Alger Horatio Jr.
A Boy's Fortune

CHAPTER XXXIII.
An Astounding Discovery

Ben told his story so far as it concerned his engagement by Major Grafton and his visit to Europe. Of his mother and her circumstances and of his uncle he had scarcely occasion to speak, considering that his auditor would hardly feel interested in his own personal history. The Cuban, who had a grave, kindly aspect, listened with close attention to his narrative. When Ben ceased speaking he said:

"My young friend, there is one thing that puzzles me in this story of yours."

"What is it, sir?" asked Ben, anxiously. He feared that the stranger did not believe him.

"Why should you need to travel with Major Grafton, or any other gentleman, as private secretary, unless, indeed, your mother did not wish you to come to Europe alone?"

Ben stared at his interlocutor in amazement.

"How could I come to Europe alone?" he asked. "Where should I find the money to pay my expenses?"

"Your mother might pay the expenses of your trip."

"My mother is very poor, Mr. Novarro."

"Very poor! Has she, then, lost the money that your father left her?"

"I think you must be under a great mistake, Mr. Novarro. My uncle allows my mother a small income, and I help her all I can."

"There is certainly a great mistake somewhere," said the Cuban. "To my certain knowledge your father possessed a hundred thousand dollars in first-class securities. Didn't you know anything of this?" continued Mr. Novarro, observing Ben's look of extreme amazement.

"I know nothing of it, Mr. Novarro."

"Then he must have been robbed of the securities which I myself gave him on the 18th day of May, in the year 18 – "

"That was the day of my father's death," said Ben.

"He died on that very day?" said the Cuban in excitement. "Tell me the particulars of your father's death. Did he die a natural death?"

"Yes, sir; he died of heart disease."

"And where?"

"In the house of my Uncle Nicholas."

"Before he had time to go home? Before he had acquainted your mother with his good fortune?"

"Neither my mother nor myself knew but that he died a poor man."

"But he had the securities with him. Did your uncle say nothing of them?"

"Not a word."

A look of suspicion appeared on the face of Filippo Novarro.

"Tell me," he said, quickly – "did your uncle, shortly after your father's death, enlarge his business?"

"Yes, sir; he moved from a small store in Grand street to a larger store on Broadway – the one which he now occupies."

With the Cuban, suspicion was now changed to certainty.

He brought down his fist heavily upon the table at his side.

"I know all now," he said. "Your uncle deliberately robbed your dead father of the securities which I had placed in his hands, and coolly appropriating them to his own use, used the proceeds to build up and extend his business, leaving your mother to live in poverty."

"I feel bewildered," said Ben. "I can hardly believe my uncle would treat us so shamefully."

"By the way, when did your mother move to Minnesota?" asked the Cuban.

"To Minnesota?"

"Yes. When I was in New York, not long since, I called upon your uncle and signified my intention to call upon your mother. He told me she had moved to Minnesota, and, of course, I was compelled to give up my plan."

"My mother has never moved to Minnesota; she still lives in Sunderland."

"Then your uncle intended to prevent our meeting. He feared, doubtless, that if we met, his rascality would be discovered. Providence has defeated his cunningly-devised scheme, and the truth will soon be brought to light, to his confusion."

"I am afraid, sir, it will be difficult for my mother and myself to prove that my father left money. We have no money, with which to hire legal assistance."

"I propose to take the matter into my own hands. I am personally interested as the agent whom my dead friend commissioned to pay a debt of gratitude to the man who saved his life. Have you anything to detain you in Europe?"

"No, sir, except an empty purse."

"Permit me to act as your banker."

Mr. Novarro drew from his pocket two hundred and fifty francs in gold and paper and handed them to Ben.

To our hero it seemed like a fairy-tale, in which he was playing the leading part. He half-feared that the gold would turn into brass and the bank-notes into withered leaves; but, strange though it was, he saw good reason to think that his good fortune was real.

"How can I thank you, sir, for your liberality?" he said, gratefully.

"You forget that this is your own money; I am only advancing it to you, and shall be repaid speedily. Will you accept me as your guardian to protect your interests and compel your uncle to disgorge his ill-gotten gains?"

"Thankfully, sir, if you are willing to take the trouble."

"Then you will sail with me for New York by the next steamer. Have you your luggage with you?"

"I have nothing, sir, except what I have on my back. I had to leave the asylum without a change, and I have not been able to change my clothes for a week or more."

"I had forgotten. This must be looked to at once. We will take lunch, and then go out and purchase a new supply of under-clothing."

Once more Ben had fallen on his feet. At what appeared to be the darkest moment light had suddenly fallen across his path, and he had stumbled upon the one man who was able to bring him into the sunshine. Before night his wardrobe had been quite replenished, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief as he found himself in fresh and clean attire.

He sought out the tramp who had escorted him to the hotel, and liberally rewarded him.

"I shall telegraph for passage in the Havre line of steamships," said Mr. Novarro. "A steamer is to sail on Saturday, so that we shall not have long to wait."

"I fear, Mr. Novarro, you are interrupting your own plans in order to befriend me," said Ben to his new patron.

"I have no plans. I am – perhaps unfortunately for myself – a rich man, under no necessity of labor. Indeed, my chief aim has been to pass my time as pleasantly as possible. Now I find something to do, and I find myself happier for having some object in life. I am rejoiced that we have met. It has brought to my life a new interest; and even after I have redeemed your wrongs I shall hope to keep up my acquaintance with you, and to make the acquaintance of your mother."

"You may be sure, sir, that my mother will be only too glad to know so true a friend."

The Cuban regarded Ben with a look of interest and affection. He was beginning to be attracted to him for his own sake. He was a man of energetic temperament, though a large inheritance had hitherto prevented any display of energy. At length the occasion had arisen, and he looked forward with eagerness to the struggle with the New York merchant to secure the rights of his new friend.

On the next day Ben and his guardian left Lyons for Paris. They had two days in this lovely city, and late on Friday evening they reached Havre, the point where they were to embark for America.

"The first act is over, Ben," said the Cuban. "Our ocean trip is a long wait between the first and second acts. When the curtain next rises it will be in New York, and there will be other actors to take an unwilling part in our drama, which is devoted to the detection and punishment of guilt."

CHAPTER XXXIV.
Rose Makes an Enemy

Leaving Ben and his new guardian on their passage across the Atlantic, we will precede them to New York, and inquire after the welfare of some of our other characters.

The Beauforts seemed to have entered on a new and prosperous career. Rose continued to give lessons in music, and to receive liberal compensation. She was really an accomplished musician, and had the happy knack of making herself agreeable to her young pupils. Besides, she was backed by the influence of Miss Wilmot, and that helped her not a little. Her sister Adeline, too, gave lessons in art, and thus contributed to the family purse.

My readers will not have forgotten the young man who rescued Rose from the disagreeable attentions of her elderly lover, Mr. Parkinson. More than once Rose had thought of Clinton Randall, and, though she scarcely admitted it to herself, cherished the hope that they would some day meet again. The young man's frank, chivalrous manners, and handsome face and figure, had impressed her most favorably, and she suffered herself to think of him more than she would have liked to admit. Had she known that Clinton Randall had been equally attracted by her, and had made strenuous efforts to find her ever since their first meeting, she would have been much gratified.

Some weeks passed, however, before she saw him again. One afternoon, as she was walking through Madison Square on her way home from Mrs. Tilton's, where she had given her customary lessons, she met the young man in the walk.

His face glowed with unmistakable joy as he hurried forward, with hand extended.

"I am very glad to meet you again, Miss Beaufort," he said, eagerly. "Where have you been? Not out of the city?"

"Oh, no!" answered Rose, successfully concealing her own pleasure at the meeting. "You can't expect a poor music-teacher to break away from her work at this season?"

"But I did not know you were a music-teacher."

"No, I suppose not," answered Rose, smiling.

"Do you give lessons on the piano?"

"Yes, it is my only instrument."

"I have for a long time thought of taking lessons on the piano," said Randall, who had never thought of it before, "if I could only find a teacher who would not be too strict. Do you – take gentlemen?"

"I am afraid I could not venture upon a pupil of your age, Mr. Randall," said Rose, amused. "Suppose you proved refractory?"

"But I never would."

"I am afraid my time is fully occupied. I will promise, however, to take you, if I agree to take any gentlemen."

"Thank you. I shall not forget your promise."

Clinton Randall, though he had been walking in a different direction, turned and accompanied Rose, both chatting easily and familiarly. It never occurred to Rose that she might meet any one who would comment upon her and her escort. But at the corner of Eighteenth street and Broadway she met a tall young lady, who made her the slightest possible nod, while she fixed eyes of scorn and displeasure upon the two. Clinton Randall raised his hat, and they parted.

"You know Miss Jayne, then, Miss Beaufort," said Randall.

"Yes, slightly, and you?"

"I have met her in society."

"She is a niece of Mrs. Tilton, to whose daughters I am giving music-lessons."

"Indeed! I know Mrs. Tilton – I am to attend her party next week. Shall you be there?"

"I believe so – not as a guest, however. She has invited me to play on the piano for the entertainment of the guests. You will probably dance to my music."

"I would rather dance with you to the music of another player, Miss Beaufort."

"You forget, Mr. Randall, that I am a poor music-teacher."

"I don't think of it at all. It makes no difference in your claims to consideration."

"The world does not agree with you, Mr. Randall."

"Then it ought. By the way, Miss Beaufort, has your elderly admirer renewed his proposals?"

"Mr. Parkinson? No, I have not met him since."

"You are sure you won't relent, and make him a happy man?"

"I don't think it at all likely," said Rose, laughing.

Meanwhile Rose had made an enemy without being aware of it.

Miss Arethusa Jayne had long looked upon Clinton Randall with eyes of partiality, not alone on account of his good looks, but because he was wealthy, socially distinguished, and in all respects a desirable parti. In her vanity she had thought that he was not indifferent to her attractions. When, therefore, she saw him walking with her aunt's music-teacher, she was not only angry but jealous. She reluctantly admitted that Rose was pretty, though she considered herself still more so. After this meeting she changed her plans, and went straight to her aunt.

"Aunt," she said, "whom do you think I met on Broadway just now?"

"I am sure I can't tell, Arethusa. I suppose all the world and his wife are out this fine day."

"Your music-teacher, Miss Beaufort, and Clinton Randall."

"You don't say so!" ejaculated Mrs. Tilton. "How should she know him?"

"I have no idea they were ever introduced," said Arethusa, sneering. "Probably she isn't particular how she makes acquaintance with gentlemen. I always thought her forward."

"I can't say I ever did, Arethusa."

"Oh, she covers it up with you; but I ask you, Aunt Lucy, how could she otherwise get acquainted with a gentleman of Mr. Randall's position?"

"I don't know. Was she actually walking with him?"

"Certainly, and laughing and talking in a boisterous, unladylike way."

Of course this was untrue, but a jealous woman is not likely to consider her words.

"I thought you ought to know it, aunt, so I came and told you."

"Do you think I ought to do anything, Arethusa?"

"I would not allow such a girl to teach my children."

"But she is an excellent teacher, and is recommended by Miss Wilmot."

"Probably Miss Wilmot does not know how she conducts herself. No doubt she carefully conceals her forwardness from that lady."

"But I can't discharge her without giving reasons."

"True, aunt. By the way, Mr. Randall comes to your party, does he not?"

"He has sent an acceptance."

"And you mean to have Miss Beaufort there to play dancing-tunes?"

"Yes; she comes a good deal cheaper than a professional," said Mrs. Tilton, who, even in her pleasures, was thrifty.

"That is well. Then you will have an opportunity to see how the two go on together, and can quietly signify to Miss Beaufort, the next day, your opinion of her conduct."

"But, Arethusa," said Mrs. Tilton, who was not jealous, like her niece, "I can't think there is anything out of the way. Miss Beaufort has always seemed to me a model of propriety."

"Oh, you dear, unsuspicious aunt! How easily you are deceived! Do you want to know my opinion of Miss Propriety – the opinion I formed when I first saw her?"

"Well, Arethusa?"

"I saw at once that she was bold and sly, and I really think it is taking a great risk to permit your children to be under the instruction of such a girl."

"Well, Arethusa, I will take your advice and watch them both at the party."

"That is all I ask, Aunt Lucy."

"I will get aunt to discharge her yet," said Miss Jayne to herself, with satisfied malice.

CHAPTER XXXV.
A Woman's Jealousy

Mrs. Tilton's house was ablaze with light, for it was the evening of the great party. Ambitious of social distinction, she took care to do things on a handsome scale, though she was not averse to saving money where it would not attract attention.

Among the young ladies present were two with whom we are especially concerned. One of them was Arethusa Jayne, who was dressed with more splendor than taste. She made a profuse display of jewelry, some of which, we may confidentially inform the reader, was borrowed from a well-known jeweler, who was handsomely paid for the favor. Of course no one suspected this, and the society young men were misled into thinking that the owner of so many diamonds must be very rich. This was precisely what Arethusa desired, for she was in the market, and had been for more years than she liked to remember.

Another young lady, still better known to us, was Rose Beaufort. She was the most plainly dressed young lady in the handsome parlors, yet she attracted an unusual share of attention.

"Who is that pretty young lady?" asked a middle-aged lady of Arethusa.

"That?" answered Miss Jayne, with a sneer. "Oh, that is Miss Beaufort, the music-teacher."

"She is very sweet-looking."

"Do you think so? I don't at all agree with you. To me she looks very artful, and I have reason to think that beneath her innocent exterior there is something quite different."

"That is a pity."

"It is not surprising. Still water runs deep, you know."

Rose kept in the background. She had no wish to make herself conspicuous at Mrs. Tilton's gay party. She would rather not have been there, but did not wish to disappoint her employer.

"Ah, here you are, Miss Beaufort," said a glad voice.

Rose looked up, and her face flushed with pleasure as she recognized Clinton Randall.

"I did not think you would find me," she said.

"I was sure to do it. I have been looking for you everywhere. Can't you spare a seat for me?"

Rose moved, and Clinton sat down beside her on the sofa. He had scarcely been there two minutes, however, when Arethusa discovered them. She went straightway to her aunt.

"Aunt Lucy," she said, in a low voice, "look at the sofa opposite."

"Well?" said Mrs. Tilton, who was rather short-sighted.

"There is your precious music-teacher monopolizing Clinton Randall. Didn't I tell you?"

"I am really shocked at her brazen ways. You were right, Arethusa."

"For goodness' sake, separate them before the whole room notices them."

"How can I do it?"

"Send her to the piano."

"Miss Beaufort," said Mrs. Tilton, coldly, "oblige me by sitting down to the piano. You may play a waltz."

"Certainly, Mrs. Tilton," said Rose.

"That woman speaks as if she owned Miss Beaufort," thought young Randall.

He was about to follow her to the piano when Arethusa came up, and with an insinuating smile, said:

"Don't look so mournful, Mr. Randall. Let me fill Miss Beaufort's place."

"Certainly," answered the young man, moving, but not with alacrity.

"I wasn't aware that you knew Miss Beaufort," said the young lady.

"I believe you saw me walking with her the other day."

"Yes, to be sure; it had escaped my mind."

Rose began to play. Her touch was fine, and her performance could hardly fail to attract attention.

"Miss Beaufort plays remarkably well," said Clinton Randall.

"Oh, it's her business," answered Arethusa, with careless hauteur. "She gives lessons to my aunt's children, you know."

"Your aunt is fortunate to secure such an accomplished pianist."

"Oh, she is very well," said Arethusa, carelessly. "Do you feel like dancing?"

"I beg your pardon. I should have suggested it."

The two moved out upon the floor and took their places among the dancers. Arethusa danced passably, her partner remarkably well. At length he led her to her seat, and, with a bow, left her, much to her chagrin.

Later in the evening some one relieved Rose at the piano. Clinton took the earliest opportunity to seek her out and ask her for a dance.

Rose hesitated.

"I have not danced for a long time," she said. "Circumstances have kept me out of society. I am afraid you won't find me a satisfactory partner."

"I will take the risk, Miss Beaufort. You won't refuse?"

She rose and took her place on the floor. Arethusa Jayne, who was dancing with one of the walking gentlemen of society, a young man who was merely invited to swell the number of guests, was not long in discovering Miss Beaufort's good luck, and her face showed her displeasure. It would have pleased her had Rose been awkward, but she was unusually graceful, in spite of her want of practice. Miss Jayne was hot with jealousy.

"You shall repent this," she said to herself, and looked so stern that her partner asked, with alarm:

"Are you not well, Miss Jayne?"

"Certainly" – you fool! she would liked to have added. "Why do you ask?"

"I thought you looked disturbed," he stammered.

"I was only a little thoughtful," she said, with a constrained smile. "But I am fatigued. Suppose we sit down."

He led her to her seat, nothing loth, and she had the satisfaction of following with her glance Clinton Randall and her rival five minutes more.

"Did you have a good time, Rose?" asked her sister Adeline, next morning, at the breakfast-table.

"Better than I dared to hope," answered Rose, with a smile.

"Did you dance?"

"Two or three times."

She had danced with two partners besides Clinton Randall, and with him a second time.

"It seemed quite like the old times," she said, after a pause, "when we were in society. Though I only appeared in the character of a governess, I enjoyed it."

"Don't you feel tired?"

"A little; but I don't go out to give lessons till afternoon."

At two o'clock Rose went to Mrs. Tilton's to give her regular lessons.

"Mrs. Tilton would like to see you," said the servant.

A little surprised, Rose remained in the parlor till that lady appeared.

"I wish to speak to you, Miss Beaufort," said Mrs. Tilton, coldly, "about your conduct last evening."

"My conduct last evening!" repeated Rose, in utter surprise. "To what do you refer?"

"To your indelicate conduct with Mr. Clinton Randall and other gentlemen."

"What do you mean? I demand an explanation!" exclaimed Rose, indignantly.

"You seem to forget your position, Miss Beaufort. As the instructress of my children, I feel I must be exacting. I do not approve of your bold flirtation with gentlemen above yourself in social position, and I beg to say that I must provide myself with another music-teacher for my girls."

"After your insulting remarks," said Rose, hotly, "nothing would induce me to remain in charge of them. Nothing in my conduct has called for such cruel charges."

"Doubtless you think so. I disagree with you," said Mrs. Tilton, coldly.

"Good-afternoon, madam!" said Rose, rising abruptly.

"Good-afternoon, Miss Beaufort."

It was like a thunderbolt to Rose, and mystified as well as made her indignant. She could recall nothing that had passed which would justify Mrs. Tilton in her strange treatment.

It was the first blow, but not the last. Arethusa Jayne, with unappeased malice, went the rounds of the families in which Rose was employed, and within a week she received notes from all the parents, expressing regret that they could no longer avail themselves of her services.

It began to look serious for poor Rose.