A Boy's Fortune

"It is indeed surprising. To what part do you go?"

"I believe we sail for Liverpool in the Parthia. More than that I know nothing."

"You are certainly strangely fortunate," said the merchant, musingly. "Does this Major Grafton appear to be wealthy?"

"I judge that he is."

"Does he pay you well?"

"He gives me fifty dollars per month."

"And what do you do?"

"I am his private secretary, but thus far I have not been called upon to do much. I suppose I shall have more to do when I get to Europe."

"He seems to be eccentric as well as rich. Perhaps he will want to adopt you. I advise you to try to please him."

"I shall certainly do that, though I don't think he will adopt me."

"Clarence will be sorry not to have seen you. He has taken a trip to Long Branch this morning with Percy Van Dyke."

"I saw Percy last evening."

"This country nephew of mine gets into fashionable society remarkably quick," thought the merchant. "There must be something in the boy, or he would not make his way so readily."

"We are all going to Long Branch next week," said Mr. Walton, aloud. "We are to stay at the West End. If you had remained here you could have tried to persuade Major Grafton to spend part of the season at the Branch."

"I shall be satisfied with Europe," said Ben, smiling.

"You have reason to be satisfied. Clarence will envy you when he hears that you are going."

"It didn't look as if he were likely to envy me for anything when I met him here the other day," thought Ben.

"Please remember me to my cousin," said Ben, and shaking his uncle's extended hand he left the store.

He was passing through the store when he felt a touch on his shoulder.

Turning, he recognized the tall lady he had met just after his last visit.

"Are you not the boy who told me I had a ticket on my shawl?" she inquired.

"Yes, madam," replied Ben, smiling.

"I recognize your face, but otherwise you look very different."

"You mean I am better dressed."

"Yes; I thought you a country boy when I met you."

"So I am, but I am trying to be mistaken for a city boy."

"I am relieved to meet you, for some one told me you had got into some trouble with the unmannerly boys who were following me."

"I am much obliged to you for your solicitude in my behalf," said Ben, not caring to acknowledge the fact of the arrest.

"I had hoped to be of service to you, but I see you don't appear to need it. I am here buying a suit of clothes for a poor boy in whom I am interested. Let me give you my card, and if you ever need a friend, come and see me."

The card bore the name of "Jane Wilmot, 300 Madison avenue."

Ben thanked Miss Wilmot and left his uncle's store.

CHAPTER XIV.

What Ben's Friends Thought

"Did you see Philip?" asked Adeline, eagerly, when her young brother returned from his visit to the Metropolitan Hotel.

"No," answered Harry. "He was out."

"And you brought back the note, then?" said his sister, disappointed.

"No; the clerk said he would give it to him; so I left it with him."

Adeline looked anxious.

"I am afraid his guardian will get hold of it," she said, turning to Rose.

"Even if he does, there is nothing in it that you need regret writing."

"It would never reach Philip."

"Probably you are right. In that case we must make another effort when there seems a good chance."

It was decided that Harry should call the next day, at his dinner hour, and ascertain whether the note had been delivered. He did so, but only to learn that the note had been given to Major Grafton, and that both he and Philip had left the hotel.

"Do you know where they went," asked Harry, eagerly.

"No; the major did not say. He will probably send here for letters, and then I can mention that you called."

Harry assented, not being able to explain that this would not answer his purpose.

When he reported his information at home, Adeline said, quickly:

"He left because he does not want us to communicate with Philip."

"Probably," said Rose. "This shows," she added, "that he is afraid Philip would be inclined to do something for us. I am glad to have my faith strengthened in the boy, at all events. If he were willing to live in luxury while he knew we were struggling with poverty I could not regard him as a cousin."

The next morning Mr. Codicil read in the morning papers, among the passengers who had sailed for Europe the day before, the names of Major Grafton and Philip.

"The fellow has lost no time," he said to himself. "The boy is bright and attractive, but he stands a chance of being spoiled under such a guardian. I wish I had questioned him, and tried to learn something of him. I might have given him some idea of the injustice which has been practiced toward his poor cousins. I do not care so much that he profits by it as that that worthless uncle of his should live in luxury at their expense. I am afraid they are having a hard time."

How hard a time the sisters were having – how stern and exacting was the toil which her sister's helplessness imposed upon Rose – Mr. Codicil really had little idea. If he had, he would certainly have done something to assist them, for he was a kind-hearted man; but whenever Rose called upon him she was neatly dressed, and did not bear outward marks of the poverty with which she had to contend.

So far as Nicholas Walton was concerned, he was glad, upon the whole, to learn that his nephew had gone to Europe. He could not see Ben without his conscience reproaching him with the wrong he had done him, and was still doing him and his mother, by retaining possession of a sum of money which would have given them opulence in exchange for the poverty which was not removed by the small allowance he sent them.

"Perhaps Major Grafton will adopt the boy," he said to himself, "and then he won't need his father's money."

As if this would gloss over or excuse the base fraud of which he had been guilty. He had knowingly and intentionally been the occasion of his brother-in-law's sudden death, and was as much his murderer as if he had plunged a knife into his breast, though his crime was less brutal and revolting.

While these thoughts were passing through his mind, Clarence entered the office.

"Clarence, your cousin has been here to see you," said Mr. Walton.

"What did he have to say, pa?"

"He came to bid you good-by."

"To bid me good-by? What for? Where is he going?"

"He is to sail for Europe this afternoon."

"To sail for Europe!" repeated Clarence, in amazement. "He didn't say anything about it last evening."

"Because he did not know it. He was only told this morning."

"He's a lucky beggar!" said Clarence, enviously. "I've been longing to go to Europe this ever so long. Percy Van Dyke spent last summer in Switzerland. It annoys me to hear him talk of the splendid times he had. Here is my country cousin going, while I have to stay at home."

"Don't worry, Clarence," said his father, encouragingly. "You shall go in time. If your friend Percy should be going again, and will accept you as a companion, I will let you go."

This somewhat cheered up Clarence, though with the natural impatience of youth he wanted to go at once.

"I think I never knew a boy as lucky as Ben," said he.

"He certainly has been strangely fortunate," said Mr. Walton.

"He would have been glad to take a place in a store at five dollars a week, and now he's got something ever so much better. I believe he has more money than I to spend, and I am sure he dresses better."

"He seems to have made an impression upon this Major Grafton. I shouldn't be surprised if Grafton adopted him. He has no family of his own, and is, I imagine, very rich."

We know that on this last point Mr. Walton was misinformed. The suggestion, however, was enough to excite the envy and jealousy of Clarence.

"Do you think he will be richer than I?" he asked.

"You will be well provided for, Clarence. You won't have occasion for envying your cousin, even if he should be adopted by Major Grafton."

We have now to change the scene to the little town of Sunderland, from which our hero had come to New York to seek the good fortune which he so strangely found.

We direct our steps to a plain cottage, containing but four rooms and an attic, which stood a little out of the centre of the village. Small and plain as it was, it had an air of refinement and good taste, with its climbing honeysuckles, tiny bed of flowers, its trimly-kept lawn and neat surroundings, which are vainly sought about many more pretentious residences.

Here dwelt Mrs. Baker and Ben's little sister, Alice, but ten years old. She bore a strong family resemblance to Ben, and was equally good-looking.

"It seems an age since Ben left home," said Mrs. Baker, with a little sigh.

"I miss him dreadfully, mother," said Alice. "Why need he go away?"

"I can't blame him, Alice, though I am very sorry to have him go," said Mrs. Baker. "He is ambitious – "

"What does that mean?" asked Alice, puzzled.

"It means that he is anxious to get on in the world – to make money. It is a natural feeling for a boy."

"He used to earn money here at home," said Alice.

"Only a little. No doubt he can do better in New York, if he can get a chance. If his uncle will only help him – "

"I should think he might, mother. Ben is a good boy."

"There is none better," assented his mother, fondly; "but strangers may not know that."

Just then a neighbor, driving by, paused in the road and called out to the widow, whom he saw at the open window:

"Widder Baker, there's a letter for you at the post-office. 'Spect it's from Ben."

"Go right over and get it, Alice," said her mother, excitedly.

Alice wasn't long in performing her errand. She came back well rewarded, bringing with her two letters, one of which had arrived the day before. The first letter contained an account of his cold reception by his uncle, and on the other hand his good luck in encountering Major Grafton. As an earnest of his good fortune he enclosed three five-dollar bills.

"God has been very good to us!" said the widow, with beaming face. "I can hardly believe in Ben's good fortune."

"Open the other letter, mother," said Alice.

Mrs. Baker did so, and, glancing over it rapidly, uttered a quiet exclamation of surprise and dismay.

"Alice," she said, "Ben has sailed for Europe!"

"Gone to Europe, and without bidding us good-by!"

"He did not have any chance," and Mrs. Baker read Ben's letter.

When she came to think it over, she felt that Ben was, on the whole, fortunate to have so good an opportunity of seeing the world; and as to dangers and risks, God would take care of him abroad as well as at home. She would have liked to have known the man who had her boy in charge. Doubtless he must have taken a fancy to Ben, or he would not have given him such a chance.

CHAPTER XV.

Filippo Novarro

Nicholas Walton was well pleased with the good fortune of his nephew. Though a selfish man, he was not wholly without a conscience and a heart. He had always regretted the manner in which he had possessed himself of the large sum of money which, by enabling him to take a store on Broadway, and largely extend his business, had allowed him to take a place among the foremost merchants of New York. He would have preferred to compass his own fortune without bringing ill-fortune to his brother-in-law, but if the thing had to be done again, under the same circumstances, he would probably have yielded to the same temptation.

"Ben appears to be a smart, attractive boy," said Walton to himself. "He is likely to make his own way in the world, especially in his present position. I dare say it is better for him to have lived plainly, and nourished self-reliance, than to have been reared in luxury. Then, as to the fortune, Doctor Baker was a man of very little business shrewdness. He would have wasted the money in bad investments, and, ten to one, not a dollar of it would have remained at the present time."

All this Nicholas Walton said to quiet his conscience, but without success. Many a time, especially in the silent watches of the night, memory revived for him that scene, which he would so gladly have forgotten, when his ill-fated brother-in-law died in a fit of agitation brought on by Walton intentionally. He could see himself once more rifling the pockets of the dead man, and converting to his own use the money which would have made the physician and his family prosperous and happy.

These disquieting thoughts he tried to get rid of. He tried to persuade himself that he was wholly disinterested in his good wishes for his nephew. By way of keeping up the illusion he snatched five minutes from his business, and wrote the following letter of congratulation to his sister:

"My Dear Sister: – Benjamin has no doubt apprised you of his success in obtaining a profitable engagement, and of his departure for Europe. He has also, perhaps, told you that I was opposed to his remaining in the city. I admit that I thought it would have been better for him to remain in Sunderland and obtain a practical acquaintance with farming, in which case I would, at the proper time, have set him up on a farm of his own, for I hold that the farmer is the only truly independent man. A merchant may be rich to-day and a bankrupt to-morrow, and that in spite of the utmost care and prudence. However, I won't dwell on this subject. I am willing to admit that I did not give my nephew credit for the energy and ability he has shown. Though I refused to help him, further than to pay the expenses of his trip to the city, on condition of his returning home at once, he remained and succeeded in commending himself to the favor of a rich man who has given him an excellent position, and will probably – for he seems to be eccentric – finally conclude to adopt the boy.

"It is needless to say that I could not have anticipated such extraordinary luck for Benjamin, and that I am glad he followed his own counsel and remained in the city. Doubtless a better fortune awaits him than the life of a farmer, which, though independent, is laborious. I only write now to congratulate you upon his success, and to express my interest in him. Though you will no doubt miss him, I think you will be able to see that he has done the best thing for himself and for you in the engagement which he has made with Major Grafton. He would have dined at my house to-morrow, but for his sudden departure.

"I inclose my next month's allowance a little in advance.

"Your affectionate brother,"Nicholas Walton."

Mrs. Baker was surprised and gratified on receiving this unusually long letter from her brother Nicholas. She had been wounded at the cool reception which he had accorded to Ben, as detailed in the letter of the latter, but this letter put a new face on the matter.

"After all, Nicholas feels an interest in Ben," she said to herself, "and no doubt he acted for what he thought the best in the advice he gave him to remain in Sunderland and become a farmer. He acknowledges his mistake very handsomely."

So upon the spur of the moment she wrote her brother a letter, acknowledging gratefully his kindness to her boy, and asking for a continuance of it.

This letter was received by Mr. Walton with satisfaction. It made it easier for him to feel that he had not, after all, wronged his sister and her family as much as his conscience sometimes reproached him with.

"Would that I could lose all the memories of that dreadful hour!" he said to himself, with a shudder.

But he did not find that so very easy. It was destined to be recalled to him in a startling manner within a week.

As he sat in his office the following Thursday, a clerk entered.

"Mr. Walton," he said, "there is a foreign gentleman in the store who wishes to see you."

"Is it a stranger?"

"Yes, sir."

"He wishes to see me on business, doubtless. You may bring him in."

The visitor entered – a man of medium size and swarthy complexion – who would be taken at first sight for a Spaniard or a Portuguese. Nicholas Walton regarded him with a look of inquiry.

"Do I speak to Mr. Walton?" asked the stranger, in good English, but with a foreign accent.

"I am Mr. Walton," answered the merchant.

"You are brother-in-law to Mr. – I beg pardon, Doctor Baker?"

"Ye-es," answered the merchant, with a startled look.

"Can you tell me if the good doctor is well?"

"He is – dead!" replied Walton, slowly. "Did you know him?"

"I much regret to hear of his death. I did not know him, but I met him once."

"This must be the man who gave him the bonds," thought Walton, trying to conceal his perturbation. "The moment and the man I have so long dreaded have arrived. Now, Nicholas Walton, you require all your coolness and nerve."

"May I ask when that was?" he asked, with apparent unconcern.

"Five years ago. I was the agent for conveying to him a large sum in securities bequeathed him by my uncle, to whom he had rendered a great service."

"Indeed! I am most glad to see you, sir. I wish my brother-in-law were alive to give you personal welcome."

"When – did he die?"

"But a short time after you met him. He died instantly – of heart disease."

"He left a wife and child, did he not?"

"He left a wife and two children."

"And they live?"

"Yes."

"I wish I could see them."

Nicholas Walton was perplexed and alarmed. If the stranger should see Mrs. Baker, his elaborate scheme would fall to the ground and he would be called upon for an explanation.

"Do you remain long in the city?" he asked.

"I go to Havana in three days. Business of importance, not to mention the sickness of my brother, calls me there."

"Ah!" said the merchant, relieved. "You will have to defer seeing Mrs. Baker, then."

"I thought she might live near by," said Filippo Novarro, for such was the name he gave.

"Two years ago she removed to Minnesota," said the merchant, with fluent falsehood. "Her son, however, is travelling in Europe."

"That, at least, will look as if she retained her fortune," he said to himself.

"Then I must not hope to meet her," said Novarro. "When you write, will you give her my profound respects?"

"With pleasure, Señor Novarro," said Walton, briskly. "Can I be of any service to you personally?"

"Thank you, sir, no. I shall be very busy till I leave the city."

"Then let me express my pleasure in meeting you," said Walton, offering his hand.

"The pleasure is mutual, Mr. Walton, I assure you," said the stranger, bowing low.

"Thank Heaven, I have got rid of you," said Walton to himself, wiping the perspiration from his brow. "But shall I always be as lucky?"

CHAPTER XVI.

On Board The Parthia

"Am I really on the Atlantic, bound for Europe?" said Ben to himself, as he paced the deck of the Parthia, then several hours out.

He found it hard to realize, for only a week before he had been in his quiet country home, wholly unconscious of the great change that fate had in store for him.

He was not unfavorably affected by the new sea-life. Instead of making him sick, it only gave him a pleasant sense of exhilaration. With Major Grafton it was different. He was a very poor sailor. He was scarcely out of port before he began to feel dizzy, and was obliged to retire to his state-room. He felt almost irritated when he saw how much better Ben bore the voyage than he.

"One would think you were an old sailor, instead of me," he said. "I have crossed the Atlantic a dozen times, and yet the first whiff of sea air lays me on my back, while you seem to enjoy it."

"So I do at present," answered Ben; "but perhaps my time will come to be sick. Can't I do something to make you comfortable?"

"You may tell the steward to bring some ginger ale," said the major.

Ben promptly complied with the major's request. He felt glad to do something to earn the liberal salary which he was receiving. It was not exactly acting as a private secretary; but, at any rate, he was able to be of service, and this pleased him. He had no complaint to make of Major Grafton. The latter saw that he wanted for nothing, and had he been the major's son he would have fared no better. Yet he did not form any attachment for his employer, as might have been thought natural. He blamed himself for this, when he considered the advantages of his position; but it was not so strange or culpable as Ben supposed. The boy saw clearly that, whatever might have been Major Grafton's motives in taking him into his service, it was not any special interest or attachment. The reader understands that Grafton had a purpose to serve, and that a selfish one. For Ben he cared nothing, but his own interest required that he should have a boy with him as a substitute for the one whose death he wished to conceal, and our hero filled the bill as well as any he could secure.

One day, while Major Grafton was in his state-room, enduring as well as he could the pangs of sea-sickness, a gentleman on deck accosted Ben:

"You seem to enjoy the voyage, young man," he said.

"Yes, sir; very much."

"You are not alone?"

"No; I am travelling with Major Grafton."

"Indeed!" said the gentleman, in surprise. "I didn't know the major was on board. Where does he keep himself?"

"He seldom leaves his state-room. He has been sick ever since he started."

"I remember meeting the major last summer in Switzerland. You were sick at the time, but from your present appearance I judge that you got bravely over it."

"I think you are mistaken, sir. I was not with Major Grafton at that time."

"You were not! That is strange. Surely there was a boy with him; I remember he called him Philip."

"He calls me so, but that is not my name."

"Do you mean to say that you were not with the major at that time?"

"I did not know there was such a man at that time."

"Humph! I don't understand it," said James Bolton (this was the traveller's name). "I do remember, however, hearing that the boy, then called Philip, died at Florence."

"I think that settles it," said Ben. "Whoever the poor fellow may have been that died, I am sure that it was not I."

"Are you Major Grafton's adopted son, or ward?"

"No, sir; I am his private secretary. That is, I was hired in that capacity, though as yet I have not had much writing to do."

"You are lucky. Take care you don't die, like the other boy."

"I will try to live, I assure you, sir."

"By the way, just mention my name to the major – James Bolton, of London. I dare say he will remember me. Just say that I occupied the room opposite his in the Hotel des Bergues, in Geneva, and that we went to Chamounix together. I should be glad to renew my acquaintance with him, whenever he feels well enough to come on deck."

"I will mention you to him, Mr. Bolton," said Ben, politely.

Our young hero took an early opportunity of keeping his promise.

On his next visit to the state-room he said:

"Major Grafton, I met a gentleman on deck this morning who wishes to be remembered to you."

"Who is it?" asked the major, quickly, raising his head from the pillow of his berth.

"He says his name is Bolton – James Bolton, of London."

"Don't know him!" said the major, shortly.

"He says that he was with you at the Hotel des Bergues, in Geneva, Switzerland, last summer; also that he went with you to Chamounix."

"What else did he say?" asked the major, who seemed unpleasantly affected by the mention of Bolton's name.

"He thought I was with you at the time."

"Ha! What did you say?"

"I told him he was mistaken."

"Don't tell these fellows too much; they are simply impertinent," said the major, with a frown. "What more did he say?"

"He said you had a boy with you whom you called Philip, and that this boy, as he afterward heard, died at Florence."

Ben looked inquiringly at the major, as if to obtain confirmation or denial of this story.

Major Grafton hesitated, as if not decided what to say.

"It is true," he said, after a pause. "Poor Philip died; but it is a painful subject. I don't like to speak of it. You resemble him very closely, and that was my chief object in taking you as a companion. I don't really need a private secretary, as you have probably found out."