The Cash Boy

“Take the Evening Post, then, and read me the leading editorial. Afterward, I will tell you what to read.”

Frank had been reading about half an hour, when a knock was heard at the door.

“Come in,” said Mr. Wharton.

Mrs. Bradley entered, with a soft, quiet step.

“I thought, sir,” she began, “you might like me to read to you, as usual.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bradley, but I am going to relieve you of that portion of your labors. My young friend here is to come every evening and read to me.”

“Indeed!” ejaculated the housekeeper in a tone of chilly displeasure, and a sharp glance at Frank, which indicated no great amount of cordiality. “Then, as I am intruding, I will take my leave.”

There was something in her tone that made Frank feel uncomfortable.

CHAPTER IX

THE HOUSEKEEPER’S NEPHEW

“By no means,” said Mr. Wharton, as the housekeeper was about to withdraw; “don’t imagine you are intruding. Come in and sit down.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Mrs. Bradley, in a measured tone. “You are very considerate, I am sure, but if you’ll excuse me, I won’t come in this evening.”

“Mrs. Bradley has been with me a good many years,” explained Mr. Wharton, “and I dare say she feels a little disturbed at seeing another occupy her place, even in a duty like this.”

“I am afraid she will be offended with me, sir,” said Frank.

“Oh, no; I will explain matters to her. Go on with your reading, Frank.”

At half-past nine, Mr. Wharton took out his watch.

“It is getting late,” he said. “I have no doubt you are tired and need rest.”

“I am not tired, sir.”

“I believe in going to bed early. I shall seldom keep you later than this. Do you think you can find your way out?”

“Yes, sir. When shall I come to-morrow evening?”

“A little before eight.”

“I will be punctual.”

Jasper was waiting for him, not wholly without anxiety, for it was very unusual for Frank to be late.

“Well, Frank!” he exclaimed; “this is a pretty time for you to come home. I began to think you had got into trouble. I was just going around to the nearest station house in search of you.”

“I was in quite a different place, Jasper.”

Frank told his story, including an account of his engagement.

“So it seems I am to lose your company in the evening. I am sorry for that, but I am glad you are so lucky.”

“It was better than I expected,” said Frank, with satisfaction.

“What sort of a man is this Mr. Wharton?” said Jasper.

“He is very kind and generous. I am lucky to have so good a friend. There’s only one thing that is likely to be disagreeable.”

“What’s that?”

“The housekeeper—her name is Mrs. Bradley—for some reason or other she doesn’t want me there.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Her manner, and the way she speaks. She came in to read to Mr. Wharton last evening, and didn’t seem to like it because I had been taken in her place.”

“She is evidently jealous. You must take care not to offend her. She might endeavor to have you dismissed.”

“I shall always treat her politely, but I don’t think I can ever like her.”

Meanwhile, the housekeeper, on leaving the library, had gone to her own room in dudgeon.

“Mr. Wharton’s a fool!” she muttered to herself.

“What possessed him to take this cash-boy from the streets, invite him to dinner, and treat him as an honored guest, and finally to engage him as a reader? I never heard of anything so ridiculous! Is this little vagabond to take my place in the old man’s good graces? I’ve been slaving and slaving for twenty years, and what have I got by it? I’ve laid up two thousand dollars; and what is that to provide for my old age? If the old man would die, and remember me handsomely in his will, it would be worth while; but this new favorite may stand in my way. If he does I’ll be revenged on him as sure as my name is Ulrica Bradley.”

Here the area bell rang, and in a moment one of the housemaids entered Mrs. Bradley’s room.

“There’s your nephew outside, ma’am, and wanting to see you.”

“Tell him to come in,” and the housekeeper’s cold face became softer and pleasanter in aspect as a young man of twenty entered and greeted her carelessly.

“How are you, aunt?”

“Pretty well, Thomas,” she answered. “You haven’t been here for some time.”

“No. I’ve had a lot of work to do. Nothing but work, work, all the time,” he grumbled. “I wish I was rich.”

“You get through at six o’clock, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I hope you spend your evenings profitably, Thomas?”

“I ain’t likely to go on any sprees, aunt, if that’s what you mean. I only get twelve dollars a week.”

“I should think you might live on it.”