Luke Walton

The last words were addressed to Luke.

"Yes, Luke; you can go," said the old lady, in a very different tone.

Luke bowed and left the house.

"Louisa," said Mrs. Merton, "in five minutes you may bring your brother up to my room."

"Thank you, aunt."

When they entered the apartment they found the old lady seated in a rocking-chair awaiting them.

"So you have reformed, have you?" she asked, abruptly.

"I hope so, Aunt Eliza."

"I hope so, too. It is full time. Where have you been?"

"To Australia, California, and elsewhere."

"A rolling stone gathers no moss."

"In this case it applies," said Warner. "I have earned more or less money, but I have none now."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty."

"A young man ought not to be penniless at that age. If you had remained in your place at Mr. Afton's, and behaved yourself, you would be able to tell a different story."

"I know it, aunt."

"Don't be too hard upon him, Aunt Eliza," put in Mrs. Tracy. "He is trying to do well now."

"I am very glad to hear it."

"Would you mind my inviting him to stay here for a time? The house is large, you know."

Mrs. Merton paused. She didn't like the arrangement, but she was a just and merciful woman, and it was possible that Warner had reformed, though she was not fully satisfied on that point.

"For a time," she answered, "till he can find employment."

"Thank you, Aunt Eliza," said the young man, relieved, for he had been uncertain how his aunt would treat him. "I hope to show that your kindness is appreciated."

"I am rather tired now," responded Mrs. Merton, as an indication that the interview was over.

"We'd better go and let aunt rest," said Warner, with alacrity. He did not feel altogether comfortable in the society of the old lady.

When they were alone Mrs. Tracy turned to her brother with a smile of satisfaction.

"You have reason to congratulate yourself on your reception," she said.

"I don't know about that. The old woman wasn't very complimentary."

"Be careful how you speak of her. She might hear you, or the servants might, and report."

"Well, she is an old woman, isn't she?"

"It is much better to refer to her as the old lady – better still to speak of her as Aunt Eliza."

"I hope she will make up her mind to do something for me."

"She has; she gives you a home in this house."

"I would a good deal rather have her pay my board outside, where I would feel more independent."

"I have been thinking, Warner, you might become her secretary and man of business. In that case she would dispense with this boy, whose presence bodes danger to us all."

"I wouldn't mind being her man of business, to take charge of her money, but as to trotting round town with her like a tame poodle, please excuse me."

"Warner," said his sister, rather sharply, "just remember, if you please, that beggars can't be choosers."

"Perhaps not, but this plan of yours would be foolish. She wouldn't like it, nor would I. Why don't you put Harold up to offering his services? He's as large as this boy, isn't he?"

"He is about the same size."

"Then it would be a capital plan. You would get rid of the boy that way."

"You forget that Harold has not finished his education. He is now attending a commercial school. I should like to have him go to college, but he doesn't seem to care about it."

"So, after all, the boy seems to be a necessity."

"I would prefer a different boy – less artful and designing."

"How much does the old woman – beg pardon, the old lady – pay him?"

"I don't know. Harold asked Luke, but he wouldn't tell. I have no doubt he manages to secure twice as much as his services are worth. He's got on Aunt Eliza's blind side."

"Just what I would like to do, but I have never been able to discover that she had any."

"Did you take notice of the boy?"

"Yes; he's rather a good-looking youngster, it seems to me."

"How can you say so?" demanded Mrs. Tracy, sharply. "There's a very common look about him, I think. He isn't nearly as good-looking as Harold."

"Harold used to look like you," said Warner, with a smile. "Natural you should think him good-looking. But don't it show a little self-conceit, Louisa?"

"That's a poor joke," answered his sister, coldly. "What are you going to do?"