Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Cash Boy by Jr. Horatio Alger (ebooks children's books free TXT) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «The Cash Boy by Jr. Horatio Alger (ebooks children's books free TXT) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“So it appears.”
“You are entirely mistaken, Mr. Wade. I am not a thief. I never stole anything in my life.”
“It is very easy to say that,” sneered John Wade. “You and Mrs. Bradley were the only persons present when I showed the articles, and I suppose you won’t pretend that she stole them?”
“No, sir; though she appears to agree with you that I am a thief. I never thought of accusing her,” replied Frank.
“Mr. Wade,” said the housekeeper, “I feel that it is my duty to insist upon search being made in my room.”
“Do you make the same offer?” asked John Wade, turning to Frank.
“Yes, sir,” answered our hero, proudly. “I wish you to satisfy yourself that I am not a thief. If you will come to my room at once, Mr. Wade, you and Mrs. Bradley, I will hand you the key of my trunk.”
The two followed him upstairs, exulting wickedly in his discomfiture, which they had reason to forsee.
He handed his key to his artful enemy, and the latter bending over, opened the trunk, which contained all our hero’s small possessions.
He raised the pile of clothes, and, to Frank’s dismay, disclosed the missing pocketbook and sleeve-buttons in the bottom of the trunk.
“What have you got to say for yourself now, you young villain?” demanded John Wade, in a loud voice.
“I don’t understand it,” Frank said, in a troubled tone. “I don’t know how the things came there. I didn’t put them there.”
“Probably they crept in themselves,” sneered John.
“Someone put them there,” said Frank, pale, but resolute; “some wicked person, who wanted to get me into trouble.”
“What do you mean by that, you young vagabond?” demanded John Wade, suspiciously.
“I mean what I say,” he asserted. “I am away all day, and nothing is easier than to open my trunk and put articles in, in order to throw suspicion on me.”
“Look here, you rascal!” said John Wade, roughly. “I shall treat you better than you deserve. I won’t give you over to the police out of regard for my uncle, but you must leave this house and never set foot in it again. It will be the worse for you if you do.”
John Wade and the housekeeper left the room, and our hero was left to realize the misfortune which had overwhelmed him.
Frank arose at an early hour the next morning and left the house. It was necessary for him to find a new home at once in order to be at the store in time. He bought a copy of the Sun and turned to the advertising columns. He saw a cheap room advertised near the one he had formerly occupied. Finding his way there he rang the bell.
The door was opened by a slatternly-looking woman, who looked as if she had just got up.
“I see by the Sun you have a room to let,” said Frank.
“Yes; do you want to see it now?”
“I should like to.”
“Come upstairs and I will show you the room.”
The room proved to be small, and by no means neat in appearance, but the rent was only a dollar and a quarter a week, and Frank felt that he could not afford to be particular, so he quickly closed the bargain.
The next day, about eleven o’clock in the forenoon, he was surprised at seeing Mrs. Bradley enter the store and thread her way to that part of the counter where her nephew was stationed. She darted one quick look at him, but gave him no sign of recognition. His heart sank within him, for he had a presentiment that her visit boded fresh evil for him.
CHAPTER XV FROM BAD TO WORSE
Frank’s misgivings were not without good cause. The housekeeper’s call at the store was connected with him. How, will be understood from a conversation which took place that morning between her and John Wade.
“It’s a relief to get that boy out of the house, Mrs. Bradley,” he said at the breakfast table.
“That it is, Mr. John,” she replied. “But he’ll be trying to get back, take my word for it.”
“He won’t dare to,” said John Wade, incredulously. “I told him if he came near the house I would give him up to the police.”
“I am afraid he will write to your uncle. He’s bold enough for anything.”
“I didn’t think of that,” said John, thoughtfully.
“Do you know his handwriting, Mrs. Bradley?”
“I think I should know it.”
“Then if any letters come which you know to be from him, keep them back from my uncle.”
“What shall I do with them?”
“Give them to me. I don’t want my uncle worried by his appeals.”
“Your uncle seems to be very attached to him. He may go to the store to see him.”
“That is true. I should not like that. How shall we prevent it, that’s the question.”
“If Gilbert & Mack knew that he was not honest they would discharge him.”
“Exactly,” said John Wade; “and as probably he would be unable to get another situation, he would be compelled to leave the city, and we should get rid of him. I commend your shrewdness, Mrs. Bradley. Your plan is most excellent.”
John Wade had more reasons than the housekeeper knew of for desiring the removal of our young hero from the city—reasons which the reader has probably guessed. There was a dark secret in his life connected with a wrong done in years past, from which he hoped some day to reap personal benefit. Unconsciously Frank Fowler stood in his way, and must be removed. Such was his determination.
“I am going out this morning,” said the housekeeper. “I will make it in my way to call at Gilbert & Mack’s. My nephew is a salesman there, as I have told you. I will drop a word in his ear, and that will be enough to settle that boy’s hash.”
“Your language is professional, Mrs. Bradley,” said John Wade, laughing, “but you shouldn’t allude to hash in an aristocratic household. I shall be glad to have you carry out your plan.”
“I hope you’ll speak to your uncle about my nephew, Mr. John.
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