Five Hundred Dollars; or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret

"Don't you think I could get a job at that, mother?"

"No, you could not do the work satisfactorily. Besides there are hands enough for all that is required. Well, we must hope for the best."

"I think I can manage to earn something, mother," said Bert, hopefully. "I'll try hard, anyway."

"We won't worry till the time comes, Bert."

An hour later there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Barton answered it in person.

"Why, Uncle Jacob, is it really you?" she exclaimed, joyfully.

"I'm delighted to see you, Mary," said the old man, his face lighting up. "I've been waiting twenty-five years for this meeting."

"Come right in, Uncle Jacob. I can hardly believe it is really you. Now tell me why you have not written these many years."

"I've no good excuse, Mary, but perhaps I shall think of one bimeby. Now tell me how you are getting along?"

"I am not rich, as you can see, Uncle Jacob; but as long as Bert and I have our health, and work to do, I shall be contented."

"Do you know, Mary," said Jacob Marlowe, looking about the plain little sitting-room, "I like your house better than Albert's?"

"I don't think you will find many to agree with you."

"Perhaps not, but this seems like home, and that doesn't."

"Albert's house is finely furnished."

"True, and he lives in fine style; but I don't think I should ever be contented to live with him."

"Has he invited you?"

"Yes," answered Jacob; "but," he added, with a smile, "I don't think the invitation will hold good after to-morrow."

"Why not?"

"The fact is, Albert and the whole family think I am rich."

"I shouldn't think they would judge that from your appearance."

"Oh, they think I am eccentric and plain in my tastes, and that I've got my pile safe somewhere."

"I wish you had, Uncle Jacob."

"Happiness doesn't depend on money, Mary, as you realize in your own case. I am an old man, to be sure, but I am well and strong, and able to work for a living."

"But at your age, Uncle Jacob, it would be comfortable to feel that you could rest."

"Come, Mary, don't make me out a patriarch. I'm only sixty-five, and I can tackle a pretty good day's work yet."

"You might be sick, Uncle Jacob."

"Don't let us imagine unpleasant things, Mary. I don't mean to be sick."

"And at any rate you can come and stay with us. You will always find a home here, though an humble one."

"Do you really mean that, Mary?" said Uncle Jacob, earnestly. "Would you really be willing to take in the old man, and provide for his comforts?"

"Of course I would, Uncle Jacob," answered Mrs. Barton, heartily. "I hope you didn't think so poorly of me as to doubt it."

"No, I was sure you hadn't changed so much since you were a girl. Well, Mary, I may some time remind you of your promise."

"You won't need to remind me, Uncle Jacob. I was afraid Albert would take you wholly away from us."

"So he might if I were as rich as he thinks I am; but now let us talk about other things. Remember, I haven't heard any family news for many years, and I have a great many questions to ask."

The rest of the evening was spent in such conversation as Uncle Jacob suggested, and when he had occasion to look at his watch, he started in surprise.

"Bless my soul!" he exclaimed. "It is nearly ten o'clock. I ought to be getting back to Albert's."

"Then Bert shall accompany you as far as the house. It will be lonely to go alone."

Uncle Jacob reached Squire Marlowe's house as the church clock struck ten, and he bade Bert good-night.

Shortly after his return, Uncle Jacob was shown to his room, and being fatigued he soon fell asleep, not waking till seven in the morning.

After breakfast, Squire Marlowe said graciously: "Have you any plans, Uncle Jacob, in which I can assist you? If you would like to consult me about any investments, I can perhaps be of service to you."

"Now for it!" thought the old man.

"I was thinkin', Albert," he said, "of askin' your advice. I'm gettin' on in years, and can't work as well as I could once. Do you think it would pay me to open here in Lakeville a cigar and candy store, and–"

"What!" exclaimed Squire Marlowe, with an expression of horror and disgust on his face.

"You see I've got about five hundred dollars, which I think would be enough to stock it comfortably and–"

"But I thought you were a rich man," gasped Squire Marlowe. "Didn't you tell me you had a hundred thousand dollars in a Sacramento bank?"

"Yes, many years ago; but I bought mining stocks, and after a while they went down to nothing, and–"

"Then you are a pauper!" said the squire, harshly.

"No. I have five hundred dollars, and I hope with that to get started, so as to earn an honest living."

Words cannot describe the scorn and disgust that appeared on the faces of Percy and his mother at the old man's confession of poverty.

"Albert," said the wife, "may I speak with you outside a moment?"

"Certainly, my dear."