”I shouldn't have cared about that,“ said Wilbur, shrugging his shoulders. ”Why, I know all about that myself. What I want to know about is, whether I am to marry the girl I adore.“
”But you see, Wilbur, I don't adore anybody. I am not in love as you are.“
”Of course that makes a difference,“ said Wilbur. ”I'm glad I came, Phil. Ain't you?“
”Yes,“ answered Phil slowly.
”You see, it's such a satisfaction to know that all is coming right at last. I am to marry her, you know, and although it isn't till I am twenty- four----“
”She will be nearly thirty by that time,“ said Phil slyly.
”She won't look it!“ said Mr. Wilbur, wincing a little. ”When I am thirty I shall be worth twenty thousand dollars.“
”You can't save it very soon out of six dollars a week.“
”That is true. I feel sure I shall be raised soon. Did the fortune-teller say anythimg about your getting rich?“
”No. I can't remember that she did. Oh, yes! she said I would make my fortune, but not in the way I expected.“
”That is queer!“ said Mr. Wilbur, interested. ”What could she mean?“
”I suppose she meant that I would not save a competence out of five dollars a week.“
”Maybe so.“
”I have been thinking, Wilbur, you have an advantage over the young lady you are to marry. You know that you are to marry her, but she doesn't know who is to be her husband.“
”That is true,“ said Wilbur seriously. ”If I can find out her name, I will write her an anonymous letter, asking her to call on the veiled Lady.“
CHAPTER XVI.
MRS. BRENT'S STRANGE TEMPTATION.
NOW THAT Phil is fairly established in the city, circumstances require us to go back to the country town which he had once called home.
Mrs. Brent is sitting, engaged with her needle, in the same room where she had made the important revelation to Phil.
Jonas entered the house, stamping the snow from his boots.
”Is supper most ready, mother?“ he asked.
”No, Jonas; it is only four o'clock,“ replied Mrs. Brent.
”I'm as hungry as a bear. I guess it's the skating.“
”I wish you would go to the post-office before supper, Jonas. There might be a letter.“
”Do you expect to hear from Phil?“
”He said nothing about writing,“ said Mrs. Brent indifferently. ”He will do as he pleases about it.“
”I did't know but he would be writing for money,“ chuckled Jonas.
”If he did, I would send him some,“ said Mrs. Brent.
”You would!“ repeated Jonas, looking at his mother in surprise.
”Yes, I would send him a dollar or two, so that people needn't talk. It is always best to avoid gossip.“
”Are you expecting a letter from anybody, mother?“ asked Jonas, after a pause.
”I dreamed last night I should receive an important letter,“ said Mrs. Brent.
”With money in it?“ asked Jonas eagerly.
”I don't know.“
”If any such letter comes, will you give me some of the money?“
”If you bring me a letter containing money,“ said Mrs. Brent, ”I will give you a dollar.“
”Enough said!“ exclaimed Jonas, who was fond of money; ”I'm off to the post-office at once.“
Mrs. Brent let the work fall into her lap and looked intently before her. A flush appeared on her pale face, and she showed signs of restlessness.
”It is strange,“ she said to herself, ”how I have allowed myself to be affected by that dream. I am not superstitious, but I cannot get over the idea that a letter will reach me to-night, and that it will have an important bearing upon my life. I have a feeling, too, that it will relate to the boy Philip.“
She rose from her seat and began to move about the room. It was a, relief to her in the restless state of her mind. She went to the window to look for Jonas, and her excitement rose as she saw him approaching. When he saw his mother looking from the window, he held aloft a letter.
”The letter has come,“ she said, her heart beating faster than its wont. ”It is an important letter. How slow Jonas is.“
And she was inclined to be vexed at the deliberation with which her son was advancing toward the house.
But he came at last.
”Well, mother, I've got a letter--a letter from Philadelphia,“ he said. ”It isn't from Phil, for I know his writing.“
”Give it to me, Jonas,“ said his mother, outwardly calm, but inwardly excited.
”Do you know any one in Philadelphia, mother?“
”No.“
She cut open the envelope and withdrew the inclosed sheet.
”Is there any money in it?“ asked Jonas eagerly.
”No.“
”Just my luck!“ said Jonas sullenly.
”Wait a minute,“ said his mother. ”If the letter is really important, I'll give you twenty-five cents.“
She read the letter, and her manner soon showed that she was deeply interested.
We will look over her shoulders and read it with her: ”CONTINENTAL HOTEL, PHILADELPHIA, Feb. 5. ”DEAR MADAM:--I write to you on a matter of the greatest importance to my happiness, and shall most anxiously await your reply. I would come to you in person, but am laid up with an attack of rheumatism, and my physician forbids me to travel.
”You are, as I have been informed, the widow of Gerald Brent, who thirteen years since kept a small hotel in the small village of Fultonville, in Ohio. At that date I one day registered myself as his guest. I was not alone. My only son, then a boy of three, accompanied me. My wife was dead, and my affections centered upon this child. Yet the next morning I left him under the charge of yourself and your husband, and pursued my journey. From that day to this I have not seen the boy, nor have I written to you or Mr. Brent. This seems strange, does it not? It requires an explanation, and that explanation I am ready to give.
”To be brief, then, I was fleeing from undeserved suspicion. Circumstances which a need not detail had connected my name with the mysterious disappearance of a near friend, and the fact that a trifling dispute between us had taken place in the presence of witnesses had strengthened their suspicions. Knowing myself to be innocent, but unable to prove it, I fled, taking my child with me. When I reached Fultonville, I became alive to the ease with which I might be traced, through the child's companionship. There was no resource but to leave him. Your husband and yourself impressed me as kind and warm-hearted. I was specially impressed by the gentleness with which you treated my little Philip, and I felt that to you I could safely trust him. I did not, however, dare to confide my secret to any one. I simply said I would leave the boy with you till he should recover from his temporary indisposition, and then, with outward calmness but inward anguish, I left my darling, knowing not if I should ever see him again.
”Well, time passed. I went to Nevada, changed my name, invested the slender sum I had with me in mining, and, after varying fortune, made a large fortune at last. But better fortune still awaited me. In a poor mining hut, two months since, I came across a man who confessed that he was guilty of the murder of which I had been suspected. His confession was reduced in writing, sworn to before a magistrate, and now at last I feel myself a free man. No one now could charge me with a crime from which my soul revolted.
”When this matter was concluded, my first thought was of the boy whom I had not seen for thirteen long years. I could claim him now before all the world; I could endow him with the gifts of fortune; I could bring him up in luxury, and I could satisfy a father's affectionate longing. I could not immediately ascertain where you were. I wrote to Fultonville, to the postmaster, and learned that you and Mr. Brent had moved away and settled down in Gresham, in the State of New York. I learned also that my Philip was still living, but other details I did not learn. But I cared not, so long as my boy still lived.
”A
nd now you may guess my wish and my intention. I shall pay you handsomely for your kind care of Philip, but I must have my boy back again. We have been separated too long. I can well understand that you are attached to him, and I will find a home for you and Mr. Brent near my own, where you can see as often as you like the boy whom you have so tenderly reared. Will you do me the favor to come at once, and bring the boy with you? The expenses of your journey shall, of course, be reimbursed, and I will take care that the pecuniary part of my obligations to you shall be amply repaid. I have already explained why I cannot come in person to claim my dear child.
”Telegraph to me when you will reach Philadelphia, and I will engage a room for you. Philip will stay with me. Yours gratefully, ”OSCAR GRANVILLE.“
”Mother, here is a slip of paper that has dropped from the letter,“ said Jonas.
He picked up and handed to his mother a check on a Philadelphia bank for the sum of one hundred dollars.
”Why, that's the same as money, isn't it?“ asked Jonas.
”Yes, Jonas.“
”Then you'll keep your promise, won't you?“
Mrs. Brent silently drew from her pocket-book a two-dollar bill and handed it to Jonas.
”Jonas,“ she said, ”if you won't breathe a word of it, I will tell you a secret.“
”All right, mother.“
”We start for Philadelphia to-morrow.“
”By gosh! that's jolly,“ exclaimed Jonas, overjoyed. ”I'll keep mum. What was in the letter, mother?“
”I will not tell you just now. You shall know very soon.“
Mrs. Brent did not sleep much that night. Her mind was intent upon a daring scheme of imposture. Mr. Granville was immensely wealthy, no doubt. Why should she not pass off Jonas upon him as his son Philip, and thus secure a fortune for her own child?
CHAPTER XVII.
JONAS JOINS THE CONSPIRACY.
LATER in the evening Mrs. Brent took Jonas into her confidence. She was a silent, secretive woman by nature, and could her plan have been carried out without imparting it to any one, she would gladly have had it so. But Jonas must be her active accomplice, and it was as well to let him know at once what he must do.
In the evening, when Jonas, tired with his day's skating, was lying on the lounge, Mrs. Brent rose deliberately from her seat, peeped into the adjoining room, then went to each window to make sure there was no eavesdropper, then resumed her seat and said:
”Jonas, get up. I want to speak to you.“
”I am awfully tired, mother. I can hear you while I lie here.“
”Jonas, do you hear me? I am about to speak to you of something no other person must hear. Get a chair and draw it close to mine.“
Jonas rose, his curiosity stimulated by his mother's words and manner.
”Is it about the letter, mother?“ he asked.
”Yes, it relates to the letter and our journey to- morrow.“
Jonas had wondered what the letter was about and who had sent his mother the hundred-dollar check, and he made no further objection. He drew a chair in front of his mother and said:
”Go ahead, mother, I'm listening.“
”Would you like to be rich, Jonas?“ asked Mrs. Brent.
”Wouldn't I?“
”Would you like to be adopted by a very rich man, have a pony to ride, plenty of pocket-money, fine clothes and in the end a large fortune?“
”That would just suit me, mother,“ answered the boy eagerly. ”Is there any chance of it?“
”Yes, if you follow my directions implicitly.“
”I will, mother,“ said Jonas, his eyes shining with desire. ”Only tell me what to do and I'll do it.“
”Do you remember what I told Philip the evening before he went away?“
”About his being left at Mr. Brent's hotel? Yes, I remember it.“
”And about his true father having disappeared?“
”Yes, yes.“
”Jonas, the letter I received this afternoon was from Philip's real father.“
”By gosh!“ ejaculated Jonas, altering his usual expression of surprise.
”He is in Philadelphia. He is a very rich man.“
”Then Phil will be rich,“ said Jonas, disappointed.
”I thought you said it would be me.“
”Philip's father has never seen him since he was three years old,“ continued Mrs. Brent, taking no notice of her son's tone.
”What difference does that make, mother?“
”Jonas,“ said Mrs. Brent, bending toward her son, ”if I choose to tell him that you are Philip, he won't know the difference. Do you understand?“
Jonas did understand.
”That's a bully idea, mother! Can we pull the wool over the old man's eyes, do you think?“
”I wish you would not use such expressions, Jonas. They are not gentlemanly, and you are to be a young gentleman.“
”All right, mother.“
”We can manage it if you are very careful. It is worth the trouble, Jonas. I think Mr. Granville-- that is his name--must be worth a quarter of a million dollars, and if he takes you for Philip the whole will probably go to you.“
”What a head you've got, mother!“ exclaimed Jonas admiringly. ”It is a tip-top chance.“
”Yes, it is one chance in ten thousand. But you must do just as I tell you.“
”Oh, I'll do that, mother. What must I do?“
”To begin with, you must take Philip's name. You must remember that you are no longer Jonas Webb, but Philip Brent.“
”That'll be a bully joke!“ said Jonas, very much amused. ”What would Phil say if he knew I had taken his name?“
”He must not know. Henceforth we must endeavor to keep out of his way. Again, you must consider me your step-mother, not your own mother.“
”Yes, I understand. What are you going to do first, mother?“
”We start for Philadelphia to-morrow. Your father is lying sick at the Continental Hotel.“
Jonas roared with delight at the manner in which his mother spoke of the sick stranger.
”Oh, it'll be fun, mother! Shall we live in Philadelphia?“
”I don't know. That will be as Mr. Granville thinks best.“
”Where are you going, mother? Are you going to live here?“
”Of course I shall be with you. I will make that a condition. I cannot be parted from my only boy.“
”But I shall be Mr. Granville's boy.“
”To the public you will be. But when we are together in private, we shall be once more mother and son.“
”I am afraid you will spoil all,“ said Jonas. ”Old Granville will suspect something if you seem to care too much for me.“
The selfish nature of Jonas was cropping out, and his mother felt, with a pang, that he would be reconciled to part with her forever for the sake of the brilliant prospects and the large fortune which Mr. Granville could offer him.
She was outwardly cold, but such affection as she was capable of she expended on this graceless and ungrateful boy.
”You seem to forget that I may have some feeling in the matter,“ said Mrs. Brent coldly, but with inward pain. ”If the result of this plan were to be that we should be permanently separated, I would never consent to it.“
”Just as you like, mother,“ said Jonas, with an ill grace. ”I don't look much like Phil.“
”No, there will be a difficulty. Still Mr. Granville has never seen Philip since he was three years old, and that is in our favor. He thinks I am Mr. Brent's first wife.“
”Shall you tell him?“
”I don't know. I will be guided by circumstances. Perhaps it may be best. I wouldn't like to have it discovered that I had deceived him in that.“
”How are you going to manage about this place, mother?“
”I am going to write to your Uncle Jonas to take charge of it. I will let him have it at a nominal rent. Then, if our plan miscarries we shall have a place to come back to.“
”Were yo
u ever in Philadelphia, mother?“
”No; but there will be no trouble in journeying there. I shall pack your clothes and my own to- night. Of course, Jonas, when you meet Mr. Granville you must seem to be fond of him. Then you must tell him how kind I have been to you. In fact, you must act precisely as Philip might be expected to do.“
”Yes, mother; and you must be careful not to call me Jonas. That will spoil all, you know.“
”Rest assured that I shall be on my guard. If you are as careful as I am, Philip----“
Jonas burst into a guffaw at the new name.
”It's just like play-acting, mother,“ he said.
”But it will pay better,“ said Mrs. Brent quietly. ”I think it will be best for me to begin calling you Philip at once--that is, as soon as we have left town--so that we may both get accustomed to it.“
”All right, mother. You've got a good headpiece.“
”I will manage things properly. If you consent to be guided by me, all will be right.“
”Oh, I'll do it mother. I wish we were on our way.“
”You can go to bed if you like. I must stay up late to-night. I have to pack our trunks.“
The next day the pair of adventurers left Gresham. From the earliest available point Mrs. Brent telegraphed to Mr. Granville that she was on her way, with the son from whom he had so long been separated.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE CONSPIRACY SUCCEEDS.
IN A HANDSOME private parlor at the Continental Hotel a man of about forty-five years of age sat in an easy-chair. He was of middle height, rather dark complexion, and a pleasant expression. His right foot was bandaged, and rested on a chair. The morning Daily Ledger was in his hand, but he was not reading. His mind, judging from his absorbed look, was occupied with other thoughts.
”I can hardly realize,“ he said half-aloud, ”that my boy will so soon be restored to my arms. We have been separated by a cruel fate, but we shall soon be together again. I remember how the dear child looked when I left him at Fultonville in the care of the kind inn-keeper. I am sorry he is dead, but his widow shall be suitably repaid for her kind devotion.“
He had reached this point when a knock was heard at the door.
The Errand Boy; or, How Phil Brent Won Success Page 7
