The Cash Boy, Jr. Horatio Alger [fantasy books to read .TXT] 📗

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