A Boy's Fortune

He entered the building, and was about passing to the platform, when he was stopped. "Your ticket, monsieur."

Just then came the signal for the train to start.

"Never mind the ticket!" shouted the doctor. "Don't stop me. One of my patients is running away."

"I can't help it," said the guard, imperturbably. "Monsieur cannot pass without a ticket."

"But I don't want to go anywhere," roared M. Bourdon. "I want to see the passengers."

To the railway attendant this seemed a very curious request. He began to think the doctor, with his excitable manner, was insane. At any rate, he was obliged to obey the rules.

"Go back and buy a ticket, monsieur," he said, unmoved.

"But I don't want to go anywhere," protested M. Bourdon.

"Then go back!" And the official, placing his hand on the doctor's sacred person, thrust him forcibly aside.

"Fool! Dolt!" screamed M. Bourdon, who could hear the train starting.

"You must be crazy!" said the guard, shrugging his shoulders.

It was too late now. The train had actually gone, and M. Bourdon turned back, foiled, humiliated and wrathful. He regretted bitterly now that he had not let Francois off the evening before, as in that case Ben would not have had a chance to escape. Now he must lose the generous sum which Major Grafton had agreed to pay for his ward. It was more than he received for any other of his patients, for M. Bourdon, recognizing Ben's sanity, shrewdly surmised that the guardian had some special design in having his ward locked up, and took advantage of it to increase the weekly sum which he charged.

And now all this was lost.

But no! A happy thought struck the worthy doctor. Ben had escaped, it is true, but why could not he go on charging for him just as before? His escape was not known to Major Grafton, and probably would not be discovered for a long time at least. The major was not very likely to visit the asylum, as an interview between him and his young victim would be rather embarrassing to him.

Yes, that was the course he would pursue. He would from time to time send in a report of his patient, and regularly collect his board, while he would be at no expense whatever for him. It was necessary, however, to take Francois into his confidence, and he drove back to the cottage of the humble attendant.

Francois was watching outside. He was afraid the doctor would succeed in capturing the boy, in whom he had begun to feel a strong interest. When he saw M. Bourdon drive up alone he smiled to himself, though his features remained outwardly grave.

"Did you find him, sir?" he asked, respectfully.

"No," answered M. Bourdon, roughly. "The train had just started."

"And was he a passenger?"

"Doubtless."

"What will you do, Monsieur le Docteur?" Francois asked, curiously.

"Francois," said M. Bourdon, suddenly, "I am sorry for you."

"Why?" asked Francois, considerably surprised. "Is it because my little Marie is sick?"

"Plague take your little Marie! It is because you have helped the boy to escape."

"How could I help him, sir?"

"Some one must have unlocked the door of his room. Otherwise, he could not have got out."

"I don't know, monsieur," said Francois, assuming ignorance.

"When did you first see him?"

"I had walked about a quarter of a mile," said Francois, mendaciously, "when he ran up and overtook me. I told him to go back, but he would not. He followed me, and came here."

"This story is by no means ingenious," said the doctor, shaking his head. "When you stand up in a court of justice you will see how the lawyers will make you eat your words. And very likely they will send you to prison."

"Oh, no! Don't say that!" said poor Francois, much frightened. "What would become of my poor wife and child?"

"You should have thought of them before this."

"Oh, Monsieur le Docteur, you will save me from prison!" exclaimed poor, simple-minded Francois.

"On one condition."

"Name it, monsieur."

"Let no one know that the boy has escaped."

"I will not, if you desire it."

"You see, it will be bad for me as well as for you. It was very important to keep him – very important, indeed – and his friends will call me to account. But they need not know it, if you remain silent."

"No one shall hear me say a word, Monsieur le Docteur," said Francois, promptly.

"That is well. In that case I will overlook your disobedience, and allow you to return to your place."

"Oh, monsieur is too good!" said Francois, who did not by any means anticipate such magnanimous forgiveness.

"When can you come back?"

"When monsieur will."

"Come, then, this evening. It will be in time. I will allow you to spend the day with your family, since your child is sick."

The doctor turned his horse's head, and drove back to the asylum.

Three days after he wrote to Major Grafton:

"My Dear Sir: Your ward is rather sullen, but quiet. He was at first disposed to make trouble, but the firm and effective discipline of the institution has had the usual result. I allow him to amuse himself with reading, as this seems to be the best way of keeping him quiet and contented. His insanity is of a mild kind, but it is often precisely such cases that are most difficult to cure. You may rely, Monsieur Grafton, upon my taking the best care of the young gentleman, and, as you desired, I will especially guard against his obtaining writing materials, lest, by a misrepresentation of his condition, he might excite his friends.

"I thank you for your promptness in forwarding my weekly payments. Write me at any time when you desire a detailed account of your ward's condition."

M. Bourdon signed this letter, after reading it over to himself, with a complacent smile. He reflected that it did great credit to his ingenuity.

"Some men would have revealed the truth," he said to himself, "and lost a fine income. I am wiser."

In due time this letter reached Major Grafton.

"That is well," he said to himself. "I am rather sorry for the boy, but he has brought it on himself. Why must he be a fool, and threaten to blab? He was living in luxury, such as he has never been accustomed to before, and he might rest content with that. In me surely he had an indulgent master. I rarely gave him anything to do. He could live on the fat of the land, see the world at no expense to himself, and have all the advantages of a rich man's son. Well, he has made his own bed, and now he must lie in it. On some accounts it is more agreeable to me to travel alone, and have no one to bother me."

To avert suspicion, Major Grafton left the Hotel des Bergues and took up his quarters at another hotel. At the end of two weeks he left for Italy, having arranged matters satisfactorily by sending M. Bourdon a month's payment in advance, an arrangement that suited the worthy doctor remarkably well.

CHAPTER XXXI.

A Wanderer in France

A boy toiled painfully over a country road but a few miles from the city of Lyons. His clothes bore the marks of the dusty road over which he was travelling. It was clear by his appearance that he was not a French boy. There is no need of keeping up a mystery which my young readers will easily penetrate. This boy was our hero, Ben Baker. He was now more than half way to Paris, and might have reached that gay city days since but for his limited supply of money. When he gave Francois a hundred francs he nearly exhausted his limited capital, but there was no help for it.

He had travelled a hundred miles on the railway, far enough to be beyond the danger of pursuit and the risk of a return to the asylum, which he could not think of without a shudder. Now he would walk, and so economize. He had walked another hundred miles, and had reached this point in his journey. But his scanty funds were now reduced to a piece of two sous, and he was between three and four thousand miles from home. This very day he had walked fifteen miles, and all he had eaten was a roll, which he had purchased in a baker's shop in a country village through which he had passed in the early morning.

Hopeful as Ben was by temperament, he looked sober enough as he contemplated his position. How was he ever to return home, and what prospect was there for him in Europe? If he had been in any part of America he would have managed to find something to do, but here he felt quite helpless.

He had walked fifteen miles on an almost empty stomach, and the result was that he was not only tired but sleepy. He sat down by the way-side, with his back against the trunk of a tree, and before he was conscious of it he had fallen asleep.

How long he had been asleep he did not know, but he was roused suddenly by a touch. Opening his eyes, he saw a man fumbling at his watch-chain. The man, who was a stout and unprepossessing-looking man of about thirty-five, wearing a blouse, jumped back with a hasty, confused exclamation.

"What are you doing?" demanded Ben, suspiciously.

He spoke first in English, but, remembering himself, repeated the question in French.

"Pardon, monsieur," said the man, looking uncomfortable.

Ben's glance fell on his chain and the watch, which had slipped from his pocket, and he understood that the man had been trying to steal his watch. In spite of his poverty and need of money he had not yet parted with the watch, though he suspected the time would soon come when he should be compelled to do so.

"You were trying to steal my watch," said Ben, severely.

"No, monsieur, you are wrong," answered the tramp, for that was what he would be called in America.

"How came my watch out of the pocket, and why were you leaning over me?" continued Ben.

"I wanted to see what time it was," answered the man, after a minute's hesitation.

"I think it is fortunate I awoke when I did," said Ben.

His new acquaintance did not choose to notice the significance of the words.

"Monsieur," he said, "I am a poor man. Will you help me with a few sous?"

Ben could not help laughing. It seemed too ridiculous that any one should ask money of him. He took the two-sous piece from his pocket.

"Do you see that?" he asked.

"Yes, monsieur."

"It is all the money I have."

The man looked incredulous.

"And yet monsieur is well dressed, and has a gold watch."

"Still I am as poor as you, for I am more than three thousand miles from home, and have not money enough to get there, even if I sell my watch."

"Where does monsieur live?" asked the tramp, looking interested.

"In America."

"Will monsieur take my advice?"

"If it is good."

"There is a rich American gentleman at the Hotel de la Couronne, in Lyons. He would, perhaps, help monsieur."

The idea struck Ben favorably. This gentleman could, at any rate, give him advice, and he felt that he needed it.

"How far is Lyons away?"

"Scarcely a league."

"Straight ahead?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Then I will go there."

"And I, too. I will guide monsieur."

"Thank you. I will reward you, if I have the means."

CHAPTER XXXII.

A Strange Meeting

The Hotel de la Couronne is situated in one of the finest parts of Lyons. As Ben stood before it, he began to doubt whether he had not better go away with his errand undone. After all, this American gentleman, if there were one in the hotel, would be likely to feel very little interest in a destitute boy claiming to be a fellow-countryman. He might even look upon him as a designing rogue, with a fictitious story of misfortune, practising upon his credulity. Ben's cheek flushed at the mere thought that he might be so regarded.

So he was on the point of going away; but he was nerved by his very desperation to carry out his original plan.

He entered the hotel, and went up to the office.

"Will monsieur look at some apartments?" asked the landlord's son, a man of thirty.

"No, monsieur – that is, not at present. Is there an American gentleman at present staying in the hotel?"

"Yes. Is monsieur an American?"

Ben replied in the affirmative, and asked for the name of his countryman.

"It is Monsieur Novarro," was the reply.

"Novarro!" repeated Ben to himself. "That sounds more like a Spanish or an Italian name."

"Is that the gentleman monsieur desires to see?"

"From what part of America does Mr. Novarro come?"

The register was applied to, and the answer given was "Havana."

"Havana!" said Ben, disappointed. "Then he will take no interest in me," he thought. "There is very little kindred between a Cuban and an American."

"Would monsieur like to see M. Novarro?"

"I may as well see him," thought Ben, and he answered in the affirmative.

"There is M. Novarro, now," said the landlord's son; and Ben, turning, saw a tall, very dark-complexioned man, who had just entered.

"M. Novarro, here is a young gentleman who wishes to see you – a countryman of yours."

The Cuban regarded Ben attentively, and not without surprise.

"Have we met before?" he asked, courteously.

"No, sir," answered Ben, relieved to find that the Cuban spoke English; "and I am afraid I am taking a liberty in asking for you."

"By no means! If I can be of any service to you, my friend, you may command me."

"It is rather a long story, Mr. Novarro," Ben commenced.

"Then we will adjourn to my room, where we shall be more at our ease."

Ben followed his new acquaintance to a handsome private parlor on the second floor and seated himself in a comfortable arm-chair, indicated by the Cuban.

"I will first mention my name," said Ben. "It is Benjamin Baker."

"Baker!" exclaimed the Cuban, in evident excitement. "Who was your father?"

"My father was Dr. John Baker, and lived in Sunderland, Connecticut."

"Is is possible!" ejaculated the Cuban; "you are his son?"

"Did you know my father?" asked Ben, in amazement.

"I never saw him, but I knew of him. I am prepared to be a friend to his son. Now tell me your story."

CHAPTER XXXIII.

An Astounding Discovery

Ben told his story so far as it concerned his engagement by Major Grafton and his visit to Europe. Of his mother and her circumstances and of his uncle he had scarcely occasion to speak, considering that his auditor would hardly feel interested in his own personal history. The Cuban, who had a grave, kindly aspect, listened with close attention to his narrative. When Ben ceased speaking he said:

"My young friend, there is one thing that puzzles me in this story of yours."

"What is it, sir?" asked Ben, anxiously. He feared that the stranger did not believe him.

"Why should you need to travel with Major Grafton, or any other gentleman, as private secretary, unless, indeed, your mother did not wish you to come to Europe alone?"

Ben stared at his interlocutor in amazement.

"How could I come to Europe alone?" he asked. "Where should I find the money to pay my expenses?"

"Your mother might pay the expenses of your trip."

"My mother is very poor, Mr. Novarro."

"Very poor! Has she, then, lost the money that your father left her?"

"I think you must be under a great mistake, Mr. Novarro. My uncle allows my mother a small income, and I help her all I can."

"There is certainly a great mistake somewhere," said the Cuban. "To my certain knowledge your father possessed a hundred thousand dollars in first-class securities. Didn't you know anything of this?" continued Mr. Novarro, observing Ben's look of extreme amazement.

"I know nothing of it, Mr. Novarro."

"Then he must have been robbed of the securities which I myself gave him on the 18th day of May, in the year 18 – "

"That was the day of my father's death," said Ben.

"He died on that very day?" said the Cuban in excitement. "Tell me the particulars of your father's death. Did he die a natural death?"

"Yes, sir; he died of heart disease."

"And where?"

"In the house of my Uncle Nicholas."

"Before he had time to go home? Before he had acquainted your mother with his good fortune?"

"Neither my mother nor myself knew but that he died a poor man."

"But he had the securities with him. Did your uncle say nothing of them?"

"Not a word."

A look of suspicion appeared on the face of Filippo Novarro.

"Tell me," he said, quickly – "did your uncle, shortly after your father's death, enlarge his business?"

"Yes, sir; he moved from a small store in Grand street to a larger store on Broadway – the one which he now occupies."

With the Cuban, suspicion was now changed to certainty.

He brought down his fist heavily upon the table at his side.

"I know all now," he said. "Your uncle deliberately robbed your dead father of the securities which I had placed in his hands, and coolly appropriating them to his own use, used the proceeds to build up and extend his business, leaving your mother to live in poverty."

"I feel bewildered," said Ben. "I can hardly believe my uncle would treat us so shamefully."

"By the way, when did your mother move to Minnesota?" asked the Cuban.

"To Minnesota?"

"Yes. When I was in New York, not long since, I called upon your uncle and signified my intention to call upon your mother. He told me she had moved to Minnesota, and, of course, I was compelled to give up my plan."

"My mother has never moved to Minnesota; she still lives in Sunderland."

"Then your uncle intended to prevent our meeting. He feared, doubtless, that if we met, his rascality would be discovered. Providence has defeated his cunningly-devised scheme, and the truth will soon be brought to light, to his confusion."

"I am afraid, sir, it will be difficult for my mother and myself to prove that my father left money. We have no money, with which to hire legal assistance."

"I propose to take the matter into my own hands. I am personally interested as the agent whom my dead friend commissioned to pay a debt of gratitude to the man who saved his life. Have you anything to detain you in Europe?"

"No, sir, except an empty purse."

"Permit me to act as your banker."

Mr. Novarro drew from his pocket two hundred and fifty francs in gold and paper and handed them to Ben.

To our hero it seemed like a fairy-tale, in which he was playing the leading part. He half-feared that the gold would turn into brass and the bank-notes into withered leaves; but, strange though it was, he saw good reason to think that his good fortune was real.

"How can I thank you, sir, for your liberality?" he said, gratefully.

"You forget that this is your own money; I am only advancing it to you, and shall be repaid speedily. Will you accept me as your guardian to protect your interests and compel your uncle to disgorge his ill-gotten gains?"

"Thankfully, sir, if you are willing to take the trouble."

"Then you will sail with me for New York by the next steamer. Have you your luggage with you?"

"I have nothing, sir, except what I have on my back. I had to leave the asylum without a change, and I have not been able to change my clothes for a week or more."

"I had forgotten. This must be looked to at once. We will take lunch, and then go out and purchase a new supply of under-clothing."

Once more Ben had fallen on his feet. At what appeared to be the darkest moment light had suddenly fallen across his path, and he had stumbled upon the one man who was able to bring him into the sunshine. Before night his wardrobe had been quite replenished, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief as he found himself in fresh and clean attire.

He sought out the tramp who had escorted him to the hotel, and liberally rewarded him.

"I shall telegraph for passage in the Havre line of steamships," said Mr. Novarro. "A steamer is to sail on Saturday, so that we shall not have long to wait."

"I fear, Mr. Novarro, you are interrupting your own plans in order to befriend me," said Ben to his new patron.

"I have no plans. I am – perhaps unfortunately for myself – a rich man, under no necessity of labor. Indeed, my chief aim has been to pass my time as pleasantly as possible. Now I find something to do, and I find myself happier for having some object in life. I am rejoiced that we have met. It has brought to my life a new interest; and even after I have redeemed your wrongs I shall hope to keep up my acquaintance with you, and to make the acquaintance of your mother."

"You may be sure, sir, that my mother will be only too glad to know so true a friend."

The Cuban regarded Ben with a look of interest and affection. He was beginning to be attracted to him for his own sake. He was a man of energetic temperament, though a large inheritance had hitherto prevented any display of energy. At length the occasion had arisen, and he looked forward with eagerness to the struggle with the New York merchant to secure the rights of his new friend.

On the next day Ben and his guardian left Lyons for Paris. They had two days in this lovely city, and late on Friday evening they reached Havre, the point where they were to embark for America.

"The first act is over, Ben," said the Cuban. "Our ocean trip is a long wait between the first and second acts. When the curtain next rises it will be in New York, and there will be other actors to take an unwilling part in our drama, which is devoted to the detection and punishment of guilt."

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Rose Makes an Enemy

Leaving Ben and his new guardian on their passage across the Atlantic, we will precede them to New York, and inquire after the welfare of some of our other characters.

The Beauforts seemed to have entered on a new and prosperous career. Rose continued to give lessons in music, and to receive liberal compensation. She was really an accomplished musician, and had the happy knack of making herself agreeable to her young pupils. Besides, she was backed by the influence of Miss Wilmot, and that helped her not a little. Her sister Adeline, too, gave lessons in art, and thus contributed to the family purse.

My readers will not have forgotten the young man who rescued Rose from the disagreeable attentions of her elderly lover, Mr. Parkinson. More than once Rose had thought of Clinton Randall, and, though she scarcely admitted it to herself, cherished the hope that they would some day meet again. The young man's frank, chivalrous manners, and handsome face and figure, had impressed her most favorably, and she suffered herself to think of him more than she would have liked to admit. Had she known that Clinton Randall had been equally attracted by her, and had made strenuous efforts to find her ever since their first meeting, she would have been much gratified.

Some weeks passed, however, before she saw him again. One afternoon, as she was walking through Madison Square on her way home from Mrs. Tilton's, where she had given her customary lessons, she met the young man in the walk.

His face glowed with unmistakable joy as he hurried forward, with hand extended.

"I am very glad to meet you again, Miss Beaufort," he said, eagerly. "Where have you been? Not out of the city?"

"Oh, no!" answered Rose, successfully concealing her own pleasure at the meeting. "You can't expect a poor music-teacher to break away from her work at this season?"

"But I did not know you were a music-teacher."

"No, I suppose not," answered Rose, smiling.

"Do you give lessons on the piano?"

"Yes, it is my only instrument."

"I have for a long time thought of taking lessons on the piano," said Randall, who had never thought of it before, "if I could only find a teacher who would not be too strict. Do you – take gentlemen?"

"I am afraid I could not venture upon a pupil of your age, Mr. Randall," said Rose, amused. "Suppose you proved refractory?"

"But I never would."

"I am afraid my time is fully occupied. I will promise, however, to take you, if I agree to take any gentlemen."

"Thank you. I shall not forget your promise."

Clinton Randall, though he had been walking in a different direction, turned and accompanied Rose, both chatting easily and familiarly. It never occurred to Rose that she might meet any one who would comment upon her and her escort. But at the corner of Eighteenth street and Broadway she met a tall young lady, who made her the slightest possible nod, while she fixed eyes of scorn and displeasure upon the two. Clinton Randall raised his hat, and they parted.