The Cash Boy, Jr. Horatio Alger [fantasy books to read .TXT] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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“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.”
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