The Cash Boy

“Mr. Wharton is not in the city. He has gone to Washington. But that isn’t what I came about this morning. You remember that boy who has been reading to Mr. Wharton?”

“One of our cash-boys. Yes; there he is, just gone by.”

“Well, he has stolen Mr. John’s pocketbook and some jewelry belonging to him.”

“What have you done about it? What does Mr. Wharton say?”

“He’s away from home. He doesn’t know yet. Mr. John gave him a lecture, and ordered him to leave the house.”

“Does he admit that he took the things?”

“No; he denied it as bold as brass, but it didn’t do him any good. There were the things in his trunk. He couldn’t get over that.”

Thomas fastened a shrewd glance on his aunt’s face, for he suspected the truth.

“So you’ve got rid of him?” he said. “What do you propose to do next?”

“Mr. John thinks your employer ought to know that he is a thief.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“I want you to do it.”

“You must tell them yourself, aunt. I shan’t.”

“Then introduce me to Mr. Gilbert, Thomas, and I’ll do it.”

“Follow me, aunt.”

He led his aunt to the rear of the store, where Mr. Gilbert was standing.

“Mr. Gilbert,” he said, “allow me to introduce my aunt, Mrs. Bradley.”

The housekeeper was courteously received, and invited to be seated. She soon opened her business, and blackened poor Frank’s character as she had intended.

“Really, Mrs. Bradley, I am sorry to hear this,” said Mr. Gilbert. “You think there is no doubt of the boy’s guilt?”

“I am sorry to say that I have no doubt at all,” said the housekeeper, hypocritically.

“Mr. Mack and myself have had a very good opinion of him. He is faithful and prompt.”

“Of course, sir, you will retain him in your employ if you are willing to take the risk, but I thought it my duty to put you on your guard.”

“I am obliged to you, Mrs. Bradley; though, as I said, I regret to find that my confidence in the boy has been misplaced.”

Late in the afternoon, Frank was called to the cashier’s desk.

“I am directed by Mr. Gilbert to say that your services will not be required after to-day,” he said. “Here are the week’s wages.”

“Why am I discharged? What have I done?” demanded Frank, while his heart sank within him.

“I don’t know. You must ask Mr. Gilbert,” answered the cashier.

“I will speak to him, at any rate,” and Frank walked up to the senior partner, and addressed to him the same question.

“Can you not guess?” asked Mr. Gilbert, sternly.

“I can guess that a false accusation has been brought against me,” said Frank.

“A respectable lady has informed me that you are not honest. I regret it, for I have been pleased with your diligence. Of course, I cannot retain you in my employ.”

“Mr. Gilbert,” said Frank, earnestly, “the charge is false. Mrs. Bradley is my enemy, and wishes me harm. I don’t understand how the things came into my trunk, but I didn’t put them there.”

“I hope you are innocent, but I must discharge you. Business is dull now, and I had decided to part with four of my cash-boys. I won’t pass judgment upon you, but you must go.”

Frank bowed in silence, for he saw that further entreaty would be vain, and left the store more dispirited than at any moment since he had been in the city.

Ten days Frank spent in fruitless efforts to obtain a place.

All this time his money steadily diminished. He perceived that he would soon be penniless. Evidently, something must be done. He formed two determinations. The first was to write to Mr. Wharton, who, he thought, must now have returned from Washington, asserting his innocence and appealing to him to see Gilbert & Mack, and re-establish him in their confidence. The second was, since he could not obtain a regular place, to frequent the wharves and seek chances to carry bundles. In this way he might earn enough, with great economy, to pay for his board and lodging.

One morning the housekeeper entered the library where John Wade sat reading the daily papers.

“Mr. John,” she said, holding out a letter, “here is a letter from that boy. I expected he would write to your uncle.”

John Wade deliberately opened the letter.

“Sit down, Mrs. Bradley, and I will read the letter aloud.”

It will be only necessary to quote the concluding sentences:

“‘I hope, Mr. Wharton, you will not be influenced against me by what Mrs. Bradley and your nephew say. I don’t know why it is, but they are my enemies, though I have always treated them with respect. I am afraid they have a desire to injure me in your estimation. If they had not been, they would have been content with driving me from your house, without also slandering me to my employers, and inducing them to discharge me. Since I was discharged, I have tried very hard to get another place, but as I cannot bring a recommendation from Gilbert & Mack, I have everywhere been refused. I ask you, Mr. Wharton to consider my situation. Already my small supply of money is nearly gone, and I do not know how I am to pay my expenses. If it was any fault of mine that had brought me into this situation, I would not complain, but it seems hard to suffer when I am innocent.

“‘I do not ask to return to your house, Mr. Wharton, for it would not be pleasant, since your nephew and Mrs. Bradley dislike me, but I have a right to ask that the truth may be told to my employers, so that if they do not wish me to return to their service, they may, at least, be willing to give me a recommendation that will give me a place elsewhere.”’

“I must prevent the boy communicating with my uncle, if it is a possible thing. ‘Strike while the iron is hot,’ I say.”

“I think that is very judicious, Mr. John. I have no doubt you will know how to manage matters.”

John Wade dressed himself for a walk, and drawing out a cigar, descended the steps of his uncle’s house into the street.

He reached Fifth Avenue, and walked slowly downtown. He was about opposite Twenty-eighth Street, when he came face to face with the subject of his thoughts.

“Where are you going?” John Wade demanded sternly.

“I don’t know that I am bound to answer your question,” answered Frank, quietly, “but I have no objection. I am going to Thirty-ninth Street with this bundle.”

“Hark you, boy! I have something to say to you,” continued John Wade, harshly. “You have had the impudence to write to my uncle.”