The Errand Boy; Or, How Phil Brent Won Success, Jr. Horatio Alger [beach read .TXT] 📗

Later in the evening Mrs. Brent took Jonas into her confidence. She was a silent, secretive woman by nature, and could her plan have been carried out without imparting it to any one, she would gladly have had it so. But Jonas must be her active accomplice, and it was as well to let him know at once what he must do.

In the evening, when Jonas, tired with his day's skating, was lying on the lounge, Mrs. Brent rose deliberately from her seat, peeped into the adjoining room, then went to each window to make sure there was no eavesdropper, then resumed her seat and said:

“Jonas, get up. I want to speak to you.”

“I am awfully tired, mother. I can hear you while I lie here.”

“Jonas, do you hear me? I am about to speak to you of something no other person must hear. Get a chair and draw it close to mine.”

Jonas rose, his curiosity stimulated by his mother's words and manner.

“Is it about the letter, mother?” he asked.

“Yes, it relates to the letter and our journey to-morrow.”

Jonas had wondered what the letter was about and who had sent his mother the hundred-dollar check, and he made no further objection. He drew a chair in front of his mother and said:

“Go ahead, mother, I'm listening.”

“Would you like to be rich, Jonas?” asked Mrs. Brent.

“Wouldn't I?”

“Would you like to be adopted by a very rich man, have a pony to ride, plenty of pocket-money, fine clothes and in the end a large fortune?”

“That would just suit me, mother,” answered the boy eagerly. “Is there any chance of it?”

“Yes, if you follow my directions implicitly.”

“I will, mother,” said Jonas, his eyes shining with desire. “Only tell me what to do and I'll do it.”

“Do you remember what I told Philip the evening before he went away?”

“About his being left at Mr. Brent's hotel? Yes, I remember it.”

“And about his true father having disappeared?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Jonas, the letter I received this afternoon was from Philip's real father.”

“By gosh!” ejaculated Jonas, altering his usual expression of surprise.

“He is in Philadelphia. He is a very rich man.”

“Then Phil will be rich,” said Jonas, disappointed. “I thought you said it would be me.”

“Philip's father has never seen him since he was three years old,” continued Mrs. Brent, taking no notice of her son's tone.

“What difference does that make, mother?”

“Jonas,” said Mrs. Brent, bending toward her son, “if I choose to tell him that you are Philip, he won't know the difference. Do you understand?”

Jonas did understand.

“That's a bully idea, mother! Can we pull the wool over the old man's eyes, do you think?”

“I wish you would not use such expressions, Jonas. They are not gentlemanly, and you are to be a young gentleman.”

“All right, mother.”

“We can manage it if you are very careful. It is worth the trouble, Jonas. I think Mr. Granville—that is his name—must be worth a quarter of a million dollars, and if he takes you for Philip the whole will probably go to you.”

“What a head you've got, mother!” exclaimed Jonas admiringly. “It is a tip-top chance.”

“Yes, it is one chance in ten thousand. But you must do just as I tell you.”

“Oh, I'll do that, mother. What must I do?”

“To begin with, you must take Philip's name. You must remember that you are no longer Jonas Webb, but Philip Brent.”

“That'll be a bully joke!” said Jonas, very much amused. “What would Phil say if he knew I had taken his name?”

“He must not know. Henceforth we must endeavor to keep out of his way. Again, you must consider me your step-mother, not your own mother.”

“Yes, I understand. What are you going to do first, mother?”

“We start for Philadelphia to-morrow. Your father is lying sick at the Continental Hotel.”

Jonas roared with delight at the manner in which his mother spoke of the sick stranger.

“Oh, it'll be fun, mother! Shall we live in Philadelphia?”

“I don't know. That will be as Mr. Granville thinks best.”

“Where are you going, mother? Are you going to live here?”

“Of course I shall be with you. I will make that a condition. I cannot be parted from my only boy.”

“But I shall be Mr. Granville's boy.”

“To the public you will be. But when we are together in private, we shall be once more mother and son.”

“I am afraid you will spoil all,” said Jonas. “Old Granville will suspect something if you seem to care too much for me.”

The selfish nature of Jonas was cropping out, and his mother felt, with a pang, that he would be reconciled to part with her forever for the sake of the brilliant prospects and the large fortune which Mr. Granville could offer him.

She was outwardly cold, but such affection as she was capable of she expended