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      Luck and Pluck / or John Oakley's Inheritance

      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.

      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

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