Alger Horatio Jr.
The Erie Train Boy
CHAPTER XXII.
MISS FERGUSON WRITES A NOTE
It was indeed true that Ruth Patton had found employment at ten dollars a week. Her services were scarcely worth that sum to her employer, but Alfred Lindsay was not only rich but generous, and was glad to believe Ruth's anxiety by insuring her a comfortable income. She was still at Mrs. Fenton's rooms, being now able to contribute her share of the expense incurred. The widow was willing to accept only three dollars per week, so that Ruth had the satisfaction of sending a weekly remittance to her mother. She was very grateful for the change in her circumstances, and, notwithstanding the disappointment about her father's estate, felt that there was reason to hope.
Two days later Alfred Lindsay found a letter upon his desk addressed in a delicate female hand which he did not recognize.
"A lady client!" he thought. "What does she want – a divorce?"
When he opened the envelope he read the following note, written on a highly perfumed sheet:
MY DEAR MR. LINDSAY: Pray don't be shocked at my boldness in writing you, but it is so long since you have called that papa suggests sickness as a possible cause. I do hope that this is not what has kept you away. I confess that I have missed you very much. I have so enjoyed our conversations. You are not like the fashionable butterflies of whom we meet so many in society. One must tolerate them, of course but it is a comfort to meet a man who can talk intelligently about books and art. Apropos, I have a new collection of etchings that I want to show you. Won't you name an evening when you will call, as I want to be certain to be at home when you really do come. I should be desolated, as the French say, to be absent.
Now don't fail to answer this screed. Otherwise I shall certainly manage to have some law business that will give me an excuse for calling at your office.
Very sincerely yours,
LUELLA FERGUSON.
Alfred Lindsay read this note slowly, and there was a smile upon his face, for he fully appreciated Luella's motive in writing it. A fortnight since he would have been charmed, but his feelings with respect to Miss Ferguson had undergone a change. The revelation of her real character had shocked him, and served effectually to kill his growing attachment. Beauty of face could not make up for deformity of character. On the other hand, he was beginning to be attracted by Ruth. She lacked Luella's regular features and cold, classic beauty, but her sweet face revealed a disposition warm, kindly, and sympathetic; and when her deep, serious eyes rested upon him, he felt that she was far more attractive than her showy rival.
"What shall I do?" he asked himself as his eyes fell upon the note. He must of course answer it, but should he accept the invitation? Upon the whole he decided to do so. There was no reason which he could allege for declining, and, though it would be to sacrifice an evening, he would go armed against Luella's fascinations by the knowledge he had acquired. He drew out a sheet of paper from a drawer in his desk, and wrote as follows:
MY DEAR MISS FERGUSON: As I am writing in my office, you will understand and excuse the unfashionable business paper which I am using. I am flattered to find that you miss me, and still more at the reason you assign for preferring my company to that of the gilded young men who worship at your shrine. I am but "a plain, blunt man," as Shakspeare has it, and cannot vie with them in compliment. I shall no doubt find pleasure in examining the etchings which you hold out as an inducement to call. I will name Thursday evening, but should you have a previous engagement, don't scruple to notify me, as I can easily postpone my visit to another date.
Yours sincerely,
ALFRED LINDSAY.
Luella Ferguson read this note with mingled pleasure and disappointment.
"It is very cold," she murmured, "almost as if I were an ordinary acquaintance. I suppose men feel hampered when they try to express themselves upon paper. I will not believe that he is less friendly, or admires me less than he used to do. At any rate he is coming, and I must make myself as fascinating as possible. I have a chance to win him, and I mean to do it."
"Papa," said Luella on Thursday morning, "Mr. Lindsay will call here this evening."
"I am glad to hear it, Luella. I hope he is coming – on business."
"I don't know," she answered demurely.
"You know my wishes on the subject?"
"They accord with mine, papa."
When Alfred Lindsay was announced, he found Luella resplendent in a new dress, and bedecked with jewels. She intentionally made herself as attractive as possible.
"Really. Miss Ferguson, you are radiant tonight," he said.
"Do you think so?" she asked.
"There is no doubt of it. Are you expecting other company?"
"Only yourself."
"Then I am to consider it a special compliment to me."
"If you like."
"Then I must express my acknowledgments."
Yet as he spoke, his thoughts reverted to Ruth Patton, with her lack of ornament and severe simplicity, and he felt that her image was to him the more attractive of the two. It was fortunate for Miss Ferguson's peace of mind that she could not read his thoughts.
"Now, you bad boy," she said playfully, "you must tell me why you have stayed away so long."
"Perhaps to see if you would miss me."
"I have missed you so much."
"That is certainly a compliment to me as a conversationalist, As you wrote in your note you appreciate my sensible conversation I am afraid you overestimate me. I have a friend who is really brilliant, and can converse eloquently upon any subject. May I bring him with me?"
"Who is he?" asked Luella hesitatingly.
"Professor Grimes."
"What, the lecturer?"
"Yes."
"Why. he is grotesque in appearance. I heard him lecture once, and thought he wore a mask, so ugly was his face."
"You admit his eloquence, however?"
"Yes; but from such a mouth even pearls cease to attract. Pray don't bring him! He positively makes me shudder, I assure you."
Luella did not like the turn the conversation had taken. There seemed no chance for sentiment, and she wanted to bring all her fascinations to bear.
"You have some etchings to show me; Miss Ferguson?" said Lindsay, after a pause.
"Yes; but I want to show them to you myself. You will have to come and sit beside me."
"Willingly," answered Alfred, but his tone was conventional, and lacked the warmth it had formerly shown.
Together they looked over the collection. Luella saw, however, to her mortification, that Lindsay was calm and cold. It seemed clear that she had lost her power over him. What could be the reason?
"Can it be that girl, Ruth Patton?" she asked herself. "Is it she who is drawing Alfred Lindsay away from me? I must warn him against her."
"By the way, haven't you a copyist in your office named Ruth Patton?"
"How did you know?" asked Lindsay.
"I met her the other day on Broadway. Perhaps you don't know, but she is an humble protegee of my father's."
"A protegee?"
"Yes; papa has been very kind to the family. He took charge of their affairs on the death of her father, and, though there was not enough property to pay the debts, he paid them all, and sent a check to Mrs. Patton besides."
"That was certainly considerate!" said Lindsay; but from his tone it could not be discovered if he were speaking in earnest or ironically.
"As you say, it was considerate, but this Ruth is very ungrateful. She was actually ridiculous enough to think they ought to have had a fortune, and I believe blames papa for the way things have come out."
Alfred Lindsay listened politely, but did not express an opinion.
"She is a very good copyist," he said.
"I am glad she is earning a living, though I think it would have been better for her to remain in the country, don't you?"
"Really, I can't judge for others, not knowing all the circumstances."
"The girl is ill bred, I am sorry to say. She treated me rudely in the cars."
"She gives me no cause of complaint," said Lindsay shortly. He understood and despised Luella's attempts to prejudice him against the copyist.
When he rose to go, Luella was disappointed. She felt that she had brought him no nearer, and had not strengthened her hold upon him.
As the young lawyer descended the steps he met a man coming up whom he recognized as a dealer in worthless mining stock, who was looked upon by reputable business men with doubt and suspicion.
"What business can Orlando Jenkins have with Mr. Ferguson?" he asked himself.
CHAPTER XXIII.
ANOTHER RAILROAD ADVENTURE
Six months have passed and brought with them some changes. At the end of two months Ruth Patton sent for her mother, who was feeling very lonely at Port Jervis, and engaged a suite of three rooms over those occupied by Mrs. Fenton and Fred. Though she was away during the day, the two ladies, living so near together, were company for each other. Ruth had now become advanced to twelve dollars a week, not out of charity, but because Alfred Lindsay's business had considerably increased and gave his copyist more to do.
Fred was still on the Erie road, but it was now winter, and the travel had so much diminished that where he had formerly earned seven or eight dollars a week he now averaged no more than four. He began to be dissatisfied, for his income now was inadequate to meet his expenses, and he had been obliged to spend twenty dollars out of the two hundred which he had received from Mr. Lawrence at Niagara Falls. He was now seventeen, and he felt that it was high time he had entered upon some business in which he could advance by successive steps. On the road, if he remained till he was thirty years of age, he could earn no more than at present. He answered several advertisements, but secured nothing likely to be an improvement upon his present place.
One evening toward the end of December he was about to leave the cars, when his attention was drawn to an old gentleman with hair nearly white, who did not rise with the rest of the passengers, but remained in his seat with his head leaned back and his eyes closed.
The train boy, concluding that he had fallen asleep, went up to him and touched him gently.
"We have reached Jersey City," he said.
The old man opened his eyes slightly and gazed at him bewildered.
"I – I don't know where I am," he murmured vaguely.
"You are in Jersey City, sir."
"I want to go to New York."
"You have only to cross the ferry."
"Excuse me; I am a stranger here. I am from Ohio. Where is the ferry?"
"Let me lead you to the boat, sir."
The old man rose feebly and put his hand to his head.
"I don't know what is the matter with me," he said. "I feel sick."
"Perhaps you are upset by your journey. Come with me, and I will take care of you."
"You are a very good boy, and I will accept your offer."
He rose and left the car, leaning heavily on Fred's arm.
"How long have you felt unwell?" asked the train boy sympathetically.
"Ever since we left Elmira. My head troubles me."
"It is the motion of the cars, no doubt. Here we are!"
They were just in time to reach the boat. They entered the ladies' cabin, as Fred thought the tobacco smoke which always pervaded the cabin devoted to men would increase the old gentleman's head trouble.
"Where do you wish to go when we have reached the New York side?" asked Fred, when they were nearly across the river.
"I have a nephew living on Madison Avenue. Do you know that street?"
"Oh, yes, sir, very well. I will go up with you if you will let me know your nephew's name."
The name was mentioned, and to Fred's surprise was that of a wealthy and influential Wall Street broker. It was clear that the old gentleman, though plainly dressed, would not need to economize.
"I think, sir," said Fred, noticing that the old man seemed to be getting more and more feeble, "that it will be well for you to take a cab, in order to avoid any walking. You seem very much fatigued."
"You are right. Will you call one? I don't feel able."
"With pleasure, sir."
Fred passed through the gate and beckoned a hackman, who drove up with alacrity.
"Where to, sir?" he asked.
Fred gave the number on Madison Avenue.
"Mr. John Wainwrignt lives there," said the hackman. "I sometimes drive him up from Wall Street."
"That is the place. This is his uncle."
The hackman touched his hat respectfully to the old gentleman, whom he had at first mentally styled a rusty old codger. His relationship to the wealthy broker gave him dignity in the eyes of the driver.
"Won't you get in too?" asked the old gentleman who had come to rely upon Fred as his guardian.
"Certainly, sir."
"I shall feel safer. I am a perfect stranger to the city."
He leaned back in the seat and partially closed his eyes.
The hack rattled through the streets and in due time reached its destination.
The hackman opened the door of the cab and Fred assisted the old gentleman to alight.
"Take my pocketbook and pay him," said the old man.
The hackman did not venture to ask more than his rightful fare, as it would have come to the knowledge of the broker, whom he did not care to offend.
The driver paid, Fred ascended the steps and rang the bell.
A man servant opened the door.
"Is Mr. Wainwright at home?" asked Fred.
The servant, seeing an old man in rather a rusty dress, was inclined to think that he was an applicant for charity, and answered rather superciliously:
"Yes, he's at 'ome, but I ain't sure as he'll see you."
"Tell him," said Fred sharply, "that his uncle has arrived."
"His uncle!" repeated the astounded flunkey. "O yes, sir, certainly, sir. I think he is at 'ome. Won't you step in, sir?"
Fred would have gone away, but the old gentleman still seemed to require his assistance, and he stepped in with him and led him into the drawing-room.
The servant promptly reported the arrival to Mr. Wainwright, who descended the staircase quickly and greeted his uncle.
"You are heartily welcome, Uncle Silas," he said. "I did not expect you till to-morrow, or I would have sent the carriage for you."
"I changed my mind, John, and decided to push through."
"Who is this young man with you?"
"He is a kind friend, John. I was taken sick – the effect of the journey, I think – and I shouldn't have been able to get up here but for him."
The broker smiled pleasantly and held out his hand to Fred.
"You are the train boy, are you not?" he asked, glancing at Fred's cap.
"Yes, sir."
"I hope you find it pays you well."
"Not at this season, sir."
"How long have you been in service?"
"Over a year."
"Thank you for your kindness to my uncle. He seems ill and requires my attention now. Can you make it convenient to call here to-morrow evening at eight o'clock?"
"Yes, sir. I will call with pleasure."
"Good night, then, and don't forget to call."
The broker shook hands with Fred again, and the train-boy left the house quite won by the pleasant and affable manner of the great broker.
"I never expected to know such a man as that," thought Fred. "I wish he would give me a position in his office. That would be much better worth having than my present place."
"Why are you so late, Fred?" asked his mother, when he reached home.
"I had to make a call on Mr. Wainwright, the broker," answered Fred.
"I guess you are only funning," said Albert.
"No, I am not. I am invited to call again to-morrow evening."
"What for?"
"Perhaps he's going to take me into partnership," said Fred in joke.
CHAPTER XXIV.
FRED'S GOOD LUCK
Fred made a short trip the next day, and returned home at four o'clock. He was glad to be back so early, as it gave him time to prepare for his evening visit. Naturally his mind had dwelt upon it more or less during the day, and he looked forward to the occasion with pleasant anticipations. The broker's gracious manners led Fred to think of him as a friend.
"I would like to be in the employ of such a man," he reflected.
He started from home in good season, and found himself on the broker's steps on the stroke of eight.
The door was opened by the same servant as on the evening previous, but he treated Fred more respectfully, having overheard Mr. Wainwright speak of him cordially.
So when Fred asked, "Is Mr. Wainwright at home?" he answered "Yes, sir; come right in. I believe as you are expected."
The old man was descending the stairs as Fred entered, and immediately recognized him.
"Ha, my young friend!" he said. "I am glad to see you," and he held out his hand.
"I hope you are feeling better, sir," said Fred respectfully.
"Oh, yes, thank you. I feel quite myself to-day. It was the length of the journey that upset and fatigued me. I couldn't travel every day, as you do."
"No, sir, I suppose not now; but when you were of my age it would have been different."
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"And I am seventy-one, the same figures, but reversed. That makes a great difference. Come in here; my nephew will be down at once."
The train boy followed the old gentleman into the handsome drawing-room, and sat down on a sofa feeling, it must be owned, not quite as much at home as he would have done in a plainer house.
"Did you make much to-day?" asked Silas Corwin (that was his name) in a tone of interest.
"No, sir, it was a poor day. I only sold three dollars' worth."
"And how much did that yield you?"
"Sixty cents. I have a commission of twenty per cent."
"What was the most you ever made in a day?"
"I took in thirteen dollars once – it was on a holiday."
"That would give you two dollars and sixty cents."
"Yes, sir."
"Very good indeed!"
"If I could keep that up I should feel like a millionaire."
"Perhaps happier than a millionaire. I have known millionaires who were weighed down by cares, and were far from happy."
Fred listened respectfully, but like most boys of his age found it impossible to understand how a very rich man could be otherwise than happy.
At this point Mr. John Wainwright entered the room.
"Good evening, my boy!" he said cordially. "I won't apologize for being late, as my uncle has no doubt entertained you."
"Yes, sir; he was just telling me that millionaires are sometimes unhappy."
"And you did not believe him?"
"I think I should be happy if I were worth a million."
"You might feel poorer than you do now. I knew a millionaire once – a bachelor – who did not venture to drink but one cup of coffee at his breakfast (he took it at a cheap restaurant) because it would involve an added expenditure of five cents."
"Was he in his right mind, sir?"
"I don't wonder you ask. I don't think a man who carries economy so far is quite in his right mind. However, he was shrewd enough in his business transactions. But now tell me something about yourself. Are you alone in the world?"
"No, sir; I have a mother and little brother."
"Are they partly dependent upon you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Can you make enough to support them comfortably?"
"I can in the summer, sir, but in the winter my earnings are small."
"How small?"
"Not over four dollars a week."
"That is certainly small. Do you like your present employment?"
"I am getting tired of it," answered Fred. "I should be glad to find a place where I can have a chance to rise, even if the pay is small."
"What do you think of going into a broker's office?"
Fred's heart gave a bound.
"I should like it very much," he said.
"Then I think I can offer you a place in mine. Come down on Saturday, and I will introduce you to the office employees, and on Monday you can begin work."
"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Wainwright."
"Before you know how much pay you are to receive?" asked the broker, smiling.
"I can safely trust that to you, sir."
"Then we will say eight dollars to begin with."
"My mother will be pleased with my good luck. I hope I shall prove satisfactory."
"We generally ask references from those about to enter our employment, but my uncle here insists that it is unnecessary in your case."
"I'll go security for the boy, John," said Silas Corwin.
"Thank you, sir," said Fred. "I will see that you don't run any risk."
At this moment a young girl of fourteen entered the room. She was the picture of rosy health, and Fred looked at her admiringly. She, too, glanced at him curiously.
"Fred, this is my daughter, Rose," said Mr. Wainwright.
"Is this the boy who came home with Uncle Silas?" asked the young lady.
"Yes, Rose."
"He looks like a nice boy."
Fred blushed at the compliment, but coming from such lips he found it very agreeable.
"Thank you," he said.
"How old are you?" continued Rose. "I'm fourteen."
"I am three years older."
"When I am three years older I shall be a young lady."
"I don't think I shall ever be a young lady," said Fred demurely.
"Why, of course you won't, you foolish boy," said Rose, with a merry laugh. "Papa, may I invite Fred to my New Year's party?"
"Yes, if you like."
"You'll come, won't you?" asked Rose.
"If your father approves," answered Fred, hesitating.
"Of course he does. Didn't he say so? If you'll tell me where you live, I'll send you a card. Do you dance?"
"Not much; but I will practise beforehand."
"That's right. You must dance with me, you know."
"Rose," said her father gravely, "are you under the impression that this is Leap Year? You seem to be very attentive to this young man."
Rose was the pride of her father's heart, as she might well be, for she was an unusually attractive child, and had been a good deal indulged, but by no means spoiled. Mr. Wainwright had no foolish ideas about exclusiveness, and was not disturbed by his daughter's cordiality to Fred.
"Do you play backgammon, Fred?" asked Rose, after some further conversation.
"Yes, a little."
"Then I'll get the backgammon board, and we'll have a game."
Fred was not a skilful player, and the young lady beat him three games in succession, which put her in high spirits. Her favorable opinion of Fred was confirmed, and when he rose to go she pressed him to come again.
"Thank you," said Fred, "I shall be very glad indeed to come."
"Rose," said her father, after Fred's departure, "it seems to me you have been flirting with Fred."
"He's a nice boy, don't you think so, papa?"
"I hope he will prove so, for I am going to take him into my office."
"That's good. Then I shall see him often."
"Really, Rose, I was a little alarmed lest you should make him an offer this evening."
"You needn't be afraid, papa. I will wait till I am a little bit older."
"And then shall you offer yourself to Fred?"
"Perhaps I shall if I don't see any one I like better."
"You must remember he is poor."
"That doesn't make any difference. You can give us all the money we want."
"A very satisfactory arrangement, upon my word! I am glad you don't insist upon getting married at once, but give me a few hours to get reconciled to the thought."
