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Luke Walton
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"Really, you are a very nice boy."
"Now, tell me where you live?"
"On Green Street."
"Where is that?"
"Only a stone's throw from Milwaukee Avenue."
"I don't think I was ever in that part of the city."
"It is not a nice part of the city, but we cannot afford to live in a better place."
"You say 'we.' Does that mean your father and mother?"
"My father is dead. Our family consists of my mother, my little brother, and myself."
"And you are – excuse my saying so – poor?"
"We are poor, but thus far we have not wanted for food or shelter."
"I suppose you are employed in some way?"
"Yes; I sell papers."
"Then you are a newsboy?"
"Yes, madam."
"I suppose you cannot save very much?"
"If I make seventy-five cents a day I consider myself quite lucky. It is more than I average."
"Surely you can't live on that – I mean the three of you?"
"Mother earns something by making shirts; at least, she has done so; but yesterday she was told that she would not have any more work at present."
"And your brother – he is too young to work, I suppose?"
"Yes, madam."
While this conversation was going en, the cab was making rapid progress, and as the last words were spoken the driver reined up in front of a handsome residence.
"Is this the place, madam?"
The old lady looked out of the hack.
"Yes," she answered. "I had no idea we had got along so far."
Luke helped her out of the cab. She paid the man his fare, and then signed Luke to help her up the steps.
"I want you to come into the house with me," she said. "I have not got through talking with you."
A maidservant answered the bell. She looked surprised when she saw the old lady's young companion.
"Is my niece in?" asked the old lady.
"No, Mrs. Merton – Master Harold is in."
"Never mind! You may come upstairs with me, young man."
Luke followed the old lady up the broad, handsome staircase, stealing a curious glance at an elegantly-furnished drawing-room, the door of which opened into the hall.
His companion led the way into the front room on the second floor.
"Remain here until I have taken off my things," she said.
Luke seated himself in a luxurious armchair.
He looked about him and wondered how it would seem to live in such luxury. He had little time for thought, for in less than five minutes Mrs. Merton made her appearance.
"You have not yet told me your name," she said.
"Luke Walton."
"That's a good name – I am Mrs. Merton."
"I noticed that the servant called you so," said Luke.
"Yes; I am a widow. My married niece lives here with me. She is also a widow, with one son, Harold. I think he might be about your age. Her name is Tracy. You wonder why I give you all these particulars? I see you do. It is because I mean to keep up our acquaintance."
"Thank you, Mrs. Merton."
"My experience this morning has shown me that I am hardly fit to go about the city alone. Yet I am not willing to remain at home. It has occurred to me that I can make use of your services with advantage both to you and myself. What do you say?"
"I shall be glad of anything that will increase my income," said Luke, promptly.
"Please call here to-morrow morning, and inquire for me. I will then tell you what I require."
"Very well, Mrs. Merton. You may depend upon me."
"And accept a week's pay in advance."
She put a sealed envelope into his hand. Luke took it, and, with a bow, left the room.
CHAPTER XII
A PLOT THAT FAILED
Другие электронные книги автора Horatio Alger
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Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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