for. He had no pride of that kind, and so that
he could earn his bread he cared not much in what capacity he might
do it.

Already preparations had been made for the sale of the furniture,
which was to take place next day. Everything was to be sold except
the scientific books which had belonged to his father. These had
been packed in a great box until the time when he might place them
in a library of his own, and the doctor kindly offered to keep it
for him until such time should arrive. Frank wrote a long letter
to Ruthven, telling him of his loss, and his reasons for leaving
Deal, and promising to write some day and tell him how he was
getting on in London. This letter he did not intend to post until
the last thing before leaving Deal. Lucy had already gone to her
new home, and Frank felt confident that she would be happy there.
His friend, the doctor, who had tried strongly, but without avail, to
dissuade Frank from going up to London to seek his fortune there,
had promised that if the lad referred any inquiries to him he would
answer for his character.

He went down to the beach the last evening and said goodbye to his
friends among the fishermen, and he walked over in the afternoon
and took his last meal with Farmer Gregson.

"Look ye here, my lad," the farmer said as they parted. "I tell ye,
from what I've heerd, this London be a hard nut to crack. There be
plenty of kernel, no doubt, when you can get at it, but it be hard
work to open the shell. Now, if so be as at any time you run short
of money, just drop me a line, and there's ten pound at your service
whenever you like. Don't you think it's an obligation. Quite the
other way. It would be a real pleasure to me to lend you a helping
hand."

Two days after the sale Frank started for London. On getting out of
the train he felt strange and lonely amid the bustle and confusion
which was going on on the platform. The doctor had advised him to
ask one of the porters, or a policeman, if he could recommend him
to a quiet and respectable lodging, as expenses at an hotel would
soon make a deep hole in his money. He, therefore, as soon as the
crowd cleared away, addressed himself to one of the porters.

"What sort of lodgings do you want, sir?" the man said, looking at
him rather suspiciously, with, as Frank saw, a strong idea in his
mind that he was a runaway schoolboy.

"I only want one room," he said, "and I don't care how small it is,
so that it is clean and quiet. I shall be out all day, and should
not give much trouble."

The porter went away and spoke to some of his mates, and presently
returned with one of them.

"You're wanting a room I hear, sir," the man said. "I have a little
house down the Old Kent Road, and my missus lets a room or two.
It's quiet and clean, I'll warrant you. We have one room vacant at
present."

"I'm sure that would suit me very well," Frank said. "How much do
you charge a week?"

"Three and sixpence, sir, if you don't want any cooking done."

Frank took the address, and leaving his portmanteau in charge of
the porter, who promised, unless he heard to the contrary, that
he would bring it home with him when he had done his work, he set
off from the station.

Deal is one of the quietest and most dreary places on the coast of
England, and Frank was perfectly astounded at the crowd and bustle
which filled the street, when he issued from the railway approach,
at the foot of London Bridge. The porter had told him that he was
to turn to his left, and keep straight along until he reached the
"Elephant and Castle." He had, therefore, no trouble about his
road, and was able to give his whole attention to the sights which
met his eye. For a time the stream of omnibuses, cabs, heavy wagons,
and light carts, completely bewildered him, as did the throng of
people who hastened along the footway. He was depressed rather than
exhilarated at the sight of this busy multitude. He seemed such a
solitary atom in the midst of this great moving crowd. Presently,
however, the thought that where so many millions gained their living
there must be room for one boy more, somewhat cheered him. He was
a long time making his way to his place of destination, for he
stared into every shop window, and being, although he was perfectly
ignorant of the fact, on the wrong side of the pavement, he was
bumped and bustled continually, and was not long in arriving at
the conclusion that the people of London must be the roughest and
rudest in the world. It was not until he ran against a gentleman,
and was greeted with the angry, "now then, boy. Where are you going?
Why the deuce don't you keep on your own side of the pavement?" that
he perceived that the moving throng was divided into two currents,
that on the inside meeting him, while the outside stream was
proceeding in the same direction as himself. After this he got on
better, and arrived without adventure at the house of the porter,
in the Old Kent Road.

It was a small house, but was clean and respectable, and Frank
found that the room would suit him well.

"I do not wait upon the lodgers," the landlady said, "except to
make the beds and tidy the rooms in the morning. So if you want
breakfast and tea at home you will have to get them yourself. There
is a separate place downstairs for your coals. There are some tea
things, plates and dishes, in this cupboard. You will want to buy
a small tea kettle, and a gridiron, and a frying pan, in case you
want a chop or a rasher. Do you think you can cook them yourself?"

"Frank, amused at the thought of cooking and catering for himself,
said boldly that he should soon learn.

"You are a very young gentleman," the landlady said, eyeing him
doubtfully, "to be setting up on your own hook. I mean," she said,
seeing Frank look puzzled, "setting up housekeeping on your own
account. You will have to be particular careful with the frying
pan, because if you were to upset the fat in the fire you might
have the house in a blaze in a jiffey."

Frank said that he would certainly be careful with the frying pan.

"Well," she went on, "as you're a stranger to the place I don't
know as you could do better than get your tea, and sugar, and things
at the grocer's at the next corner. I deals there myself, and he
gives every satisfaction. My baker will be round in a few minutes,
and, if you likes, I can take in your bread for you. The same with
milk."

These matters being arranged, and Frank agreeing at once to the
proposition that as he was a stranger it would make things more
comfortable were he to pay his rent in advance, found himself alone
in his new apartment. It was a room about ten feet square. The bed
occupied one corner, with the washstand at its foot. There was a
small table in front of the fireplace, and two chairs; a piece of
carpet half covered the floor, and these with the addition of the
articles in the cupboard constituted the furniture of the room.
Feeling hungry after his journey Frank resolved to go out at once
and get something to eat, and then to lay in a stock of provisions.
After some hesitation regarding the character of the meal he decided
upon two Bath buns, determining to make a substantial tea. He
laid in a supply of tea, sugar, butter, and salt, bought a little
kettle, a frying pan, and a gridiron. Then he hesitated as to
whether he should venture upon a mutton chop or some bacon, deciding
finally in favor of the latter, upon the reflection that any fellow
could see whether bacon were properly frizzled up, while as to
a chop there was no seeing anything about it till one cut it. He,
therefore, invested in a pound of prime streaky Wiltshire bacon,
the very best, as the shopman informed him, that could be bought.
He returned carrying all his purchases, with the exception of the
hardware. Then he inquired of his landlady where he could get coal.

"The green grocer's round the corner," the landlady said. "Tell
him to send in a hundredweight of the best, that's a shilling, and
you'll want some firewood too."

The coal arrived in the course of the afternoon, and at half past
six the porter came in with Frank's trunk. He had by this time lit
a fire, and while the water was boiling got some of his things out
of the box, and by hanging some clothes on the pegs on the back
of the door, and by putting the two or three favorite books he had
brought with him on to the mantelpiece, he gave the room a more
homelike appearance. He enjoyed his tea all the more from the
novelty of having to prepare it himself, and succeeded very fairly
for a first attempt with his bacon.

When tea was over he first washed up the things and then started for
a ramble. He followed the broad straight road to Waterloo Bridge,
stood for a long time looking at the river, and then crossed into
the Strand. The lamps were now alight and the brightness and bustle
of the scene greatly interested him. At nine o'clock he returned
to his lodgings, but was again obliged to sally out, as he found
he had forgotten candles.

After breakfast next morning he went out and bought a newspaper,
and set himself to work to study the advertisements. He was dismayed
to find how many more applicants there were for places than places
requiring to be filled. All the persons advertising were older than
himself, and seemed to possess various accomplishments in the way
of languages; many too could be strongly recommended from their
last situation. The prospect did not look hopeful. In the first
place he had looked to see if any required boy clerks, but this
species of assistant appeared little in demand; and then, although
he hoped that it would not come to that, he ran his eye down the
columns to see if any required errand boys or lads in manufacturing
businesses. He found, however, no such advertisements. However, as
he said to himself, it could not be expected that he should find a
place waiting for him on the very day after his arrival, and that
he ought to be able to live for a year on his five and twenty
pounds; at this reflection his spirits rose and he went out again
for a walk.

For the first week, indeed, of his arrival in London Frank did
not set himself very earnestly to work to look for a situation.
In his walks about the streets he several times observed cards in
the window indicating that an errand boy was wanted. He resolved,
however, that this should be the last resource which he would
adopt, as he would much prefer to go to work as a common lad in a
factory to serving in a shop. After the first week he answered many
advertisements, but in no case received a reply. In one case, in
which it was stated that a lad who could write a good fast hand
was required in an office, wages to begin with eight shillings a
week, he called two days after writing. It was a small office with
a solitary clerk sitting in it. The latter, upon learning Frank's
business, replied with some exasperation that his mind was being
worried out by boys.

"We have had four hundred and thirty letters," he said; "and I should
think that a hundred boys must have called. We took the first who
applied, and all the other letters were chucked into the fire as
soon as we saw what they were about."

Frank returned to the street greatly disheartened.

"Four hundred and thirty letters!" he said. "Four hundred and
thirty other fellows on the lookout, just as I am, for a place as
a boy clerk, and lots of them, no doubt, with friends and relations
to recommend them! The lookout seems to be a bad one."

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