The Cash Boy 9

The Cash Boy 9

Arrived on the landing, he threw open a door, and ushered in our hero.

 

"This will be your room," he said.

 

Frank looked around in dismay.

 

It was a large, square room, uncarpeted, and containing only a bed, two

chairs and a washstand, all of the cheapest and rudest manufacture.

 

"I hope you will soon feel at home here," said Graves. "I'll go down and

see if I can find something to eat."

 

He went out, locking the door behind him

 

"What does this mean?" thought Frank, with a strange sensation.

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVII

 

FRANK AND HIS JAILER

 

 

It was twenty minutes before Frank, waiting impatiently, heard the steps

of his late companion ascending the stairs.

 

But the door was not unlocked. Instead, a slide was revealed, about

eight inches square, through which his late traveling companion pushed a

plate of cold meat and bread.

 

"Here's something to eat," he said; "take it."

 

"Why do you lock me in?" demanded our hero.

 

"You can get along without knowing, I suppose," said the other, with a

sneer.

 

"I don't mean to," said Frank, firmly. "I demand an explanation. How

long do you intend to keep me here?"

 

"I am sorry I can't gratify your curiosity, but I don't know myself."

 

"Perhaps you think that I am rich, but I am not. I have no money. You

can't get anything out of me," said Frank.

 

"That may be so, but I shall keep you."

 

"I suppose that was all a lie about your keeping store?"

 

"It was a pretty little story, told for your amusement, my dear boy,"

said Graves. "I was afraid you wouldn't come without it."

 

"You are a villain!" said Frank.

 

"Look here, boy," said Graves, in a different tone, his face darkening,

"you had better not talk in that way. I advise you to eat your dinner

and be quiet. Some supper will be brought to you before night."

 

So saying, he abruptly closed the slide, and descended the stairs,

leaving Frank to his reflections, which it may be supposed, were not of

the pleasantest character.

 

Frank did not allow his unpleasant situation to take away his appetite,

and though he was fully determined to make the earliest possible attempt

to escape, he was sensible enough first to eat the food which his jailer

had brought him.

 

His lunch dispatched, he began at once to revolve plans of escape.

 

There were three windows in the room, two on the front of the house, the

other at the side.

 

He tried one after another, but the result was the same. All were so

fastened that it was quite impossible to raise them.

 

Feeling that he could probably escape through one of the windows when

he pleased, though at the cost of considerable trouble, Frank did not

trouble himself much, or allow himself to feel unhappy. He decided to

continue his explorations.

 

In the corner of the room was a door, probably admitting to a closet.

 

"I suppose it is locked," thought Frank, but on trying it, he found that

such was not the case. He looked curiously about him, but found little

to repay him. His attention was drawn, however to several dark-colored

masks lying upon a shelf.

 

He also discovered a small hole in the wall of the size of a marble.

Actuated by curiosity, he applied his eye to the opening, and peeped

into what was probably the adjoining room. It was furnished in very much

the same way as the one in which he was confined, but at present it was

untenanted. Having seen what little there was to be seen, Frank withdrew

from his post of observation and returned to his room.

 

It was several hours later when he again heard steps ascending the

stairs, and the slide in the door was moved.

 

He looked toward it, but the face that he saw was not that of Nathan

Graves.

 

It was the face of a woman.

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVIII

 

 

"OVER THE HILL TO THE POORHOUSE"

 

 

We are compelled for a time to leave our hero in the hands of his

enemies, and return to the town of Crawford, where an event has occurred

which influences seriously the happiness and position of his sister,

Grace.

 

Ever since Frank left the town, Grace had been a welcome member of Mr.

Pomeroy's family, receiving the kindest treatment from all, so that she

had come to feel very much at home.

 

So they lived happily together, till one disastrous night a fire broke

out, which consumed the house, and they were forced to snatch their

clothes and escape, saving nothing else.

 

Mr. Pomeroy's house was insured for two-thirds of its value, and he

proposed to rebuild immediately, but it would be three months at least

before the new house would be completed. In the interim, he succeeded in

hiring a couple of rooms for his family, but their narrow accommodations

would oblige them to dispense with their boarder. Sorry as Mr. and

Mrs. Pomeroy were to part with her, it was obvious that Grace must find

another home.

 

"We must let Frank know," said Mr. Pomeroy, and having occasion to go

up to the city at once to see about insurance, he went to the store of

Gilbert & Mack, and inquired for Prank.

 

"Fowler? What was he?" was asked.

 

"A cash-boy."

 

"Oh, he is no longer here. Mr. Gilbert discharged him."

 

"Do you know why he was discharged?" asked Mr. Pomeroy, pained and

startled.

 

"No; but there stands Mr. Gilbert. He can tell you."

 

Mr. Pomeroy introduced himself to the head of the firm and repeated his

inquiry.

 

"If you are a friend of the lad," said Mr. Gilbert, "you will be sorry

to learn that he was charged with dishonesty. It was a very respectable

lady who made the charge. It is only fair to say that the boy denied

it, and that, personally, we found him faithful and trusty. But as the

dullness of trade compelled us to discharge some of our cash-boys, we

naturally discharged him among the number, without, however, judging his

case."

 

"Then, sir, you have treated the boy very unfairly. On the strength of

a charge not proved, you have dismissed him, though personally you had

noticed nothing out of the way in him, and rendered it impossible for

him to obtain another place."

 

"There is something in what you say, I admit. Perhaps I was too hasty.

If you will send the boy to me, I will take him back on probation."

 

"Thank you, sir," said Mr. Pomeroy, gratefully "I will send him here."

 

But this Mr. Pomeroy was unable to do. He did not know of Frank's new

address, and though he was still in the city, he failed to find him.

 

He returned to Crawford and communicated the unsatisfactory

intelligence. He tried to obtain a new boarding place for Grace, but no

one was willing to take her at two dollars a week, especially when Mr.

Pomeroy was compelled to admit that Frank was now out of employment, and

it was doubtful if he would be able to keep up the payment.

 

Tom Pinkerton managed to learn that Grace was now without a home, and

mentioned it to his father.

 

"Won't she have to go to the poorhouse now, father?" he asked eagerly.

 

"Yes," said Deacon Pinkerton. "There is no other place for her that I

can see."

 

"Ah, I'm glad," said Tom, maliciously. "Won't that upstart's pride be

taken down? He was too proud to go to the poorhouse, where he belonged,

but he can't help his sister's going there. If he isn't a pauper

himself, he'll be the brother of a pauper, and that's the next thing to

it."

 

"That is true," said the deacon. "He was very impudent in return for my

kindness. Still, I am sorry for him."

 

I am afraid the deacon's sorrow was not very deep, for he certainly

looked unusually cheerful when he harnessed up his horse and drove

around to the temporary home of the Pomeroys.

 

"Good-morning, Mr. Pomeroy," he said, seeing the latter in the yard.

"You've met with a severe loss."

 

"Yes, deacon; it is a severe loss to a poor man like me."

 

"To be sure. Well, I've called around to relieve you of a part of your

cares. I am going to take Grace Fowler to the poorhouse."

 

"Couldn't you get her a place with a private family to help about the

house in return for her board, while she goes to school?"

 

"There's nobody wants a young girl like her," said the deacon.

 

"Her brother would pay part of her board--that is, when he has a place."

 

"Hasn't he got a place?" asked the deacon, pricking up his ears. "I

heard he was in a store in New York."

 

"He lost his place," said Mr. Pomeroy, reluctantly, "partly because of

the dullness of general trade."

 

"Then he can't maintain his sister. She will have to go to the

poorhouse. Will you ask her to get ready, and I'll take her right over

to the poorhouse."

 

There was no alternative. Mr. Pomeroy went into the house, and broke the

sad news to his wife and Grace.

 

"Never mind," she said, with attempted cheerfulness, though her lips

quivered, "I shan't have to stay there long. Frank will be sure to send

for me very shortly."

 

"It's too bad, Grace," said Sam, looking red about the eyes; "it's too

bad that you should have to go to the poorhouse."

 

"Come and see me, Sam," said Grace.

 

"Yes, I will, Grace. I'll come often, too. You shan't stay there long."

 

"Good-by," said Grace, faltering. "You have all been very kind to me."

 

"Good-by, my dear child," said Mrs. Pomeroy.

 

"Who knows but you can return to us when the new house is done?"

 

So poor Grace went out from her pleasant home to find the deacon,

grim-faced and stern, waiting for her.

 

"Jump in, little girl," he said. "You've kept me waiting for you a long

time, and my time is valuable."

 

The distance to the poorhouse was about a mile and a half. For the first

half mile Deacon Pinkerton kept silence. Then he began to speak, in a

tone of cold condescension, as if it were a favor for such a superior

being to address an insignificant child, about to become a pauper.

 

"Little girl, have you heard from your brother lately?"

 

"Not very lately, sir."

 

"What is he doing?"

 

"He is in a store."

 

"I apprehend you are mistaken. He has lost his place. He has been turned

away," said the deacon, with satisfaction.

 

"Frank turned away! Oh, sir, you must be mistaken."

 

"Mr. Pomeroy told me. He found out yesterday when he went to the city."

 

Poor Grace! she could not longer doubt now, and her brother's misfortune

saddened her even more than her own.

 

"Probably you will soon see your brother."

 

"Oh, do you think so, sir?" asked Grace, joyfully.

 

"Yes," answered the deacon, grimly. "He will find himself in danger of

starvation in the city, and he'll creep back, only too glad to obtain a

nice, comfortable home in the poorhouse."

 

But Grace knew her brother better than that. She knew his courage, his

self-reliance and his independent spirit, and she was sure the deacon

was mistaken.

 

The home for which Grace was expected to be so grateful was now in

sight. It was a dark, neglected looking house, situated in the midst

of barren fields, and had a lonely and desolate aspect. It was

superintended by Mr. and Mrs. Chase, distant relations of Deacon

Pinkerton.

 

Mr. Chase was an inoffensive man, but Mrs. Chase had a violent temper.

She was at work in the kitchen when Deacon Pinkerton drove up. Hearing

the sound of wheels, she came to the door.

 

"Mrs. Chase," said the deacon, "I've brought you a little girl, to be

placed under your care."

 

"What's her name?" inquired the lady.

 

"Grace Fowler."

 

"Grace, humph! Why didn't she have a decent name?"

 

"You can call her anything you like," said the deacon.

 

"Little girl, you must behave well," said Deacon Pinkerton, by way of

parting admonition. "The town expects it. I expect it. You must never

cease to be grateful for the good home which it provides you free of

expense."

 

Grace did not reply. Looking in the face of her future task-mistress was

scarcely calculated to awaken a very deep feeling of gratitude.

 

"Now," said Mrs. Chase, addressing her new boarder, "just take off your

things, Betsy, and make yourself useful."

 

"My name isn't Betsy, ma'am."

 

"It isn't, isn't it?"

 

"No; it is Grace."

 

"You don't say so! I'll tell you one thing, I shan't allow anybody to

contradict me here, and your name's got to be Betsy while you're in this

house. Now take off your things and hang them up on that peg. I'm going

to set you right to work."

 

"Yes, ma'am," said Grace, alarmed.

 

"There's some dishes I want washed, Betsy, and I won't have you

loitering over your work, neither."

 

"Very well, ma'am."

 

Such was the new home for which poor Grace was expected to be grateful.

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIX

 

WHAT FRANK HEARD THROUGH THE CREVICE

 

 

Frank looked with some surprise at the woman who was looking through

the slide of his door. He had expected to see Nathan Graves. She also

regarded him with interest.

 

"I have brought you some supper," she said.

 

Frank reached out and drew in a small waiter, containing a cup of tea

and a plate of toast.

 

"Thank you," he said. "Where is the man who brought me here?"

 

"He has gone out."

 

"Do you know why he keeps me here in confinement?"

 

"No," said the woman, hastily. "I know nothing. I see much, but I know

nothing."

 

"Are many prisoners brought here as I have been?" asked our hero, in

spite of the woman's refusal to speak.

 

"No."

 

"I can't understand what object they can have in detaining me. If I were

rich, I might guess, but I am poor. I am compelled to work for my daily bread, and have been out of a place for two weeks."