Chapter XI. The Archery Prize.

Driven From Home

by Horatio Alger

Situated as he was, it seemed, on second thought, rather a joke
to Carl to be attacked by a robber. He had but twenty-five cents in
good money about him, and that he had just picked up by the merest
chance.

"Do I look like a banker?" he asked, humorously. "Why do you
want to rob a boy?"

"The way you're togged out, you must have something," growled
the tramp, "and I haven't got a penny."

"Your business doesn't seem to pay, then?"

"Don't you make fun of me, or I'll wring your neck! Just hand
over your money and be quick about it! I haven't time to stand
fooling here all day."

A bright idea came to Carl. He couldn't spare the silver coin,
which constituted all his available wealth, but he still had the
counterfeit note.

"You won't take all my money, will you?" he said, earnestly.

"How much have you got?" asked the tramp, pricking up his
ears.

Carl, with apparent reluctance, drew out the ten-dollar bill.

The tramp's face lighted up.

"Is your name Vanderbilt?" he asked. "I didn't expect to make
such a haul."

"Can't you give me back a dollar out of it? I don't want to lose
all I have."

"I haven't got a cent. You'll have to wait till we meet again.
So long, boy! You've helped me out of a scrape."

"Or into one," thought Carl.

The tramp straightened up, buttoned his dilapidated coat, and
walked off with the consciousness of being a capitalist.

Carl watched him with a smile.

"I hope I won't meet him after he has discovered that the bill
is a counterfeit," he said to himself.

He congratulated himself upon being still the possessor of
twenty-five cents in silver. It was not much, but it seemed a great
deal better than being penniless. A week before he would have thought
it impossible that such a paltry sum would have made him feel
comfortable, but he had passed through a great deal since then.

About the middle of the afternoon he came to a field, in which
something appeared to be going on. Some forty or fifty young
persons, boys and girls, were walking about the grass, and seemed to
be preparing for some interesting event.

Carl stopped to rest and look on.

"What's going on here?" he asked of a boy who was sitting on the
fence.

"It's a meeting of the athletic association," said the boy.

"What are they doing?"

"They try for prizes in jumping, vaulting, archery and so
on."

This interested Carl, who excelled in all manly exercises.

"I suppose I may stay and look on?" he said, inquiringly.

"Why, of course. Jump over the fence and I'll go round with
you."

It seemed pleasant to Carl to associate once more with boys of
his own age. Thrown unexpectedly upon his own resources, he had
almost forgotten that he was a boy. Face to face with a cold and
unsympathizing world, he seemed to himself twenty-five at least.

"Those who wish to compete for the archery prize will come
forward," announced Robert Gardiner, a young man of nineteen, who, as
Carl learned, was the president of the association. "You all
understand the conditions. The entry fee to competitors is ten
cents. The prize to the most successful archer is one dollar."

Several boys came forward and paid the entrance fee.

"Would you like to compete?" asked Edward Downie, the boy whose
acquaintance Carl had made.

"I am an outsider," said Carl. "I don't belong to the
association."

"I'll speak to the president, if you like."

"I don't want to intrude."

"It won't be considered an intrusion. You pay the entrance fee
and take your chances."

Edward went to the president and spoke to him in a low voice.
The result was that he advanced to Carl, and said, courteously:

"If you would like to enter into our games, you are quite at
liberty to do so."

"Thank you," responded Carl. "I have had a little practice in
archery, and will enter my name for that prize."

He paid over his quarter and received back fifteen cents in
change. It seemed rather an imprudent outlay, considering his small
capital; but he had good hopes of carrying off the prize, and that
would be a great lift for him. Seven boys entered besides Carl. The
first was Victor Russell, a lad of fourteen, whose arrow went three
feet above the mark.

"The prize is mine if none of you do better than that," laughed
Victor, good-naturedly.

"I hope not, for the credit of the club," said the president.
"Mr. Crawford, will you shoot next?"

"I would prefer to be the last," said Carl, modestly.

"John Livermore, your turn now."

John came a little nearer than his predecessor, but did not
distinguish himself.

"If that is a specimen of the skill of the clubmen," thought
Carl, "my chance is a good one."

Next came Frank Stockton, whose arrow stuck only three inches
from the center of the target.

"Good for Fred!" cried Edward Downie. "Just wait till you see me
shoot!"

"Are you a dangerous rival?" asked Carl, smiling.

"I can hit a barn door if I am only near enough," replied
Edward.

"Edward Downie!" called the president.

Edward took his bow and advanced to the proper place, bent it,
and the arrow sped on its way.

There was a murmur of surprise when his arrow struck only an
inch to the right of the centre. No one was more amazed than Edward
himself, for he was accounted far from skillful. It was indeed a
lucky accident.

"What do you say to that?" asked Edward, triumphantly.

"I think the prize is yours. I had no idea you could shoot like
that," said Carl.

"Nor I," rejoined Edward, laughing.

"Carl Crawford!" called the president.

Carl took his position, and bent his bow with the greatest care.
He exercised unusual deliberation, for success meant more to him
than to any of the others. A dollar to him in his present
circumstances would be a small fortune, while the loss of even ten
cents would be sensibly felt. His heart throbbed with excitement as
he let the arrow speed on its mission.

His unusual deliberation, and the fact that he was a stranger,
excited strong interest, and all eyes followed the arrow with eager
attentiveness.

There was a sudden shout of irrepressible excitement.

Carl's arrow had struck the bull's-eye and the prize was his.

"Christopher!" exclaimed Edward Downie, "you've beaten me, after
all!"

"I'm almost sorry," said Carl, apologetically, but the light in
his eyes hardly bore out the statement.

"Never mind. Everybody would have called it a fluke if I had
won," said Edward. "I expect to get the prize for the long jump. I
am good at that."

"So am I, but I won't compete; I will leave it to you."

"No, no. I want to win fair."

Carl accordingly entered his name. He made the second best
jump, but Edward's exceeded his by a couple of inches, and the prize
was adjudged to him.

"I have my revenge," he said, smiling. "I am glad I won, for it
wouldn't have been to the credit of the club to have an outsider
carry off two prizes."

"I am perfectly satisfied," said Carl; "I ought to be, for I did
not expect to carry off any."

Carl decided not to compete for any other prize. He had invested
twenty cents and got back a dollar, which left him a profit of eighty
cents. This, with his original quarter, made him the possessor of a
dollar and five cents.

"My luck seems to have turned," he said to himself, and the
thought gave him fresh courage.

It was five o'clock when the games were over, and Carl prepared
to start again on his journey.

"Where are you going to take supper?" asked Downie.

"I--don't--know."

"Come home with me. If you are in no hurry, you may as well
stay overnight, and go on in the morning."

"Are you sure it won't inconvenience you?"

"Not at all."

"Then I'll accept with thanks."