Nelson The Newsboy

"Where can I find Miss Horton?"

Again Mrs. Kennedy grew suspicious.

"I can tell you that quick enough, ma'am—but I must know if it's all right, first."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"There's a villain of a cousin, Homer Bulson, who's been tryin' to git Miss Gertrude in his clutches. You're not doing this work for him?"

"No, indeed, Mrs. Kennedy. Mr. Horton sent me himself. He wants Miss Gertrude to come straight home. He wants her to forgive him for his harshness."

"To hear that now!" ejaculated Mrs. Kennedy joyfully. "What a change must have come over him!"

"I do not know how he was before, but he is now very anxious for her to return. He thinks he might get better if she were with him."

"What a pity Gertrude can't go to him this minit!" said Mrs. Kennedy.

"Will you tell me where I can find her?"

"She is not in New York, Mrs. Conroy. She went to Lakewood early this morning."

"To stay?"

"Oh, no! She'll be back to-night."

"Will you see her then?"

"To be sure—she lives with me."

"Oh!"

"I'll send her home the minit I see her," went on Mrs. Kennedy.

"Then I'll return and tell him that," said the nurse. "Be sure and insist upon her coming. He is so anxious he is almost crazy over it."

"Sure and he ought to be—drivin' her away in that fashion."

"I guess it was his sickness did it, Mrs. Kennedy. The man is not himself; anybody can see that. The case puzzles the doctors very much."

Mrs. Conroy had some necessary shopping to do, but an hour saw her returning to the mansion on Fifth Avenue.

"Well?" questioned Mark Horton anxiously. "Did you see her?"

"She had gone out of town—to Lakewood. But she will be back to-night."

"And will she come to me?"

"I cannot answer that question, Mr. Horton. I told the woman with whom she lives to send her up here."

"Did you say she must come—that I wanted her to come?" persisted the retired merchant eagerly.

"I did, and the woman was quite sure Miss Gertrude would come."

"When was she to get back from Lakewood?"

"By seven or eight o'clock."

"Then she ought to be here by nine or ten."

All that afternoon Mark Horton showed his impatience. Usually he took a nap, but now he could not sleep. He insisted upon getting up and walking around.

"The very thought that she will be back makes me feel stronger," he declared. "It is more of a tonic than Homer's wine."

"Please do not grow impatient," said Mrs. Conroy. "You know there may be some delay."

Slowly the evening came on and the street lamps were lit. Mr. Horton sat at a front window, looking out. He did not want a light in the room.

"I wish to watch for her," he explained. "You may light up when she comes."

He was now feverish, but would not take the soothing draught the nurse prepared. Hour after hour passed, and presently he saw Homer Bulson enter his quarters, and then go out again.

"I do not know how Homer will take the news," he told himself. "But he will have to make the best of it. Of one thing I am resolved—Gertrude shall do as she pleases if only she remains with me, and she shall have half of my fortune when I die."

At last it was nine o'clock, and then the sick man became more nervous than ever. Every time a woman appeared on the dimly lit street he would watch her eagerly until she went past the mansion.

"She will not come!" he groaned. "She will not come!"

At ten o'clock Mrs. Conroy tried to get him to bed, but he was stubborn and would not go. Another hour went by, and then another. As the clock struck twelve Mark Horton fell forward in his chair.

"She has deserted me!" he groaned. "And I deserve it all!" And he sank in a chair in a dead faint.

With an effort the nurse placed him upon the bed and did what she could for him. But the shock had been great, and in haste she sent for a physician.

"He has had them before," explained the doctor. "I will give him something quieting—I can do no more. Each shock brings him closer to the end. It is the most puzzling case on record."

As he was so feeble Mrs. Conroy thought best to send for his nephew, and Homer Bulson was summoned just as he was waking up.

"All right, I'll be over," he said, with a yawn. He did not feel like hurrying, for he was tired, and had been through such an experience before. It was after eight when he at last showed himself.

"You are worse, Uncle Mark," he said, as he took the sufferer's hand.

"Yes, I am worse," was the low answer. "Much worse."

"It is too bad. Hadn't you better try some of that new wine I brought you?"

"Not now, Homer. I feel as if I never cared to eat or drink again." And Mark Horton gave a groan.

"You must not be so downcast, uncle."