Adrift in New York: Tom and Florence Braving the World by Jr. Horatio Alger (top 100 novels of all time .TXT) 📖

governess, and made application in answer to an advertisement.

Her ladylike manner evidently impressed the lady to whom she applied.

“I suppose you have taught before?” she said.

“Yes, madam.”

“In whose family?”

“I taught the daughter of Mrs. Leighton, of West — Street.”

“I have heard of the lady. Of course you are at liberty to refer to her?”

“Yes, madam,” but there was a hesitation in her tone that excited suspicion.

“Very well; I will call upon her and make inquiries. If you will call to-morrow morning, I can give you a decisive answer.”

Florence fervently hoped that this might prove favorable; but was apprehensive, and with good reason, it appeared.

When she presented herself the next day, Mrs. Cole said:

“I am afraid, Miss Linden, you will not suit me.”

“May I ask why?” Florence inquired, schooling herself to calmness.

“I called on Mrs. Leighton,” was the answer. “She speaks well of you as a teacher, but—she told me some things which make it seem inexpedient to engage you.”

“What did she say of me?”

“That, perhaps, you had better not inquire.”

“I prefer to know the worst.”

“She said you encouraged the attentions of her nephew, forgetting the difference in social position, and also that your connections were not of a sort to recommend you. I admit, Miss Linden, that you are very ladylike in appearance, but, I can hardly be expected to admit into my house, in the important position of governess to my child, the daughter or niece of an apple-woman.”

“Did Mrs. Leighton say that I was related to an apple-woman?”

“Yes, Miss Linden. I own I was surprised.”

“It is not true, Mrs. Cole.”

“You live in the house of such a person, do you not?”

“Yes, she is an humble friend of mine, and has been kind to me.”

“You cannot be very fastidious. However, that is your own affair. I am sorry to disappoint you, Miss Linden, but it will be quite impossible for me to employ you.”

“Then I will bid you good-morning, Mrs. Cole,” said Florence, sore at heart.

“Good-morning. You will, I think, understand my position. If you applied for a position in one of the public schools, I don’t think that your residence would be an objection.”

Florence left the house, sad and despondent. She saw that Mrs. Leighton, by her unfriendly representations, would prevent her from getting any opportunity to teach. She must seek some more humble employment.

“Well, Florence, did you get a place?” asked Mrs. O’Keefe, as she passed that lady’s stand.

“No, Mrs. O’Keefe,” answered Florence, wearily.

“And why not? Did the woman think you didn’t know enough?”

“She objected to me because I was not living in a fashionable quarter—at least that was one of her objections.”

“I’m sure you’ve got a nate, clane home, and it looks as nate as wax all the time.”

“It isn’t exactly stylish,” said Florence, with a faint smile.

“You are, at any rate. What does the woman want, I’d like to know?”

“She doesn’t want me. It seems Mrs. Leighton did not speak very highly of me.”

“The trollop! I’d like to give her a box on the ear, drat her impudence!” said the irate apple-woman. “And what will you be doin’ now?”

“Do you think I can get some sewing to do, Mrs. O’Keefe?”

“Yes, Miss Florence—I’ll get you some vests to make; but it’s hard work and poor pay.”

“I must take what I can get,” sighed Florence. “I cannot choose.”

“If you’d only tend an apple-stand, Miss Florence! There’s Mrs. Brady wants to sell out on account of the rheumatics, and I’ve got a trifle in the savings bank—enough to buy it. You’d make a dollar a day, easy.”

“It isn’t to be thought of, Mrs. O’Keefe. If you will kindly see about getting me some sewing, I will see how I can get along.”

The result was that Mrs. O’Keefe brought Florence in the course of the day half a dozen vests, for which she was to be paid the munificent sum of twenty-five cents each.

Florence had very little idea of what she was undertaking.

She was an expert needlewoman, and proved adequate to the work, but with her utmust industry she could only make one vest in a day, and that would barely pay her rent.

True, she had some money laid aside on which she could draw, but that would soon be expended, and then what was to become of her?

“Shure, I won’t let you starve, Florence,” said the warm-hearted apple-woman.

“But, Mrs. O’Keefe, I can’t consent to live on you.”

“And why not? I’m well and strong, and I’m makin’ more money than I nade.”

“I couldn’t think of it, though I thank you for your kindness.”

“Shure, you might write a letter to your uncle, Florence.”

“He would expect me, in that case, to consent to a marriage with Curtis. You wouldn’t advise me to do that?”

“No; he’s a mane blackguard, and I’d say it to his face.”

Weeks rolled by, and Florence began to show the effects of hard work and confinement.

She grew pale and thin, and her face was habitually sad.

She had husbanded her savings as a governess as closely as she could, but in spite of all her economy it dwindled till she had none left.

Henceforth, she must depend on twenty-five cents a day, and this seemed well-nigh impossible.

In this emergency the pawnbroker occurred to her.

She had a variety of nice dresses, and she had also a handsome ring, given her by her uncle on her last birthday.

This she felt sure must have cost fifty dollars.

It was a trial to part with it, but there seemed to be no alternative.

“If my uncle has withdrawn his affection from me,” she said to herself, “why should I scruple to pawn the ring? It is the symbol of a love that no longer exists.”

So she entered the pawnbrowker’s—the first that attracted her attention—and held out the ring.

“How much will you lend me on this?” she asked, half frightened at finding herself in such a place.

The pawnbroker examined it carefully. His practiced eye at once detected its value, but it was not professional to admit this.

“Rings is a drug in the market, young lady,” he said. “I’ve got more than I know what to do with. I’ll give you four—four dollars.”

“Four dollars!” repeated Florence, in dismay. “Why, it must have cost fifty. It was bought in Tiffany’s.”

“You are mistaken, my dear. Did you buy it yourself there?”

“No, my uncle gave it to me.”

“He may have said he paid fifty dollars for it,” said the pawnbroker, wagging his head, “but we know better.”

“But what will you give?” asked Florence, desperately.

“I’ll give you five dollars, and not a penny more,” said the broker, surveying her distressed face, shrewdly. “You can take it or not.”

What could Florence do?

She must have money, and feared that no other pawnbroker would give her more.

“Make out the ticket, then,” she said, wearily, with a sigh.

This was done, and she left the place, half timid, half ashamed, and wholly discouraged.

But the darkest hour is sometimes nearest the dawn. A great overwhelming surprise awaited her. She had scarcely left the shop when a glad voice cried:

“I have found you at last, Florence!”

She looked up and saw—Dodger.

But not the old Dodger. She saw a nicely dressed young gentleman, larger than the friend she had parted with six months before, with a brighter, more intelligent, and manly look.

“Dodger!” she faltered.

“Yes, it is Dodger.”

“Where did you come from?”

“From San Francisco. But what have you been doing there?”

And Dodger pointed in the direction of the pawnbroker’s shop.

“I pawned my ring.”

“Then I shall get it back at once. How much did you get on it?”

“Five dollars.”

“Give me the ticket, and go in with me.”

The pawnbroker was very reluctant to part with the ring, which he made sure would not be reclaimed; but there was no help for it.

As they emerged into the street, Dodger said: “I’ve come back to restore you to your rights, and give Curtis Waring the most disagreeable surprise he ever had. Come home, and I’ll tell you all about it. I’ve struck luck, Florence, and you’re going to share it.”

Chapter XXXVI. Mrs. O’Keefe In A New Role.

No time was lost in seeing Bolton and arranging a plan of campaign.

Curtis Waring, nearing the accomplishment of his plans, was far from anticipating impending disaster.

His uncle’s health had become so poor, and his strength had been so far undermined, that it was thought desirable to employ a sick nurse. An advertisement was inserted in a morning paper, which luckily attracted the attention of Bolton.

“You must go, Mrs. O’Keefe,” he said to the apple-woman. “It is important that we have some one in the house—some friend of Florence and the boy—to watch what is going on.”

“Bridget O’Keefe is no fool. Leave her to manage.”

The result was that among a large number of applicants Mrs. O’Keefe was selected by Curtis as Mr. Linden’s nurse, as she expressed herself willing to work for four dollars a week, while the lowest outside demand was seven.

We will now enter the house, in which the last scenes of our story are to take place.

Mr. Linden, weak and emaciated, was sitting in an easy-chair in his library.

“How do you feel this morning, uncle?” asked Curtis, entering the room.

“I am very weak, Curtis. I don’t think I shall ever be any better.”

“I have engaged a nurse, uncle, as you desired, and I expect her this morning.”

“That is well, Curtis. I do not wish to confine you to my bedside.”

“The nurse is below,” said Jane, the servant, entering.

“Send her up.”

Mrs. O’Keefe entered in the sober attire of a nurse. She dropped a curtsey.

“Are you the nurse I engaged?” said Curtis.

“Yes, sir.”

“Your name, please.”

“Mrs. Barnes, sir.”

“Have you experience as a nurse?”

“Plenty, sir.”

“Uncle, this is Mrs. Barnes, your new nurse. I hope you will find her satisfactory.”

“She looks like a good woman,” said Mr. Linden, feebly. “I think she will suit me.”

“Indade, sir, I’ll try.”

“Uncle,” said Curtis, “I have to go downtown. I have some business to attend to. I leave you in the care of Mrs. Barnes.”

“Shure, I’ll take care of him, sir.”

“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Linden?” asked the new nurse, in a tone of sympathy.

“Can you minister to a mind diseased?”

“I’ll take the best care of you, Mr. Linden, but it isn’t as if you had a wife or daughter.”

“Ah, that is a sore thought! I have no wife or daughter; but I have a niece.”

“And where is she, sir?”

“I don’t know. I drove her from me by my unkindness. I repent bitterly, but it’s now too late.”

“And why don’t you send for her to come home?”

“I would gladly do so, but I don’t know where she is. Curtis has tried to find her, but in vain. He says she is in Chicago.”

“And what should take her to Chicago?”

“He says she is there as a governess in a family.”

“By the brow of St. Patrick!” thought Mrs. O’Keefe, “if that Curtis isn’t a natural-born liar. I’m sure she’d come back if you’d send for her, sir,” said she, aloud.

“Do you think so?” asked Linden, eagerly.

“I’m sure of it.”

“But I don’t know where to send.”

“I know of a party that would be sure to find her.”

“Who is it?”

“It’s a young man. They call him Dodger. If any one can find Miss Florence, he can.”

“You know my niece’s name?”

“I have heard it somewhere. From Mr. Waring, I think.”

“And you think this young man would agree to go to Chicago and find her?”

“Yes, sir, I make bold to say he will.”

“Tell him to go at once. He will need money. In yonder desk you will find a picture of my niece and a roll of bills. Give them to him and send him at once.”

“Yes, sir, I will. But if you’ll take my advice, you won’t say anything to Mr. Curtis. He might think it foolish.”

“True! If your friend succeeds, we’ll give Curtis a surprise.”

“And a mighty disagreeable one, I’ll be bound,” soliloquized Mrs. O’Keefe.

“I think, Mrs. Barnes, I will retire to my chamber, if you will assist me.”

She assisted Mr. Linden to his room, and then returned to the library.

“Mrs. Barnes, there’s a young man inquiring for you,” said Jane, entering.

“Send him in, Jane.”

The visitor was Dodger, neatly dressed.

“How are things going, Mrs. O’Keefe?” he asked.

“Splendid, Dodger. Here’s some money for you.”

“What for?”

“You’re to go to Chicago and bring back Florence.”

“But she isn’t there.”

“Nivir mind. You’re to pretend to go.”

“But that won’t take money.”

“Give it to Florence, then. It’s hers by rights. Won’t we give Curtis a surprise? Where’s his wife?”

“I have found a comfortable boarding house for her. When had we better carry out this programme? She’s very anxious to see her husband.”

“The more fool she. Kape her at home and out of his sight, or there’s no knowin’ what he’ll do. And, Dodger, dear, kape an eye on the apple-stand. I mistrust Mrs. Burke that’s runnin’ it.”

“I will. Does the old gentleman seem to