The Young Bank Messenger

"If you expect alms, you have come to the wrong man. I don't believe in encouraging beggars."

"I know very well that you are not charitable. You see, I used to be acquainted with you."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Benjamin Bolton."

Stephen Ray looked startled.

"Benjamin Bolton!" he repeated, half incredulous. "I can't believe it."

CHAPTER XXV.

A STARTLING DISCLOSURE

"Look at me closely, Stephen Ray," said the strange visitor. "I think you will see some traces of the Bolton you used to know."

Stephen Ray, somewhat discomposed, did examine his visitor closely. Against his will he was obliged to acknowledge the resemblance of the man before him to one who in past times had had an intimate acquaintance with his affairs.

"You may be Benjamin Bolton," he said after a pause, "but if so, you have fallen off greatly in your appearance. When I first knew you, you were well dressed and–"

"Respectable, I suppose you mean to say?"

"Well, respectable, if you will have it so. Now you look more like a tramp than a lawyer."

"True as gospel, every word of it. But it isn't too late to mend. That's an old proverb and a true one. It is quite in the line of possibility that I should get back to the position from which I fell."

"Perhaps so, but I'm not sanguine of it."

"With your powerful help nothing is impossible–not even that."

"You must not count upon that," said Stephen Ray, stiffly. "It is a good while since we parted company. I don't myself care to renew the acquaintance."

"But I do," rejoined Bolton with emphasis. "I told you that I had business with you."

"I have very little time at my disposal," said Ray, pulling out an elegant gold watch–a Jurgensen–and consulting it.

"I think it may be well for you to spare me a little time," went on Bolton, quietly.

There was something in his tone that sounded like a threat, and Stephen Ray could not wholly conceal his uneasiness.

"Well," he said, "I will give you ten minutes. Get through your business, whatever it is, as soon as possible."

"Hadn't you better send your son away?" suggested Bolton, significantly.

"Why should I?"

But on second thoughts Mr. Ray concluded to act on the hint, and turning to Clarence he said, "Clarence, you might take another spin on your wheel."

This did not suit Clarence at all. His curiosity had been excited by his father's change of front towards the objectionable stranger, and he counted on finding out the reason for it.

"Why can't I stay?" he grumbled. "I am tired of riding."

"Then go up stairs. This man and I have a little private business together."

He spoke firmly, and Clarence knew by his tone that further remonstrance would be un availing, so with a dissatisfied look he left the room.

"Now, sir," said Stephen Ray, sharply, when his son had taken his departure, "I gave you ten minutes. You will need to be expeditious."

"It will take more than ten minutes–what I have to say," returned Bolton, coolly. "I am rather tired of standing, so you will excuse me if I sit down."

As he spoke he dropped into a comfortable chair three feet from his host.

"Confound his impudence!" thought Ray, much annoyed.

"I think we had better go indoors," he said.

He did not care to be seen in an apparently friendly conversation with a man like Bolton.

"Very well. I think myself it may be better."

He followed Ray into a room which the latter used as a library and office, and took care to select a comfortable seat.

"Really, Stephen Ray," he remarked, glancing around him at the well-filled bookcases, the handsome pictures, and the luxurious furniture, "you are very nicely fixed here."

"I suppose you didn't come to tell me that," responded Stephen Ray with a sneer.

"Well, not altogether, but it is as well to refer to it. I have known you a good many years. I remember when you first came here to visit your uncle in the character of a poor relation. I don't believe you had a hundred dollars to your name."

Such references grated upon the purse-proud aristocrat, who tried to persuade himself that he had always been as prosperous as at present.

"There is no occasion for your reminiscences," he said stiffly.

"No, I suppose you don't care to think of those days now. Your cousin, Dudley, a fine young man, was a year or two older. Who would have thought that the time would come when you–the poor cousin–would be reigning in his place?"

"If that is all you have to say, our interview may as well close."

"It isn't all I have to say. I must indulge in a few more reminiscences, though you dislike them. A few years passed. Dudley married against his father's wishes; that is, his father did not approve of his selection, and he fell out of favor. As he lost favor you gained it."

"That is true enough, but it is an old story. Why recall it?"

"Does it seem just that an own son should be disinherited and a stranger–"

"A near relative," corrected Stephen Ray.

"Well, a near relative, but less near than an only son. Does it seem right that Dudley should have been disinherited and you put in his place?"

"Certainly. My cousin disobeyed his father, while I was always dutiful and obedient."