Mark the Match Boy 4

Mark the Match Boy 4

"I am absent from the store from twelve to one for dinner."

 

"Very well, come to the hotel as soon as you are free, and I will

accompany you to the bank, and get the money for you. I advise you,

however, to leave it there on deposit until you have a chance to invest

it."

 

"How would you advise me to invest it, sir?" asked Fosdick.

 

"Perhaps you cannot do better than buy shares of some good bank. You

will then have no care except to collect your dividends twice a year."

 

"That is what I should like to do," said Fosdick. "What bank would you

advise?"

 

"The Broadway, Park, or Bank of Commerce, are all good banks. I will

attend to the matter for you, if you desire it."

 

"I should be very glad if you would, sir."

 

"Then that matter is settled," said Mr. Bates. "I wish I could as

easily settle another matter which has brought me to New York at this

time, and which, I confess, occasions me considerable perplexity."

 

The boys remained respectfully silent, though not without curiosity as

to what this matter might be.

 

Mr. Bates seemed plunged in thought for a short time. Then speaking, as

if to himself, he said, in a low voice, "Why should I not tell them?

Perhaps they may help me."

 

"I believe," he said, "I will take you into my confidence. You may be

able to render me some assistance in my perplexing business."

 

"I shall be very glad to help you if I can," said Dick.

 

"And I also," said Fosdick.

 

"I have come to New York in search of my grandson," said Mr. Bates.

 

"Did he run away from home?" asked Dick.

 

"No, he has never lived with me. Indeed, I may add that I have never

seen him since he was an infant."

 

The boys looked surprised.

 

"How old is he now?" asked Fosdick.

 

"He must be about ten years old. But I see that I must give you the

whole story of what is a painful passage in my life, or you will be in

no position to help me.

 

"You must know, then, that twelve years since I considered myself rich,

and lived in a handsome house up town. My wife was dead, but I had

an only daughter, who I believe was generally considered attractive,

if not beautiful. I had set my heart upon her making an advantageous

marriage; that is, marrying a man of wealth and social position. I

had in my employ a clerk, of excellent business abilities, and of

good personal appearance, whom I sometimes invited to my house when I

entertained company. His name was John Talbot. I never suspected that

there was any danger of my daughter's falling in love with the young

man, until one day he came to me and overwhelmed me with surprise by

asking her hand in marriage.

 

"You can imagine that I was very angry, whether justly or not I will

not pretend to say. I dismissed the young man from my employ, and

informed him that never, under any circumstances, would I consent to

his marrying Irene. He was a high-spirited young man, and, though he

did not answer me, I saw by the __EXPRESSION__ of his face that he meant to

persevere in his suit.

 

"A week later my daughter was missing. She left behind a letter stating

that she could not give up John Talbot, and by the time I read the

letter she would be his wife. Two days later a Philadelphia paper was

sent me containing a printed notice of their marriage, and the same

mail brought me a joint letter from both, asking my forgiveness.

 

"I had no objections to John Talbot except his poverty; but my

ambitious hopes were disappointed, and I felt the blow severely. I

returned the letter to the address given, accompanied by a brief line

to Irene, to the effect that I disowned her, and would never more

acknowledge her as my daughter.

 

"I saw her only once after that. Two years after she appeared suddenly

in my library, having been admitted by the servant, with a child in

her arms. But I hardened my heart against her, and though she besought

my forgiveness, I refused it, and requested her to leave the house. I

cannot forgive myself when I think of my unfeeling severity. But it is

too late too redeem the past. As far as I can I would like to atone for

it.

 

"A month since I heard that both Irene and her husband were dead, the

latter five years since, but that the child, a boy, is still living,

probably in deep poverty. He is my only descendant, and I seek to

find him, hoping that he may be a joy and solace to me in the old age

which will soon be upon me. It is for the purpose of tracing him that

I have come to New York. When you," turning to Fosdick, "referred to

your being compelled to resort to the streets, and the hard life of a

boot-black, the thought came to me that my grandson may be reduced to

a similar extremity. It would be hard indeed that he should grow up

ignorant, neglected, and subject to every privation, when a comfortable

and even luxurious home awaits him, if he can only be found."

 

"What is his name?" inquired Dick.

 

"My impression is, that he was named after his father, John Talbot.

Indeed, I am quite sure that my daughter wrote me to this effect in a

letter which I returned after reading."

 

"Have you reason to think he is in New York?"

 

"My information is, that his mother died here a year since. It is not

likely that he has been able to leave the city."

 

"He is about ten years old?"

 

"I used to know most of the boot-blacks and newsboys when I was in the

business," said Dick, reflectively; "but I cannot recall that name."

 

"Were you ever in the business, Mr. Hunter?" asked Mr. Bates, in

surprise.

 

"Yes," said Richard Hunter, smiling; "I used to be one of the most

ragged boot-blacks in the city. Don't you remember my Washington coat,

and Napoleon pants, Fosdick?"

 

"I remember them well."

 

"Surely that was many years ago?"

 

"It is not yet two years since I gave up blacking boots."

 

"You surprise me Mr. Hunter," said Mr. Bates "I congratulate you on

your advance in life. Such a rise shows remarkable energy on your part."

 

"I was lucky," said Dick, modestly. "I found some good friends who

helped me along. But about your grandson: I have quite a number of

friends among the street-boys, and I can inquire of them whether any

boy named John Talbot has joined their ranks since my time."

 

"I shall be greatly obliged to you if you will," said Mr. Bates. "But

it is quite possible that circumstances may have led to a change of

name, so that it will not do to trust too much to this. Even if no boy

bearing that name is found, I shall feel that there is this possibility

in my favor."

 

"That is true," said Dick. "It is very common for boys to change their

name. Some can't remember whether they ever had any names, and pick one

out to suit themselves, or perhaps get one from those they go with.

There was one boy I knew named 'Horace Greeley'. Then there were 'Fat

Jack,' 'Pickle Nose,' 'Cranky Jim,' 'Tickle-me-foot,' and plenty of

others.[1] You knew some of them, didn't you, Fosdick?"

 

"I knew 'Fat Jack' and 'Tickle-me-Foot,'" answered Fosdick.

 

"This of course increases the difficulty of finding and identifying the

boy," said Mr. Bates. "Here," he said, taking a card photograph from

his pocket, "is a picture of my daughter at the time of her marriage. I

have had these taken from a portrait in my possession."

 

"Can you spare me one?" asked Dick. "It may help me to find the boy."

 

"I will give one to each of you. I need not say that I shall feel most

grateful for any service you may be able to render me, and will gladly

reimburse any expenses you may incur, besides paying you liberally for

your time. It will be better perhaps for me to leave fifty dollars with

each of you to defray any expenses you may be at."

 

"Thank you," said Dick; "but I am well supplied with money, and will

advance whatever is needful, and if I succeed I will hand in my bill."

 

Fosdick expressed himself in a similar way, and after some further

conversation he and Dick rose to go.

 

"I congratulate you on your wealth, Fosdick," said Dick, when they

were outside. "You're richer than I am now."

 

"I never should have got this money but for you, Dick. I wish you'd

take some of it."

 

"Well, I will. You may pay my fare home on the horse-cars."

 

"But really I wish you would."

 

But this Dick positively refused to do, as might have been expected.

He was himself the owner of two up-town lots, which he eventually sold

for five thousand dollars, though they only cost him one, and had three

hundred dollars besides in the bank. He agreed, however, to let Fosdick

henceforth bear his share of the expenses of board, and this added two

dollars a week to the sum he was able to lay up.   [Footnote 1: See sketches of the Formation of the Newsboys'

Lodging-house by C. L. Brace, Secretary of the Children's Aid Society.]