Brave and Bold; Or, The Fortunes of Robert Rushton — Inside the Classic
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The main schoolroom in the Millville Academy was brilliantly lighted, and the various desks were occupied by boys and girls of different ages from ten to eighteen, all busily writing under the general direction of Professor George W. Granville, Instructor in Plain and Ornamental Penmanship.
Professor Granville, as he styled himself, was a traveling teacher, and generally had two or three evening schools in progress in different places at the same time. He was really a very good penman, and in a course of twelve lessons, for which he charged the very moderate price of a dollar, not, of course, including stationery, he contrived to impart considerable instruction, and such pupils as chose to learn were likely to profit by his instructions. His venture in Millville had been unusually successful. There were a hundred pupils on his list, and there had been no disturbance during the course of lessons.
At nine precisely, Professor Granville struck a small bell, and said, in rather a nasal voice:
"You will now stop writing."
There was a little confusion as the books were closed and the pens were wiped.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said the professor, placing one arm under his coat tails and extending the other in an oratorical attitude, "this evening completes the course of lessons which I have had the honor and pleasure of giving you. I have endeavored to impart to you an easy and graceful penmanship, such as may be a recommendation to you in after life. It gives me pleasure to state that many of you have made great proficiency, and equaled my highest expectations. There are others, perhaps, who have not been fully sensible of the privileges which they enjoyed. I would say to you all that perfection is not yet attained. You will need practice to reap the full benefit of my instructions. Should my life be spared, I shall hope next winter to give another course of writing lessons in this place, and I hope I may then have the pleasure of meeting you again as pupils. Let me say, in conclusion, that I thank you for your patronage and for your good behavior during this course of lessons, and at the same time I bid you good-by."
With the closing words, Professor Granville made a low bow, and placed his hand on his heart, as he had done probably fifty times before, on delivering the same speech, which was the stereotyped form in which he closed his evening schools.
There was a thumping of feet, mingled with a clapping of hands, as the professor closed his speech, and a moment later a boy of sixteen, occupying one of the front seats, rose, and, advancing with easy self-possession, drew from his pocket a gold pencil case, containing a pencil and pen, and spoke as follows:
"Professor Granville, the members of your writing class, desirous of testifying their appreciation of your services as teacher, have contributed to buy this gold pencil case, which, in their name, I have great pleasure in presenting to you. Will you receive it with our best wishes for your continued success as a teacher of penmanship?"
With these words, he handed the pencil to the professor and returned to his seat.
The applause that ensued was terrific, causing the dust to rise from the floor where it had lain undisturbed till the violent attack of two hundred feet raised it in clouds, through which the figure of the professor was still visible, with his right arm again extended.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he commenced, "I cannot give fitting utterance to the emotions that fill my heart at this most unexpected tribute of regard and mark of appreciation of my humble services. Believe me, I shall always cherish it as a most valued possession, and the sight of it will recall the pleasant, and, I hope, profitable hours which we have passed together this winter. To you, in particular, Mr. Rushton, I express my thanks for the touching and eloquent manner in which you have made the presentation, and, in parting with you all, I echo your own good wishes, and shall hope that you may be favored with an abundant measure of health and prosperity."
This speech was also vociferously applauded. It was generally considered impromptu, but was, in truth, as stereotyped as the other. Professor Granville had on previous occasions been the recipient of similar testimonials, and he had found it convenient to have a set form of acknowledgment. He was wise in this, for it is a hard thing on the spur of the moment suitably to offer thanks for an unexpected gift.
"The professor made a bully speech," said more than one after the exercises were over.
"So did Bob Rushton," said Edward Kent.
"I didn't see anything extraordinary in what he said," sneered Halbert Davis. "It seemed to me very commonplace."
"Perhaps you could do better yourself, Halbert," said Kent.
"Probably I could," said Halbert, haughtily.
"Why didn't you volunteer, then?"
"I didn't care to have anything to do with it," returned Halbert, scornfully.
"That's lucky," remarked Edward, "as there was no chance of your getting appointed."
"Do you mean to insult me?" demanded Halbert, angrily.
"No, I was only telling the truth."
Halbert turned away, too disgusted to make any reply. He was a boy of sixteen, of slender form and sallow complexion, dressed with more pretension than taste. Probably there was no boy present whose suit was of such fine material as his. But something more than fine clothes is needed to give a fine appearance, and Halbert's mean and insignificant features were far from rendering him attractive, and despite the testimony of his glass, Halbert considered himself a young man of distinguished appearance, and was utterly blind to his personal defects.
What contributed to feed his vanity was his position as the son of the richest man in Millville. Indeed, his father was superintendent, and part owner, of the great brick factory on the banks of the river, in which hundreds found employment. Halbert found plenty to fawn upon him, and was in the habit of strutting about the village, swinging a light cane, neither a useful nor an ornamental member of the community.
After his brief altercation with Edward Kent, he drew on a pair of kid gloves, and looked about the room for Hester Paine, the lawyer's daughter, the reigning belle among the girls of her age in Millville. The fact was, that Halbert was rather smitten with Hester, and had made up his mind to escort her home on this particular evening, never doubting that his escort would be thankfully accepted.
But he was not quick enough, Robert Rushton had already approached Hester, and said, "Miss Hester, will you allow me to see you home?"
"I shall be very glad to have your company, Robert," said Hester.
Robert was a general favorite. He had a bright, attractive face, strong and resolute, when there was occasion, frank and earnest at all times. His clothes were neat and clean, but of a coarse, mixed cloth, evidently of low price, suiting his circumstances, for he was poor, and his mother and himself depended mainly upon his earnings in the factory for the necessaries of life. Hester Paine, being the daughter of a well-to-do lawyer, belonged to the village aristocracy, and so far as worldly wealth was concerned, was far above Robert Rushton. But such considerations never entered her mind, as she frankly, and with real pleasure, accepted the escort of the poor factory boy.
Scarcely had she done so when Halbert Davis approached, smoothing his kid gloves, and pulling at his necktie.
"Miss Hester," he said, consequentially, "I shall have great pleasure in escorting you home."
"Thank you," said Hester, "but I am engaged."
"Engaged!" repeated Halbert, "and to whom?"
"Robert Rushton has kindly offered to take me home."
"Robert Rushton!" said Halbert, disdainfully. "Never mind. I will relieve him of his duty."
"Thank you, Halbert," said Robert, who was standing by, "I won't trouble you. I will see Miss Paine home."
"Your escort was accepted because you were the first to offer it," said Halbert.
"Miss Hester," said Robert, "I will resign in favor of Halbert, if you desire it."
"I don't desire it," said the young girl, promptly. "Come, Robert, I am ready if you are."
With a careless nod to Halbert, she took Robert's arm, and left the schoolhouse. Mortified and angry, Halbert looked after them, muttering, "I'll teach the factory boy a lesson. He'll be sorry for his impudence yet."
Mrs. Rushton and her son occupied a little cottage, not far from the factory. Behind it were a few square rods of garden, in which Robert raised a few vegetables, working generally before or after his labor in the factory. They lived in a very plain way, but Mrs. Rushton was an excellent manager, and they had never lacked the common comforts of life. The husband and father had followed the sea. Two years before, he left the port of Boston as captain of the ship _Norman_, bound for Calcutta. Not a word had reached his wife and son since then, and it was generally believed that it had gone to the bottom of the sea. Mrs. Rushton regarded herself as a widow, and Robert, entering the factory, took upon himself the support of the family. He was now able to earn six dollars a week, and this, with his mother's earnings in braiding straw for a hat manufacturer in a neighboring town, supported them, though they were unable to lay up anything. The price of a term at the writing school was so small that Robert thought he could indulge himself in it, feeling that a good handwriting was a valuable acquisition, and might hereafter procure him employment in some business house. For the present, he could not do better than to retain his place in the factory.
Robert was up at six the next morning. He spent half an hour in sawing and splitting wood enough to last his mother through the day, and then entered the kitchen, where breakfast was ready.
"I am a little late this morning, mother," he said. "I must hurry down my breakfast, or I shall be late at the factory, and that will bring twenty-five cents fine."
"It would be a pity to get fined, but you mustn't eat too fast. It is not healthful."
"I've got a pretty good digestion, mother," said Robert, laughing. "Nothing troubles me."
"Still, you mustn't trifle with it. Do you remember, Robert," added his mother, soberly, "it is just two years to-day since your poor father left us for Boston to take command of his ship?"
"So it is, mother; I had forgotten it."
"I little thought then that I should never see him again!" and Mrs. Rushton sighed.
"It is strange we have never heard anything of the ship."
"Not so strange, Robert. It must have gone down when no other vessel was in sight."
"I wish we knew the particulars, mother. Sometimes I think father may have escaped from the ship in a boat, and may be still alive."
"I used to think it possible, Robert; but I have given up all hopes of it. Two years have passed, and if your father were alive, we should have seen him or heard from him ere this."
"I am afraid you are right. There's one thing I can't help thinking of, mother," said Robert, thoughtfully. "How is it that father left no property? He received a good salary, did he not?"
"Yes; he had received a good salary for several years."
"He did not spend the whole of it, did he?"
"No, I am sure he did not. Your father was never extravagant."
"Didn't he ever speak to you on the subject?"
"He was not in the habit of speaking of his business; but just before he went away, I remember him telling me that he had some money invested, and hoped to add more to it during the voyage which proved so fatal to him."
"He didn't tell you how much it was, nor how it was invested?"
"No; that was all he said. Since his death, I have looked everywhere in the house for some papers which would throw light upon it; but I have been able to find nothing. I do not care so much for myself, but I should be glad if you did not have to work so hard."
"Never mind me, mother; I'm young and strong, I can stand work--but it's hard on you."
"I am rich in having a good son, Robert."
"And I in a good mother," said Robert, affectionately. "And, now, to change the subject. I suspect I have incurred the enmity of Halbert Davis."
"How is that?" asked Mrs. Rushton.
"I went home with Hester Paine, last evening, from writing school. Just as she had accepted my escort, Halbert came up, and in a condescending way, informed her that he would see her home."
"She told him she was engaged to me. He said, coolly, that he would relieve me of the duty, but I declined his obliging offer. He looked mad enough, I can tell you. He's full of self-conceit, and I suppose he wondered how any one could prefer me to him."
"I am sorry you have incurred his enmity."
"I didn't lose any sleep by it."
"You know his father is the superintendent of the factory."
"But he may prejudice his father against you, and get you discharged."
"I don't think he would be quite so mean as that. We won't borrow trouble, mother. But time's up, and I must go."
Robert seized his hat and hurried to the mill. He was in his place when the great factory bell stopped ringing on the stroke of seven, and so escaped the fine, which would have cut off one-quarter of a day's pay.
Meanwhile, Halbert Davis had passed an uncomfortable and restless night. He had taken a fancy to Hester Paine, and he had fully determined to escort her home on the previous evening. As she was much sought after among her young companions, it would have gratified his pride to have it known that she had accepted his company. But he had been cut out, and by Robert Rushton--one of his father's factory hands. This made his jealousy more intolerable, and humiliated his pride, and set him to work devising schemes for punishing Robert's presumption. He felt that it was Robert's duty, even though he had been accepted, to retire from the field as soon as his, Halbert's, desire was known. This Robert had expressly declined to do, and Halbert felt very indignant. He made up his mind that he would give Robert a chance to apologize, and if he declined to do so he would do what he could to get him turned out of the factory.
At twelve o'clock the factory bell pealed forth a welcome sound to the hundreds who were busily at work within the great building. It was the dinner hour, and a throng of men, women and children poured out of the great portals and hastened to their homes or boarding houses to dine. Among them was Robert Rushton. As he was walking homeward with his usual quick, alert step, he came upon Halbert Davis, at the corner of the street.
Halbert was dressed carefully, and, as usual, was swinging his cane in his gloved hand. Robert would have passed him with a nod, but Halbert, who was waiting for him, called out:
"I say, you fellow, stop a minute. I want to speak to you."
"Are you addressing me?" asked Robert, with a pride as great as his own.
"Then you had better mend your manners."
"What do you mean?" demanded Halbert, his sallow face slightly flushing.
"My name is Robert Rushton. Call me by either of these names when you speak to me, and don't say 'you fellow.'"
"It seems to me," sneered Halbert, "that you are putting on airs for a factory boy."
"I am a factory boy, I acknowledge, and am not ashamed to acknowledge it. Is this all you have to say to me? If so, I will pass on, as I am in haste."
"I have something else to say to you. You were impudent to me last evening."
"Was I? Tell me how."
"Did you not insist on going home with Hester Paine, when I had offered my escort?"
"You forget your place."
"My place was at Hester Paine's side, since she had accepted my escort."
"It was very presumptuous in a factory boy like you offering your escort to a young lady like Miss Paine."
"I don't see it," said Robert, independently; "and I don't think it struck Hester in that light. We had a very agreeable walk."
Halbert was provoked and inflamed with jealousy, and the look with which he regarded our hero was by no means friendly.
"You mustn't regard yourself as Miss Paine's equal because she condescended to walk with you," he said. "You had better associate with those of your own class hereafter, and not push yourself in where your company is not agreeable."
"Keep your advice to yourself, Halbert Davis," said Robert, hotly, for he felt the insult conveyed in these words. "If I am a factory boy I don't intend to submit to your impertinence; and I advise you to be careful what you say. As to Miss Hester Paine, I shall not ask your permission to walk with her, but shall do so whenever she chooses to accept my escort. Has she authorized you to speak for her?"
"Then wait till she does."
Halbert was so incensed that, forgetting Robert's superior strength, evident enough to any one who saw the two, one with his well-knit, vigorous figure, the other slender and small of frame, he raised his cane and struck our hero smartly upon the arm.
In a moment the cane was wrested from his grasp and applied to his own person with a sharp, stinging blow which broke the fragile stick in two.
Casting the pieces upon the ground at his feet, Robert said, coolly:
"Two can play at that game, Halbert Davis. When you want another lesson come to me."
He passed his discomfited antagonist and hastened to the little cottage, where his mother was wondering what made him so much behind time.
Stung with mortification and more incensed against Robert than ever, Halbert hastened home. The house in which he lived was the largest and most pretentious in Millville--a large, square house, built in modern style, and with modern improvements, accessible from the street by a semi-circular driveway terminating in two gates, one at each end of the spacious lawn that lay in front. The house had been built only three years, and was the show-place of the village.
Halbert entered the house, and throwing his hat down on a chair in the hall, entered the dining-room, his face still betraying his angry feelings.
"What's the matter, Halbert?" asked his mother, looking up as he entered.
"Do you see this?" said Halbert, displaying the pieces of his cane.
"How did you break it?"
"How came it broken, then?"
"Robert Rushton broke it."
"The widow Rushton's son?"
"Yes; he's a low scoundrel," said Halbert bitterly.
"What made him break it?"
"He struck me with it hard enough to break it, and then threw the pieces on the ground. I wouldn't mind it so much if he were not a low factory boy, unworthy of a gentleman's attention."
"How dared he touch you?" asked Mrs. Davis, angrily.
"Oh, he's impudent enough for anything. He walked home with Hester Paine last evening from the writing school. I suppose she didn't know how to refuse him. I met him just now and told him he ought to know his place better than to offer his escort to a young lady like Hester. He got mad and struck me."
"It was very proper advice," said Mrs. Davis, who resembled her son in character and disposition, and usually sided with him in his quarrels. "I should think Hester would have more sense than to encourage a boy in his position."
"I have no doubt she was bored by his company," said Halbert, who feared on the contrary that Hester was only too well pleased with his rival, and hated him accordingly; "only she was too good-natured to say so."
"The boy must be a young brute to turn upon you so violently."
"That's just what he is."
"He ought to be punished for it."
"I'll tell you how it can be done," said Halbert. "Just you speak to father about it, and get him dismissed from the factory."
"Then he is employed in the factory?"
The novel opens not with a shipwreck or a factory floor but inside the Millville Academy, where Professor Granville delivers a closing speech to his penmanship class—a speech he has given “probably fifty times before.” This small detail signals Alger’s interest in the gap between performed authority and genuine character. The professor’s “stereotyped form” and nasal voice set a tone of mild satire, but the scene quickly yields to a more serious tension: a boy of sixteen rises with “easy self-possession,” hinting at the self-reliance that will define Robert Rushton.
Alger builds his story on contrasts between public reputation and private action. The superintendent Mr. Davis is known as “an honorable man,” yet he withholds a five-thousand-dollar trust. A sea captain’s letter, sealed in a bottle, accuses a crewman of arson. These early episodes establish a world where appearances deceive and where a young protagonist must test what he hears against what he discovers.
The Penmanship School as a Stage for Character
The opening chapter uses the evening writing class to introduce a key pattern: adults who perform virtue while the young must judge them. Professor Granville’s “oratorical attitude” and hand-on-heart bow are described as mechanical, repeated “probably fifty times before.” His speech is a set piece, not a sincere address. Against this backdrop, the boy who steps forward with “easy self-possession” stands out. Alger does not name him immediately, but the contrast is clear: the adult performs; the boy acts.
This scene also establishes a social microcosm. The academy brings together boys and girls aged ten to eighteen, all writing under the same instructor. The setting is ordinary, yet it frames the novel’s central question: who can be trusted? The professor’s “very moderate price of a dollar” and his promise to return next winter suggest a transient, transactional relationship. In contrast, the bonds of family and friendship—Robert’s loyalty to his mother, his father’s hidden provision—are tested by distance and time. The schoolroom, with its rows of desks and regulated bell, is a controlled environment where the real drama of character has not yet begun.
A Bottle, a Letter, and a Hidden Fortune
The most striking piece of evidence in the excerpts is the letter from Captain Rushton, written as the ship burns and sealed in a bottle. The captain describes how a crewman named Haley “deliberately fired the ship in order to revenge himself upon me.” The letter is a confession of vulnerability: the captain admits he concealed a five-thousand-dollar deposit from his wife, intending to “surprise you at the end of this voyage.” That surprise never comes. Instead, the letter becomes a posthumous accusation—against Haley for arson, and implicitly against Mr. Davis, who has not revealed the trust.
Alger uses the bottle-message device to compress backstory and motive. The letter is dated two years before Robert finds it, and its language is formal, almost legal: “I deposited five thousand dollars with Mr. Davis, the superintendent of the factory, in trust for you.” The captain’s hope that “the merciful waves may waft it to the shore” is answered, but the money remains withheld. Robert’s immediate reaction—“it is my opinion that he never intends to let us know”—shows a pragmatic distrust that his mother, still clinging to reputation, resists. The tension between the written word (the letter) and the spoken word (Mr. Davis’s silence) drives the plot forward.
Reputation Versus Evidence in a Small Town
When Robert decides to confront Mr. Davis, his mother warns him: “Don’t be hasty or impetuous… Speak to him respectfully.” Robert replies, “I shall be civil if he is.” This exchange captures the novel’s moral arithmetic. Mrs. Rushton values the superintendent’s “reputation of an honorable man,” while Robert points out that “many have had that reputation who do not deserve it.” The evidence—the letter, the missing money, the family’s poverty—outweighs social standing in his calculation.
Alger does not show the confrontation in the excerpts, but the setup is clear: a sixteen-year-old boy must challenge an adult authority figure on the basis of a document that could be dismissed as a forgery or a fantasy. The factory setting, hinted at by the catalog subjects and the mention of “the mill,” grounds the conflict in economic reality. The five thousand dollars is not abstract; it is “a fortune” that would change the Rushtons’ lives. The novel thus pits institutional trust (the superintendent, the factory) against individual integrity (the captain’s written word, Robert’s determination). The outcome is not given, but the pattern is set: appearances will be tested, and the young hero must rely on evidence, not reputation.
Readers should pay close attention to how Alger uses documents—the letter, the speech, the unspoken trust—as both plot devices and moral tests. The novel does not simply reward bravery; it asks who holds information and who withholds it. The penmanship school, the burning ship, and the factory superintendent are all arenas where the written word and the spoken promise diverge. Robert Rushton’s task is to reconcile them, and the reader is left to watch whether a boy’s resolve can overcome a man’s silence.
Reading about Robert Rushton’s hidden trust fund, I remembered my own father’s locked drawer and a secret I never asked about. That quiet ache of unspoken duty returns every time. A Jolly Fellowship — Background and Themes once gave me that same sense of boys carrying more than they show, a warmth beneath the adventure. Some stories just sit with you, like old photographs.
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