Nelson The Newsboy

Our hero hung his head and flushed up.

"I don't know, sir."

"This Pepperill Sampson is a villain. Why, he robbed me of my son years ago, to get square with me because I had discharged him for stealing."

"Robbed you of your son?" repeated Nelson. "Do you mean to say he killed your boy?"

"I don't know what he did. At first he was going to let me have my little David back for five thousand dollars, but then he got scared, and disappeared, and that was the last I heard of him or of my child."

"Then David may be alive!" cried Gertrude. "Nelson–" She stopped short. Each person in the room gazed questioningly at the others. Our hero's breath came thick and fast. Then the door bell below rang violently, and Nelson and Gertrude heard Mrs. Kennedy admitted.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

FATHER AND SON—CONCLUSION

"It's Nelson an' Miss Gertrude I want to see," those in the sick chamber heard Mrs. Kennedy exclaim. "An' I want to see 'em at once. I have great news for 'em."

"I'll go," said Nelson, and slipped downstairs, followed by Gertrude. They found Mrs. Kennedy in a state of high excitement. Her faded bonnet was on one ear, and she walked the floor rapidly.

"Oh, my! Upon me soul, I can't belave it!" she burst out. "It's like a dream, Nelson, so it is."

"What is like a dream, Mrs. Kennedy?"

"The story I have to tell, Nelson. Poor, poor man! but it was all for the best—wid that crime on his mind."

"What are you talking about?" put in Gertrude.

"I'm talkin' av poor Sam Pepper, Miss Gertrude. He's dead."

"Dead!" burst out Gertrude and Nelson simultaneously.

Mrs. Kennedy nodded her head half a dozen times.

"Yes, dead; cut to pieces on the elevated railroad, at the station close to me little stand. He died wid me a-holdin' av his hand."

"It's too bad," murmured Nelson. "Poor fellow! he had some ways about him that I liked."

"But it's not that I came about," went on Mrs. Kennedy. "Whin they brought the poor man to the sidewalk to wait for an ambulance, I stayed by him, and he says to me, says he, 'Mrs. Kennedy, I have something on me mind,' says he. 'I want to tell it to you,' says he. So says I, 'What is it?' Says he, 'It's about Nelson. He's a good boy,' says he. 'And I aint done right by him. Tell him I stole him from his father, and that his father is Mr. Mark Horton, Miss Gertrude's uncle.'"

"Mark Horton my father!" gasped Nelson, and the room seemed to go round and round in a bewildering whirl. "He my father! Can it be true?"

"It must be true!" cried Gertrude.

"And he says, too, 'Beware of Homer Bulson. He is a thief—he robbed his uncle's safe. I caught him at it. He has his uncle's will, too,' says poor Pepper. 'He wants to git hold of all the money,' says he."

"Yes, I know Homer Bulson is a rascal," said Nelson. "But this other news–" He sank in a chair.

"Then you are David Horton, Nelson!" cried Gertrude. "I am indeed very glad of it. I know of no one I would like more for a cousin."

"David Horton!" came a hollow voice from the doorway, and Mr. Horton staggered in. "Can this be possible? It must be! See, I recognize his face now. Yes, yes; you are my son David! Come to me!" And he held out his arms.

Nelson came forward slowly, then of a sudden he reached forth, and grasped Mark Horton's hands tightly.

"I—I suppose it's true," he faltered. "But it will take me a long time to—to get used to it."

"My little David had just such eyes and hair as you have," went on Mark Horton, as he still held Nelson closely to him. "And your face reminds me greatly of your mother. There can be no mistake. You are my own little David."

"Well, I'm glad that I'm not Nelson, the nobody, any longer," stammered our young hero. He could scarcely talk intelligibly, he felt so queer.

"My own cousin David!" said Gertrude, and she, too, embraced him.

"Well, I always thought we'd be something to each other, Gertrude," said he. "But, come to think of it, if I am David Horton, then Homer Bulson is a cousin, too."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Do not fear! He shall not come between you," said Mark Horton. "My eyes are being opened to his schemes."

"Sure an' he's a snake in the grass," burst out Mrs. Kennedy.

She had scarcely spoken when there was another arrival at the mansion, and Homer Bulson came in.

On seeing the assembled company, he was nearly struck dumb. He looked from one to another in open-mouthed and speechless amazement.

"Why—er—how did you get here?" he questioned at last, addressing Gertrude.

"That is my affair, Mr. Bulson," she answered coldly.

"And you?" he added, turning sharply to our hero. "You have no business in a gentleman's house."

"Homer!" exclaimed Mark Horton, and shook his fist at his nephew.

"Hush, uncle! We will deal with him," remonstrated Gertrude. "Pray, do not excite yourself."

"I have business here," said our hero dryly, realizing that he had a great advantage over Bulson. "You hardly expected to see Gertrude come back from Lakewood so soon, did you?"

"I—er—I know nothing of Lakewood," stammered Bulson.

"That proves you have a wonderfully short memory, Homer Bulson."

"I won't listen to you. You get right out of this house."

"I won't get out."

"Then I'll call an officer, and have you put out."

"If you call an officer, you'll be the one to go with him," returned our hero calmly. "Homer Bulson, your game is played to the end, and you have lost."

"Boy, you talk in riddles."