"I believe he does a few odd jobs now and then, but I don't suppose heearns much outside."
"I was talking with him this morning."
"You were!" ejaculated Stephen in a tone of curiosity. "Did you tellhim you felt an interest in him?"
"No, and I don't want you to tell him so. I suggested that he couldmake a better income by leaving Chicago, and going farther West."
"I think I might like to do that, Uncle Thomas."
"Then why don't you?"
"I can't go without money."
"You could take up a quarter-section of land and start in as a farmer.I could give you a lift that way if I thought you were in earnest."
"I don't think I should succeed as a farmer," said Stephen, with agrimace.
"Too hard work, eh?"
"I am willing to work hard, but that isn't in my line."
"Well, let that go. You asked if I had any instructions. Findopportunities of talking with the boy, and speak in favor of goingWest."
"I will. Is there anything more?"
"No. I believe not."
"You couldn't let me have a couple of dollars extra, could you,uncle?"
"Why should I?"
"I--I felt sick last week, and had to call in a doctor, and then getsome medicine."
"There's one dollar! Don't ask me for any more extras."
"He's awfully close-fisted," grumbled Stephen.
"I am afraid King might visit Chicago, and find out the boy," saidBrowning to himself as he continued his walk. "That would never do,for he is a sharp fellow, and would put the boy on my track if he sawany money in it. My best course is to get this Luke out of Chicago, ifI can."
Stephen Webb made it in his way to fall in with Luke when he wasselling afternoon papers.
"This is rather a slow way of making a fortune, isn't it, Luke?" heasked.
"Yes; I have no thoughts of making a fortune at the newspaperbusiness."
"Do you always expect to remain in it?" continued Webb.
"Well, no," answered Luke, with a smile. "If I live to be fifty orsixty I think I should find it rather tiresome."
"You are right there."
"But I don't see any way of getting out of it just yet. There may bean opening for me by and by."
"The chances for a young fellow in Chicago are not very good. Here amI twenty-five years old and with no prospects to speak of."
"A good many people seem to make good livings, and many grow rich, inChicago."
"Yes, if you've got money you can make money. Did you ever think ofgoing West?"
Luke looked a little surprised.
"A gentleman was speaking to me on that subject this morning," hesaid.
"What did he say to you?" asked Stephen, curiously.
"He recommended me to go West, but did not seem to approve ofCalifornia."
"Why not. Had he ever been there?"
"He said he had visited San Francisco, but had never been in theinterior."
"What a whopper that was!" thought Stephen Webb. "Why should UncleThomas say that?"
"What sort of a looking man was he? Had you ever seen him before?" heinquired.
"He is a peculiar-looking man--has a wart on his right cheek."
"Did he mention the particular part of the West?"
"No; he said he would look out for a chance for me."
"It is curious Uncle Thomas feels such an interest in that boy," Webbsaid to himself, meditatively.
CHAPTER XXIV
MRS. MERTON PASSES A PLEASANT EVENING
Ambrose Kean called with Luke an evening or two later to thank Mrs.Merton in person for her kindness. They arrived ten minutes after Mrs.Tracy and Harold had started for Hooley's Theater, and thus were savedan embarrassing meeting with two persons who would have treated themfrigidly.
They were conducted upstairs by the servant, and were ushered intoMrs. Merton's room.
Ambrose Kean was naturally ill at ease, knowing that Mrs. Merton wasacquainted with the error he had committed. But the old lady receivedhim cordially.
"I am glad to meet the son of my old schoolmate, Mary Robinson," shesaid.
"In spite of his unworthiness?" returned Ambrose, his cheek flushingwith shame.
"I don't know whether he is unworthy. That remains to be seen."
"You know I yielded to temptation and committed a theft."
"Yes; but it was to help your mother."
"It was, but that does not relieve me from guilt."
"You are right; still it greatly mitigates it. Take my advice; forgetit, and never again yield to a similar temptation."
"I will not, indeed, Mrs. Merton," said the young many earnestly. "Ifeel that I have been very fortunate in escaping the consequences ofmy folly, and in enlisting your sympathy."
"That is well! Let us forget this disagreeable circumstance, and lookforward to the future. How is Mary your mother?"
"She is an invalid."
"And poor. There is a remedy for poverty. Let us also hope there is aremedy for her ill-health. But tell me, why did you not come to see mebefore? You have been some time in Chicago."
"True, but I knew you were a rich lady. I didn't think you wouldremember or care to hear from one so poor and obscure as my mother."
"Come, I consider that far from a compliment," said the old lady. "Youreally thought as badly of me as that?"
"I know you better now," said Ambrose, gratefully.
"It is well you do. You have no idea how intimate your mother and Iused to be. She is five years my junior, I think, so that I regardedher as a younger sister. It is many years since we met. And how is shelooking?"
"She shows the effects of bad health, but I don't think she looksolder than her years."
"We have both changed greatly, no doubt. It is to be expected. But youcan tell her that I have not forgotten the favorite companion of myschool days."
"I will do so, for I know it will warm her heart and brighten herup."
"When we were girls together our worldly circumstances did not greatlydiffer. But I married, and my husband was very successful inbusiness."
"While she married and lost all she had."
"It is often so. It might have been the other way. Your mother mighthave been rich, and I poor; but I don't think she would have beenspoiled by prosperity any more than I have been. Now tell me how youare situated."
"I am a clerk, earning twelve dollars a week."
"And your employer--is he kind and considerate?"
"He is just, but he has strict notions. Had he learned my slip theother day he would have discharged me, perhaps had me arrested. Now,thanks to your prompt kindness, he knows and will know nothing ofit."
"Is he likely to increase your salary?"
"He will probably raise me to fifteen dollars a week next January.Then I can get along very well. At present it is difficult for me,after sending my mother four dollars a week, to live on the balance ofmy salary."
"I should think it would be."
"Still, I would have made it do, but for mother's falling sick, and soneeding a larger allowance."
"I hope she is not seriously ill," said Mrs. Merton, with solicitude.
"No, fortunately not. I think she will be as well as usual in a fewweeks."
"Tell her I inquired particularly for her, and that I send her my loveand remembrance."
"I shall be only too glad to do so."
The time slipped away so rapidly that Luke was surprised when, lookingat the French clock on the mantel, he saw that it lacked but a quarterof ten o'clock.
"Mr. Kean," he said, glancing at the clock, "it is getting late."
"So it is," said Ambrose, rising. "I am afraid we have beentrespassing upon your kindness, Mrs. Merton."
"Not at all!" said Mrs. Merton, promptly. "I have enjoyed the evening,I can assure you. Mr. Kean, you must call again."
"I shall be glad to do so, if you will permit me."
"I wish you to do so. Luke will come with you. I shall want to hearmore
of your mother, and how she gets along."
As they were leaving, Mrs. Merton slipped into the hand of AmbroseKean an envelope.
"The contents is for your mother," she said. "I have made the checkpayable to you."
"Thank you. It is another mark of your kindness."
When Ambrose Kean examined the check, he ascertained to his joy thatit was for a hundred dollars.
"What a splendid old lady she is, Luke!" he said, enthusiastically.
"She is always kind, Mr. Kean. I have much to be grateful to her for.I wish I could say the same of other members of the family."
"What other members of the family are there?"
"A niece, Mrs. Tracy, and her son, Harold."
"Why didn't we see them to-night?"
"I don't know. I suppose they were out."
The next day Ambrose handed the check to his employer and asked if hewould indorse it, and so enable him to draw the money.
James Cooper took the check and examined the signature.
"Eliza Merton," said he. "Is it the rich Mrs. Merton who lives onPrairie Avenue?"
"Yes, sir."
"Indeed; I did not know that you were acquainted with her."
"She and my mother were schoolmates."
"And so you keep up the acquaintance?"
"I spent last evening at her house. This check is a gift from her tomy mother."
Ambrose Kean rose greatly in the estimation of his employer when thelatter learned that Kean had such an aristocratic friend, and he wastreated with more respect and consideration than before.
Meanwhile Harold and his mother had enjoyed themselves at thetheater.
"I suppose Aunt Eliza went to bed early, Harold," said Mrs. Tracy, asthey were on their way home.
"Went to roost with the hens," suggested Harold, laughing at what hethought to be a good joke.
"Probably it is as well for her," said his mother. "It isn't good forold people to sit up late."
It was about half-past eleven when they were admitted by the drowsyservant.
"I suppose Mrs. Merton went to bed long ago, Laura," said Mrs. Tracy.
"No, ma'am, she set up later than usual."
"That is odd. I thought she would feel lonely."
"Oh, she had company, ma'am."
"Company! Who?"
"Master Luke was here all the evenin', and a young man with him."
Mrs. Tracy frowned ominously.
"The sly young artful!" she said to Harold when they were alone. "Heis trying all he can to get on aunt's weak side. Something will haveto be done, or we shall be left out in the cold."
CHAPTER XXV
MRS. TRACY'S BROTHER
A day or two later, while Mrs. Merton was in the city shopping,accompanied by Luke, a man of thirty years of age ascended the stepsof the house on Prairie Avenue and rang the bell.
"Is Mrs. Tracy at home?" he asked of the servant who answered thebell.
"Yes, sir; what name shall I give?"
"Never mind about the name. Say it is an old friend."
"Won't you come in, sir?"
"Yes, I believe I will."
Mrs. Tracy received the message with surprise mingled with curiosity.
"Who can it be?" she asked herself.
She came downstairs without delay.
The stranger, who had taken a seat in the hall, rose and faced her.
"Don't you know me, Louisa?" he asked.
"Is it you, Warner?" she exclaimed, surprised and! startled.
"Yes," he answered, laughing. "It's a good while since we met."
"Five years. And have you----"
"What--reformed?"
"Yes."
"Well, I can't say as to that. I can only tell you that I am notwanted by the police at present. Is the old lady still alive?"
"Aunt Eliza?"
"Of course."
"Yes, she is alive and well."
"I thought perhaps she might have died, and left you in possession ofher property."
"Not yet. I don't think she has any intention of dying for aconsiderable number of years."
"That is awkward. Has she done nothing for you?"
"We have a free home here, and she makes me a moderate allowance, butshe is not disposed to part with much money while she lives."
"I am sorry for that. I thought you might be able to help me to somemoney. I am terribly hard up."
"You always were, no matter how much money you had."
"I never had much. The next thing is, how does the old lady feeltoward me?"
"I don't think she feels very friendly, though nothing has passedbetween us respecting you for a long time. She has very strict notionsabout honesty, and when you embezzled your employer's money you gotinto her black books."
"That was a youthful indiscretion," said Warner, smiling. "Can't youconvince her of that?"
"I doubt if I can lead her to think of it in that light."
"I know what that means, Louisa. You want to get the whole of the oldlady's property for yourself and that boy of yours. You always wereselfish."
"No, Warner, though I think I am entitled to the larger part of aunt'smoney, I don't care to have you left out in the cold. I will do what Ican to reconcile her to you."
"Come, that's fair and square. You're a trump, Louisa. You have notforgotten that I am your brother."
"No, I am not so selfish as you think. If I don't succeed in restoringyou to Aunt Eliza's good graces, and she chooses to leave me all herproperty, I promise to take care of you and allow you a fair income."
"That's all right, but I would rather the old lady would provide forme herself."
"Do you doubt my word?"
"No, but your idea of what would be a fair income might differ frommine. How much do you think the old lady's worth?"
"Quarter of a million, I should think," replied Mrs. Tracy,guardedly.
"Yes, and considerably more, too."
"Perhaps so. I have no means of judging."
"Supposing it to be the figure you name, how much would you be willingto give me, if she leaves me out in the cold?"
"I am not prepared to say, Warner. I would see that you had no goodreason to complain."
"I should prefer to have you name a figure, so that I might know whatto depend upon."
But this Mrs. Tracy declined to do, though her brother continued tourge her.
"Where have you been for a few years past, Warner?" she asked.
"Floating about. At first I didn't dare to come back. It was a year atleast before I heard that aunt had paid up the sum I got away with.When I did hear it I was in Australia."
"What did you do there?"
"I was a bookkeeper in Melbourne for a time. Then I went into thecountry. From Australia I came to California, and went to the mines.In fact, I have only just come from there."
"Didn't you manage to make money anywhere?"
"Yes, but it didn't stick by me. How much money do you think I haveabout me now?"
"I can't guess," said Mrs. Tracy, uneasily.
"Five dollars and a few cents. However, I am sure you will help me,"he continued.
"Really, Warner, you mustn't hope for too much from me. I have but asmall allowance from Aunt Eliza--hardly enough to buy necessaryarticles for Harold and myself."
"Then you can speak to aunt in my behalf."
"Yes, I can do that."
"Where is she?"
"She has gone out shopping this morning."
"Alone, or is Harold with her?"
"Neither," answered Mrs. Tracy, her brow darkening. "She has picked upa boy from the street, and installed him as a first favorite."
"That's queer, isn't it?"
"Yes; but Aunt Eliza was always queer."
"What's the boy's name?"
"Luke Walton."
"What's his character?"
"Sly--artful. He is scheming to have aunt leave him Something in herwill."
"If she leaves him a few hundred dollars it won't hurt us mu
ch."
"You don't know the boy. He won't be satisfied with that."
"You don't mean to say that his influence over aunt is dangerous?"
"Yes, I do."
"Can't you get her to bounce him?"
"I have done what I could, but she seems to be infatuated. If he werea gentleman's son I shouldn't mind so much, but Harold saw him theother day selling papers near the Sherman House."
"Do you think aunt's mind is failing?"
"She seems rational enough on all other subjects. She was alwaysshrewd and sharp, you know."
"Well, that's rather an interesting state of things. I haven'treturned to Chicago any too soon."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it will be my duty to spoil the chances of this presumingyoung man."
"That is easier said than done. You forget that Aunt Eliza thinks agreat deal more of him than she does of you."
"I haven't a doubt that you are right."
"Then what can you do?"
"Convince her that he is a scapegrace. Get him into a scrape, in otherwords."
"But he is too smart to be dishonest, if that is what you mean."
"It is not necessary for him to be dishonest. It is only necessary forher to think he is dishonest."
There was some further conversation. As Warner Powell was leaving thehouse, after promising to call in the evening, he met on the stepsMrs. Merton, under the escort of Luke Walton.
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