PLANE AND PLANK;

OR,

THE MISHAPS OF A MECHANIC.

BY

OLIVER OPTIC,

AUTHOR OF "YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD," "THE ARMY AND NAVY STORIES," "THE WOODVILLE STORIES," "THE BOAT-CLUB STORIES," "THE STARRY FLAG STORIES," "THE LAKE-SHORE SERIES," ETC.

WITH FOURTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS.

BOSTON:

LEE AND SHEPARD.

NEW YORK:

CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871,

By WILLIAM T. ADAMS,

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

ELECTROTYPED AT THE

BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY,

19 Spring Lane.

TO

MY YOUNG FRIEND

GEORGE W. HILLS

This Book

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.

PREFACE.

"Plane and Plank" is the second of The Upward and Onward Series, in which the hero, Phil Farringford, appears as a mechanic. The events of the story are located on the Missouri River and in the city of St. Louis. Phil learns the trade of a carpenter, and the contrast between a young mechanic of an inquiring mind, earnestly laboring to master his business, and one who feels above his calling, and overvalues his own skill, is presented to the young reader, with the hope that he will accept the lesson.

Incidentally, in the person and history of Phil's father the terrible evils of intemperance are depicted, and the value of Christian love and earnest prayer in the reformation of the unfortunate inebriate is exhibited.

Though the incidents of the hero's career are quite stirring, and some of the situations rather surprising, yet Phil is always true to himself; and those who find themselves in sympathy with him cannot possibly be led astray, while they respect his Christian principles, reverence the Bible, and strive with him to do their whole duty to God and man.

Harrison Square, Boston,

June 7, 1870.

TABLE OF ILLUSTRATIONS

[11]

PLANE AND PLANK;

OR,

CHAPTER I.

IN WHICH PHIL MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF MR. LEONIDAS LYNCHPINNE.

"What do you think you shall do for a living, Phil Farringford, when you arrive at St. Louis?" asked Mr. Gracewood, as we sat on the hurricane deck of a Missouri River steamer.

"I don't care much what I do, if I can only get into some mechanical business," I replied. "I want to learn a trade. I don't think I'm very vain when I say that I have about half learned one now."

"Perhaps you have half learned several," added my excellent friend, with a smile. "I have no doubt you will make a good mechanic, for [12]you are handy in the use of tools; and you have been thrown so much upon your own resources that you are full of expedients."

"I am always delighted when I have a difficult job to do. Nothing pleases me so much as to study up the means of overcoming an obstacle," I added.

"The first qualification for any pursuit is to have a taste for it. You will make a good mechanic."

"I am only afraid that after I have learned a trade, I shall not care to work at it."

"That won't do," protested Mr. Gracewood. "You mustn't keep jumping from one thing to another. Frequent change is the enemy of progress. You must not be fickle."

"But, after I have learned my trade, or rather finished learning it, there will be no more difficulties to overcome."

"Yes, there will. What trade do you mean to learn?"

"The carpenter's, I think."

"There may be an infinite variety in the trade."

"I know there may be, but there is not. One house must be very much like every other one, [13]I don't think I could be contented to keep doing the same thing over and over again."

"If you wish to succeed, you must stick to your trade, Phil Farringford."

"Should I stick to it if I can do better at something else?"

"You must, at least, be very sure that you can do better at something else."

"Of course I shall; but, if I learn my trade, I shall always have it to fall back upon."

"That is very true; but I wish to impress it upon your mind that fickleness of purpose is fatal to any real success in morals, in science, and in business."

Our conversation was interrupted by the stopping of the steamer at a wood-yard; for I never lost an opportunity, on those occasions, to take a walk on shore. I was nervously anxious to see everything there was to be seen. All was new and strange; and every day, as the settlements on the banks of the great river increased in number and extent, afforded me a new sensation. As I had been brought up far away from the haunts of civilization, even a house was a curiosity to me; and I gazed with [14]astonishment at the busy scenes which were presented to me in some of the larger towns. At St. Joseph we had taken on board quite a number of passengers, and the scene in the cabin had become much livelier than before.

The addition was not wholly an improvement, for among the new arrivals were not a few gamblers. From this time the tables were occupied by these blacklegs, and such of the passengers as they could induce to join them in the hazardous sport, from early in the morning until late at night. The parties thus engaged were surrounded by a crowd of curious observers, watching the turnings of the game, and perhaps calculating their own chances if they engaged in the wretched business. I had looked on myself with interest, and when I saw a man put five dollars into his pocket on the turn of a card, I thought it was an easy way to make money; but then I had an opportunity to see that it was just as easy a way to lose it.

Mr. Gracewood had called me away from my position near the table, after the gamblers had commenced their operations, and cautioned me never to play for money at any game. He ex[15]plained to me the nature of the business, and assured me that the gamblers who had come on board at St. Joseph were of the vilest class of men. After his lecture I was not tempted to try my hand with the party at the table. The talk about making and losing money at games of chance introduced the subject of my own finances. I had paid my passage to St. Louis, and had besides nearly one hundred dollars in gold in a shot-bag in my pocket.

While we were talking, I took out the bag, and counted the pieces, as I had done several times on the passage, to assure myself that my funds were all right. My excellent friend told me I must learn prudence, and that I ought not to exhibit my money, especially while we had so many suspicious characters on board. I was alarmed, and looked around to discover who had observed me. One of the passengers, who had come on board at "St. Joe," was promenading the deck, and I had noticed that he passed quite near me several times. He was a young man flashily dressed, but he did not look like a bad man. I put my shot-bag into my pocket, resolved not to show it again, and [16]we continued to discuss the financial question till it led us to the consideration of my future occupation.

The wood-yard where the boat stopped was in a lonely region, and it was just sunset when she touched the shore. Its location was at the mouth of a stream down which the wood was brought in flatboats, though a young forest was growing in the region around the landing. As it was too damp for his wife and daughter to walk, Mr. Gracewood would not go on shore, and I went alone. It was a great luxury to stretch one's legs for an hour on the hard ground after living for weeks on the steamer.

"How long before you leave?" I asked of the captain, as I went over the plank.

"Perhaps not till morning," he replied.

"Do you stay here all night?"

"It's going to be foggy, and I don't think we can run down to Leavenworth, which is not more than seven miles from here. We should have to lie there till morning if we went on."

I was sorry for this, because Mrs. Gracewood had a friend in the place, where we in[17]tended to spend the evening, and I was anxious to see the inside of a civilized house. However, we could make the visit the next day, for the boat was to stay several hours at the town. I went on shore, and several of the passengers did the same.

"It's quite smoky on the river," said a young man, coming up to me as we landed.

"Yes; the captain says he shall probably have to lie here till morning," I replied.

"That's too bad," added my companion, the St. Joe passenger whom I had observed on the hurricane deck when I was counting my money. "I meant to go to a prayer-meeting in Leavenworth this evening."

"A prayer-meeting!" I repeated, my interest awakened; for I had heard Mr. Gracewood speak of such gatherings, though I had never attended one.

"When I came up the river three days ago, they were holding them every evening in the chapel; and I am anxious to attend."

"I should like to go very much."

"I think I shall go as it is," continued the young man, looking at his watch.

[18]

"How can you go if the boat remains here?"

"I can walk. It is not more than three or four miles across the bend of the river."

"I should like to go with you very much," I answered.

"I should be very glad of your company."

"If you will wait a few moments, I will speak to Mr. Gracewood."

He consented to wait, and I hastened to the saloon. When I had stated my desire, Mr. Gracewood rather objected.

"You don't know the person with whom you are going," said he.

"I think I can take care of myself, sir. But I don't think there can be any danger in going with a young man who is willing to walk four miles to attend a prayer-meeting."

"Perhaps not. I should really like to go to one myself."

"I don't think there can be any danger," interposed Mrs. Gracewood. "If we could get a vehicle here, we would all go."

"There is the captain. I will ask him if one cannot be obtained," said Mr. Gracewood.

The captain said there was no vehicle suita[19]ble to convey a lady, but he would send a party of three in the steamer's boat, if they would pay the expenses of the two oarsmen in Leavenworth for the night.

"But can't you send five as well as three?" asked Mr. Gracewood, who did not object to the expense.

"The boat is hardly large enough to carry them besides the two oarsmen. I lost my boat going up the river, and I had to take such a one as I could find," replied the captain.

"But I would rather walk," I added. "I will meet you in the town."

"Very well, Phil Farringford. Go to the landing when you arrive, and wait for us."

I promised to do so, and joined the young man on the shore. We started immediately for our destination, and passing through the grove of young trees, we reached the open prairie, over which there was a wagon track.

"I don't happen to know your name," said my companion.

"Philip Farringford; but my friends call me Phil."

"Farringford; I know a man of that name [20]in St. Louis," replied he. "He used to be a large steamboat owner, but he has gone to ruin now."

"Gone to ruin?"

"Yes, drank hard, and lost all his property. He is a poor, miserable fellow now."

"Had he a family?"

"He had a wife, but she left him years ago. She was a very pretty woman, they say, though I never saw her."

"Did you ever hear that he and his wife were on board a steamer which was burned on the upper Missouri?"

"Never did."

Very likely this man was the owner of the steamer after which I had been named; but it was not probable that he was in any manner related to me. My curiosity was satisfied, or rather my new friend could give me no further information in regard to him.

"There was a steamer of that name burned on the Missouri about eleven years ago," I added.

"Well, I was a boy then, and did not come to St. Louis till years after."

[21]

"I should like to ascertain something about that boat, Mr.—You didn't tell me your name."

"Just so; I did not. My name is—my name is Lynchpinne," he replied, with some hesitation, so that I wondered whether he had not forgotten his name—"Leonidas Lynchpinne."

I thought it was a queer name, but an instinct of politeness prevented me from saying so.

"What do you wish to know in regard to that steamer, Phil?" he asked.

"Some of my relations were on board of her, and I should like to ascertain whether they were saved or not."

"Farringford will know all about it, if you can catch him when he is sober, which is not very often. I will help you out with it when we get to St. Louis."

"Thank you, Mr. Lynchpinne. I shall be under very great obligations to you if you can help me."

[22]

I thought my new friend was a very obliging young man, and I was glad to know him, especially as he was in the habit of attending prayer-meetings.

CHAPTER II.

IN WHICH PHIL MEETS WITH HIS FIRST MISHAP.

Four miles was a short walk to me, and when we reached Leavenworth, I was as fresh as when we started. The town, then in the third year of its existence, had a population of two thousand, and some substantial buildings had already been erected.

"Where is the landing-place?" I asked, as we entered the town.

"It is not far from here," replied Mr. Lynchpinne. "But that boat won't be here for an hour or two yet."

"But I would rather go there at once."

"There is no hurry; but we will go down in a few minutes. I want to inquire at what time the prayer-meeting commences."

"I will go directly to the landing, if you will [23]tell me the way. I won't keep you waiting, and I will see you at the meeting."

"Don't be in a hurry. It is only a little past six, and the boat won't arrive for an hour, certainly. I will go down with you in five minutes," persisted my companion.

"I would not have my friends wait for me a moment," I added.

"We shall have to wait an hour for them. We will go up to the hotel, and engage a room, for we may not find one after the meeting."

He conducted me through the principal street of the town, and I gazed with interest at the shops, houses, and people.

"How much farther have we to go?" I asked, when I judged that the five minutes had expired.

"Only a short distance; but we are going towards the river all the time."

"We passed a hotel just now."

"That is not the one I stop at when I am here. The prices are too high for me. I have money enough, but you know a young man ought to be economical on principle."

I thought this was very good logic, and I fully subscribed to it; for, though I had almost a hun[24]dred dollars in my pocket, I wished to save as much as possible of it. Mr. Lynchpinne turned down a cross street, and presently stopped before a large two-story frame house, the lower part of which was a shop of some kind; but it was closed. On the outside of the building there was a flight of stairs leading to the second story.

"We will go up here and inquire about the prayer-meeting," said my new friend. "It won't take but a moment."

"Very well; but don't be long. I will wait here till you come down."

"No; come up."

"I had just as lief wait here."

"But this is the place where we shall sleep. A friend of mine lets out some rooms here to lodgers. We can sleep here for fifty cents each, and it would cost a dollar at the hotel."

"All right; you engage a room for both of us."

"But come up. If you should want to go to bed before I am ready to come in, you won't be able to find your room, if you don't go and look at it now."

I thought we were wasting more time in debating the matter than it would take for me to [25]look at the chamber, and I followed him up the stairs. We entered the building, which was of considerable dimensions. I groped my way, after my friend, through long entries, which were not lighted, until, after turning two corners, he halted and knocked.

"Who's there?" called a voice from within.

"Lynch," replied my guide. "Lynch is the short of Lynchpinne," he added to me.

"Come in!"

I heard the springing of a bolt on the door before it was opened.

"Go in, Phil," said my companion, placing himself behind me, and gently forcing me into the apartment.

The room was not more than twelve feet square.

The only furniture it contained was a chair and a small toilet-table. The former was placed in one corner, and the latter directly in front of it.

"Is there to be a prayer-meeting this evening?" asked Mr. Lynchpinne of the man who sat behind the table.

"Of course."

"At what time?"

[26]

"Half past seven. What have you there?" continued the man behind the table.

"A dove who has the yellow."

"Right; we will begin the meeting now then," added the man, producing a little silver box, open on one side, so that I could see it contained a pack of cards.

This was the first intimation I had that anything was wrong. The sight of the cards roused my suspicions, as well they might. I had heard the snap of the bolt as the man locked the door when we entered. I looked about me, and discovered that there were no windows in the room, though there was another door besides that by which we had entered.

"Put that up," said Mr. Lynchpinne. "You know that I never gamble."

"I thought you wanted to open the meeting."

"I don't know what you mean," added my companion, who certainly looked very innocent.

"O, you don't!"

"Of course I don't. My young friend and I must stay in town over night, and we want a room. Have you any left, Redwood?"

"Not a room."

[27]

"Can't you find one?" persisted my friend.

"Everything on this floor is let by the week."

"There's the corner room in the attic," said the man who had opened the door when we entered.

"Show it to them, Glynn," added Redwood, who appeared to be the proprietor of the establishment.

"I know where it is. Give me a light, and I won't trouble you," said Lynchpinne.

Glynn opened a door which led to another room, and soon appeared with a rusty iron candlestick, and the stump of a candle, which he lighted.

"Come, Phil, we will see the room," said Lynchpinne, when we were in the entry.

"What sort of a place is this?" I demanded. "I don't like the looks of it."

"Nor I," he replied. "I should judge by the looks that Redwood gambles."

"I think I won't stay here. I don't want to be in a gambling-house."

"Humph! It will be just the same if you go to the hotel. Let us look at the room, at any rate."

"You have seen it before."

"But I wish you to see it; then, if you don't like to stay here, we will go to the hotel."

I followed him up the narrow flight of stairs, [28]and at the end of an entry, which extended the whole length of the building, we entered a chamber. It contained a rude bed, a chair, and a wash-stand.

"Not very elegant accommodations," said Lynchpinne, as we surveyed the room; "but when I can save half a dollar without any real sacrifice of comfort, I do so."

"I had as lief sleep here as anywhere," I replied. "Wouldn't it have been more economical to stay on board the steamer?"

"Doubtless it would; but I wanted to come, and so did you. We will do it as cheap as we can—that's all."

"I'm satisfied."

"Then I will put this candle on the chair, with a couple of matches by the side of it, so that we can come in without any assistance."

"Let us be in a hurry, for I am afraid that boat will get to the landing before we do," I added, impatiently.

"You need not concern yourself about her. We shall have to wait half an hour when we get to the river. But I am all ready."

"So am I."

[29]

"I hope you haven't much money about you, Phil," said my companion, as he placed the candle on the chair.

"I have a little. But why do you say that?"

"Because there are a great many bad men about these new towns; and some of them would not scruple to rap you over the head for your money. Besides, there will be a crowd on the steamboat levee, and we may have our pockets picked. I think I shall hide my money in the bed."

Suiting the action to the word, he took his wallet from his pocket, and thrust his arm into the bed up to the shoulder.

"No one will think of looking there for it," he added, as if thoroughly satisfied with what he had done. "I advise you to do the same."

"I don't mean to leave my money here," I replied. "I don't like the looks of the people in this house."

"Nor I: but they will not think of such a thing as looking into the bed for money. Take my advice, Phil."

"No; I think I can take care of what money I have," I answered.

[30]

"You haven't been about this region so much as I have, or you wouldn't run any risks," he continued; and I thought he was very persistent about the care of my funds.

"That may be, though I think my money will be safer in my pocket than in that bed. But come, Mr. Lynchpinne. We are wasting our time, and we had better hurry down to the river."