The Young Bank Messenger

"He's well on to seventy, I'm thinking. But what can I do for you?"

"You may fill this bottle, Joe; Uncle Peter is so weak he thinks it will put new life in him."

"So it will, Ernest; there's nothing like good whisky to make an old man strong, or a young man, for that matter."

It may be easy to see that Joe did not believe in total abstinence.

"I don't drink, myself!" said Ernest, replying to the last part of Joe's remark.

"There's nothing like whisky," remarked the tramp in a hoarse voice.

"You've drunk your share, I'm thinking," said Luke Robbins, the tall hunter.

"Not yet," returned the tramp. "I haven't had my share yet. There's lots of people that has drunk more'n me."

"Why haven't you drunk your share? You hadn't no objections, I reckon."

"I hadn't the money," said the tramp, sadly. "I've never had much money. I ain't lucky."

"If you had had more money, you'd maybe not be living now. You'd have drunk yourself to death."

"If I ever do commit suicide, that's the way I'd like to die," said the tramp.

Joe filled the bottle from a keg behind the counter and handed it to Ernest. The aroma of the whisky was diffused about the store, and the tramp sniffed it in eagerly. It stimulated his desire to indulge his craving for drink. As Ernest, with the bottle in his hand, prepared to leave, the tramp addressed him.

"Say, young feller, ain't you goin' to shout?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ain't you goin' to treat me and this gentleman?" indicating Luke Robbins.

"No," answered Ernest, shortly. "I don't buy it as drink, but as medicine."

"I need medicine," urged the tramp, with a smile.

"I don't," said the hunter. "Don't you bother about us, my boy. If we want whisky we can buy it ourselves."

"I can't," whined the tramp. "If I had as much money as you,"–for he had noticed that Ernest had changed a gold piece–"I'd be happy, but I'm out of luck."

Ernest paid no attention to his words, but left the store, and struck the path homeward.

"Who's that boy?" asked the tramp.

"It's Ernest Ray."

"Where'd he get that gold?"

"He lives with his uncle, a mile from the village."

"Is his uncle rich?"

"Folks think so. They call him a miser."

"Is he goin' to die?"

"That's what the boy says."

"And the boy'll get all his money?"

"It's likely."

"I'd like to be his guardian."

Joe and Luke Robbins laughed. "You'd make a pretty guardian," said Luke.

"I won't get it," said the tramp, mournfully. "I never had no luck."

CHAPTER II.

A DEATHBED REVELATION

Ernest made the best of his way home, for he knew his uncle would be waiting for him.

The old man's eyes were closed, but he opened them when Ernest entered the room.

"Was I gone long?" asked the boy.

"I don't know. I think I fell asleep."

"Shall I give you some of the drink?"

"Yes."

He drank a small amount, and it seemed to brighten him up so much that Ernest said, "You look better, Uncle Peter. You may live some time."

Peter shook his head.

"No, boy," he replied; "my time has come to die. I know it. I would like to live for your sake. You will miss me when I am gone, Ernest?"

"Yes, uncle, I shall miss you very much."

The old man seemed gratified. Ernest was the only one he cared for in all the world.

"I don't care so much about dying, but I am anxious for you. I wish I had money to leave you, Ernest, but I haven't much."

"I am young and strong. I can get along."

"I hope so. You will go away from here."