Mark the Match Boy

"Did Roswell pay you this bill?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"For what did he owe it?"

"I am the secretary of the Madison Club, and this was paid as the entrance fee."

"I recognize the bill," said Mr. Baker. "I will take it, if you please, and you can look to him for another."

"Very well," said Tracy, puzzled by the words, the motive of which he did not understand.

"Perhaps you will explain this," said Mr. Baker, turning to Roswell. "It seems that you took this bill."

Roswell's confidence deserted him, and he stood pale and downcast.

"The key I presume, belonged to you."

"Yes, sir," he ejaculated, with difficulty.

"And you dropped it into Mark's pocket, – thus meanly trying to implicate him in a theft which you had yourself committed."

Roswell was silent.

"Have you taken money before?"

"I never opened the drawer but once."

"That was not my question. Make a full confession, and I will not have you arrested, but shall require you to make restitution of all the sums you have stolen. I shall not include this bill, as it is now returned to my possession. Here is a piece of paper. Write down the items."

Roswell did so. They footed up a little over six dollars.

Mr. Baker examined it.

"Is this all?" he said.

"Yes, sir."

"Half a week's wages are due you, I will therefore deduct three dollars from this amount. The remainder I shall expect you to refund. I shall have no further occasion for your services."

Roswell took his cap, and was about to leave the store.

"Wait a few minutes. You have tried to implicate Mark in your theft. You must wait till his return, and apologize to him for what you have attempted to do."

"Must I do this?" asked Roswell, ruefully.

"You must," said Mr. Baker, firmly.

When Mark came in, and was told how he had been cleared of suspicion, he felt very happy. Roswell made the apology dictated to him, with a very bad grace, and then was permitted to leave the store.

At home he tried to hide the circumstances attending his discharge from his mother and his cousin; but the necessity of refunding the money made that impossible.

It was only a few days afterwards that Mrs. Crawford received a letter, informing her of the death of a brother in Illinois, and that he had left her a small house and farm. She had found it so hard a struggle for a livelihood in the city, that she decided to remove thither, greatly to Roswell's disgust, who did not wish to be immured in the country. But his wishes could not be gratified, and, sulky and discontented, he was obliged to leave the choice society of the Madison Club, and the attractions of New York, for the quiet of a country town. Let us hope that, away from the influences of the city, his character may be improved, and become more manly and self-reliant. It is only just to say that he was led to appropriate what did not belong to him, by the desire to gratify his vanity, and through the influence of a bad adviser. If he can ever forget that he is "the son of a gentleman," I shall have some hopes for him.

CHAPTER XXIV

AN EXCURSION TO FORT HAMILTON

Towards the close of May there was a general holiday, occasioned by the arrival of a distinguished stranger in the city. All the stores were to be closed, there was to be a turnout of the military, and a long procession. Among those released from duty were our three friends, Fosdick, Richard Hunter, and his ward Mark.

"Well, Dick, what are you going to do to-morrow?" inquired Fosdick, on the evening previous.

"I was expecting an invitation to ride in a barouche with the mayor," said Richard; "but probably he forgot my address and couldn't send it. On the whole I'm glad of it, being rather bashful and not used to popular enthusiasm."

"Shall you go out and see the procession?" continued Fosdick.

"No," said Dick; "I have been thinking of another plan, which I think will be pleasanter."

"What is it?"

"It's a good while since we took an excursion. Suppose we go to Fort Hamilton to-morrow."

"I should like that," said Fosdick. "I was never there. How do we get there?"

"Cross over Fulton Ferry to Brooklyn, and there we might take the cars to Fort Hamilton. It's seven or eight miles out there."

"Why do you say 'might' take the cars?"

"Because the cars will be crowded with excursionists, and I have been thinking we might hire a carriage on the Brooklyn side, and ride out there in style. It'll cost more money, but we don't often take a holiday, and we can afford it for once. What you do say, Mark?"

"Do you mean me to go?" asked Mark, eagerly.

"Of course I do. Do you think your guardian would trust you to remain in the city alone?"

"I go in for your plan, Dick," said Fosdick. "What time do you want to start?"

"About half-past nine o'clock. That will give us plenty of time to go. Then, after exploring the fort, we can get dinner at the hotel, and drive where we please afterwards. I suppose there is sea-bathing near by."

Dick's idea was unanimously approved, and by no one more than by Mark. Holidays had been few and far between with him, and he anticipated the excursion with the most eager delight. He was only afraid that the weather would prove unpropitious. He was up at four, looking out of the window; but the skies were clear, and soon the sun came out with full radiance, dissipating the night-shadows, and promising a glorious day.

Breakfast was later than usual, as people like to indulge themselves in a little longer sleep on Sundays and holidays; but it was over by half-past eight, and within a few minutes from that time the three had taken the cars to Fulton Ferry.

In about half an hour the ferry was reached, and, passing through, the party went on board the boat. They had scarcely done so, when an exclamation of surprise was heard, proceeding from feminine lips, and Dick heard himself called by name.

"Why, Mr. Hunter, this is an unexpected pleasure. I am so glad to have met you."

Turning his head, Dick recognized Mr. and Mrs. Clifton. Both had been fellow-boarders with him in Bleecker Street. The latter will be remembered by the readers of "Fame and Fortune" as Miss Peyton. When close upon the verge of old-maidenhood she had been married, for the sake of a few thousand dollars which she possessed, by Mr. Clifton, a clerk on a small salary, in constant pecuniary difficulties. With a portion of his wife's money he had purchased a partnership in a dry-goods store on Eighth Avenue; but the remainder of her money Mrs. Clifton had been prudent enough to have settled upon herself.

Mrs. Clifton still wore the same ringlets, and exhibited the same youthful vivacity which had characterized her when an inmate of Mrs. Browning's boarding-house, and only owned to being twenty-four, though she looked full ten years older.

"How d'e do, Hunter?" drawled Mr. Clifton, upon whose arm his wife was leaning.

"Very well, thank you," said Dick. "I see Mrs. Clifton is as fascinating as ever."

"O you wicked flatterer!" said Mrs. Clifton, shaking her ringlets, and tapping Dick on the shoulder with her fan. "And here is Mr. Fosdick too, I declare. How do you do, Mr. Fosdick?"

"Quite well, thank you, Mrs. Clifton."

"I declare I've a great mind to scold you for not coming round to see us. I should so much like to hear you sing again."

"My friend hasn't sung since your marriage, Mrs. Clifton," said Dick. "He took it very much to heart. I don't think he has forgiven Clifton yet for cutting him out."

"Mr. Hunter is speaking for himself," said Fosdick, smiling. "He has sung as little as I have."

"Yes, but for another reason," said Dick. "I did not think it right to run the risk of driving away the boarders; so, out of regard to my landlady, I repressed my natural tendency to warble."

"I see you're just as bad as ever," said Mrs. Clifton, in excellent spirits. "But really you must come round and see us. We are boarding in West Sixteenth Street, between Eighth and Ninth Avenues."

"If your husband will promise not to be jealous, "said Dick.

"I'm not subject to that complaint," said Clifton, coolly. "Got a cigar about you, Hunter?"

"No. I don't smoke."

"No, don't you though? I couldn't get along without it. It's my great comfort."

"Yes, he's always smoking," said Mrs. Clifton, with some asperity. "Our rooms are so full of tobacco smoke, that I don't know but some of my friends will begin to think I smoke myself."

"A man must have some pleasure," said Clifton, not appearing to be much discomposed by his wife's remarks.

It may be mentioned that although Mrs. Clifton was always gay and vivacious in company, there were times when she could display considerable ill-temper, as her husband frequently had occasion to know. Among the sources of difficulty and disagreement was that portion of Mrs. Clifton's fortune which had been settled upon herself, and of which she was never willing to allow her husband the use of a single dollar. In this, however, she had some justification, as he was naturally a spendthrift, and, if placed in his hands, it would soon have melted away.

"Where are you going, Mr. Hunter?" inquired Mrs. Clifton, after a pause.

"Fosdick and I have planned to take a carriage and ride to Fort Hamilton."

"Delightful!" said Mrs. Clifton. "Why can't we go too, Mr. Clifton?"

"Why, to tell the plain truth," said her husband, "I haven't got money enough with me. If you'll pay for the carriage, I'm willing to go."

Mrs. Clifton hesitated. She had money enough with her, but was not inclined to spend it. Still the prospect of making a joint excursion with Richard Hunter and Fosdick was attractive, and she inquired: —

"How much will it cost?"

"About five dollars probably."

"Then I think we'll go," she said, "that is, if our company would not be disagreeable to Mr. Hunter."

"On the contrary," said Dick. "We will get separate carriages, but I will invite you both to dine with us after visiting the fort."

Mr. Clifton brightened up at this, and straightway became more social and cheerful.

"Mrs. Clifton," said Richard Hunter, "I believe I haven't yet introduced you to my ward."

"Is that your ward?" inquired the lady, looking towards Mark. "What is his name?"

"Mark Manton."

"How do you like your guardian?" inquired Mrs. Clifton.

"Very much," said Mark, smiling.

"Then I won't expose him," said Mrs. Clifton. "We used to be great friends before I married."

"Since that sad event I have never recovered my spirits," said Dick. "Mark will tell you what a poor appetite I have."

"Is that true, Mark?" asked the lady.

"I don't think it's very poor," said Mark, with a smile.

Probably my readers will not consider this conversation very brilliant; but Mrs. Clifton was a silly woman, who was fond of attention, and was incapable of talking sensibly. Richard would have preferred not to have her husband or herself in the company, but, finding it inevitable, submitted to it with as good a grace as possible.

Carriage were secured at a neighboring stable, and the two parties started. The drive was found to be very pleasant, particularly the latter portion, when a fresh breeze from the sea made the air delightfully cool. As they drove up beside the fort, they heard the band within, playing a march, and, giving their horses in charge, they were soon exploring the interior. The view from the ramparts proved to be fine, commanding a good view of the harbor and the city of New York, nearly eight miles distant to the north.

"It is a charming view," said Mrs. Clifton, with girlish enthusiasm.

"I know what will be more charming," said her husband.

"What is it?"

"A prospect of the dinner-table. I feel awfully hungry."

"Mr. Clifton never thinks of anything but eating," said his wife.

"By Jove! you can do your share at that," retorted her husband not very gallantly. "You'd ought to see her eat, Hunter."

"I don't eat more than a little bird," said Mrs. Clifton, affectedly. "I appeal to Mr. Hunter."

"If any little bird ate as much as you, he'd be sure to die of dyspepsy," said her husband. If the word in italics is incorrectly spelled, I am not responsible, as that is the way Mr. Clifton pronounced it.

"I confess the ride has given me an appetite also," said Dick. "Suppose we go round to the hotel, and order dinner."

They were soon seated round a bountifully spread dinner-table, to which the whole party, not excepting Mrs. Clifton, did excellent justice. It will not be necessary or profitable to repeat the conversation which seasoned the repast, as, out of deference to Mrs. Clifton's taste, none of the party ventured upon any sensible remarks.

After dinner they extended their drive, and then parted, as Mr. and Mrs. Clifton decided to make a call upon some friends living in the neighborhood.

About four o'clock Richard Hunter and his friends started on their return home. They had about reached the Brooklyn city line, when Fosdick suddenly exclaimed: —

"Dick, there's a carriage overturned a little ways ahead of us. Do you see it?"

Looking in the direction indicated, Dick saw that Fosdick was correct.

"Let us hurry on," he said. "Perhaps we may be able to render some assistance."

Coming up, they found that a wheel had come off, and a gentleman of middle age was leaning against a tree with an expression of pain upon his features, while a boy of about seventeen was holding the horse.

"Frank Whitney!" exclaimed Dick, in joyful recognition.

To Frank Whitney Dick was indebted for the original impulse which led him to resolve upon gaining a respectable position in society, as will be remembered by the readers of "Ragged Dick;" and for this he had always felt grateful.

"Dick!" exclaimed Frank, in equal surprise. "I am really glad to see you. You are a friend in need."

"Tell me what has happened."

"The wheel of our carriage came off, as you see and my uncle was pitched out with considerable violence, and has sprained his ankle badly. I was wondering what to do, when luckily you came up."

"Tell me how I can help you," said Dick, promptly, "and I will do so."

"We are stopping at the house of a friend in Brooklyn. If you will give my uncle a seat in your carryall, for he is unable to walk, and carry him there, it will be a great favor. I will remain and attend to the horse and carriage."

"With pleasure, Frank. Are you going to remain in this neighborhood long?"

"I shall try to gain admission to the sophomore class of Columbia College this summer, and shall then live in New York, where I hope to see you often. I intended to enter last year, but decided for some reasons to delay a year. However, if I am admitted to advanced standing, I shall lose nothing. Give me your address, and I will call on you very soon."

"I am afraid I shall inconvenience you," said Mr. Whitney.

"Not at all," said Dick, promptly. "We have plenty of room, and I shall be glad to have an opportunity of obliging one to whom I am indebted for past kindness."

Mr. Whitney was assisted into the carriage, and they resumed their drive, deviating from their course somewhat, in order to leave him at the house of the friend with whom he was stopping.

"I am very glad to have met Frank again," thought Dick: "I always liked him."

CHAPTER XXV

AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY

Mark remained in the bookstore on the same footing as before. He was not old enough to succeed to Rowell's vacant place, but Mr. Baker, as a mark of his satisfaction with him, and partly also to compensate for the temporary suspicions which he had entertained of his honesty, advanced his wages a dollar a week. He therefore now received four dollars, which yielded him no little satisfaction, as it enabled him to pay a larger share of his expenses.

They were all seated in Richard Hunter's pleasant room in St. Mark's Place one evening, when Dick said suddenly: —

"Oh, by the way, Fosdick, I forgot to tell you that I had a letter from Mr. Bates to-day."

"Did you? What does he say?"

"I will read it to you."

Richard drew the letter from the envelope, and read as follows: —

"My dear Mr. Hunter: – I have received your letter, reporting that you have as yet obtained no trace of my unfortunate grandson, John Talbot. I thank you sincerely for your kind and persistent efforts. I fear that he may have left New York, possibly in the care of persons unfit to take charge of him. It is a great source of anxiety to me lest he should be suffering privation and bad treatment at this moment, when I, his grandfather, have abundance of worldly means, and have it in my power to rear him handsomely. I cannot help feeling that it is a fitting punishment for the cruel harshness with which I treated his mother. Now I am amassing wealth but I have no one to leave it to. I feel that I have small object in living. Yet I cannot give up the thought that my grandson is still living. I cannot help indulging the hope that some day, by the kind favor of Providence, he may be given back to me.

"If it will not be too much trouble to you and Mr. Fosdick, I shall feel indebted if you will still continue on the watch for the lost boy. Any expenses which you may incur, as I have already assured you, will be most cheerfully paid by your obliged friend and servant,

"Hiram Bates."

While Richard was reading this letter, Mark listened attentively. Looking up, Richard observed this.

"Did you ever meet with a boy named John Talbot, Mark?" he inquired.

"No," said Mark, "not John Talbot."

"Did you ever meet any boy named Talbot? It is not certain that the name is John."

"Talbot used to be my name," said Mark.

"Used to be your name!" exclaimed Richard, in surprise. "I thought it was Manton."

"Some of the boys gave me that name, because there was a story came out in one of the story papers about Mark Manton. After a while I got to calling myself so, but my real name is Mark Talbot."

"It would be strange if he should turn out to be the right boy after all, Dick," said Fosdick. "Where is the photograph? That will soon settle the question."

Richard Hunter opened his desk, and took out the card photograph which Mr. Bates had left with him.

"Mark," he said, "did you ever see any one who looked like that picture?"

Mark took the picture in his hand. No sooner did his eyes rest upon it than they filled with tears.

"That is my mother" he said. "Where did you get it?"

"Your mother! Are you sure?"

"Yes; I should know it anywhere, though it looks younger than she did."

"Do you know what her name was, before she was married?"

"Yes; she has told me often. It was Irene Bates."

"How strange!" exclaimed Richard and Fosdick together. "Mark," continued Richard, "I think you are the very boy I had been in search of for several months. I had succeeded without knowing it."

"Please tell me all about it," said Mark. "I don't understand."

"I have a great piece of good luck to announce to you, Mark. Your grandfather is a rich man, formerly in business in New York, but now a successful merchant in Milwaukie. He has no child, no descendant except yourself. He has been anxiously seeking for you, intending to give you all the advantages which his wealth can procure."

"Do you think I shall like him?" asked Mark, timidly.

"Yes; I think he will be very kind to you."

"But he was not kind to my mother. Although he was rich, he let her suffer."

"He has repented of this, and will try to make up to you his neglect to your mother."

Mark was still thoughtful. "If it had come sooner, my poor mother might still have been alive," he said.

"I think I had better telegraph to Mr. Bates to-morrow," said Richard. "The news will be so welcome that I don't like to keep it back a single day."

"Perhaps it will be better," said Fosdick. "You will have to give up your ward, Dick."

"Yes; but as it will be for his good, I will not object."

The next morning the following message was flashed over the wires to Milwaukie: —

"Hiram Bates.

"Your grandson is found. He is well, and in my charge.

"Richard Hunter."

In the course of the forenoon, the following answer was received: —

"Richard Hunter.

"How can I thank you! I take the next train for New York.

"Hiram Bates."

On the afternoon succeeding, Mr. Bates entered Richard's counting-room. He clasped his hand with fervor.

"Mr. Hunter," he said, "I do not know how to thank you. Where is my boy?"

"I am just going up to the house," said Richard. "If you will accompany me, you shall soon see him."

"I am impatient to hear all the particulars," said Mr. Bates. "Remember, I know nothing as yet. I only received your telegram announcing his discovery. When did you find him?"

"That is the strangest part of it," said Richard. "I found him sick just outside the office door several weeks since. I took him home, and when he recovered let him get a place in a bookstore; but, having become interested in him, I was unwilling to lose sight of him, and still kept him with me. All this while I was searching for your grandson, and had not the least idea that he was already found."

"How did you discover this at last?"

"By his recognition of his mother's photograph. It was lucky you thought of leaving it with me."

"Is his name John?"

"He says his name is Mark, but for his last name he had adopted a different one, or I should have made the discovery sooner."

"How did he make a living before you found him? Poor boy!" said Mr. Bates, sighing, "I fear he must have suffered many privations."

"He was selling matches for some time, – what we call a match boy. He had suffered hardships, but I leave him to tell you his story himself."

"How does he feel about meeting me?" asked Mr. Bates.

"You are a stranger to him, and he naturally feels a little timid, but he will soon be reassured when he gets acquainted with you."

Mark had already arrived. As they entered the room, Mr. Bates said with emotion, "Is that he?"

"Yes, sir."

"Come here, Mark," he said, in a tone which took away Mark's apprehension. "Do you know who I am?"

"Are you my grandfather?"

"Yes, I have come to take care of you, and to see that you suffer no more from poverty."

Mr. Bates stooped down and pressed a kiss upon the boy's forehead.

"I can see Irene's look in his eyes," he said. "It is all the proof I need that he is my grandchild."

It was arranged that in three days, for he had some business to transact, he should go back to Milwaukie carrying Mark with him. He went round to Mr. Baker's store the next morning with his grandson and explained to him why he should be obliged to withdraw him from his employ.

"I am sorry to lose him," said Mr. Baker. "He is quick and attentive to his duties, and has given me excellent satisfaction; but I am glad of his good fortune."

"It gives me pleasure to hear so good an account of him," said Mr. Bates. "Though he will be under no necessity of taking another situation, but will for several years devote himself to study, the same good qualities for which you give him credit will insure his satisfactory progress in school."

CHAPTER XXVI.

CONCLUSION

It was not long before Mark felt quite at home with his grandfather. He no longer felt afraid of him, but began to look forward with pleasant anticipations to his journey West, and the life that was to open before him in Milwaukie. It was a relief to think that he would not now be obliged to take care of himself, but would have some one both able and willing to supply his wants, and provide him with a comfortable home.

He felt glad again that he was going to school. He remembered how anxious his poor mother had been that he should receive a good education, and now his grandfather had promised to send him to the best school in Milwaukie.

The next morning after their meeting, Mr. Bates took Mark to a large clothing establishment, and had him fitted out with new clothes in the most liberal manner. He even bought him a silver watch, of which Mark felt very proud.

"Now, Mark," said his grandfather, "if there is any one that was kind to you when you were a poor match boy, I should like to do something to show my gratitude for their kindness. Can you think of any one?"