"Good-night. I hope you will sleep well, sir," said Herbert. "There won't be much sleep for me," he thought.

Mr. Carroll lay down, and his deep, tranquil breathing soon assured our hero that he was asleep. He rose from his bed and examined the windows. All but one were provided with fastenings. But the one on the right-hand side of his bed could be raised from the outside without difficulty.

"I wish I had a nail," thought Herbert. "I could soon make it fast."

But there was none in the room, and he did not wish to go downstairs for one, since he would probably meet the stranger, who would then learn what precautions he was taking, and so, perhaps, vary his attack.

"That window will need watching," thought Herbert. "I wonder whether I shall be able to keep awake."

The excitement of his situation, and, perhaps, the strong tea, to which he was unaccustomed, helped him to remain vigilant. His mind was active and on the alert, and his ears were open to catch the least sound.

It was only half-past ten. Probably the attempt to enter the room would not be made before twelve, at least, in order to insure their being asleep.

Herbert examined his pistol. It was in excellent order, and was provided with two barrels, both of which he loaded. Thus, he would have a double chance to defend himself. He did not remove all his clothing, but kept on his pants, in order to be prepared for emergencies.

There was an hour and a half to wait before midnight. The minutes passed slowly. Herbert for a time heard the murmur of voices in the barroom below, then steps ascended the stairs, and, after a while, all was hushed.

"I wish the fellow would come quick," he thought, "if he is coming at all, so that it might be all over, and I might go to sleep."

Time sped on. Herbert could hear the village clock striking twelve; but still all around remained quiet.

It might have been a half an hour later when he heard a slight noise, as he thought, under the window. Jumping softly out of bed, he took a peep out. It was just light enough for him to distinguish a dark form moving about, bearing something, which he soon perceived to be a ladder. That it was the black-whiskered man who had followed them, he did not doubt, and he felt confident that he intended to place the ladder against the window. He was not mistaken. He heard the top of the ladder softly inclined against the house, and then he felt that the critical moment, which was to test his courage, was close at hand.

Herbert's heart began to beat rapidly. He felt that he was taking upon himself a fearful responsibility in shooting this man, as he would probably be obliged to do in self-defense. But one thing he resolved upon. He would not take his life. He would only use such a degree of violence as should be absolutely necessary. He would even give him a chance by firing the first barrel in the air, in hope of frightening the robber. If that failed, he must wound him. There was little time for these thoughts to pass through his mind, for all the while the man was creeping up the ladder.

Herbert had moved a little aside, that he might not be seen.

Soon he perceived, by the indistinct light, the face of the stranger rising above the window-sill. Next, the window was slowly raised, and he began to make preparations to enter the room. Then Herbert felt that it was time for him to appear.

Stepping intrepidly to the window, he said: "I know your purpose. Unless you go down instantly, I will shoot you."

There was no tremor in his voice as he said this. Courage came with the occasion, and his tone was resolute, and self-possessed.

"So you're awake, are you, my chicken?" was the reply. "If you know what's best for yourself, you'll hand over the old man's money, and save me the trouble of getting in."

"Never!" said Herbert, firmly.

"Then I will take it myself, and give you something to remember me by, you little fool!"

He placed his knee on the window-sill, and prepared to jump in.

"One step farther," said Herbert, resolutely, "and I fire!"

He displayed the pistol, at the sight of which the burglar hesitated.

"Hold on a bit," said he, pausing. "I'll give you some of the plunder, if you'll put up that shooting iron, and make no trouble."

"Do you think me a villain, like yourself?" asked Herbert.

"By ——, you shall repent this," said the robber, with an oath, and he made another attempt to enter.

Click!

There was a sharp report, but Herbert had fired in the air, and the burglar was unhurt.

"Confusion!" he exclaimed; "that will raise the house!"

Then, espying the carpet-bag, he determined to jump in, seize it, and get away before the people in the house were fairly awake. As for the pistol, that had been discharged, and he supposed that nothing was to be feared from it. But he reckoned without his host. As he put one leg over, and had all but succeeded in getting in, Herbert fired once more, this time hitting him in the shoulder. He uttered a shriek of pain, and, losing his hold, tumbled backward to the ground.

The two reports alarmed the house.

"What's the matter?" exclaimed Mr. Carroll, awakened and alarmed.

"Don't be alarmed, sir," said Herbert. "A man just attempted to get in through the window, and I have wounded him."

"You are a brave boy," said Mr. Carroll. "Where is he now?"

"He has tumbled to the ground, shot through the shoulder, I think."

There was a loud thumping at the door. Herbert opened it, and admitted half a dozen guests, headed by the landlord.

"What's the matter?" exclaimed all, in chorus.

"If you will come to the window, gentlemen, I will show you," said Herbert.

They followed him curiously, and the sight of the ladder and the wounded man, who was uttering groans of pain from the ground below, told the story at once.

"Served the rascal right," said the landlord. "Who is he?"

"The black-whiskered man who was in the barroom last night," said Herbert.

"I remember now; he asked particularly where you were to sleep—you and the old gentleman—but I did not suspect his purpose."

"I did," said Herbert, "and kept awake to be ready for him."

"You are a brave lad."

"I only did my duty," said Herbert, modestly.

"Help! help!" groaned the wretch below.

Herbert heard the cry of pain, and his heart was filled with pity. The man was, indeed, a villain. He had only been served right, as the landlord said. Still, he was a fellow-creature, and he was in pain. Herbert could not regret that he had shot him; but he did regret the necessity, and he felt sympathy for him in his suffering.

"Poor fellow!" he said, compassionately; "I am afraid he is a good deal hurt."

"Poor fellow!" echoed the landlord. "It serves him right."

"Still, he is in pain, and he ought to be cared for."

"He has no claim upon us. He may he there till morning."

"No," said Mr. Carroll. "Herbert is right. He is guilty, but he is in pain, and it is the part of humanity to succor him. Landlord, if you will have him brought in, and send for the doctor, you may look to me for your pay."

"Yet, he was going to rob you, sir," said the landlord, considerably surprised.

"Yes, that is true; but you don't know how strongly he was tempted."

"He looks like a hard ticket. I didn't like to give him a bed, but we can't well refuse travelers, if they have money to pay their reckoning. I made him pay in advance."

"Pray, lose no time," said Herbert, as another groan was heard; "I will go out and help you bring him in."

A lantern was lit, and the whole company followed the landlord out.

"Well," said he, throwing the light of the candle full on the sufferer's face, "you've got yourself into a fine pickle, haven't you?"

"Oh," groaned the burglar, "if it hadn't been for that accursed boy!"

"You'd have got off with the old gentleman's money. Well, it was rather unkind to interfere."

"Are you in much pain?" asked Herbert, bending over him.

There was something in his voice that betrayed the compassion he really felt.

The burglar looked up.

"You're the boy that wounded me, ain't you?" he asked.

"Yes," said Herbert.

"Curse you! I don't know but you've killed me. I'm shot through the shoulder. Then, that cursed fall! I feel as if I had broken my back."

"I did not want to shoot you," said Herbert.

"What did you do it for, then?"

"Because you forced me to it. You were after Mr. Carroll's money."

"Didn't I offer to divide with you?"

"Yes, but, of course, I would not agree to that."

"Are you so much better than common folks?" sneered the burglar.

"I don't know about that. I would not steal."

"Take him up," said the landlord to the hotel servants. "He don't deserve it, but I've promised the old gentleman we'd see to him. Tom White, you may go for the doctor."

Two men approached and attempted to lift the wounded burglar. But, in the first attempt, they touched the injured shoulder. He uttered a shriek of pain, and exclaimed, "You'll murder me!"

"Let me lift him," said Herbert. "Perhaps you were too rough."

At length, but not without much groaning on the part of the burglar, he was got into the house, and laid on a bed in a small room on the first floor.

"Do you feel better?" asked Herbert.

"A little."

"Do you think you have broken any bones in falling?"

"I thought so at first, but perhaps I am only bruised."

"When the doctor comes, he will extract the bullet, and relieve you of a good deal of your pain."

"You are a strange boy," said the burglar, with a look of surprise.

"Why am I?"

"You shot me, and yet you pretend to be sorry for me now."

"So I am."

"Then, why did you shoot me?"

"I have already told you. Because I was obliged to. I would not have done it, if there had been any other way. I shot the first barrel in the air."

"By accident?"

"No; I thought it would alarm you, and I might save the money without injuring you."

"Do you really mean that?"

"Yes."

"And you don't have any ill-will against me now?"

"No."

"That is strange."

"I don't know why it should be."

"I suppose I ought to hate you, because you have brought me to this pass," said the burglar, thoughtfully, "but I don't. That is strange, too."

"I am so glad you feel so," said Herbert. "I am very sorry for your pain, and I will do what I can to relieve it."

"I have no money to pay the landlord and the doctor."

"Mr. Carroll says he will pay all needed expenses." "The man I wanted to rob?"

"Yes."

"Then hang me, if I ain't ashamed of trying to rob him," said the burglar, earnestly.

"Have you ever robbed anyone before?"

"No, I haven't. I'm a rough customer, and have done plenty of mean things, but this is the first job of the kind I ever attempted. I wouldn't have done it, only I heard the old man say in the cars, that he had a lot of money with him. I was hard up, and on my way to Cedarville, to try to get work, but when I heard what he said, the devil tempted me, I believe, and I determined to keep you both in sight, and get out where you did. I've tried and failed, and that's the end of it. It's my first attempt at burglary."

"I hope it will be the last."

"You may bet your life on that!"

"Then," said Herbert, quietly, "I will intercede with Mr. Carroll for you, and ask him not to have you arrested."

"Will you do that?" asked the wounded man, eagerly.

"I promise it."

"If you will, boy, I will bless you, and if God would listen to such a scamp as I am, I'd pray for you."

"He will listen to you," said Herbert. "Try to lead a better life, and He will help you."

"I wish I'd met with such as you before," said the burglar. "I'd have been a better man than I am."

Here the doctor entered, and Herbert gave place to him. The wound was discovered not to be serious, and, the bullet being extracted, the sufferer found relief. Herbert returned to bed, and this time, having no anxious thoughts to weigh upon his mind, he soon sank into a refreshing sleep, in which the fatigues and excitements of the day were completely forgotten.



CHAPTER XXI

HERBERT'S REWARD

"I owe the safety of my money to you, my brave boy," said Mr. Carroll, the next morning, as, after rising, he replaced the package of bank notes in his carpet-bag.

"I only did my duty," said Herbert, but his face flushed with pleasure at the commendations bestowed upon him.

"But in doing your duty, you displayed a courage and fidelity rare in one of your age."

"I am glad you approve of my conduct," said Herbert.

"If you continue to deserve as well of those who employ you, I am sure you will achieve success."

"I hope so, sir," said our hero. "I shall try to do my duty in whatever situation in life I may be placed."

"What are your plans when you reach New York?"

"I shall try to find a place in a store, or counting-room."

"Have you friends in the city on whose influence you can rely to help you to such a situation as you desire?" "No, sir; I have only myself to look to."

"Only yourself! It is a bold undertaking."

"Don't you think I shall succeed?" asked Herbert, a little anxiously.

"I do not doubt that you will succeed, after finding a place, but that is the difficulty."

"I supposed there must be plenty to do in a great city like New York."

"There is truth in what you say, but, nevertheless, many are led astray by it. There is, indeed, a great deal to do, but there are a great many ready to do it, and generally—I may say, always—the laborers exceed the work to be done."

"Perhaps," said Herbert, "many fail to get work, because they are particular what they do. If I can find nothing better to do, I will black boots."

"With such a spirit, I think you will succeed. But, perhaps, I can smooth away some of the difficulties in your path. I know a firm in New York—connections of our family—to whom I will give you a letter of introduction. If they have no room for you in their house, they may influence someone else to take you."

"I shall feel very much obliged to you for such a letter. It will do me a great deal of good," said Herbert, gratefully.

"I will gladly write it, but now let us go down to breakfast."

After breakfast was over, they looked in upon the wounded man.

"How do you feel this morning?" asked Herbert, going up to the bedside.

"Rather stiff, but I am not in such pain as I was."

"I am glad to hear it."

"That is the gentleman I was going to rob?" said the burglar, looking in the direction of Mr. Carroll.

"Yes."

"Is he—did you say anything to him about not prosecuting me?" he asked, nervously.

"Be under no apprehension," said Mr. Carroll, mildly. "I do not care to punish you more than you have already been punished. I prefer that you should lead a better life."

"I will try to do so. sir; but I was poor, and that made the temptation stronger."

"I can easily believe it. Are you wholly without means?"

"Nearly so."

"Here, then, is a purse containing a hundred dollars. It will probably pay your expenses during your illness."

The wounded man looked up in surprise.

"There ain't many that would pay a man for trying to rob them," he said.

"I do not pay you for that," said Mr. Carroll, "but because I do not wish you to be subjected to a similar temptation again."

The wounded man, who, under different treatment would have been defiant and profane, seemed quite subdued by such unexpected kindness.

"Well, sir," he said. "all I can say is, that I am very much obliged to you, and I hope you will be rewarded for your kindness."

"It is easier to lead men than to drive them," said Mr. Carroll, as they left the chamber. "This man is rough, and not troubled much with a conscience, but harshness would make him still worse."

"Yes, sir," said Herbert; "I think you are right."

After breakfast they resumed their journey. In due time they reached Baltimore, and remained over night at a hotel. In the course of the succeeding day they arrived at Philadelphia, which was the termination of Mr. Carroll's journey. As the country through which they passed was unknown to Herbert, the journey was full of interest, but there was no adventure worth recording.

The time came when the two travelers were compelled to part.

"If I were going to a hotel, Herbert," said Mr. Carroll, "I would invite you to remain with me a day or two; but I shall proceed at once to the house of a friend, and I shall not feel at liberty to invite you."

"Thank you, sir," said Herbert. "I think it will be best for me to go on to New York at once. I have got my living to make, and I am anxious to get to work as soon as possible."

"It is a praiseworthy feeling," said the old gentleman. "Life lies before you. I have left nearly the whole of it behind me. I am drawing near the end of my journey. You are just at the beginning. I shall hope to meet you again, but, if not, be assured that I shall always remember, with pleasure, my young traveling companion."

"Thank you, sir," said Herbert.

"I shall not soon forget the essential service which you have rendered me," continued the old gentleman.

"Don't think of it, sir," said Herbert, modestly, "Anyone would have done the same thing in my place."

"I am by no means sure of that. At any rate, the obligation remains. You must allow me to acknowledge it in some measure."

Mr. Carroll drew out his pocketbook and handed it to Herbert.

"Will you oblige me," he said, "by counting the bills in this pocketbook?"

Herbert did so.

"There are sixty-five dollars," he said, passing it back.

"Will you take out fifty dollars?"

"Yes, sir—I have done it."

"That's the sum you will oblige me by keeping," said Mr. Carroll. "I hope it may be of service to you."

"You give me so much money?" said Herbert, in surprise.

"It is but a very small sum, compared with that which you have saved me."

"I don't think I ought to take so much," said Herbert, hesitating.

"You need not hesitate, my young friend. I am blessed with abundant means, and very well able to part with it. Besides, it is only one per cent. of the money which you have been instrumental in saving me, and you are certainly entitled to as much as that."

"I thank you very much for the gift, Mr. Carroll," said our hero, "and still more for the kind manner in which you give it to me."

"You accept it, then? That is well," said the old gentleman, with satisfaction. "There is one thing more. You remember that I spoke to you of a business firm in Pearl Street, New York, with the members of which I am acquainted. Last evening I prepared a letter of introduction to them for you. Here it is."

"Thank you, sir," said Herbert. "I was very fortunate in meeting with one so able and willing to assist me."

"You are very welcome to all the help I am able to give you. I shall be very glad if your life shall be as prosperous as mine has been. I must trouble you to do me one more service. If you will find me a cab, I will go at once to my friend's house."

No difficulty was experienced in obtaining a carriage. There was a cordial leave-taking, and Herbert once more found himself alone. But with rather more than sixty dollars in his pocket, he felt rich, and looked forward eagerly to his arrival in the great city, where he hoped to deserve and win success.



CHAPTER XXII

ROBBED IN THE NIGHT

Herbert entered the cars, and took a seat by the window. His small bundle, containing all the extra clothing he had been able to bring away from the inhospitable home of Mr. Holden, he placed in the seat beside him.

It was yet early, and there were but few persons in the car. But as the hour for starting approached, it gradually filled up. Still, the seat next to Herbert remained untaken.

At length a young man, apparently about nineteen, walked up the aisle, and, pausing, inquired, "Is this seat engaged?"

"No," said Herbert, at the same time removing his bundle.

"Then, if you have no objection, I'll take possession."

He accordingly seated himself, and commenced a conversation.

"Going to New York?" he asked.

"Yes," said Herbert.

"Do you live there?"

"No; I have never been there before."

"Are you going on a visit?"

"No; I am going to live there; that is, if I can find anything to do."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes."

"So am I. Suppose we hitch teams."

"I don't understand."

"Suppose we go to some hotel together. I have been there before, and can tell you where to go. It's awful dull being alone. I always like to pick up company."

Herbert hardly knew what to say to this proposition. He did not exactly like the appearance, or fancy the free and easy manners of his new acquaintance, but he felt lonely, and, besides, he hardly knew what excuse to make. He, therefore, gave his assent to the arrangement proposed.

"What's your name?" asked his new friend, familiarly.

"Herbert Mason."

"Mine is Greenleaf—Peter Greenleaf. Have you come from a distance?"

"From Waverley, in Ohio, not far from Cincinnati."

"I am from Philadelphia. I've been in a store there, but I didn't like the style, and I concluded to go to New York. There's more chance for a fellow of enterprise there."

"What sort of a store were you in?"

"Dry-goods store—Hatch & Macy. Old Hatch is a mean skinflint, and wouldn't pay me half what I was worth. I don't want to brag, but there wasn't a man in that store that sold as much as I did. And how much do you think I got?"

"I don't know."

"Only seven dollars a week. If I hadn't made something another way. I couldn't have paid my expenses."

"I should think you might live on seven dollars a week."

This was before the war had increased the expenses of living.

"Couldn't do it. Board cost me four dollars a week, and that only left three for other expenses. My cigars cost me nearly that. Then I wanted to go to the theater now and then, and, of course, I must dress like a gentleman. I tell you what, seven dollars a week didn't begin to do me."

"How did you manage, then?"

"Oh, I made so much more by banking."

"By banking?" repeated Herbert, in astonishment.

"Yes; only it was a faro bank. I used to pick up considerable that way, sometimes."

"A faro bank!" repeated Herbert, in dismay. "Why, that's the same as gambling, isn't it?"

"Well, what's the odds? You take your chance, and you may win or lose. It's a pretty fair thing."

After this confession, Herbert became more than ever doubtful whether he should care to remain long in the company of his present companion.

Meanwhile, the cars were moving rapidly. Peter Greenleaf, as he called himself, talked volubly, and appeared to have a considerable familiarity with certain phases of life, the knowledge of which was not likely to have been very profitable to him. Still, Herbert was interested in his communications, though the opinion which he formed of him was far from favorable.

"Where are you going to stop when you get to New York?" inquired Peter.

"I don't know anything about the city. I suppose I shall have to go to a hotel first."

"Suppose we go to French's Hotel?"

"Where is that?"

"Near the park. It's on the European plan. You pay fifty cents a day for your rooms, and whatever you please for your meals."

"I think I shall like that. I shall want to get into a boarding-house as soon as possible."

"All right. We'll take a room together at the hotel."

This arrangement was not to Herbert's taste, but he did not care to offend his companion by objecting to it, so by his silence, he gave consent.

"What are you going to do in New York?" he asked.

"I shall look up a situation. I won't take less than fifteen dollars a week. A man of my experience ought to be worth that. Don't you think so?"

"Yes," said Herbert, dubiously, though it occurred to him that if he were an employer, he would not be likely to engage such a clerk at any price. But it is rather fortunate, all things considered, that we are able to keep our thoughts to ourselves, otherwise, the complacency of our companions, and sometimes our own, would run the risk of being rudely disturbed.

In course of time the terminus of the road was reached, and, crossing over from Jersey City, Herbert found himself, for the first time in his life, in the noise and whirl of the great city.

"And I am actually to live here," thought Herbert. "I wonder what Mr. Holden would say if he knew where I was?" Uncertain as his prospects were, he felt very glad that he was out of the clutches of the petty despot, whose chief pleasure was to make him uncomfortable. Here, at least, the future was full of possibilities of good fortune; there, it was certain discomfort and little to hope for.

"Where is the hotel you spoke of?" he asked, turning to Greenleaf.

"I'll lead you to it."

They walked up to Broadway, then up by the Astor House, and across the park to the hotel.

"We'll go in and secure a room the first thing," he said.

They entered, Greenleaf taking the lead.

"Show us a room with two beds," said Peter to the clerk.

A servant was summoned, and the room assigned to them was indicated.

"Have you any baggage?" asked the clerk.

"No," said Greenleaf, carelessly. "Mine was checked through from Philadelphia. I shan't send for it till morning."

"Then I must ask you to pay in advance."

"All right. Fifty cents, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Mason," said Greenleaf, "have you got a dollar about you? I've got nothing less than a ten."

Herbert drew out a dollar and paid for himself and his companion.

They were now shown up to a room on the third floor, which proved to be a very comfortable one, looking out on the street. Herbert was glad to get a chance to wash himself thoroughly after the dusty journey which he had just completed. This ceremony over, they went down to the restaurant connected with the hotel, and took a hearty meal. Greenleaf made an effort to have Herbert pay for both, but this time Herbert also had a bill to change. It was rather a suspicious circumstance, he thought, that Greenleaf, who had no bill smaller than a ten, paid for his meal out of a one-dollar bill.

After supper Greenleaf bought a couple of cigars, and offered Herbert one.

"No, thank you," said our hero.

"Don't you smoke?"

"No."

"Where have you been living all your life? I couldn't get along without my cigar."

"Don't you think it hurtful to a boy to smoke?"

"I don't know about that. I'm a man now, but I've smoked ever since I was a boy. I think it does a fellow good."

"But it's expensive."

"Yes, that's so. I expect I've smoked a thousand dollars' worth of cigars in the course of my life."

"Don't you wish you had the money instead?"

"Yes; I should rather like the money, but I shouldn't be half the man I am if I hadn't smoked. It's mostly milksops that don't smoke. Nothing personal, you know, Mason."

"Of course not," said Herbert, smiling.

"Better have a cigar."

"No; I guess not."

"You'll come to it in time. I'll smoke it for you, then."

After smoking, Greenleaf expressed his intention of going to the theater. Herbert preferred to go to bed early, feeling rather tired. He was kept awake at first by the noise of the horse-cars and the bustle of the street outside, as well as by the exciting thoughts that crowded upon him, suggested by his actual arrival in the city, where he hoped to make a place for himself by energy and industry. But at last he fell asleep.

He slept soundly through the night. But towards morning he had a dream in which Abner Holden figured. His old employer seemed to be approaching him with a smile of exultation, and was about to lay violent hands upon him, when he awoke. It was broad daylight, being already seven o'clock in the morning. Herbert remembered where he was, and looked across the room for Greenleaf. But he was not visible. The bed was disarranged, and evidently had been slept in, but the occupant had risen.

"I didn't think he was a fellow to rise early," thought Herbert. "I suppose he is downstairs. I might as well get up, too."

Herbert jumped out of bed, and, going to the wash-stand, washed his face and hands. He then proceeded to dress.

"I wonder Greenleaf didn't wake me up," he thought.

But the reason was too soon made evident. Happening to put his hand in the pocket where he usually kept his pocketbook, he was startled at finding it empty. Somewhat alarmed, he began to hunt round upon the floor, thinking it possible that it might have dropped out. But his search was vain. It was not to be found. He then examined carefully the remaining pockets, still without success.

It was not until this moment that a suspicion entered his mind concerning his companion.

"Is it possible," he thought, "that Greenleaf has been mean enough to strip me of my money?"

Herbert did not want to believe this. He disliked to think badly of anyone, and he still hoped it would prove otherwise. It was barely possible that Greenleaf had taken his money by way of playing a practical joke upon him, and he might now be downstairs, waiting to be amused at Herbert's look of dismay when he discovered that he was penniless. Drowning men will catch at straws, and Herbert, in his trouble, tried to think this was probably the way it had happened.

"Greenleaf is rather a hard case, according to his own account," he said to himself. "but I can't believe he would be mean enough to rob me. I will go downstairs and see if I can find him."

Accordingly, leaving his chamber, he descended the staircase, and made his way to the office.

Herbert went up and spoke to the clerk who chanced to be inside.

"Have you seen my roommate?" he asked.

"What is the number of your room?"

"No. ——."

"I remember now. He has gone."

"Gone!" echoed Herbert, in dismay.

"Yes; didn't you know of it?"

"He went away while I was asleep. How long since did he go?"

"He came to the office two hours since, and said he should not require the room any longer."

"Did he leave any message for me?"

"No."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"No."

Such an expression of dismay and perplexity overspread Herbert's face that the clerk could not help observing it.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked.

"Yes," said Herbert. "He has robbed me of my pocketbook, containing all my money."

"Whew!" whistled the clerk. "How much had you?"

"About sixty dollars."

"You're unlucky, that's a fact. Have you nothing left?"

Just then it flashed across Herbert's mind that when he had paid for his supper he had changed a five-dollar bill, and placed the balance, about four dollars and a half in his vest pocket. He at once felt in that pocket, and found it still there. Greenleaf had contented himself with the pocketbook.

"I have a little left," he said.

He paid for his room in advance for another day, and went down to breakfast.



CHAPTER XXIII

A BUSINESS CALL

It was certainly a startling discovery for Herbert to make, that out of sixty dollars he had only four left, now that he had paid for another day at the hotel, and this small sum must be further diminished by the expense of a breakfast. Unfortunately, too, he was quite hungry, for his misfortune had not taken away his appetite.

"I will make a good breakfast, at any rate," said Herbert, philosophically. "Afterwards, I will consider what to do."

He ordered a substantial breakfast, which, even at the low prices of a dozen years ago, amounted to fifty cents, and did full justice to what was set before him.

After paying at the desk, he went outside.

It was a bright, sunshiny morning, and this, with the comfortable feeling produced by having eaten a good breakfast, gave him courage for the new career upon which he was about to enter.

While considering what he should do first, the thought of the letter given him by Mr. Carroll flashed upon him. He felt for it hastily, and was rejoiced to find that that was safe, at least. Greenleaf had not taken that away, fortunately.

He looked at the direction. It was addressed to

"Messrs. Godfrey & Lynn, No. —— Pearl St."

It was not sealed, and was probably meant to be read by Herbert. At any rate, our hero so concluded, and opened the letter, not without curiosity as to what Mr. Carroll had written about him. He knew it must be favorable, of course, but found it even more so than he anticipated.

Here it is:

"MY DEAR MR. GODFREY: This letter will be handed you by a young friend of mine, by name Herbert Mason. My acquaintance with him has been brief, but he has been able, by his coolness and bravery, to do me a most important service, having saved me from being robbed of a large sum of money while acting as my escort from Ohio to Philadelphia. I have talked with him freely about his plans, and find that he will reach New York without friends, and with a very small sum of money, hoping before it is gone to secure a place in some counting-room, where he can make an honest living. I feel a strong interest in his success, and am persuaded that wherever he is placed, he will show rare capacity and fidelity. I wish it might be in your power to receive him into your own counting- room. But, of course, that must be according to your convenience. At any rate, may I rely on you to act a friendly part by my young friend, and to exert your influence toward procuring him a position elsewhere, if you cannot employ him yourself? Anything that you may have it in your power to do for Herbert, I shall consider as a favor done to myself.

I have just left my daughter, who, with her family, is well. Sincerely, your friend, JAMES CARROLL."

"That is a very kind letter," thought Herbert, gratefully. "I hope it will do me good."

He decided to call and deliver it the same forenoon. If he had not been robbed of nearly the whole of his small capital, he would, first, have gone about the city, which was entirely new to him. But, with less than four dollars between himself and utter destitution, he felt that he had no time for sight-seeing. It was necessary that he should get to work as soon as possible.

He waited till ten o'clock, thinking it possible that the heads of the firm might not reach the counting-room till about that time. It was now eight o'clock only. He had two hours, therefore, to look about him.

"Shine yer boots?" said a ragged urchin, approaching, with a suggestive look at his soiled shoes.

It occurred to Herbert that it would be best to look as well as possible when visiting Godfrey.

"Ten cents."

"It's too much," said Herbert, thinking how few dimes constituted his entire worldly wealth.

"Well, five, then," said the bootblack, coming down to his regular price.

"Do you get much to do?" asked our hero.

"Some days I get considerable."

"How much do you make?"

"Pleasant days I makes a dollar, but when it rains, there ain't much to do."

"How much do you have to pay for sleeping?"

"Six cents."

"Six cents!" repeated Herbert, in surprise. "Where can you get lodged for that?"

"At the lodgin' house, corner of Fulton and Nassau Streets."

"Well," thought Herbert, "I needn't starve. If I can't get anything better to do, I can buy a box of blacking and a brush, and set up in business for myself."

To be sure, this would not be an agreeable occupation, but Herbert was bound to make a living by honest labor. If one avenue was closed to him, he must enter such as were open to him. He could not afford to be particular.

After his shoes were brushed, he crossed the park, and walked up Broadway. It was a wonderful sight to the country-bred boy, this gay thoroughfare, with its busy and bustling crowds, and its throngs of vehicles, never ceasing wholly, save at the dead hours of night. He thought to himself what a quantity of business there must be to do. Certainly, there must be room for one more worker. So, on the whole, the busy scene gave him courage, and he sauntered along as cheerfully as if he were not next-door to a beggar.

But at last the time came when he might safely seek out the gentleman to whom he had an introduction. Being a stranger in the city, he had to inquire for Pearl Street from a policeman, who answered his inquiry very civilly. He followed the direction, and found it at length. But the number of which he was in search was not so easily found, for he found the street meandered in a very perplexing way, so that at times he was not quite sure whether he was still in it, or had wandered from his way.

At last he found the place. It was a large, solid-looking building, of four stories in height. There were a number of boxes outside on the sidewalk. Inside, there was a large apartment occupying the entire first floor, with the exception of a room in the rear, which had been partitioned off for a counting-room. The partition was of glass, and, as he looked from the entrance, he could see a couple of high desks and a table.

"Is this Godfrey & Lynn's?" he asked of a porter at the entrance.

"Yes," said the porter.

"I want to see Mr. Godfrey."

"I don't think he's in. You can go to the office and inquire."

Accordingly, Herbert passed down the length of the warehouse, and, pausing a moment before the door, he opened it, and entered.

There were two persons in the office. One was a thin-faced man, who sat on a high stool at one of the desks, making entries apparently in the ledger. This was the bookkeeper, Mr. Pratt, a man with a melancholy face, who looked as if he had lived to see the vanity of all things earthly. He had a high forehead naturally—made still higher by the loss of his front hair. Apparently, he was not a man to enjoy conviviality, or to shine on any festive occasion.

Besides Mr. Pratt, there was a boy, if we may take the liberty of calling him such, of about Herbert's age. He was fashionably dressed, and his hair was arranged with exceeding care. In fact, as Herbert entered, he was examining the set of his necktie in a little hand-glass, which he had taken from his coat pocket. Not quite suiting him, he set himself to rearranging it.

"Have you copied that bill, Thomas?" asked Mr. Pratt, looking up.

"Not yet, sir."

"You have been long enough about it. Put back that glass. You are quite too much troubled about your appearance."

"Yes, sir.

"If I didn't look any better than some people," said Thomas, sotto voce, "I shouldn't look in a glass very often."

Herbert naturally concluded that Mr. Pratt was the man to whom his inquiries should be addressed.

"I would like to see Mr. Godfrey, sir." he said.

"He is out of the city."

"Out of the city!" repeated Herbert, disappointed. "When will he be back?"

"Nor till day after to-morrow."

Herbert's countenance fell. In his reduced circumstances, he could hardly afford to wait two days. At his present rate of expenditure, he would be penniless by that time.

"Is Mr. Lynn likely to be in soon?" he asked, thinking that perhaps he would do in Mr. Godfrey's absence.

"No; he is sick at home. He may not be here for a week. Perhaps, I can attend to your business," he added. "What is it?"

"I think," said Herbert, "that I will wait till day after to-morrow, if you think Mr. Godfrey will be back then. I have a letter for him."

"If it's a business letter, you had better leave it."

"It is a letter of introduction," said Herbert. "I would rather present it in person."

"Very well," and Mr. Pratt went back to his ledger.

Thomas looked critically at the boy who had a letter of introduction to Mr. Godfrey, and said to himself, "He got his clothes from a country tailor, I'll bet a hat."



CHAPTER XXIV

FINDING A BOARDING PLACE

Herbert left the counting-room of Godfrey & Lynn, not a little depressed in spirits. The two days which must elapse before he could see Mr. Godfrey were to him a formidable delay. By that time his money would be almost exhausted. Then, suppose, which was very probable, Mr. Godfrey could do nothing for him immediately, but only hold out his promise of future assistance, how was he to live in the meantime? After all, he might have to realize his thought of the morning, and join the ranks of the bootblacks. That was not a pleasant thought to a boy of his education. All labor is honorable, to be sure, but, then, some occupations are more congenial than others.

If Greenleaf had not robbed him so basely, he could have afforded to wait. He felt sore and indignant about that. Nobody likes to own that he has been victimized, but Herbert was obliged to confess to himself that such was the case with him.

He walked about rather aimlessly, feeling miserable enough. But, all at once, it occurred to him, "Would it not be cheaper for him to take board by the week in some boarding-house?" Reckoning up, he found that his hotel bill would be three dollars and a half a week, while his meals, even if he were quite abstemious, would make as much more; in all, seven dollars. Surely, he could be boarded somewhere for less than that.

In the reading-room of the hotel he found a daily paper, and carefully ran his eye down the advertisements for boarders and lodgers. The following attracted his attention:

"BOARDERS WANTED.—A few mechanics may obtain comfortable rooms and board at No. —— Stanton Street, at three dollars per week."

This, be it remembered, was previous to the war, and before the price of board had doubled.

"Three dollars a week!" repeated Herbert. "Less than half my present rate of expense. I must go at once and secure it."

He found the way to Stanton Street, and found that No. —— was a shabby-looking house in a shabby neighborhood. But he could not afford to be fastidious. He accordingly stepped up without hesitation, and rang the bell, which emitted a shrill sound in reply.

A middle-aged woman, with a red handkerchief tied around her head, and a broom in her hand, opened the door and looked inquiringly at our hero.

"What's wanted?" she said.

"I saw your advertisement for boarders," said Herbert.

"Yes; I advertised in the paper this morning."

"Will you let me see your rooms?"

"Who are you looking for?"

"Myself."

"I don't know as you'll be suited. My price is low, and I can't give first-class accommodations for three dollars."

"No; I suppose not."

"Come up, if you would like to see what I've got."

The interior of the house was shabby like the outside, the oilcloth carpet faded, and the wall paper torn off in places. The stairs, too, were narrow and uncarpeted. All this Herbert observed, but he could not afford to be critical.

On the third floor, his guide threw open the door of a dark, little hall bedroom, meagerly furnished.

"I could give you this room by yourself," she said, "or a larger room with someone else."

"I would rather be alone."

"That's the only single room I have. Will you take it?"

"I think so," said Herbert, though he did not anticipate much enjoyment in such a poor place.

"When do you want to come?"

"To-morrow morning."

"Very well. I shall expect a deposit, so that I may be sure the room is let."

"How much?"

"A dollar will do."

Herbert drew a dollar from his pocket, and handed it to Mrs. Morgan, for such, she informed him, was her name.

Then he went downstairs and out into the air again.

"Well," he said to himself, "I'm sure of a home, such as it is, for a week. In that time something must turn up."

Examining his pocketbook he found that he had two dollars and a half left. Of that sum, two dollars must be reserved to pay the balance of his week's board. Out of the remaining fifty cents he must pay for his meals until the next morning, when he would take possession of his new boarding place. He wished that he had proposed to come to breakfast, but it was too late now.

With such a small sum in hand, he could not afford to dine on the same magnificent scale as he had breakfasted, but he must be rigidly economical. He decided that the cheapest food he could buy was a five- cent loaf at some baker's. This would probably last him through the day, and might prove sufficient for breakfast also, since he would take a regular dinner, though he doubted, from what he had seen of the establishment in Stanton Street, whether it would be a very inviting repast. But it was the best he could afford, and that was all he need consider.

Late in the afternoon, it occurred to Herbert to wonder where, in the city, his Uncle Stanton lived. Not that he had any intention of applying to him for assistance, even if matters came to a crisis, but he felt a natural curiosity as to how his uncle was situated. He found the directory readily, and, turning to the letter S, ran down the list of names till he came to Stanton, Benjamin.

He learned that his uncle's store was in the lower part of Broadway, while his house was in West Seventeenth Street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues.

"I should like to see what sort of a house Uncle Benjamin lives in," thought Herbert.

There was nothing to prevent his gratifying this wish, as he had plenty of time on his hands. If he had had more money, he would have taken the horse cars, but in his present circumstances this would be imprudent. He decided, as it was only five o'clock, to take a leisurely walk up Broadway, noticing his uncle's place of business on the way.

A few minutes brought him in front of the latter—an imposing-looking building, with all the appearance of belonging to a prosperous merchant. Appearances are deceitful, to be sure, and no doubt there are some merchants, as outwardly prosperous, who might profitably change places with their head clerks. But Herbert naturally judged from appearances, and he could not help contrasting in his mind his own condition with that of his uncle's. But he was too manly to be despondent on this account, and thought rather, "I am young and ready to work, Some time, if I am patient and work hard. I may be as well off as Uncle Benjamin." The thought of applying to him for assistance was as far off as ever.

He pursued his way uptown, finding it a longer walk than he anticipated, arriving at half-past five at Union Square. At the upper end he turned off, and went down Seventeenth Street.

Carefully noting the numbers, he at length found his uncle's house. It was a handsome, substantial city mansion, and seemed appropriate as the residence of a rich New York merchant.

"So my uncle lives here," thought Herbert, and there rose involuntarily in his mind the memory of the humble Western home where he and his mother had struggled against poverty, while his uncle, who was evidently so amply provided with the world's goods, coldly held aloof, and forbore to offer the assistance which he could so well afford.

"If I had a sister, I could never treat her like that," thought Herbert, indignantly. "He would not help my mother. I will starve before I ask him to help me."

He paused a moment on the opposite side of the street to look at his uncle's house. While he was standing there, a boy of about his own age, apparently, came down the street whistling, and ascended the steps of his uncle's house.

"I wonder if that is my cousin Tom," thought Herbert. He knew the names of his cousins from his mother, though he had never seen them.

While he looked, he was struck by something familiar in the appearance of this boy. Where had he seen him before?

All at once it flashed upon him. It was the same boy he had seen in the counting-room of Godfrey He knew him by his dandified dress and his face, which he had noticed at the time.

This was certainly a strange coincidence, that his cousin, for it was doubtless he, should be the first boy he encountered after reaching New York. It would be still stranger if Mr. Godfrey should offer him employment, and he should find himself a clerk in the same office as the son of his rich uncle. But it was by no means certain that he would be lucky enough to obtain such employment. Therefore there was no need of wondering whether, under such circumstances, Tom would recognize him as a relation.

Herbert walked thoughtfully back, and on reaching his room ate the remainder of the loaf which he had purchased at the baker's in the morning. It was not a very luxurious repast, but his walk had given him an appetite, and he had no difficulty in disposing of all that was left.



CHAPTER XXV

GETTING A SITUATION

The next morning Herbert reported himself at his new boarding place. He found the fare very far from first-class, while his fellow-boarders appeared at the table mostly in shirt-sleeves, and were evidently workingmen. Our hero would have preferred a greater degree of neatness both in the table and in the guests, but he felt that he would be lucky, if he should find himself able to pay his expenses even here. He was not to be daunted by little annoyances, but looked for compensation in the future.

He waited impatiently for the next day, when Mr. Godfrey would return. Upon the success of the interview with him much depended.

At length it came, and Herbert once more set out for the warehouse on Pearl Street. He entered without question, and made his way to the counting-room. Looking through the glass door, he saw his cousin—whom he surveyed with new interest now that he knew the relationship—and the bookkeeper. But, besides these, there was an elderly gentleman, rather stout, with a pleasant face, the expression of which reassured him.

"Is Mr. Godfrey in?" he asked, on entering, with a look of inquiry at the gentleman just described.

"That is my name. What can I do for you?" said Mr. Godfrey, turning towards him.

"I have a letter for you, sir," said Herbert, producing it from his pocket.

Mr. Godfrey held out his hand for it, and ran his eye rapidly over its contents.

"So your name is Herbert Mason?" he said, raising his eyes after finishing it.

"Yes, sir."

At the mention of this name, Tom Stanton, whose curiosity had led him to listen to the conversation, wheeled rapidly round on his stool and surveyed our hero with intense curiosity. He knew that Herbert Mason was the name of his cousin. Could it be possible that this boy was the cousin whom he had never seen? A little later, and he was convinced of it.

"You have just come from Ohio, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir."

"My friend, Mr. Carroll, writes me that you were instrumental in saving him from being robbed while acting as his escort to Philadelphia."

"It wasn't worth mentioning," said Herbert modestly.

Mr. Godfrey noticed his modest tone, and it pleased him—modesty not being an unvarying characteristic of young America.

"My friend refers to it as an important service. I should like to know the particulars. Mr. Carroll is a connection of mine, and I am naturally interested in all that relates to him."

In reply Herbert gave a brief, but clear and intelligent account of the attempted burglary, passing over his own achievement as lightly as possible. But it was easy to infer, even from the little he said, that he had acted with bravery and self-possession,

"You behaved in a very creditable manner," said Mr. Godfrey, approvingly. "Many boys would have lost their self-possession. You have come to New York in search of employment, Mr. Carroll writes me?"

"Yes, sir."

"I don't, of course, know how you were situated in Ohio," said the merchant, "but as a general rule I think boys make a mistake in leaving the country for the city. Here the competition for work is sharp, and there is a surplus of laborers in every department of labor. Still," he proceeded, scanning Herbert's earnest face, "you look like a boy capable of making his way if an opportunity offers. You have but little money, Mr. Carroll writes."

"I have lost nearly all I had," said Herbert, "so that now I have very little left."

"You have met with a loss? Tell me about it. Indeed, I should be glad if you would confide to me freely your situation and hopes, and then I shall be better able to help you."

"I am almost ashamed to tell you how I was taken in," said our hero. "I suppose I ought to have been more prudent."

He recounted the manner in which Greenleaf had robbed him. Mr. Godfrey listened with interest, and so did Tom Stanton, who burst into a laugh when the narrative was concluded.

"What are you laughing at, Thomas?" asked the merchant, rather sharply.

"I was thinking how neatly he was taken in," said Tom, a little abashed.

"I should apply a different word to it," said Mr. Godfrey. "It appears to me the height, or rather the depth of meanness, to take advantage of a boy's confidence, and defraud him so scandalously. How much money have you left, Herbert?"

"Forty cents, sir."

"Only forty cents to begin life with in a great city!"

"Yes, sir; I have paid my board in advance for a week."

"Where do you board?"

"In Stanton Street."

Tom turned up his nose at the name of this street, which he knew was very far from fashionable, but this demonstration our hero did not observe.

"What board do you pay?"

"Three dollars a week, sir."

"A poor place, probably."

"Yes, sir, but I could afford no better."

"You are sensible to accommodate yourself to circumstances. Well, my young friend, it appears that you can't wait long for employment. Mr. Carroll has asked me to do something for you, and I am disposed to oblige him, not wholly for his sake, but partly for your own, for you seem to me a very modest and sensible boy. Mr. Pratt, do we need another boy?"

"No, sir, I don't think we do."

"Well, business will be brisker by and by. I think you can find a little for this young man to do in the meantime. He can go to the post office, and I believe I have a little extra writing to be done. Pass him a pen, and let him give us a specimen of his handwriting."

Fortunately, Herbert was a handsome writer, and this went a considerable way in his favor.

"Very neat," said the merchant. "By the way, Herbert, I suppose, of course, you know nothing of French?"

"Yes, sir, I can read it pretty well."

"Indeed!" said Mr. Godfrey, surprised. "Then you can be of service to me, that is, if you know it well enough. I received, this morning, a letter from a silk house at Lyons, a part of which I don't quite understand. The fact is, my French is rather poor. Do you think you could help me translate it?"

"If you will show me the letter, I will try, sir."

The merchant took a letter from the table before him and handed it to Herbert.

Our hero ran his eye rapidly over it, and then rendered it into English in a clear and grammatical way.

"Bless me, you're quite a scholar," said Mr. Godfrey. "I understand now. You've made it all plain. Where did you learn so much French?"

"My father taught me, sir. He also taught me Latin."

"Indeed, I congratulate you on possessing so good an education. Latin, however, isn't so much in my way. I haven't many Latin correspondents."

"I suppose not, sir," said Herbert, laughing.

"Still, it does no harm to know something of it."

Tom Stanton had listened with considerable surprise, mingled with mortification, to what had passed. It appeared then, that his country cousin, whom he had looked upon as a country boor, was his superior in education, and, as Tom secretly knew, in courage. And now he was going to be his fellow-clerk. He felt jealous and angry, fearing that Herbert, who appeared to be high in favor already, would eclipse him in the office.

"How much can you live upon economically?" asked the merchant.

"I know little of the city," said Herbert. "You can judge better than I, sir."

"You pay three dollars a week board. You'll need double that amount. Mr. Pratt, you may pay him six dollars a week. He will come to work to- morrow morning, and you may pay him Saturday, as if it was a whole week."

"Thank you, sir," said Herbert, gratefully. "You are very kind."

"Do your duty, my young friend, and I shall be satisfied."

Tom Stanton listened in indignant surprise. He only got four dollars a week, and here was a country boy placed over his head. He was imprudent enough to give expression to his feelings.

"Won't you give me six dollars a week, also?" he said.

"Why should I?"

"Don't I deserve as much as he?"

"Perhaps you do. But I don't give it to Herbert because he earns it, for it is not likely that he will do so at present. But he has no other resources. You have a comfortable home, and are not obliged to pay for your board out of your wages."

"No, I hope not," said Tom.

"Therefore you do not need as much as he does. You are not entitled to this explanation, but I give it, nevertheless, that you may know my motives."

Tom did not reply, feeling that it would be imprudent to do so, but he bent sullenly to his work, by no mans satisfied with the explanation. He began to feel a dislike for his cousin, and determined to injure him, if he could, in the estimation of the firm. It would have been satisfactory if he could have looked down upon him as an inferior, but that was not easy.

"I hope the fellow won't find out the relationship between us," he said to himself. "He'd be calling me Cousin Tom all the time, and I don't care about owning a cousin that lives in Stanton Street."

Tom need not have troubled himself. Herbert had no idea of claiming relationship, though, as we know, he was fully aware of its existence.



CHAPTER XXVI

A FAMILY COUNCIL

As soon as he was released from business, Tom Stanton hurried home to impart the unexpected intelligence that his cousin Herbert had arrived in the city. As might be expected, the news gave no particular pleasure in the Stanton homestead.

"Did you tell him who you were, Thomas?" asked his mother.

"Catch me doing it!" said Tom. "I ain't quite a fool. I don't care about owning any pauper relations."

"He isn't a pauper," said Mr. Stanton, who, hard man of the world as he was, could not forget that Herbert was the son of his sister.

"He's the next door to it," said Tom, carelessly.

"Thomas is right," said Mrs. Stanton. "You may depend upon it, Mr. Stanton, that when this boy finds you out, he will apply to you for assistance."

"Possibly he may."

"I hope you won't be such a fool as to encourage him in his application."

"If he were in actual distress, my dear," said Mr. Stanton, "I should feel that I ought to do something."

"Then you'd allow yourself to be imposed upon, that's all I've got to say. There is no need of his being in distress. He is a stout boy, and capable of earning his own living."

"He might get sick," suggested Mr. Stanton, who was not so hard-hearted as his wife.

"Then let him go to the hospital. It's provided for such cases."

"Is Herbert good-looking?" asked Maria, with interest.

"He won't get a prize for his beauty," said Tom, disparagingly.

"Is he homely?"

"No," said Tom, reluctantly. "I suppose he'll pass; but he's countrified. He hasn't got any style," and he glanced complacently at his own reflection in a mirror, for Tom was vain of his personal appearance, though by no means as good-looking as Herbert. In fact, he was compelled secretly to confess this to himself, and for this reason was more than ever disposed to view his cousin with prejudice.

"I should like to see Herbert," said Maria, who had her share of female curiosity, and thought it would be pleasant to have a cousin to escort her round.

"Perhaps I'd better invite him round to dinner tomorrow," said Thomas, sarcastically.

"I wish you would."

"Thomas will do no such thing!" said Mrs. Stanton, decidedly. "It's my opinion that the less notice we take of him the better. Your father is in good circumstances, to be sure, but whatever he is able to do, ought, of right, to go to his own family. We don't want any poor relations coming here to get their living out of us."

"Just my sentiments, mother," said Tom Stanton, approvingly.

"It doesn't seem quite right," said Mr. Stanton, uncomfortably, "to neglect my sister's child."

"Don't make yourself ridiculous with your scruples, Mr. Stanton," said his wife. "It's the boy's duty to take care of himself. It would only do him harm, and lead to false expectations, if we allowed him the run of the house."

"Besides," said Tom, "I shouldn't want to have Tom Paget and Percy Mortimer, and other fellows that I associate with, ask me who he is, and have to tell them that he is my cousin."

This argument had considerable weight with Mr. Stanton, who was anxious to elevate himself in society, and looked with complacency upon the school acquaintances Tom had formed with the scions of distinguished families.

"Well," said he, rising from the table, "let it be as you will. We won't go out of our way to invite the boy here, but if he presents himself, as he doubtless will, we must take a little notice of him."

"I don't see why he couldn't have stayed in the country," said Mrs. Stanton. "It was the best place for him."

"Of course, it was," said Tom.

"He could have had no other object than to seek us out, and see what he could get out of us. For my part, I would advise you to recommend him to go back."

"He has secured a place, it seems, and would not be likely to give it up."

"It's a great pity he should have got into the same counting-room with Tom. He will presume on the relationship as soon as he finds it out."

Mrs. Stanton need not have been alarmed, for Herbert was too high- spirited to seek an intimacy where he had reason to think it would be disagreeable. But his aunt knew nothing of him, and judged him by herself.

"He's there, and it can't be helped," said Mr. Stanton.

"At any rate, if he does stay in the city," persisted Mrs. Stanton, "I hope you'll give him to understand that he needn't call here more than once in three months. That is as much as he can expect."

"After all, he is my sister's son," said Mr. Stanton. "I can't feel that this would be quite kind in us."

"Leave it to me, then. If you're too soft-hearted, Mr. Stanton, I will take all the responsibility, and the blame, if there is any."

"Well, I think you've said enough on the subject," said her husband. "Tom, run upstairs and bring me a cigar. You know where I keep the cigar box."

"You'd better send a servant, father," said Tom, coolly.

"It appears to me you are getting lazy, Thomas," said his father.

"Thomas is right," said Mrs. Stanton. "What do we keep servants for but to run errands?"

"Still, Tom might have obliged me in such a little matter."

"You shouldn't have asked him, Mr. Stanton. You seem to forget that we are not living in the style of half a dozen years ago. You should adapt yourself to circumstances."

Mr. Stanton said no more, but sent a servant in Tom's place. But he could not help thinking that the outward prosperity for which he was striving was not without its drawbacks, since it compelled him to look to servants for the most ordinary services.

The next morning Tom went to the counting-room, fully expecting that Herbert would claim relationship as soon as he discovered his name. While he would be compelled to admit it, he determined to treat Herbert with such a degree of coolness that he would take the hint, and keep his distance.

When he arrived at the counting-room, Herbert was already there, and Mr. Pratt also.

"Good-morning," said Herbert.

"Morning," muttered Tom.

"This is Thomas Stanton, your fellow-clerk," said Mr. Pratt, the bookkeeper. "I believe you have not been introduced."

"Now for it," thought Tom.

But rather to his surprise, Herbert made no demonstration, but merely bowed slightly.

"What does it mean?" thought Tom, a little perplexed. "Is it possible that he is not my cousin, after all?"

"I think you came from Ohio?" inquired Tom, impelled by his curiosity to ask the question.

"Yes," said Herbert.

"Why didn't you stay there? Couldn't you make a living there?" asked Tom, not over-politely.

"Probably I might," said Herbert, quietly.

"Then I think you should have stayed there."

"Which do you like best, the city or the country?" asked our hero.

"The city."

"So do I."

"But there's a difference. I have always lived in the city."

"I suppose boys often do come from the country to the city," said Herbert. "Was your father born in the city?"

"No," said Tom, glancing keenly at Herbert, to see if he meant anything by the question.

"Then it seems he must have preferred the city to the country."

Tom had his share of curiosity. He knew that it would be better not to pursue this subject further if he wished his cousin to remain ignorant of the relationship between them. Still, he was anxious to know what Herbert's actual knowledge was, and whether he would be likely to avail himself of it. He was therefore tempted to say, "I suppose you have no relations in the city?"

"What makes you think I haven't?" asked Herbert, looking at Tom rather peculiarly.

"I don't think anything about it. I only asked," said Tom, a. little confused.

"Yes, I have an uncle in the city," said Herbert, quietly.

"Oh, indeed," said Tom.

He said nothing more, for he felt that he might betray his knowledge of the relationship unintentionally. Herbert's manner left him as much in the dark as ever.

Mr. Pratt set Herbert to work on some writing, and Tom, also, was soon busy. After a while Mr. Godfrey came in.

"Good-morning, Herbert," he said, pleasantly, offering his hand. "So Mr. Pratt has set you to work, has he?"

"Yes, sir."

"I think we shall find enough for him to do, eh, Mr. Pratt?"

"Yes, sir, I think so," said the bookkeeper, who perceived that Herbert was in favor, and it was as well to fall in with his employer.

"That's well. How do you like your boarding place, Herbert?"

"It isn't a very nice one, sir, but it is as good a one as I have a right to expect for the money I pay."

"Come round and dine with us to-night," said the merchant. "Mrs. Godfrey will be glad to see you. I'll give you my street and number."

"Thank you, sir," said Herbert. "I shall be glad to accept your kind invitation."

Tom listened to this invitation with envy. Mr. Godfrey occupied a high social position. Moreover, he had a pretty daughter, whom he, Tom, had met at dancing school, and he would have been very glad to receive the invitation which had been extended to "that beggar, Herbert," as he mentally styled him.



CHAPTER XXVII

AT THE CONCERT

Herbert felt a little diffident about accepting his employer's invitation to dinner. Brought up in the country in comparative poverty, he felt afraid that he should show, in some way, his want of acquaintance with the etiquette of the dining table. But he had a better than ordinary education, and, having read diligently whatever books he could get hold of, possessed a fund of general information which enabled him to converse intelligently. Then his modest self-possession was of value to him, and enabled him to acquit himself very creditably.

Julia Godfrey, the merchant's only daughter, was a lively and animated girl, a year or two younger than Herbert. She had been the belle of the dancing school, and Tom Stanton, among other boys, had always been proud to have her for a partner. She, however, had taken no particular fancy to Tom, whose evident satisfaction with himself naturally provoked criticisms on the part of others. Of this, however, Tom was unconscious, and flattered himself that his personal appearance was strikingly attractive, and was quite convinced that his elaborate and gorgeous neckties must attract admiration.

Julia awaited the advent of her father's young guest with interest, and her verdict was favorable. He was, to be sure, very plainly dressed, but his frank and open face and pleasant expression did not need fine clothes to set them off. Julia at once commenced an animated conversation with our hero.

"Weren't you frightened when you saw the robber?" she asked, for her father had told her of Herbert's adventure with the burglar.

"No," said Herbert, "I did not feel afraid."

"How brave you must be?" said Julia, with evident admiration.

"There was no need of my being frightened," said Herbert, modestly. "I was expecting him."

"I know I should have been frightened to death," said Julia, decidedly.

"You are a girl, you know," said Herbert. "I suppose it is natural for girls to be timid."

"I don't know but it is, but I am sure it is not natural to all boys to be brave."

Herbert smiled.

"I was out in the country, one day, walking with Frank Percy," proceeded Julia, "when a big, ugly-looking dog met us. Frank, instead of standing by, and defending me, ran away as fast as his feet could carry him. I laughed at him so much about it that he doesn't like to come near me since that."

"How did you escape?" asked Herbert, with interest.

"I saw there was no use in running away, so I patted him on the head, and called him 'Poor dog,' though I expected every minute he was going to bite me. That calmed him down, and he went off without doing any harm."

Herbert found Mrs. Godfrey to be a pleasant, motherly-looking lady, who received him kindly. He felt that he should like it very much if she was his aunt, instead of Mrs. Stanton, whom he had never seen, and did not think he should care about meeting.

"What do you think of Tom Stanton?" asked Julia, "Of course, you know him—the other boy in pa's counting-room."

"I am not very well acquainted with him yet," said Herbert, evasively, for he did not care to say anything unfavorable of Tom. "Do you know him?"

"Yes, he used to go to the same dancing school with me last winter."

"Then you know him better than I do."

"I don't like him much," said Julia. "He's always thinking of himself and his neckties. He always came to dancing school in a different necktie; to let us know how many he had, I suppose. Didn't you notice his necktie?"

"It was pretty large, I thought," said Herbert, smiling.

"Yes, he's fond of wearing large ones."

"I am afraid you are talking uncharitably, Julia," said her mother, mildly. "Girls, you know, are sometimes fond of dress."

So the conversation drifted on to other topics. Julia, at first, addressed our hero as Mr. Mason, until he requested her to call him Herbert, a request which she readily complied with. They were soon on excellent terms, and appeared to be mutually pleased.

"Young people," said Mr. Godfrey, after dinner, "there is to be an attractive concert at the Academy of Music this evening. I secured seats this morning for four. Suppose we all go?"

"I shall be delighted, for one, papa," said Julia. "You will like to go, Herbert, won't you?"

"Very much," said our hero.

"Then you can escort me, while papa and mamma walk together."

Herbert felt that this arrangement would be very agreeable, so far as he was concerned. It was, in fact, adopted, and the four paired off together, as Julia had suggested, Julia amusing Herbert by her lively remarks.

Entering the hall, they followed the usher to their seats, which were eligibly located only a few rows back from the stage.

Just behind them sat a party, among whom the new arrivals produced quite a sensation. Not to keep the reader in suspense, that party consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Stanton, Tom and Maria. There was but slight acquaintance between the two families, as Mr. Godfrey's stood higher, socially, than Mr. Stanton's. The gentlemen, however, had a bowing acquaintance, and the young people had met at dancing school.

"Why, there's Mr. Godfrey and his family, Tom," said Maria, turning towards her brother. "Who's that boy with them? Julia hasn't got any brother, has she?"

Tom had watched the entrance of the party with lively dissatisfaction. That his beggarly cousin should appear in public on such intimate terms with Julia Godfrey, to whom he himself had paid attention, but without any special encouragement, struck him as particularly mortifying.

"Mr. Godfrey's son!" he said, disdainfully. "That boy is Herbert Mason."

"Our cousin?" asked Maria, with interest. "Ma, did you hear?" she whispered, eagerly. "That boy in front of us is Cousin Herbert."

"That boy with the Godfreys?" said Mrs. Stanton, in surprise.

"Yes, he's talking with Julia now."

"Are you sure? Who told you?"

"Tom."

"Is it true, Tom?"

"Yes," said Tom, frowning.

"What could have induced the Godfreys to bring him along?" said Mrs. Stanton, who was no better pleased than Tom at the social success of the poor relation.

"He's quite good-looking," said Maria.

"Nonsense," said her mother, sharply. "He has a very countrified look."

The news was communicated to Mr. Stanton, who looked with interest at his sister's son, whom he had not seen since he was a very young child. He fervently wished him back again in Ohio, where he might conveniently forget his existence. Here in New York, especially since an unlucky chance, as he considered it, had brought him into the same counting-room as his son, it would be difficult to avoid taking some notice of him. But, so far as pecuniary assistance was concerned, Mr. Stanton determined that he would give none, unless it was forced upon him. Had he known our hero better, he would have been less alarmed.

With all his prejudices, Mr. Stanton could not help confessing that Herbert was a boy of whom any uncle might be proud. Though plainly dressed, he did not seem out of place at a fashionable concert, surrounded by well-dressed people.

It must not be supposed that Herbert was left in ignorance of the vicinity of the only relations he had in the city.

"There's Tom Stanton, just behind you, with his father and mother and sister," whispered Julia.

Herbert turned his head slightly. He was desirous of seeing what his uncle and aunt were like. His uncle met his gaze, and turned uncomfortably away, appearing not to know him, yet conscious that in his affected ignorance he was acting shabbily. Mrs. Stanton did not flinch, but bent a cold gaze of scrutiny upon the unwelcome nephew. Tom looked supercilious, and elevated his pug nose a trifle. Maria, only, looked as if she would like to know her cousin.

It was only a hasty glance on Herbert's part, but it brought him to a rapid conclusion that he would not claim relationship. If any advances were made, they must come from the other side.

Tom fidgeted in his seat, watching with ill-concealed vexation the confidential conversation which appeared to be going on between Julia and his cousin.

"What she can see in that boor, I can't imagine," he said to himself.

Moreover, though Julia had looked around, she had not deigned any recognition of himself, and this hurt his pride. He finally determined to overlook the neglect, and address her, which he could readily do, as he sat almost directly behind her.

"Good-evening, Miss Julia," he said, familiarly, bending forward.

"Oh, good-evening, Mr. Stanton," said Julia, coldly, just turning slightly. "Herbert, isn't that a beautiful song?"

"She calls him Herbert," said Tom, in scornful disgust. "I wonder if she knows he is nothing but a beggar?"

"How are you enjoying the concert, Miss Julia?" he continued, resolved not to take the rebuff.

"Very well," said Julia. "By the way," she continued, with a sudden thought, "I believe you are acquainted with Mr. Mason."

Herbert, upon this, bowed pleasantly, but Tom said, in rather a disagreeable tone, "I know Mr. Mason slightly."

"Oh," said Julia, arching her eyebrows, "I thought you were both in papa's counting-room."

"We shall know each other better by and by," said Herbert, smiling.

Tom did not appear to hear this, but tried to keep up the conversation with Julia, desiring to have it appear that they were intimate friends; but the young lady gave brief replies, and finally, turning away, devoted herself once more to Herbert, much to Tom's disgust. In fact, what he saw made Tom pass a very unpleasant evening, and when, on their return home, Maria suggested that Julia had taken a fancy to Herbert, he told her to mind her own business, which Maria justly considered a piece of rudeness wholly uncalled for.



CHAPTER XXVIII

PETER GREENLEAF AGAIN

Notwithstanding he was receiving a salary larger than is usually paid boys of his age, Herbert felt cramped for the want of money. Six dollars a week would have paid his expenses comfortably, if he had been well provided to begin with. But all the clothing he had, besides what he wore, he had brought with him in a small bundle, the greatest part having been left in his trunk at the house of Abner Holden. He often wished that he could have them with him, but, of course, this wish was vain. Indeed, Mr. Holden, when the conviction was forced upon him that there was no chance of recovering his bound boy, quietly confiscated the trunk and its contents; and this, to some extent, consoled him for the departure of the owner.

Herbert found himself sadly in need of underclothing; and, of course, his only suit, from constant wear, was likely to deteriorate rapidly. He saved all the money he could from his weekly wages toward purchasing a new one, but his savings were inconsiderable. Besides, he needed a trunk, or would need one, when he had anything to put in it.

"If I only had that money Greenleaf stole from me, I should be all right," he said to himself, after long and anxious thought on the great question of ways and means. "I don't see how I can save up more than two dollars a week out of my wages, and it will take a long time for that to amount to much."

There certainly did not appear to be much chance of saving more. His boarding place was as cheap as he could obtain, or, if there were cheaper anywhere, they would probably be also poorer, and our hero felt that Mrs. Morgan's was as poor as he should be able to endure.

He was rather mortified, too, at the poverty of his wardrobe. Mrs. Morgan asked him one day, "When is your trunk coming?" and Herbert was obliged to own, with some shame, that he had none. The landlady looked surprised, but he had no explanation to offer.

"I suppose I shall have to wait till my wages are raised," thought Herbert, with a little sigh. This, he reflected, would not be very soon, as he had started with a salary greater than he was likely to earn, as Mr. Godfrey had said.

But relief was nearer than he anticipated.

One day, as he was walking up the Bowery, he saw, at a little distance in front of him, a figure which he well remembered. The careless, jaunty step and well-satisfied air were familiar to him. In short, it was Peter Greenleaf, who had played so mean a trick upon him at the hotel.

Herbert's heart beat quick with excitement, mingled with pleasure. He felt a natural indignation against this young man, who had cheated him so remorselessly, and left him, indifferent to his fate, alone and almost penniless in a strange city.

What should he do?

Close behind him was a policeman slowly pacing his regular round. Herbert went up to him, and, pointing to Greenleaf, rapidly recounted his grievances.

"It was a mean trick," said the policeman, who was a favorable specimen of his class. "Is this the first time you have seen him?"

"Yes."

"Tell me what you want to do."

"I want to get my money back."

"Probably he has spent it. How long since he robbed you?"

"Three weeks."

"Not much chance, then. Probably his pocket's empty, unless he's fleeced somebody else in the meantime. However, it's as well to see what can be done. Now, I'll tell you how to act. Go up to him boldly, and demand your money. If he bluffs you off, call me."

"All right," said Herbert.

He hastened his step, and, advancing, tapped Greenleaf on the shoulder.

Greenleaf turned. When he recognized Herbert, he looked surprised and disconcerted. But he had plenty of assurance, and quickly determined upon his course. Assuming a stolid look, he said: "Well, my lad, who are you; and what do you want?"

"You know who I am, well enough," said Herbert, angrily.

"Do I? Then I'm uncommonly forgetful. I haven't any recollection of your interesting countenance," he said, with a sneer.

"I suppose you don't want to remember me, Mr. Greenleaf," said Herbert.

"Greenleaf! You are thinking of somebody else. My name's Thompson."

"Your name was Greenleaf when you stopped with me at French's Hotel," said Herbert, sturdily.

"You're crazy, I fancy," said Greenleaf, shrugging his shoulders. "I never stopped at the hotel you mention, in my life."

"Where's the money you took from me?" demanded Herbert, who felt convinced of Greenleaf's identity, in spite of his denial.

"What are you talking about?" said Greenleaf, assuming a look of surprise.

"You went off before I was awake, with more than fifty dollars of mine."

"Do you mean to insult me?" said Greenleaf, drawing himself up. "I've a great mind to knock you over!"

"Mr. Greenleaf," said Herbert, firmly, "either return my money, or as much as you have got left, or I will call a policeman."

"Just what I shall do, myself, unless you stop this nonsense," said Greenleaf, angrily; but not without a sensation of uneasiness, as it struck his mind that Herbert might really intend to do what he had said.

"Once more, will you give up that money?" said Herbert, firmly.

"Stand out of the way," said Greenleaf, "if you know what is best for yourself!"

He was about to push by, thrusting Herbert roughly out of the way, when our hero turned, and his look summoned the policeman, who hastened to the spot.

"Give this boy his money," he said, authoritatively. "I know all about your little game. It's up now. Unless you hand over your plunder, you must go with me."

Greenleaf changed color, and was evidently alarmed.

"I've got nobody's money, except my own," he said.

"Come along, then," said the officer, taking him by the arm.

"Stop a minute," said he, hurriedly, finding that matters had come to a crisis. "If I give up what I have, will you let me go?"

"Well, that depends on how much you have."

"I've got twenty dollars."

Herbert was about to say that this would do, but the policeman shook his head.

"Won't do," said he. "Come along."

After a little haggling, Greenleaf produced forty dollars, which Herbert pocketed, with much satisfaction.

"Now go along, and mind you don't try any more such games."

Greenleaf needed no second permission to be gone. He feared that the officer might change his mind, and he might, after all, be consigned to the station house.

"Thank you," said Herbert, gratefully. "I needed the money badly. I shouldn't have recovered it but for you."

"Take better care of it next time," said the officer, not unkindly. "Take care not to trust a stranger too easily. Better take my advice, and put it in a savings bank." "I shall be obliged to use most of it," said Herbert. "What I don't need, I will put in the bank."

The recovery of so much of his lost money seemed to Herbert quite a lucky windfall. He went at once to a trunk store, and, for five dollars, purchased a good, durable trunk, which he ordered sent home to his lodgings. Fifteen dollars more he invested in necessary underclothing, and this left him one-half of the money for future use. Besides this he had six dollars, which, in three weeks, he had saved from his wages. With this sum, and the articles he had purchased, he felt quite rich, and returned to the counting-room—this happened during the hour given him for dinner—in unusually good spirits. He had other reasons for encouragement. He was getting accustomed to his duties at the counting- room. Mr. Godfrey always treated him kindly, and had called upon him again that very morning to assist him in translating a French letter, complimenting him, at the same time, upon his scholarship.