The Cash Boy

“I haven’t enough influence with the firm.”

“Suppose they thought him dishonest?”

“They’d give him the sack, of course.”

“Can’t you make them think so, Thomas?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then make it your business to find out.”

“I suppose you know what good it’s going to do, aunt, but I don’t. He’s got his place here with the old man.”

“If Mr. Wharton hears that he is discharged, and has lost his situation, he will probably discharge him, too.”

“Perhaps so; I suppose you know best.”

“Do as I tell you, and I will manage the rest.”

“All right. I need your help enough. To-night, for instance, I’m regularly cleaned out. Haven’t got but twenty-five cents to my name.”

“It seems to me, Thomas,” said his aunt, with a troubled look, “you are always out of money. I’ll give you five dollars, Thomas, but you must remember that I am not made of money. My wages are small.”

“You ought to have a good nest-egg laid aside, aunt.”

“I’ve got something, Thomas, and when I die, it’ll be yours.”

“I hope I shan’t have to wait too long,” thought Thomas, “but he did not give utterance to the thought.”

“Come again, Thomas, and don’t forget what I have said,” said Mrs. Bradley.

CHAPTER XI

JOHN WADE

A tall man, with a sallow complexion, and heavily-bearded face, stood on the deck of a Cunard steamer, only a few miles distant from New York harbor.

“It’s three years since I have seen America,” he said to himself, thoughtfully. “I suppose I ought to feel a patriotic fervor about setting foot once more on my native shore, but I don’t believe in nonsense. I would be content to live in Europe all my life, if my uncle’s fortune were once in my possession. I am his sole heir, but he persists in holding on to his money bags, and limits me to a paltry three thousand a year. I must see if I can’t induce him to give me a good, round sum on account—fifty thousand, at least—and then I can wait a little more patiently till he drops off.”

“When shall we reach port, captain?” he asked, as he passed that officer.

“In four hours, I think, Mr. Wade.”

“So this is my birthday,” he said to himself.

“Thirty five years old to-day. Half my life gone, and I am still a dependent on my uncle’s bounty. Suppose he should throw me off—leave me out in the cold—where should I be? If he should find the boy—but no, there is no chance of that. I have taken good care of that. By the way, I must look him up soon—cautiously, of course—and see what has become of him. He will grow up a laborer or mechanic and die without a knowledge of his birth, while I fill his place and enjoy his inheritance.”

At six o’clock the vessel reached the Quarantine. Most of the passengers decided to remain on board one night more, but John Wade was impatient, and, leaving his trunks, obtained a small boat, and soon touched the shore.

It was nearly eight when John Wade landed in the city. It was half-past eight when he stood on the steps of his uncle’s residence and rang the bell.

“Is my uncle is Mr. Wharton—at home?” he asked of the servant who answered the bell.

“Yes, sir.”

“I am his nephew, just arrived from Europe. Let him know that I am here, and would like to see him.”

The servant, who had never before seen him, having only been six months in the house, regarded him with a great deal of curiosity, and then went to do his biding.

“My nephew arrived!” exclaimed Mr. Wharton, in surprise. “Why, he never let me know he was coming.”

“Will you see him, sir?”

“To be sure! Bring him in at once.”

“My dear uncle!” exclaimed John Wade, with effusion, for he was a polite man, and could act when it suited his interests to do so, “I am glad to see you. How is your health?”

“I am getting older every day, John.”

“You don’t look a day older, sir,” said John, who did not believe what he said, for he could plainly see that his uncle had grown older since he last saw him.

“You think so, John, but I feel it. Your coming is a surprise. You did not write that you intended sailing.”

“I formed the determination very suddenly, sir.”

“Were you tired of Europe?”

“No; but I wanted to see you, sir.”

“Thank you, John,” said his uncle, pressing his nephew’s hand. “I am glad you think so much of me. Did you have a pleasant voyage?”

“Rather rough, sir.”

“You have had no supper, of course? If you will ring the bell, the housekeeper will see that some is got ready for you.”

“Is Mrs. Bradley still in your employ, uncle?”

“Yes, John. I am so used to her that I shouldn’t know how to get along without her.”

Hitherto John Wade had been so occupied with his uncle that he had not observed Frank. But at this moment our hero coughed, involuntarily, and John Wade looked at him. He seemed to be singularly affected. He started perceptibly, and his sallow face blanched, as his eager eyes were fixed on the boy’s face.

“Good heavens!” he muttered to himself. “Who is that boy? How comes he here?”

Frank noticed his intent gaze, and wondered at it, but Mr. Wharton’s eyesight was defective, and he did not perceive his nephew’s excitement.

“I see you have a young visitor, uncle,” said John Wade.

“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Wharton, with a kindly smile. “He spends all his evenings with me.”

“What do you mean, sir?” demanded John Wade, with sudden suspicion and fear. “He seems very young company for–”

“For a man of my years,” said Mr. Wharton, finishing the sentence. “You are right, John. But, you see, my eyes are weak, and I cannot use them for reading in the evening, so it occurred to me to engage a reader.”

“Very true,” said his nephew. He wished to inquire the name of the boy whose appearance had so powerfully impressed him but he determined not to do so at present. What information he sought he preferred to obtain from the housekeeper.

“He seemed surprised, as if he had seen me some where before, and recognized me,” thought Frank, “but I don’t remember him. If I had seen his face before, I think I should remember it.”

“Don’t come out, uncle.” said John Wade, when summoned to tea by the housekeeper. “Mrs. Bradley and I are going to have a chat by ourselves, and I will soon return.”

“You are looking thin, Mr. John,” said Mrs Bradley.

“Am I thinner than usual? I never was very corpulent, you know. How is my uncle’s health? He says he is well.”

“He is pretty well, but he isn’t as young as he was.”

“I think he looks older,” said John. “But that is not surprising—at his age. He is seventy, isn’t he?”

“Not quite. He is sixty-nine.”

“His father died at seventy-one.”

“Yes.”

“But that is no reason why my uncle should not live till eighty. I hope he will.”

“We all hope so,” said the housekeeper; but she knew, while she spoke, that if, as she supposed, Mr. Wharton’s will contained a generous legacy for her, his death would not afflict her much. She suspected also that John Wade was waiting impatiently for his uncle’s death, that he might enter upon his inheritance. Still, their little social fictions must be kept up, and so both expressed a desire for his continued life, though neither was deceived as to the other’s real feeling on the subject.

“By the way, Mrs. Bradley,” said John Wade, “how came my uncle to engage that boy to read to him?”

“He was led into it, sir,” said the housekeeper, with a great deal of indignation, “by the boy himself. He’s an artful and designing fellow, you may rely upon it.”

“What’s his name?”

“Frank Fowler.”

“Fowler! Is his name Fowler?” he repeated, with a startled expression.

“Yes, sir,” answered the housekeeper, rather surprised at his manner. “You don’t know anything about him, do you?”

“Oh, no,” said John Wade, recovering his composure. “He is a perfect stranger to me; but I once knew a man of that name, and a precious rascal he was. When you mentioned his name, I thought he might be a son of this man. Does he say his father is alive?”

“No; he is dead, and his mother, too, so the boy says.”

“You haven’t told me how my uncle fell in with him?”

“It was an accident. Your uncle fell in getting out of a Broadway stage, and this boy happened to be near, and seeing Mr. Wharton was a rich gentleman, he helped him home, and was invited in. Then he told some story about his poverty, and so worked upon your uncle’s feelings that he hired him to read to him at five dollars a week.”

“Is this all the boy does?”

“No; he is cash-boy in a large store on Broadway. He is employed there all day, and he is here only in the evenings.”

“Does my uncle seem attached to him?” asked John.

“He’s getting fond of him, I should say. The other day he asked me if I didn’t think it would be a good thing to take him into the house and give him a room. I suppose the boy put it into his head.”

“No doubt. What did you say?”

“I opposed it. I told him that a boy would be a great deal of trouble in the family.”

“You did right, Mrs. Bradley. What did my uncle say?”

“He hinted about taking him from the store and letting him go to school. The next thing would be his adopting him. The fact is, Mr. John, the boy is so artful that he knows just how to manage your uncle. No doubt he put the idea into Mr. Wharton’s head, and he may do it yet.”

“Does my uncle give any reason for the fancy he has taken to the boy?” demanded John.

“Yes,” said the housekeeper. “He has taken it into his head that the boy resembles your cousin, George, who died abroad. You were with him, I believe?”

“Yes, I was with him. Is the resemblance strong? I took very little notice of him.”

“You can look for yourself when you go back,” answered the housekeeper.

“What else did my uncle say? Tell me all.”

“He said: ‘What would I give, Mrs. Bradley, if I had such a grandson? If George’s boy had lived, he would have been about Frank’s age. And,” continued the housekeeper, “I might as well speak plainly. You’re my master’s heir, or ought to be; but if this artful boy stays here long, there’s no knowing what your uncle may be influenced to do. If he gets into his dotage, he may come to adopt him, and leave the property away from you.”

“I believe you are quite right. The danger exists, and we must guard against it. I see you don’t like the boy,” said John Wade.

“No, I don’t. He’s separated your uncle and me. Before he came, I used to spend my evenings in the library, and read to your uncle. Besides, when I found your uncle wanted a reader, I asked him to take my nephew, who is a salesman in the very same store where that boy is a cash-boy, but although I’ve been twenty years in this house I could not get him to grant the favor, which he granted to that boy, whom he never met till a few weeks ago.”

“Mrs. Bradley, I sympathize with you,” said her companion. “The boy is evidently working against us both. You have been twenty years in my uncle’s service. He ought to remember you handsomely in his will. If I inherit the property, as is my right, your services shall be remembered,” said John Wade.

“Thank you, Mr. John,” said the gratified housekeeper.

“That secures her help,” thought John, in his turn.

“She will now work hard for me. When the time comes, I can do as much or as little for her as I please.”

“Of course, we must work together against this interloper, who appears to have gained a dangerous influence over my uncle.”

“You can depend upon me, Mr. John,” said Mrs. Bradley.

“I will think it over, and tell you my plan,” said John Wade. “But my uncle will wonder at my appetite. I must go back to the library. We will speak of this subject again.”

CHAPTER XII

A FALSE FRIEND

When John Wade re-entered the library, Frank was reading, but Mr. Wharton stopped him.

“That will do, Frank,” he said. “As I have not seen my nephew for a long time, I shall not require you to read any longer. You can go, if you like.”

Frank bowed, and bidding the two good-evening, left the room.

“That is an excellent boy, John.” said the old gentleman, as the door closed upon our hero.

“How did you fall in with him?” asked John. Mr. Wharton told the story with which the reader is already familiar.

“You don’t know anything of his antecedents, I suppose?” said John, carelessly.

“Only what he told me. His father and mother are dead, and he is obliged to support himself and his sister. Did you notice anything familiar in Frank’s expression?” asked Mr. Wharton.

“I don’t know. I didn’t observe him very closely.”

“Whenever I look at Frank, I think of George. I suppose that is why I have felt more closely drawn to the boy. I proposed to Mrs. Bradley that the boy should have a room here, but she did not favor it. I think she is prejudiced against him.”

“Probably she is afraid he would be some trouble,” replied John.

“If George’s boy had lived he would be about Frank’s age. It would have been a great comfort to me to superintend his education, and watch him grow up. I could not have wished him to be more gentlemanly or promising than my young reader.”

“Decidedly, that boy is in my way,” said John Wade to himself. “I must manage to get rid of him, and that speedily, or my infatuated uncle will be adopting him.”

“Of what disease did George’s boy die, John?” asked Mr. Wharton.

“A sudden fever.”

“I wish I could have seen him before he died. But I returned only to find both son and grandson gone. I had only the sad satisfaction of seeing his grave.”

“Yes, he was buried in the family lot at Greenwood, five days before you reached home.”

“When I see men of my own age, surrounded by children and grandchildren, it makes me almost envious,” said Mr. Wharton, sadly. “I declare to you, John, since that boy has been with me, I have felt happier and more cheerful than for years.”

“That boy again!” muttered John to himself. “I begin to hate the young cub, but I mustn’t show it. My first work will be to separate him from my uncle. That will require consideration. I wonder whether the boy knows that he is not Fowler’s son? I must find out. If he does, and should happen to mention it in my uncle’s presence, it might awaken suspicions in his mind. I must interview the boy, and find out what I can. To enlist his confidence, I must assume a friendly manner.”

In furtherance of this determination, John Wade greeted our hero very cordially the next evening, when they met, a little to Frank’s surprise.

When the reading terminated, John Wade said, carelessly:

“I believe, uncle, I will go out for a walk. I think I shall be better for it. In what direction are you going, Frank?”

“Down Sixth Avenue, sir.”

“Very good; I will walk along with you.”

Frank and his companion walked toward Sixth Avenue.

“My uncle tells me you have a sister to support,” said Wade, opening the conversation.

“Yes, sir.”

“Does your sister resemble you?” asked John Wade.

“No, sir! but that is not surprising, for–”

“Why is it not surprising?”

Frank hesitated.

“You were about to assign some reason.”

“It is a secret,” said our hero, slowly; “that is, has been a secret, but I don’t know why I should conceal it. Grace is not my sister. She is Mrs. Fowler’s daughter, but I am not her son. I will tell you the story.”

That story Frank told as briefly as possible. John Wade listened to it with secret alarm.

“It is a strange story,” he said. “Do you not feel a strong desire to learn your true parentage?”

“Yes, sir. I don’t know, but I feel as if I should some day meet the man who gave me into Mrs. Fowler’s charge.”

“You have met him, but it is lucky you don’t suspect it,” thought John Wade.

“I am glad you told me this story,” said he, aloud.

“It is quite romantic. I may be able to help you in your search. But let me advise you to tell no one else at present. No doubt there are parties interested in keeping the secret of your birth from you. You must move cautiously, and your chance of solving the mystery will be improved.”

“Thank you, sir. I will follow your advice.”

“I was mistaken in him,” thought Frank. “I disliked him at first, but he seems inclined to be my friend.”

When Frank reached his lodging he found Jasper waiting up for him. He looked thoughtful, so much so that Frank noticed it.

“You look as if you had something on your mind,” Jasper.

“You have guessed right. I have read that letter.”

He drew from his pocket a letter, which Frank took from his hands.

“It is from an uncle of mine in Ohio, who is proprietor of a weekly newspaper. He is getting old, and finds the work too much for him. He offers me a thousand dollars a year if I will come out and relieve him.”

“That’s a good offer, Jasper. I suppose you will accept it?”

“It is for my interest to do so. Probably my uncle will, after a while, surrender the whole establishment to me.”

“I shall be sorry to part with you, Jasper. It will seem very lonely, but I think you ought to go. It is a good chance, and if you refuse it you may not get such another.”

“My uncle wants me to come on at once. I think I will start Monday.”

Jasper saw no reason to change his determination, and on Monday morning he started on his journey to Ohio.

Thus, at a critical moment in his fortunes, when two persons were planning to injure him, he lost the presence and help of a valued friend.

CHAPTER XIII

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY

“Uncle,” said John Wade, “you spoke of inviting Frank Fowler to occupy a room in the house. Why don’t you do it? It would be more convenient to you and a very good chance for him.”

“I should like it,” said Mr. Wharton, “but Mrs. Bradley did not seem to regard it favorably when I suggested it.”

“Oh, Mrs. Bradley is unused to boys, and she is afraid he would give her trouble. I’ll undertake to bring her around.”

“I wish you would, John. I don’t think Frank would give any trouble, and it would enliven the house to have a boy here. Besides, he reminds me of George, as I told you the other day.”

“I agree with you, uncle,” he said. “He does remind me a little of George.”

“Well, Mrs. Bradley, what do you think I have done?” asked John, entering the housekeeper’s room directly after his interview with his uncle.

“I don’t know, Mr. John,” she answered.

“I have asked him to give that boy a room in the house.”

“Are you carried away with him as well as your uncle?”

“Not quite. The fact is, I have a motive in what I am doing. I’ll tell you.”

He bent over and whispered in her ear.

“I never should have thought of that.”

“You see, our purpose is to convince my uncle that he is unworthy of his favor. At present that would be rather difficult, but once get him into the house and we shall have no trouble.”

“I understand.”

In due time John Wade announced to his uncle that the housekeeper had withdrawn her objections to his plan.

“Then I’ll tell him to-night,” said Mr. Wharton, brightening up.

Shortly after Frank entered the library that evening Mr. Wharton made the proposal.

“You are very kind, Mr. Wharton,” he said. “I never thought of such a thing.”

“Then it is settled that you are to come. You can choose your own time for coming.”

“I will come to-morrow, sir.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Wharton, with satisfaction.

The next day, by special favor, Frank got off from the store two hours earlier than usual. He bought at a Sixth Avenue basement store, a small, second hand trunk for two dollars. He packed his scanty wardrobe into the trunk, which, small as it was he was unable to fill, and had it carried to Mr. Wharton’s house.

He asked to see Mrs. Bradley, and she came to the door.

“I am glad to see you,” she said graciously. “You may leave your trunk in the hall and I will have it carried up by the servants.”

“Thank you,” said Frank, and he followed the housekeeper up the handsome staircase.

“This is to be your room,” said the housekeeper, opening the door of a small chamber on the third floor.

“It looks very nice and comfortable,” said Frank, looking about him with satisfaction.

She left the room, and five minutes later our hero’s modest trunk was brought up and deposited in the room.

That evening Frank read to Mr. Wharton as usual.

When nine o’clock came he said:

“You need not read aloud any more, but if you see any books in my library which you would like to read to yourself you may do so. In fact, Frank, you must consider yourself one of the family, and act as freely as if you were at home.”

“How kind you are to me, Mr. Wharton,” said Frank.

The next morning after Frank had left the house for his daily task, John Wade entered the housekeeper’s room.

“The boy is out of the way now, Mrs. Bradley,” he said. “You had better see if you have a key that will unlock his trunk.”

The two conspirators went upstairs, and together entered Frank’s room.

Mrs. Bradley brought out a large bunch of keys, and successively tried them, but one after another failed to open it.

“That’s awkward,” said John Wade. “I have a few keys in my pocket. One may possibly answer.”

The housekeeper kneeled down, and made a trial of John Wade’s keys. The last one was successful. The cover was lifted, and the contents were disclosed. However, neither John nor Mrs. Bradley seemed particularly interested in the articles for after turning them over they locked the trunk once more.

“So far so good,” said John Wade. “We have found the means of opening the trunk when we please.”

“When do you expect to carry out your plan, Mr. John?”

“Two weeks from this time my uncle is obliged to go to Washington for a few days on business. While he is gone we will spring the trap, and when he comes back he will find the boy gone in disgrace. We’ll make short work of him.”

CHAPTER XIV

SPRINGING THE TRAP

“I am going to give you a few days’ vacation, Frank,” said Mr. Wharton, a fortnight later. “I am called to Washington on business. However, you have got to feel at home here now.”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“And Mrs. Bradley will see that you are comfortable.”

“I am sure of that, sir,” said Frank, politely.

When Frank returned at night, Mr. Wharton was already gone. John Wade and the housekeeper seated themselves in the library after dinner, and by their invitation our hero joined them.

“By the way, Frank,” said John Wade, “did I ever show you this Russia leather pocketbook?” producing one from his pocket.

“No, sir, I believe not.”

“I bought it at Vienna, which is noted for its articles of Russia leather.”

“It is very handsome, sir.”

“So I think. By the way, you may like to look at my sleeve-buttons. They are of Venetian mosaic. I got them myself in Venice last year.”

“They are very elegant. You must have enjoyed visiting so many famous cities.”

“Yes; it is very interesting.”

John Wade took up the evening paper, and Frank occupied himself with a book from his patron’s library. After a while John threw down the paper yawning, and said that he had an engagement. Nothing else occurred that evening which merits record.

Two days later Frank returned home in his usual spirits. But at the table he was struck by a singular change in the manner of Mrs. Bradley and John Wade. They spoke to him only on what it was absolutely necessary, and answered his questions in monosyllables.

“Will you step into the library a moment?” said John Wade, as they arose from the table.

Frank followed John into the library, and Mrs. Bradley entered also.

“Frank Fowler,” the enemy began, “do you remember my showing you two evenings since a pocketbook, also some sleeve-buttons of Venetian mosaic, expensively mounted in gold?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“That pocketbook contained a considerable sum of money,” pursued his questioner.

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“You probably supposed so.”

“Will you tell me what you mean, Mr. Wade?” demanded Frank, impatiently. “I have answered your questions, but I can’t understand why you ask them.”

“Perhaps you may suspect,” said Wade, sarcastically.

“It looks as if you had lost them and suspected me of taking them.”

“So it appears.”

“You are entirely mistaken, Mr. Wade. I am not a thief. I never stole anything in my life.”