The Cash Boy

“I am sorry to hear it,” said Mr. Wharton.

“Why, sir,” said Thomas, gaining confidence, “all they pay me is twelve dollars a week. How can they expect a fellow to live on that?”

“I began my career about your age,” said Mr. Wharton, “or perhaps a little younger, and had to live on but six dollars a week.”

“Didn’t you come near starving?” he asked.

“On the contrary, I saved a little every week.”

“I can’t,” said Thomas, a little discomfited. “Why, it takes half that to dress decently.”

Mr. Wharton glanced quietly at the rather loud and flashy dress worn by his visitor, but only said:

“A small salary, of course, makes economy necessary.”

“But when a fellow knows he earns a good deal more than he gets, he doesn’t feel like starving himself just that his employers may grow rich.”

“Of course, if he can better himself they cannot object.”

“That’s just what I want to do,” said Thomas; “but I expect I need influence to help me to something better. That’s a good hint,” thought he.

“I was telling Thomas,” said the housekeeper, “that you had kindly expressed a desire to be of service to him.”

“I am not now in active business,” said Mr. Wharton, “and of course have not the opportunities I formerly had for helping young men, but I will bear your case in mind, Mr. Bradley.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Thomas. “I am sure I earn a thousand dollars a year.”

“I think, Thomas,” said Mrs. Bradley, “we won’t intrude on Mr. Wharton longer this evening. When he finds something for you he will tell me.”

“All right, aunt. Good-night, Mr. Wharton. Good-night, Cash,” said Thomas, chuckling anew at the old joke.

“Well, aunt,” said he, when they were once more in the housekeeper’s room, “do you think the old gentleman will do anything for me?”

“I hope so; but I am not sure, Thomas, whether you were not too familiar. You spoke of money too quick.”

“It’s my way to come to business.”

“I wish you were his reader, instead of that boy.”

“Well, I don’t. I wouldn’t want to be mewed up in that room with the old man every night. I should get tired to death of it.”

“You would have a chance to get him interested in you. That boy is artful; he is doing all he can to win Mr. Wharton’s favor. He is the one you have most reason to dread.”

“Do you think he will do me any harm?”

“I think he will injure your chances.”

“Egad! if I thought that, I’d wring the young rascal’s neck.”

“There’s a better way, Thomas.”

“What’s that?”

“Can’t you get him dismissed from Gilbert & Mack’s?”

“I haven’t enough influence with the firm.”

“Suppose they thought him dishonest?”

“They’d give him the sack, of course.”

“Can’t you make them think so, Thomas?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then make it your business to find out.”

“I suppose you know what good it’s going to do, aunt, but I don’t. He’s got his place here with the old man.”

“If Mr. Wharton hears that he is discharged, and has lost his situation, he will probably discharge him, too.”

“Perhaps so; I suppose you know best.”

“Do as I tell you, and I will manage the rest.”

“All right. I need your help enough. To-night, for instance, I’m regularly cleaned out. Haven’t got but twenty-five cents to my name.”

“It seems to me, Thomas,” said his aunt, with a troubled look, “you are always out of money. I’ll give you five dollars, Thomas, but you must remember that I am not made of money. My wages are small.”

“You ought to have a good nest-egg laid aside, aunt.”

“I’ve got something, Thomas, and when I die, it’ll be yours.”

“I hope I shan’t have to wait too long,” thought Thomas, “but he did not give utterance to the thought.”

“Come again, Thomas, and don’t forget what I have said,” said Mrs. Bradley.

CHAPTER XI

JOHN WADE

A tall man, with a sallow complexion, and heavily-bearded face, stood on the deck of a Cunard steamer, only a few miles distant from New York harbor.

“It’s three years since I have seen America,” he said to himself, thoughtfully. “I suppose I ought to feel a patriotic fervor about setting foot once more on my native shore, but I don’t believe in nonsense. I would be content to live in Europe all my life, if my uncle’s fortune were once in my possession. I am his sole heir, but he persists in holding on to his money bags, and limits me to a paltry three thousand a year. I must see if I can’t induce him to give me a good, round sum on account—fifty thousand, at least—and then I can wait a little more patiently till he drops off.”

“When shall we reach port, captain?” he asked, as he passed that officer.

“In four hours, I think, Mr. Wade.”