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

all, it isn’t necessary to make a beast of yourself. I always drink like a gentleman, sir.”

“So you do, colonel.”

At that moment a poor woman, in a faded calico dress with a thin shawl over her shoulders, descended the steps that led into the saloon, and walked up to the bar.

“Has my husband been here to-night?” she asked.

Tim Bolton frowned.

“Who’s your husband?” he asked, roughly.

“Wilson.”

“No, Bill Wilson hasn’t been here to-night. Even if he had you have no business to come after him. I don’t want any sniveling women here.”

“I couldn’t help it, Mr. Bolton,” said the woman, putting her apron to her eyes. “If Bill comes in, won’t you tell him to come home? The baby’s dead, and we haven’t a cent in the house!”

Even Tim was moved by this.

“I’ll tell him,” he said. “Take a drink yourself; you don’t look strong. It shan’t cost you a cent.”

“No,” said the woman, “not a drop! It has ruined my happiness, and broken up our home! Not a drop!”

“Here, my good lady,” said the colonel, with chivalrous deference, “you have no money. Take this,” and he handed the astonished woman a five-dollar bill.

“Heaven bless you, sir!” she exclaimed, fervently.

“Allow me to see you to the street,” and the gallant Southern gentleman escorted her up to the sidewalk.

“I’d like to horsewhip that woman’s husband. Don’t you sell him another drop!” he said, when he returned.

Chapter XIV. The Missing Will.

An hour after the depart of the colonel there was an unexpected arrival.

A well-dressed gentleman descended the stairs gingerly, looked about him with fastidious disdain, and walked up to the bar.

Tim Bolton was filling an order, and did not immediately observe him.

When at length he turned around he exclaimed, in some surprise:

“Mr. Waring!”

“Yes, Bolton, I have found my way here.”

“I have been expecting you.”

“I came to you for some information.”

“Well, ask your questions: I don’t know whether I can answer them.”

“First, where is my Cousin Florence?”

“How should I know? She wasn’t likely to place herself under my protection.”

“She’s with that boy of yours—Dodger, I believe you call him. Where is he?”

“Run away,” answered Bolton, briefly.

“Do you mean that you don’t know where he is?”

“Yes, I do mean that. I haven’t set my eyes on him since that night.”

“What do you mean by such negligence? Do you remember who he is?”

“Certainly I do.”

“Then why do you let him get of your reach?”

“How could I help it? Here I am tied down to this bar day and night! I’m nearly dead for want of sleep.”

“It would be better to close up your place for a week and look after him.”

“Couldn’t do it. I should lose all my trade. People would say I was closed up.”

“And have you done nothing toward his recovery?”

“Yes, I have sent out two men in search of him.”

“Have you any idea where he is, or what he is doing?”

“Yes, he has been seen in front of the Astor House, selling papers. I have authorized my agent, if he sees him again, to follow him home, and find out where he lives.”

“That is good! Astor House? I may see him myself.”

“But why do you want to see him? Do you want to restore him to his rights?”

“Hush!” said Curtis, glancing around him apprehensively. “What we say may be overheard and excite suspicion. One thing may be secured by finding him—the knowledge of Florence’s whereabouts.”

“What makes you think she and the boy are together?”

“He came for her trunk. I was away from home, or I would not have let it go——”

“It is strange that they two are together, considering their relationship.”

“That is what I am afraid they will find out. She may tell him of the mysterious disappearance of her cousin, and he——”

“That reminds me,” interrupted Bolton. “He told Hooker—Hooker was the man that saw him in front of the Astor House—that he didn’t believe I was his father. He said he thought I must have stolen him when he was a young kid.”

“Did he say that?” asked Curtis, in evident alarm.

“Yes, so Hooker says.”

“If he has that idea in his head, he may put two and two together, and guess that he is the long-lost cousin of Florence. Tim, the boy must be got rid of.”

“If you mean what I think you do, Mr. Waring, I’m not with you. I won’t consent to harm the boy.”

“You said that before. I don’t mean anything that will shock your tender heart, Bolton,” said Curtis, with a sneer. “I mean carried to a distance—Europe or Australia, for instance. All I want is to keep him out of New York till my uncle is dead. After that I don’t care what becomes of him.”

“That’s better. I’ve no objection to that. How is the old gentleman?”

“He grieved so much at first over the girl’s loss, that I feared he would insist on her being recalled at once. I soothed him by telling him that he had only to remain firm, and she would come around, and yield to his wishes.”

“Do you think she will?” asked Tim, doubtfully.

“I intend she shall!” said Curtis, significantly. “Bolton, I love the girl all the more for her obstinate refusal to wed me. I have made up my mind to marry her with her consent, or without it.”

“I thought it was only the estate you were after?”

“I want the estate and her with it. Mark my words, Bolton, I will have both!”

“You will have the estate, no doubt; Mr. Linden has made his will in your favor, has he not?” and Bolton looked intently in the face of his visitor.

“Hark you, Bolton, there is a mystery I cannot fathom. My uncle made two wills. In the earlier, he left the estate to Florence and myself, if we married; otherwise, to me alone.”

“That is satisfactory.”

“Yes, but there was another, in which the estate goes to the son, if living. That will has disappeared.”

“Is it possible?” asked Bolton, in astonishment. “When was it missed?”

“On the night of the burglary.”

“Then you think——”

“That the boy, Dodger, has it. Good Heavens! if he only knew that by this will the estate goes to him!” and Waring wiped the perspiration from his brow.

“You are sure he did not give you the will?” he demanded, eying Bolton sharply.

“I have not seen him since the night of the robbery.”

“If he has read the will, it may lead to dangerous suspicions.”

“He would give it to your cousin, Florence, would he not?”

“Perhaps so. Bolton, you must get the boy back, and take the will from him, if you can.”

“I will do my best; but you must remember that Dodger is no longer a small kid. He is a boy of eighteen, strong and well grown. He wouldn’t be easy to manage. Besides, as long as he doesn’t know that he has any interest in the will, his holding it won’t do any harm. Is the old gentleman likely to live long?”

“I don’t know. I sometimes hope—— Pshaw! why should I play the hypocrite when speaking to you? Surely it is no sin to wish him better off, since he can’t enjoy life!”

“He might if Florence and his son were restored to him.”

“What do you mean, Bolton?” asked Curtis, suspiciously.

“What could I mean? It merely occurred to me,” said Bolton, innocently. “You say he is quiet, thinkin’ the girl will come around?”

“Yes.”

“Suppose time passes, and she doesn’t? Won’t he try to find her? As she is in the city, that won’t be hard.”

“I shall represent that she has left the city.”

“For any particular point?”

“No, that is not necessary.”

“And then?”

“If he worries himself into the grave, so much the better for me.”

“There is no halfway about you, Mr. Curtis Waring.”

“Why should there be? Listen, Bolton; I have set my all on this cast. I am now thirty-six, and still I am dependent upon my uncle’s bounty. I am in debt, and some of my creditors are disposed to trouble me. My uncle is worth—I don’t know how much, but I think half a million. What does he get out of it? Food and clothes, but not happiness. If it were mine, all the avenues of enjoyment would be open to me. That estate I must have.”

“Suppose you get it, what is there for me?” asked Bolton.

“I will see that you are recompensed if you help me to it.”

“Will you put that in writing?”

“Do you take me for a fool? To put it in writing would be to place me in your power! You can trust me.”

“Well, perhaps so,” said Tim Bolton, slowly.

“At any rate you will have to. Well, good-night. I will see you again. In the meantime try to find the boy.”

Tim Bolton followed him with his eyes, as he left the saloon.

“What would he say,” said Bolton to himself, “if he knew that the will he so much wishes to find is in my hands, and that I hold him in my power already?”

Chapter XV. The New Governess.

“Wish me luck, Dodger!”

“So I do, Florence. Are you goin’ to begin teachin’ this mornin’?”

“Yes; and I hope to produce a favorable impression. It is very important to me to please Mrs. Leighton and my future pupil.”

“I’m sure you’ll suit. How nice you look!”

Florence smiled, and looked pleased. She had taken pains with her dress and personal appearance, and, being luckily well provided with handsome dresses, had no difficulty in making herself presentable. As she stepped out of the shabby doorway upon the sidewalk no one supposed her to be a tenant, but she was generally thought to be a visitor, perhaps the agent of some charitable association.

“Perhaps all will not judge me as favorably as you do, Dodger,” said Florence, with a laugh.

“If you have the headache any day, Florence, I’ll take your place.”

“You would look rather young for a tutor, Dodger, and I am afraid you would not be dignified. Good-morning! I shall be back to dinner.”

“I am glad to find you punctual, Miss Linden,” said Mrs. Leighton, as Florence was ushered into her presence. “This is your pupil, my daughter, Carrie.”

Florence smiled and extended her hand.

“I hope we will like each other,” she said.

The little girl eyed her with approval. This beautiful young lady was a pleasant surprise to her, for, never having had a governess, she expected to meet a stiff, elderly lady, of stern aspect. She readily gave her hand to Florence, and looked relieved.

“Carrie,” said Mrs. Leighton, “you may show Miss Linden the way to the schoolroom.”

“All right, mamma,” and the little girl led the way upstairs to a back room on the third floor.

“So this is to be our schoolroom, is it, Carrie?” said Florence. “It is a very pleasant room.”

“Yes; but I should have preferred the front chamber. Mamma thought that I might be looking into the street too much. Here there is only a back yard, and nothing to look at.”

“Your mamma seems very judicious,” said Florence, smiling. “Are you fond of study?”

“Well, I ain’t exactly fond, but I will do my best.”

“That is all that can be expected.”

“Do you know, Miss Linden, you don’t look at all like I expected.”

“Am I to be glad or sorry for that?”

“I thought you would be an old maid, stiff and starched, like May Robinson’s governess.”

“I am not married, Carrie, so perhaps you may regard me as an old maid.”

“You’ll never be an old maid,” said Carrie, confidently. “You are too young and pretty.”

“Thank you, Carrie,” said Florence, with a little blush. “You say that, I hope, because you are going to like me.”

“I like you already,” said the little girl, impulsively. “I’ve got a cousin that will like you, too.”

“A young girl?”

“No; of course not. He is a young man. His name is Percy de Brabazon. It is a funny name, isn’t it? You see, his father was a Frenchman.”

Florence was glad that she already knew from Percy’s own mouth of the relationship, as it saved her from showing a degree of surprise that might have betrayed her acquaintance with the young man.

“What makes you think your cousin would like me, Carrie?”

“Because he always likes pretty girls. He is a masher.”

“That’s slang, Carrie. I am sure your mamma wouldn’t approve your using such a word.”

“Don’t tell her. It just slipped out. But about Percy—he wants very much to be married.”

Florence was not surprised to hear this, for she had the best reason for knowing it to be true.

“Is he a handsome young man?” she asked, demurely.

“He’s funny looking. He’s awful good-natured, but he isn’t the sort of young man I would like,” concluded Carrie, with amusing positiveness.

“I hope you don’t let your mind run on such things. You are quite too young.”

“Oh, I don’t think much about it. But Percy is a dude. He spends a sight for clothes. He always looks as if he had just come out