Title: The Errand Boy; Or, How Phil Brent Won Success
Author: Alger, Horatio, Jr
Language: English
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THE ERRAND BOY;

OR, HOW PHIL BRENT WON SUCCESS.

By Horatio Alger, Jr.,



Author of:

\x93Joe\x92s Luck,\x94 \x93Frank Fowler, the Cash Boy,\x94 \x93Tom Temple\x92s Career,\x94 \x93Tom
Thatcher\x92s Fortune,\x94 \x93Ragged Dick,\x94 \x93Tattered Tom,\x94 \x93Luck and Pluck,\x94
 etc., etc.



Contents:

     The Errand Boy.

     Fred Sargent\x92s Revenge.

     The Smuggler\x92s Trap.



THE ERRAND BOY.



CHAPTER I.

PHIL HAS A LITTLE DIFFICULTY.

Phil Brent was plodding through the snow in the direction of the house
where he lived with his step-mother and her son, when a snow-ball, moist
and hard, struck him just below his ear with stinging emphasis. The pain
was considerable, and Phil\x92s anger rose.

He turned suddenly, his eyes flashing fiercely, intent upon discovering
who had committed this outrage, for he had no doubt that it was
intentional.

He looked in all directions, but saw no one except a mild old gentleman
in spectacles, who appeared to have some difficulty in making his way
through the obstructed street.

Phil did not need to be told that it was not the old gentleman who had
taken such an unwarrantable liberty with him. So he looked farther, but
his ears gave him the first clew.

He heard a chuckling laugh, which seemed to proceed from behind the
stone wall that ran along the roadside.

\x93I will see who it is,\x94 he decided, and plunging through the snow he
surmounted the wall, in time to see a boy of about his own age running
away across the fields as fast as the deep snow would allow.

\x93So it\x92s you, Jonas!\x94 he shouted wrathfully. \x93I thought it was some
sneaking fellow like you.\x94

Jonas Webb, his step-brother, his freckled face showing a degree of
dismay, for he had not calculated on discovery, ran the faster, but
while fear winged his steps, anger proved the more effectual spur, and
Phil overtook him after a brief run, from the effects of which both boys
panted.

\x93What made you throw that snow-ball?\x94 demanded Phil angrily, as he
seized Jonas by the collar and shook him.

\x93You let me alone!\x94 said Jonas, struggling ineffectually in his grasp.

\x93Answer me! What made you throw that snowball?\x94 demanded Phil, in a tone
that showed he did not intend to be trifled with.

\x93Because I chose to,\x94 answered Jonas, his spite getting the better of
his prudence. \x93Did it hurt you?\x94 he continued, his eyes gleaming with
malice.

\x93I should think it might. It was about as hard as a cannon-ball,\x94
 returned Phil grimly. \x93Is that all you\x92ve got to say about it?\x94

\x93I did it in fun,\x94 said Jonas, beginning to see that he had need to be
prudent.

\x93Very well! I don\x92t like your idea of fun. Perhaps you won\x92t like mine,\x94
 said Phil, as he forcibly drew Jonas back till he lay upon the snow, and
then kneeling by his side, rubbed his face briskly with snow.

\x93What are you doin\x92? Goin\x92 to murder me?\x94 shrieked Jonas, in anger and
dismay.

\x93I am going to wash your face,\x94 said Phil, continuing the operation
vigorously.

\x93I say, you quit that! I\x92ll tell my mother,\x94 ejaculated Jonas,
struggling furiously.

\x93If you do, tell her why I did it,\x94 said Phil.

Jonas shrieked and struggled, but in vain. Phil gave his face an
effectual scrubbing, and did not desist until he thought he had avenged
the bad treatment he had suffered.

\x93There, get up!\x94 said he at length.

Jonas scrambled to his feet, his mean features working convulsively with
anger.

\x93You\x92ll suffer for this!\x94 he shouted.

\x93You won\x92t make me!\x94 said Phil contemptuously.

\x93You\x92re the meanest boy in the village.\x94

\x93I am willing to leave that to the opinion of all who know me.\x94

\x93I\x92ll tell my mother!\x94

\x93Go home and tell her!\x94

Jonas started for home, and Phil did not attempt to stop him.

As he saw Jonas reach the street and plod angrily homeward, he said to
himself:

\x93I suppose I shall be in hot water for this; but I can\x92t help it. Mrs.
Brent always stands up for her precious son, who is as like her as can
be. Well, it won\x92t make matters much worse than they have been.\x94

Phil concluded not to go home at once, but to allow a little time for
the storm to spend its force after Jonas had told his story. So he
delayed half an hour and then walked slowly up to the side door. He
opened the door, brushed off the snow from his boots with the broom
that stood behind the door, and opening the inner door, stepped into the
kitchen.

No one was there, as Phil\x92s first glance satisfied him, and he was
disposed to hope that Mrs. Brent--he never called her mother--was out,
but a thin, acid, measured voice from the sitting-room adjoining soon
satisfied him that there was to be no reprieve.

\x93Philip Brent, come here!\x94

Phil entered the sitting-room.

In a rocking-chair by the fire sat a thin woman, with a sharp visage,
cold eyes and firmly compressed lips, to whom no child would voluntarily
draw near.

On a sofa lay outstretched the hulking form of Jonas, with whom he had
had his little difficulty.

\x93I am here, Mrs. Brent,\x94 said Philip manfully.

\x93Philip Brent,\x94 said Mrs. Brent acidly, \x93are you not ashamed to look me
in the face?\x94

\x93I don\x92t know why I should be,\x94 said Philip, bracing himself up for the
attack.

\x93You see on the sofa the victim of your brutality,\x94 continued Mrs.
Brent, pointing to the recumbent figure of her son Jonas.

Jonas, as if to emphasize these words, uttered a half groan.

Philip could not help smiling, for to him it seemed ridiculous.

\x93You laugh,\x94 said his step-mother sharply. \x93I am not surprised at it.
You delight in your brutality.\x94

\x93I suppose you mean that I have treated Jonas brutally.\x94

\x93I see you confess it.\x94

\x93No, Mrs. Brent, I do not confess it. The brutality you speak of was all
on the side of Jonas.\x94

\x93No doubt,\x94 retorted Mrs. Brent, with sarcasm.

\x93It\x92s the case of the wolf and the lamb over again.\x94

\x93I don\x92t think Jonas has represented the matter to you as it happened,\x94
 said Phil. \x93Did he tell you that he flung a snow-ball at my head as hard
as a lump of ice?\x94

\x93He said he threw a little snow at you playfully and you sprang upon him
like a tiger.\x94

\x93There\x92s a little mistake in that,\x94 said Phil. \x93The snow-ball was hard
enough to stun me if it had hit me a little higher. I wouldn\x92t be hit
like that again for ten dollars.\x94

\x93That ain\x92t so! Don\x92t believe him, mother!\x94 said Jonas from the sofa.

\x93And what did you do?\x94 demanded Mrs. Brent with a frown.

\x93I laid him down on the snow and washed his face with soft snow.\x94

\x93You might have given him his death of cold,\x94 said Mrs. Brent, with
evident hostility. \x93I am not sure but the poor boy will have pneumonia
now, in consequence of your brutal treatment.\x94

\x93And you have nothing to say as to his attack upon me?\x94 said Phil
indignantly.

\x93I have no doubt you have very much exaggerated it.\x94

\x93Yes, he has,\x94 chimed in Jonas from the sofa.

Phil regarded his step-brother with scorn.

\x93Can\x92t you tell the truth now and then, Jonas?\x94 he asked contemptuously.

\x93You shall not insult my boy in my presence!\x94 said Mrs. Brent, with a
little spot of color mantling her high cheek-bones. \x93Philip Brent, I
have too long endured your insolence. You think because I am a woman you
can be insolent with impunity, but you will find yourself mistaken. It
is time that you understood something that may lead you to lower your
tone. Learn, then, that you have not a cent of your own. You are wholly
dependent upon my bounty.\x94

\x93What! Did my father leave you all his money?\x94 asked Philip.

\x93He was NOT your father!\x94 answered Mrs. Brent coldly.



CHAPTER II.

A STRANGE REVELATION.

Philip started in irrepressible astonishment as these words fell from
the lips of his step-mother. It seemed to him as if the earth were
crumbling beneath his feet, for he had felt no more certain of the
existence of the universe than of his being the son of Gerald Brent.

He was not the only person amazed at this declaration. Jonas, forgetting
for the moment the part he was playing, sat bolt upright on the sofa,
with his large mouth wide open, staring by turns at Philip and his
mother.

\x93Gosh!\x94 he exclaimed in a tone indicating utter surprise and
bewilderment.

\x93Will you repeat that, Mrs. Brent?\x94 asked Philip, after a brief pause,
not certain that he had heard aright.

\x93I spoke plain English, I believe,\x94 said Mrs. Brent coldly, enjoying the
effect of her communication.

\x93I said that Mr. Brent, my late husband, was not your father.\x94

\x93I don\x92t believe you!\x94 burst forth Philip impetuously.

\x93You don\x92t wish to believe me, you mean,\x94 answered his step-mother,
unmoved.

\x93No, I don\x92t wish to believe you,\x94 said the boy, looking her in the eye.

\x93You are very polite to doubt a lady\x92s word,\x94 said Mrs. Brent with
sarcasm.

\x93In such a matter as that I believe no one\x92s word,\x94 said Phil. \x93I ask
for proof.\x94

\x93Well, I am prepared to satisfy you. Sit down and I will tell you the
story.\x94

Philip sat down on the nearest chair and regarded his step-mother
fixedly.

\x93Whose son am I,\x94 he demanded, \x93if not Mr. Brent\x92s?\x94

\x93You are getting on too fast. Jonas,\x94 continued his mother, suddenly
turning to her hulking son, on whose not very intelligent countenance
there was an expression of greedy curiosity, \x93do you understand that
what I am going to say is to be a secret, not to be spoken of to any
one?\x94

\x93Yes\x92m,\x94 answered Jonas readily.

\x93Very well. Now to proceed. Philip, you have heard probably that when
you were very small your father--I mean Mr. Brent--lived in a small town
in Ohio, called Fultonville?\x94

\x93Yes, I have heard him say so.\x94

\x93Do you remember in what business he was then engaged?\x94

\x93He kept a hotel.\x94

\x93Yes; a small hotel, but as large as the place required. He was not
troubled by many guests. The few who stopped at his house were business
men from towns near by, or drummers from the great cities, who had
occasion to stay over a night. One evening, however, a gentleman arrived
with an unusual companion--in other words, a boy of about three years
of age. The boy had a bad cold, and seemed to need womanly care. Mr.
Brent\x92s wife----\x94

\x93My mother?\x94

\x93The woman you were taught to call mother,\x94 corrected the second Mrs.
Brent, \x93felt compassion for the child, and volunteered to take care
of it for the night. The offer was gladly accepted, and you--for, of
course, you were the child--were taken into Mrs. Brent\x92s own room,
treated with simple remedies, and in the morning seemed much better.
Your father--your real father--seemed quite gratified, and preferred a
request. It was that your new friend would take care of you for a week
while he traveled to Cincinnati on business. After dispatching this, he
promised to return and resume the care of you, paying well for the favor
done him. Mrs. Brent, my predecessor, being naturally fond of children,
readily agreed to this proposal, and the child was left behind, while
the father started for Cincinnati.\x94

Here Mrs. Brent paused, and Philip regarded her with doubt and suspense

\x93Well?\x94 he said.

\x93Oh, you want to know the rest?\x94 said Mrs. Brent with an ironical smile.
\x93You are interested in the story?\x94

\x93Yes, madam, whether it is true or not.\x94

\x93There isn\x92t much more to tell,\x94 said Mrs. Brent.

\x93A week passed. You recovered from your cold, and became as lively
as ever. In fact, you seemed to feel quite at home among your new
surroundings, which was rather unfortunate, FOR YOUR FATHER NEVER CAME
BACK!\x94

\x93Never came back!\x94 repeated Philip.

\x93No; nor was anything heard from him. Mr. and Mrs. Brent came to the
conclusion that the whole thing was prearranged to get rid of you.
Luckily for you, they had become attached to you, and, having no
children of their own, decided to retain you. Of course, some story had
to be told to satisfy the villagers. You were represented to be the
son of a friend, and this was readily believed. When, however, my late
husband left Ohio, and traveled some hundreds of miles eastward to this
place, he dropped this explanation and represented you as his own son.
Romantic, wasn\x92t it?\x94

Philip looked searchingly at the face of his step-mother, or the woman
whom he had regarded as such, but he could read nothing to contradict
the story in her calm, impassive countenance. A great fear fell upon him
that she might be telling the truth. His features showed his contending
emotions. But he had a profound distrust as well as dislike of his
step-mother, and he could not bring himself to put confidence in what
she told him.

\x93What proof is there of this?\x94 he asked, after a while.

\x93Your father\x92s word. I mean, of course, Mr. Brent\x92s word. He told me
this story before I married him, feeling that I had a right to know.\x94

\x93Why didn\x92t he tell me?\x94 asked Philip incredulously.

\x93He thought it would make you unhappy.\x94

\x93You didn\x92t mind that,\x94 said Philip, his lips curling.

\x93No,\x94 answered Mrs. Brent, with a curious smile. \x93Why should I? I never
pretended to like you, and now I have less cause than ever, after your
brutal treatment of my boy.\x94

Jonas endeavored to look injured, but could not at once change the
expression of his countenance.

\x93Your explanation is quite satisfactory, Mrs. Brent,\x94 returned Philip.
\x93I don\x92t think I stood much higher in your estimation yesterday than
today, so that I haven\x92t lost much. But you haven\x92t given me any proof
yet.\x94

\x93Wait a minute.\x94

Mrs. Brent left the room, went up-stairs, and speedily returned,
bringing with her a small daguerreotype, representing a boy of three
years.

\x93Did you ever see this before?\x94 she asked.

\x93No,\x94 answered Philip, taking it from her hand and eying it curiously.

\x93When Mr. and Mrs. Brent decided that you were to be left on their
hands,\x94 she proceeded, \x93they had this picture of you taken in the same
dress in which you came to them, with a view to establish your identity
if at any time afterward inquiry should be made for you.\x94

The daguerreotype represented a bright, handsome child, dressed
tastefully, and more as would be expected of a city child than of one
born in the country. There was enough resemblance to Philip as he looked
now to convince him that it was really his picture.

\x93I have something more to show you,\x94 said Mrs. Brent.

She produced a piece of white paper in which the daguerreotype had been
folded. Upon it was some writing, and Philip readily recognized the hand
of the man whom he had regarded as his father.

He read these lines:


\x93This is the picture of the boy who was mysteriously left in the charge
of Mr. Brent, April, 1863, and never reclaimed. I have reared him as my
own son, but think it best to enter this record of the way in which he
came into my hands, and to preserve by the help of art his appearance at
the time he first came to us. GERALD BRENT.\x94


\x93Do you recognize this handwriting?\x94 asked Mrs. Brent.

\x93Yes,\x94 answered Philip in a dazed tone.

\x93Perhaps,\x94 she said triumphantly, \x93you will doubt my word now.\x94

\x93May I have this picture?\x94 asked Philip, without answering her.

\x93Yes; you have as good a claim to it as any one.\x94

\x93And the paper?\x94

\x93The paper I prefer to keep myself,\x94 said Mrs. Brent, nodding her head
suspiciously. \x93I don\x92t care to have my only proof destroyed.\x94

Philip did not seem to take her meaning, but with the daguerreotype in
his hand, he left the room.

\x93I say, mother,\x94 chuckled Jonas, his freckled face showing his
enjoyment, \x93it\x92s a good joke on Phil, isn\x92t it? I guess he won\x92t be
quite so uppish after this.\x94



CHAPTER III.

PHIL\x92S SUDDEN RESOLUTION.

When Phil left the presence of Mrs. Brent, he felt as if he had been
suddenly transported to a new world. He was no longer Philip Brent, and
the worst of it was that he did not know who he was. In his tumultuous
state of feeling, however, one thing seemed clear--his prospects were
wholly changed, and his plans for the future also. Mrs. Brent had told
him that he was wholly dependent upon her. Well, he did not intend to
remain so. His home had not been pleasant at the best. As a dependent
upon the bounty of such a woman it would be worse. He resolved to leave
home and strike out for himself, not from any such foolish idea of
independence as sometimes leads boys to desert a good home for an
uncertain skirmish with the world, but simply be cause he felt now that
he had no real home.

To begin with he would need money, and on opening his pocket-book he
ascertained that his available funds consisted of only a dollar and
thirty-seven cents. That wasn\x92t quite enough to begin the world with.
But he had other resources. He owned a gun, which a friend of his would
be ready to take off his hands. He had a boat, also, which he could
probably sell.

On the village street he met Reuben Gordon, a young journeyman
carpenter, who was earning good wages, and had money to spare.

\x93How are you, Phil,\x94 said Reuben in a friendly way.

\x93You are just the one I want to meet,\x94 said Phil earnestly. \x93Didn\x92t you
tell me once you would like to buy my gun?\x94

\x93Yes. Want to sell it?\x94

\x93No, I don\x92t; but I want the money it will bring. So I\x92ll sell it if
you\x92ll buy.\x94

\x93What d\x92ye want for it?\x94 asked Reuben cautiously.

\x93Six dollars.\x94

\x93Too much. I\x92ll give five.\x94

\x93You can have it,\x94 said Phil after a pause. \x93How soon can you let me
have the money?\x94

\x93Bring the gun round to-night, and I\x92ll pay you for it.\x94

\x93All right. Do you know of any one who wants to buy a boat?\x94

\x93What? Going to sell that, too?\x94

\x93Yes.\x94

\x93Seems to me you\x92re closin\x92 up business?\x94 said Reuben shrewdly.

\x93So I am. I\x92m going to leave Planktown.\x94

\x93You don\x92t say? Well, I declare! Where are you goin\x92?\x94

\x93To New York, I guess.\x94

\x93Got any prospect there?\x94

\x93Yes.\x94

This was not, perhaps, strictly true--that is, Phil had no definite
prospect, but he felt that there must be a chance in a large city like
New York for any one who was willing to work, and so felt measurably
justified in saying what he did.

\x93I hadn\x92t thought of buyin\x92 a boat,\x94 said Reuben thoughtfully.

Phil pricked up his ears at the hint of a possible customer.

\x93You\x92d better buy mine,\x94 he said quickly; \x93I\x92ll sell it cheap.\x94

\x93How cheap?\x94

\x93Ten dollars.\x94

\x93That\x92s too much.\x94

\x93It cost me fifteen.\x94

\x93But it\x92s second-hand now, you know,\x94 said Reuben.

\x93It\x92s just as good as new. I\x92m taking off five dollars, though, you
see.\x94

\x93I don\x92t think I want it enough to pay ten dollars.\x94

\x93What will you give?\x94

Reuben finally agreed to pay seven dollars and seventy-five cents, after
more or less bargaining, and to pay the money that evening upon delivery
of the goods.

\x93I don\x92t think I\x92ve got anything more to sell,\x94 said Phil thoughtfully.
\x93There\x92s my skates, but they are not very good. I\x92ll give them to Tommy
Kavanagh. He can\x92t afford to buy a pair.\x94

Tommy was the son of a poor widow, and was very much pleased with the
gift, which Phil conveyed to him just before supper.

Just after supper he took his gun and the key of his boat over to Reuben
Gordon, who thereupon gave him the money agreed upon.

\x93Shall I tell Mrs. Brent I am going away?\x94 Phil said to himself, \x93or
shall I leave a note for her?\x94

He decided to announce his resolve in person. To do otherwise would seem
too much like running away, and that he had too much self-respect to do.

So in the evening, after his return from Reuben Gordon\x92s, he said to
Mrs. Brent:

\x93I think I ought to tell you that I\x92m going away to-morrow.\x94

Mrs. Brent looked up from her work, and her cold gray eyes surveyed Phil
with curious scrutiny.

\x93You are going away!\x94 she replied. \x93Where are you going?\x94

\x93I think I shall go to New York.\x94

\x93What for?\x94

\x93Seek my fortune, as so many have done before me.\x94

\x93They didn\x92t always find it!\x94 said Mrs. Brent with a cold sneer. \x93Is
there any other reason?\x94

\x93Yes; it\x92s chiefly on account of what you told me yesterday. You said
that I was dependent upon you.\x94

\x93So you are.\x94

\x93And that I wasn\x92t even entitled to the name of Brent.\x94

\x93Yes, I said it, and it\x92s true.\x94

\x93Well,\x94 said Phil, \x93I don\x92t want to be dependent upon you. I prefer to
earn my own living.\x94

\x93I am not prepared to say but that you are right. But do you know what
the neighbors will say?\x94

\x93What will they say?\x94

\x93That I drove you from home.\x94

\x93It won\x92t be true. I don\x92t pretend to enjoy my home, but I suppose I can
stay on here if I like?\x94

\x93Yes, you can stay.\x94

\x93You don\x92t object to my going?\x94

\x93No, if it is understood that you go of your own accord.\x94

\x93I am willing enough to take the blame of it, if there is any blame.\x94

\x93Very well; get a sheet of note-paper, and write at my direction.\x94

Phil took a sheet of note-paper from his father\x92s desk, and sat down to
comply with Mrs. Brent\x92s request.

She dictated as follows:

\x93I leave home at my own wish, but with the consent of Mrs. Brent,
to seek my fortune. It is wholly my own idea, and I hold no one else
responsible.

\x93PHILIP BRENT.\x94


\x93You may as well keep the name of Brent,\x94 said his step-mother, \x93as you
have no other that you know of.\x94

Phil winced at those cold words. It was not pleasant to reflect that
this was so, and that he was wholly ignorant of his parentage.

\x93One thing more,\x94 said Mrs. Brent. \x93It is only eight o\x92clock. I should
like to have you go out and call upon some of those with whom you are
most intimate, and tell them that you are leaving home voluntarily.\x94

\x93I will,\x94 answered Phil.

\x93Perhaps you would prefer to do so to-morrow.\x94

\x93No; I am going away to-morrow morning.\x94

\x93Very well.\x94

\x93Going away to-morrow morning?\x94 repeated Jonas, who entered the room at
that moment.

Phil\x92s plan was briefly disclosed.

\x93Then give me your skates,\x94 said Jonas.

\x93I can\x92t. I\x92ve given them to Tommy Kavanagh.\x94

\x93That\x92s mean. You might have thought of me first,\x94 grumbled Jonas.

\x93I don\x92t know why. Tommy Kavanagh is my friend and you are not.\x94

\x93Anyway, you can let me have your boat and gun.\x94

\x93I have sold them.\x94

\x93That\x92s too bad.\x94

\x93I don\x92t know why you should expect them. I needed the money they
brought me to pay my expenses till I get work.\x94

\x93I will pay your expenses to New York if you wish,\x94 said Mrs. Brent.

\x93Thank you; but I shall have money enough,\x94 answered Phil, who shrank
from receiving any favor at the hands of Mrs. Brent.

\x93As you please, but you will do me the justice to remember that I
offered it.\x94

\x93Thank you. I shall not forget it.\x94

That evening, just before going to bed, Mrs. Brent opened a trunk and
drew from it a folded paper.

She read as follows--for it was her husband\x92s will:


\x93To the boy generally known as Philip Brent, and supposed, though
incorrectly, to be my son, I bequeath the sum of five thousand dollars,
and direct the same to be paid over to any one whom he may select
as guardian, to hold in trust for him till he attains the age of
twenty-one.\x94


\x93He need never know of this,\x94 said Mrs. Brent to herself in a low tone.
\x93I will save it for Jonas.\x94

She held the paper a moment, as if undecided whether to destroy it, but
finally put it carefully back in the secret hiding-place from which she
had taken it.

\x93He is leaving home of his own accord,\x94 she whispered. \x93Henceforth he
will probably keep away. That suits me well, but no one can say I drove
him to it.\x94



CHAPTER IV.

MR. LIONEL LAKE.

Six months before it might have cost Philip a pang to leave home. Then
his father was living, and from him the boy had never received aught but
kindness. Even his step-mother, though she secretly disliked him, did
not venture to show it, and secure in the affections of his supposed
father, he did not trouble himself as to whether Mrs. Brent liked him
or not. As for Jonas, he was cautioned by his mother not to get himself
into trouble by treating Phil badly, and the boy, who knew on which side
his interests lay, faithfully obeyed. It was only after the death of Mr.
Brent that both Jonas and his mother changed their course, and thought
it safe to snub Philip.

Planktown was seventy-five miles distant from New York, and the fare was
two dollars and a quarter.

This was rather a large sum to pay, considering Phil\x92s scanty fund, but
he wished to get to the great city as soon as possible, and he decided
that it would be actually cheaper to ride than to walk, considering that
he would have to buy his meals on the way.

He took his seat in the cars, placing a valise full of underclothes on
the seat next him. The train was not very full, and the seat beside him
did not appear to be required.

Mile after mile they sped on the way, and Phil looked from the window
with interest at the towns through which they passed. There are very few
boys of his age--sixteen--who do not like to travel in the cars. Limited
as were his means, and uncertain as were his prospects, Phil felt not
only cheerful, but actually buoyant, as every minute took him farther
away from Planktown, and so nearer the city where he hoped to make a
living at the outset, and perhaps his fortune in the end.

Presently--perhaps half way on--a young man, rather stylishly dressed,
came into the car. It was not at a station, and therefore it seemed
clear that he came from another car.

He halted when he reached the seat which Phil occupied.

Our hero, observing that his glance rested on his valise, politely
removed it, saying:

\x93Would you like to sit down here, sir?\x94

\x93Yes, thank you,\x94 answered the young man, and sank into the seat beside
Phil.

\x93Sorry to inconvenience you,\x94 he said, with a glance at the bag.

\x93Oh, not at all,\x94 returned Phil. \x93I only put the valise on the seat till
it was wanted by some passenger.\x94

\x93You are more considerate than some passengers,\x94 observed the young man.
\x93In the next car is a woman, an elderly party, who is taking up three
extra seats to accommodate her bags and boxes.\x94

\x93That seems rather selfish,\x94 remarked Phil.

\x93Selfish! I should say so. I paused a minute at her seat as I passed
along, and she was terribly afraid I wanted to sit down. She didn\x92t
offer to move anything, though, as you have. I stopped long enough to
make her feel uncomfortable, and then passed on. I don\x92t think I have
fared any the worse for doing so. I would rather sit beside you than
her.\x94

\x93Am I to consider that a compliment?\x94 asked Phil, smiling.

\x93Well, yes, if you choose. Not that it is saying much to call you more
agreeable company than the old party alluded to. Are you going to New
York?\x94

\x93Yes, sir.\x94

\x93Live there?\x94

\x93I expect to live there.\x94

\x93Brought up in the country, perhaps?\x94

\x93Yes, in Planktown.\x94

\x93Oh, Planktown! I\x92ve heard it\x92s a nice place, but never visited it. Got
any folks?\x94

Phil hesitated. In the light of the revelation that had been made to him
by Mrs. Brent, he did not know how to answer. However, there was no call
to answer definitely.

\x93Not many,\x94 he said.

\x93Goin\x92 to school in New York?\x94

\x93No.\x94

\x93To college, perhaps. I\x92ve got a cousin in Columbia College.\x94

\x93I wish I knew enough to go to college,\x94 said Phil; \x93but I only know a
little Latin, and no Greek at all.\x94

\x93Well, I never cared much about Latin or Greek, myself. I presume you
are thinking about a business position?\x94

\x93Yes, I shall try to get a place.\x94

\x93You may find a little time necessary to find one. However, you are, no
doubt, able to pay your board for awhile.\x94

\x93For a short time,\x94 said Phil.

\x93Well, I may be able to help you to a place. I know a good many
prominent business men.\x94

\x93I should be grateful to you for any help of that kind,\x94 said Phil,
deciding that he was in luck to meet with such a friend.

\x93Don\x92t mention it. I have had to struggle myself--in earlier
days--though at present I am well fixed. What is your name?\x94

\x93Philip Brent.\x94

\x93Good! My name is Lionel Lake. Sorry I haven\x92t got any cards. Perhaps I
may have one in my pocket-book. Let me see!\x94

Mr. Lake opened his porte-monnaie and uttered a exclamation of surprise.

\x93By Jove!\x94 he said, \x93I am in a fix.\x94

Phil looked at him inquiringly.

\x93I took out a roll of bills at the house of my aunt, where I stayed last
night,\x94 explained Mr. Lake, \x93and must have neglected to replace them.\x94

\x93I hope you have not lost them,\x94 said Phil politely.

\x93Oh, no; my aunt will find them and take care of them for me, so that I
shall get them back. The trouble is that I am left temporarily without
funds.\x94

\x93But you can get money in the city,\x94 suggested Phil.

\x93No doubt; only it is necessary for me to stay over a train ten miles
short of the city.\x94

Mr. Lionel Lake seemed very much perplexed.

\x93If I knew some one in the cars,\x94 he said reflectively.

It did occur to Phil to offer to loan him something, but the scantiness
of his own resources warned him that it would not be prudent, so he
remained silent.

Finally Mr. Lake appeared to have an idea.

\x93Have you got five dollars, Philip?\x94 he said familiarly.

\x93Yes, sir,\x94 answered Philip slowly.

\x93Then I\x92ll make a proposal. Lend it to me and I will give you this ring
as security. It is worth twenty-five dollars easily.\x94

He drew from his vest-pocket a neat gold ring, with some sort of a stone
in the setting.

\x93There!\x94 said Mr. Lake, \x93I\x92ll give you this ring and my address, and you
can bring it to my office to-morrow morning. I\x92ll give you back the
five dollars and one dollar for the accommodation. That\x92s good interest,
isn\x92t it?\x94

\x93But I might keep the ring and sell it,\x94 suggested Phil.

\x93Oh, I am not afraid. You look honest. I will trust you,\x94 said the young
man, in a careless, off-hand manner. \x93Say, is it a bargain?\x94

\x93Yes,\x94 answered Phil.

It occurred to him that he could not earn a dollar more easily. Besides,
he would be doing a favor to this very polite young man.

\x93All right, then!\x94

Five dollars of Phil\x92s scanty hoard was handed to Mr. Lake, who, in
return, gave Phil the ring, which he put on his finger.

He also handed Phil a scrap of paper, on which he penciled:


\x93LIONEL LAKE, No. 237 Broadway.\x94


\x93I\x92m ever so much obliged,\x94 he said. \x93Good-by. I get out at the next
station.\x94

Phil was congratulating himself on his good stroke of business, when the
conductor entered the car, followed by a young lady. When they came to
where Phil was seated, the young lady said:

\x93That is my ring on that boy\x92s finger?\x94

\x93Aha! we\x92ve found the thief, then!\x94 said the conductor. \x93Boy, give up
the ring you stole from this young lady!\x94

As he spoke he placed his hand on Phil\x92s shoulder.

\x93Stole!\x94 repeated Phil, gasping. \x93I don\x92t understand you.\x94

\x93Oh, yes, you do!\x94 said the conductor roughly.



CHAPTER V.

AN OVERBEARING CONDUCTOR

No matter how honest a boy may be, a sudden charge of theft is likely to
make him look confused and guilty.

Such was the case with Phil.

\x93I assure you,\x94 he said earnestly, \x93that I did not steal this ring.\x94

\x93Where did you get it, then?\x94 demanded the conductor roughly.

He was one of those men who, in any position, will make themselves
disagreeable. Moreover, he was a man who always thought ill of others,
when there was any chance of doing so. In fact, he preferred to credit
his fellows with bad qualities rather than with good.

\x93It was handed me by a young man who just left the car,\x94 said Phil.

\x93That\x92s a likely story,\x94 sneered the conductor.

\x93Young men are not in the habit of giving valuable rings to strangers.\x94

\x93He did not give it to me, I advanced him five dollars on it.\x94

\x93What was the young man\x92s name?\x94 asked the conductor incredulously.

\x93There\x92s his name and address,\x94 answered Phil, drawing from his pocket
the paper handed him by Mr. Lake.

\x93Lionel Lake, 237 Broadway,\x94 repeated the conductor. \x93If there is any
such person, which I very much doubt, you are probably a confederate of
his.\x94

\x93You have no right to say this,\x94 returned Phil indignantly.

\x93I haven\x92t, haven\x92t I?\x94 snapped the conductor.

\x93Do you know what I am going to do with you?\x94

\x93If you wish me to return the ring to this young lady, I will do so, if
she is positive it is hers.\x94

\x93Yes, you must do that, but it won\x92t get you out of trouble. I shall
hand you over to a policeman as soon as we reach New York.\x94

Phil was certainly dismayed, for he felt that it might be difficult for
him to prove that he came honestly in possession of the ring.

\x93The fact is,\x94 added the conductor, \x93your story is too thin.\x94

\x93Conductor,\x94 said a new voice, \x93you are doing the boy an injustice.\x94

The speaker was an old man with gray hair, but of form still robust,
though he was at least sixty five. He sat in the seat just behind Phil.

\x93Thank you, sir,\x94 said Phil gratefully.

\x93I understand my business,\x94 said the conductor impertinently, \x93and don\x92t
need any instructions from you.\x94

\x93Young man,\x94 said the old gentleman, in a very dignified tone, \x93I have
usually found officials of your class polite and gentlemanly, but you
are an exception.\x94

\x93Who are you?\x94 asked the conductor rudely. \x93What right have you to put
in your oar?\x94

\x93As to who I am, I will answer you by and by. In reference to the boy,
I have to say that his story is correct. I heard the whole conversation
between him and the young man from whom he received the ring, and I can
testify that he has told the truth.\x94

\x93At any rate he has received stolen property.\x94

\x93Not knowing it to be stolen. The young man was an entire stranger to
him, and though I suspected that he was an unscrupulous adventurer, the
boy has not had experience enough to judge men.\x94

\x93Very well. If he\x92s innocent he can prove it when he\x92s brought to
trial,\x94 said the conductor. \x93As for you, sir, it\x92s none of your
business.\x94

\x93Young man, you asked me a short time since who I am. Do you want to
know?\x94

\x93I am not very particular.\x94

\x93Then, sir, I have to inform you that I am Richard Grant, the president
of this road.\x94

The conductor\x92s face was a curious and interesting study when he heard
this announcement. He knew that the old man whom he had insulted had
a right to discharge him from his position, and bully as he had shown
himself, he was now inclined to humble himself to save his place.

\x93I beg your pardon, sir,\x94 he said in a composed tone. \x93If I had known
who you were I wouldn\x92t have spoken as I did.\x94

\x93I had a claim to be treated like a gentleman, even if I had no
connection with the road,\x94 he said.

\x93If you say the boy\x92s all right, I won\x92t interfere with him,\x94 continued
the conductor.

\x93My testimony would clear him from any charge that might be brought
against him,\x94 said the president. \x93I saw him enter the car, and know he
has had no opportunity to take the ring.\x94

\x93If he\x92ll give me back the ring, that\x92s all I want,\x94 said the young
lady.

\x93That I am willing to do, though I lose five dollars by it,\x94 said
Philip.

\x93Do so, my boy,\x94 said the president. \x93I take it for granted that the
young lady\x92s claim is a just one.\x94

Upon this Philip drew the ring from his finger and handed it to the
young lady, who went back to the car where her friends were sitting.

\x93I hope, sir,\x94 said the conductor anxiously, \x93that you won\x92t be
prejudiced against me on account of this affair.\x94

\x93I am sorry to say that I can\x92t help feeling prejudiced against you,\x94
 returned the president dryly; \x93but I won\x92t allow this feeling to injure
you if, upon inquiring, I find that you are otherwise an efficient
officer.\x94

\x93Thank you, sir.\x94

\x93I am glad that my presence has saved this boy from being the victim of
an injustice. Let this be a lesson to you in future.\x94

The conductor walked away, looking quite chop-fallen, and Philip turned
to his new friend.

\x93I am very much indebted to you, sir,\x94 he said. \x93But for you I should
have found myself in serious trouble.\x94

\x93I am glad to have prevented an injustice, my lad. I am sorry I could
not save you from loss also. That enterprising rogue has gone off with
five dollars belonging to you. I hope the loss will not be a serious one
to you.\x94

\x93It was more than a third part of my capital, sir,\x94 said Phil, rather
ruefully.

\x93I am sorry for that. I suppose, however, you are not dependent upon
your own resources?\x94

\x93Yes, sir, I am.\x94

\x93Have you no parents, then?\x94 asked Mr. Grant, with interest.

\x93No, sir; that is, I have a step-mother.\x94

\x93And what are your plans, if you are willing to tell me?\x94

\x93I am going to New York to try to make a living.\x94

\x93I cannot commend your plan, my young friend, unless there is a good
reason for it.\x94


\x93I think there is a good reason for it, sir.\x94

\x93I hope you have not run away from home?\x94

\x93No, sir; I left home with my step-mother\x92s knowledge and consent.\x94

\x93That is well. I don\x92t want wholly to discourage you, and so I will tell
you that I, too, came to New York at your age with the same object in
view, with less money in my pocket than you possess.\x94

\x93And now you are the president of a railroad!\x94 said Phil hopefully.

\x93Yes; but I had a hard struggle before I reached that position.\x94

\x93I am not afraid of hard work, sir.\x94

\x93That is in your favor. Perhaps you may be as lucky as I have been. You
may call at my office in the city, if you feel inclined.\x94

As Mr. Grant spoke he put in Phil\x92s hand a card bearing his name and
address, in Wall Street.

\x93Thank you, sir,\x94 said Phil gratefully. \x93I shall be glad to call. I may
need advice.\x94

\x93If you seek advice and follow it you will be an exception to the
general rule,\x94 said the president, smiling. \x93One thing more--you have
met with a loss which, to you, is a serious one. Allow me to bear it,
and accept this bill.\x94

\x93But, sir, it is not right that you should bear it,\x94 commenced Phil.
Then, looking at the bill, he said: \x93Haven\x92t you made a mistake? This is
a TEN-dollar bill.\x94

\x93I know it. Accept the other five as an evidence of my interest in you.
By the way, I go to Philadelphia and Washington before my return to New
York, and shall not return for three or four days. After that time you
will find me at my office.

\x93I am in luck after all,\x94 thought Phil cheerfully, \x93in spite of the mean
trick of Mr. Lionel Lake.\x94



CHAPTER VI.

SIGNOR ORLANDO.

So Phil reached New York in very fair spirits. He found himself, thanks
to the liberality of Mr. Grant, in a better financial position than when
he left home.

As he left the depot and found himself in the streets of New York, he
felt like a stranger upon the threshold of a new life. He knew almost
nothing about the great city he had entered, and was at a loss where to
seek for lodgings.

\x93It\x92s a cold day,\x94 said a sociable voice at his elbow.

Looking around, Phil saw that the speaker was a sallow-complexioned
young man, with black hair and mustache, a loose black felt hat, crushed
at the crown, giving him rather a rakish look.

\x93Yes, sir,\x94 answered Phil politely.

\x93Stranger in the city, I expect?\x94

\x93Yes, sir.\x94

\x93Never mind the sir. I ain\x92t used to ceremony. I am Signor Orlando.\x94

\x93Signor Orlando!\x94 repeated Phil, rather puzzled.

\x93Are you an Italian?\x94

\x93Well, yes,\x94 returned Signor Orlando, with a wink, \x93that\x92s what I am, or
what people think me; but I was born in Vermont, and am half Irish and
half Yankee.\x94

\x93How did you come by your name, then?\x94

\x93I took it,\x94 answered his companion. \x93You see, dear boy, I\x92m a
professional.\x94

\x93A what?\x94

\x93A professional--singer and clog-dancer. I believe I am pretty well
known to the public,\x94 continued Signor Orlando complacently. \x93Last
summer I traveled with Jenks & Brown\x92s circus. Of course you\x92ve heard of
THEM. Through the winter I am employed at Bowerman\x92s Varieties, in the
Bowery. I appear every night, and at two matinees weekly.\x94

It must be confessed that Phil was considerably impressed by the
professional character of Signor Orlando. He had never met an actor,
or public performer of any description, and was disposed to have a high
respect for a man who filled such a conspicuous position. There was not,
to be sure, anything very impressive about Signor Orlando\x92s appearance.
His face did not indicate talent, and his dress was shabby. But for all
that he was a man familiar with the public--a man of gifts.

\x93I should like to see you on the stage,\x94 said Phil respectfully.

\x93So you shall, my dear boy--so you shall. I\x92ll get you a pass from Mr.
Bowerman. Which way are you going?\x94

\x93I don\x92t know,\x94 answered Phil, puzzled. \x93I should like to find a cheap
boarding-house, but I don\x92t know the city.\x94

\x93I do,\x94 answered Signor Orlando promptly. \x93Why not come to my house?\x94

\x93Have you a house?\x94

\x93I mean my boarding-house. It\x92s some distance away. Suppose we take a
horse-car?\x94

\x93All right!\x94 answered Phil, relieved to find a guide in the labyrinth of
the great city.

\x93I live on Fifth Street, near the Bowery--a very convenient location,\x94
 said Orlando, if we may take the liberty to call him thus.

\x93Fifth Avenue?\x94 asked Phil, who did not know the difference.

\x93Oh, no; that\x92s a peg above my style. I am not a Vanderbilt, nor yet an
Astor.\x94

\x93Is the price moderate?\x94 asked Phil anxiously. \x93I must make my money
last as long as I can, for I don\x92t know when I shall get a place.\x94

\x93To be sure. You might room with me, only I\x92ve got a hall bedroom.
Perhaps we might manage it, though.\x94

\x93I think I should prefer a room by myself,\x94 said Phil, who reflected
that Signor Orlando was a stranger as yet.

\x93Oh, well, I\x92ll speak to the old lady, and I guess she can accommodate
you with a hall bedroom like mine on the third floor.\x94

\x93What should I have to pay?\x94

\x93A dollar and a quarter a week, and you can get your meals where you
please.\x94

\x93I think that will suit me,\x94 said Phil thoughtfully.

After leaving the car, a minute\x92s walk brought them to a shabby
three-story house of brick. There was a stable opposite, and a group of
dirty children were playing in front of it.

\x93This is where I hang out,\x94 said Signor Orlando cheerfully. \x93As the poet
says, there is no place like home.\x94

If this had been true it was not much to be regretted, since the home in
question was far from attractive.

Signor Orlando rang the bell, and a stout woman of German aspect
answered the call.

\x93So you haf come back, Herr Orlando,\x94 said this lady. \x93I hope you haf
brought them two weeks\x92 rent you owe me.\x94

\x93All in good time, Mrs. Schlessinger,\x94 said Orlando. \x93But you see I have
brought some one with me.\x94

\x93Is he your bruder now?\x94 asked the lady.

\x93No, he is not, unfortunately for me. His name is----\x94

Orlando coughed.

\x93Philip Brent,\x94 suggested our hero.

\x93Just so--Philip Brent.\x94

\x93I am glad to see Mr. Prent,\x94 said the landlady.

\x93And is he an actor like you, Signor Orlando?\x94

\x93Not yet. We don\x92t know what may happen. But he comes on business, Mrs.
Schlessinger. He wants a room.\x94

The landlady brightened up. She had two rooms vacant, and a new lodger
was a godsend.

\x93I vill show Mr. Prent what rooms I haf,\x94 she said. \x93Come up-stairs, Mr.
Prent.\x94

The good woman toiled up the staircase panting, for she was asthmatic,
and Phil followed. The interior of the house was as dingy as the
exterior, and it was quite dark on the second landing.

She threw open the door of a back room, which, being lower than the
hall, was reached by a step.

\x93There!\x94 said she, pointing to the faded carpet, rumpled bed, and cheap
pine bureau, with the little six-by-ten looking-glass surmounting it.
\x93This is a peautiful room for a single gentleman, or even for a man and
his wife.\x94

\x93My friend, Mr. Brent, is not married,\x94 said Signor Orlando waggishly.

Phil laughed.

\x93You will have your shoke, Signor Orlando,\x94 said Mrs. Schlessinger.

\x93What is the price of this room?\x94 asked Phil.

\x93Three dollars a week, Mr. Prent, I ought to have four, but since you
are a steady young gentleman----\x94

\x93How does she know that?\x94 Phil wondered.

\x93Since you are a steady young gentleman, and a friend of Signor Orlando,
I will not ask you full price.\x94

\x93That is more than I can afford to pay,\x94 said Phil, shaking his head.

\x93I think you had better show Mr. Brent the hall bedroom over mine,\x94
 suggested the signor.

Mrs. Schlessinger toiled up another staircase, the two new acquaintances
following her. She threw open the door of one of those depressing cells
known in New York as a hall bedroom. It was about five feet wide and
eight feet long, and was nearly filled up by a cheap bedstead, covered
by a bed about two inches thick, and surmounted at the head by a
consumptive-looking pillow. The paper was torn from the walls in places.
There was one rickety chair, and a wash-stand which bore marks of
extreme antiquity.

\x93This is a very neat room for a single gentleman,\x94 remarked Mrs.
Schlessinger.

Phil\x92s spirits fell as he surveyed what was to be his future home. It
was a sad contrast to his neat, comfortable room at home.

\x93Is this room like yours, Signor Orlando?\x94 he asked faintly.

\x93As like as two peas,\x94 answered Orlando.

\x93Would you recommend me to take it?\x94

\x93You couldn\x92t do better.\x94

How could the signor answer otherwise in presence of a landlady to whom
he owed two weeks\x92 rent?

\x93Then,\x94 said Phil, with a secret shudder, \x93I\x92ll take it if the rent is
satisfactory.\x94

\x93A dollar and a quarter a week,\x94 said Mrs. Schlessinger promptly.

\x93I\x92ll take it for a week.\x94

\x93You won\x92t mind paying in advance?\x94 suggested the landlady. \x93I pay my
own rent in advance.\x94

Phil\x92s answer was to draw a dollar and a quarter from his purse and pass
it to his landlady.

\x93I\x92ll take possession now,\x94 said our hero. \x93Can I have some water to
wash my face?\x94

Mrs. Schlessinger was evidently surprised that any one should want to
wash in the middle of the day, but made no objections.

When Phil had washed his face and hands, he went out with Signor Orlando
to dine at a restaurant on the Bowery.



CHAPTER VII.

BOWERMAN\x92S VARIETIES.

The restaurant to which he was taken by Signor Orlando was thronged with
patrons, for it was one o\x92clock. On the whole, they did not appear
to belong to the highest social rank, though they were doubtless
respectable. The table-cloths were generally soiled, and the waiters had
a greasy look. Phil said nothing, but he did not feel quite so hungry as
before he entered.

The signor found two places at one of the tables, and they sat down.
Phil examined a greasy bill of fare and found that he could obtain a
plate of meat for ten cents. This included bread and butter, and a dish
of mashed potato. A cup of tea would be five cents additional.

\x93I can afford fifteen cents for a meal,\x94 he thought, and called for a
plate of roast beef.

\x93Corn beef and cabbage for me,\x94 said the signor.

\x93It\x92s very filling,\x94 he remarked aside to Phil.

\x93They won\x92t give you but a mouthful of beef.\x94

So it proved, but the quality was such that Phil did not care for more.
He ordered a piece of apple pie afterward feeling still hungry.


\x93I see you\x92re bound to have a square meal,\x94 said the signor.

After Phil had had it, he was bound to confess that he did not feel
uncomfortably full. Yet he had spent twice as much as the signor, who
dispensed with the tea and pie as superfluous luxuries.

In the evening Signor Orlando bent his steps toward Bowerman\x92s
Varieties.

\x93I hope in a day or two to get a complimentary ticket for you, Mr.
Brent,\x94 he said.

\x93How much is the ticket?\x94 asked Phil.

\x93Fifteen cents. Best reserved seats twenty-five cents.\x92

\x93I believe I will be extravagant for once,\x94 said Phil, \x93and go at my own
expense.\x94

\x93Good!\x94 said the signor huskily. \x93You\x92ll feel repaid I\x92ll be bound.
Bowerman always gives the public their money\x92s worth. The performance
begins at eight o\x92clock and won\x92t be out until half-past eleven.\x94

\x93Less than five cents an hour,\x94 commented Phil.

\x93What a splendid head you\x92ve got!\x94 said Signor Orlando admiringly. \x93I
couldn\x92t have worked that up. Figures ain\x92t my province.\x94

It seemed to Phil rather a slender cause for compliment, but he said
nothing, since it seemed clear that the computation was beyond his
companion\x92s ability.

As to the performance, it was not refined, nor was the talent employed
first-class. Still Phil enjoyed himself after a fashion. He had never
had it in his power to attend many amusements, and this was new to him.
He naturally looked with interest for the appearance of his new friend
and fellow-lodger.

Signor Orlando appeared, dressed in gorgeous array, sang a song which
did credit to the loudness of his voice rather than its quality, and
ended by a noisy clog-dance which elicited much applause from the boys
in the gallery, who shared the evening\x92s entertainment for the moderate
sum of ten cents.

The signor was called back to the stage. He bowed his thanks and gave
another dance. Then he was permitted to retire. As this finished his
part of the entertainment he afterward came around in citizen\x92s dress,
and took a seat in the auditorium beside Phil.

\x93How did you like me, Mr. Brent?\x94 he asked complacently.

\x93I thought you did well, Signor Orlando. You were much applauded.\x94

\x93Yes, the audience is very loyal,\x94 said the proud performer.

Two half-grown boys heard Phil pronounce the name of his companion, and
they gazed awe-stricken at the famous man.

\x93That\x92s Signor Orlando!\x94 whispered one of the others.

\x93I know it,\x94 was the reply.

\x93Such is fame,\x94 said the Signor, in a pleased tone to Phil. \x93People
point me out on the streets.\x94

\x93Very gratifying, no doubt,\x94 said our hero, but it occurred to him that
he would not care to be pointed out as a performer at Bowerman\x92s. Signor
Orlando, however, well-pleased with himself, didn\x92t doubt that Phil was
impressed by his popularity, and perhaps even envied it.

They didn\x92t stay till the entertainment was over. It was, of course,
familiar to the signor, and Phil felt tired and sleepy, for he had
passed a part of the afternoon in exploring the city, and had walked in
all several miles.

He went back to his lodging-house, opened the door with a pass-key which
Mrs. Schlessinger had given him, and climbing to his room in the third
story, undressed and deposited himself in bed.

The bed was far from luxurious. A thin pallet rested on slats, so
thin that he could feel the slats through it, and the covering was
insufficient. The latter deficiency he made up by throwing his overcoat
over the quilt, and despite the hardness of his bed, he was soon
sleeping soundly.

\x93To-morrow I must look for a place,\x94 he said to Signor Orlando. \x93Can you
give me any advise?\x94

\x93Yes, my dear boy. Buy a daily paper, the Sun or Herald, and look at the
advertisements. There may be some prominent business man who is looking
out for a boy of your size.\x94

Phil knew of no better way, and he followed Signor Orlando\x92s advice.

After a frugal breakfast at the Bowery restaurant, he invested a few
pennies in the two papers mentioned, and began to go the rounds.

The first place was in Pearl Street.

He entered, and was directed to a desk in the front part of the store.

\x93You advertised for a boy,\x94 he said.

\x93We\x92ve got one,\x94 was the brusque reply.

Of course no more was to be said, and Phil walked out, a little dashed
at his first rebuff.

At the next place he found some half a dozen boys waiting, and joined
the line, but the vacancy was filled before his turn came.

At the next place his appearance seemed to make a good impression, and
he was asked several questions.

\x93What is your name?\x94

\x93Philip Brent.\x94

\x93How old are you?\x94

\x93Just sixteen.\x94

\x93How is your education?\x94

\x93I have been to school since I was six.\x94

\x93Then you ought to know something. Have you ever been in a place?\x94

\x93No, sir.\x94

\x93Do you live with your parents?\x94

\x93No, sir; I have just come to the city, and am lodging in Fifth Street.\x94

\x93Then you won\x92t do. We wish our boys to live with their parents.\x94

Poor Phil! He had allowed himself to hope that at length he was likely
to get a place. The abrupt termination of the conversation dispirited
him.

He made three more applications. In one of them he again came near
succeeding, but once more the fact that he did not live with his parents
defeated his application.

\x93It seems to be very hard getting a place,\x94 thought Phil, and it must be
confessed he felt a little homesick.

\x93I won\x92t make any more applications to-day,\x94 he decided, and being on
Broadway, walked up that busy thoroughfare, wondering what the morrow
would bring forth.

It was winter, and there was ice on the sidewalk. Directly in front of
Phil walked an elderly gentleman, whose suit of fine broadcloth and gold
spectacles, seemed to indicate a person of some prominence and social
importance.

Suddenly he set foot on a treacherous piece of ice. Vainly he strove to
keep his equilibrium, his arms waving wildly, and his gold-headed cane
falling to the sidewalk. He would have fallen backward, had not Phil,
observing his danger in time, rushed to his assistance.



CHAPTER VIII.

THE HOUSE IN TWELFTH STREET.

With some difficulty the gentleman righted himself, and then Phil picked
up his cane.

\x93I hope you are not hurt, sir?\x94 he said.

\x93I should have been but for you, my good boy,\x94 said the gentleman. \x93I am
a little shaken by the suddenness of my slipping.\x94

\x93Would you wish me to go with you, sir?\x94

\x93Yes, if you please. I do not perhaps require you, but I shall be glad
of your company.\x94

\x93Thank you, sir.\x94

\x93Do you live in the city?\x94

\x93Yes, sir; that is, I propose to do so. I have come here in search of
employment.\x94

Phil said this, thinking it possible that the old gentleman might exert
his influence in his favor.

\x93Are you dependent on what you may earn?\x94 asked the gentleman, regarding
him attentively.

\x93I have a little money, sir, but when that is gone I shall need to earn
something.\x94

\x93That is no misfortune. It is a good thing for a boy to be employed.
Otherwise he is liable to get into mischief.\x94

\x93At any rate, I shall be glad to find work, sir.\x94

\x93Have you applied anywhere yet?\x94

Phil gave a little account of his unsuccessful applications, and the
objections that had been made to him.

\x93Yes, yes,\x94 said the old gentleman thoughtfully, \x93more confidence is
placed in a boy who lives with his parents.\x94

The two walked on together until they reached Twelfth Street. It was
a considerable walk, and Phil was surprised that his companion should
walk, when he could easily have taken a Broadway stage, but the old
gentleman explained this himself.

\x93I find it does me good,\x94 he said, \x93to spend some time in the open air,
and even if walking tires me it does me good.\x94

At Twelfth Street they turned off.

\x93I am living with a married niece,\x94 he said, \x93just on the other side of
Fifth Avenue.\x94

At the door of a handsome four-story house, with a brown-stone front,
the old gentleman paused, and told Phil that this was his residence.

\x93Then, sir, I will bid you good-morning,\x94 said Phil.

\x93No, no; come in and lunch with me,\x94 said Mr. Carter hospitably.

He had, by the way, mentioned that his name was Oliver Carter, and that
he was no longer actively engaged in business, but was a silent partner
in the firm of which his nephew by marriage was the nominal head.

\x93Thank you, sir,\x94 answered Phil.

He was sure that the invitation was intended to be accepted, and he saw
no reason why he should not accept it.

\x93Hannah,\x94 said the old gentleman to the servant who opened the door,
\x93tell your mistress that I have brought a boy home to dinner with me.\x94

\x93Yes, sir,\x94 answered Hannah, surveying Phil in some surprise.

\x93Come up to my room, my young friend,\x94 said Mr. Carter. \x93You may want to
prepare for lunch.\x94

Mr. Carter had two connecting rooms on the second floor, one of which he
used as a bed-chamber. The furniture was handsome and costly, and Phil,
who was not used to city houses, thought it luxurious.

Phil washed his face and hands, and brushed his hair. Then a bell rang,
and following his new friend, he went down to lunch.

Lunch was set out in the front basement. When Phil and Mr. Carter
entered the room a lady was standing by the fire, and beside her was a
boy of about Phil\x92s age. The lady was tall and slender, with light-brown
hair and cold gray eyes.

\x93Lavinia,\x94 said Mr. Carter, \x93I have brought a young friend with me to
lunch.\x94

\x93So I see,\x94 answered the lady. \x93Has he been here before?\x94

\x93No; he is a new acquaintance.\x94

\x93I would speak to him if I knew his name.\x94

\x93His name is----\x94

Here the old gentleman hesitated, for in truth he had forgotten.

\x93Philip Brent.\x94

\x93You may sit down here, Mr. Brent,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin, for this was the
lady\x92s name.

\x93Thank you, ma\x92am.\x94

\x93And so you made my uncle\x92s acquaintance this morning?\x94 she continued,
herself taking a seat at the head of the table.

\x93Yes; he was of service to me,\x94 answered Mr. Carter for him. \x93I had lost
my balance, and should have had a heavy fall if Philip had not come to
my assistance.\x94

\x93He was very kind, I am sure,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin, but her tone was very
cold.

\x93Philip,\x94 said Mr. Carter, \x93this is my grand-nephew, Alonzo Pitkin.\x94

He indicated the boy already referred to.

\x93How do you do?\x94 said Alonzo, staring at Philip not very cordially.

\x93Very well, thank you,\x94 answered Philip politely.

\x93Where do you live?\x94 asked Alonzo, after a moment\x92s hesitation.

\x93In Fifth Street.\x94

\x93That\x92s near the Bowery, isn\x92t it?\x94

\x93Yes.\x94

The boy shrugged his shoulders and exchanged a significant look with his
mother.

Fifth Street was not a fashionable street--indeed quite the reverse,
and Phil\x92s answer showed that he was a nobody. Phil himself had begun
to suspect that he was unfashionably located, but he felt that until his
circumstances improved he might as well remain where he was.

But, though he lived in an unfashionable street, it could not be said
that Phil, in his table manners, showed any lack of good breeding. He
seemed quite at home at Mrs. Pitkin\x92s table, and in fact acted with
greater propriety than Alonzo, who was addicted to fast eating and
greediness.

\x93Couldn\x92t you walk home alone, Uncle Oliver?\x94 asked Mrs. Pitkin
presently.

\x93Yes.\x94

\x93Then it was a pity to trouble Mr. Brent to come with you.\x94

\x93It was no trouble,\x94 responded Philip promptly, though he suspected that
it was not consideration for him that prompted the remark.

\x93Yes, I admit that I was a little selfish in taking up my young friend\x92s
time,\x94 said the old gentleman cheerfully; \x93but I infer, from what he
tells me, that it is not particularly valuable just now.\x94

\x93Are you in a business position, Mr. Brent?\x94 asked Mrs. Pitkin.

\x93No, madam. I was looking for a place this morning.\x94

\x93Have you lived for some time in the city?\x94

\x93No; I came here only yesterday from the country.\x94

\x93I think country boys are very foolish to leave good homes in the
country to seek places in the city,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin sharply.

\x93There may be circumstances, Lavinia, that make it advisable,\x94 suggested
Mr. Carter, who, however, did not know Phil\x92s reason for coming.

\x93No doubt; I understand that,\x94 answered Mrs. Pitkin, in a tone so
significant that Phil wondered whether she thought he had got into any
trouble at home.

\x93And besides, we can\x92t judge for every one. So I hope Master Philip may
find some good and satisfactory opening, now that he has reached the
city.\x94

After a short time, lunch, which in New York is generally a plain meal,
was over, and Mr. Carter invited Philip to come up-stairs again.

\x93I want to talk over your prospects, Philip,\x94 he said.

There was silence till after the two had left the room. Then Mrs. Pitkin
said:

\x93Alonzo, I don\x92t like this.\x94

\x93What don\x92t you like, ma?\x94

\x93Uncle bringing this boy home. It is very extraordinary, this sudden
interest in a perfect stranger.\x94

\x93Do you think he\x92ll leave him any money?\x94 asked Alonzo, betraying
interest.

\x93I don\x92t know what it may lead to, Lonny, but it don\x92t look right. Such
things have been known.\x94

\x93I\x92d like to punch the boy\x92s head,\x94 remarked Alonzo, with sudden
hostility. \x93All uncle\x92s money ought to come to us.\x94

\x93So it ought, by rights,\x94 observed his mother.

\x93We must see that this boy doesn\x92t get any ascendency over him.\x94

Phil would have been very much amazed if he had overheard this
conversation.



CHAPTER IX.

THE OLD GENTLEMAN PROVES A FRIEND.

The old gentleman sat down in an arm-chair and waved his hand toward a
small rocking-chair, in which Phil seated himself.

\x93I conclude that you had a good reason for leaving home, Philip,\x94 said
Mr. Carter, eying our hero with a keen, but friendly look.

\x93Yes, sir; since my father\x92s death it has not been a home to me.\x94

\x93Is there a step-mother in the case?\x94 asked the old gentleman shrewdly.

\x93Yes, sir.\x94

\x93Any one else?\x94

\x93She has a son.\x94

\x93And you two don\x92t agree?\x94

\x93You seem to know all about it, sir,\x94 said Phil, surprised.

\x93I know something of the world--that is all.\x94

Phil began to think that Mr. Carter\x92s knowledge of the world was
very remarkable. He began to wonder whether he could know anything
more--could suspect the secret which Mrs. Brent had communicated to him.
Should he speak of it? He decided at any rate to wait, for Mr. Carter,
though kind, was a comparative stranger.

\x93Well,\x94 continued the old gentleman, \x93I won\x92t inquire too minutely into
the circumstances. You don\x92t look like a boy that would take such an
important step as leaving home without a satisfactory reason. The next
thing is to help you.\x94

Phil\x92s courage rose as he heard these words. Mr. Carter was evidently a
rich man, and he could help him if he was willing. So he kept silence,
and let his new friend do the talking.

\x93You want a place,\x94 continued Mr. Carter. \x93Now, what are you fit for?\x94

\x93That is a hard question for me to answer, sir. I don\x92t know.\x94

\x93Have you a good education?\x94

\x93Yes, sir; and I know something of Latin and French besides.\x94

\x93You can write a good hand?\x94

\x93Shall I show you, sir?\x94

\x93Yes; write a few lines at my private desk.\x94

Phil did so, and handed the paper to Mr. Carter.

\x93Very good,\x94 said the old gentleman approvingly.

\x93That is in your favor. Are you good at accounts?\x94

\x93Yes, sir.\x94

\x93Better still.\x94

\x93Sit down there again,\x94 he continued. \x93I will give you a sum in
interest.\x94

Phil resumed his seat.

\x93What is the interest of eight hundred and forty-five dollars and
sixty cents for four years, three months and twelve days, at eight and
one-half per cent?\x94

Phil\x92s pen moved fast in perfect silence for five minutes. Then he
announced the result.

\x93Let me look at the paper. I will soon tell you whether it is correct.\x94

After a brief examination, for the old gentleman was himself an adept at
figures, he said, with a beaming smile:

\x93It is entirely correct. You are a smart boy.\x94

\x93Thank you, sir,\x94 said Phil, gratified.

\x93And you deserve a good place--better than you will probably get.\x94

Phil listened attentively. The last clause was not quite so
satisfactory.

\x93Yes,\x94 said Mr. Carter, evidently talking to himself, \x93I must get Pitkin
to take him.\x94

Phil knew that the lady whom he had already met was named Pitkin, and he
rightly concluded that it was her husband who was meant.

\x93I hope he is more agreeable than his wife,\x94 thought Philip.

\x93Yes, Philip,\x94 said Mr. Carter, who had evidently made up his mind, \x93I
will try to find you a place this afternoon.

\x93I shall be very much obliged, sir,\x94 said Philip gladly.

\x93I have already told you that my nephew and I are in business together,
he being the active and I the silent partner. We do a general shipping
business. Our store is on Franklin Street. I will give you a letter to
my nephew and he will give you a place.\x94

\x93Thank you, sir.\x94

\x93Wait a minute and I will write the note.\x94

Five minutes later Phil was on his way down town with his credentials in
his pocket.



CHAPTER X.

Phil CALLS ON MR. PITKIN.

PHIL paused before an imposing business structure, and looked up to
see if he could see the sign that would show him he had reached his
destination.

He had not far to look. On the front of the building he saw in large
letters the sign:

ENOCH PITKIN & CO.


In the door-way there was another sign, from which he learned that the
firm occupied the second floor.

He went up-stairs, and opening a door, entered a spacious apartment
which looked like a hive of industry. There were numerous clerks,
counters piled with goods, and every indication that a prosperous
business was being carried on.

The nearest person was a young man of eighteen, or perhaps more, with
an incipient, straw-colored mustache, and a shock of hair of tow-color.
This young man wore a variegated neck-tie, a stiff standing-collar, and
a suit of clothes in the extreme of fashion.

Phil looked at him hesitatingly.

The young man observed the look, and asked condescendingly:

\x93What can I do for you, my son?\x94

Such an address from a person less than three years older than himself
came near upsetting the gravity of Phil.

\x93Is Mr. Pitkin in?\x94 he asked.

\x93Yes, I believe so.\x94

\x93Can I see him.\x94

\x93I have no objection,\x94 remarked the young man facetiously.

\x93Where shall I find him?\x94

The youth indicated a small room partitioned off as a private office in
the extreme end of the store.

\x93Thank you,\x94 said Phil, and proceeded to find his way to the office in
question.

Arrived at the door, which was partly open, he looked in.

In an arm-chair sat a small man, with an erect figure and an air of
consequence. He was not over forty-five, but looked older, for his
cheeks were already seamed and his look was querulous. Cheerful natures
do not so soon show signs of age as their opposites.

\x93Mr. Pitkin?\x94 said Phil interrogatively.

\x93Well?\x94 said the small man, frowning instinctively.

\x93I have a note for you, sir.\x94

Phil stepped forward and handed the missive to Mr. Pitkin.

The latter opened it quickly and read as follows:


The boy who will present this to you did me a service this morning. He
is in want of employment. He seems well educated, but if you can\x92t offer
him anything better than the post of errand boy, do so. I will guarantee
that he will give satisfaction. You can send him to the post-office, and
to other offices on such errands as you may have. Pay him five dollars a
week and charge that sum to me. Yours truly, OLIVER CARTER.


Mr. Pitkin\x92s frown deepened as he read this note.

\x93Pish!\x94 he ejaculated, in a tone which, though low, was audible to Phil.
\x93Uncle Oliver must be crazy. What is your name?\x94 he demanded fiercely,
turning suddenly to Phil.

\x93Philip Brent.\x94

\x93When did you meet--the gentleman who gave you this letter?\x94

Phil told him.

\x93Do you know what is in this letter?\x94

\x93I suppose, sir, it is a request that you give me a place.\x94

\x93Did you read it?\x94

\x93No,\x94 answered Phil indignantly.

\x93Humph! He wants me to give you the place of errand boy.\x94

\x93I will try to suit you, sir.\x94

\x93When do you want to begin?\x94

\x93As soon as possible, sir.\x94

\x93Come to-morrow morning, and report to me first.\x94

\x93Another freak of Uncle Oliver\x92s!\x94 he muttered, as he turned his back
upon Phil, and so signified that the interview was at an end.



CHAPTER XI.

PHIL ENTERS UPON HIS DUTIES.

Phil presented himself in good season the next morning at the store in
Franklin Street. As he came up in one direction the youth whom he had
seen in the store the previous day came up in the opposite direction.
The latter was evidently surprised.

\x93Halloo, Johnny!\x94 said he. \x93What\x92s brought you here again?\x94

\x93Business,\x94 answered Phil.

\x93Going to buy out the firm?\x94 inquired the youth jocosely.

\x93Not to-day.\x94

\x93Some other day, then,\x94 said the young man, laughing as if he had said a
very witty thing.

As Phil didn\x92t know that this form of expression, slightly varied, had
become a popular phrase of the day, he did not laugh.

\x93Do you belong to the church?\x94 asked the youth, stopping short in his
own mirth.

\x93What makes you ask?\x94

\x93Because you don\x92t laugh.\x94

\x93I would if I saw anything to laugh at.\x94

\x93Come, that\x92s hard on me. Honor bright, have you come to do any business
with us?\x94

It is rather amusing to see how soon the cheapest clerk talks of \x93us,\x94
 quietly identifying himself with the firm that employs him. Not that I
object to it. Often it implies a personal interest in the success and
prosperity of the firm, which makes a clerk more valuable. This was not,
however, the case with G. Washington Wilbur, the young man who was now
conversing with Phil, as will presently appear.

\x93I am going to work here,\x94 answered Phil simply.

\x93Going to work here!\x94 repeated Mr. Wilbur in surprise. \x93Has old Pitkin
engaged you?\x94

\x93Mr. Pitkin engaged me yesterday,\x94 Phil replied.

\x93I didn\x92t know he wanted a boy. What are you to do?\x94

\x93Go to the post-office, bank, and so on.\x94

\x93You\x92re to be errand boy, then?\x94

\x93Yes.\x94

\x93That\x92s the way I started,\x94 said Mr. Wilbur patronizingly.

\x93What are you now?\x94

\x93A salesman. I wouldn\x92t like to be back in my old position. What wages
are you going to get?\x94

\x93Five dollars.\x94

\x93Five dollars a week!\x94 ejaculated Mr. G. Washington Wilbur, in
amazement. \x93Come, you\x92re chaffing.\x94

\x93Why should I do that? Is that anything remarkable?\x94

\x93I should say it was,\x94 answered Mr. Wilbur slowly.

\x93Didn\x92t you get as much when you were errand boy?\x94

\x93I only got two dollars and a half. Did Pitkin tell you he would pay you
five dollars a week.\x94

\x93No; Mr Carter told me so.\x94

\x93The old gentleman--Mr. Pitkin\x92s uncle?\x94

\x93Yes. It was at his request that Mr. Pitkin took me on.\x94

Mr. Wilbur looked grave.

\x93It\x92s a shame!\x94 he commenced.

\x93What is a shame; that I should get five dollars a week?\x94

\x93No, but that I should only get a dollar a week more than an errand boy.
I\x92m worth every cent of ten dollars a week, but the old man only gives
me six. It hardly keeps me in gloves and cigars.\x94

\x93Won\x92t he give you any more?\x94

\x93No; only last month I asked him for a raise, and he told me if I wasn\x92t
satisfied I might go elsewhere.\x94

\x93You didn\x92t?\x94

\x93No, but I mean to soon. I will show old Pitkin that he can\x92t keep a man
of my experience for such a paltry salary. I dare say that Denning or
Claflin would be glad to have me, and pay me what I am worth.\x94

Phil did not want to laugh, but when Mr. Wilbur, who looked scarcely
older than himself, and was in appearance but a callow youth, referred
to himself as a man of experience he found it hard to resist.

\x93Hadn\x92t we better be going up stairs?\x94 asked Phil.

\x93All right. Follow me,\x94 said Mr. Wilbur, \x93and I\x92ll take you to the
superintendent of the room.\x94

\x93I am to report to Mr. Pitkin himself, I believe.\x94

\x93He won\x92t be here yet awhile,\x94 said Wilbur.

But just then up came Mr. Wilbur himself, fully half an hour earlier
than usual.

Phil touched his hat politely, and said:

\x93Good-morning.\x94

\x93Good-morning!\x94 returned his employer, regarding him sharply. \x93Are you
the boy I hired yesterday?\x94

\x93Yes, sir.\x94

\x93Come up-stairs, then.\x94

Phil followed Mr. Pitkin up-stairs, and they walked together through the
sales-room.

\x93I hope you understand,\x94 said Mr. Pitkin brusquely, \x93that I have engaged
you at the request of Mr. Carter and to oblige him.\x94

\x93I feel grateful to Mr. Carter,\x94 said Phil, not quite knowing what was
coming next.

\x93I shouldn\x92t myself have engaged a boy of whom I knew nothing, and who
could give me no city references.\x94

\x93I hope you won\x92t be disappointed in me,\x94 said Phil.

\x93I hope not,\x94 answered Mr. Pitkin, in a tone which seemed to imply that
he rather expected to be.

Phil began to feel uncomfortable. It seemed evident that whatever he did
would be closely scrutinized, and that in an unfavorable spirit.

Mr. Pitkin paused before a desk at which was standing a stout man with
grayish hair.

\x93Mr. Sanderson,\x94 he said, \x93this is the new errand boy. His name is--what
is it, boy?\x94

\x93Philip Brent.\x94

\x93You will give him something to do. Has the mail come in?\x94

\x93No; we haven\x92t sent to the post-office yet.\x94

\x93You may send this boy at once.\x94

Mr. Sanderson took from the desk a key and handed it to Philip.

\x93That is the key to our box,\x94 he said. \x93Notice the number--534. Open it
and bring the mail. Don\x92t loiter on the way.\x94

\x93Yes, sir.\x94

Philip took the key and left the warehouse. When he reached the street
he said to himself:

\x93I wonder where the post-office is?\x94

He did not like to confess to Mr. Sanderson that he did not know, for
it would probably have been considered a disqualification for the post
which he was filling.

\x93I had better walk to Broadway,\x94 he said to himself. \x93I suppose the
post-office must be on the principal street.\x94

In this Phil was mistaken. At that time the post-office was on Nassau
Street, in an old church which had been utilized for a purpose very
different from the one to which it had originally been devoted.

Reaching Broadway, Phil was saluted by a bootblack, with a grimy but
honest-looking face.

\x93Shine your boots, mister?\x94 said the boy, with a grin.

\x93Not this morning.\x94

\x93Some other morning, then?\x94

\x93Yes,\x94 answered Phil.

\x93Sorry you won\x92t give me a job,\x94 said the bootblack. \x93My taxes comes due
to-day, and I ain\x92t got enough to pay \x91em.\x94

Phil was amused, for his new acquaintance scarcely looked like a heavy
taxpayer.

\x93Do you pay a big tax?\x94 he asked.

\x93A thousand dollars or less,\x94 answered the knight of the brush.

\x93I guess it\x92s less,\x94 said Phil.

\x93That\x92s where your head\x92s level, young chap.\x94

\x93Is the post-office far from here?\x94

\x93Over half a mile, I reckon.\x94

\x93Is it on this street?\x94

\x93No, it\x92s on Nassau Street.\x94

\x93If you will show me the way there I\x92ll give you ten cents.\x94

\x93All right! The walk\x92ll do me good. Come on!\x94

\x93What\x92s your name?\x94 asked Phil, who had become interested in his new
acquaintance.

\x93The boys call me Ragged Dick.\x94

It was indeed the lively young bootblack whose history was afterward
given in a volume which is probably familiar to many of my readers. At
this time he was only a bootblack, and had not yet begun to feel the
spur of that ambition which led to his subsequent prosperity.

\x93That\x92s a queer name,\x94 said Phil.

\x93I try to live up to it,\x94 said Dick, with a comical glance at his ragged
coat, which had originally been worn by a man six feet in height.

He swung his box over his shoulder, and led the way to the old
post-office.



CHAPTER XII.

MR. LIONEL LAKE AGAIN.

Phil continued his conversation with Ragged Dick, and was much amused by
his quaint way of expressing himself.

When they reached Murray Street, Dick said:

\x93Follow me. We\x92ll cut across the City Hall Park. It is the shortest
way.\x94

Soon they reached the shabby old building with which New Yorkers were
then obliged to be content with as a post-office.

Phil secured the mail matter for Pitkin & Co., and was just about
leaving the office, when he noticed just ahead of him a figure which
looked very familiar.

It flashed upon him of a sudden that it was his old train acquaintance,
Lionel Lake. He immediately hurried forward and touched his arm.

Mr. Lake, who had several letters in his hand, started nervously, and
turned at the touch. He recognized Phil, but appeared not to do so.

\x93What do you wish, boy?\x94 he asked, loftily.

\x93I want to speak a word with you, Mr. Lake.\x94

The young man shrugged his shoulders.

\x93You are mistaken in the person,\x94 he said. \x93My name is not Lake.\x94

\x93Very likely not,\x94 said Phil significantly, \x93but that\x92s what you called
yourself when we met on the train.\x94

\x93I repeat, boy, that you are strangely mistaken. My name is\x94--he paused
slightly--\x93John Montgomery.\x94

\x93Just as you please. Whatever your name is, I have a little business
with you.\x94

\x93I can\x92t stop. My business is urgent,\x94 said Lake.

\x93Then I will be brief. I lent you five dollars on a ring which I
afterward discovered to be stolen. I want you to return that money.\x94

Mr. Lake looked about him apprehensively, for he did not wish any one to
hear what Phil was saying.

\x93You must be crazy!\x94 he said. \x93I never saw you before in the whole
course of my life.\x94

He shook off Phil\x92s detaining hand, and was about to hurry away, but
Phil said resolutely:

\x93You can\x92t deceive me, Mr. Lake. Give me that money, or I will call a
policeman.\x94

Now, it happened that a policeman was passing just outside, and Lake
could see him.

\x93This is an infamous outrage!\x94 he said, \x93but I have an important
appointment, and can\x92t be detained. Take the money. I give it to you in
charity.\x94

Phil gladly received and pocketed the bank-note, and relinquishing his
hold of Mr. Lake, rejoined Dick, who had been an interested eye-witness
of the interview.

\x93I see you\x92ve got pluck,\x94 said Dick. \x93What\x92s it all about?\x94

Phil told him.

\x93I ain\x92t a bit s\x92prised,\x94 said Dick. \x93I could tell by his looks that the
man was a skin.\x94

\x93Well, I\x92m even with him, at any rate,\x94 said Phil.

\x93Now I\x92ll be getting back to the office. Thank you for your guidance.
Here\x92s a quarter.\x94

\x93You only promised me ten cents.\x94

\x93It\x92s worth a quarter. I hope to meet you again.\x94

\x93We\x92ll meet at Astor\x92s next party,\x94 said Dick, with a grin. \x93My invite
came yesterday.\x94

\x93Mine hasn\x92t come yet,\x94 said Phil, smiling.

\x93Maybe it\x92ll come to-morrow.\x94

\x93He\x92s a queer chap,\x94 thought Phil. \x93He\x92s fit for something better than
blacking boots. I hope he\x92ll have the luck to get it.\x94

Phil had been detained by his interview with Mr. Lake, but he made up
for it by extra speed, and reached the warehouse in fair time. After
delivering the letters he was sent out on another errand, and during the
entire day he was kept busy.

Leaving him for the moment we go back to the Pitkin mansion, and listen
to & conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Pitkin.

\x93Uncle Oliver is getting more and more eccentric every day,\x94 said the
lady. \x93He brought home a boy to lunch to-day--some one whom he had
picked up in the street.\x94

\x93Was the boy\x92s name Philip Brent?\x94 asked her husband.

\x93Yes, I believe so. What do you know about him?\x94 asked the lady in
surprise.

\x93I have engaged him as errand boy.\x94

\x93You have! What for?\x94 exclaimed Mrs. Pitkin.

\x93I couldn\x92t help it. He brought a letter from your uncle, requesting me
to do so, and offering to pay his wages out of his own pocket.\x94

\x93This is really getting very serious,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin, annoyed.
\x93Suppose he should take a fancy to this boy?\x94

\x93He appears to have done so already,\x94 said her husband dryly.

\x93I mean, suppose he should adopt him?\x94

\x93You are getting on pretty fast, Lavinia, are you not?\x94

\x93Such things happen sometimes,\x94 said the lady, nodding. \x93If it should
happen it would be bad for poor Lonny.\x94

\x93Even in that case Lonny won\x92t have to go to the poor-house.\x94

\x93Mr. Pitkin, you don\x92t realize the danger. Here\x92s Uncle Oliver worth a
quarter of a million dollars, and it ought to be left to us.\x94

\x93Probably it will be.\x94

\x93He may leave it all to this boy. This must be prevented.\x94

\x93How?\x94

\x93You must say the boy doesn\x92t suit you, and discharge him.\x94

\x93Well, well, give me time. I have no objection; but I suspect it will be
hard to find any fault with him. He looks like a reliable boy.\x94

\x93To me he looks like an artful young adventurer,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin
vehemently. \x93Depend upon it, Mr. Pitkin, he will spare no pains to
ingratiate himself into Uncle Oliver\x92s favor.\x94

It will be seen that Mrs. Pitkin was gifted--if it can be called a
gift--with a very suspicious temperament. She was mean and grasping, and
could not bear the idea of even a small part of her uncle\x92s money going
to any one except her own family. There was, indeed, another whose
relationship to Uncle Oliver was as close--a cousin, who had estranged
her relatives by marrying a poor bookkeeper, with whom she had gone to
Milwaukee. Her name was never mentioned in the Pitkin household, and
Mrs. Pitkin, trusting to the distance between them, did not apprehend
any danger from this source. Had she known Rebecca Forbush was even
now in New York, a widow with one child, struggling to make a living by
sewing and taking lodgers, she would have felt less tranquil. But
she knew nothing of all this, nor did she dream that the boy whom she
dreaded was the very next day to make the acquaintance of this despised
relation.

This was the way that it happened:

Phil soon tired of the room he had taken in Fifth Street. It was not
neatly kept, and was far from comfortable. Then again, he found that
the restaurants, cheap as they were, were likely to absorb about all his
salary, though the bill-of-fare was far from attractive.

Chance took him through a side-street, between Second and Third Avenues,
in the neighborhood of Thirteenth Street.

Among the three and four-story buildings that lined the block was one
frame-house, two-story-and-basement, on which he saw a sign, \x93Board
for Gentlemen.\x94 He had seen other similar signs, but his attention was
specially drawn to this by seeing a pleasant-looking woman enter the
house with the air of proprietor. This woman recalled to Philip his own
mother, to whom she bore a striking resemblance.

\x93I would like to board with one whose face recalled that of my dear dead
mother,\x94 thought Phil, and on the impulse of the moment, just after the
woman had entered, he rang the door-bell.

The door was opened almost immediately by the woman he had just seen
enter.

It seemed to Phil almost as if he were looking into his mother\x92s face,
and he inquired in an unsteady voice:

\x93Do you take boarders?\x94

\x93Yes,\x94 was the answer. \x93Won\x92t you step in?\x94



CHAPTER XIII.

PHIL\x92S NEW HOME.

The house was poorly furnished with cheap furniture, but there was an
unexpected air of neatness about it. There is a great difference between
respectable and squalid poverty. It was the first of these that was
apparent in the small house in which our hero found himself.

\x93I am looking for a boarding-place,\x94 said Philip. \x93I cannot afford to
pay a high price.\x94

\x93And I should not think of asking a high price for such plain
accommodations as I can offer,\x94 said Mrs. Forbush. \x93What sort of a room
do you desire?\x94

\x93A small room will answer.\x94

\x93I have a hall-bedroom at the head of the stairs. Will you go up and
look at it?\x94

\x93I should like to do so.\x94

Mrs. Forbush led the way up a narrow staircase, and Philip followed her.

Opening the door of the small room referred to, she showed a neat bed, a
chair, a wash-stand, and a few hooks from which clothing might be hung.
It was plain enough, but there was an air of neatness which did not
characterize his present room.

\x93I like the room,\x94 he said, brightening up. \x93How much do you charge for
this room and board?\x94

\x93Four dollars. That includes breakfast and supper,\x94 answered Mrs.
Forbush. \x93Lunch you provide for yourself.\x94

\x93That will be satisfactory,\x94 said Phil. \x93I am in a place down town, and
I could not come to lunch, at any rate.\x94

\x93When would you like to come, Mr.----?\x94 said the widow interrogatively.

\x93My name is Philip Brent.\x94

\x93Mr. Brent.\x94

\x93I will come some time to-morrow.\x94

\x93Generally I ask a small payment in advance, as a guarantee that an
applicant will really come, but I am sure I can trust you.\x94

\x93Thank you, but I am quite willing to conform to your usual rule,\x94 said
Phil, as he drew a two-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the
widow.

So they parted, mutually pleased. Phil\x92s week at his present lodging
would not be up for several days, but he was tired of it, and felt that
he would be much more comfortable with Mrs. Forbush. So he was ready to
make the small pecuniary sacrifice needful.

The conversation which has been recorded took but five minutes, and did
not materially delay Phil, who, as I have already said, was absent from
the store on an errand.

The next day Phil became installed at his new boarding-place, and
presented himself at supper.

There were three other boarders, two being a young salesman at a Third
Avenue store and his wife. They occupied a square room on the same floor
with Phil. The other was a female teacher, employed in one of the city
public schools. The only remaining room was occupied by a drummer, who
was often called away for several days together. This comprised the
list of boarders, but Phil\x92s attention was called to a young girl of
fourteen, of sweet and attractive appearance, whom he ascertained to be
a daughter of Mrs. Forbush. The young lady herself, Julia Forbush, cast
frequent glances at Phil, who, being an unusually good-looking boy,
would naturally excite the notice of a young girl.

On the whole, it seemed a pleasant and social circle, and Phil felt that
he had found a home.

The next day, as he was occupied in the store, next to G. Washington
Wilbur, he heard that young man say:

\x93Why, there\x92s Mr. Carter coming into the store!\x94

Mr. Oliver Carter, instead of making his way directly to the office
where Mr. Pitkin was sitting, came up to where Phil was at work.

\x93How are you getting along, my young friend?\x94 he asked familiarly.

\x93Very well, thank you, sir.\x94

\x93Do you find your duties very fatiguing?\x94

\x93Oh, no, sir. I have a comfortable time.\x94

\x93That\x92s right. Work cheerfully and you will win the good opinion of your
employer. Don\x92t forget to come up and see me soon.\x94

\x93Thank you, sir.\x94

\x93You seem to be pretty solid with the old man,\x94 remarked Mr. Wilbur.

\x93We are on very good terms,\x94 answered Phil, smiling.

\x93I wish you had introduced him to me,\x94 said Wilbur.

\x93Don\x92t you know him?\x94 asked Phil, in surprise.

\x93He doesn\x92t often come to the store, and when he does he generally
goes at once to the office, and the clerks don\x92t have a chance to get
acquainted.\x94

\x93I should hardly like to take the liberty, then,\x94 said Phil.

\x93Oh, keep him to yourself, then, if you want to,\x94 said Mr. Wilbur,
evidently annoyed.

\x93I don\x92t care to do that. I shall be entirely willing to introduce you
when there is a good chance.\x94

This seemed to appease Mr. Wilbur, who became once more gracious.

\x93Philip,\x94 he said, as the hour of closing approached, \x93why can\x92t you
come around and call upon me this evening?\x94

\x93So I will,\x94 answered Phil readily.

Indeed, he found it rather hard to fill up his evenings, and was glad to
have a way suggested.

\x93Do. I want to tell you a secret.\x94

\x93Where do you live?\x94 asked Phil.

\x93No.---- East Twenty-second Street.\x94

\x93All right. I will come round about half-past seven.\x94

Though Wilbur lived in a larger house than he, Phil did not like his
room as well. There being only one chair in the room, Mr. Wilbur put his
visitor in it, and himself sat on the bed.

There was something of a mystery in the young man\x92s manner as, after
clearing his throat, he said to Phil:

\x93I am going to tell you a secret.\x94

Phil\x92s curiosity was somewhat stirred, and he signified that he would
like to hear it.

\x93I have for some time wanted a confidant,\x94 said Mr. Wilbur. \x93I did not
wish to trust a mere acquaintance, for--ahem!--the matter is quite a
delicate one.\x94

Phil regarded him with increased interest.

\x93I am flattered by your selecting me,\x94 said he. \x93I will keep your
secret.\x94

\x93Phil,\x94 said Mr. Wilbur, in a tragic tone, \x93you may be surprised to hear
that I am in LOVE!\x94

Phil started and wanted to laugh, but Mr. Wilbur\x92s serious, earnest look
restrained him.

\x93Ain\x92t you rather young?\x94 he ventured to say.

\x93No; I am nineteen,\x94 answered Mr. Wilbur.

\x93The heart makes no account of years.\x94

Whether this was original or borrowed, Phil could not tell.

\x93Have you been in love long?\x94 asked Phil.

\x93Three weeks.\x94

\x93Does the lady know it?\x94

\x93Not yet,\x94 returned Mr. Wilbur. \x93I have worshiped her from afar. I have
never even spoken to her.\x94

\x93Then the matter hasn\x92t gone very far?\x94

\x93No, not yet.\x94

\x93Where did you meet her first?\x94

\x93In a Broadway stage.\x94

\x93What is her name?\x94

\x93I don\x92t know.\x94

\x93You don\x92t know much about her, then?\x94

\x93Yes; I know where she lives.\x94

\x93Where?\x94

\x93On Lexington Avenue.\x94

\x93Whereabouts?\x94

\x93Between Twenty-ninth and Thirtieth Streets. Would you like to see her
house?\x94

\x93Yes,\x94 answered Phil, who saw that Mr. Wilbur wished him so to answer.

\x93Then come out. We might see her.\x94

The two boys--for Mr. Wilbur, though he considered himself a young man
of large experience, was really scarcely more than a boy--bent their
steps to Lexington Avenue, and walked in a northerly direction.

They had reached Twenty-eighth Street, when the door of house farther up
on the avenue was opened and a lady came out.

\x93That\x92s she!\x94 ejaculated Mr. Wilbur, clutching Phil by the arm.

Phil looked, and saw a tall young lady, three or four inches taller
than his friend and as many years older. He looked at his companion with
surprise.

\x93Is that the young lady you are in love with?\x94 he asked.

\x93Yes; isn\x92t she a daisy?\x94 asked the lover fervently.

\x93I am not much of a judge of daisies,\x94 answered Phil, a little
embarrassed, for the young lady had large features, and was, in his
eyes, very far from pretty.



CHAPTER XIV.

CONSULTING THE ORACLE.

Phil did not like to hurt the feelings of his companion, and refrained
from laughing, though with difficulty.

\x93She doesn\x92t appear to know you,\x94 he said.

\x93No,\x94 said Wilbur; \x93I haven\x92t had a chance to make myself known to her.\x94

\x93Do you think you can make a favorable impression upon--the daisy?\x94
 asked Phil, outwardly sober, but inwardly amused.

\x93I always had a taking way with girls,\x94 replied Mr. Wilbur complacently.

Phil coughed. It was all that saved him from laughing.

While he was struggling with the inclination, the lady inadvertently
dropped a small parcel which she had been carrying in her hand. The two
boys were close behind. Like an arrow from the bow Mr. Wilbur sprang
forward, picked up the parcel, and while his heart beat wildly, said, as
he tendered it to the owner, with a graceful bow and captivating smile:

\x93Miss, I believe you dropped this.\x94

\x93Thank you, my good boy,\x94 answered the daisy pleasantly.

Mr. Wilbur staggered back as if he had been struck. He fell back in
discomfiture, and his face showed the mortification and anguish he felt.

\x93Did you hear what she said?\x94 he asked, in a hollow voice.

\x93She called you a boy, didn\x92t she?\x94

\x93Yes,\x94 answered Mr. Wilbur sadly.

\x93Perhaps she may be near-sighted,\x94 said Phil consolingly.

\x93Do you think so?\x94 asked Mr. Wilbur hopefully.

\x93It is quite possible. Then you are short, you know.\x94

\x93Yes, it must be so,\x94 said G. Washington Wilbur, his face more serene.
\x93If she hadn\x92t been she would have noticed my mustache.\x94

\x93True.\x94

\x93She spoke kindly. If--if she had seen how old I was, it would have been
different, don\x92t you think so?\x94

\x93Yes, no doubt.\x94

\x93There is only one thing to do,\x94 said Mr. Wilbur, in a tone of calm
resolve.

\x93What is that?\x94 inquired Phil, in some curiosity.

\x93I must wear a stove-pipe hat! As you say, I am small, and a
near-sighted person might easily suppose me to be younger than I am.
Now, with a stove-pipe hat I shall look much older.\x94

\x93Yes, I presume so.\x94

\x93Then I can make her acquaintance again, and she will not mistake me.
Phil, why don\x92t you wear a stove-pipe?\x94

\x93Because I don\x92t want to look any older than I am. Besides, an
errand-boy wouldn\x92t look well in a tall hat.\x94

\x93No, perhaps not.\x94

\x93And Mr. Pitkin would hardly like it.\x94

\x93Of course. When you are a salesman like me it will be different.\x94

Mr. Wilbur was beginning to recover his complacency, which had been so
rudely disturbed.

\x93I suppose you wouldn\x92t think of marrying on your present salary?\x94 said
Phil. \x93Six dollars a week wouldn\x92t support a married pair very well.\x94

\x93The firm would raise my salary. They always do when a man marries.
Besides, I have other resources.\x94

\x93Indeed?\x94

\x93Yes; I am worth two thousand dollars. It was left me by an aunt, and is
kept in trust for me until I am twenty-one. I receive the interest now.\x94

\x93I congratulate you,\x94 said Phil, who was really pleased to hear of his
companion\x92s good fortune.

\x93That money will come in handy.\x94

\x93Besides, I expect SHE\x92S got money,\x94 continued Mr. Wilbur. \x93Of course, I
love her for herself alone--I am not mercenary--still, it will be a help
when we are married.\x94

\x93So it will,\x94 said Phil, amused at the confident manner in which Mr.
Wilbur spoke of marriage with a lady of whom he knew absolutely nothing.

\x93Philip,\x94 said Mr. Wilbur, \x93when I marry, I want you to stand up with
me--to be my groomsman.\x94

\x93If I am in the city, and can afford to buy a dress-suit, I might
consent.\x94

\x93Thank you. You are a true friend!\x94 said Mr. Wilbur, squeezing his hand
fervently.

The two returned to Mr. Wilbur\x92s room and had a chat. At an early hour
Phil returned to his own boarding-place.

As time passed on, Phil and Wilbur spent considerable time together out
of the store. Mr. G. Washington Wilbur, apart from his amusing traits,
was a youth of good principles and good disposition, and Phil was glad
of his company. Sometimes they went to cheap amusements, but not often,
for neither had money to spare for such purposes.

Some weeks after Phil\x92s entrance upon his duties Mr. Wilbur made a
proposal to Phil of a startling nature.

\x93Suppose we have our fortunes told, Phil?\x94 he said.

\x93If it would help my fortune, or hurry it up, I shouldn\x92t object,\x94 said
Phil, smiling.

\x93I want to know what fate has in store for me,\x94 said Wilbur.

\x93Do you think the fortune-tellers know any better than you do?\x94 asked
Phil incredulously.

\x93They tell some strange things,\x94 said Wilbur.

\x93What, for instance?\x94

\x93An aunt of mine went to a fortune-teller and asked if she would ever be
married, and when? She was told that she would be married before she was
twenty-two, to a tall, light-complexioned man.\x94

\x93Did it come true?\x94

\x93Yes, every word,\x94 said Mr. Wilbur solemnly. \x93She was married three
months before her twenty-second birthday, and her husband was just the
kind of man that was predicted. Wasn\x92t that strange?\x94

\x93The fortune-teller might easily have guessed all that. Most girls are
married as young as that.\x94

\x93But not to tall, light-complexioned men!\x94 said Wilbur triumphantly.

\x93Is there anything you wish particularly to know?\x94 asked Phil.

\x93I should like to know if I am going to marry--you know who.\x94

\x93The daisy?\x94

\x93Yes.\x94

Phil was not much in favor of the scheme, but finally agreed to it.

There was a certain \x93Veiled Lady,\x94 who advertised her qualifications in
the Herald, as the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, and therefore
gifted with the power to read the future. Mr. Wilbur made choice of her,
and together they went to call upon her one evening.

They were shown into an anteroom, and in due time Mr. Wilbur was called
into the dread presence. He was somewhat nervous and agitated, but
\x93braced up,\x94 as he afterward expressed it, and went in. He wanted Phil
to go in with him, but the attendant said that madam would not allow it,
and he went forward alone.

Fifteen minutes afterward he re-entered the room with a radiant face.

\x93Have you heard good news?\x94 asked Phil.

Mr. Wilbur nodded emphatically and whispered, for there were two others
in waiting:

\x93It\x92s all right. I am to marry her.\x94

\x93Did the fortune-teller say so?\x94

\x93Yes.\x94

\x93Did she give her name?\x94

\x93No, but she described her so that I knew her at once.\x94

\x93Will it be soon?\x94 asked Phil slyly.

\x93Not till I am twenty-four,\x94 answered Mr. Wilbur soberly. \x93But perhaps
she may be mistaken about that. Perhaps she thought I was older than I
am.\x94

\x93Do you doubt her knowledge, then?\x94

\x93No; at any rate, I can wait, since she is to be mine at last. Besides,
I am to be rich. When I am thirty years old I am to be worth twenty
thousand dollars.\x94

\x93I congratulate you, Wilbur,\x94 said Phil, smiling. \x93You are all right, at
least.\x94

\x93The next gentleman!\x94 said the attendant.

Phil entered the inner room, and looked about him in curiosity.

A tall woman sat upon a sort of throne, with one hand resting on a table
beside her. A tall wax-taper supplied the place of the light of day,
which was studiously excluded from the room by thick, dark curtains.
Over the woman\x92s face was a black veil, which gave her an air of
mystery.

\x93Come hither, boy!\x94 she said, in a clear, commanding voice.

Phil advanced, not wholly unimpressed, though he felt skeptical.

The woman bent forward, starting slightly and scanned his face eagerly.



CHAPTER XV.

PHIL AND THE FORTUNE-TELLER.

\x93Do you wish to hear of the past or the future?\x94 asked the
fortune-teller.

\x93Tell me something of the past,\x94 said Phil, with a view of testing the
knowledge of the seeress.

\x93You have left an uncongenial home to seek your fortune in New York.
You left without regret, and those whom you have left behind do not miss
you.\x94

Phil started in amazement. This was certainly true.

\x93Shall I find the fortune I seek?\x94 asked our hero earnestly.

\x93Yes, but not in the way you expect. You think yourself alone in the
world!\x94

The fortune-teller paused, and looked searchingly at the boy.

\x93So I am,\x94 returned Phil.

\x93No boy who has a father living can consider himself alone.\x94

\x93My father is dead!\x94 returned Phil, growing skeptical.

\x93You are mistaken.\x94

\x93I am not likely to be mistaken in such a matter. My father died a few
months since.\x94

\x93Your father still lives!\x94 said the fortune-teller sharply. \x93Do not
contradict me!\x94

\x93I don\x92t see how you can say that. I attended his funeral.\x94

\x93You attended the funeral of the man whose name you bear. He was not
your father.\x94

Phil was much excited by this confirmation of his step-mother\x92s story.
He had entertained serious doubts of its being true, thinking it might
have been trumped up by Mrs. Brent to drive him from home, and interfere
with his succession to any part of Mr. Brent\x92s property.

\x93Is my step-mother\x92s story true, then?\x94 he asked breathlessly. \x93She told
me I was not the son of Mr. Brent.\x94

\x93Her story was true,\x94 said the veiled lady.

\x93Who is my real father, then?\x94

The lady did not immediately reply. She seemed to be peering into
distant space, as she said slowly:

\x93I see a man of middle size, dark-complexioned, leading a small child by
the hand. He pauses before a house--it looks like an inn. A lady comes
out from the inn. She is kindly of aspect. She takes the child by the
hand and leads him into the inn. Now I see the man go away--alone. The
little child remains behind. I see him growing up. He has become a
large boy, but the scene has changed. The inn has disappeared. I see a
pleasant village and a comfortable house. The boy stands at the door.
He is well-grown now. A lady stands on the threshold as his steps turn
away. She is thin and sharp-faced. She is not like the lady who
welcomed the little child. Can you tell me who this boy is?\x94 asked the
fortune-teller, fixing her eyes upon Phil.

\x93It is myself!\x94 he answers, his flushed face showing the excitement he
felt.

\x93You have said!\x94

\x93I don\x92t know how you have learned all this,\x94 said Phil, \x93but it is
wonderfully exact. Will you answer a question?\x94

\x93Ask!\x94

\x93You say my father--my real father--is living?\x94

The veiled lady bowed her head.

\x93Where is he?\x94

\x93That I cannot say, but he is looking for you.\x94

\x93He is in search of me?\x94

\x93Yes.\x94

\x93Why has he delayed it so long?\x94

\x93There are circumstances which I cannot explain which have prevented his
seeking and claiming you.\x94

\x93Will he do so?\x94

\x93I have told you that he is now seeking for you. I think he will find
you at last.\x94

\x93What can I do to bring this about?\x94

\x93Do nothing! Stay where you are. Circumstances are working favorably,
but you must wait. There are some drawbacks.\x94

\x93What are they?\x94

\x93You have two enemies, or rather one, for the other does not count.\x94

\x93Is that enemy a man?\x94

\x93No, it is a woman.\x94

\x93My step-mother!\x94 ejaculated Phil, with immediate conviction.

\x93You have guessed aright.\x94

\x93And who is the other?\x94

\x93A boy.\x94

\x93Jonas?\x94

\x93It is the son of the woman whom you call your step-mother.\x94

\x93What harm can they do me? I am not afraid of them,\x94 said Phil, raising
his head proudly.

\x93Do not be too confident! The meanest are capable of harm. Mrs. Brent
does not like you because she is a mother.\x94

\x93She fears that I will interfere with her son.\x94

\x93You are all right.\x94

\x93Is there anything more you can tell me?\x94 asked Phil. \x93Have I any other
enemies?\x94

\x93Yes; there are two more--also a woman and her son.\x94

\x93That puzzles me. I can think of no one.\x94

\x93They live in the city.\x94

\x93I know. It is Mrs. Pitkin, my employer\x92s wife. Why should she dislike
me?\x94

\x93There is an old man who likes you. That is the cause.\x94

\x93I see. She doesn\x92t want him to be kind to any one out of the family.\x94

\x93That is all I have to tell you,\x94 said the fortune-teller abruptly. \x93You
can go.\x94

\x93You have told me strange things,\x94 said Phil. \x93Will you tell me how it
is you know so much about a stranger?\x94

\x93I have nothing more to tell you. You can go!\x94 said the veiled lady
impatiently.

\x93At least tell me how much I am to pay you.\x94

\x93Nothing.\x94

\x93But I thought you received fees.\x94

\x93Not from you.\x94

\x93Did you not take something from my friend who was in here before me?\x94

\x93Yes.\x94

\x93You told him a good fortune.\x94

\x93He is a fool!\x94 said the fortune-teller contemptuously. \x93I saw what he
wanted and predicted it.\x94

She waved her hand, and Phil felt that he had no excuse for remaining
longer.

He left the room slowly, and found Mr. Wilbur anxiously awaiting him.

\x93What did she tell you, Phil?\x94 he asked eagerly. \x93Did she tell you what
sort of a wife you would have?\x94

\x93No. I didn\x92t ask her,\x94 answered Phil, smiling.

\x93I should think you\x92d want to know. What did she tell you, then?\x94

\x93She told me quite a number of things about my past life and the events
of my childhood.\x94

\x93I shouldn\x92t have cared about that,\x94 said Wilbur, shrugging his
shoulders. \x93Why, I know all about that myself. What I want to know about
is, whether I am to marry the girl I adore.\x94

\x93But you see, Wilbur, I don\x92t adore anybody. I am not in love as you
are.\x94

\x93Of course that makes a difference,\x94 said Wilbur. \x93I\x92m glad I came,
Phil. Ain\x92t you?\x94

\x93Yes,\x94 answered Phil slowly.

\x93You see, it\x92s such a satisfaction to know that all is coming right
at last. I am to marry HER, you know, and although it isn\x92t till I am
twenty-four----\x94

\x93She will be nearly thirty by that time,\x94 said Phil slyly.

\x93She won\x92t look it!\x94 said Mr. Wilbur, wincing a little. \x93When I am
thirty I shall be worth twenty thousand dollars.\x94

\x93You can\x92t save it very soon out of six dollars a week.\x94

\x93That is true. I feel sure I shall be raised soon. Did the
fortune-teller say anything about your getting rich?\x94

\x93No. I can\x92t remember that she did. Oh, yes! she said I would make my
fortune, but not in the way I expected.\x94

\x93That is queer!\x94 said Mr. Wilbur, interested. \x93What could she mean?\x94

\x93I suppose she meant that I would not save a competence out of five
dollars a week.\x94

\x93Maybe so.\x94

\x93I have been thinking, Wilbur, you have an advantage over the young lady
you are to marry. You know that you are to marry her, but she doesn\x92t
know who is to be her husband.\x94

\x93That is true,\x94 said Wilbur seriously. \x93If I can find out her name, I
will write her an anonymous letter, asking her to call on the veiled
Lady.\x94



CHAPTER XVI.

MRS. BRENT\x92S STRANGE TEMPTATION.

Now that Phil is fairly established in the city, circumstances require
us to go back to the country town which he had once called home.

Mrs. Brent is sitting, engaged with her needle, in the same room where
she had made the important revelation to Phil.

Jonas entered the house, stamping the snow from his boots.

\x93Is supper most ready, mother?\x94 he asked.

\x93No, Jonas; it is only four o\x92clock,\x94 replied Mrs. Brent.

\x93I\x92m as hungry as a bear. I guess it\x92s the skating.\x94

\x93I wish you would go to the post-office before supper, Jonas. There
might be a letter.\x94

\x93Do you expect to hear from Phil?\x94

\x93He said nothing about writing,\x94 said Mrs. Brent indifferently. \x93He will
do as he pleases about it.\x94

\x93I did\x92nt know but he would be writing for money,\x94 chuckled Jonas.

\x93If he did, I would send him some,\x94 said Mrs. Brent.

\x93You would!\x94 repeated Jonas, looking at his mother in surprise.

\x93Yes, I would send him a dollar or two, so that people needn\x92t talk. It
is always best to avoid gossip.\x94

\x93Are you expecting a letter from anybody, mother?\x94 asked Jonas, after a
pause.

\x93I dreamed last night I should receive an important letter,\x94 said Mrs.
Brent.

\x93With money in it?\x94 asked Jonas eagerly.

\x93I don\x92t know.\x94

\x93If any such letter comes, will you give me some of the money?\x94

\x93If you bring me a letter containing money,\x94 said Mrs. Brent, \x93I will
give you a dollar.\x94

\x93Enough said!\x94 exclaimed Jonas, who was fond of money; \x93I\x92m off to the
post-office at once.\x94

Mrs. Brent let the work fall into her lap and looked intently before
her. A flush appeared on her pale face, and she showed signs of
restlessness.

\x93It is strange,\x94 she said to herself, \x93how I have allowed myself to be
affected by that dream. I am not superstitious, but I cannot get over
the idea that a letter will reach me to-night, and that it will have
an important bearing upon my life. I have a feeling, too, that it will
relate to the boy Philip.\x94

She rose from her seat and began to move about the room. It was a
relief to her in the restless state of her mind. She went to the window
to look for Jonas, and her excitement rose as she saw him approaching.
When he saw his mother looking from the window, he held aloft a letter.

\x93The letter has come,\x94 she said, her heart beating faster than its wont.
\x93It is an important letter. How slow Jonas is.\x94

And she was inclined to be vexed at the deliberation with which her son
was advancing toward the house.

But he came at last.

\x93Well, mother, I\x92ve got a letter--a letter from Philadelphia,\x94 he said.
\x93It isn\x92t from Phil, for I know his writing.\x94

\x93Give it to me, Jonas,\x94 said his mother, outwardly calm, but inwardly
excited.

\x93Do you know any one in Philadelphia, mother?\x94

\x93No.\x94

She cut open the envelope and withdrew the inclosed sheet.

\x93Is there any money in it?\x94 asked Jonas eagerly.

\x93No.\x94

\x93Just my luck!\x94 said Jonas sullenly.

\x93Wait a minute,\x94 said his mother. \x93If the letter is really important,
I\x92ll give you twenty-five cents.\x94

She read the letter, and her manner soon showed that she was deeply
interested.

We will look over her shoulders and read it with her:


\x93CONTINENTAL HOTEL, PHILADELPHIA, Feb. 5.

\x93DEAR MADAM:--

\x93I write to you on a matter of the greatest importance to my happiness,
and shall most anxiously await your reply. I would come to you in
person, but am laid up with an attack of rheumatism, and my physician
forbids me to travel.

\x93You are, as I have been informed, the widow of Gerald Brent, who
thirteen years since kept a small hotel in the small village of
Fultonville, in Ohio. At that date I one day registered myself as his
guest. I was not alone. My only son, then a boy of three, accompanied
me. My wife was dead, and my affections centered upon this child.
Yet the next morning I left him under the charge of yourself and your
husband, and pursued my journey. From that day to this I have not seen
the boy, nor have I written to you or Mr. Brent. This seems strange,
does it not? It requires an explanation, and that explanation I am ready
to give.

\x93To be brief, then, I was fleeing from undeserved suspicion.
Circumstances which I need not detail had connected my name with the
mysterious disappearance of a near friend, and the fact that a trifling
dispute between us had taken place in the presence of witnesses had
strengthened their suspicions. Knowing myself to be innocent, but
unable to prove it, I fled, taking my child with me. When I reached
Fultonville, I became alive to the ease with which I might be traced,
through the child\x92s companionship. There was no resource but to leave
him. Your husband and yourself impressed me as kind and warm-hearted.
I was specially impressed by the gentleness with which you treated my
little Philip, and I felt that to you I could safely trust him. I did
not, however, dare to confide my secret to any one. I simply said I
would leave the boy with you till he should recover from his temporary
indisposition, and then, with outward calmness but inward anguish, I
left my darling, knowing not if I should ever see him again.

\x93Well, time passed. I went to Nevada, changed my name, invested the
slender sum I had with me in mining, and, after varying fortune, made
a large fortune at last. But better fortune still awaited me. In a poor
mining hut, two months since, I came across a man who confessed that he
was guilty of the murder of which I had been suspected. His confession
was reduced in writing, sworn to before a magistrate, and now at last
I feel myself a free man. No one now could charge me with a crime from
which my soul revolted.

\x93When this matter was concluded, my first thought was of the boy whom I
had not seen for thirteen long years. I could claim him now before all
the world; I could endow him with the gifts of fortune; I could bring
him up in luxury, and I could satisfy a father\x92s affectionate longing. I
could not immediately ascertain where you were. I wrote to Fultonville,
to the postmaster, and learned that you and Mr. Brent had moved away and
settled down in Gresham, in the State of New York. I learned also that
my Philip was still living, but other details I did not learn. But I
cared not, so long as my boy still lived.

\x93And now you may guess my wish and my intention. I shall pay you
handsomely for your kind care of Philip, but I must have my boy back
again. We have been separated too long. I can well understand that you
are attached to him, and I will find a home for you and Mr. Brent near
my own, where you can see as often as you like the boy whom you have so
tenderly reared. Will you do me the favor to come at once, and bring
the boy with you? The expenses of your journey shall, of course,
be reimbursed, and I will take care that the pecuniary part of my
obligations to you shall be amply repaid. I have already explained why I
cannot come in person to claim my dear child.

\x93Telegraph to me when you will reach Philadelphia, and I will engage
a room for you. Philip will stay with me.

\x93Yours gratefully,

\x93OSCAR GRANVILLE.\x94


\x93Mother, here is a slip of paper that has dropped from the letter,\x94 said
Jonas.

He picked up and handed to his mother a check on a Philadelphia bank for
the sum of one hundred dollars.

\x93Why, that\x92s the same as money, isn\x92t it?\x94 asked Jonas.

\x93Yes, Jonas.\x94

\x93Then you\x92ll keep your promise, won\x92t you?\x94

Mrs. Brent silently drew from her pocket-book a two-dollar bill and
handed it to Jonas.

\x93Jonas,\x94 she said, \x93if you won\x92t breathe a word of it, I will tell you a
secret.\x94

\x93All right, mother.\x94

\x93We start for Philadelphia to-morrow.\x94

\x93By gosh! that\x92s jolly,\x94 exclaimed Jonas, overjoyed. \x93I\x92ll keep mum.
What was in the letter, mother?\x94

\x93I will not tell you just now. You shall know very soon.\x94

Mrs. Brent did not sleep much that night. Her mind was intent upon a
daring scheme of imposture. Mr. Granville was immensely wealthy, no
doubt. Why should she not pass off Jonas upon him as his son Philip, and
thus secure a fortune for her own child?



CHAPTER XVII.

JONAS JOINS THE CONSPIRACY.

Later in the evening Mrs. Brent took Jonas into her confidence. She
was a silent, secretive woman by nature, and could her plan have been
carried out without imparting it to any one, she would gladly have had
it so. But Jonas must be her active accomplice, and it was as well to
let him know at once what he must do.

In the evening, when Jonas, tired with his day\x92s skating, was lying on
the lounge, Mrs. Brent rose deliberately from her seat, peeped into
the adjoining room, then went to each window to make sure there was no
eavesdropper, then resumed her seat and said:

\x93Jonas, get up. I want to speak to you.\x94

\x93I am awfully tired, mother. I can hear you while I lie here.\x94

\x93Jonas, do you hear me? I am about to speak to you of something no other
person must hear. Get a chair and draw it close to mine.\x94

Jonas rose, his curiosity stimulated by his mother\x92s words and manner.

\x93Is it about the letter, mother?\x94 he asked.

\x93Yes, it relates to the letter and our journey to-morrow.\x94

Jonas had wondered what the letter was about and who had sent his mother
the hundred-dollar check, and he made no further objection. He drew a
chair in front of his mother and said:

\x93Go ahead, mother, I\x92m listening.\x94

\x93Would you like to be rich, Jonas?\x94 asked Mrs. Brent.

\x93Wouldn\x92t I?\x94

\x93Would you like to be adopted by a very rich man, have a pony to ride,
plenty of pocket-money, fine clothes and in the end a large fortune?\x94

\x93That would just suit me, mother,\x94 answered the boy eagerly. \x93Is there
any chance of it?\x94

\x93Yes, if you follow my directions implicitly.\x94

\x93I will, mother,\x94 said Jonas, his eyes shining with desire. \x93Only tell
me what to do and I\x92ll do it.\x94

\x93Do you remember what I told Philip the evening before he went away?\x94

\x93About his being left at Mr. Brent\x92s hotel? Yes, I remember it.\x94

\x93And about his true father having disappeared?\x94

\x93Yes, yes.\x94

\x93Jonas, the letter I received this afternoon was from Philip\x92s real
father.\x94

\x93By gosh!\x94 ejaculated Jonas, altering his usual expression of surprise.

\x93He is in Philadelphia. He is a very rich man.\x94

\x93Then Phil will be rich,\x94 said Jonas, disappointed. \x93I thought you said
it would be me.\x94

\x93Philip\x92s father has never seen him since he was three years old,\x94
 continued Mrs. Brent, taking no notice of her son\x92s tone.

\x93What difference does that make, mother?\x94

\x93Jonas,\x94 said Mrs. Brent, bending toward her son, \x93if I choose to
tell him that you are Philip, he won\x92t know the difference. Do you
understand?\x94

Jonas did understand.

\x93That\x92s a bully idea, mother! Can we pull the wool over the old man\x92s
eyes, do you think?\x94

\x93I wish you would not use such expressions, Jonas. They are not
gentlemanly, and you are to be a young gentleman.\x94

\x93All right, mother.\x94

\x93We can manage it if you are very careful. It is worth the trouble,
Jonas. I think Mr. Granville--that is his name--must be worth a quarter
of a million dollars, and if he takes you for Philip the whole will
probably go to you.\x94

\x93What a head you\x92ve got, mother!\x94 exclaimed Jonas admiringly. \x93It is a
tip-top chance.\x94

\x93Yes, it is one chance in ten thousand. But you must do just as I tell
you.\x94

\x93Oh, I\x92ll do that, mother. What must I do?\x94

\x93To begin with, you must take Philip\x92s name. You must remember that you
are no longer Jonas Webb, but Philip Brent.\x94

\x93That\x92ll be a bully joke!\x94 said Jonas, very much amused. \x93What would
Phil say if he knew I had taken his name?\x94

\x93He must not know. Henceforth we must endeavor to keep out of his way.
Again, you must consider me your step-mother, not your own mother.\x94

\x93Yes, I understand. What are you going to do first, mother?\x94

\x93We start for Philadelphia to-morrow. Your father is lying sick at the
Continental Hotel.\x94

Jonas roared with delight at the manner in which his mother spoke of the
sick stranger.

\x93Oh, it\x92ll be fun, mother! Shall we live in Philadelphia?\x94

\x93I don\x92t know. That will be as Mr. Granville thinks best.\x94

\x93Where are you going, mother? Are you going to live here?\x94

\x93Of course I shall be with you. I will make that a condition. I cannot
be parted from my only boy.\x94

\x93But I shall be Mr. Granville\x92s boy.\x94

\x93To the public you will be. But when we are together in private, we
shall be once more mother and son.\x94

\x93I am afraid you will spoil all,\x94 said Jonas. \x93Old Granville will
suspect something if you seem to care too much for me.\x94

The selfish nature of Jonas was cropping out, and his mother felt, with
a pang, that he would be reconciled to part with her forever for
the sake of the brilliant prospects and the large fortune which Mr.
Granville could offer him.

She was outwardly cold, but such affection as she was capable of she
expended on this graceless and ungrateful boy.

\x93You seem to forget that I may have some feeling in the matter,\x94 said
Mrs. Brent coldly, but with inward pain. \x93If the result of this plan
were to be that we should be permanently separated, I would never
consent to it.\x94

\x93Just as you like, mother,\x94 said Jonas, with an ill grace. \x93I don\x92t look
much like Phil.\x94

\x93No, there will be a difficulty. Still Mr. Granville has never seen
Philip since he was three years old, and that is in our favor. He thinks
I am Mr. Brent\x92s first wife.\x94

\x93Shall you tell him?\x94

\x93I don\x92t know. I will be guided by circumstances. Perhaps it may be
best. I wouldn\x92t like to have it discovered that I had deceived him in
that.\x94

\x93How are you going to manage about this place, mother?\x94

\x93I am going to write to your Uncle Jonas to take charge of it. I will
let him have it at a nominal rent. Then, if our plan miscarries we shall
have a place to come back to.\x94

\x93Were you ever in Philadelphia, mother?\x94

\x93No; but there will be no trouble in journeying there. I shall pack
your clothes and my own to-night. Of course, Jonas, when you meet Mr.
Granville you must seem to be fond of him. Then you must tell him how
kind I have been to you. In fact, you must act precisely as Philip might
be expected to do.\x94

\x93Yes, mother; and you must be careful not to call me Jonas. That will
spoil all, you know.\x94

\x93Rest assured that I shall be on my guard. If you are as careful as I
am, Philip----\x94

Jonas burst into a guffaw at the new name.

\x93It\x92s just like play-acting, mother,\x94 he said.

\x93But it will pay better,\x94 said Mrs. Brent quietly. \x93I think it will be
best for me to begin calling you Philip at once--that is, as soon as we
have left town--so that we may both get accustomed to it.\x94

\x93All right, mother. You\x92ve got a good headpiece.\x94

\x93I will manage things properly. If you consent to be guided by me, all
will be right.\x94

\x93Oh, I\x92ll do it mother. I wish we were on our way.\x94

\x93You can go to bed if you like. I must stay up late to-night. I have to
pack our trunks.\x94

The next day the pair of adventurers left Gresham. From the earliest
available point Mrs. Brent telegraphed to Mr. Granville that she was on
her way, with the son from whom he had so long been separated.



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CONSPIRACY SUCCEEDS.

In a handsome private parlor at the Continental Hotel a man of about
forty-five years of age sat in an easy-chair. He was of middle height,
rather dark complexion, and a pleasant expression. His right foot was
bandaged, and rested on a chair. The morning Daily Ledger was in his
hand, but he was not reading. His mind, judging from his absorbed look,
was occupied with other thoughts.

\x93I can hardly realize,\x94 he said half-aloud, \x93that my boy will so soon
be restored to my arms. We have been separated by a cruel fate, but we
shall soon be together again. I remember how the dear child looked when
I left him at Fultonville in the care of the kind inn-keeper. I am
sorry he is dead, but his widow shall be suitably repaid for her kind
devotion.\x94

He had reached this point when a knock was heard at the door.

\x93Come in!\x94 said Mr. Granville.

A servant of the hotel appeared.

\x93A lady and a boy are in the parlor below, sir. They wish to see you.\x94

Though Mr. Granville had considerable control over his feelings, his
heart beat fast when he heard these words.

\x93Will you show them up at once?\x94 he said, in a tone which showed some
trace of agitation.

The servant bore the message to Mrs. Brent and Jonas, who were sitting
in the hotel parlor.

If Mr. Granville was agitated, the two conspirators were not wholly at
their ease. There was a red spot on each of Mrs. Brent\x92s cheeks--her
way of expressing emotion--and Jonas was fidgeting about uneasily in his
chair, staring about him curiously.

\x93Mind what I told you,\x94 said his mother, in a low voice. \x93Remember to
act like a boy who has suddenly been restored to his long-lost father.
Everything depends on first impressions.\x94

\x93I wish it was all over; I wish I was out of it,\x94 said Jonas, wiping the
perspiration from his face. \x93Suppose he suspects?\x94

\x93He won\x92t if you do as I tell you. Don\x92t look gawky, but act naturally.\x94

Just then the servant reappeared.

\x93You are to come up-stairs,\x94 he said. \x93The gentleman will see you.\x94

\x93Thank you,\x94 said Mrs. Brent, rising. \x93Come.\x94

Jonas rose, and with the manner of a cur that expected a whipping,
followed his mother and the servant.

\x93It\x92s only one flight,\x94 said the servant, \x93but we can take the
elevator.\x94

\x93It is of no consequence,\x94 Mrs. Brent began, but Jonas said eagerly:

\x93Let\x92s ride on the elevator, ma!\x94

\x93Very well, Philip,\x94 said Mrs. Brent.

A minute later the two stood at the door of Mr. Granville\x92s room. Next
they stood in his presence.

Mr. Granville, looking eagerly toward the door, passed over Mrs. Brent,
and his glance rested on the boy who followed her. He started, and there
was a quick feeling of disappointment. He had been picturing to himself
how his lost boy would look, but none of his visions resembled the
awkward-looking boy who stood sheepishly by the side of Mrs. Brent.

\x93Mr. Granville, I presume,\x94 said the lady.

\x93Yes, madam. You are----\x94

\x93Mrs. Brent, and this,\x94 pointing to Jonas, \x93is the boy you left at
Fultonville thirteen years ago. Philip, go to your father.\x94

Jonas advanced awkwardly to Mr. Granville\x92s chair, and said in
parrot-like tones:

\x93I\x92m so glad to see you, pa!\x94

\x93And you are really Philip?\x94 said Mr. Granville slowly.

\x93Yes, I\x92m Philip Brent; but I suppose my name is Granville now.\x94

\x93Come here, my boy!\x94

Mr. Granville drew the boy to him, and looked earnestly in his face,
then kissed him affectionately.

\x93He has changed since he was a little child, Mrs. Brent,\x94 he said, with
a half-sigh.

\x93That\x92s to be expected, sir. He was only three years old when you left
him with us.\x94

\x93But it seems to me that his hair and complexion are lighter.\x94

\x93You can judge of that better than I,\x94 said Mrs. Brent plausibly. \x93To
me, who have seen him daily, the change was not perceptible.\x94

\x93I am greatly indebted to you for your devoted care--to you and your
husband. I am grieved to hear that Mr. Brent is dead.\x94

\x93Yes, sir; he left me six months since. It was a grievous loss. Ah, sir,
when I give up Philip also, I shall feel quite alone in the world,\x94 and
she pressed a handkerchief to her eyes. \x93You see, I have come to look
upon him as my own boy!\x94

\x93My dear madam, don\x92t think that I shall be so cruel as to take him from
you. Though I wish him now to live with me, you must accompany him. My
home shall be yours if you are willing to accept a room in my house and
a seat at my table.\x94

\x93Oh, Mr. Granville, how can I thank you for your great kindness? Ever
since I received your letter I have been depressed with the thought
that I should lose dear Philip. If I had a child of my own it would be
different; but, having none, my affections are centered upon him.\x94

\x93And very naturally,\x94 said Mr. Granville. \x93We become attached to those
whom we benefit. Doubtless he feels a like affection for you. You love
this good lady, Philip, who has supplied to you the place of your own
mother, who died in your infancy, do you not?\x94

\x93Yes, sir,\x94 answered Jonas stolidly. \x93But I want to live with my pa!\x94

\x93To be sure you shall. My boy, we have been separated too long already.
Henceforth we will live together, and Mrs. Brent shall live with us.\x94

\x93Where do you live, pa?\x94 asked Jonas.

\x93I have a country-seat a few miles from Chicago,\x94 answered Mr.
Granville. \x93We will go there as soon as I am well enough. I ought to
apologize, Mrs. Brent, for inviting you up to my room, but my rheumatism
makes me a prisoner.\x94

\x93I hope your rheumatism will soon leave you, sir.\x94

\x93I think it will. I have an excellent physician, and already I am much
better. I may, however, have to remain here a few days yet.\x94

\x93And where do you wish Philip and I to remain in the meantime?\x94

\x93Here, of course. Philip, will you ring the bell?\x94

\x93I don\x92t see any bell,\x94 answered Jonas, bewildered.

\x93Touch that knob!\x94

Jonas did so.

\x93Will that ring the bell?\x94 he asked curiously.

\x93Yes, it is an electric bell.\x94

\x93By gosh!\x94 ejaculated Jonas.

\x93Don\x92t use such language, Philip!\x94 said Mrs. Brent hastily. \x93Your father
will be shocked. You see, Mr. Granville, Philip has associated with
country boys, and in spite of my care, he has adopted some of their
language.\x94

Mr. Granville himself was rather disturbed by this countrified
utterance, and it occurred to him that his new-found son needed
considerable polishing.

\x93Ah, I quite understand that, Mrs. Brent,\x94 he said courteously. \x93He is
young yet, and there will be plenty of time for him to get rid of any
objectionable habits and phrases.\x94

Here the servant appeared.

\x93Tell the clerk to assign this lady and the boy rooms on this floor if
any are vacant. Mrs. Brent, Philip may have a room next to you for the
present. When I am better I will have him with me. John, is dinner on
the table?\x94

\x93Yes, sir.\x94

\x93Then, after taking possession of your rooms, you and Philip had better
go to dinner. I will send for him later.\x94

\x93Thank you, sir.\x94

As Mrs. Brent was ushered into her handsome apartment her face was
radiant with joy and exultation.

\x93All has gone well!\x94 she said. \x93The most difficult part is over.\x94



CHAPTER XIX.

A NARROW ESCAPE FROM DETECTION.

The conspiracy into which Mrs. Brent had entered was a daring one, and
required great coolness and audacity. But the inducements were great,
and for her son\x92s sake she decided to carry it through. Of course it
was necessary that she should not be identified with any one who could
disclose to Mr. Granville the deceit that was being practiced upon him.
Circumstances lessened the risk of detection, since Mr. Granville was
confined to his room in the hotel, and for a week she and Jonas went
about the city alone.

One day she had a scare.

She was occupying a seat in a Chestnut Street car, while Jonas stood
in front with the driver, when a gentleman whom she had not observed,
sitting at the other end of the car, espied her.

\x93Why, Mrs. Brent, how came you here?\x94 he asked, in surprise, crossing
over and taking a seat beside her.

Her color went and came as, in a subdued tone, she answered.

\x93I am in Philadelphia on a little visit, Mr. Pearson.\x94

\x93Are you not rather out of your latitude?\x94 asked the gentleman.

\x93Yes, perhaps so.\x94

\x93How is Mr. Brent?\x94

\x93Did you not hear that he was dead?\x94

\x93No, indeed! I sympathize with you in your sad loss.\x94

\x93Yes,\x94 sighed the widow. \x93It is a great loss to us.\x94

\x93I suppose Jonas is a large boy now,\x94 said the other. \x93I haven\x92t seen
him for two or three years.\x94

\x93Yes, he has grown,\x94 said the widow briefly. She hoped that Mr. Pearson
would not discover that Jonas was with her, as she feared that the boy
might betray them unconsciously.

\x93Is he with you?\x94

\x93Yes.\x94

\x93Do you stay long in Philadelphia?\x94

\x93No, I think not,\x94 answered Mrs. Brent.

\x93I go back to New York this afternoon, or I would ask permission to call
on you.\x94

Mrs. Brent breathed more freely. A call at the hotel was by all means to
be avoided.

\x93Of course I should have been glad to see you,\x94 she answered, feeling
quite safe in saying so. \x93Are you going far?\x94

\x93I get out at Thirteenth Street.\x94

\x93Thank Heaven!\x94 said Mrs. Brent to herself. \x93Then he won\x92t discover
where we are.\x94

The Continental Hotel is situated at the corner of Chestnut and Ninth
Streets, and Mrs. Brent feared that Jonas would stop the car at that
point. As it was, the boy did not observe that his mother had met an
acquaintance, so intent was he on watching the street sights.

When they reached Ninth Street mother and son got out and entered the
hotel.

\x93I guess I\x92ll stay down stairs awhile,\x94 said Jonas.

\x93No, Philip, I have something to say to you. Come up with me.\x94

\x93I want to go into the billiard-room,\x94 said Jonas, grumbling.

\x93It is very important,\x94 said Mrs. Brent emphatically.

Now the curiosity of Jonas was excited, and he followed his mother into
the elevator, for their rooms were on the third floor.

\x93Well, mother, what is it?\x94 asked Jonas, when the door of his mother\x92s
room was closed behind them.

\x93I met a gentleman who knew me in the horse-car,\x94 said Mrs. Brent
abruptly.

\x93Did you? Who was it?\x94

\x93Mr. Pearson.\x94

\x93He used to give me candy. Why didn\x92t you call me?\x94

\x93It is important that we should not be recognized,\x94 said his mother.
\x93While we stay here we must be exceedingly prudent. Suppose he had
called upon us at the hotel and fallen in with Mr. Granville. He might
have told him that you are my son, and that your name is Jonas, not
Philip.\x94

\x93Then the fat would be in the fire!\x94 said Jonas.

\x93Exactly so; I am glad you see the danger. Now I want you to stay here,
or in your own room, for the next two or three hours.\x94

\x93It\x92ll be awfully tiresome,\x94 grumbled Jonas.

\x93It is necessary,\x94 said his mother firmly. \x93Mr. Pearson leaves for New
York by an afternoon train. It is now only two o\x92clock. He left the
car at Thirteenth Street, and might easily call at this hotel. It is a
general rendezvous for visitors to the city. If he should meet you down
stairs, he would probably know you, and his curiosity would be aroused.
He asked me where I was staying, but I didn\x92t appear to hear the
question.\x94

\x93That\x92s pretty hard on me, ma.\x94

\x93I am out of all patience with you,\x94 said Mrs. Brent. \x93Am I not working
for your interest, and you are doing all you can to thwart my plans. If
you don\x92t care anything about inheriting a large fortune, let it go! We
can go back to Gresham and give it all up.\x94

\x93I\x92ll do as you say, ma,\x94 said Jonas, subdued.

The very next day Mr. Granville sent for Mrs. Brent. She lost no time in
waiting upon him.

\x93Mrs. Brent,\x94 he said, \x93I have decided to leave Philadelphia to-morrow.\x94

\x93Are you quite able, sir?\x94 she asked, with a good assumption of
sympathy.

\x93My doctor tells me I may venture. We shall travel in Pullman cars,
you know. I shall secure a whole compartment, and avail myself of every
comfort and luxury which money can command.\x94

\x93Ah, sir! money is a good friend in such a case.\x94

\x93True, Mrs. Brent. I have seen the time when I was poorly supplied with
it. Now I am happily at ease. Can you and Philip be ready?\x94

\x93Yes, Mr. Granville,\x94 answered Mrs. Brent promptly. \x93We are ready
to-day, for that matter. We shall both be glad to get started.\x94

\x93I am glad to hear it. I think Philip will like his Western home.
I bought a fine country estate of a Chicago merchant, whose failure
compelled him to part with it. Philip shall have his own horse and his
own servants.\x94

\x93He will be delighted,\x94 said Mrs. Brent warmly. \x93He has been used to
none of these things, for Mr. Brent and I, much as we loved him, had not
the means to provide him with such luxuries.\x94

\x93Yes, Mrs. Brent, I understand that fully. You were far from rich. Yet
you cared for my boy as if he were your own.\x94

\x93I loved him as much as if he had been my own son, Mr. Granville.\x94

\x93I am sure you did. I thank Providence that I am able to repay to some
extent the great debt I have incurred. I cannot repay it wholly, but
I will take care that you, too, shall enjoy ease and luxury. You shall
have one of the best rooms in my house, and a special servant to wait
upon you.\x94

\x93Thank you, Mr. Granville,\x94 said Mrs. Brent, her heart filled with proud
anticipations of the state in which she should hereafter live. \x93I do not
care where you put me, so long as you do not separate me from Philip.\x94

\x93She certainly loves my son!\x94 said Mr. Granville to himself. \x93Yet her
ordinary manner is cold and constrained, and she does not seem like a
woman whose affections would easily be taken captive. Yet Philip seems
to have found the way to her heart. It must be because she has had so
much care of him. We are apt to love those whom we benefit.\x94

But though Mr. Granville credited Mrs. Brent with an affection for
Philip, he was uneasily conscious that the boy\x92s return had not brought
him the satisfaction and happiness he had fondly anticipated.

To begin with, Philip did not look at all as he had supposed his son
would look. He did not look like the Granvilles at all. Indeed, he had
an unusually countrified aspect, and his conversation was mingled with
rustic phrases which shocked his father\x92s taste.

\x93I suppose it comes of the way in which he has been brought up and
the country boys he has associated with,\x94 thought Mr. Granville.
\x93Fortunately he is young, and there is time to polish him. As soon as I
reach Chicago I will engage a private tutor for him, who shall not only
remedy his defects of education, but do what he can to improve my son\x92s
manners. I want him to grow up a gentleman.\x94

The next day the three started for Chicago, while Mr. Granville\x92s real
son and heir continued to live at a cheap lodging-house in New York.

The star of Jonas was in the ascendant, while poor Philip seemed
destined to years of poverty and hard work. Even now, he was threatened
by serious misfortune.



CHAPTER XX.

LEFT OUT IN THE COLD.

Of course Phil was utterly ignorant of the audacious attempt to deprive
him of his rights and keep him apart from the father who longed once
more to meet him. There was nothing before him so far as he knew except
to continue the up-hill struggle for a living.

He gave very little thought to the prediction of the fortune-teller whom
he had consulted, and didn\x92t dream of any short-cut to fortune.

Do all he could, he found he could not live on his wages.

His board cost him four dollars a week, and washing and lunch two
dollars more, thus compelling him to exceed his salary by a dollar each
week.

He had, as we know, a reserve fund, on which he could draw, but it
was small, and grew constantly smaller. Then, again, his clothes were
wearing out, and he saw no way of obtaining money to buy new.

Phil became uneasy, and the question came up to his mind, \x93Should he
write to his step-mother and ask her for a trifling loan?\x94 If the money
had been hers, he would not have done so on any condition; but she had
had nothing of her own, and all the property in her hands came through
Mr. Brent, who, as he knew, was attached to him, even though no tie of
blood united them. He certainly meant that Phil should be cared for out
of the estate, and at length Phil brought himself to write the following
letter:

\x93NEW YORK, March 10, 18--.

\x93DEAR MRS. BRENT: I suppose I ought to have written you before, and
have no good excuse to offer. I hope you and Jonas are well, and will
continue so. Let me tell you how I have succeeded thus far.

\x93I have been fortunate enough to obtain a place in a large mercantile
establishment, and for my services I am paid five dollars a week. This
is more than boys generally get in the first place, and I am indebted to
the partiality of an old gentleman, the senior member of the firm, whom
I had the chance to oblige, for faring so well. Still I find it hard to
get along on this sum, though I am as economical as possible. My board
and washing cost me six dollars a week, and I have, besides, to buy
clothing from time to time. I have nearly spent the extra money I had
with me, and do not know how to keep myself looking respectable in the
way of clothing. Under the circumstances, I shall have to apply to you
for a loan, say of twenty-five dollars. In a year or two I hope to earn
enough to be entirely independent. At present I cannot expect it. As my
father--Mr. Brent--undoubtedly intended to provide for me, I don\x92t think
I need to apologize for making this request. Still I do it reluctantly,
for I would prefer to depend entirely upon myself.

\x93With regards to you and Jonas, I am yours truly, PHILIP BRENT.\x94



Phil put this letter in the post-office, and patiently waited for an
answer.

\x93Mrs. Brent surely cannot refuse me,\x94 he said to himself, \x93since I have
almost wholly relieved her of the expense of taking care of me.\x94

Phil felt so sure that money would be sent to him that he began to look
round a little among ready-made clothing stores to see at what price he
could obtain a suit that would do for every-day use. He found a store
in the Bowery where he could secure a suit, which looked as if it would
answer, for thirteen dollars. If Mrs. Brent sent him twenty-five, that
would leave him twelve for underclothing, and for a reserve fund to meet
the weekly deficit which he could not avoid.

Three--four days passed, and no letter came in answer to his.

\x93It can\x92t be that Mrs. Brent won\x92t at least answer my letter,\x94 he
thought uneasily. \x93Even if she didn\x92t send me twenty-five dollars, she
couldn\x92t help sending me something.\x94

Still he felt uneasy, in view of the position in which he would find
himself in case no letter or remittance should come at all.

It was during this period of anxiety that his heart leaped for joy
when on Broadway he saw the familiar form of Reuben Gordon, a young man
already mentioned, to whom Phil had sold his gun before leaving Gresham.

\x93Why, Reuben, how are you?\x94 exclaimed Phil joyfully. \x93When did you come
to town?\x94

\x93Phil Brent!\x94 exclaimed Reuben, shaking hands heartily. \x93I\x92m thunderin\x92
glad to see you. I was thinkin\x92 of you only five minutes ago, and
wonderin\x92 where you hung out.\x94

\x93But you haven\x92t told me when you came to New York.\x94

\x93Only this morning! I\x92m goin\x92 to stay with a cousin of my father\x92s, that
lives in Brooklyn, over night.\x94

\x93I wanted to ask you about Mrs. Brent and Jonas. I was afraid they might
be sick, for I wrote four days ago and haven\x92t got any answer yet.\x94

\x93Where did you write to?\x94

\x93To Gresham, of course,\x94 answered Phil, in surprise.

\x93You don\x92t mean to say you hain\x92t heard of their leavin\x92 Gresham?\x94 said
Reuben, in evident astonishment.

\x93Who has left Gresham?\x94

\x93Your mother--leastwise, Mrs. Brent--and Jonas. They cleared out three
weeks ago, and nobody\x92s heard a word of them since--that is, nobody in
the village.\x94

\x93Don\x92t you know where they\x92ve gone?\x94 asked Phil, in amazement.

\x93No. I was goin\x92 to ask you. I s\x92posed, of course, they\x92d write and let
you know.\x94

\x93I didn\x92t even know they had left Gresham.\x94

\x93Well, that\x92s what I call cur\x92us. It ain\x92t treatin\x92 you right accordin\x92
to my ideas.\x94

\x93Is the house shut up?\x94

\x93It was till two days ago. Then a brother of Mrs. Brent came and opened
it. He has brought his wife and one child with him, and it seems they\x92re
goin\x92 to live there. Somebody asked him where his sister and Jonas were,
but they didn\x92t get no satisfaction. He said he didn\x92t rightly know
himself. He believed they was travelin\x92; thought they might be in
Canada.\x94

Phil looked and felt decidedly sober at this information. He understood,
of course, now, why his letter had not been answered. It looked as if he
were an outcast from the home that had been his so long. When he came to
New York to earn a living he felt that he was doing so voluntarily,
and was not obliged to do so. Now he was absolutely thrown upon his own
resources, and must either work or starve.

\x93They\x92ve treated you real mean,\x94 said Reuben.

\x93I never did like Mrs. Brent, or Jonas either, for that matter.

\x93Where are you working?\x94

Phil answered this question and several others which his honest country
friend asked, but his mind was preoccupied, and he answered some of the
questions at random. Finally he excused himself on the ground that he
must be getting back to the store.

That evening Phil thought seriously of his position. Something must be
done, that was very evident. His expenses exceeded his income, and he
needed some clothing. There was no chance of getting his wages raised
under a year, for he already received more pay than it was customary to
give to a boy. What should he do?

Phil decided to lay his position frankly before the only friend he had
in the city likely to help him--Mr. Oliver Carter. The old gentleman
had been so friendly and kind that he felt that he would not at any
rate repulse him. After he had come to this decision he felt better. He
determined to lose no time in calling upon Mr. Carter.

After supper he brushed his hair carefully, and made himself look as
well as circumstances would admit. Then he bent his steps toward Twelfth
Street, where, as the reader will remember, Mr. Carter lived with his
niece.

He ascended the steps and rang the bell. It was opened by Hannah,
who recognized him, having admitted him on the former occasion of his
calling.

\x93Good-evening,\x94 said Phil pleasantly. \x93Is Mr. Carter at home?\x94

\x93No, sir,\x94 answered Hannah. \x93Didn\x92t you know he had gone to Florida?\x94

\x93Gone to Florida!\x94 repeated Phil, his heart sinking. \x93When did he
start?\x94

\x93He started this afternoon.\x94

\x93Who\x92s asking after Uncle Oliver?\x94 asked a boy\x92s voice.

Looking behind Hannah, Phil recognized the speaker as Alonzo Pitkin.



CHAPTER XXI.

\x93THEY MET BY CHANCE.\x94

\x93Who was asking after Uncle Oliver?\x94 demanded Alonzo superciliously.

\x93I was,\x94 answered Philip.

\x93Oh! it\x92s you, is it?\x94 said Alonzo, rather disdainfully.

\x93Yes,\x94 answered Phil calmly, though he felt provoked at Alonzo\x92s tone,
which was meant to be offensive. \x93You remember me, don\x92t you?\x94

\x93You are the boy that got round Uncle Oliver, and got him to give you a
place in pa\x92s store.\x94

\x93I deny that I got round him,\x94 returned Phil warmly. \x93I had the good
luck to do him a favor.\x94

\x93I suppose you have come after money?\x94 said Alonzo coarsely.

\x93I sha\x92n\x92t ask you for any, at any rate,\x94 said Phil angrily.

\x93No; it wouldn\x92t do any good,\x94 said Alonzo; \x93and it\x92s no use asking ma,
either. She says you are an adventurer, and have designs on Uncle Oliver
because he is rich.\x94

\x93I shall not ask your mother for any favor,\x94 said Phil, provoked. \x93I am
sorry not to meet your uncle.\x94

\x93I dare say!\x94 sneered Alonzo.

Just then a woman, poorly but neatly dressed, came down stairs. Her face
was troubled. Just behind her came Mrs. Pitkin, whose face wore a chilly
and proud look.

\x93Mr. Carter has left the city, and I really don\x92t know when he will
return,\x94 Phil heard her say. \x93If he had been at home, it would not have
benefited you. He is violently prejudiced against you, and would not
have listened to a word you had to say.\x94

\x93I did not think he would have harbored resentment so long,\x94 murmured
the poor woman. \x93He never seemed to me to be a hard man.\x94

Phil gazed at the poorly dressed woman with a surprise which he did not
attempt to conceal, for in her he recognized the familiar figure of his
landlady. What could she have to do in this house? he asked himself.

\x93Mrs. Forbush!\x94 he exclaimed.

\x93Philip!\x94 exclaimed Mrs. Forbush, in a surprise as great as his own,
for she had never asked where her young lodger worked, and was not aware
that he was in the employ of her cousin\x92s husband and well acquainted
with the rich uncle whom she had not seen for years.

\x93Do you know each other?\x94 demanded Mrs. Pitkin, whose turn it was to be
surprised.

\x93This young gentleman lodges in my house,\x94 answered Mrs. Forbush.

\x93Young gentleman!\x94 repeated Alonzo, with a mocking laugh.

Philip looked at him sternly. He had his share of human nature, and
it would have given him satisfaction to thrash the insolent young
patrician, as Alonzo chose to consider himself.

\x93And what do you want here, young man?\x94 asked Mrs. Pitkin in a frosty
tone, addressing Phil of course.

\x93I wished to see Mr. Carter,\x94 answered Phil.

\x93Really, Mr. Carter seems to be very much in request!\x94 sneered Mrs.
Pitkin. \x93No doubt he will be very much disappointed when he hears
what he has lost. You will have to go to Florida to see him, I think,
however.\x94 She added, after a pause: \x93It will not be well for either of
you to call again. Mr. Carter will understand the motive of your calls.\x94

\x93How cruel you are, Lavinia!\x94 said Mrs. Forbush sadly.

\x93My name is Mrs. Pitkin!\x94 said that lady frigidly.

\x93You have not forgotten that we are cousins, surely?\x94

\x93I do not care to remember it, Mrs. Forbush. Good-day.\x94

There was no alternative but for Mrs. Forbush to say \x93good-day\x94 also,
and to descend the steps.

Philip joined her in the street.

\x93Are you really the cousin of Mrs. Pitkin?\x94 he asked.

\x93Yes,\x94 answered Mrs. Forbush. \x93I bear the same relationship to Mr.
Carter that she does. We were much together as girls, and were both
educated at the same expensive schools. I offended my relatives by
marrying Mr. Forbush, whose fault was that he was poor, and chiefly,
I think, through the efforts of Lavinia Pitkin I was cast out by the
family. But where did you meet Uncle Oliver?\x94

Philip explained the circumstances already known to the reader.

\x93Mr. Carter seems to me to be a kind-hearted man,\x94 he said. \x93I don\x92t
believe he would have cast you off if he had not been influenced by
other parties.\x94

\x93So I think,\x94 said Mrs. Forbush. \x93I will tell you,\x94 she continued, after
a pause, \x93what drew me here this afternoon. I am struggling hard to keep
my head above water, Mr. Brent, but I find it hard to meet my expenses.
I cannot meet my rent due to-morrow within fifteen dollars, and I dared
to hope that if I could meet Uncle Oliver face to face and explain
matters to him, he would let me have the money.\x94

\x93I am sure he would,\x94 said Phil warmly.

\x93But he is in Florida, and will probably remain there for a month or two
at least,\x94 said Mrs. Forbush, sighing. \x93But even if he were in the city I
suppose Lavinia would do all in her power to keep us apart.\x94

\x93I have no doubt she would, Mrs. Forbush. Though she is your cousin, I
dislike her very much.\x94

\x93I suppose the boy with whom you were talking was her son Alonzo?\x94

\x93Yes; he is about the most disagreeable boy I ever met. Both he and
his mother seem very much opposed to my having an interview with your
uncle.\x94

\x93Lavinia was always of a jealous and suspicious disposition,\x94 said Mrs.
Forbush. \x93I have not seen Alonzo since he was a baby. He is two years
older than my Julia. He was born before I estranged my relatives by
marrying a poor man.\x94

\x93What are you going to do, Mrs. Forbush, about the rent?\x94 asked Phil, in
a tone of sympathy.

\x93I don\x92t know. I shall try to get the landlord to wait, but I don\x92t know
how he will feel about it.\x94

\x93I wish I had plenty of money. I would gladly lend you all you need.\x94

\x93I am sure you would, Philip,\x94 said Mrs. Forbush. \x93The offer does me
good, though it is not accompanied by the ability to do what your good
heart dictates. I feel that I am not without friends.\x94

\x93I am a very poor one,\x94 said Phil. \x93The fact is, I am in trouble myself.
My income is only five dollars a week, and my expenses are beyond that.
I don\x92t know how I am going to keep up.\x94

\x93You may stay with me for three dollars a week, if you cannot pay four,\x94
 said Mrs. Forbush, forgetting her own troubles in her sympathy with our
hero.

\x93No, Mrs. Forbush, you can\x92t afford it. You need money as much as I do,
and perhaps more; for you have more than yourself to support.\x94

\x93Yes, poor Julia!\x94 sighed the mother. \x93She is born to a heritage of
poverty. Heaven only knows how we are going to get along.\x94

\x93God will provide for us, Mrs. Forbush,\x94 said Philip. \x93I don\x92t know how
it is, but in spite of my troubles I feel cheerful. I have a confidence
that things will come out well, though I cannot possibly imagine how.\x94

\x93You are young, and youth is more inclined to be hopeful than maturer
years. However, I do not wish to dampen your cheerfulness. Keep it, and
let it comfort you.\x94

If Phil could have heard the conversation that took place between
Mrs. Pitkin and Alonzo after their departure, he might have felt less
hopeful.

\x93It is dreadfully annoying that that woman should turn up after all
these years!\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin, in a tone of disgust.

\x93Is she really your cousin, ma?\x94 asked Alonzo.

\x93Yes, but she disgraced herself by a low marriage, and was cast off.\x94

\x93That disposes of her, then?\x94

\x93I don\x92t know. If she could meet Uncle Oliver, I am afraid she would
worm herself into his confidence and get him to do something for her.
Then it is unfortunate that she and that boy have fallen in with each
other. She may get him to speak to Uncle Oliver in her behalf.\x94

\x93Isn\x92t he working for pa?\x94

\x93Yes.\x94

\x93Why don\x92t you get pa to discharge him while Uncle Oliver is away?\x94

\x93Well thought of, Alonzo! I will speak to your father this very
evening.\x94



CHAPTER XXII.

PHIL IS \x93BOUNCED.\x94

Saturday, as is usual in such establishments, was pay-day at the store
of Phil\x92s employers. The week\x92s wages were put up in small envelopes and
handed to the various clerks.

When Phil went up to the cashier to get his money he put it quietly into
his vest-pocket.

Daniel Dickson, the cashier, observing this, said:

\x93Brent, you had better open your envelope.\x94

Rather surprised, Phil nevertheless did as requested.

In the envelope, besides the five-dollar bill representing his week\x92s
salary, he found a small slip of paper, on which was written these
ominous words:

\x93Your services will not be required after this week.\x94 Appended to this
notice was the name of the firm.

Phil turned pale, for to him, embarrassed as he was, the loss of his
place was a very serious matter.

\x93What does this mean, Mr. Dickson?\x94 he asked quickly.

\x93I can\x92t inform you,\x94 answered the cashier, smiling unpleasantly, for he
was a selfish man who sympathized with no one, and cared for no one as
long as he himself remained prosperous.

\x93Who handed you this paper?\x94 asked Phil.

\x93The boss.\x94

\x93Mr. Pitkin?\x94

\x93Of course.\x94

Mr. Pitkin was still in his little office, and Phil made his way
directly to him.

\x93May I speak to you, sir?\x94 asked our hero.

\x93Be quick about it then, for I am in a hurry,\x94 answered Pitkin, in a
very forbidding tone.

\x93Why am I discharged, sir?\x94

\x93I can\x92t go into details. We don\x92t need you any longer.\x94

\x93Are you not satisfied with me?\x94

\x93No!\x94 said Pitkin brusquely.

\x93In what respect have I failed to satisfy you, sir?\x94

\x93Don\x92t put on any airs, boy!\x94 returned Pitkin. \x93We don\x92t want you,
that\x92s all.\x94

\x93You might have given me a little notice,\x94 said Phil indignantly.

\x93We made no stipulation of that kind, I believe.\x94

\x93It would only be fair, sir.\x94

\x93No impertinence, young man! I won\x92t stand it! I don\x92t need any
instructions as to the manner of conducting my business.\x94

Phil by this time perceived that his discharge was decided upon without
any reference to the way in which he had performed his duties, and that
any discussion or remonstrance would be unavailing.

\x93I see, sir, that you have no regard for justice, and will leave you,\x94
 he said.

\x93You\x92d better, and without delay!\x94 said Pitkin irascibly.

Phil emerged upon the street with a sinking heart. His available funds
consisted only of the money he had just received and seventy-five cents
in change, and what he was to do he did not know. He walked home with
slow steps, looking sad in spite of his usually hopeful temperament.

When he entered the house he met Mrs. Forbush in the hall. She at once
noticed his gravity.

\x93Have you had any bad luck, Philip?\x94 she asked.

\x93Yes,\x94 answered Phil. \x93I have lost my situation.\x94

\x93Indeed!\x94 returned the landlady, with quick sympathy. \x93Have you had any
difficulty with your employer?\x94

\x93Not that I am aware of.\x94

\x93Did he assign any reason for your discharge?\x94

\x93No; I asked him for an explanation, but he merely said I was not wanted
any longer.\x94

\x93Isn\x92t there any chance of his taking you back?\x94

\x93I am sure there is not.\x94

\x93Don\x92t be discouraged, Philip. A smart boy like you won\x92t be long out of
a place. Meanwhile you are welcome to stay here as long as I have a roof
to cover me.\x94

\x93Thank you, Mrs. Forbush,\x94 said Phil warmly, \x93you are a true friend. You
are in trouble yourself, yet you stand by me!\x94

\x93I have had a stroke of good luck to-day,\x94 said Mrs. Forbush cheerfully.
\x93A former boarder, whom I allowed to remain here for five or six weeks
when he was out of employment, has sent me thirty dollars in payment of
his bill, from Boston, where he found a position. So I shall be able to
pay my rent and have something over. I have been lucky, and so may you.\x94

Phil was cheered by the ready sympathy of his landlady, and began to
take a more cheerful view of matters.

\x93I will go out bright and early on Monday and see if I can\x92t find
another place,\x94 he said. \x93Perhaps it may be all for the best.\x94

Yet on the day succeeding he had some sober hours. How differently
he had been situated only three months before. Then he had a home and
relatives. Now he was practically alone in the world, with no home
in which he could claim a share, and he did not even know where his
step-mother and Jonas were. Sunday forenoon he attended church, and
while he sat within its sacred precincts his mind was tranquilized, and
his faith and cheerfulness increased.

On Monday he bought the Herald, and made a tour of inquiry wherever he
saw that a boy was wanted. But in each place he was asked if he could
produce a recommendation from his last employer. He decided to go back
to his old place and ask for one, though he was very reluctant to ask
a favor of any kind from a man who had treated him so shabbily as Mr.
Pitkin. It seemed necessary, however, and he crushed down his pride and
made his way to Mr. Pitkin\x92s private office.

\x93Mr. Pitkin!\x94 he said.

\x93You here!\x94 exclaimed Pitkin, scowling. \x93You needn\x92t ask to be taken
back. It\x92s no use.\x94

\x93I don\x92t ask it,\x94 answered Phil.

\x93Then what are you here for?\x94

\x93I would like a letter of recommendation, that I may obtain another
place.\x94

\x93Well, well!\x94 said Pitkin, wagging his head. \x93If that isn\x92t impudence.\x94

\x93What is impudence?\x94 asked Phil. \x93I did as well as I could, and that I
am ready to do for another employer. But all ask me for a letter from
you.\x94

\x93You won\x92t get any!\x94 said Pitkin abruptly.

\x93Where is your home?\x94

\x93I have none except in this city.\x94

\x93Where did you come from?\x94

\x93From the country.\x94

\x93Then I advise you to go back there. You may do for the country. You are
out of place in the city.\x94

Poor Phil! Things did indeed look dark for him. Without a letter of
recommendation from Mr. Pitkin it would be almost impossible for him to
secure another place, and how could he maintain himself in the city? He
didn\x92t wish to sell papers or black boots, and those were about the only
paths now open to him.

\x93I am having a rough time!\x94 he thought, \x93but I will try not to get
discouraged.\x94

He turned upon his heel and walked out of the store.

As he passed the counter where Wilbur was standing, the young man said:

\x93I am awfully sorry, Philip. It\x92s a shame! If I wasn\x92t broke I\x92d offer
to lend you a fiver.\x94

\x93Thank you all the same for your kind offer, Wilbur,\x94 said Phil.

\x93Come round and see me.\x94

\x93So I will--soon.\x94

He left the store and wandered aimlessly about the streets.

Four days later, sick with hope deferred, he made his way down to the
wharf of the Charleston and Savannah boats, with a vague idea that he
might get a job of carrying baggage, for he felt that he must not let
his pride interfere with doing anything by which he could earn an honest
penny.

It so happened that the Charleston boat was just in, and the passengers
were just landing.

Phil stood on the pier and gazed listlessly at them as they disembarked.

All at once he started in surprise, and his heart beat joyfully.

There, just descending the gang-plank, was his tried friend, Mr. Oliver
Carter, whom he supposed over a thousand miles away in Florida.

\x93Mr. Carter!\x94 exclaimed Phil, dashing forward.

\x93Philip!\x94 exclaimed the old gentleman, much surprised. \x93How came you
here? Did Mr. Pitkin send you?\x94



CHAPTER XXIII.

AN EXPLANATION.

It would be hard to tell which of the two was the more surprised at the
meeting, Philip or Mr. Carter.

\x93I don\x92t understand how Mr. Pitkin came to hear of my return. I didn\x92t
telegraph,\x94 said the old gentleman.

\x93I don\x92t think he knows anything about it,\x94 said Phil.

\x93Didn\x92t he send you to the pier?\x94

\x93No, sir.\x94

\x93Then how is it that you are not in the store at this time?\x94 asked Mr.
Carter, puzzled.

\x93Because I am no longer in Mr. Pitkin\x92s employ. I was discharged last
Saturday.\x94

\x93Discharged! What for?\x94

\x93Mr. Pitkin gave no reason. He said my services were no longer
required. He spoke roughly to me, and has since declined to give me a
recommendation, though I told him that without it I should be unable to
secure employment elsewhere.\x94

Mr. Carter frowned. He was evidently annoyed and indignant.

\x93This must be inquired into,\x94 he said. \x93Philip, call a carriage, and I
will at once go to the Astor House and take a room. I had intended to
go at once to Mr. Pitkin\x92s, but I shall not do so until I have had an
explanation of this outrageous piece of business.\x94

Phil was rejoiced to hear this, for he was at the end of his resources,
and the outlook for him was decidedly gloomy. He had about made up his
mind to sink his pride and go into business as a newsboy the next day,
but the very unexpected arrival of Mr. Carter put quite a new face on
matters.

He called a carriage, and both he and Mr. Carter entered it.

\x93How do you happen to be back so soon, sir?\x94 asked Phil, when they were
seated. \x93I thought you were going to Florida for a couple of months.\x94

\x93I started with that intention, but on reaching Charleston I changed my
mind. I expected to find some friends at St. Augustine, but I learned
that they were already returning to the North, and I felt that I should
be lonely and decided to return. I am very glad I did, now. Did you
receive my letter?\x94

\x93Your letter?\x94 queried Philip, looking at Mr. Carter in surprise.

\x93Certainly. I gave Alonzo a letter for you, which I had directed to your
boarding-house, and requested him to mail it. It contained a ten-dollar
bill.\x94

\x93I never received any such letter, sir. It would have been of great
service to me--the money, I mean; for I have found it hard to live on
five dollars a week. Now I have not even that.\x94

\x93Is it possible that Alonzo could have suppressed the letter?\x94 said Mr.
Carter to himself.

\x93At any rate I never received it.\x94

\x93Here is something else to inquire into,\x94 said Mr. Carter. \x93If Alonzo
has tampered with my letter, perhaps appropriated the money, it will be
the worse for him.\x94

\x93I hardly think he would do that, sir; though I don\x92t like him.\x94

\x93You are generous; but I know the boy better than you do. He is fond of
money, not for the sake of spending it, but for the sake of hoarding it.
Tell me, then, how did you learn that I had gone to Florida?\x94

\x93I learned it at the house in Twelfth Street.\x94

\x93Then you called there?\x94

\x93Yes, sir; I called to see you. I found it hard to get along on my
salary, and I did not want Mrs. Forbush to lose by me, so I----\x94

\x93Mrs. Forbush?\x94 repeated the old gentleman quickly. \x93That name sounds
familiar to me.\x94

\x93Mrs. Forbush is your niece,\x94 said Phil, a hope rising in his heart that
he might be able to do his kind landlady a good turn.

\x93Did she tell you that?\x94

\x93No, sir; that is, I was ignorant of it until I met her just as I was
going away from Mrs. Pitkin\x92s.\x94

\x93Did she call there, too--to see me?\x94 asked the old gentleman.

\x93Yes, sir; but she got a very cold reception. Mrs. Pitkin was very rude
to her, and said that you were so much prejudiced against her that she
had better not call again.\x94

\x93That\x92s like her cold selfishness. I understand her motives very well. I
had no idea that Mrs. Forbush was in the city. Is she--poor?\x94

\x93Yes, sir; she is having a hard struggle to maintain herself and her
daughter.\x94

\x93And you board at her house?\x94

\x93Yes, sir.\x94

\x93How strangely things come about! She is as nearly related to me as
Lavinia--Mrs. Pitkin.\x94

\x93She told me so.\x94

\x93She married against the wishes of her family, but I can see now that we
were all unreasonably prejudiced against her. Lavinia, however, trumped
up stories against her husband, which I am now led to believe were quite
destitute of foundation, and did all she could to keep alive the feud. I
feel now that I was very foolish to lend myself to her selfish ends. Of
course her object was to get my whole fortune for herself and her boy.\x94

Phil had no doubt of this, but he did not like to say so, for it would
seem that he, too, was influenced by selfish motives.

\x93Then you are not so much prejudiced against Mrs. Forbush as she was
told?\x94 he allowed himself to say.

\x93No, no!\x94 said Mr. Carter earnestly. \x93Poor Rebecca! She has a much
better nature and disposition than Mrs. Pitkin. And you say she is
poor?\x94

\x93She had great difficulty in paying her last month\x92s rent,\x94 said Philip.

\x93Where does she live?\x94

Phil told him.

\x93What sort of a house is it?\x94

\x93It isn\x92t a brown-stone front,\x94 answered Phil, smiling. \x93It is a poor,
cheap house; but it is as good as she can afford to hire.\x94

\x93And you like her?\x94

\x93Very much, Mr. Carter. She has been very kind to me, and though she
finds it so hard to get along, she has told me she will keep me as long
as she has a roof over her head, though just now I cannot pay my board,
because my income is gone.\x94

\x93It will come back again, Philip,\x94 said the old gentleman.

Phil understood by this that he would be restored to his place in Mr.
Pitkin\x92s establishment. This did not yield him unalloyed satisfaction,
for he was sure that it would be made unpleasant for him by Mr. Pitkin.
Still he would accept it, and meet disagreeable things as well as he
could.

By this time they had reached the Astor House.

Phil jumped out first, and assisted Mr. Carter to descend.

He took Mr. Carter\x92s hand-bag, and followed him into the hotel.

Mr. Carter entered his name in the register.

\x93What is your name?\x94 he asked--\x93Philip Brent?\x94

\x93Yes, sir.\x94

\x93I will enter your name, too.\x94

\x93Am I to stay here?\x94 asked Phil, in surprise.

\x93Yes; I shall need a confidential clerk, and for the present you will
fill that position. I will take two adjoining rooms--one for you.\x94

Phil listened in surprise.

\x93Thank you, sir,\x94 he said.

Mr. Carter gave orders to have his trunk sent for from the steamer, and
took possession of the room. Philip\x92s room was smaller, but considerably
more luxurious than the one he occupied at the house of Mrs. Forbush.

\x93Have you any money, Philip?\x94 asked the old gentleman.

\x93I have twenty-five cents,\x94 answered Philip.

\x93That isn\x92t a very large sum,\x94 said Mr. Carter, smiling. \x93Here, let me
replenish your pocketbook.\x94

He drew four five-dollar bills from his wallet and handed them to Phil.

\x93How can I thank you, sir?\x94 asked Phil gratefully.

\x93Wait till you have more to thank me for. Let me tell you this, that in
trying to harm you, Mr. and Mrs. Pitkin have done you a great service.\x94

\x93I should like to see Mrs. Forbush this evening, if you can spare me, to
let her know that she needn\x92t be anxious about me.\x94

\x93By all means. You can go.\x94

\x93Am I at liberty to mention that I have seen you, sir?\x94

\x93Yes. Tell her that I will call to-morrow. And you may take her this.\x94

Mr. Carter drew a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and passed it to
Phil.

\x93Get it changed at the office as you go out,\x94 he said. \x93Come back as
soon as you can.\x94

With a joyful heart Phil jumped on a Fourth Avenue car in front of the
hotel, and started on his way up town.



CHAPTER XXIV.

RAISING THE RENT.

Leaving Phil, we will precede him to the house of Mrs. Forbush.

She had managed to pay the rent due, but she was not out of trouble. The
time had come when it was necessary to decide whether she would retain
the house for the following year. In New York, as many of my young
readers may know, the first of May is moving-day, and leases generally
begin at that date. Engagements are made generally by or before March
1st.

Mr. Stone, the landlord, called upon the widow to ascertain whether she
proposed to remain in the house.

\x93I suppose I may as well do so,\x94 said Mrs. Forbush.

She had had difficulty in making her monthly payments, but to move
would involve expense, and it might be some time before she could secure
boarders in a new location.

\x93You can\x92t do better,\x94 said the landlord. \x93At fifty dollars a month this
is a very cheap house.\x94

\x93You mean forty-five? Mr. Stone?\x94 said Mrs. Forbush.

\x93No, I don\x92t,\x94 said the landlord.

\x93But that is what I have been paying this last year.\x94

\x93That is true, but I ought to get fifty dollars, and if you won\x92t pay it
somebody else will.\x94

\x93Mr. Stone,\x94 said the widow, in a troubled voice, \x93I hope you will
be considerate. It has been as much as I could do to get together
forty-five dollars each month to pay you. Indeed, I can pay no more.\x94

\x93Pardon me for saying that that is no affair of mine,\x94 said the landlord
brusquely. \x93If you can\x92t pay the rent, by all means move into a smaller
house. If you stay here you must be prepared to pay fifty dollars a
month.\x94

\x93I don\x92t see how I can,\x94 answered the widow in dejection.

\x93I\x92ll give you three days to consider it,\x94 said the landlord
indifferently. \x93You\x92ll make a mistake if you give the house up. However,
that is your affair.\x94

The landlord left the house, and Mrs. Forbush sat down depressed.

\x93Julia,\x94 she said to her daughter, \x93I wish you were old enough to advise
me. I dislike to move, but I don\x92t dare to engage to pay such a rent.
Fifty dollars a month will amount to----\x94

\x93Six hundred dollars a year!\x94 said Julia, who was good at figures.

\x93And that seems a great sum to us.\x94

\x93It would be little enough to Mrs. Pitkin,\x94 said Julia, who felt that
lady\x92s prosperity unjust, while her poor, patient mother had to struggle
so hard for a scanty livelihood.

\x93Oh, yes; Lavinia is rolling in wealth,\x94 sighed Mrs. Forbush. \x93I can\x92t
understand how Uncle Oliver can bestow his favors on so selfish a
woman.\x94

\x93Why don\x92t you ask Philip\x92s advice about keeping the house?\x94 said Julia.

It must be explained that Philip and Julia were already excellent
friends, and it may be said that each was mutually attracted by the
other.

\x93Poor Philip has his own troubles,\x94 said Mrs. Forbush. \x93He has lost his
place through the malice and jealousy of Mr. and Mrs. Pitkin, for I am
sure that Lavinia is the cause of his dismissal, and I don\x92t know when
he will be able to get another.\x94

\x93You won\x92t send him away, mother, if he can\x92t pay his board?\x94

\x93No,\x94 answered her mother warmly. \x93Philip is welcome to stay with us as
long as we have a roof over our heads, whether he can pay his board or
not.\x94

This answer seemed very satisfactory to Julia, who rose impulsively and
kissed her mother.

\x93That\x92s a good mother,\x94 she said. \x93It would be a pity to send poor
Philip into the street.\x94

\x93You seem to like Philip,\x94 said Mrs. Forbush, smiling faintly.

\x93Yes, mother. You know I haven\x92t any brother, and Phil seems just like a
brother to me.\x94

Just then the door opened, and Philip himself entered the room.

Generally he came home looking depressed, after a long and ineffectual
search for employment. Now he was fairly radiant with joy.

\x93Phil, you\x92ve got a place; I know you have!\x94 exclaimed Julia, noticing
his glad expression. \x93Where is it? Is it a good one?\x94

\x93Have you really got a place, Philip?\x94 asked Mrs. Forbush.

\x93Yes, for the present.\x94

\x93Do you think you shall like your employer?\x94

\x93He is certainly treating me very well,\x94 said Phil, smiling. \x93He has
paid me twenty dollars in advance.\x94

\x93Then the age of wonders has not passed,\x94 said the widow. \x93Of course I
believe you, Philip, but it seems extraordinary.\x94

\x93There is something more extraordinary to come,\x94 said Phil. \x93He has sent
you some money, too.\x94

\x93Me!\x94 exclaimed Mrs. Forbush, in great surprise.

\x93What can he know about me?\x94

\x93I told him about you.\x94

\x93But we are strangers.\x94

\x93He used to know you, and still feels an interest in you, Mrs. Forbush.\x94

\x93Who can it be?\x94 said the widow, looking bewildered.

\x93I don\x92t want to keep you in suspense any longer, so I may as well say
that it is your Uncle Oliver.\x94

\x93Uncle Oliver! Why, he is in Florida.\x94

\x93No; he came home from Charleston. I happened to be at the pier--I went
down to see if I could get a job at smashing baggage--when I saw him
walking down the gang-plank.\x94

\x93Has he gone to his old quarters at Mr. Pitkin\x92s?\x94

\x93No; what I told about the way they treated you and me made him angry,
and he drove to the Astor House. I have a room there, too, and am to act
as his private secretary.\x94

\x93So that is your new situation, Phil?\x94 said Julia.

\x93Yes, and it is a good one.\x94

\x93And he really feels kindly to me?\x94 said Mrs. Forbush hopefully.

\x93He sends you this and will call to-morrow,\x94 said Phil. \x93Actions speak
louder than words. There are a hundred dollars in this roll of bills.\x94

\x93He sent all this to me?\x94 she said.

\x93Yes, and of his own accord. It was no suggestion of mine.

\x93Julia,\x94 said Mrs. Forbush, turning to her daughter, \x93I believe God has
heard my prayer, and that better days are in store for all of us.\x94

\x93Philip included,\x94 added Phil, smiling.

\x93Yes. I want you to share in our good fortune.\x94

\x93Mother, you had better consult Phil about keeping the house.\x94

\x93Oh, yes.\x94

Mrs. Forbush thereupon told Philip of the landlord\x92s visit and his
proposal to ask a higher rent.

\x93I hesitated about taking the house,\x94 she said; \x93but with this handsome
gift from Uncle Oliver, I don\x92t know but I may venture. What do you
think?\x94

\x93I think, Mrs. Forbush, you had better not decide till you have seen
your uncle. He may have some plan of his own for you. At any rate, you
had better consult him. He will call to-morrow. And now, let me pay you
for my week\x92s board.\x94

\x93No, Philip. I shall not want it with all this money, which I should not
have received but for you.\x94

\x93A debt is a debt, Mrs. Forbush, and I prefer to pay it. I shall not be
here to supper, as Mr. Carter is expecting me back to the Astor House. I
shall probably come with him when he calls upon you to-morrow.\x94

On his return to the hotel, as he was walking on Broadway, Phil came
face to face with Alonzo Pitkin.

\x93I think I\x92ll ask him about that letter his uncle gave him to post to
me,\x94 thought Phil, and he waited until Alonzo was close at hand.



CHAPTER XXV.

ALONZO IS PUZZLED.

Alonzo, who had his share of curiosity, as soon as he saw Phil\x92s
approach, determined to speak to him, and ascertain what were his plans
and what he was doing. With the petty malice which he inherited from his
mother, he hoped that Phil had been unable to find a place and was in
distress.

\x93It would serve him right,\x94 said Alonzo to himself, \x93for trying to get
into Uncle Oliver\x92s good graces. I s\x92pose he would like to cut me out,
but he\x92ll find that he can\x92t fight against ma and me.\x94

\x93Oh, it\x92s you, is it?\x94 was Alonzo\x92s salutation when they met.

\x93Yes,\x94 answered Phil.

\x93Pa bounced you, didn\x92t he?\x94 continued Alonzo complacently.

\x93Yes,\x94 answered Phil. \x93That is, he discharged me. I suppose that is what
you meant.\x94

\x93You\x92ve got it right the first time,\x94 said Alonzo.

\x93Have you got another place?\x94

\x93Do you ask because you feel interested in me?\x94 asked Phil.

\x93Well, not particularly,\x94 answered Alonzo appearing quite amused by the
suggestion.

\x93Then you ask out of curiosity?\x94

\x93S\x92pose I do?\x94

\x93I don\x92t mind telling you that I have found a place, then.\x94

\x93What sort of a place?\x94 asked Alonzo, disappointed.

\x93There is no need of going into particulars.\x94

\x93No. I s\x92pose not,\x94 sneered Alonzo. \x93You\x92re probably selling papers or
blacking boots.\x94

\x93You are mistaken. I have a much better situation than I had with your
father.\x94

Alonzo\x92s lower jaw fell. He was very sorry to hear it.

\x93Didn\x92t your employer ask for a recommendation?\x94

\x93He didn\x92t seem to think one necessary!\x94 replied Phil.

\x93If he\x92d known pa had sacked you, he wouldn\x92t have wanted you, I guess.\x94

\x93He knows it. Have you got through asking questions, Alonzo?\x94

\x93You are too familiar. You can call me Mr. Pitkin.\x94

Phil laughed at Alonzo\x92s assumption of dignity, but made no comment upon
it.

\x93I want to ask you what you did with that letter Mr. Carter gave you to
post for me?\x94 asked Phil.

Alonzo was indeed surprised, not to say dismayed. The truth was that,
judging from the \x93feel\x94 of the letter, it contained money, and he had
opened it and appropriated the money to his own use. Moreover he had
the bank-note in his pocket at that very moment, not having any wish to
spend, but rather to hoard it.

\x93That\x92s a queer question,\x94 he stammered. \x93What letter do you refer to?\x94

\x93A letter Mr. Carter gave you to mail to me.\x94

\x93If he gave me any such letter I mailed it,\x94 answered Alonzo, scarcely
knowing what to say.

\x93I didn\x92t receive it.\x94

\x93How do you know he gave me any letter?\x94 demanded Alonzo, puzzled.

\x93I don\x92t care to tell. I only know that there was such a letter handed
to you. Do you know what was in it?\x94

\x93Writing, I s\x92pose,\x94 said Alonzo flippantly.

\x93Yes, there was, but there was also a ten-dollar bill. I didn\x92t receive
the letter,\x94 and Phil fixed his eyes searchingly upon the face of
Alonzo.

\x93That\x92s a pretty story!\x94 said Alonzo. \x93I don\x92t believe Uncle Oliver
would be such a fool as to send you ten dollars. If he did, you got it,
and now want to get as much more, pretending you haven\x92t received it.\x94

\x93You are mistaken,\x94 said Phil quietly.

\x93If you didn\x92t get the letter, how do you know any was written, and that
there was anything in it?\x94 asked Alonzo triumphantly, feeling that the
question was a crusher.

\x93I don\x92t care to tell you how I know it. Do you deny it?\x94

\x93I don\x92t remember whether Uncle Oliver gave me any letter or not.\x94

\x93Will you be kind enough to give me his address in Florida, so that I
may write to him and find out?\x94

\x93No, I won\x92t,\x94 said Alonzo angrily, \x93and I think you are very cheeky
to ask such a thing. Ma was right when she said that you were the most
impudent boy she ever came across.\x94

\x93That\x92s enough, Alonzo,\x94 said Phil quietly. \x93I\x92ve found out all I wanted
to.\x94

\x93What have you found out?\x94 asked Alonzo, his tone betraying some
apprehension.

\x93Never mind. I think I know what became of that letter.\x94

\x93Do you mean to say I opened it and took out the money?\x94 demanded
Alonzo, reddening.

\x93I wouldn\x92t charge anybody with such a mean act, unless I felt satisfied
of it.\x94

\x93You\x92d better not!\x94 said Alonzo, in a bullying tone. \x93If I find out who
you\x92re working for, I\x92ll let him know that pa bounced you.\x94

\x93Just as you please! I don\x92t think that any words of yours will injure
me with the gentleman I have the good fortune to work for.\x94

\x93Don\x92t you be too sure! If you think he wouldn\x92t mind a boy, I\x92ll refer
him to pa and ma. They\x92ll give you a good setting out.\x94

\x93I don\x92t doubt it,\x94 said Phil indifferently, and turned to go away.

He was called back by Alonzo, who had not quite satisfied his curiosity.

\x93Say, are you boarding with that woman who came to see ma the same day
you were at the house?\x94 he asked.

\x93No; I have left her.\x94

Alonzo looked well pleased. He knew that his mother felt rather uneasy
at the two being together, dreading lest they should make a concerted
attempt to ingratiate themselves with her rich uncle.

\x93Ma says she behaved very badly,\x94 Alonzo could not help adding.

\x93Mrs. Forbush is an excellent Lady,\x94 said Phil warmly, for he could not
hear one of his friends spoken against.

\x93Lady! She\x92s as poor as poverty,\x94 sneered Alonzo.

\x93She is none the worse for that.\x94

\x93Uncle Oliver can\x92t bear her!\x94

\x93Indeed!\x94 said Phil; pausing to see what else Alonzo would say.

\x93Ma says she disgraced herself, and all her relations gave her up. When
you see her tell her she had better not come sneaking round the house
again.\x94

\x93If you will write a letter to that effect, I will see that she gets
it,\x94 said Phil. \x93That letter won\x92t miscarry.\x94

\x93I don\x92t care to take any notice of her,\x94 said Alonzo loftily.

\x93You are very kind to have wasted so much notice upon me,\x94 said Phil,
amused.

Alonzo did not see fit to answer this, but walked away with his head in
the air. He was, however, not quite easy in mind.

\x93How in the world,\x94 he asked himself, \x93could that boy have found out
that Uncle Oliver gave me a letter to post? If he should learn that I
opened it and took the money, there\x92d be a big fuss. I guess I\x92d
better not meet him again. If I see him any day I\x92ll go in a different
direction. He\x92s so artful he may get me into trouble.\x94

It is needless to say that neither Mr. or Mrs. Pitkin knew of Alonzo\x92s
tampering with the letter. Much as they would have been opposed to
Phil\x92s receiving such a letter, they would have been too wise to
sanction such a bold step.

\x93Well,\x94 said Mr. Carter, when Phil returned, \x93did you see Rebecca--Mrs.
Forbush?\x94

\x93Yes, sir, and handed her the money. She was overjoyed; not so much at
receiving so generous a sum as at learning that you were reconciled to
her.\x94

\x93Poor girl!\x94 said the old man, forgetting that she was now a worn woman.
\x93I am afraid that she must have suffered much.\x94

\x93She has met with many hardships, sir, but she won\x92t mind them now.\x94

\x93If I live her future shall be brighter than her past. I will call
to-morrow. You, Philip, shall go with me.\x94

\x93I should like to do so, sir. By the way, I met Alonzo on Broadway.\x94

He detailed the conversation that had taken place between them.

\x93I am afraid he took the money,\x94 said Mr. Carter. \x93I am sorry any
relative of mine should have acted in that way. Let him keep it. Any
benefit he may derive from it will prove to have been dearly purchased.\x94



CHAPTER XXVI.

A WONDERFUL CHANGE.

\x93You may order a carriage, Philip,\x94 said Mr. Carter the next morning.
\x93Pick out a handsome one with seats for four.\x94

\x93Yes, sir.\x94

In five minutes the carriage was at the door.

\x93Now, Philip, we will go to see my long-neglected niece, Mrs. Forbush.
Give the driver the necessary directions.\x94

\x93Mrs. Forbush does not have many carriage-callers,\x94 said Philip,
smiling.

\x93Perhaps she will have more hereafter,\x94 said Mr. Carter, \x93I ought not
so long to have lost sight of her. I always liked Rebecca better than
Lavinia, yet I let the latter prejudice me against her cousin, who is
in disposition, education and sincerity her superior. You see, Philip,
there are old fools in the world as well as young ones.\x94

\x93It is never too late to mend, Mr. Carter,\x94 said Phil, smiling.

\x93That\x92s very true, even if it is a young philosopher who says it.\x94

\x93I don\x92t claim any originality for it, Mr. Carter.\x94

\x93By the way, Philip, I have noticed that you always express yourself
very correctly. Your education must be good.\x94

\x93Yes, sir, thanks to my father, or the man whom I always regarded as my
father. I am a fair Latin scholar, and know something of Greek.\x94

\x93Were you preparing for college?\x94 asked Mr. Carter, with interest.

\x93Yes, sir.\x94

\x93Would you like to go?\x94

\x93I should have gone had father lived, but my step-mother said it was
foolishness and would be money thrown away.\x94

\x93Perhaps she preferred to incur that expense for her own son?\x94 suggested
the old gentleman.

\x93Jonas wouldn\x92t consent to that. He detests study, and would decidedly
object to going to college.\x94

\x93By the way, you haven\x92t heard from them lately?\x94

\x93Only that they have left our old home and gone no one knows where.\x94

\x93That is strange.\x94

By this time they had reached the humble dwelling occupied by Mrs.
Forbush.

\x93And so this is where Rebecca lives?\x94 said Mr. Carter.

\x93Yes, sir. It is not quite so nice as Mrs. Pitkin\x92s.\x94

\x93No,\x94 returned Mr. Carter thoughtfully.

Philip rang the bell, and the two were admitted into the humble parlor.
They had not long to wait for Mrs. Forbush, who, with an agitation which
she could not overcome, entered the presence of her long estranged and
wealthy uncle.

\x93Rebecca!\x94 exclaimed the old gentleman, rising, and showing some emotion
as he saw the changes which fifteen years had made in the niece whom he
had last met as a girl.

\x93Uncle Oliver! how kind you are to visit me!\x94 cried Mrs. Forbush, the
tears starting from her eyes.

\x93Kind! Nonsense! I have been very unkind to neglect you so long. But it
wasn\x92t all my fault. There were others who did all they could to keep us
apart. You have lost your husband?\x94

\x93Yes, uncle. He was poor, but he was one of the kindest and best of men,
and made me happy.\x94

\x93I begin to think I have been an old fool, Rebecca. Philip thinks so,
too.\x94

\x93Oh, Mr. Carter!\x94 exclaimed our hero.

\x93Yes, you do, Philip,\x94 asserted Mr. Carter, \x93and you are quite right.
However, as you told me, it is never too late to mend.\x94

\x93Mrs. Forbush will think I take strange liberties with you, sir.\x94

\x93I don\x92t object to good advice, even from a boy. But who is this?\x94

Julia had just entered the room. She was a bright, attractive girl, but
held back bashfully until her mother said:

\x93Julia, this is Uncle Oliver Carter. You have heard me speak of him.\x94

\x93Yes, mamma.\x94

\x93And scold about him, I dare say. Well, Julia, come and give your old
uncle a kiss.\x94

Julia blushed, but obeyed her uncle\x92s request.

\x93I should know she was your child, Rebecca. She looks as you did at her
age. Now tell me, have you any engagement this morning, you two?\x94

\x93No, Uncle Oliver.\x94

\x93Then I will find one for you. I have a carriage at the door. You will
please put on your bonnets. We are going shopping.\x94

\x93Shopping?\x94

\x93Yes, I am going to fit out both of you in a manner more befitting
relatives of mine. The fact is, Niece Rebecca, you are actually shabby.\x94

\x93I know it, uncle, but there has been so many ways of spending money
that I have had to neglect my dress.

\x93Very likely. I understand. Things are different now. Now, don\x92t be over
an hour getting ready!\x94

\x93We are not fashionable, uncle,\x94 said Mrs. Forbush, \x93and we haven\x92t any
change to make.\x94

They entered the carriage, and drove to a large and fashionable store,
where everything necessary to a lady\x92s toilet, including dresses quite
complete, could be obtained. Mrs. Forbush was in favor of selecting very
plain articles, but her uncle overruled her, and pointed out costumes
much more costly.

\x93But, uncle,\x94 objected Mrs. Forbush, \x93these things won\x92t at all
correspond with our plain home and mode of living. Think of a
boarding-house keeper arrayed like a fine lady.\x94

\x93You are going to give up taking boarders--that is, you will have none
but Philip and myself.\x94

\x93Will you really live with us, uncle? But the house is too poor.\x94

\x93Of course it is, but you are going to move. I will speak further on
this point when you are through your purchases.\x94

At length the shopping was over, and they re-entered the carriage.

\x93Drive to No.-- Madison Avenue,\x94 said Mr. Carter to the driver.

\x93Uncle Oliver, you have given the wrong direction.\x94

\x93No, Rebecca, I know what I am about.\x94

\x93Do you live on Madison Avenue?\x94 asked Mrs. Forbush.

\x93I am going to and so are you. You must know that I own a furnished
house on Madison Avenue. The late occupants sailed for Europe last week,
and I was looking out for a tenant when I found you. You will move there
to-morrow, and act as house keeper, taking care of Philip and myself. I
hope Julia and you will like it as well as your present home.\x94

\x93How can I thank you for all your kindness, Uncle Oliver?\x94 said Mrs.
Forbush, with joyful tears. \x93It will be living once more. It will be
such a rest from the hard struggle I have had of late years.\x94

\x93You can repay me by humoring all my whims,\x94 said Uncle Oliver, smiling.
\x93You will find me very tyrannical. The least infraction of my rules will
lead me to send you all packing.\x94

\x93Am I to be treated in the same way, Mr. Carter?\x94 asked Philip.

\x93Exactly.\x94

\x93Then, if you discharge me, I will fly for refuge to Mr. Pitkin.\x94

\x93That will be \x91out of the frying-pan into the fire\x92 with a vengeance.\x94

By this time they had reached the house. It was an elegant brown-stone
front, and proved, on entrance, to be furnished in the most complete and
elegant manner. Mr. Carter selected the second floor for his own use;
a good-sized room on the third was assigned to Philip, and Mrs. Forbush
was told to select such rooms for Julia and herself as she desired.

\x93This is much finer than Mrs. Pitkin\x92s house,\x94 said Philip.

\x93Yes, it is.\x94

\x93She will be jealous when she hears of it.\x94

\x93No doubt. That is precisely what I desire. It will be a fitting
punishment for her treatment of her own cousin.\x94

It was arranged that on the morrow Mrs. Forbush and Julia should close
their small house, leaving directions to sell the humble furniture at
auction, while Mr. Carter and Philip would come up from the Astor House.

\x93What will the Pitkins say when they hear of it?\x94 thought Philip. \x93I am
afraid they will feel bad.\x94



CHAPTER XXVII.

AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE.

While these important changes were occurring in the lives of Philip
Brent and the poor cousin, Mrs. Pitkin remained in blissful ignorance
of what was going on. Alonzo had told her of his encounter with Phil on
Broadway and the intelligence our hero gave him of his securing a place.

\x93You may rest assured the boy was lying, Lonny,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin.
\x93Boys don\x92t get places so easily, especially when they can\x92t give a
recommendation from their last employer.

\x93That\x92s just what I thought, ma,\x94 said Alonzo.

\x93Still Phil looked in good spirits, and he was as saucy as ever.\x94

\x93I can believe the last very well, Lonny. The boy is naturally
impertinent. They were probably put on to deceive you.\x94

\x93But how does he get money to pay his way?\x94 said Alonzo puzzled.

\x93As to that, he is probably selling papers or blacking boots in the
lower part of the city. He could make enough to live on, and of course
he wouldn\x92t let you know what he was doing.\x94

\x93I hope you\x92re right, ma. I\x92d give ever so much to catch him blacking
boots in City Hall Park, or anywhere else; I\x92d give him a job. Wouldn\x92t
he feel mortified to be caught?\x94

\x93No doubt he would.\x94

\x93I\x92ve a great mind to go down town to-morrow and look about for him.\x94

\x93Very well, Lonny. You may to if you want to.\x94

Alonzo did go; but he looked in vain for Phil. The latter was employed
in doing some writing and attending to some accounts for Mr. Carter, who
had by this time found that his protege was thoroughly well qualified
for such work.

So nearly a week passed. It so chanced that though Uncle Oliver had now
been in New York a considerable time, not one of the Pitkins had met him
or had reason to suspect that he was nearer than Florida.

One day, however, among Mrs. Pitkin\x92s callers was Mrs. Vangriff, a
fashionable acquaintance.

\x93Mr. Oliver Carter is your uncle, I believe?\x94 said the visitor.

\x93Yes.\x94

\x93I met him on Broadway the other day. He was looking very well.\x94

\x93It must have been a fortnight since, then. Uncle Oliver is in Florida.\x94

\x93In Florida!\x94 repeated Mrs. Vangriff, in surprise.

\x93When did he go?\x94

\x93When was it, Lonny?\x94 asked Mrs. Pitkin, appealing to her son.

\x93It will be two weeks next Thursday.\x94

\x93There must be some mistake,\x94 said the visitor.

\x93I saw Mr. Carter on Broadway, near Twentieth Street, day before
yesterday.\x94

\x93Quite a mistake, I assure you, Mrs. Vangriff,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin,
smiling. \x93It was some other person. You were deceived by a fancied
resemblance.\x94

\x93It is you who are wrong, Mrs. Pitkin,\x94 said Mrs. Vangriff, positively.
\x93I am somewhat acquainted with Mr. Carter, and I stopped to speak with
him.\x94

\x93Are you sure of this?\x94 asked Mrs. Pitkin, looking startled.

\x93Certainly, I am sure of it.\x94

\x93Did you call him by name?\x94

\x93Certainly; and even inquired after you. He answered that he believed
you were well. I thought he was living with you?\x94

\x93So he was,\x94 answered Mrs. Pitkin coolly as possible, considering the
startling nature of the information she had received. \x93Probably Uncle
Oliver returned sooner than he anticipated, and was merely passing
through the city. He has important business interests at the West.\x94

\x93I don\x92t think he was merely passing through the city, for a friend of
mine saw him at the Fifth Avenue Theater last evening.\x94

Mrs. Pitkin actually turned as pale as her sallow complexion would
admit.

\x93I am rather surprised to hear this, I admit,\x94 she said. \x93Was he alone,
do you know?\x94

\x93No; he had a lady and a boy with him.\x94

\x93Is it possible that Uncle Oliver has been married to some designing
widow?\x94 Mrs. Pitkin asked herself. \x93It is positively terrible!\x94

She did not dare to betray her agitation before Mrs. Vangriff, and
sat on thorns till that lady saw fit to take leave. Then she turned to
Alonzo and said, in a hollow voice:

\x93Lonny, you heard what that woman said?\x94

\x93You bet!\x94

\x93Do you think Uncle Oliver has gone and got married again?\x94 she asked,
in a hollow voice.

\x93I shouldn\x92t wonder a mite, ma,\x94 was the not consolitary reply.

\x93If so, what will become of us? My poor boy, I looked upon you and
myself as likely to receive all of Uncle Oliver\x92s handsome property. As
it is----\x94 and she almost broke down.

\x93Perhaps he\x92s only engaged?\x94 suggested Alonzo.

\x93To be sure!\x94 said his mother, brightening up.

\x93If so, the affair may yet be broken off. Oh, Lonny, I never thought
your uncle was so artful. His trip to Florida was only a trick to put us
off the scent.\x94

\x93What are you going to do about it, ma?\x94

\x93I must find out as soon as possible where Uncle Oliver is staying. Then
I will see him, and try to cure him of his infatuation. He is evidently
trying to keep us in the dark, or he would have come back to his rooms.\x94

\x93How are you going to find out, ma?\x94

\x93I don\x92t know. That\x92s what puzzles me.\x94

\x93S\x92pose you hire a detective?\x94

\x93I wouldn\x92t dare to. Your uncle would be angry when he found it out.\x94

\x93Do you s\x92pose Phil knows anything about it?\x94 suggested Alonzo.

\x93I don\x92t know; it is hardly probable. Do you know where he lives?\x94

\x93With the woman who called here and said she was your cousin.\x94

\x93Yes, I remember, Lonny. I will order the carriage, and we will go
there. But you must be very careful not to let them know Uncle Oliver is
in New York. I don\x92t wish them to meet him.\x94

\x93All right! I ain\x92t a fool. You can trust me, ma.\x94

Soon the Pitkin carriage was as the door, and Mrs. Pitkin and Alonzo
entered it, and were driven to the shabby house so recently occupied by
Mrs. Forbush.

\x93It\x92s a low place!\x94 said Alonzo contemptuously, as he regarded
disdainfully the small dwelling.

\x93Yes; but I suppose it is as good as she can afford to live in. Lonny,
will you get out and ring the bell? Ask if Mrs. Forbush lives there.\x94

Alonzo did as requested.

The door was opened by a small girl, whose shabby dress was in harmony
with the place.

\x93Rebecca\x92s child, I suppose!\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin, who was looking out of
the carriage window.

\x93Does Mrs. Forbush live here?\x94 asked Alonzo.

\x93No, she doesn\x92t. Mrs. Kavanagh lives here.\x94

\x93Didn\x92t Mrs. Forbush used to live here?\x94 further asked Alonzo, at the
suggestion of his mother.

\x93I believe she did. She moved out a week ago.\x94

\x93Do you know where she moved to?\x94

\x93No, I don\x92t.\x94

\x93Does a boy named Philip Brent live here?\x94

\x93No, he doesn\x92t.\x94

\x93Do you know why Mrs. Forbush moved away?\x94 asked Alonzo again, at the
suggestion of his mother.

\x93Guess she couldn\x92t pay her rent.\x94

\x93Very likely,\x94 said Alonzo, who at last had received an answer with
which he was pleased.

\x93Well, ma, there isn\x92t any more to find out here,\x94 he said.

\x93Tell the driver--home!\x94 said his mother.

When they reached the house in Twelfth Street, there was a surprise in
store for them.

\x93Who do you think\x92s up-stairs, mum?\x94 said Hannah, looking important.

\x93Who? Tell me quick!\x94

\x93It\x92s your Uncle Oliver, mum, just got home from Florida; but I guess
he\x92s going somewhere else mum, for he\x92s packing up his things.\x94

\x93Alonzo, we will go up and see him,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin, excited. \x93I must
know what all this means.\x94



CHAPTER XXVIII.

AN UNSATISFACTORY CONFERENCE.

Mr. Carter was taking articles from a bureau and packing them away in an
open trunk, when Mrs. Pitkin entered with Alonzo. It is needless to
say that his niece regarded his employment with dismay, for it showed
clearly that he proposed to leave the shelter of her roof.

\x93Uncle Oliver!\x94 she exclaimed, sinking into a chair and gazing at the
old gentleman spell-bound.

Mr. Carter, whose back had been turned, turned about and faced his
niece.

\x93Oh, it is you, Lavinia!\x94 he said quietly.

\x93What are you doing?\x94 asked his niece.

\x93As you see, I am packing my trunk.\x94

\x93Do you intend to leave us?\x94 faltered Mrs. Pitkin.

\x93I think it will be well for me to make a change,\x94 said Mr. Carter.

\x93This is, indeed, a sad surprise,\x94 said Mrs Pitkin mournfully. \x93When did
you return from Florida?\x94

\x93I have never been there. I changed my mind when I reached Charleston.\x94

\x93How long have you been in the city?\x94

\x93About a week.\x94

\x93And never came near us. This is, indeed, unkind. In what way have we
offended you?\x94 and Mrs. Pitkin put her handkerchief to her eyes.

There were no tears in them, but she was making an attempt to touch the
heart of her uncle.

\x93Are you aware that Rebecca Forbush is in the city?\x94 asked the old
gentleman abruptly.

\x93Ye-es,\x94 answered Mrs. Pitkin, startled.

\x93Have you seen her?\x94

\x93Ye-es. She came here one day.\x94

\x93And how did you treat her?\x94 asked Mr. Carter, severely. \x93Did you not
turn the poor woman from the house, having no regard for her evident
poverty? Did you not tell her that I was very angry with her, and would
not hear her name mentioned?\x94

\x93Ye-es, I may have said so. You know, Uncle Oliver, you have held no
communication with her for many years.\x94

\x93That is true--more shame to me!\x94

\x93And I thought I was carrying out your wishes in discouraging her
visits.\x94

\x93You also thought that she might be a dangerous rival in my favor, and
might deprive you and Alonzo of an expected share in my estate.\x94

\x93Oh, Uncle Oliver! how can you think so poorly of me?\x94

Mr. Carter eyed his niece with a half-smile.

\x93So I do you injustice, do I, Lavinia?\x94 he returned.

\x93Yes, great injustice.\x94

\x93I am glad to hear it. I feel less objection now to telling you what are
my future plans.\x94

\x93What are they?\x94 asked Mrs. Pitkin apprehensively.

\x93I have lived for ten years under your roof, and have had no
communication, as you say, with Rebecca. I think it is only fair now
that I should show her some attention. I have accordingly installed her
as mistress of my house in Madison Avenue, and shall henceforth make my
home with her.\x94

Mrs. Pitkin felt as if the earth was sinking under her feet. The hopes
and schemes of so many years had come to naught, and her hated and
dreaded cousin was to be constantly in the society of the rich uncle.

\x93Rebecca has played her cards well,\x94 she said bitterly.

\x93She has not played them at all. She did not seek me. I sought her.\x94

\x93How did you know she was in the city?\x94

\x93I learned it from--Philip!\x94

There was fresh dismay.

\x93So that boy has wormed his way into your confidence!\x94 said Mrs.
Pitkin bitterly. \x93After acting so badly that Mr. Pitkin was obliged to
discharge him, he ran to you to do us a mischief.\x94

\x93Why was he discharged?\x94 demanded Mr. Carter sternly. \x93Why did your
husband seize the opportunity to get rid of a boy in whom he knew me to
be interested as soon as he thought I was out of the way? Why, moreover,
did he refuse the boy a reference, without which Philip could scarcely
hope to get employment?\x94

\x93You will have to ask Mr. Pitkin. I am sure he had good reason for the
course he took. He\x92s an impudent, low upstart in my opinion.\x94

\x93So he is, ma!\x94 chimed in Alonzo, with heartiness.

\x93Ah! I have something to say to you, Alonzo,\x94 said Mr. Carter, turning
his keen glances upon the boy. \x93What became of that letter I gave to you
to post just before I went away?\x94

\x93I put it in the letter-box,\x94 said Alonzo nervously.

\x93Do you know what was in it?\x94

\x93No,\x94 answered Alonzo, but he looked frightened.

\x93There were ten dollars in it. That letter never reached Phil, to whom
it was addressed.\x94

\x93I--don\x92t know anything about it,\x94 faltered Alonzo.

\x93There are ways of finding out whether letters have been posted,\x94 said
Mr. Carter. \x93I might put a detective on the case.\x94

Alonzo turned pale, and looked much discomposed.

\x93Of what are you accusing my boy?\x94 asked Mrs. Pitkin, ready to contend
for her favorite. \x93So that boy has been telling lies about him, has he?
and you believe scandalous stories about your own flesh and blood?\x94

\x93Not exactly that, Lavinia.\x94

\x93Well, your near relation, and that on the testimony of a boy you know
nothing about. When Lonny is so devoted to you, too!\x94

\x93I never noticed any special devotion,\x94 said Mr. Carter, amused. \x93You
are mistaken, however, about Philip trying to injure him. I simply asked
Philip whether he had received such a letter, and he said no.\x94

\x93I dare say he did receive it,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin spitefully.

\x93We won\x92t argue the matter now,\x94 said the old gentleman. \x93I will only
say that you and Alonzo, and Mr. Pitkin also, have gone the wrong way
to work to secure my favor. You have done what you could to injure two
persons, one your own cousin, because you were jealous.\x94

\x93You judge me very hardly, uncle,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin, seeing that she
must adopt a different course. \x93I have no bad feeling against Rebecca,
and as to the boy, I will ask my husband to take him back into the
store. I am sure he will do it, because you wish it.\x94

\x93I don\x92t wish it,\x94 answered Mr. Carter, rather unexpectedly.

\x93Oh, well,\x94 answered Mrs. Pitkin, looking relieved, \x93that is as you
say.\x94

\x93I have other views for Philip,\x94 said Mr. Carter. \x93He is with me as my
private secretary.\x94

\x93Is he living with you?\x94 asked his niece, in alarm.

\x93Yes.\x94

\x93There was no need of taking a stranger, Uncle Oliver. We should be glad
to have Alonzo act as your secretary, though of course we should want
him to stay at home.\x94

\x93I shall not deprive you of Alonzo,\x94 said Mr. Carter, with a tinge of
sarcasm in his tone. \x93Philip will suit me better.\x94

Mr. Carter turned and resumed his packing.

\x93Are you quite determined to leave us?\x94 asked Mrs. Pitkin, in a subdued
tone.

\x93Yes; it will be better.\x94

\x93But you will come back--say after a few weeks?\x94

\x93No, I think not,\x94 he answered dryly.

\x93And shall we not see you at all?\x94

\x93Oh, I shall call from time to time, and besides, you will know where I
am, and can call whenever you desire.\x94

\x93People will talk about your leaving us,\x94 complained Mrs. Pitkin.

\x93Let them talk. I never agreed to have my movements controlled by
people\x92s gossip. And now, Lavinia, I shall have to neglect you and
resume my packing. To-morrow I shall bring Philip here to help me.\x94

\x93Would you like to have Alonzo help you, Uncle Oliver?\x94

This offer, much to Alonzo\x92s relief, was declined. He feared that he
should be examined more closely by the old gentleman about the missing
money, which at that very moment he had in his pocket.

Mrs. Pitkin went down stairs feeling angry and baffled. All that she
had done to retain her ascendency over Uncle Oliver had failed, and Mrs.
Forbush and Philip seemed to have superseded herself and Alonzo in his
regard. She conferred with Mr. Pitkin on his return from the store,
but the more they considered the matter the worse it looked for their
prospects.

Could anything be done?



CHAPTER XXIX.

A TRUCE.

No more distasteful news could have come to the Pitkins than to learn
that Philip and their poor cousin had secured a firm place in the good
graces of Uncle Oliver. Yet they did not dare to show their resentment.
They had found that Uncle Oliver had a will of his own, and meant to
exercise it. Had they been more forbearing he would still be an inmate
of their house instead of going over to the camp of their enemies, for
so they regarded Mrs. Forbush and Phil.

\x93I hate that woman, Mr. Pitkin!\x94 said his wife fiercely. \x93I scorn such
underhanded work. How she has sneaked into the good graces of poor,
deluded Uncle Oliver!\x94

\x93You have played your cards wrong, Lavinia,\x94 said her husband peevishly.

\x93I? That is a strange accusation, Mr. Pitkin. It was you, to my
thinking. You sent off that errand boy, and that is how the whole thing
came about. If he had been in your store he wouldn\x92t have met Uncle
Oliver down at the pier.\x94

\x93You and Alonzo persuaded me to discharge him.\x94

\x93Oh, of course it\x92s Alonzo and me! When you see Rebecca Forbush and that
errand boy making ducks and drakes out of Uncle Oliver\x92s money you may
wish you had acted more wisely.\x94

\x93Really, Lavinia, you are a most unreasonable woman. It\x92s no use
criminating and recriminating. We must do what we can to mend matters.\x94

\x93What can we do?\x94

\x93They haven\x92t got the money yet--remember that! We must try to
re-establish friendly relations with Mr. Carter.\x94

\x93Perhaps you\x92ll tell me how?\x94

\x93Certainly! Call as soon as possible at the house on Madison Avenue.\x94

\x93Call on that woman?\x94

\x93Yes; and try to smooth matters over as well as you can. Take Alonzo
with you, and instruct him to be polite to Philip.\x94

\x93I don\x92t believe Lonny will be willing to demean himself so far.\x94

\x93He\x92ll have to,\x94 answered Mr. Pitkin firmly.

\x93We\x92ve all made a mistake, and the sooner we remedy it the better.\x94

Mrs. Pitkin thought it over. The advice was unpalatable, but it was
evidently sound. Uncle Oliver was rich, and they must not let his money
slip through their fingers. So, after duly instructing Alonzo in his
part, Mrs. Pitkin, a day or two later, ordered her carriage and drove in
state to the house of her once poor relative.

\x93Is Mrs. Forbush at home?\x94 she asked of the servant.

\x93I believe so, madam,\x94 answered a dignified man-servant.

\x93Take this card to her.\x94

Mrs. Pitkin and Alonzo were ushered into a drawing-room more elegant
than their own. She sat on a sofa with Alonzo.

\x93Who would think that Rebecca Forbush would come to live like this?\x94 she
said, half to herself.

\x93And that boy,\x94 supplemented Alonzo.

\x93To be sure! Your uncle is fairly infatuated.\x94

Just then Mrs. Forbush entered, followed by her daughter. She was no
longer clad in a shabby dress, but wore an elegant toilet, handsome
beyond her own wishes, but insisted upon by Uncle Oliver.

\x93I am glad to see you, Lavinia,\x94 she said simply. \x93This is my daughter.\x94

Julia, too, was stylishly dressed, and Alonzo, in spite of his
prejudices, could not help regarding this handsome cousin with favor.

I do not propose to detail the interview. Mrs. Pitkin was on her good
behavior, and appeared very gracious.

Mrs. Forbush could not help recalling the difference between her
demeanor now and on the recent occasion, when in her shabby dress she
called at the house in Twelfth Street, but she was too generous to
recall it.

As they were about to leave, Mr. Carter and Philip entered the room,
sent for by Mrs. Forbush.

\x93How do you do, Philip?\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin, graciously. \x93Alonzo, this is
Philip.\x94

\x93How do?\x94 growled Alonzo, staring enviously at Phil\x92s handsome new suit,
which was considerably handsomer than his own.

\x93Very well, Alonzo.\x94

\x93You must come and see Lonny,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin pleasantly.

\x93Thank you!\x94 answered Phil politely.

He did not say it was a pleasure, for he was a boy of truth, and he did
not feel that it would be.

Uncle Oliver was partially deceived by his niece\x92s new manner. He was
glad that there seemed to be a reconciliation, and he grew more cordial
than he had been since his return.

After awhile Mrs. Pitkin rose to go.

When she was fairly in the carriage once more, she said passionately:

\x93How I hate them!\x94

\x93You were awful sweet on them, ma!\x94 said Alonzo, opening his eyes.

\x93I had to be. But the time will come when I will open the eyes of Uncle
Oliver to the designs of that scheming woman and that artful errand
boy.\x94

It was Mrs. Pitkin\x92s true self that spoke.



CHAPTER XXX.

PHIL\x92S TRUST.

Among the duties which devolved upon Phil was Mr. Carter\x92s bank
business. He generally made deposits for Uncle Oliver, and drew money on
his personal checks whenever he needed it.

It has already been said that Mr. Carter was a silent partner in the
firm of which Mr. Pitkin was the active manager. The arrangement between
the partners was, that each should draw out two hundred dollars a week
toward current expenses, and that the surplus, if any, at the end of the
year, should be divided according to the terms of the partnership.

When Phil first presented himself with a note from Mr. Carter, he was an
object of attention to the clerks, who knew that he had been discharged
by Mr. Pitkin. Yet here he was, dressed in a new suit provided with a
watch, and wearing every mark of prosperity. One of the most surprised
was Mr. G. Washington Wilbur, with whom, as an old friend, Phil stopped
to chat.

\x93Is old Pitkin going to take you back?\x94 he inquired.

\x93No,\x94 answered Phil promptly. \x93He couldn\x92t have me if he wanted me.\x94

\x93Have you got another place?\x94

\x93Yes.\x94

\x93What\x92s the firm?\x94

\x93It isn\x92t in business. I am private secretary to Mr. Carter.\x94

Mr. Wilbur regarded him with surprise and respect.

\x93Is it a soft place?\x94 he inquired.

\x93It\x92s a very pleasant place.\x94

\x93What wages do you get?\x94

\x93Twelve dollars a week and board.\x94

\x93You don\x92t mean it?\x94

\x93Yes, I do.\x94

\x93Say, doesn\x92t he want another secretary?\x94 asked Mr. Wilbur.

\x93No, I think not.\x94

\x93I\x92d like a place of that sort. You\x92re a lucky fellow, Phil.\x94

\x93I begin to think I am.\x94

\x93Of course you don\x92t live at the old place.\x94

\x93No; I live on Madison Avenue. By the way, Wilbur, how is your
lady-love?\x94

Mr. Wilbur looked radiant.

\x93I think I\x92m getting on,\x94 he said. \x93I met her the other evening, and she
smiled.\x94

\x93That is encouraging,\x94 said Phil, as soberly as possible. \x93All things
come to him who waits! That\x92s what I had to write in my copy-book once.\x94

Phil was received by Mr. Pitkin with more graciousness than he expected.
He felt that he must do what he could to placate Uncle Oliver, but he
was more dangerous when friendly in his manner than when he was rude
and impolite. He was even now plotting to get Phil into a scrape which
should lose him the confidence of Uncle Oliver.

Generally Phil was paid in a check payable to the order of Mr. Carter.
But one Saturday two hundred dollars in bills were placed in his hands
instead.

\x93You see how much confidence I place in your honesty,\x94 said Mr. Pitkin.
\x93You couldn\x92t use the check. This money you could make off with.\x94

\x93It would be very foolish, to say the least,\x94 responded Phil.

\x93Of course, of course. I know you are trustworthy, or I would have given
you a check instead.\x94

When Phil left the building he was followed, though he did not know it,
by a man looking like a clerk.

Ah, Phil, you are in danger, though you don\x92t suspect it.



CHAPTER XXXI.

PHIL IS SHADOWED.

Phil felt that he must be more than usually careful, because the money
he had received was in the form of bills, which, unlike the check, would
be of use to any thief appropriating it. That he was in any unusual
danger, however, he was far from suspecting.

He reached Broadway, and instead of taking an omnibus, started to
walk up-town. He knew there was no haste, and a walk up the great busy
thoroughfare had its attractions for him, as it has for many others.

Behind him, preserving a distance of from fifteen to twenty feet, walked
a dark-complexioned man of not far from forty years of age. Of course
Phil was not likely to notice him.

Whatever the man\x92s designs might be, he satisfied himself at first
with simply keeping our hero in view. But as they both reached Bleecker
Street, he suddenly increased his pace and caught up with Phil. He
touched the boy on the shoulder, breathing quickly, as if he had been
running.

Phil turned quickly.

\x93Do you want me, sir?\x94 he asked, eying the stranger in surprise.

\x93I don\x92t know. Perhaps I am mistaken. Are you in the employ of Mr.
Oliver Carter?\x94

\x93Yes, sir.\x94

\x93Ah I then you are the boy I want. I have bad news for you.\x94

\x93Bad news!\x94 repeated Phil, alarmed. \x93What is it?\x94

\x93Mr. Carter was seized with a fit in the street half an hour since.\x94

\x93Is he--dead?\x94 asked Phil, in dismay.

\x93No, no! I think he will come out all right.\x94

\x93Where is he?\x94

\x93In my house. I didn\x92t of course know who he was, but I found in his
pocket a letter directed to Oliver Carter, Madison Avenue. There was
also a business card. He is connected in business with Mr. Pitkin, is he
not?\x94

\x93Yes, sir,\x94 answered Phil; \x93where is your house?\x94

\x93In Bleecker Street, near by. Mr. Carter is lying on the bed. He is
unconscious, but my wife heard him say: \x91Call Philip.\x92 I suppose that is
you?\x94

\x93Yes, sir; my name is Philip.\x94

\x93I went around to his place of business, and was told that you had just
left there. I was given a description of you and hurried to find you.
Will you come to the house and see Mr. Carter?\x94

\x93Yes, sir,\x94 answered Phil, forgetting everything except that his kind
and generous employer was sick, perhaps dangerously.

\x93Thank you; I shall feel relieved. Of course you can communicate with
his friends and arrange to have him carried home.\x94

\x93Yes, sir; I live at his house.\x94

\x93That is well.\x94

They had turned down Bleecker Street, when it occurred to Phil to say:

\x93I don\x92t understand how Mr. Carter should be in this neighborhood.\x94

\x93That is something I can\x92t explain, as I know nothing about his
affairs,\x94 said the stranger pleasantly. \x93Perhaps he may have property on
the street.\x94

\x93I don\x92t think so. I attend to much of his business, and he would have
sent me if there had been anything of that kind to attend to.\x94

\x93I dare say you are right,\x94 said his companion.

\x93Of course I know nothing about it. I only formed a conjecture.\x94

\x93Has a physician been sent for?\x94 asked Phil.

\x93Do you know of any we can call in?\x94

\x93My wife agreed to send for one on Sixth Avenue,\x94 said the stranger. \x93I
didn\x92t wait for him to come, but set out for the store.\x94

Nothing could be more ready or plausible than the answers of his new
acquaintance, and Phil was by no means of a suspicious temperament. Had
he lived longer in the city it might have occurred to him that there
was something rather unusual in the circumstances, but he knew that Mr.
Carter had spoken of leaving the house at the breakfast-table, indeed
had left it before he himself had set out for the store. For the time
being the thought of the sum of money which he carried with him had
escaped his memory, but it was destined very soon to be recalled to his
mind.

They had nearly reached Sixth Avenue, when his guide stopped in front of
a shabby brick house.

\x93This is where I live,\x94 he said. \x93We will go in.\x94

He produced a key, opened the door, and Phil accompanied him up a shabby
staircase to the third floor. He opened the door of a rear room, and
made a sign to Phil to enter.



CHAPTER XXXII.

PHIL IS ROBBED.

When he was fairly in the room Phil looked about him expecting to
see Mr. Carter, but the room appeared unoccupied. He turned to his
companion, a look of surprise on his face, but he was destined to be
still more surprised, and that not in a pleasant way. His guide had
locked the door from the inside and put the key in his pocket.

\x93What does that mean?\x94 asked Phil, with sudden apprehension.

\x93What do you refer to?\x94 asked his guide with an unpleasant smile.

\x93Why do you lock the door?\x94

\x93I thought it might be safest,\x94 was the significant answer.

\x93I don\x92t believe Mr. Carter is in the house at all,\x94 said Phil quickly.

\x93I don\x92t believe he is either, youngster.\x94

\x93Why did you tell me he was here?\x94 demanded Phil, with rising
indignation.

\x93I thought you wouldn\x92t come if I didn\x92t,\x94 replied his companion
nonchalantly.

\x93Answer me one thing, is Mr. Carter sick at all?\x94


\x93Not that I know of.\x94

\x93Then I am trapped!\x94

\x93Precisely. You may as well know the truth now.\x94

Phil had already conjectured the reason why he had been enticed to this
poor dwelling. The two hundred dollars which he had in his pocket made
him feel very uncomfortable. I think I may say truly that if the money
had been his own he would have been less disturbed. But he thought, with
a sinking heart, that if the money should be taken from him, he would
himself fall under suspicion, and he could not bear to have Mr. Carter
think that he had repaid his kindness with such black ingratitude. He
might be mistaken. The man before him might not know he had such a sum
of money in his possession, and of course he was not going to give him
the information.

\x93I am glad Mr. Carter is all right,\x94 said Phil. \x93Now tell me why you
have taken such pains to get me here?\x94

\x93Why, as to that,\x94 said his companion, \x93there were at least two hundred
good reasons.\x94

Phil turned pale, for he understood now that in some way his secret was
known.

\x93What do you mean?\x94 he asked, not wholly able to conceal his perturbed
feelings.

\x93You know well enough, boy,\x94 said the other significantly. \x93You\x92ve got
two hundred dollars in your pocket. I want it.\x94

\x93Are you a thief, then?\x94 said Phil, with perhaps imprudent boldness.

\x93Just take care what you say. I won\x92t be insulted by such a
whipper-snapper as you. You\x92d better not call names. Hand over that
money!\x94

\x93How do you know I have any money?\x94 Phil asked, trying to gain a little
time for deliberation.

\x93No matter. Hand it over, I say!\x94

\x93Don\x92t take it!\x94 said Phil, agitated. \x93It isn\x92t mine!\x94

\x93Then you needn\x92t mind giving it up.\x94

\x93It belongs to Mr. Carter.\x94

\x93He has plenty more.\x94

\x93But he will think I took it. He will think I am dishonest.\x94

\x93That is nothing to me.\x94

\x93Let me go,\x94 pleaded Phil, \x93and I will never breathe a word about your
wanting to rob me. You know you might get into trouble for it.\x94

\x93That\x92s all bosh! The money, I say!\x94 said the man sternly.

\x93I won\x92t give it to you!\x94 said Phil boldly.

\x93You won\x92t, hey? Then I shall have to take it. If I hurt you, you will
have yourself to blame.\x94

So saying the man seized Phil, and then a struggle ensued, the boy
defending himself as well as he could. He made a stouter resistance than
the thief anticipated, and the latter became irritated with the amount
of trouble he had to take it. I should be glad to report that Phil
made a successful defense, but this was hardly to be expected. He was a
strong boy, but he had to cope with a strong man, and though right was
on his side, virtue in his case had to succumb to triumphant vice.

Phil was thrown down, and when prostrate, with the man\x92s knee on his
breast, the latter succeeded in stripping him of the money he had so
bravely defended.

\x93There, you young rascal!\x94 he said, as he rose to his feet; \x93you see how
much good you have done. You might as well have given up the money in
the first place.\x94

\x93It was my duty to keep it from you, if I could,\x94 said Phil, panting
with his exertions.

\x93Well, if that\x92s any satisfaction to you, you\x92re welcome to it.\x94

He went to the door and unlocked it.

\x93May I go now?\x94 asked Phil.

\x93Not much. Stay where you are!\x94

A moment later and Phil found himself alone and a prisoner.


CHAPTER XXXIII.

A TERRIBLE SITUATION.

Phil tried the door, but now it was locked on the outside, and he found
that he was securely trapped. He went to the window, but here, too,
there was no chance of escape. Even if he had been able to get safely
out, he would have landed in a back-yard from which there was no egress
except through the house, which was occupied by his enemies.

\x93What shall I do?\x94 Phil asked himself, despairingly. \x93Mr. Carter will
be anxious about me, and perhaps he may think I have gone off with the
money!\x94

This to Phil was the worst of his troubles. He prized a good reputation
and the possession of an honorable name, and to be thought a thief would
distress him exceedingly.

\x93What a fool I was to walk into such a trap!\x94 he said to himself. \x93I
might have known Mr. Carter would not be in such a neighborhood.\x94

Phil was too severe upon himself. I suspect that most of my boy readers,
even those who account themselves sharp, might have been deceived as
easily. The fact is, rogues are usually plausible, and they are so
trained in deception that it is no reflection upon their victims that
they allow themselves to be taken in.

Hours passed, and still Phil found himself a prisoner. Each moment he
became more anxious and troubled.

\x93How long will they keep me?\x94 he asked himself. \x93They can\x92t keep me here
forever.\x94

About six o\x92clock the door was opened slightly, and a plate of bread and
butter was thrust in, together with a glass of cold water. Who brought
it up Phil did not know, for the person did not show himself or herself.

Phil ate and drank what was provided, not that he was particularly
hungry, but he felt that he must keep up his strength.

\x93They don\x92t mean to starve me, at any rate,\x94 he reflected. \x93That is some
consolation. While there is life, there is hope.\x94

A little over an hour passed. It became dark in Phil\x92s prison, but he
had no means of lighting the gas. There was a small bed in the room, and
he made up his mind that he must sleep there.

All at once there was a confused noise and disturbance. He could
not make out what it meant, till above all other sounds he heard the
terrible cry of \x93Fire!\x94

\x93Fire! Where is it?\x94 thought Phil.

It was not long before he made a terrible discovery. It was the very
house in which he was confined! There was a trampling of feet and a
chorus of screams. The smoke penetrated into the room.

\x93Heavens! Am I to be burned alive!\x94 thought our poor hero.

He jumped up and down on the floor, pounded frantically on the door, and
at last the door was broken open by a stalwart fireman, and Phil made
his way out, half-suffocated.

Once in the street, he made his way as fast as possible homeward.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

PHIL\x92S FRIENDS AND HIS ENEMIES.

Meanwhile, Phil\x92s long absence had excited anxiety and alarm.

\x93What can have become of Philip?\x94 said Mr. Carter when supper time came
and he did not arrive.

\x93I can\x92t think,\x94 answered Mrs. Forbush. \x93He is generally very prompt.\x94

\x93That is what makes me feel anxious. I am afraid something must have
happened to him.\x94

\x93Did you send him anywhere, Uncle Oliver?\x94

\x93Yes; he called, as usual, to get my check from Mr. Pitkin.\x94

\x93And he ought to have been here earlier?\x94

\x93Certainly. He wouldn\x92t have to wait for that.\x94

\x93Philip is very careful. I can\x92t think that he has met with an
accident.\x94

\x93Even the most prudent and careful get into trouble sometimes.\x94

They were finally obliged to sit down to supper alone. None of the three
enjoyed it. Not only Mr. Carter and Mrs. Forbush, but Julia was anxious
and troubled.

\x93I didn\x92t know I cared so much for the boy,\x94 said Uncle Oliver. \x93He has
endeared himself to me. I care nothing for the loss of the money if he
will only return safe.\x94

It was about a quarter of eight when the door-bell rang, and the servant
ushered in Mr. and Mrs. Pitkin and Alonzo.

After the usual greetings were interchanged, Mrs. Pitkin said, looking
about her:

\x93Where is Philip?\x94

\x93We are very much concerned about him,\x94 said Mr. Carter, his face
showing his trouble. \x93He has not been home since morning. Did he call at
your store, Pitkin?\x94

\x93Hasn\x92t he been home since?\x94 asked Pitkin, in a tone unpleasantly
significant.

\x93No. At what time did he leave the store?\x94

\x93Hours since. I--I am not sure but I may be able to throw some light on
his failure to return.\x94

\x93Do so, if you can!\x94 said Uncle Oliver.

\x93In place of giving him a check, I gave the boy two hundred dollars in
bills.\x94

\x93Well?\x94

\x93Don\x92t you see? The temptation has proved too strong for him. I think,
Uncle Oliver, you won\x92t see him back in a hurry.\x94

\x93Do you mean to say the boy would steal?\x94 demanded the old gentleman
indignantly.

\x93I think it more than likely that he has appropriated the money.\x94

\x93I am sure he has not,\x94 said Mrs. Forbush.

\x93And so am I,\x94 chimed in Julia.

Mr. Pitkin shrugged his shoulders.

\x93So you think,\x94 he answered; \x93but I don\x92t agree with you.\x94

\x93Nor I!\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin, nodding her head vigorously. \x93I never had any
confidence in the boy. I don\x92t mind telling you now that I have warned
Alonzo not to get too intimate with him. You remember it, Lonny?\x94

\x93Yes\x92m,\x94 responded Lonny.

\x93Then you think the boy capable of appropriating the money?\x94 asked Mr.
Carter quietly.

\x93Yes, I do.\x94

\x93Well, I don\x92t!\x94 said Uncle Oliver emphatically.

\x93You are very easily deceived,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin.

\x93Don\x92t be too sure of that,\x94 returned Mr. Carter, with a significant
glance, that made his niece feel uncomfortable.

\x93I suspect you will have to admit it,\x94 said Mr. Pitkin. \x93If, contrary to
my anticipation, the boy returns, and brings the money with him, I will
own myself mistaken.\x94

Just then the front door was heard to open; there was a sound of steps
in the hall, and Phil came hurriedly into the room.

Mr. and Mrs. Pitkin exchanged looks of surprise and dismay; but Mrs.
Forbush, her daughter and Uncle Oliver looked delighted.



CHAPTER XXXV.

THE PITKINS RETIRE IN DISGUST.

\x93Where have you been, Philip?\x94 asked Mr. Carter, breaking the silence.
\x93We were getting anxious about you.\x94

\x93I have bad news for you, sir,\x94 returned Phil, saying what stood first
in his mind. \x93I have lost the two hundred dollars Mr. Pitkin paid me
this morning.\x94

\x93So you lost it?\x94 observed Mr. Pitkin with a sneer, emphasizing the word
\x93lost\x94 to show his incredulity.

\x93Yes, sir, I lost it,\x94 answered Phil, looking him fearlessly in the eye;
\x93or, rather, it was stolen from me.\x94

\x93Oh! now it is stolen, is it?\x94 repeated Pitkin.

\x93Really, Uncle Oliver, this is getting interesting.\x94

\x93I believe I am the proper person to question Philip,\x94 said Mr. Carter
coldly. \x93It was my money, I take it.\x94

\x93Yes, it was yours. As I made the payment, I cannot, of course, be
responsible for its not reaching you. You will pardon my saying that it
would have been wiser to employ a different messenger.\x94

\x93Why?\x94 demanded Uncle Oliver, looking displeased.

\x93Why, really, Uncle Oliver,\x94 said Mr. Pitkin, \x93I should think the result
might convince you of that.\x94

\x93We had better let Philip tell his story,\x94 said Mr. Carter quietly. \x93How
did it happen, Philip?\x94

Thereupon Philip told the story already familiar to the reader.

\x93Upon my word, quite a romantic story!\x94 commented Mr. Pitkin, unable to
repress a sneer. \x93So you were tracked by a rascal, lured into a den
of thieves, robbed of your money, or, rather, Mr. Carter\x92s, and only
released by the house catching fire?\x94

\x93That is exactly what happened to me, sir,\x94 said Philip, coloring with
indignation, for he saw that Mr. Pitkin was doing his best to discredit
him.

\x93It quite does credit to your imagination. By the way, boy, have you
been in the habit of reading dime novels?\x94

\x93I never read one in my life, sir.\x94

\x93Then I think you would succeed in writing them. For a boy of sixteen,
you certainly have a vivid imagination.\x94

\x93I quite agree with my husband,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin. \x93The boy\x92s story is
ridiculously improbable. I can\x92t understand how he has the face to stand
there and expect Uncle Oliver to swallow such rubbish.\x94

\x93I don\x92t expect you to believe it, either of you,\x94 said Philip manfully,
\x93for you have never treated me fairly.\x94

\x93I think you will find, also, that my uncle is too sensible a man to
credit it, also,\x94 retorted Mrs Pitkin.

\x93Speak for yourself, Lavinia,\x94 said Mr. Carter, who had waited
intentionally to let his relatives express themselves. \x93I believe every
word of Philip\x92s story.\x94

\x93You do?\x94 ejaculated Mrs. Pitkin, rolling her eyes and nodding her head,
in the vain endeavor to express her feelings. \x93Really, Uncle Oliver, for
a man of your age and good sense----\x94

\x93Thank you for that admission, Lavinia,\x94 said Mr. Carter mockingly. \x93Go
on.\x94

\x93I was about to say that you seem infatuated with this boy, of whom we
know nothing, except from his own account. To my mind his story is a
most ridiculous invention.\x94

\x93Mr. Pitkin, did any one enter your store just after Philip left it to
inquire after him?\x94

\x93No, sir,\x94 answered Pitkin triumphantly. \x93That\x92s a lie, at any rate.\x94

\x93You will remember that Philip did not make the assertion himself. This
was the statement of the thief who robbed him.\x94

\x93Yes, of course,\x94 sneered Pitkin. \x93He told his story very shrewdly.\x94

\x93Mr. Carter,\x94 said Philip, \x93I can show you or any one else the house in
which I was confined in Bleecker Street, and there will be no trouble in
obtaining proof of the fire.\x94

\x93I dare say there may have been such a fire,\x94 said Mr. Pitkin, \x93and you
may have happened to see it, and decided to weave it into your story.\x94

\x93Do you think I stole the money or used it for my own purpose?\x94 asked
Philip pointedly.

Mr. Pitkin shrugged his shoulders.

\x93Young man,\x94 he said, \x93upon this point I can only say that your story is
grossly improbable. It won\x92t hold water.\x94

\x93Permit me to judge of that, Mr. Pitkin,\x94 said Mr. Carter. \x93I wish to
ask YOU one question.\x94

\x93To ask ME a question!\x94 said Pitkin, surprised.

\x93Yes; why did you pay Philip in bills to-day? Why didn\x92t you give him a
check, as usual?\x94

\x93Why,\x94 answered Pitkin, hesitating, \x93I thought it wouldn\x92t make any
difference to you. I thought you would be able to use it more readily.\x94

\x93Did you suppose I would specially need to use money instead of a check
this week? Why break over your usual custom?\x94

\x93Really, I didn\x92t give much thought to the matter,\x94 answered Pitkin,
hesitating. \x93I acted on a sudden impulse.\x94

\x93Your impulse has cost me two hundred dollars. Do me the favor, when
Philip calls next week, to hand him a check.\x94

\x93You mean to retain him in your employ after this?\x94 asked Mrs. Pitkin
sharply.

\x93Yes, I do. Why shouldn\x92t I?\x94

\x93You are very trustful,\x94 observed the lady, tossing her head. \x93If this
had happened to Lonny here, we should never have heard the last of it.\x94

\x93Perhaps not!\x94 responded the old gentleman dryly. \x93When a young
gentleman is trusted with a letter to mail containing money, and that
letter never reaches its destination, it may at least be inferred that
he is careless.\x94

It will be remembered that this was the first knowledge Mrs. Pitkin or
her husband had of the transaction referred to.

\x93What do you mean, Uncle Oliver?\x94 demanded Mr. Pitkin.

Mr. Carter explained.

\x93This is too much!\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin angrily.

\x93You mean to accuse my poor boy of opening the letter and stealing the
money?\x94

\x93If I was as ready to bring accusations as you, Lavinia, I should
undoubtedly say that it looked a little suspicious, but I prefer to let
the matter rest.\x94

\x93I think, Mr. Pitkin, we had better go,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin, rising with
dignity. \x93Since Uncle Oliver chooses to charge his own nephew with being
a thief----\x94

\x93I beg pardon, Lavinia, I have not done so.\x94

\x93You might just as well,\x94 said Lavinia Pitkin, tossing her head. \x93Come,
Mr. Pitkin; come, my poor Lonny, we will go home. This is no place for
you.\x94

\x93Good-evening, Lavinia,\x94 said Mr. Carter calmly. \x93I shall be glad to see
you whenever you feel like calling.\x94

\x93When you have discharged that boy, I may call again,\x94 said Mrs. Pitkin
spitefully.

\x93You will have to wait some time, then. I am quite capable of managing
my own affairs.\x94

When Mr. Pitkin had left the house, by no means in a good humor, Phil
turned to his employer and said gratefully:

\x93I don\x92t know how to thank you, Mr. Carter, for your kind confidence in
me. I admit that the story I told you is a strange one, and I could not
have blamed you for doubting me.\x94

\x93But I don\x92t doubt you, my dear Philip,\x94 said Mr. Carter kindly.

\x93Nor I,\x94 said Mrs. Forbush. \x93I feel provoked with Lavinia and her
husband for trying to throw discredit upon your statement.\x94

\x93In fact,\x94 said Mr. Carter humorously, \x93the only one of us that
suspected you was Julia.\x94

\x93Oh, Uncle Oliver!\x94 exclaimed Julia, in dismay. \x93I never dreamed of
doubting Phil.\x94

\x93Then,\x94 said Mr. Carter, \x93it appears that you have three friends, at
least.\x94

\x93If,\x94 said Phil? \x93you would allow me to make up part of the loss, by
surrendering a part of my salary----\x94

\x93Couldn\x92t be thought of, Philip!\x94 said Uncle Oliver resolutely. \x93I don\x92t
care for the money, but I should like to know how the thief happened to
know that to-day you received money instead of a check.\x94

Without saying a word to Phil, Uncle Oliver called the next day on a
noted detective and set him to work ferreting out the secret.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE FALSE HEIR.

In the suburbs of Chicago, perhaps a dozen miles from the great city,
stands a fine country house, in the midst of a fine natural park. From
the cupola which surmounts the roof can be seen in the distance the
waters of Lake Michigan, stretching for many miles from north to south
and from east to west, like a vast inland sea.

The level lawns, the greenhouses, the garden with rare plants and
flowers, show clearly that this is the abode of a rich man. My readers
will be specially interested to know that this is the luxurious and
stately home of Mr. Granville, whose son\x92s fortunes we have been
following.

This, too, is the home of Mrs. Brent and Jonas, who, under false
representations, have gained a foothold in the home of the Western
millionaire.

Surely it is a great change for one brought up like Jonas to be the
recognized heir and supposed son of so rich a man! It is a change,
too, for his mother, who, though she dare not avow the relationship, is
permitted to share the luxury of her son. Mrs. Brent has for her own
use two of the best rooms in the mansion, and so far as money can bring
happiness, she has every right to consider herself happy.

Is she?

Not as happy as she anticipated. To begin with, she is always dreading
that some untoward circumstance will reveal the imposition she has
practiced upon Mr. Granville. In that case what can she expect but to be
ejected in disgrace from her luxurious home? To be sure, she will have
her husband\x92s property left, but it would be a sad downfall and descent
in the social scale.

Besides, she finds cause for anxiety in Jonas, and the change which his
sudden and undeserved elevation has wrought in him. It requires a strong
mind to withstand the allurements and temptations of prosperity, and
Jonas is far from possessing a strong mind. He is, indeed, if I may
be allowed the expression, a vulgar little snob, utterly selfish, and
intent solely upon his own gratification. He has a love for drink,
and against the protests of his mother and the positive command of Mr.
Granville, indulges his taste whenever he thinks he can do so without
fear of detection. To the servants he makes himself very offensive by
assuming consequential airs and a lordly bearing, which excites their
hearty dislike.

He is making his way across the lawn at this moment. He is dressed in
clothes of the finest material and the most fashionable cut. A thick
gold chain is displayed across his waistcoat, attached to an expensive
gold watch, bought for him by his supposed father. He carries in his
hand a natty cane, and struts along with head aloft and nose in the air.

Two under-gardeners are at work upon a flowerbed as he passes.

\x93What time is it, Master Philip?\x94 says one, a boy about a year older
than Jonas.

\x93My good boy,\x94 said Jonas haughtily, \x93I don\x92t carry a watch for your
benefit.\x94

The gardener bit his lip, and surveyed the heir with unequivocal
disgust.

\x93Very well,\x94 he retorted; \x93I\x92ll wait till a gentleman comes this way.\x94

A flush of anger was visible on the cheek of Jonas despite his freckles.

\x93Do you mean to say I\x92m not a gentleman!\x94 he demanded angrily.

\x93You don\x92t act like one,\x94 returned Dan.

\x93You\x92d better not be impertinent to me!\x94 exclaimed Jonas, his small gray
eyes flashing with indignation. \x93Take that back!\x94

\x93I won\x92t, for it\x92s true!\x94 said Dan undauntedly.

\x93Take that, then!\x94

Jonas raised his cane and brought it down smartly on the young
gardener\x92s shoulder.

He soon learned that he had acted imprudently. Dan dropped his rake,
sprang forward, and seizing the cane, wrenched it from the hands of the
young heir, after which he proceeded to break it across his knee.

\x93There\x92s your cane!\x94 he said contemptuously, as he threw the pieces on
the ground.

\x93What did you do that for?\x94 demanded Jonas, outraged.

\x93Because you insulted me. That\x92s why.\x94

\x93How can I insult you? You\x92re only a poor working boy!\x94

\x93I wouldn\x92t change places with you,\x94 said Dan. \x93I\x92d like well enough to
be rich, but I wouldn\x92t be willing to be as mean as you are.\x94

\x93You\x92ll suffer for this!\x94 said Jonas, his little bead-like eyes glowing
with anger. \x93I\x92ll have you turned off this very day, or as soon as my
father get\x92s home.\x94

\x93If he says I\x92m to go, I\x92ll go!\x94 said Dan. \x93He\x92s a gentleman.\x94

Jonas made his way to his mother\x92s room. She noticed his perturbed look.

\x93What\x92s the matter, my dear boy?\x94 she asked. \x93What\x92s the matter, Jonas?\x94

\x93I wish you\x92d stop calling me your dear boy,\x94 said Jonas angrily.

\x93I--I forget sometimes,\x94 said Mrs. Brent, with a half-sigh.

\x93Then you ought not to forget. Do you want to spoil everything?\x94

\x93We are alone now, Jonas, and I cannot forget that I am your mother.\x94

\x93You\x92d better, if you know what\x92s best for both of us,\x94 said Jonas.

Mrs. Brent was far from being a kind-hearted woman. Indeed she was very
cold, but Jonas was her only son, and to him she was as much attached as
it was possible for her to be to any one. Formerly he had returned her
affection in a slight degree, but since he had figured as a rich man\x92s
son and heir he had begun, incredible as it may appear, to look down
upon his own mother. She was not wholly ignorant of this change in his
feelings, and it made her unhappy. He was all she had to live for. But
for him she would not have stooped to take part in the conspiracy in
which she was now a participant. It seemed hard that her only son, for
whom she had sinned, should prove so ungrateful.

\x93My boy,\x94 she said, \x93I would not on any account harm you or injure your
prospects, but when we are alone there can be no harm in my treating you
as my son.\x94

\x93It can\x92t do any good,\x94 grumbled Jonas, \x93and we might be overheard.\x94

\x93I will be cautious. You may be sure of that. But why do you look so
annoyed?\x94

\x93Why? Reason enough. That boy Dan, the under-gardener, has been impudent
to me.\x94

\x93He has?\x94 said Mrs. Brent quickly. \x93What has he done?\x94

Jonas rehearsed the story. He found in his mother a sympathetic
listener.

\x93He is bold!\x94 she said, compressing her lips.

\x93Yes, he is. When I told him I would have him turned off, he coolly
turned round and said that my father was a gentleman, and wouldn\x92t send
him away. Ma, will you do me a favor?\x94

\x93What is it, Jonas?\x94

\x93Send him off before the governor gets home. You can make it all right
with him.\x94

Mrs. Brent hesitated.

\x93Mr. Granville might think I was taking a liberty.\x94

\x93Oh, you can make it all right with him. Say that he was very impudent
to me. After what has happened, if he stays he\x92ll think he can treat me
just as he pleases.\x94

Again Mrs. Brent hesitated, but her own inclination prompted her to do
as her son desired.

\x93You may tell Dan to come here. I wish to speak to him,\x94 she said.

Jonas went out and did the errand.

\x93Mrs. Brent wants to see me?\x94 said Dan. \x93I have nothing to do with her.\x94

\x93You\x92d better come in if you know what\x92s best for yourself.\x94 said Jonas,
with an exultation he did not attempt to conceal.

\x93Oh, well, I have no objection to meeting Mrs. Brent,\x94 said Dan. \x93I\x92ll
go in.\x94

Mrs. Brent eyed the young gardener with cold animosity.

\x93You have been impudent to Master Philip,\x94 she said. \x93Of course you
cannot remain any longer in his father\x92s employment. Here are five
dollars--more than is due you. Take it, and leave the estate.\x94

\x93I won\x92t take your money, Mrs. Brent,\x94 said Dan independently, \x93and I
won\x92t take my dismissal from any one but Mr. Granville himself.\x94

\x93Do you defy me, then?\x94 said Mrs. Brent, with a firmer compression of
her lips.

\x93No, Mrs. Brent, I don\x92t defy you, but you have nothing to do with me,
and I shall not take any orders or any dismissal from you.\x94

\x93Don\x92t be impertinent to my----\x94 burst forth from Jonas, and then he
stopped in confusion.

\x93To your--what?\x94 asked Dan quickly.

\x93To my--nurse,\x94 faltered Jonas.

Dan looked suspiciously from one to the other.

\x93There\x92s something between those two,\x94 he said to himself. \x93Something we
don\x92t know of.\x94



CHAPTER XXXVII.

MRS. BRENT\x92S PANIC.

The chambermaid in the Granville household was a cousin of Dan, older by
three years. She took a warm interest in Dan\x92s welfare, though there was
nothing but cousinly affection between them.

Fresh from his interview with Mrs. Brent, Dan made his way to the
kitchen.

\x93Well, Aggie,\x94 he said, \x93I may have to say good-by soon.\x94

\x93What, Dan! You\x92re not for lavin\x92, are you?\x94 asked Aggie, in surprise.

\x93Mrs. Brent has just given me notice,\x94 answered Dan.

\x93Mrs. Brent! What business is it of her\x92s, and how did it happen,
anyway?\x94

\x93She thinks it\x92s her business, and it\x92s all on account of that stuck-up
Philip.\x94

\x93Tell me about it, Cousin Dan.\x94

Dan did so, and wound up by repeating his young master\x92s unfinished
sentence.

\x93It\x92s my belief,\x94 he said, \x93that there\x92s something between those two. If
there wasn\x92t, why is Mrs. Brent here?\x94

\x93Why, indeed, Dan?\x94 chimed in Aggie. \x93Perhaps I can guess something.\x94

\x93What is it?\x94

\x93Never you mind. I\x92ll only say I overheard Mrs. Brent one day speaking
to Master Philip, but she didn\x92t call him Philip.\x94

\x93What then?\x94

\x93JONAS! I\x92m ready to take my oath she called him Jonas.\x94

\x93Perhaps that is his real name. He may have it for his middle name.\x94

\x93I don\x92t believe it. Dan, I\x92ve an idea. I\x92m going to see Mrs. Brent and
make her think I know something. You see?\x94

\x93Do as you think best, Aggie. I told her I wouldn\x92t take a dismissal from
her.\x94

Mrs. Brent was in her own room. She was not a woman who easily forgave,
and she was provoked with Dan, who had defied her authority. She knew
very well that in dismissing him she had wholly exceeded her authority,
but this, as may readily be supposed, did not make her feel any more
friendly to the young gardener. Jonas artfully led her indignation.

\x93Dan doesn\x92t have much respect for you, mother,\x94 he said. \x93He doesn\x92t
mind you any more than he does a kitchen-girl.\x94

\x93He may find he has made a mistake,\x94 said Mrs. Brent, a bright red spot
in each cheek, indicating her anger. \x93He may find he has made a mistake
in defying my authority.\x94

\x93I wouldn\x92t stand it if I was you, ma.\x94

\x93I won\x92t!\x94 said Mrs. Brent decidedly, nodding vigorously and compressing
her lips more firmly.

Soon after a knock was heard at Mrs. Brent\x92s door.

\x93Come in!\x94 she said in a sharp, incisive voice.

The door was opened and Aggie entered.

\x93What do you want of me, Aggie?\x94 asked Mrs. Brent, in some surprise.

\x93I hear you\x92ve been tellin\x92 Dan he\x92ll have to go,\x94 said the chambermaid.

\x93Yes,\x94 answered Mrs. Brent, \x93but I fail to see what business it is of
yours.\x94

\x93Dan\x92s me cousin, ma\x92am.\x94

\x93That\x92s nothing to me. He has been impertinent to Master Philip, and
afterward to me.\x94

\x93I know all about it, ma\x92am. He told me.\x94

\x93Then you understand why he must leave. He will do well to be more
respectful in his next place.\x94

\x93It wasn\x92t his fault, ma\x92am, accordin\x92 to what he told me.\x94

\x93No doubt!\x94 sneered Mrs. Brent. \x93It is hardly likely that he would admit
himself to be in fault.\x94

\x93Dan\x92s a good, truthful boy, ma\x92am.\x94

\x93What did he tell you?\x94

The moment had come for Aggie\x92s master-stroke, and she fixed her eyes
keenly on Mrs. Brent to watch the effect of her words.

\x93He said he was at work in the garden, ma\x92am, when Master Jonas----\x94

\x93WHAT!\x94 exclaimed Mrs. Brent, staring at the girl in dismay.

\x93He was at work in the garden, ma\x92am when Master Jonas----\x94

\x93What do you mean, girl? Who is Master Jonas?\x94 asked Mrs. Brent, trying
to conceal her agitation.

\x93Did I say Jonas, ma\x92am. La, what could I be thinking of? Of course I
mean Master Philip.\x94

\x93What should have put the name of Jonas into your head?\x94 demanded Mrs.
Brent nervously.

\x93I must have heard it somewhere,\x94 said Aggie, with a quick, shrewd look
out of the corner of her eyes. \x93Well, Dan just asked the young master
a civil question, and Master Philip, he snapped him up rude-like. Mrs.
Brent I think you\x92d better not make any fuss about Dan. It wasn\x92t so
much his fault as the fault of Master Jonas--oh, dear! I beg pardon, I
mean Master Philip.\x94

\x93Don\x92t repeat that ridiculous name again, Aggie!\x94 said Mrs. Brent. \x93Your
young master has nothing to do with it. You ought to know that his name
is Philip.\x94

\x93I should say so!\x94 broke in Jonas. \x93I ain\x92t goin\x92 to be called out of my
name!\x94

\x93As to Dan,\x94 proceeded Mrs. Brent. \x93I am willing to overlook his
impertinence this time. I won\x92t say a word to Mr. Granville, but he must
be more careful hereafter.\x94

\x93I\x92m sure I\x92m obliged to you, ma\x92am,\x94 said Aggie demurely.

When she was out of the room she nodded to herself triumphantly.

\x93Sure, I\x92ve got the old lady under me thumb, but divil a bit I know how.
It\x92s all in the word Jonas. When I want a favor, all I\x92ve got to do is
to say that word. I wonder what it manes now, anyhow.\x94

However, Aggie communicated to Dan the welcome intelligence that he
would have no trouble with Mrs. Brent or Philip, but as to the way in
which she had managed she kept that to herself.

\x93I want to think it over,\x94 she said. \x93There\x92s a secret, and it\x92s about
Jonas. I\x92ll wait patiently, and maybe I\x92ll hear some more about it.\x94

As for Mrs. Brent, she was panic-stricken. Uncertain how much Aggie
knew, she feared that she knew all. But how could she have discovered
it? And was it come to this that she and Jonas were in the power of an
Irish chambermaid? It was galling to her pride.

She turned to her son when they were left alone.

\x93How could she have found out?\x94 she asked.

\x93Found out what, mother?\x94

\x93That your name is Jonas. She evidently knows it. I could see that in
her eyes.\x94

\x93She must have heard you calling me so. I\x92ve told you more than once,
ma, that you must never call me anything but Philip.\x94

\x93It is hard to have to keep silent always, never to speak to you as my
own boy. I begin to think it is a dear price to pay, Jonas.\x94

\x93There you go again, mother!\x94 said Jonas, peevishly.

His mother had seated herself and spoke despondently.

\x93I am afraid it will all come out some day,\x94 she said.

\x93It will if you don\x92t take better care, ma. I tell you, it would be
the best thing for you to go away. Mr. Granville will give you a good
income. If I was left alone, there\x92d be no fear of its leaking out.\x94

\x93Oh, Jonas! would you really have me leave you? Would you really have me
live by myself, separated from my only child?\x94

Cold as she was, her heart was keenly wounded, for, looking at the boy,
she saw that he was in earnest, and that he would prefer to have her go,
since thereby he would be safer in the position he had usurped.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY.

\x93Mr. Carter, can you spare me a couple of days?\x94 asked Philip.

\x93Certainly, Phil,\x94 answered the old gentleman. \x93May I ask how you wish
to dispose of the time?\x94

\x93I would like to go to Planktown to see my friends there. It is now
some months since I left the village, and I would like to see my old
friends.\x94

\x93The desire is a natural one. Your home is broken up, is it not?\x94

\x93Yes, but I can stay at the house of Tommy Kavanagh. I know he will be
glad to have me.\x94

\x93It is strange that your step-mother and her son have left no trace
behind them,\x94 said Mr. Carter thoughtfully. \x93It looks suspicious, as if
they had some good reason for their disappearance.\x94

\x93I can\x92t understand why they should have left Planktown,\x94 said Philip,
appearing puzzled.

\x93Is the house occupied?\x94

\x93Yes. I hear that a cousin of Mrs. Brent occupies it. I shall call and
inquire after her.\x94

\x93Very well, Philip. Go when you please. You may be sure of a welcome
when you return.\x94

In Planktown, though his home relations latterly had not been pleasant,
Philip had many friends, and when he appeared on the street, he met
everywhere glances of friendly welcome. One of the first to meet him was
Tommy Kavanagh.

\x93Where did you come from, Phil?\x94 he asked.

\x93I am glad enough to see you. Where are you staying?\x94

\x93Nowhere, Tommy, at present. If your mother can take me in, I will stay
at your house.\x94

\x93Take you? Yes, and will be glad enough to have you stay with us. You
know we live in a small house, but if you don\x92t mind----\x94

\x93What do you take me for, Tommy? Whatever is good enough for you and
your mother will be good enough for me.\x94

\x93What are you doing, Phil? You don\x92t look as if you had hard work making
a living.\x94

\x93I am well fixed now, but I have had some anxious days. But all\x92s well
that ends well. I am private secretary to a rich man, and live in a fine
brown-stone house on Madison Avenue.\x94

\x93Good for you, Phil! I knew you\x92d succeed.\x94

\x93Where is Mrs. Brent? Has anything been heard from her?\x94

\x93I don\x92t think anybody in the village knows where she is--that is,
except her cousin, who lives in your old house.\x94

\x93What is his name?\x94

\x93Hugh Raynor.\x94

\x93What sort of a man is he?\x94

\x93The people in the village don\x92t like him. He lives alone, and I hear
that he cooks for himself. He is not at all social, and no one feels
very much acquainted with him.\x94

\x93I shall call upon him and inquire after Mrs. Brent.\x94

\x93Then, Phil, you had better go alone, for he doesn\x92t like callers, and
he will be more ready to receive one than two.\x94

Philip enjoyed his visit, and was busied making calls on his old
acquaintances. He was much pleased with the cordiality with which he had
been received.

It was not till the afternoon of the second day that he turned his steps
toward the house which had been his home for so long a time.

We will precede him, and explain matters which made his visit very
seasonable.

In the sitting-room sat Hugh Raynor, the present occupant of the house.
He was a small, dark-complexioned man, with a large Roman nose, and
his face was at this moment expressive of discontent. This seemed to be
connected with a letter which he had just been reading. Not to keep the
reader in suspense, it was mailed at Chicago, and was written by Mrs.
Brent. We will quote a paragraph:

\x93You seem to me very unreasonable in expecting me not only to give you
the house rent-free, but also to give you a salary. I would like to know
what you do to merit a salary. You merely take care of the house. As
for that, there are plenty who would be glad to take charge of so good
a house, and pay me a fair rent. Indeed, I am thinking that it will be
best for me to make some such arrangement, especially as you do not seem
satisfied with your sinecure position. You represent me as rolling in
wealth. Jonas and I are living very comfortably, and we have nothing to
complain of, but that is no reason for my squandering the small fortune
left me by my husband. I advise you to be a little more reasonable in
your demands, or I shall request you to leave my house.\x94


\x93Selfish as ever,\x94 muttered Mr. Raynor, after reading this letter over
again. \x93Cousin Jane never was willing that any one else should prosper.
But she has made a mistake in thinking she can treat me meanly. I AM IN
A POSITION TO TURN THE TABLES UPON HER! This paper--if she dreamed I had
found it, she would yield to all my demands.\x94

He laid his hand upon a paper, folded lengthwise, and presenting the
appearance of a legal document.

He opened the paper and read aloud:


\x93To the boy generally known as Philip Brent and supposed, though
incorrectly, to be my son, I bequeath the sum of five thousand dollars,
and direct the same to be paid over to any one whom he may select
as guardian, to hold in trust for him until he attains the age of
twenty-one.\x94

\x93This will Mrs. Brent carefully concealed,\x94 continued Mr. Raynor, \x93in
order to save the money for herself and Jonas. I wonder she was not
prudent enough to burn it, or, at any rate, to take it with her when she
left Planktown. It is a damaging secret, but I hold it, and I mean to
use it, too. Let me see, what is it best to do?\x94

Mr. Raynor spent some time in quiet thought. It seemed to him that it
might be well to hint his discovery in a letter to Mrs. Brent, and to
make it the basis of a demand for a generous sum of hush-money--one
thousand dollars, at least. He might have decided to do this but for an
incident which suggested another course.

The door-bell rang, and when he opened the door with some surprise, for
callers were few, he saw standing before him a tall, handsome boy, whom
he did not recognize.

\x93Do you wish to see me?\x94 he asked. \x93What is your name?\x94

\x93My name is Philip Brent.\x94

\x93What!\x94 exclaimed Mr. Raynor, in visible excitement, \x93are you the son of
the late Mr. Brent?\x94

\x93I was always regarded as such,\x94 answered Philip.

\x93Come in, then. I am glad to see you,\x94 said Mr. Raynor; and Phil entered
the house, surprised at a reception much more cordial than he had
expected.

In that brief moment Mr. Raynor had decided to reveal the secret to
Phil, and trust to his gratitude for a suitable acknowledgment. In this
way he would revenge himself upon Mrs. Brent, who had treated him so
meanly.

\x93I have been wishing to see you, for I have a secret of importance to
communicate,\x94 said Mr. Raynor.

\x93If it relates to my parents, I know it already,\x94 said Phil.

\x93No; it is something to your advantage. In revealing it I make Mrs.
Brent my enemy, and shall forfeit the help she is giving me.\x94

\x93If it is really of advantage to me, and I am able to make up your loss
to you, I will do it,\x94 said Phil.

\x93That is sufficient. I will trust to your honor. You look like a boy who
will keep a promise though not legally bound.\x94

\x93You only do me justice, Mr. Raynor.\x94

\x93Then cast your eye upon this paper and you will know the secret.\x94

\x93Is it a will?\x94 exclaimed Phil, in surprise.

\x93Yes, it is the will of the late Gerald Brent. By it he bequeaths to you
five thousand dollars.\x94

\x93Then he did not forget me,\x94 said Phil, more pleased with the assurance
that he had been remembered than by the sum of money bequeathed to him.
\x93But why have I not known this before?\x94 he asked, looking up from the
will.

\x93You must ask that of Mrs. Brent!\x94 said Mr. Raynor significantly.

\x93Do you think she suppressed it purposely?\x94

\x93I do,\x94 answered Raynor laconically.

\x93I must see her. Where can I find her?\x94

\x93I can only say that her letters to me are mailed in Chicago, but she
scrupulously keeps her address a secret.\x94

\x93Then I must go to Chicago. May I take this paper with me?\x94

\x93Yes. I advise you to put it into the hands of a lawyer for safe
keeping. You will not forget that you are indebted to me for it?\x94

\x93No, Mr. Raynor. I will take care you lose nothing by your revelation.\x94

The next morning Phil returned to New York.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

AT THE PALMER HOUSE.

It may be readily supposed that Phil\x92s New York friends listened with
the greatest attention to his account of what he had learned in his
visit to Planktown.

\x93Your step-mother is certainly an unscrupulous woman,\x94 said Mr. Carter.
\x93Doubtless she has left your old town in order to escape accountability
to you for your stolen inheritance. What puzzles me however, is her
leaving behind such tell-tale evidence. It is a remarkable oversight. Do
you think she is aware of the existence of the will?\x94

\x93I think she must be, though I hope not,\x94 answered Phil. \x93I should like
to think that she had not conspired to keep back my share of father\x92s
estate.\x94

\x93At any rate, the first thing to do is evidently to find her out, and
confront her with the evidence of her crime--that is, supposing her to
be really culpable.\x94

\x93Then you approve of my going to Chicago?\x94 said Phil.

\x93Most emphatically. Nay, more--I will go with you.\x94

\x93Will you indeed, sir?\x94 said Phil joyfully. \x93You are very kind. I shrank
from going alone, being a boy ignorant of business.\x94

\x93A pretty shrewd boy, however,\x94 said Mr. Carter, smiling. \x93I don\x92t claim
much credit, however, as I have some interests in Chicago to which I can
attend with advantage personally. I am interested in a Western railroad,
the main office of which is in that city.\x94

\x93When shall we go, sir?\x94

\x93To-morrow,\x94 answered Mr. Carter promptly. \x93The sooner the better.
You may go down town and procure the necessary tickets, and engage
sleeping-berths.\x94

Here followed the necessary directions, which need not be repeated.

It is enough to say that twenty-four hours later Phil and his employer
were passengers on a lightning express train bound for Chicago.

They arrived in due season, without any adventure worth naming, and took
rooms at the Palmer House.

Now, it so happened that in the same hotel at the very same moment
were three persons in whom Phil was vitally interested. These were
Mrs. Brent, Jonas, otherwise called Philip Granville, and Mr. Granville
himself.

Let me explain their presence in Chicago, when, as we know, Mr.
Granville\x92s house was situated at some distance away.

Jonas had preferred a petition to go to Chicago for a week, in order to
attend some of the amusements there to be enjoyed, alleging that it was
awfully dull in the country.

Mr. Granville was inclined to be very indulgent, to make up for the long
years in which he had been compelled practically to desert his son. The
petition therefore received favor.

\x93It is only natural that you should wish to see something of the city,
my son,\x94 he said. \x93I will grant your request. We will go to Chicago, and
remain a week at the Palmer House. Mrs. Brent, will you accompany us?\x94

\x93With pleasure, Mr. Granville,\x94 answered that lady. \x93It is not dull here
for me, still I shall no doubt enjoy a little excitement. At any rate, I
shall be best pleased to be where you and your son are.\x94

\x93Then so let it be. We will go to-morrow.\x94

One secret wish and scheme of Mrs. Brent has not been referred to. She
felt that her present position was a precarious one. She might at any
time be found out, and then farewell to wealth and luxury! But if she
could induce Mr. Granville to marry her, she would then be secure,
even if found out, and Jonas would be the son of Mr. Granville, though
detected as a usurper. She, therefore, made herself as agreeable as
possible to Mr. Granville, anticipated his every wish, and assumed the
character, which she did not possess, of a gracious and feminine woman
of unruffled good humor and sweetness of disposition.

\x93I say, ma,\x94 Jonas observed on one occasion, \x93you\x92ve improved ever so
much since you came here. You\x92re a good deal better natured than you
were.\x94

Mrs. Brent smiled, but she did not care to take her son into her
confidence.

\x93Here I have no cares to trouble me,\x94 she said. \x93I live here in a way
that suits me.\x94

But when they were about starting for Chicago, Mrs. Brent felt herself
becoming unaccountably depressed.

\x93Jonas,\x94 she said, \x93I am sorry we are going to Chicago.\x94

\x93Why, ma? We\x92ll have a splendid time.\x94

\x93I feel as if some misfortune were impending over us,\x94 said his mother,
and she shivered apprehensively.

But it was too late to recede. Besides, Jonas wished to go, and she had
no good reason to allege for breaking the arrangement.



CHAPTER XL.

A SCENE NOT ON THE BILLS.

Phil was in Chicago, but that was only the first step toward finding
those of whom he was in search. Had he been sure that they were in the
city, it would have simplified matters, but the fact that Mrs. Brent
directed her letters to be sent to that city proved nothing. It did not
make it certain that she lived in the town.

\x93We are only at the beginning of our perplexities, Philip,\x94 said Mr.
Carter. \x93Your friends may be near us, or they may be a hundred miles
away.\x94

\x93That is true, sir.\x94

\x93One method of finding them is barred, that of advertising, since they
undoubtedly do not care to be found, and an advertisement would only
place them on their guard.\x94

\x93What would you advise, sir?\x94

\x93We might employ a detective to watch the post-office, but here again
there might be disappointment. Mrs. Brent might employ a third person
to call for her letters. However, I have faith to believe that sooner or
later we shall find her. Time and patience accomplishes much.\x94

\x93Were you ever a detective, sir?\x94 asked Phil, smiling.

\x93No, Philip, but I have had occasion to employ them. Now how would you
like to go to the theater this evening?\x94

\x93Very much, sir.\x94

\x93There is a good play running at McVicker\x92s Theatre. We will go there.\x94

\x93Anywhere will suit me, Mr. Carter.\x94

\x93Young people are easily satisfied,\x94 he said. \x93When they get older they
get more fastidious. However, there is generally something attractive at
McVicker\x92s.\x94

It so happened that Philip and his employer took a late dinner, and did
not reach the theater till ten minutes after the hour. They had seats
in the seventh row of orchestra chairs, a very eligible portion of the
house.

The curtain had risen, and Philip\x92s attention was given to the stage
till the end of the first act. Then he began to look around him.

Suddenly he started and half rose from his seat.

\x93What is the matter, Philip?\x94 asked Mr. Carter.

\x93There, sir! look there!\x94 said the boy, in excitement, pointing to two
persons in the fourth row in front.

\x93Do you recognize acquaintances, Philip?\x94

\x93It is my step-mother and Jonas,\x94 answered Philip eagerly.

\x93It is, indeed, wonderful!\x94 said Mr. Carter, sharing the boy\x92s
excitement. \x93You are confident, are you?\x94

\x93Oh, sir, I couldn\x92t be mistaken about that.\x94

Just then Mrs. Brent turned to a gentleman at her side and spoke. It was
Mr. Granville.

\x93Who is that gentleman?\x94 said Mr. Carter reflectively. \x93Do you think
Mrs. Brent is married again?\x94

\x93I don\x92t know what to think!\x94 said Philip, bewildered.

\x93I will tell you what to do. You cannot allow these people to elude you.
Go to the hotel, ask a direction to the nearest detective office, have
a man detailed to come here directly, and let him find, if necessary,
where your step-mother and her son are living.\x94

Philip did so, and it was the close of the second act before he
returned. With him was a small, quiet gentleman, of unpretending
appearance, but skilled as a detective.

\x93Now,\x94 continued Mr. Carter, \x93you may venture at any time to go forward
and speak to your friends--if they can be called such.\x94

\x93I don\x92t think they can, sir. I won\x92t go till the last intermission.\x94

Phil was forestalled, however. At the close of the fourth act Jonas
happened to look back, and his glance fell upon Philip.

A scared, dismayed look was on his face as he clutched his mother\x92s arm
and whispered:

\x93Ma, Philip is sitting just back of us.\x94

Mrs. Brent\x92s heart almost ceased to beat. She saw that the moment of
exposure was probably at hand.

With pale face she whispered:

\x93Has he seen us?\x94

\x93He is looking right at us.\x94

She had time to say no more. Philip left his seat, and coming forward,
approached the seat of his step-mother.

\x93How do you do, Mrs. Brent?\x94 he said.

She stared at him, but did not speak.

\x93How are you, Jonas?\x94 continued our hero.

\x93My name isn\x92t Jonas,\x94 muttered the boy addressed.

Mr. Granville meanwhile had been eagerly looking at Philip. There
appeared to be something in his appearance which riveted the attention
of the beholder. Was it the voice of nature which spoke from the
striking face of the boy?

\x93You have made a mistake, boy,\x94 said Mrs. Brent, summoning all her
nerve. \x93I am not the lady you mention, and this boy does not bear the
name of Jonas.\x94

\x93What is his name, then?\x94 demanded Philip.

\x93My name is Philip Granville,\x94 answered Jonas quickly.

\x93Is it? Then it has changed suddenly,\x94 answered Phil, in a sarcastic
voice. \x93Six months ago, when we were all living at Planktown, your name
was Jonas Webb.\x94

\x93You must be a lunatic!\x94 said Mrs. Brent, with audacious falsehood.

\x93My own name is Philip, as you very well know.\x94

\x93Your name Philip?\x94 exclaimed Mr. Granville, with an excitement which he
found it hard to control.

\x93Yes, sir; the lady is my step-mother, and this boy is her son Jonas.\x94

\x93And you--whose son are you?\x94 gasped Mr. Granville.

\x93I don\x92t know, sir. I was left at an early age at a hotel kept by this
lady\x92s husband, by my father, who never returned.\x94

\x93Then YOU must be my son!\x94 said Mr. Granville. \x93You and not this boy!\x94

\x93You, sir? Did you leave me?\x94

\x93I left my son with Mr. Brent. This lady led me to believe that the boy
at my side was my son.\x94

Here, then, was a sudden and startling occurrence. Mrs. Brent fainted.
The strain had been too much for her nerves, strong as they were. Of
course she must be attended to.

\x93Come with me; I cannot lose sight of you now, MY SON!\x94 said Mr.
Granville. \x93Where are you staying?\x94

\x93At the Palmer House.\x94

\x93So am I. Will you be kind enough to order a carriage.\x94

Mrs. Brent was conveyed to the hotel, and Jonas followed sullenly.

Of course Philip, Mr. Granville and Mr. Carter left the theater.

Later the last three held a conference in the parlor.

It took little to convince Mr. Granville that Philip was his son.

\x93I am overjoyed!\x94 he said. \x93I have never been able to feel toward the
boy whom you call Jonas as a father should. He was very distasteful to
me.\x94

\x93It was an extraordinary deception on the part of Mrs. Brent,\x94 said Mr.
Carter thoughtfully.

\x93She is a very unprincipled woman,\x94 said Mr. Granville. \x93Even now that
matters have come right, I find it hard to forgive her.\x94

\x93You do not know all the harm she has sought to do your son. The sum of
five thousand dollars was left him by Mr. Brent, and she suppressed the
will.\x94

\x93Good heavens! is this true?\x94

\x93We have the evidence of it.\x94

*****

The next day an important interview was held at the Palmer House. Mrs.
Brent was forced to acknowledge the imposition she had practiced upon
Mr. Granville.

\x93What could induce you to enter into such a wicked conspiracy?\x94 asked
Mr. Granville, shocked.

\x93The temptation was strong--I wished to make my son rich. Besides, I
hated Philip.\x94

\x93It is well your wicked plan has been defeated; it might have marred my
happiness forever.\x94

\x93What are you going to do with me?\x94 she asked coolly, but not without
anxiety.

It was finally settled that the matter should be hushed up. Philip
wished to give up the sum bequeathed him by Mr. Brent; but to this Mr.
Granville objected, feeling that it would constitute a premium on fraud.
Besides, Mrs. Brent would have the residue of the estate, amounting to
nearly ten thousand dollars. Being allowed to do what he chose with this
money, he gave it in equal portions to Tommy Kavanagh and Mr. Raynor,
who had informed him of the existence of Mr. Brent\x92s will.

Mrs. Brent decided not to go back to Planktown. She judged that
the story of her wickedness would reach that village and make it
disagreeable for her. She opened a small millinery store in Chicago, and
is doing fairly well. But Jonas is her chief trouble, as he is lazy and
addicted to intemperate habits. His chances of success and an honorable
career are small.

\x93How can I spare you, Philip?\x94 said Mr. Carter regretfully. \x93I know your
father has the best right to you, but I don\x92t like to give you up.\x94

\x93You need not,\x94 said Mr. Granville. \x93I propose to remove to New York;
but in the summer I shall come to my estate near Chicago, and hope,
since the house is large enough, that I may persuade you and your niece,
Mrs. Forbush, to be my guests.\x94

This arrangement was carried out. Mrs. Forbush and her daughter are
the recognized heirs of Mr. Carter, who is wholly estranged from the
Pitkins. He ascertained, through a detective, that the attack upon
Philip by the man who stole from him the roll of bills was privately
instigated by Mr. Pitkin himself, in the hope of getting Philip into
trouble. Mr. Carter, thereupon, withdrew his capital from the firm, and
Mr. Pitkin is generally supposed to be on the verge of bankruptcy.
At any rate, his credit is very poor, and there is a chance that the
Pitkins may be reduced to comparative poverty.

\x93I won\x92t let Lavinia suffer,\x94 said Uncle Oliver; \x93if the worst comes to
the worst, I will settle a small income, say twelve hundred dollars, on
her, but we can never be friends.\x94

As Phil grew older--he is now twenty-one--it seems probable that he
and Mr. Carter may be more closely connected, judging from his gallant
attentions to Julia Forbush, who has developed into a charming young
lady. Nothing would suit Mr. Carter better, for there is no one who
stands higher in his regard than Philip Granville, the Errand Boy.



FRED SARGENT\x92S REVENGE.

Fred Sargent, upon this day from which my story dates, went to the head
of his Latin class, in the high school of Andrewsville. The school was
a fine one, the teachers strict, the classes large, the boys generally
gentlemanly, and the moral tone pervading the whole, of the very best
character.

To lead a class in a school like this was an honor of which any boy
might have been proud; and Fred, when he heard his name read off at
the head of the roll, could have thrown up his well-worn Latin grammar,
which he happened to have in his hand just at that moment, and hurrahed.
It was quite a wonder to him afterward that he did not.

As a class, boys are supposed to be generous. I really don\x92t know
whether they deserve to be considered so or not, but some four or five
only in this large school envied Fred. The rest would probably have
hurrahed with him; for Fred was a \x93capital good fellow,\x94 and quite a
favorite.

\x93Bully for you!\x94 whispered Ned Brown, his right-hand neighbor; but Ned
was instantly disgraced, the eye of the teacher catching the words as
they dropped from his lips.

When school was over several of the boys rushed to the spot where
Fred--his cap in his hand, and his dark hair blowing about every
way--was standing.

\x93I say,\x94 said James Duncan, \x93I thought you would get it. You\x92ve worked
like a Trojan and you deserve it.\x94

\x93It\x92s as good as getting the valedictory,\x94 said Joe Stone.

\x93And that is entering into any college in the land without an
examination,\x94 said Peter Crane.

Now Peter had run shoulder to shoulder with Fred and it does him great
credit that, being beaten, he was thoroughly good-natured about it.

\x93I say, Fred, you ought to treat for this;\x94 and Noah Holmes, standing on
tiptoe, looked over the heads of the other boys significantly at Fred.

\x93I wish I could; but here\x92s all the money I\x92ve got,\x94 said Fred, taking
about twenty-five cents from his pocket--all that was left of his
monthly allowance.

\x93That\x92s better than nothing. It will buy an apple apiece. Come on! Let\x92s
go down to old Granger\x92s. I saw some apples there big as your head; and
bigger, too,\x94 said Noah, with a droll wink.

\x93Well, come on, then;\x94 and away went the boys at Fred\x92s heels, pushing
and shouting, laughing and frolicking, until they came to Abel Granger\x92s
little grocery.

\x93Now hush up, you fellows,\x94 said Noah, turning round upon them. \x93Let
Fred go in by himself. Old Grange can\x92t abide a crowd and noise. It will
make him cross, and all we shall get will be the specked and worm-eaten
ones. Come, fall back, there!\x94

Very quietly and obediently the boys, who always knew their leader, fell
back, and Fred went into the little dark grocery alone.

He was so pleasant and gentlemanly that, let him go where he would and
do what he would, in some mysterious way he always found the right side
of people and got what he wanted, in the most satisfactory manner.

Now Abel Granger was \x93as cross as a meat axe.\x94 Noah said, and all the
boys were afraid of him. If the apples had been anywhere else they would
have been much surer of their treat; but in spite of their fears,
back came Fred in a few moments, with a heaping measure of nice red
apples--apples that made the boys\x92 mouths water.

Fred said that old Abel had given him as near a smile as could come to
his yellow, wrinkled face.

\x93Treat \x91em,\x94 he said, \x93treat \x91em, eh? Wal, now, \x91pears likely they\x92d
eat you out of house and home. I never see a boy yet that couldn\x92t go
through a tenpenny nail, easy as not.\x94

\x93We ARE always hungry, I believe,\x94 said Fred.

\x93Allers, allers--that\x92s a fact,\x94 picking out the best apples as he spoke
and heaping up the measure. \x93There, now if you\x92ll find a better lot than
that, for the money, you are welcome to it, that\x92s all.\x94

\x93Couldn\x92t do it. Thank you very much,\x94 said Fred.

As the boys took the apples eagerly and began to bite them, they saw the
old face looking out of the dirty panes of window glass upon them.

Fred loved to make everybody happy around him, and this treating was
only second best to leading his class; so when, at the corner of
the street turning to his father\x92s house, he parted from his young
companions, I doubt whether there was a happier boy in all Andrewsville.

I do not think we shall blame him very much if he unconsciously carried
his head pretty high and looked proudly happy.

Out from under the low archway leading to Bill Crandon\x92s house a boy
about as tall as Fred, but stout and coarse, in ragged clothes, stood
staring up and down the street as Fred came toward him.

Something in Fred\x92s looks and manner seemed especially to displease him.
He moved directly into the middle of the sidewalk, and squared himself
as if for a fight.

There was no other boy in town whom Fred disliked so much, and of whom
he felt so afraid.

Sam Crandon, everybody knew, was a bully. He treated boys who were
larger and stronger than himself civilly, but was cruel and domineering
over the poor and weak.

So far in his life, though they met often, Fred had avoided coming into
contact with Sam, and Sam had seemed to feel just a little awe of him;
for Mr. Sargent was one of the wealthiest leading men in town, and Sam,
in spite of himself, found something in the handsome, gentlemanly boy
that held him in check; but to-day Sam\x92s father had just beaten him, and
the boy was smarting from the blows.

I dare say he was hungry, and uncomfortable from many other causes; but
however this may have been, he felt in the mood for making trouble;
for seeing somebody else unhappy beside himself. This prosperous,
well-dressed boy, with his books under his arm, and his happy face, was
the first person he had come across--and here then was his opportunity.

Fred saw him assume the attitude of a prize fighter and knew what it
meant. Sam had a cut, red and swollen, across one cheek, and this helped
to make his unpleasant face more ugly and lowering than usual.

What was to be done? To turn and run never occurred to Fred. To meet him
and fight it out was equally impossible; so Fred stopped and looked at
him irresolutely.

\x93You\x92re afraid of a licking?\x94 asked Sam, grinning ominously.

\x93I don\x92t want to fight,\x94 said Fred, quietly.

\x93No more you don\x92t, but you\x92ve got to.\x94

Fred\x92s blood began to rise. The words and looks of the rough boy were a
little too much for his temper.

\x93Move out of the way,\x94 he said, walking directly up to him.

Sam hesitated for a moment. The steady, honest, bold look in Fred\x92s eyes
was far more effective than a blow would have been; but as soon as Fred
had passed him he turned and struck him a quick, stinging blow between
his shoulders.

\x93That\x92s mean,\x94 said Fred, wheeling round. \x93Strike fair and in front if
you want to, but don\x92t hit in the back--that\x92s a coward\x92s trick.\x94

\x93Take it there, then,\x94 said Sam, aiming a heavy blow at Fred\x92s breast.
But the latter skillfully raised his books, and Sam\x92s knuckles were the
worse for the encounter.

\x93Hurt, did it?\x94 said Fred, laughing.

\x93What if it did?\x94

\x93Say quits, then.\x94

\x93Not by a good deal;\x94 and in spite of himself Fred was dragged into an
ignominious street fight.

Oh, how grieved and mortified he was when his father, coming down the
street, saw and called to him. Hearing his voice Sam ran away and Fred,
bruised and smarting, with his books torn and his clothes, too, went
over to his father.

Not a word did Mr. Sargent say. He took Fred\x92s hand in his, and the two
walked silently to their home.

I doubt whether Mr. Sargent was acting wisely. Fred never had told
him an untruth in his life, and a few words now might have set matters
right. But to this roughness in boys Mr. Sargent had a special aversion.
He had so often taken pains to instill its impropriety and vulgarity
into Fred\x92s mind that he could not now imagine an excuse.

\x93He should not have done so under any circumstances,\x94 said his
father sternly, to himself. \x93I am both surprised and shocked, and the
punishment must be severe.\x94

Unfortunately for Fred, his mother was out of town for a few days--a
mother so much sooner than a father reaches the heart of her son--so now
his father said:

\x93You will keep your room for the next week. I shall send your excuse
to your teacher. Ellen will bring your meals to you. At the end of that
time I will see and talk with you.\x94

Without a word Fred hung his cap upon its nail, and went to his room.
Such a sudden change from success and elation to shame and condign
punishment was too much for him.

He felt confused and bewildered. Things looked dark around him, and the
great boughs of the Norway spruce, close up by his window, nodded and
winked at him in a very odd way.

He had been often reproved, and sometimes had received a slight
punishment, but never anything like this. And now he felt innocent, or
rather at first he did not feel at all, everything was so strange and
unreal.

He heard Ellen come into his room after a few minutes with his dinner,
but he did not turn.

A cold numbing sense of disgrace crept over him. He felt as if, even
before this Irish girl, he could never hold up his head again.

He did not wish to eat or do anything. What could it all mean?

Slowly the whole position in which he was placed came to him. The boys
gathering at school; the surprise with which his absence would be
noted; the lost honor, so lately won; his father\x92s sad, grave face; his
sisters\x92 unhappiness; his mother\x92s sorrow; and even Sam\x92s face, so ugly
in its triumph, all were there.

What an afternoon that was! How slowly the long hours dragged themselves
away! And yet until dusk Fred bore up bravely. Then he leaned his head
on his hands. Tired, hungry, worn out with sorrow, he burst into tears
and cried like a baby.

Don\x92t blame him. I think any one of us would have done the same.

\x93Oh, mother! mother!\x94 said Fred aloud, to himself, \x93do come home! do
come home!\x94

Ellen looked very sympathizing when she came in with his tea, and found
his dinner untouched.

\x93Eat your tea, Master Fred,\x94 she said, gently. \x93The like of ye can\x92t
go without your victuals, no way. I don\x92t know what you\x92ve done, but I
ain\x92t afeared there is any great harm in it, though your collar is on
crooked and there\x92s a tear in your jacket, to say nothing of a black and
blue place under your left eye. But eat your tea. Here\x92s some fruit cake
Biddy sent o\x92 purpose.\x94

Somebody did think of and feel sorry for him! Fred felt comforted on the
instant by Ellen\x92s kind words and Biddy\x92s plum cake; and I must say, ate
a hearty, hungry boy\x92s supper; then went to bed and slept soundly until
late the next morning.

We have not space to follow Fred through the tediousness of the
following week. His father strictly carried out the punishment to the
letter No one came near him but Ellen, though he heard the voices of his
sisters and the usual happy home sounds constantly about him.

Had Fred really been guilty, even in the matter of a street fight, he
would have been the unhappiest boy living during this time; but we know
he was not, so we shall be glad to hear that with his books and
the usual medley of playthings with which a boy\x92s room is piled, he
contrived to make the time pass without being very wretched. It was the
disgrace of being punished, the lost position in school, and above all,
the triumph which it would be to Sam, which made him the most miserable.
The very injustice of the thing was its balm in this case. May it be so,
my young readers, with any punishment which may ever happen to you!

All these things, however, were opening the way to make Fred\x92s revenge,
when it came, the more complete.

*****

Fred Sargent, of course, had lost his place, and was subjected to a
great many curious inquiries when he returned to school.

He had done his best, in his room, to keep up with his class, but his
books, studied \x93in prison,\x94 as he had learned to call it, and in the
sitting-room, with his sister Nellie and his mother to help him, were
very different things. Still, \x93doing your best\x94 always brings its
reward; and let me say in passing, before the close of the month Fred
had won his place again.

This was more easily done than satisfying the kind inquiries of the
boys. So after trying the first day to evade them, Fred made a clean
breast of it and told the whole story.

I think, perhaps, Mr. Sargent\x92s severe and unjust discipline had a far
better effect upon the boys generally than upon Fred particularly. They
did not know how entirely Fred had acted on the defensive, and so they
received a lesson which most of them never forgot on the importance
which a kind, genial man, with a smile and a cheery word for every child
in town, attached to brawling.

After all, the worst effect of this punishment came upon Sam Crandon
himself. Very much disliked as his wicked ways had made him before, he
was now considered as a town nuisance. Everybody avoided him, and when
forced to speak to him did so in the coldest, and often in the most
unkind manner.

Sam, not three weeks after his wanton assault upon Fred, was guilty of
his first theft and of drinking his first glass of liquor. In short, he
was going headlong to destruction and no one seemed to think him worth
the saving. Skulking by day, prowling by night--hungry, dirty,
beaten and sworn at--no wonder that he seemed God-forsaken as well as
man-forsaken.

Mr. Sargent had a large store in Rutgers street. He was a wholesale
dealer in iron ware, and Andrewsville was such an honest, quiet town
ordinary means were not taken to keep the goods from the hands of
thieves.

Back doors, side doors and front doors stood open all the day, and no
one went in or out but those who had dealings with the firm.

Suddenly, however, articles began to be missed--a package of knives, a
bolt, a hatchet, an axe, a pair of skates, flat-irons, knives and forks,
indeed hardly a day passed without a new thing being taken, and though
every clerk in the store was on the alert and very watchful, still the
thief, or thieves remained undetected.

At last matters grew very serious. It was not so much the pecuniary
value of the losses--that was never large--but the uncertainty into
which it threw Mr. Sargent. The dishonest person might be one of his own
trusted clerks; such things had happened, and sad to say, probably would
again.

\x93Fred,\x94 said his father, one Saturday afternoon, \x93I should like to have
you come down to the store and watch in one of the rooms. There is a
great run of business to-day, and the clerks have their hands more than
full. I must find out, if possible who it is that is stealing so freely.
Yesterday I lost six pearl-handled knives worth two dollars apiece. Can
you come?\x94


\x93Yes, sir,\x94 said Fred, promptly, \x93I will be there at one, to a minute;
and if I catch him, let him look out sharp, that is all.\x94

This acting as police officer was new business to Fred and made him
feel very important, so when the town clock was on the stroke of one he
entered the store and began his patrol.

It was fun for the first hour, and he was so much on the alert that old
Mr. Stone, from his high stool before the desk, had frequently to put
his pen behind his ear and watch him. It was quite a scene in a play to
see how Fred would start at the least sound. A mouse nibbling behind
a box of iron chains made him beside himself until he had scared the
little gray thing from its hole, and saw it scamper away out of the
shop. But after the first hour the watching FOR NOTHING became a little
tedious. There was a \x93splendid\x94 game of base ball to come off on the
public green that afternoon; and after that the boys were going to the
\x93Shaw-seen\x94 for a swim; then there was to be a picnic on the \x93Indian
Ridge,\x94 and--well, Fred had thought of all these losses when he so
pleasantly assented to his father\x92s request, and he was not going to
complain now. He sat down on a box, and commenced drumming tunes with
his heels on its sides. This disturbed Mr. Stone. He looked at him
sharply, so he stopped and sauntered out into a corner of the back
store, where there was a trap-door leading down into the water. A small
river ran by under the end of the store, also by the depot, which was
near at hand, and his father used to have some of his goods brought down
in boats and hoisted up through this door.

It was always one of the most interesting places in the store to Fred;
he liked to sit with his feet hanging down over the water, watching it
as it came in and dashed against the cellar walls.

To-day it was high, and a smart breeze drove it in with unusual force.
Bending down as far as he could safely to look under the store, Fred
saw the end of a hatchet sticking out from the corner of one of the
abutments that projected from the cellar, to support the end of the
store in which the trap-door was.

\x93What a curious place this is for a hatchet!\x94 thought Fred, as he
stooped a little further, holding on very tight to the floor above.
What he saw made him almost lose his hold and drop into the water below.
There, stretched along on a beam was Sam Crandon, with some stolen
packages near him.

For a moment Fred\x92s astonishment was too great to allow him to speak;
and Sam glared at him like a wild beast brought suddenly to bay.

\x93Oh, Sam! Sam!\x94 said Fred, at length, \x93how could you?\x94

Sam caught up a hatchet and looked as if he was going to aim it at him,
then suddenly dropped it into the water.

Fred\x92s heart beat fast, and the blood came and went from his cheeks; he
caught his breath heavily, and the water, the abutment and even Sam
with his wicked ugly face were for a moment darkened. Then, recovering
himself, he said:

\x93Was it you, Sam? I\x92m sorry for you!\x94

\x93Don\x92t lie!\x94 said Sam, glowering back, \x93you know you\x92re glad!\x94

\x93Glad? Why should I be glad to have you steal?\x94

\x93Cause I licked you, and you caught it.\x94

\x93So I did; but I am sorry, for all that.\x94

\x93You lie!\x94

Fred had thought very fast while this conversation was going on. He
had only to lift his head and call his father, then the boat would be
immediately pushed in under the store, Sam secured and his punishment
certain. There were stolen goods enough to convict him, and his mode of
ingress into the store was now certain. This trap-door was never
locked; very often it was left open--the water being considered the most
effectual bolt and bar that could be used; but Sam, a good swimmer and
climber, had come in without difficulty and had quite a store of his own
hidden away there for future use. This course was very plain; but for
some reason, which Fred could not explain even to himself, he did not
feel inclined to take it; so he sat looking steadily in Sam\x92s face until
he said:

\x93Look here, Sam, I want to show you I mean what I say. I\x92m sorry you
have turned thief and if I can help you to be a better boy, I should be
glad to.\x94

Again Fred\x92s honest kindly face had the same effect upon Sam that it had
at the commencement of their street fight; he respected and trusted it
unconsciously.

\x93Here!\x94 said he, crawling along on the beam and handing back the package
of knives, the last theft of which his father had complained.

\x93Yes, that is right,\x94 said Fred, leaning down and taking it, \x93give them
all back, if you can; that is what my father calls \x91making restitution,\x92
and then you won\x92t be a thief any longer.\x94

Something in the boy\x92s tone touched Sam\x92s heart still more; so he
handed back one thing after another as rapidly as he could until nearly
everything was restored.

\x93Bravo for you, Sam! I won\x92t tell who took them, and there is a chance
for you. Here, give me your hand now, honor bright you\x92ll never come
here again to steal, if I don\x92t tell my father.\x94

Sam looked at him a moment, as if he would read his very soul; then he
said sulkily:

\x93You\x92ll tell; I know you will, \x91cause I licked you when you didn\x92t want
me to; but you\x92ve got \x91em all back, and I s\x92pose it won\x92t go very hard.\x94

\x93What won\x92t go very hard?\x94

\x93The prison.\x94

\x93You sha\x92n\x92t go to prison at all. Here, give me your hand; I promise not
to tell if you will promise not to steal any more. Ain\x92t that fair?\x94

\x93Yes,\x94 said Sam, a sudden change coming over his face, \x93but you will!\x94

\x93Try me and see.\x94

Sam slowly and really at a great deal of peril, considering his
situation, put his rough, grimed hand into Fred\x92s--a dishonest hand it
was, and that more than the other thing made Fred recoil a little as he
touched it; but that clasp sealed the compact between these two boys. It
began Fred Sargent\x92s revenge.

\x93Now be off, will you, before the clerks come? They will see the things
and catch you here. I\x92ll be round to your house soon and we will see.\x94

Even in this short time Fred had formed a general plan for saving Sam.

The boy, stretching himself out flat, slipped down the transverse beam
into the water, dived at once and came up under the bridge a few rods
distant, then coolly passed down the river and swam to shore under a
bunch of alder-bushes, by which he was concealed from the sight of the
passers-by.

Fred sought his father, told him the story, then brought him to the
spot, showed the goods which the boy had returned, and begged as a
reward for the discovery to be allowed to conceal his name.

His father of course hesitated at so unusual a proposition; but there
was something so very much in earnest in all Fred did and said that he
became convinced it was best, for the present at least, to allow him to
have his own way; and this he was very glad he had done when a few days
after Fred asked him to do something for Sam Crandon.

\x93Sam Crandon?\x94 he asked in surprise. \x93Is not that the very boy I found
you fighting in the street with?\x94

\x93Yes, sir,\x94 said Fred, hanging his head, \x93but he promises to do well,
if he can only find work--HONEST work; you see, sir, he is so bad nobody
helps him.\x94

Mr. Sargent smiled. \x93A strange recommendation, Fred,\x94 he said, \x93but
I will try what can be done. A boy who wants to reform should have a
helping hand.\x94

\x93He does want to--he wants to heartily; he says he does. Father, if you
only will!\x94

Fred, as he stood there, his whole face lit up with the glow of this
generous, noble emotion, never was dearer to his father\x92s heart; indeed
his father\x92s eyes were dim, and his voice a little husky, as he said
again:

\x93I will look after him, Fred, for your sake.\x94

And so he did; but where and how I have not space now to tell my
readers. Perhaps, at some future time, I may finish this story; for
the present let me say there is a new boy in Mr. Sargent\x92s store, with
rough, coarse face, voice and manners; everybody wonders at seeing him
there; everybody prophesies future trouble; but nobody knows that this
step up in Sam Crandon\x92s life is Fred Sargent\x92s revenge.



THE SMUGGLER\x92S TRAP.

Hubert had accompanied his father on a visit to his uncle, who lived in
a fine old country mansion, on the shore of Caermarthen Bay.

In front of the house spread a long beach, which terminated in
precipitous cliffs and rocky ledges. On the afternoon of the day
following his arrival, he declared his intention of exploring the beach.

\x93Don\x92t get caught in \x91The Smuggler\x92s Trap,\x92\x94 said his uncle, as he
mentioned his plan.

\x93\x91The Smuggler\x92s Trap?\x92\x94

\x93Yes. It\x92s at the end of the beach where you see the cliffs. It\x92s a
hollow cave, which you can only walk at very low tide. You\x92d better not
go in there.\x94

\x93Oh, never fear,\x94 said Hubert carelessly, and in a few minutes he was
wandering over the beach, and after walking about two miles reached the
end of the beach at the base of the great cliffs.

The precipice towered frowningly overhead, its base all worn and
furrowed by the furious surges that for ages had dashed against it. All
around lay a chaos of huge boulders covered with seaweed. The tide was
now at the lowest ebb. The surf here was moderate, for the seaweed on
the rocks interfered with the swell of the waters, and the waves broke
outside at some distance.

Between the base of the precipice and the edge of the water there was
a space left dry by the ebb tide about two yards in width; and Hubert
walked forward over the space thus uncovered to see what lay before him.

He soon found himself in a place which seemed like a fissure rent in a
mountain side, by some extraordinary convulsion of nature. All around
rose black, precipitous cliffs. On the side nearest was the precipice
by whose base he had passed; while over opposite was a gigantic wall of
dark rock, Which extended far out into the sea. Huge waves thundered at
its feet and dashed their spray far upward into the air. The space was
about fifty yards across.

The fissure extended back for about two hundred yards, and there
terminated in a sharp angle formed by the abrupt walls of the cliffs
which enclosed it. All around there were caverns worn into the base of
the precipices by the action of the sea.

The floor of this place was gravelly, but near the water it was strewn
with large boulders. Further in there were no boulders and it was easy
to walk about.

At the furthest extremity there was a flat rock that seemed to have
fallen from the cliff above in some former age. The cliffs around
were about two hundred feet in height. They were perfectly bare, and
intensely black. On their storm-riven summits not a sign of verdure
appeared. Everything had the aspect of gloom, which was heightened by
the mournful monotone of the sea waves as they dashed against the rock.

After the first feeling of awe had passed, Hubert ran forward, leaping
from rock to rock, till he came to where the beach or floor of the
fissure was gravelly. Over this he walked and hastened to the caverns,
looking into them one after another.

Then he busied himself by searching among the pebbles for curious stones
and shells. He found here numerous specimens of the rarest and finest
treasures of the sea--shells of a delicacy of tint and perfection of
outline; seaweeds of new and exquisite forms with rich hues which he had
hitherto believed impossible.

In the hollows of the rocks, where the water yet lay in pools, he found
little minnows; and delicate jelly fish, with their long slender fibers;
and sea anemones; and sea urchins with their spires extended; and
star-fish moving about with their innumerable creepers. It was a new
world, a world which had thus far been only visible to him in the
aquarium, and now as it stood before him he forgot all else.

He did not feel the wind as it blew in fresh from the sea--the dread
\x93sou\x92wester,\x94 the terror of fishermen. He did not notice the waves that
rolled in more furiously from without, and were now beginning to break
in wrath upon the rocky ledges and boulders. He did not see that the
water had crept on nearer to the cliff, and that a white line of foam
now lay on that narrow belt of beach which he had traversed at the foot
of the cliff.

Suddenly a sound burst upon his ears that roused him, and sent all the
blood back to his heart. It was his own name, called out in a voice of
anguish and almost of despair by his father.

He sprang to his feet, started forward and rushed with the speed of the
wind to the place by which he had entered the enclosure. But a barrier
lay before him. The rolling waves were there, rushing in over the rocks,
dashing against the cliff, tossing their white and quivering spray
exulting in the air.

At once Hubert knew his danger.

He was caught in the \x93Smuggler\x92s Trap,\x94 and the full meaning of his
uncle\x92s warning flashed upon his mind as in his terror he shrieked back
to his father.

Then there was silence for a time

While Hubert had been in the \x93Trap,\x94 his father and uncle had been
walking along the beach, and the former heard for the first time the
nature and danger of the \x93Smuggler\x92s Trap.\x94 He was at once filled with
anxiety about his son, and had hurried to the place to call him back,
when to his horror he found that the tide had already covered the only
way by which the dangerous place might be approached.

No sooner had he heard Hubert\x92s answering cry than he rushed forward to
try and save him. But the next moment a great wave came rolling in and
dashed him upon the cliff. Terribly bruised, he clung to the cliff till
the surf fell back, and then ran on again.

He slipped over a rock and fell, but instantly regaining his feet he
advanced further, and in his haste fell into a hollow which was filled
with water.

Before he could emerge another wave was upon him. This one beat him
down, and it was only by clinging to the seaweed that he escaped being
sucked back by the retreating surge. Bold and frenzied though he was,
he had to start back from the fury of such an assault as this. He rushed
backward and waited.

His eyes searched wildly around. He noticed that the surf grew more
violent every moment, and every moment took away hope. But he would not
yield.

Once more he rushed forward. The waves rolled in, but he grasped the
rocks and withstood the surf, and still advanced. Another followed.
He bowed before it, and clinging to the rocks as before came forth
triumphant.

Already he was nearly halfway. He sprang upon a rock that rose above the
level of the seething flood, and stood for a moment panting and gasping.
But now a great wave came rolling in upon him. He fell on his knees and
clung to the seaweed.

The wave struck. It hurled him from the rock. He rolled over and over.
Blinded, bruised and half drowned, he felt himself dashed against the
cliff. He threw his arms wildly about, but found nothing which he could
seize. The retreating wave sucked him back. But a rock stayed him. This
he grasped and was saved.

Then, hastily scrambling to his feet, he staggered back to the place
from which he had started. Before he could get back another wave threw
him down, and this time he might have been drowned had not his brother
plunged in and dragged him out.

Of all this Hubert had seen nothing, and known nothing. He waited for
some time in silence, and then called. There was no answer. He called
again and again. But at that time his father was struggling with the
waves and did not hear him. At last, after what seemed an interminable
time, he heard once more his father\x92s voice. He shouted back.

\x93Don\x92t be afraid!\x94 cried the voice. \x93I\x92ll get you out. Wait.\x94

And then there were no more voices.

It was about two o\x92clock when Hubert had entered the gorge. It was after
three when his father had roused him, and made his vain effort to save
him. Hubert was now left alone with the rising tide, whose waters rolled
forward with fearful rapidity. The beach inside was nearly level and he
saw that in an hour or so it would be covered with the waters. He tried
to trust to his father\x92s promise, but the precious moments passed and
he began to look with terror upon the increasing storm; for every moment
the wind grew fiercer, and the surf rolled in with ever increasing
impetuosity.

He looked all around for a place of refuge, and saw nothing except
the rock which arose at the extremity of the place, at the foot of the
overhanging cliffs. It was about five feet high, and was the only place
that afforded anything like safety.

Up this he clambered, and from this he could survey the scene, but only
to perceive the full extent of his danger. For the tide rushed in more
and more swiftly, the surf grew higher and higher and he saw plainly
that before long the water would reach the summit of the rock, and that
even before then the surf in its violence would sweep him away.

The moments passed slowly. Minutes seemed in his suspense to be
transformed to hours. The sky was overspread now with black clouds; and
the gloom increased. At length the waves rolled in until they covered
all the beach in front, and began to dash against the rock on which he
had taken refuge.

The precious moments passed. Higher and higher grew the waters. They
came rolling into the cave, urged on by the fury of the billows outside,
and heaping themselves up as they were compressed into this narrow
gorge. They dashed up around the rock. The spray was tossed in his face.
Already he felt their inexorable grasp. Death seemed so near that hope
left him. He fell upon his knees with his hands clasped, and his white
face upturned. Just then a great wave rolled up and flung itself over
the rock, and over his knees as he knelt, and over his hands as he
clasped them in prayer. A few more moments and all would be over.

As hope left a calmness came--the calmness that is born of despair. Face
to face with death, he had tasted the bitterness of death, but now he
flung aside the agony of his fear and rose to his feet, and his soul
prepared itself for the end. Just then, in the midst of the uproar
of wind and wave, there came a sudden sound, which roused to quick,
feverish throbs the young lad\x92s heart. It was a voice--and sounded just
above him:

\x93HUBERT!\x94

He looked up.

There far above him, in the gloom, he saw faces projecting over the edge
of the cliff. The cry came again; he recognized the voice of his father.

For a moment Hubert could not speak. Hope returned. He threw up his arms
wildly, and cried:

\x93Make haste! Oh, make haste!\x94

A rope was made fast about Hubert\x92s father, and he was let down over
the edge of the cliff. He would allow no other than himself to undertake
this journey.

He had hurried away and gathered a number of fishermen, whose stout arms
and sinewy hands now held the rope by which he descended to save his
son.

It was a perilous journey. The wind blew and the rope swayed more and
more as it was let down, and sometimes he was dashed against the rocky
sides of the precipice; but still he descended, and at last stood on the
rock and clasped his son in his arms.

But there was no time to lose. Hubert mounted on his father\x92s shoulders,
holding the rope while his father bound his boy close to him. Then the
word was given, and they were slowly pulled up.

They reached the summit in safety, and as they reached it those who
looked down through the gloom saw the white foam of the surf as it
boiled in fury over the rock where Hubert had been standing.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Errand Boy; Or, How Phil Brent Won Success" ***

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