Alger Horatio Jr.
Luke Walton

CHAPTER XXVI
THE PRODIGAL'S RECEPTION

"Don't you know me, Aunt Eliza?" asked Warner Powell casting down his eyes under the sharp glance of the old lady.

"So it is you, is it?" responded Mrs. Merton, in a tone which could not be considered cordial.

"Yes, it is I. I hope you are not sorry to see me?"

"Humph! It depends on whether you have improved or not."

Luke Walton listened with natural interest and curiosity. This did not suit Mrs. Tracy, who did not care to have a stranger made acquainted with her brother's peccadilloes.

"Warner," she said, "I think Aunt Eliza will do you the justice to listen to your explanation. I imagine, young man, Mrs. Merton will not require your services any longer to-day."

The last words were addressed to Luke.

"Yes, Luke; you can go," said the old lady, in a very different tone.

Luke bowed and left the house.

"Louisa," said Mrs. Merton, "in five minutes you may bring your brother up to my room."

"Thank you, aunt."

When they entered the apartment they found the old lady seated in a rocking-chair awaiting them.

"So you have reformed, have you?" she asked, abruptly.

"I hope so, Aunt Eliza."

"I hope so, too. It is full time. Where have you been?"

"To Australia, California, and elsewhere."

"A rolling stone gathers no moss."

"In this case it applies," said Warner. "I have earned more or less money, but I have none now."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty."

"A young man ought not to be penniless at that age. If you had remained in your place at Mr. Afton's, and behaved yourself, you would be able to tell a different story."

"I know it, aunt."

"Don't be too hard upon him, Aunt Eliza," put in Mrs. Tracy. "He is trying to do well now."

"I am very glad to hear it."

"Would you mind my inviting him to stay here for a time? The house is large, you know."

Mrs. Merton paused. She didn't like the arrangement, but she was a just and merciful woman, and it was possible that Warner had reformed, though she was not fully satisfied on that point.

"For a time," she answered, "till he can find employment."

"Thank you, Aunt Eliza," said the young man, relieved, for he had been uncertain how his aunt would treat him. "I hope to show that your kindness is appreciated."

"I am rather tired now," responded Mrs. Merton, as an indication that the interview was over.

"We'd better go and let aunt rest," said Warner, with alacrity. He did not feel altogether comfortable in the society of the old lady.

When they were alone Mrs. Tracy turned to her brother with a smile of satisfaction.

"You have reason to congratulate yourself on your reception," she said.

"I don't know about that. The old woman wasn't very complimentary."

"Be careful how you speak of her. She might hear you, or the servants might, and report."

"Well, she is an old woman, isn't she?"

"It is much better to refer to her as the old lady – better still to speak of her as Aunt Eliza."

"I hope she will make up her mind to do something for me."

"She has; she gives you a home in this house."

"I would a good deal rather have her pay my board outside, where I would feel more independent."

"I have been thinking, Warner, you might become her secretary and man of business. In that case she would dispense with this boy, whose presence bodes danger to us all."

"I wouldn't mind being her man of business, to take charge of her money, but as to trotting round town with her like a tame poodle, please excuse me."

"Warner," said his sister, rather sharply, "just remember, if you please, that beggars can't be choosers."

"Perhaps not, but this plan of yours would be foolish. She wouldn't like it, nor would I. Why don't you put Harold up to offering his services? He's as large as this boy, isn't he?"

"He is about the same size."

"Then it would be a capital plan. You would get rid of the boy that way."

"You forget that Harold has not finished his education. He is now attending a commercial school. I should like to have him go to college, but he doesn't seem to care about it."

"So, after all, the boy seems to be a necessity."

"I would prefer a different boy – less artful and designing."

"How much does the old woman – beg pardon, the old lady – pay him?"

"I don't know. Harold asked Luke, but he wouldn't tell. I have no doubt he manages to secure twice as much as his services are worth. He's got on Aunt Eliza's blind side."

"Just what I would like to do, but I have never been able to discover that she had any."

"Did you take notice of the boy?"

"Yes; he's rather a good-looking youngster, it seems to me."

"How can you say so?" demanded Mrs. Tracy, sharply. "There's a very common look about him, I think. He isn't nearly as good-looking as Harold."

"Harold used to look like you," said Warner, with a smile. "Natural you should think him good-looking. But don't it show a little self-conceit, Louisa?"

"That's a poor joke," answered his sister, coldly. "What are you going to do?"

"Going out to see if I can find any of my old acquaintances."

"You had much better look out for a position, as Aunt Eliza hinted."

"Don't be in such a hurry, Louisa. Please bear in mind that I have only just arrived in Chicago after an absence of five years."

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour."

"Thank you. I don't think I should like a second interview with Aunt Eliza quite so soon. I will lunch outside."

"A lunch outside costs money, and you are not very well provided in that way."

"Don't trouble yourself about that, Louisa. I intend to be very economical.

"My estimable sister is about as mean as anyone I know," said Warner to himself, as he left the house. "Between her and the old woman, I don't think I shall find it very agreeable living here. A cheap boarding house would be infinitely preferable."

On State Street Warner Powell fell in with Stephen Webb, an old acquaintance.

"Is it you, Warner?" asked Webb, in surprise. "It's an age since I saw you."

"So it is. I haven't been in Chicago for five years."

"I remember. A little trouble, wasn't there?"

"Yes; but I'm all right now, except that I haven't any money to speak of."

"That's my situation exactly."

"However, I've got an old aunt worth a million, more or less, only she doesn't fully appreciate her nephew."

"And I have an uncle, pretty well to do, who isn't so deeply impressed with my merits as I wish he were."

"I am staying with my aunt just at present, but hope to have independent quarters soon. One trouble is, she takes a fancy to a boy named Luke Walton."

"Luke Walton!" repeated Stephen in amazement.

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, my uncle has set me to spy on him – why, I haven't been able to find out. So he is in favor with your aunt?"

"Yes, he calls at the house every day, and is in her employ. Sometimes she goes out shopping with him."

"That's strange. Let us drop into the Saratoga and compare notes."

They turned into Dearborn Street, and sat down to lunch in the Saratoga.

CHAPTER XXVII
UNCLE AND NEPHEW

"So this boy is an object of interest to your uncle?" resumed Warner Powell.

"Yes."

"Does he give any reason for his interest?"

"No, except that he is inclined to help him when there is an opportunity."

"Does the boy know him?"

"No."

"Has he met your uncle?"

"Yes; Uncle Thomas frequently visits Chicago – he lives in Milwaukee – and stays at the Sherman when he is here. He has stopped and bought a paper of Luke once or twice."

"I remember my sister told me this boy Luke was a newsboy."

"How did he get in with your aunt?"

"I don't know. I presume it was a chance acquaintance. However that may be, the young rascal seems to have got on her blind side, and to be installed first favorite."

"Your sister doesn't like it?"

"Not much. Between you and me, Louisa – Mrs. Tracy – means to inherit all the old lady's property, and doesn't like to have anyone come in, even for a trifle. She'll have me left out in the cold if she can, but I mean to have something to say to that. In such matters you can't trust even your own sister."

"I agree with you, Warner."

The two young men ate a hearty dinner, and then adjourned to a billiard room, where they spent the afternoon over the game. Warner reached home in time for supper.

"Where have you been, Warner?" asked Mrs. Tracy.

"Looking for work," was the answer.

"What success did you meet with?"

"Not much as yet. I fell in with an old acquaintance, who may assist me in that direction."

"I am glad you have lost no time in seeking employment. It will please aunt."

Warner Powell suppressed a smile. He wondered what Mrs. Merton would have thought could she have seen in what manner he prosecuted his search for employment.

"This is Harold," said Mrs. Tracy, proudly, as her son came in. "Harold, this is your Uncle Warner."

"So you are Harold," said his uncle. "I remember you in short pants. You have changed considerably in five years."

"Yes, I suppose so," answered Harold, curtly. "Where have you been?"

"In Australia, California, and so on."

"How long are you going to stay in Chicago?"

"That depends on whether I can find employment. If you hear of a place let me know."

"I don't know of any unless Aunt Eliza will take you into her employ in place of that newsboy, Luke Walton."

"She can have me if she will pay me enough salary. How much does Luke get?"

"I don't know. He won't tell."

"Do you like him?"

"I don't consider him a fit associate for me. He is a common newsboy."

"Does Aunt Eliza know that?"

"Yes; it makes no difference to her. She's infatuated with him."

"I wish she were infatuated with me. I shall have to ask Luke his secret. Aunt Eliza doesn't prefer him to you, does she?"

"I have no doubt she does. She's very queer about some things."

"Harold," said his mother, solicitously, "I don't think you pay Aunt Eliza enough attention. Old persons, you know, like to receive courtesies."

"I treat her politely, don't I?" asked Harold, aggressively. "I can't be dancing attendance upon her and flattering her all the time."

"From what I have seen of Luke Walton," thought Warner Powell, "I should decidedly prefer him to this nephew of mine. He seems conceited and disagreeable. Of course, it won't do to tell Louisa that, for she evidently admires her graceless cub, because he is hers."

"Are you intimate with this Luke?" asked Warner, mischievously.

"What do you take me for?" demanded Harold, of fended. "I am not in the habit of getting intimate with street boys."

Warner Powell laughed.

"I am not so proud as you, Nephew Harold," he said. "Travelers pick up strange companions. In San Francisco I became intimate with a Chinaman."

"You don't mean it?" exclaimed Harold, in incredulity and disgust."

"Yes, I do."

"You weren't in the laundry business with him, were you?" went on Harold, with a sneer.

"No," he answered aloud. "The laundry business may be a very good one – I should like the income it produces even now – but I don't think I have the necessary talent for it. My Chinese friend was a commission merchant worth at least a hundred thousand dollars. I wasn't above borrowing money from him sometimes."

"Of course, that makes a difference," said Mrs. Tracy, desiring to make peace between her brother and son. "He must have been a superior man. Harold thought you meant a common Chinaman, such as we have in Chicago."

The reunited family sat down to supper together.

After supper Warner made an excuse for going out.

"I have an engagement with a friend who knows of a position he thinks I can secure," he said.

"I hope you won't be late," said Mrs. Tracy.

"No, I presume not, but you had better give me a pass key."

Mrs. Tracy did so reluctantly. She was afraid Harold might want to join his uncle; but the nephew was not taken with his new relative, and made no such proposal.

In reality, Warner Powell had made an engagement to go to McVicker's Theater with his friend Stephen Webb, who had arranged to meet him at the Sherman House.

While waiting, Warner, who had an excellent memory for faces, recognized Luke, who was selling papers at his usual post. There was some startling news in the evening papers – a collision on Lake Michigan – and Luke had ordered an unusual supply, which occupied him later than his ordinary hour. He had taken a hasty supper at Brockway & Milan's, foreseeing that he would not be home till late.

"Aunt Eliza's boy!" thought Warner. "I may as well take this opportunity to cultivate his acquaintance."

He went up to Luke and asked for a paper.

"You don't remember me?" he said, with a smile.

"No," answered Luke, looking puzzled.

"I saw you on Prairie Avenue this morning. Mrs. Merton is my aunt."

"I remember you now. Are you Mrs. Tracy's brother?"

"Yes, and the uncle of Harold. How do you and Harold get along?"

"Not at all. He takes very little notice of me."

"He is a snob. Being his uncle, I take the liberty to say it."

"There is no love lost between us," Luke said. "I would like to be more friendly, but he treats me like an enemy."

"He is jealous of your favor with my aunt."

"There is no occasion for it. He is a relative, and I am only in her employ."

"She thinks a good deal of you, doesn't she?"

"She treats me very kindly."

"Harold suggested to me this evening at supper that I should take your place. You needn't feel anxious. I have no idea of doing so, and she wouldn't have me if I had."

"I think a man like you could do better."

"I am willing to. But here comes my friend, who is going to the theater with me."

Looking up, Luke was surprised to see Stephen Webb.

CHAPTER XXVIII
HAROLD'S TEMPTATION

Mrs. Merton was rather astonished when her grand-nephew Harold walked into her room one day and inquired for her health. (She had been absent from the dinner table on account of a headache.)

"Thank you, Harold," she said. "I am feeling a little better."

"Have you any errand you would like to have me do for you?"

Mrs. Merton was still more surprised, for offers of services were rare with Harold.

"Thank you, again," she said, "but Luke was here this morning, and I gave him two or three commissions."

"Perhaps you would like me to read to you, Aunt Eliza."

"Thank you, but I am a little afraid it wouldn't be a good thing for my head. How are you getting on at school, Harold?"

"Pretty well."

"You don't want to go to college?"

"No. I think I would rather be a business man."

"Well, you know your own tastes best."

"Aunt Eliza," said Harold, after a pause, "I want to ask a favor of you."

"Speak out, Harold."

"Won't you be kind enough to give me ten dollars?"

"Ten dollars," repeated the old lady, eying Harold closely. "Why do you want ten dollars?"

"You see, mother keeps me very close. All the fellows have more money to spend than I."

"How much does your mother give you as an allowance?"

"Two dollars a week."

"It seems to me that is liberal, considering that you don't have to pay for your board or clothes."

"A boy in my position is expected to spend money."

"Who expects it?"

"Why, everybody."

"By the way, what is your position?" asked the old lady, pointedly.

"Why," said Harold, uneasily, "I am supposed to be rich, as I live in a nice neighborhood on a fashionable street."

"That doesn't make you rich, does it?"

"No," answered Harold, with hesitation.

"You don't feel absolutely obliged to spend more than your allowance, do you?"

"Well, you see, the fellows think I am mean if I don't. There's Ben Clark has an allowance of five dollars a week, and he is three months younger than I am."

"Then I think his parents or guardians are very unwise. How does he spend his liberal allowance?"

"Oh, he has a good time."

"I am afraid it isn't the sort of good time I would approve."

"Luke has more money than I have, and he is only a newsboy," grumbled Harold.

"How do you know?"

"I notice he always has money."

"I doubt whether he spends half a dollar a week on his own amusement. He has a mother and young brother to support."

"He says so!"

"So you doubt it?"

"It may be true."

"If you find it isn't true you can let me know."

"I am sorry that you think so much more of Luke than of me," complained Harold.

"How do you know I do?"

"Mother thinks so as well as I."

"Suppose we leave Luke out of consideration. I shall think as much of you as you deserve."

Harold rose from his seat.

"As you have no errand for me, Aunt Eliza, I will go," he said.

Mrs. Merton unlocked a drawer in a work table, took out a pocketbook, and extracted therefrom a ten-dollar-bill.

"You have asked me a favor, and I will grant it – for once," she said. "Here are ten dollars."

"Thank you," said Harold, joyfully.

"I won't even ask how you propose to spend it. I thought of doing so, but it would imply distrust, and for this occasion I won't show any."

"You are very kind, Aunt Eliza."

"I am glad you think so. You are welcome to the money."

Harold left the room in high spirits. He decided not to let his mother know that he had received so large a sum, as she might inquire to what use he intended to put it; and some of his expenditures, he felt pretty sure, would not be approved by her.

He left the house, and going downtown, joined a couple of friends of his own stamp. They adjourned to a billiard saloon, and between billiards, bets upon the game, and drinks, Harold managed to spend three dollars before suppertime.

Three days later the entire sum given him by his aunt was gone.

When Harold made the discovery, he sighed. His dream was over. It had been pleasant as long as it lasted, but it was over too soon.

"Now I must go back to my mean allowance," he said to himself, in a discontented tone. "Aunt Eliza might give me ten dollars every week just as well as not. She is positively rolling in wealth, while I have to grub along like a newsboy. Why, that fellow Luke has a great deal more money than I."

A little conversation which he had with his Uncle Warner made his discontent more intense.

"Hello, Harold, what makes you look so blue?" he asked one day.

"Because I haven't got any money," answered Harold.

"Doesn't your mother or Aunt Eliza give you any?"

"I get a little, but it isn't as much as the other fellows get."

"How much?"

"Two dollars a week."

"It is more than I had when I was of your age."

"That doesn't make it any better."

"Aunt Eliza isn't exactly lavish; still, she pays Luke Walton generously."

"Do you know how much he gets a week?" asked Harold, eagerly.

"Ten dollars."

"Ten dollars!" ejaculated Harold. "You don't really mean it."

"Yes, I do. I saw her pay him that sum yesterday. I asked her if it wasn't liberal. She admitted it, but said he had a mother and brother to support."

"It's a shame!" cried Harold, passionately.

"Why is it? The money is her own, isn't it?"

"She ought not to treat a stranger better than her own nephew."

"That means me, I judge," said Warner, smiling. "Well, there isn't anything we can do about it, is there?"

"No, I don't know as there is," replied Harold, slowly.

But he thought over what his uncle had told him, and it made him very bitter. He brooded over it till it seemed to him as if it were a great outrage. He felt that he was treated with the greatest injustice. He was incensed with his aunt, but still more so with Luke Walton, whom he looked upon as an artful adventurer.

It was while he was cherishing these feelings that a great temptation came to him. He found, one day in the street, a bunch of keys of various sizes attached to a small steel ring. He picked it up, and quick as a flash there came to him the thought of the drawer in his aunt's work table, from which he had seen her take out the morocco pocketbook. He had observed that the ten-dollar bill she gave him was only one out of a large roll, and his cupidity was aroused. He rapidly concocted a scheme by which he would be enabled to provide himself with money, and throw suspicion upon Luke.

CHAPTER XXIX
HAROLD'S THEFT

The next morning, Mrs. Merton, escorted by Luke, went to make some purchases in the city. Mrs. Tracy went out, also, having an engagement with one of her friends living on Cottage Grove Avenue. Harold went out directly after breakfast, but returned at half-past ten. He went upstairs and satisfied himself that except the servants, he was alone in the house.

"The coast is clear," he said, joyfully. "Now if the key only fits."

He went to his aunt's sitting room, and, not anticipating any interruption, directed his steps a once to the small table, from a drawer in which he had seen Mrs. Merton take the morocco pocketbook. He tried one key after another, and finally succeeded in opening the drawer. He drew it out with nervous anxiety, fearing that the pocket-book might have been removed, in which case all his work would have been thrown away.

But no! Fortune favored him this time, if it can be called a favor. There, in plain sight, was the morocco pocketbook. Harold, pale with excitement, seized and opened it. His eyes glistened as he saw that it was well filled. He took out the roll of bills, and counted them. There were five ten-dollar bills and three fives – sixty-five dollars in all. There would have been more, but Mrs. Merton, before going out, had taken four fives, which she intended to use.

It was Harold's first theft, and he trembled with agitation as he thrust the pocketbook into his pocket. He would have trembled still more if he had known that his mother's confidential maid and seamstress, Felicie Lacouvreur, had seen everything through the crevice formed by the half-open door.

Felicie smiled to herself as she moved noiselessly away from her post of concealment.

"Master Harold is trying a dangerous experiment," she said to herself. "Now he is in my power. He has been insolent to me more than once, as if he were made of superior clay, but Felicie, though only a poor servant, is not, thank Heaven, a thief, as he is. It is a very interesting drama. I shall wait patiently till it is quite played out."

In his hurry, Harold came near leaving the room with the table drawer open. But he bethought himself in time, went back, and locked it securely. It was like shutting the stable door after the horse was stolen. Then, with the stolen money in his possession, he left the house. He did not wish to be found at home when his aunt returned.

Harold had sixty-five dollars in his pocket – an amount quite beyond what he had ever before had at his disposal – but it must be admitted that he did not feel as happy as he had expected. If he had come by it honestly – if, for instance, it had been given him – his heart would have beat high with exultation, but as it was, he walked along with clouded brow. Presently he ran across one of his friends, who noticed his discomposure.

"What's the matter, Harold?" he asked. "You are in the dumps."

"Oh, no," answered Harold, forcing himself to assume a more cheerful aspect. "I have no reason to feel blue."

"You are only acting, then? I must congratulate you on your success. You look for all the world like the Knight of the Sorrowful Countenance."

"Who is he?" asked Harold, who was not literary.

"Don Quixote. Did you never hear of him?"

"No."

"Then your education has been neglected. What are you going to do to-day?"

"I don't know."

"Suppose we visit a dime museum?"

"All right."

"That is, if you have any money. I am high and dry."

"Yes, I have some money."

They went to a dime museum on Clark Street.

Harold surprised his companion by paying for the two tickets out of a five-dollar bill.

"You're flush, Harold," said his friend. "Has anybody left you a fortune?"

"No," answered Harold, uneasily. "I've been saving up money lately."

"You have? Why, I've heard of your being at theaters, playing billiards, and so on."

"Look here, Robert Greve, I don't see why you need trouble yourself so much about where I get my money."

"Don't be cranky, Harold," said Robert, good-humoredly, "I won't say another word. Only I am glad to find my friends in a healthy financial condition. I only wish I could say the same of myself."

There happened to be a matinee at the Grand Opera House, and Harold proposed going. First, however, they took a nice lunch at Brockway & Milan's, a mammoth restaurant on Clark Street, Harold paying the bill.

As they came out of the theater, Luke Walton chanced to pass.

"Good-afternoon, Harold," he said.

Harold tossed his head, but did not reply.

"Who is that boy – one of your acquaintances?" asked Robert Greve.

"He works for my aunt," answered Harold. "It is like his impudence to speak to me."

"Why shouldn't he speak to you, if you know him?" said Robert Greve, who did not share Harold's foolish pride.

"He appears to think he is my equal," continued Harold.

"He seems a nice boy."

"You don't know him as I do. He is a common newsboy."

"Suppose he is; that doesn't hurt him, does it?"

"You don't know what I mean. You don't think a common newsboy fit to associate with on equal terms, do you?"

Robert Greve laughed.

"You are too high-toned, Harold," he said. "If he is a nice boy, I don't care what sort of business a friend of mine follows."

"Well, I do," snapped Harold, "and so does my mother. I don't believe in being friends with the ragtag and bobtail of society."

Luke Walton did not allow his feelings to be hurt by the decided rebuff he had received from Harold.

"I owe it to myself to act like a gentleman," he reflected. "If Harold doesn't choose to be polite, it is his lookout, not mine. He looks down upon me because I am a working boy. I don't mean always to be a newsboy or an errand boy. I shall work my way upwards as fast as I can, and, in time, I may come to fill a good place in society."

It will be seen that Luke was ambitious. He looked above and beyond the present, and determined to improve his social condition.

It was six o'clock when Harold ascended the steps of the mansion on Prairie Avenue. He had devoted the day to amusement, but had derived very little pleasure from the money he had expended. He had very little left of the five-dollar bill which he had first changed at the dime museum. It was not easy to say where his money had gone, but it had melted away, in one shape or another.

"I wonder whether Aunt Eliza has discovered her loss," thought Harold. "I hope I shan't show any signs of nervousness when I meet her. I don't see how she can possibly suspect me. If anything is said about the lost pocketbook, I will try to throw suspicion on Luke Walton."

Harold did not stop to think how mean this would be. Self-preservation, it has been said, is the first law of nature, and self-preservation required that he should avert suspicion from himself by any means in his power. He went into the house whistling, as if to show that his mind was quite free from care.

In the hall he met Felicie.

"What do you think has happened, Master Harold?" asked the French maid.

"I don't know, I'm sure."

"Your aunt has been robbed. Some money has been taken from her room."