The Cash Boy

Frank took the bundle, and got on board a passing omnibus. There was just one seat vacant beside an old gentleman of seventy, who appeared to be quite feeble.

At Forty-fifth street he pulled the strap and prepared to descend, leaning heavily on his cane as he did so. By some mischance the horses started a little too soon and the old man, losing his footing, fell in the street. Frank observed the accident and sprang out instantly to his help.

“I hope you are not much hurt, sir?” he said, hastily.

“I have hurt my knee,” said the old gentleman.

“Let me assist you, sir,” said Frank, helping him up.

“Thank you, my boy. I live at number forty-five, close by. If you will lead me to the door and into the house I shall be much indebted to you.”

“Certainly, sir. It is no trouble to me.”

With slow step, supported by our hero, the old gentleman walked to his own door.

It was opened by a maid servant, who looked with some surprise at Frank.

“I fell, Mary,” explained her master, “and this young gentleman has kindly helped me home.”

“Did you hurt yourself much, sir?”

“Not seriously.”

“Can I do anything more for you, sir?” asked Frank.

“Come in a moment.”

Our hero followed his new acquaintance into a handsomely furnished parlor.

“Now, my young friend tell me if you have been taken out of your way by your attention to me?”

“Oh, no, sir; I intended to get out at the next street.”

“My dinner is just ready. Won’t you stop and dine with me?”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, hesitatingly, “but I promised to carry this bundle. I believe it is wanted at once.”

“So you shall. You say the house is in the next street. You can go and return in five minutes. You have done me a service, and I may have it in my power to do something for you in return.”

“Perhaps,” thought Frank, “he can help me to some employment for my evenings.” Then, aloud:

“Thank you, sir; I will come.”

Five minutes later Frank was ushered into a handsome dining-room. The dinner was already on the table, but chairs were only set for three. The one at the head of the table was of course occupied by the old gentleman, the one opposite by Mrs. Bradley, his housekeeper, and one at the side was placed for Frank.

“Mrs. Bradley,” said the old gentleman, “this is a young gentleman who was kind enough to help me home after the accident of which I just spoke to you. I would mention his name, but I must leave that to him.”

“Frank Fowler, sir.”

“And my name is Wharton. Now that we are all introduced, we can talk more freely.”

“Will you have some soup, Mr. Fowler?” asked the housekeeper.

She was a tall thin woman, with a reserved manner that was somewhat repellant. She had only nodded slightly at the introduction, fixing her eyes coldly and searchingly on the face of our hero. It was evident that whatever impression the service rendered might have made upon the mind of Mr. Wharton, it was not calculated to warm the housekeeper to cordiality.

“Thank you,” he answered, but he could not help feeling at the same time that Mrs. Bradley was not a very agreeable woman.

“You ought to have a good appetite,” said Mr. Wharton. “You have to work hard during the day. Our young friend is a cash-boy at Gilbert & Mack’s, Mrs. Bradley.

“Oh, indeed!” said Mrs. Bradley, arching her brows as much as to say: “You have invited strange company to dinner.”

“Do your parents live in the city, Frank—I believe your name is Frank?”

“No, sir; they are dead. My mother died only a few weeks since.”

“And have you no brothers and sisters?”

“I have one sister—Grace.”

“I suppose she is in the city here with you?”

“No, sir. I left her in the country. I am here alone.”

“I will ask you more about yourself after dinner. If you have no engagement, I should like to have you stay with me a part of the evening.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Frank accepted the invitation, though he knew Jasper would wonder what had become of him. He saw that the old gentleman was kindly disposed toward him, and in his present circumstances he needed such a friend.

But in proportion as Mr. Wharton became more cordial, Mrs. Bradley became more frosty, until at last the old gentleman noticed her manner.

“Don’t you feel well this evening, Mrs Bradley?” he asked.

“I have a little headache,” said the housekeeper, coldly.

“You had better do something for it.”

“It will pass away of itself, sir.”

They arose from the dinner table, and Mr. Wharton, followed by Frank, ascended the staircase to the front room on the second floor, which was handsomely fitted up as a library.

“What makes him take such notice of a mere cash-boy?” said Mrs. Bradley to herself. “That boy reminds me of somebody. Who is it?”

CHAPTER VIII

AN UNEXPECTED ENGAGEMENT

“Take a seat, Frank,” said Mr. Wharton, pointing to a luxurious armchair on one side of the cheerful grate fire; “I will take the other, and you shall tell me all about yourself.”