Alger Horatio Jr.
The Cash Boy
CHAPTER XX
THE ESCAPE
It was eight o’clock the next morning before Frank’s breakfast was brought to him.
“I am sorry you have had to wait,” the housekeeper said, as she appeared at the door with a cup of coffee and a plate of beefsteak and toast, “I couldn’t come up before.”
“Have the men gone away?” said Frank.
“Yes.”
“Then I have something to tell you. I learned something about myself last night. I was in the closet, and heard the man who brought me here talking to another person. May I tell you the story?”
“If you think it will do any good,” said the housekeeper, “but I can’t help you if that is what you want.”
He told the whole story. As he proceeded, the housekeeper betrayed increased, almost eager interest, and from time to time asked him questions in particular as to the personal appearance of John Wade. When Frank had described him as well as he could, she said, in an excited manner:
“Yes, it is—it must be the same man.”
“The same man!” repeated our hero, in surprise.
“Do you know anything about him?”
“I know that he is a wicked man. I am afraid that I have helped him carry out his wicked plan, but I did not know it at the time, or I never would have given my consent.”
“I don’t understand you,” said our hero, puzzled.
“Will you tell me what you mean?”
“Fourteen years ago I was very poor—poor and sick besides. My husband had died, leaving me nothing but the care of a young infant, whom it was necessary for me to support besides myself. Enfeebled by sickness, I was able to earn but little, but we lived in a wretched room in a crowded tenement house. My infant boy was taken sick and died. As I sat sorrowfully beside the bed on which he lay dead, I heard a knock at the door. I opened it, and admitted a man whom I afterward learned to be John Wade. He very soon explained his errand. He agreed to take my poor boy, and pay all the expenses of his burial in Greenwood Cemetery, provided I would not object to any of his arrangements. He was willing besides to pay me two hundred dollars for the relief of my necessities. Though I was almost beside myself with grief for my child’s loss, and though this was a very favorable proposal, I hesitated. I could not understand why a stranger should make me such an offer. I asked him the reason.”
“‘You ask too much,’ he answered, appearing annoyed. ‘I have made you a fair offer. Will you accept it, or will you leave your child to have a pauper’s funeral?’
“That consideration decided me. For my child’s sake I agreed to his proposal, and forebore to question him further. He provided a handsome rosewood casket for my dear child, but upon the silver plate was inscribed a name that was strange to me—the name of Francis Wharton.”
“Francis Wharton!” exclaimed Frank.
“I was too weak and sorrowful to make opposition, and my baby was buried as Francis Wharton. Not only this, but a monument is erected over him at Greenwood, which bears this name.”
She proceeded after a pause:
“I did not then understand his object. Your story makes it clear. I think that you are that Francis Wharton, under whose name my boy was buried.”
“How strange!” said Frank, thoughtfully. “I cannot realize it. But how did you know the name of the man who called upon you?”
“A card slipped from his pocket, which I secured without his knowledge.”
“How fortunate that I met you,” said Frank. “I mean to let Mr. Wharton know all that I have learned, and then he shall decide whether he will recognize me or not as his grandson.”
“I have been the means of helping to deprive you of your just rights, though unconsciously. Now that I know the wicked conspiracy in which I assisted, I will help undo the work.”
“Thank you,” said Frank. “The first thing is to get out of this place.”
“I cannot open the door of your room. They do not trust me with the key.”
“The windows are not very high from the ground. I can get down from the outside.”
“I will bring you a clothesline and a hatchet.”
Frank received them with exultation.
“Before I attempt to escape,” he said, “tell me where I can meet you in New York. I want you to go with me to Mr. Wharton’s. I shall need you to confirm my story.”
“I will meet you to-morrow at No. 15 B—Street.”
“Then we shall meet to-morrow. What shall I call your name?”
“Mrs. Parker.”
“Thank you. I will get away as quickly as possible, and when we are in the city we will talk over our future plans.”
With the help of the hatchet, Frank soon demolished the lower part of the window. Fastening the rope to the bedstead, he got out of the window and safely descended to the ground.
A long and fatiguing walk lay before him. But at last he reached the cars, and half an hour later the ferry at Jersey City.
Frank thought himself out of danger for the time being, but he was mistaken.
Standing on the deck of the ferryboat, and looking back to the pier from which he had just started, he met the glance of a man who had intended to take the same boat, but had reached the pier just too late. His heart beat quicker when he recognized in the belated passenger his late jailer, Nathan Graves.
Carried away by his rage and disappointment, Nathan Graves clenched his fist and shook it at his receding victim.
Our hero walked into the cabin. He wanted a chance to deliberate. He knew that Nathan Graves would follow him by the next boat, and it was important that he should not find him. Where was he to go?
Fifteen minutes after Frank set foot on the pier, his enemy also landed. But now the difficult part of the pursuit began. He had absolutely no clew as to the direction which Frank had taken.
For an hour and a half he walked the streets in the immediate neighborhood of the square, but his labor was without reward. Not a glimpse could he catch of his late prisoner.
“I suppose I must go to see Mr. Wade,” he at last reluctantly decided. “He may be angry, but he can’t blame me. I did my best. I couldn’t stand guard over the young rascal all day.”
The address which the housekeeper had given Frank was that of a policeman’s family in which she was at one time a boarder. On giving his reference, he was hospitably received, and succeeded in making arrangements for a temporary residence.
About seven o’clock Mrs. Parker made her appearance. She was fatigued by her journey and glad to rest.
“I was afraid you might be prevented from coming,” said Frank.
“I feared it also. I was about to start at twelve o’clock, when, to my dismay, one of the men came home. He said he had the headache. I was obliged to make him some tea and toast. He remained about till four o’clock, when, to my relief, he went upstairs to lie down. I was afraid some inquiry might be made about you, and your absence discovered, especially as the rope was still hanging out of the window, and I was unable to do anything more than cut off the lower end of it. When the sick man retired to his bed I instantly left the house, fearing that the return of some other of the band might prevent my escaping altogether.”
“Suppose you had met one of them, Mrs. Parker?”
“I did. It was about half a mile from the house.”
“Did he recognize you?”
“Yes. He asked in some surprise where I was going. I was obliged to make up a story about our being out of sugar. He accepted it without suspicion, and I kept on. I hope I shall be forgiven for the lie. I was forced to it.”
“You met no further trouble?”
“No.”
“I must tell you of my adventure,” said Frank.
“I came across the very man whom I most dreaded—the man who made me a prisoner.”
“Since he knows that you have escaped, he is probably on your track,” said Mrs. Parker. “It will be hardly safe for you to go to Mr. Wharton’s.”
“Why?”
“He will probably think you likely to go there, and be lying in wait somewhere about.”
“But I must go to Mr. Wharton,” said Frank. “I must tell him this story.”
“It will be safer to write.”
“The housekeeper, Mrs. Bradley, or John Wade, will get hold of the letter and suppress it. I don’t want to put them on their guard.”
“You are right. It is necessary to be cautious.”
“You see I am obliged to call on my grandfather, that is, on Mr. Wharton.”
“I can think of a better plan.”
“What is it?”
“Go to a respectable lawyer. Tell him your story, and place your case in his hands. He will write to your grandfather, inviting him to call at his office on business of importance, without letting him know what is the nature of it. You and I can be there to meet him, and tell our story. In this way John Wade will know nothing, and learn nothing, of your movements.”
“That is good advice, Mrs. Parker, but there is one thing you have not thought of,” said our hero.
“What is that?”
“Lawyers charge a great deal for their services, and I have no money.”
“You have what is as good a recommendation—a good case. The lawyer will see at once that if not at present rich, you stand a good chance of obtaining a position which will make you so. Besides, your grandfather will be willing, if he admits your claim, to recompense the lawyer handsomely.”
“I did not think of that. I will do as you advise to-morrow.”
CHAPTER XXI
JOHN WADE’S DISAPPOINTMENT
Mr. Wharton sat at dinner with his nephew and the housekeeper. He had been at home for some time, and of course on his arrival had been greeted with the news of our hero’s perfidy. But, to the indignation of Mrs. Bradley and John, he was obstinately incredulous.
“There is some mistake, I am sure,” he said. “Such a boy as Frank is incapable of stealing. You may be mistaken after all, John. Why did you not let him stay till I got back? I should like to have examined him myself.”
“I was so angry with him for repaying your kindness in such a way that I instantly ordered him out of the house.”
“I blame you, John, for your haste,” said his uncle. “It was not just to the boy.”
“I acted for the best, sir,” he forced himself to say in a subdued tone.
“Young people are apt to be impetuous, and I excuse you; but you should have waited for my return. I will call at Gilbert & Mack’s, and inquire of Frank himself what explanation he has to give.”
“Of course, sir, you will do what you think proper,” said his nephew.
This ended the conversation, and Mr. Wharton, according to his declared intention, went to Gilbert & Mack’s. He returned disappointed with the information that our hero was no longer in the store.
I now return to Mr. Wharton at dinner.
“Here is a letter for you, sir,” said the housekeeper. “It was brought by the postman this afternoon.”
Mr. Wharton adjusted his spectacles and read as follows:
“No.– Wall Street.
“Dear Sir: Will you have the kindness to call at my office to-morrow morning at eleven o’clock, if it suits your convenience? I have an important communication to make to you, which will, I think be of an agreeable character. Should the time named not suit you, will you have the kindness to name your own time?
“Yours respectfully,
“MORRIS HALL.”
“Read that, John,” said his uncle, passing him the letter.
“Morris Hall is a lawyer, I believe, sir,” said John.
“Have you any idea of the nature of the communication he desires to make?”
“No idea at all.”
“If it would relieve you, sir, I will go in your place,” said John, whose curiosity was aroused.
“Thank you, John, but this is evidently a personal matter. I shall go down there to-morrow at the appointed time.”
John was far from suspecting that the communication related to Frank, though he had heard the day previous from Nathan Graves of the boy’s escape. He had been very much annoyed, and had given his agent a severe scolding, with imperative orders to recapture the boy, if possible.
It was not without a feeling of curiosity that Mr. Wharton entered the law office of Mr. Hall. He announced himself and was cordially welcomed.
“You have a communication to make to me,” said Mr. Wharton.
“I have.”
“Tell me all without delay.”
“I will, sir. This is the communication I desire to make.”
The story of John Wade’s treachery was told, and the means by which he had imposed upon his uncle, but the lawyer carefully abstained from identifying the lost grandson with Frank Fowler.
When the story was concluded, Mr. Wharton said:
“Where is my grandson—my poor George’s boy? Find him for me, and name your own reward.”
“I will show him to you at once, sir. Frank!”
At the word, Frank, who was in an inner office, entered. Mr. Wharton started in amazement.
“Frank!” he exclaimed. “My dear boy, is it you who are my grandson?”
“Grandfather!”
Mr. Wharton held out his arms, and our hero, already attached to him for his kindness, was folded in close embrace.
“Then you believe I am your grandson?” said Frank.
“I believe it without further proof.”
“Still, Mr. Wharton,” said the lawyer, “I want to submit my whole proof. Mrs. Parker!”
Mrs. Parker entered and detailed her part in the plot, which for fourteen years had separated Frank from his family.
“Enough!” said Mr. Wharton. “I am convinced—I did not believe my nephew capable of such baseness. Mrs. Parker, you shall not regret your confession. I will give you a pension which will relieve you from all fear of want. Call next week on Mr. Hall, and you shall learn what provision I have made for you. You, Frank, will return with me.”
“What will Mr. John say?” asked Frank.
“He shall no longer sleep under my roof,” said Mr. Wharton, sternly.
Frank was taken to a tailor and fitted out with a handsome new suit, ready-made for immediate use, while three more were ordered.
When Mr. Wharton reached home, he entered the library and rang the bell.
To the servant who answered he said:
“Is Mr. John at home?”
“Yes, sir; he came in ten minutes ago.”
“Tell him I wish to see him at once in the library. Summon the housekeeper, also.”
Surprised at the summons, John Wade answered it directly. He and Mrs. Bradley met at the door and entered together. Their surprise and dismay may be conjectured when they saw our hero seated beside Mr. Wharton, dressed like a young gentleman.
“John Wade,” said his uncle, sternly, “the boy whom you malign, the boy you have so deeply wronged, has found a permanent home in this house.”
“What, sir! you take him back?”
“I do. There is no more fitting place for him than the house of his grandfather.”
“His grandfather!” exclaimed his nephew and the housekeeper, in chorus.
“I have abundant proof of the relationship. This morning I have listened to the story of your treachery. I have seen the woman whose son, represented to me as my grandson, lies in Greenwood Cemetery. I have learned your wicked plans to defraud him of his inheritance, and I tell you that you have failed.”
“I shall make my will to-morrow, bequeathing all my property to my grandson, excepting only an annual income of two thousand dollars to yourself. And now I must trouble you to find a boarding place. After what has passed I do not desire to have you in the family.”
“I do not believe he is your grandson,” said John Wade, too angry to heed prudential considerations.
“Your opinion is of little consequence.”
“Then, sir, I have only to wish you good-morning. I will send for my trunks during the day.”
“Good-morning,” said Mr. Wharton, gravely, and John Wade left the room, baffled and humiliated.
“I hope, sir,” said the housekeeper, alarmed for her position; “I hope you don’t think I knew Mr. Frank was your grandson. I never was so astonished and flustrated in my life. I hope you won’t discharge me, sir—me that have served you so faithfully for many years.”
“You shall remain on probation. But if Frank ever has any fault to find with you, you must go.”
“I hope you will forgive me, Mr. Frank.”
“I forgive you freely,” said our hero, who was at a generous disposition.
CHAPTER XXII
CONCLUSION
Meanwhile poor Grace had fared badly at the poorhouse in Crawford. It was a sad contrast to the gentle and kindly circle at Mr. Pomeroy’s. What made it worse for Grace was, that she could hear nothing of Frank. She feared he was sick, or had met with some great misfortune, which prevented his writing.
One day a handsome carriage drove up to the door. From it descended our hero, elegantly attired. He knocked at the door.
Mrs. Chase, who was impressed by wealth, came to the door in a flutter of respect, induced by the handsome carriage.
“What do you wish, sir?” she asked, not recognizing Frank.
“Miss Grace Fowler!” repeated Mrs. Chase, almost paralyzed at Grace being called for by such stylish acquaintances.
“Yes, my sister Grace.”
“What! are you Frank Fowler?”
“Yes. I have come to take Grace away.”
“I don’t know as I have the right to let her go,” said Mrs. Chase, cautiously, regretting that Grace was likely to escape her clutches.
“Here is an order from Deacon Pinkerton, chairman of the overseers of the poor.”
“That is sufficient. She can go. You look as if you had prospered in the city,” she added, with curiosity.
“Yes. I have found my grandfather, who is very wealthy.”
“You don’t say!” ejaculated Mrs. Chase. “I’ll tell Grace at once.”
Grace at work in the kitchen had not heard of the arrival. What was her surprise when Mrs. Chase, entering the room, said, graciously:
“Go up at once, Grace, and change your clothes. Your brother has come for you. He is going to take you away.”
Grace almost gasped for breath.
“Is it true?”
“It is indeed. Your brother looks remarkably well. He is rich. He has found a rich grandfather, and has come for you in a carriage.”
In amazed bewilderment Grace went upstairs and put on her best dress, poor enough in comparison with her brother’s clothes, and was soon happy in his embrace.
“I am glad to see you, my dear child,” said Mr. Wharton, who had accompanied Frank. “Will you come to the city and live with me and your brother?”
“Oh, sir, I shall be glad to be wherever Frank is.”
“Good-bye, my dear child,” sand Mrs. Chase, whose feelings were very much changed, now that Grace was a rich young lady. “Come and see me some time.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Chase. Good-bye!”
The carriage rolled on.
A few words only remain. Our hero was placed at a classical school, and in due time entered college, where he acquitted himself with distinction. He is now making a tour of Europe. Grace was also placed at an excellent school, and has developed into a handsome and accomplished young lady. It is thought she will marry Sam Pomeroy, who obtained a place in a counting-room through Mr. Wharton’s influence, and is now head clerk, with a prospect of partnership. His father received a gift of five thousand dollars from Mr. Wharton as an acknowledgment of his kindness to Frank. Tom Pinkerton holds a subordinate clerkship in the same house, and is obliged to look up to Sam as his superior. It chafes his pride, but his father has become a poor man, and Tom is too prudent to run the risk of losing his situation. John Wade draws his income regularly, but he is never seen at his uncle’s house.
Mr. Wharton is very happy in his grandson, and made happier by the intelligence just received from Europe of Frank’s engagement to a brilliant young New York lady whom he met in his travels. He bids fair, though advanced in age, to live some years yet, to witness the happiness of his dear grandson, once a humble cash-boy.
