Alonzo, who had his share of curiosity, as soon as he saw Phil's approach, determined to speak to him, and ascertain what were his plans and what he was doing. With the petty malice which he inherited from his mother, he hoped that Phil had been unable to find a place and was in distress.
“It would serve him right,” said Alonzo to himself, “for trying to get into Uncle Oliver's good graces. I s'pose he would like to cut me out, but he'll find that he can't fight against ma and me.”
“Oh, it's you, is it?” was Alonzo's salutation when they met.
“Yes,” answered Phil.
“Pa bounced you, didn't he?” continued Alonzo complacently.
“Yes,” answered Phil. “That is, he discharged me. I suppose that is what you meant.”
“You've got it right the first time,” said Alonzo.
“Have you got another place?”
“Do you ask because you feel interested in me?” asked Phil.
“Well, not particularly,” answered Alonzo appearing quite amused by the suggestion.
“Then you ask out of curiosity?”
“S'pose I do?”
“I don't mind telling you that I have found a place, then.”
“What sort of a place?” asked Alonzo, disappointed.
“There is no need of going into particulars.”
“No. I s'pose not,” sneered Alonzo. “You're probably selling papers or blacking boots.”
“You are mistaken. I have a much better situation than I had with your father.”
Alonzo's lower jaw fell. He was very sorry to hear it.
“Didn't your employer ask for a recommendation?”
“He didn't seem to think one necessary!” replied Phil.
“If he'd known pa had sacked you, he wouldn't have wanted you, I guess.”
“He knows it. Have you got through asking questions, Alonzo?”
“You are too familiar. You can call me Mr. Pitkin.”
Phil laughed at Alonzo's assumption of dignity, but made no comment upon it.
“I want to ask you what you did with that letter Mr. Carter gave you to post for me?” asked Phil.
Alonzo was indeed surprised, not to say dismayed. The truth was that, judging from the “feel” of the letter, it contained money, and he had opened it and appropriated the money to his own use. Moreover he had the bank-note in his pocket at that very moment, not having any wish to spend, but rather to hoard it.
“That's a queer question,” he stammered. “What letter do you refer to?”
“A letter Mr. Carter gave you to mail to me.”
“If he gave me any such letter I mailed it,” answered Alonzo, scarcely knowing what to say.
“I didn't receive it.”
“How do you know he gave me any letter?” demanded Alonzo, puzzled.
“I don't care to tell. I only know that there was such a letter handed to you. Do you know what was in it?”
“Writing, I s'pose,” said Alonzo flippantly.
“Yes, there was, but there was also a ten-dollar bill. I didn't receive the letter,” and Phil fixed his eyes searchingly upon the face of Alonzo.
“That's a pretty story!” said Alonzo. “I don't believe Uncle Oliver would be such a fool as to send you ten dollars. If he did, you got it, and now want to get as much more, pretending you haven't received it.”
“You are mistaken,” said Phil quietly.
“If you didn't get the letter, how do you know any was written, and that there was anything in it?” asked Alonzo triumphantly, feeling that the question was a crusher.
“I don't care to tell you how I know it. Do you deny it?”
“I don't remember whether Uncle Oliver gave me any letter or not.”
“Will you be kind enough to give me his address in Florida, so that I may write to him and find out?”
“No, I won't,” said Alonzo angrily, “and I think you are very cheeky to ask such a thing. Ma was right when she said that you were the most impudent boy she ever came across.”
“That's enough, Alonzo,” said Phil quietly. “I've found out all I wanted to.”
“What have you found out?” asked Alonzo, his tone betraying some apprehension.
“Never mind. I think I know what became of that letter.”
“Do you mean to say I opened it and took out the money?” demanded Alonzo, reddening.
“I wouldn't charge anybody with such a mean act, unless I felt satisfied of it.”
“You'd better not!” said Alonzo, in a bullying tone. “If I find out who you're working for, I'll let him know that pa bounced you.”
“Just as you please! I don't think that any words of yours will injure me with the gentleman I have the good fortune to work for.”
“Don't you be too sure! If you think he wouldn't mind a boy, I'll refer him to pa and ma. They'll give you a good setting out.”
“I don't doubt it,” said Phil indifferently, and turned to go away.
He was called back by Alonzo, who had not quite satisfied his curiosity.
“Say, are you boarding with that woman who came to see ma the same day you were at the house?” he asked.
“No; I have left her.”
Alonzo looked well pleased. He knew that his mother felt rather uneasy at the two being together, dreading lest they should make a concerted attempt to ingratiate themselves with her rich uncle.
“Ma says she behaved very badly,” Alonzo could not help adding.
“Mrs. Forbush is an excellent Lady,” said Phil warmly, for he could not hear one of his friends spoken against.
“Lady! She's as poor as poverty,” sneered Alonzo.
“She is none the worse for that.”
“Uncle Oliver can't bear her!”
“Indeed!” said Phil; pausing to see what else Alonzo would say.
“Ma says she disgraced herself, and all her relations gave her up. When you see her tell her she had better not come sneaking round the house again.”
“If you will write a letter to that effect, I will see that she gets it,” said Phil. “That letter won't miscarry.”
“I don't care to take any notice of her,” said Alonzo loftily.
“You are very kind to have wasted so much notice upon me,” said Phil, amused.
Alonzo did not see fit to answer this, but walked away with his head in the air. He was, however, not quite easy in mind.
“How in the world,” he asked himself, “could that boy have found out that Uncle Oliver gave me a letter to post? If he should learn that I opened it and took the money, there'd be a big fuss. I guess I'd better not meet him again. If I see him any day I'll go in a different direction. He's so artful he may get me into trouble.”
It is needless to say that neither Mr. or Mrs. Pitkin knew of Alonzo's tampering with the letter. Much as they would have been opposed to Phil's receiving such a letter, they would have been too wise to sanction such a bold step.
“Well,” said Mr. Carter, when Phil returned, “did you see Rebecca—Mrs. Forbush?”
“Yes, sir, and handed her the money. She was overjoyed; not so much at receiving so generous a sum as at learning that you were reconciled to her.”
“Poor girl!” said the old man, forgetting that she was now a worn woman. “I am afraid that she must have suffered much.”
“She has met with many hardships, sir, but she won't mind them now.”
“If I live her future shall be brighter than her past. I will call to-morrow. You, Philip, shall go with me.”
“I should like to do so, sir. By the way, I met Alonzo on Broadway.”
He detailed the conversation that had taken place between them.
“I am afraid he took the money,” said Mr. Carter. “I am sorry any relative of mine should have acted in that way. Let him keep it. Any benefit he may derive from it will prove to have been dearly purchased.”
“You may order a carriage, Philip,” said Mr. Carter the next morning. “Pick out a handsome one with seats for four.”
“Yes, sir.”
In five minutes the carriage was at the door.
“Now, Philip, we will go to see my long-neglected niece, Mrs. Forbush. Give the driver the necessary directions.”
“Mrs. Forbush does not have many carriage-callers,” said Philip, smiling.
“Perhaps she will have more hereafter,” said Mr. Carter, “I ought not so long to have lost sight of her. I always liked Rebecca better than Lavinia, yet I let the latter prejudice me against her cousin, who is in disposition, education and sincerity her superior. You see, Philip, there are old fools in the world as well as young ones.”
“It is never too late to mend, Mr. Carter,” said Phil, smiling.
“That's very true, even if it is a young philosopher who says it.”
“I don't claim any originality for it, Mr. Carter.”
“By the way, Philip, I have noticed that you always express yourself very correctly. Your education must be good.”
“Yes, sir, thanks to my father, or the man whom I always regarded as my father. I am a fair Latin scholar, and know something of Greek.”
“Were you preparing for college?” asked Mr. Carter, with interest.
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you like to go?”
“I should have gone had father lived, but my step-mother said it was foolishness and would be money thrown away.”
“Perhaps she preferred to incur that expense for her own son?” suggested the old gentleman.
“Jonas wouldn't consent to that. He detests study, and would decidedly object to going to college.”
“By the way, you haven't heard from them lately?”
“Only that they have left our old home and gone no one knows where.”
“That is strange.”
By this time they had reached the humble dwelling occupied by Mrs. Forbush.
“And so this is where Rebecca lives?” said Mr. Carter.
“Yes, sir. It is not quite so nice as Mrs. Pitkin's.”
“No,” returned Mr. Carter thoughtfully.
Philip rang the bell, and the two were admitted into the humble parlor. They had not long to wait for Mrs. Forbush, who, with an agitation which she could not overcome, entered the presence of her long estranged and wealthy uncle.
“Rebecca!” exclaimed the old gentleman, rising, and showing some emotion as he saw the changes which fifteen years had made in the niece whom he had last met as a girl.
“Uncle Oliver! how kind you are to visit me!” cried Mrs. Forbush, the tears starting from her eyes.
“Kind! Nonsense! I have been very unkind to neglect you so long. But it wasn't all my fault. There were others who did all they could to keep us apart. You have lost your husband?”
“Yes, uncle. He was poor, but he was one of the kindest and best of men, and made me happy.”
“I begin to think I have been an old fool, Rebecca. Philip thinks so, too.”
“Oh, Mr. Carter!” exclaimed our hero.
“Yes, you do, Philip,” asserted Mr. Carter, “and you are quite right. However, as you told me, it is never too late to mend.”
“Mrs. Forbush will think I take strange liberties with you, sir.”
“I don't object to good advice, even from a boy. But who is this?”
Julia had just entered the room. She was a bright, attractive girl, but held back bashfully until her mother said:
“Julia, this is Uncle Oliver Carter. You have heard me speak of him.”
“Yes, mamma.”
“And scold about him, I dare say. Well, Julia, come and give your old uncle a kiss.”
Julia blushed, but obeyed her uncle's request.
“I should know she was your child, Rebecca. She looks as you did at her age. Now tell me, have you any engagement this morning, you two?”
“No, Uncle Oliver.”
“Then I will find one for you. I have a carriage at the door. You will please put on your bonnets. We are going shopping.”
“Shopping?”
“Yes, I am going to fit out both of you in a manner more befitting relatives of mine. The fact is, Niece Rebecca, you are actually shabby.”
“I know it, uncle, but there has been so many ways of spending money that I have had to neglect my dress.
“Very likely. I understand. Things are different now. Now, don't be over an hour getting ready!”
“We are not fashionable, uncle,” said Mrs. Forbush, “and we haven't any change to make.”
They entered the carriage, and drove to a large and fashionable store, where everything necessary to a lady's toilet, including dresses quite complete, could be obtained. Mrs. Forbush was in favor of selecting very plain articles, but her uncle overruled her, and pointed out costumes much more costly.
“But, uncle,” objected Mrs. Forbush, “these things won't at all correspond with our plain home and mode of living. Think of a boarding-house keeper arrayed like a fine lady.”
“You are going to give up taking boarders—that is, you will have none but Philip and myself.”
“Will you really live with us, uncle? But the house is too poor.”
“Of course it is, but you are going to move. I will speak further on this point when you are through your purchases.”
At length the shopping was over, and they re-entered the carriage.
“Drive to No.— Madison Avenue,” said Mr. Carter to the driver.
“Uncle Oliver, you have given the wrong direction.”
“No, Rebecca, I know what I am about.”
“Do you live on Madison Avenue?” asked Mrs. Forbush.
“I am going to and so are you. You must know that I own a furnished house on Madison Avenue. The late occupants sailed for Europe last week, and I was looking out for a tenant when I found you. You will move there to-morrow, and act as house keeper, taking care of Philip and myself. I hope Julia and you will like it as well as your present home.”
“How can I thank you for all your kindness, Uncle Oliver?” said Mrs. Forbush, with joyful tears. “It will be living once more. It will be such a rest from the hard struggle I have had of late years.”
“You can repay me by humoring all my whims,” said Uncle Oliver, smiling. “You will find me very tyrannical. The least infraction of my rules will lead me to send you all packing.”
“Am I to be treated in the same way, Mr. Carter?” asked Philip.
“Exactly.”
“Then, if you discharge me, I will fly for refuge to Mr. Pitkin.”
“That will be 'out of the frying-pan into the fire' with a vengeance.”
By this time they had reached the house. It was an elegant brown-stone front, and proved, on entrance, to be furnished in the most complete and elegant manner. Mr. Carter selected the second floor for his own use; a good-sized room on the third was assigned to Philip, and Mrs. Forbush was told to select such rooms for Julia and herself as she desired.
“This is much finer than Mrs. Pitkin's house,” said Philip.
“Yes, it is.”
“She will be jealous when she hears of it.”
“No doubt. That is precisely what I desire. It will be a fitting punishment for her treatment of her own cousin.”
It was arranged that on the morrow Mrs. Forbush and Julia should close their small house, leaving directions to sell the humble furniture at auction, while Mr. Carter and Philip would come up from the Astor House.
“What will the Pitkins say when they hear of it?” thought Philip. “I am afraid they will feel bad.”
While these important changes were occurring in the lives of Philip Brent and the poor cousin, Mrs. Pitkin remained in blissful ignorance of what was going on. Alonzo had told her of his encounter with Phil on Broadway and the intelligence our hero gave him of his securing a place.
“You may rest assured the boy was lying, Lonny,” said Mrs. Pitkin. “Boys don't get places so easily, especially when they can't give a recommendation from their last employer.
“That's just what I thought, ma,” said Alonzo.
“Still Phil looked in good spirits, and he was as saucy as ever.”
“I can believe the last very well, Lonny. The boy is naturally impertinent. They were probably put on to deceive you.”
“But how does he get money to pay his way?” said Alonzo puzzled.
“As to that, he is probably selling papers or blacking boots in the lower part of the city. He could make enough to live on, and of course he wouldn't let you know what he was doing.”
“I hope you're right, ma. I'd give ever so much to catch him blacking boots in City Hall Park, or anywhere else; I'd give him a job. Wouldn't he feel mortified to be caught?”
“No doubt he would.”
“I've a great mind to go down town to-morrow and look about for him.”
“Very well, Lonny. You may to if you want to.”
Alonzo did go; but he looked in vain for Phil. The latter was employed in doing some writing and attending to some accounts for Mr. Carter, who had by this time found that his protege was thoroughly well qualified for such work.
So nearly a week passed. It so chanced that though Uncle Oliver had now been in New York a considerable time, not one of the Pitkins had met him or had reason to suspect that he was nearer than Florida.
One day, however, among Mrs. Pitkin's callers was Mrs. Vangriff, a fashionable acquaintance.
“Mr. Oliver Carter is your uncle, I believe?” said the visitor.
“Yes.”
“I met him on Broadway the other day. He was looking very well.”
“It must have been a fortnight since, then. Uncle Oliver is in Florida.”
“In Florida!” repeated Mrs. Vangriff, in surprise.
“When did he go?”
“When was it, Lonny?” asked Mrs. Pitkin, appealing to her son.
“It will be two weeks next Thursday.”
“There must be some mistake,” said the visitor.
“I saw Mr. Carter on Broadway, near Twentieth Street, day before yesterday.”
“Quite a mistake, I assure you, Mrs. Vangriff,” said Mrs. Pitkin, smiling. “It was some other person. You were deceived by a fancied resemblance.”
“It is you who are wrong, Mrs. Pitkin,” said Mrs. Vangriff, positively. “I am somewhat acquainted with Mr. Carter, and I stopped to speak with him.”
“Are you sure of this?” asked Mrs. Pitkin, looking startled.
“Certainly, I am sure of it.”
“Did you call him by name?”
“Certainly; and even inquired after you. He answered that he believed you were well. I thought he was living with you?”
“So he was,” answered Mrs. Pitkin coolly as possible, considering the startling nature of the information she had received. “Probably Uncle Oliver returned sooner than he anticipated, and was merely passing through the city. He has important business interests at the West.”
“I don't think he was merely passing through the city, for a friend of mine saw him at the Fifth Avenue Theater last evening.”
Mrs. Pitkin actually turned as pale as her sallow complexion would admit.
“I am rather surprised to hear this, I admit,” she said. “Was he alone, do you know?”
“No; he had a lady and a boy with him.”
“Is it possible that Uncle Oliver has been married to some designing widow?” Mrs. Pitkin asked herself. “It is positively terrible!”
She did not dare to betray her agitation before Mrs. Vangriff, and sat on thorns till that lady saw fit to take leave. Then she turned to Alonzo and said, in a hollow voice:
“Lonny, you heard what that woman said?”
“You bet!”
“Do you think Uncle Oliver has gone and got married again?” she asked, in a hollow voice.
“I shouldn't wonder a mite, ma,” was the not consolitary reply.
“If so, what will become of us? My poor boy, I looked upon you and myself as likely to receive all of Uncle Oliver's handsome property. As it is——” and she almost broke down.
“Perhaps he's only engaged?” suggested Alonzo.
“To be sure!” said his mother, brightening up.
“If so, the affair may yet be broken off. Oh, Lonny, I never thought your uncle was so artful. His trip to Florida was only a trick to put us off the scent.”
“What are you going to do about it, ma?”
“I must find out as soon as possible where Uncle Oliver is staying. Then I will see him, and try to cure him of his infatuation. He is evidently trying to keep us in the dark, or he would have come back to his rooms.”
“How are you going to find out, ma?”
“I don't know. That's what puzzles me.”
“S'pose you hire a detective?”
“I wouldn't dare to. Your uncle would be angry when he found it out.”
“Do you s'pose Phil knows anything about it?” suggested Alonzo.
“I don't know; it is hardly probable. Do you know where he lives?”
“With the woman who called here and said she was your cousin.”
“Yes, I remember, Lonny. I will order the carriage, and we will go there. But you must be very careful not to let them know Uncle Oliver is in New York. I don't wish them to meet him.”
“All right! I ain't a fool. You can trust me, ma.”
Soon the Pitkin carriage was as the door, and Mrs. Pitkin and Alonzo entered it, and were driven to the shabby house so recently occupied by Mrs. Forbush.
“It's a low place!” said Alonzo contemptuously, as he regarded disdainfully the small dwelling.
“Yes; but I suppose it is as good as she can afford to live in. Lonny, will you get out and ring the bell? Ask if Mrs. Forbush lives there.”
Alonzo did as requested.
The door was opened by a small girl, whose shabby dress was in harmony with the place.
“Rebecca's child, I suppose!” said Mrs. Pitkin, who was looking out of the carriage window.
“Does Mrs. Forbush live here?” asked Alonzo.
“No, she doesn't. Mrs. Kavanagh lives here.”
“Didn't Mrs. Forbush used to live here?” further asked Alonzo, at the suggestion of his mother.
“I believe she did. She moved out a week ago.”
“Do you know where she moved to?”
“No, I don't.”
“Does a boy named Philip Brent live here?”
“No, he doesn't.”
“Do you know why Mrs. Forbush moved away?” asked Alonzo again, at the suggestion of his mother.
“Guess she couldn't pay her rent.”
“Very likely,” said Alonzo, who at last had received an answer with which he was pleased.
“Well, ma, there isn't any more to find out here,” he said.
“Tell the driver—home!” said his mother.
When they reached the house in Twelfth Street, there was a surprise in store for them.
“Who do you think's up-stairs, mum?” said Hannah, looking important.
“Who? Tell me quick!”
“It's your Uncle Oliver, mum, just got home from Florida; but I guess he's going somewhere else mum, for he's packing up his things.”
“Alonzo, we will go up and see him,” said Mrs. Pitkin, excited. “I must know what all this means.”
Mr. Carter was taking articles from a bureau and packing them away in an open trunk, when Mrs. Pitkin entered with Alonzo. It is needless to say that his niece regarded his employment with dismay, for it showed clearly that he proposed to leave the shelter of her roof.
“Uncle Oliver!” she exclaimed, sinking into a chair and gazing at the old gentleman spell-bound.
Mr. Carter, whose back had been turned, turned about and faced his niece.
“Oh, it is you, Lavinia!” he said quietly.
“What are you doing?” asked his niece.
“As you see, I am packing my trunk.”
“Do you intend to leave us?” faltered Mrs. Pitkin.
“I think it will be well for me to make a change,” said Mr. Carter.
“This is, indeed, a sad surprise,” said Mrs Pitkin mournfully. “When did you return from Florida?”
“I have never been there. I changed my mind when I reached Charleston.”
“How long have you been in the city?”
“About a week.”
“And never came near us. This is, indeed, unkind. In what way have we offended you?” and Mrs. Pitkin put her handkerchief to her eyes.
There were no tears in them, but she was making an attempt to touch the heart of her uncle.
“Are you aware that Rebecca Forbush is in the city?” asked the old gentleman abruptly.
“Ye-es,” answered Mrs. Pitkin, startled.
“Have you seen her?”
“Ye-es. She came here one day.”
“And how did you treat her?” asked Mr. Carter, severely. “Did you not turn the poor woman from the house, having no regard for her evident poverty? Did you not tell her that I was very angry with her, and would not hear her name mentioned?”
“Ye-es, I may have said so. You know, Uncle Oliver, you have held no communication with her for many years.”
“That is true—more shame to me!”
“And I thought I was carrying out your wishes in discouraging her visits.”
“You also thought that she might be a dangerous rival in my favor, and might deprive you and Alonzo of an expected share in my estate.”
“Oh, Uncle Oliver! how can you think so poorly of me?”
Mr. Carter eyed his niece with a half-smile.
“So I do you injustice, do I, Lavinia?” he returned.
“Yes, great injustice.”
“I am glad to hear it. I feel less objection now to telling you what are my future plans.”
“What are they?” asked Mrs. Pitkin apprehensively.
“I have lived for ten years under your roof, and have had no communication, as you say, with Rebecca. I think it is only fair now that I should show her some attention. I have accordingly installed her as mistress of my house in Madison Avenue, and shall henceforth make my home with her.”
Mrs. Pitkin felt as if the earth was sinking under her feet. The hopes and schemes of so many years had come to naught, and her hated and dreaded cousin was to be constantly in the society of the rich uncle.
“Rebecca has played her cards well,” she said bitterly.
“She has not played them at all. She did not seek me. I sought her.”
“How did you know she was in the city?”
“I learned it from—Philip!”
There was fresh dismay.
“So that boy has wormed his way into your confidence!” said Mrs. Pitkin bitterly. “After acting so badly that Mr. Pitkin was obliged to discharge him, he ran to you to do us a mischief.”
“Why was he discharged?” demanded Mr. Carter sternly. “Why did your husband seize the opportunity to get rid of a boy in whom he knew me to be interested as soon as he thought I was out of the way? Why, moreover, did he refuse the boy a reference, without which Philip could scarcely hope to get employment?”
“You will have to ask Mr. Pitkin. I am sure he had good reason for the course he took. He's an impudent, low upstart in my opinion.”
“So he is, ma!” chimed in Alonzo, with heartiness.
“Ah! I have something to say to you, Alonzo,” said Mr. Carter, turning his keen glances upon the boy. “What became of that letter I gave to you to post just before I went away?”
“I put it in the letter-box,” said Alonzo nervously.
“Do you know what was in it?”
“No,” answered Alonzo, but he looked frightened.
“There were ten dollars in it. That letter never reached Phil, to whom it was addressed.”
“I—don't know anything about it,” faltered Alonzo.
“There are ways of finding out whether letters have been posted,” said Mr. Carter. “I might put a detective on the case.”
Alonzo turned pale, and looked much discomposed.
“Of what are you accusing my boy?” asked Mrs. Pitkin, ready to contend for her favorite. “So that boy has been telling lies about him, has he? and you believe scandalous stories about your own flesh and blood?”
“Not exactly that, Lavinia.”
“Well, your near relation, and that on the testimony of a boy you know nothing about. When Lonny is so devoted to you, too!”
“I never noticed any special devotion,” said Mr. Carter, amused. “You are mistaken, however, about Philip trying to injure him. I simply asked Philip whether he had received such a letter, and he said no.”
“I dare say he did receive it,” said Mrs. Pitkin spitefully.
“We won't argue the matter now,” said the old gentleman. “I will only say that you and Alonzo, and Mr. Pitkin also, have gone the wrong way to work to secure my favor. You have done what you could to injure two persons, one your own cousin, because you were jealous.”
“You judge me very hardly, uncle,” said Mrs. Pitkin, seeing that she must adopt a different course. “I have no bad feeling against Rebecca, and as to the boy, I will ask my husband to take him back into the store. I am sure he will do it, because you wish it.”
“I don't wish it,” answered Mr. Carter, rather unexpectedly.
“Oh, well,” answered Mrs. Pitkin, looking relieved, “that is as you say.”
“I have other views for Philip,” said Mr. Carter. “He is with me as my private secretary.”
“Is he living with you?” asked his niece, in alarm.
“Yes.”
“There was no need of taking a stranger, Uncle Oliver. We should be glad to have Alonzo act as your secretary, though of course we should want him to stay at home.”
“I shall not deprive you of Alonzo,” said Mr. Carter, with a tinge of sarcasm in his tone. “Philip will suit me better.”
Mr. Carter turned and resumed his packing.
“Are you quite determined to leave us?” asked Mrs. Pitkin, in a subdued tone.
“Yes; it will be better.”
“But you will come back—say after a few weeks?”
“No, I think not,” he answered dryly.
“And shall we not see you at all?”
“Oh, I shall call from time to time, and besides, you will know where I am, and can call whenever you desire.”
“People will talk about your leaving us,” complained Mrs. Pitkin.
“Let them talk. I never agreed to have my movements controlled by people's gossip. And now, Lavinia, I shall have to neglect you and resume my packing. To-morrow I shall bring Philip here to help me.”
“Would you like to have Alonzo help you, Uncle Oliver?”
This offer, much to Alonzo's relief, was declined. He feared that he should be examined more closely by the old gentleman about the missing money, which at that very moment he had in his pocket.
Mrs. Pitkin went down stairs feeling angry and baffled. All that she had done to retain her ascendency over Uncle Oliver had failed, and Mrs. Forbush and Philip seemed to have superseded herself and Alonzo in his regard. She conferred with Mr. Pitkin on his return from the store, but the more they considered the matter the worse it looked for their prospects.
Could anything be done?
No more distasteful news could have come to the Pitkins than to learn that Philip and their poor cousin had secured a firm place in the good graces of Uncle Oliver. Yet they did not dare to show their resentment. They had found that Uncle Oliver had a will of his own, and meant to exercise it. Had they been more forbearing he would still be an inmate of their house instead of going over to the camp of their enemies, for so they regarded Mrs. Forbush and Phil.
“I hate that woman, Mr. Pitkin!” said his wife fiercely. “I scorn such underhanded work. How she has sneaked into the good graces of poor, deluded Uncle Oliver!”
“You have played your cards wrong, Lavinia,” said her husband peevishly.
“I? That is a strange accusation, Mr. Pitkin. It was you, to my thinking. You sent off that errand boy, and that is how the whole thing came about. If he had been in your store he wouldn't have met Uncle Oliver down at the pier.”
“You and Alonzo persuaded me to discharge him.”
“Oh, of course it's Alonzo and me! When you see Rebecca Forbush and that errand boy making ducks and drakes out of Uncle Oliver's money you may wish you had acted more wisely.”
“Really, Lavinia, you are a most unreasonable woman. It's no use criminating and recriminating. We must do what we can to mend matters.”
“What can we do?”
“They haven't got the money yet—remember that! We must try to re-establish friendly relations with Mr. Carter.”
“Perhaps you'll tell me how?”
“Certainly! Call as soon as possible at the house on Madison Avenue.”
“Call on that woman?”
“Yes; and try to smooth matters over as well as you can. Take Alonzo with you, and instruct him to be polite to Philip.”
“I don't believe Lonny will be willing to demean himself so far.”
“He'll have to,” answered Mr. Pitkin firmly.
“We've all made a mistake, and the sooner we remedy it the better.”
Mrs. Pitkin thought it over. The advice was unpalatable, but it was evidently sound. Uncle Oliver was rich, and they must not let his money slip through their fingers. So, after duly instructing Alonzo in his part, Mrs. Pitkin, a day or two later, ordered her carriage and drove in state to the house of her once poor relative.
“Is Mrs. Forbush at home?” she asked of the servant.
“I believe so, madam,” answered a dignified man-servant.
“Take this card to her.”
Mrs. Pitkin and Alonzo were ushered into a drawing-room more elegant than their own. She sat on a sofa with Alonzo.
“Who would think that Rebecca Forbush would come to live like this?” she said, half to herself.
“And that boy,” supplemented Alonzo.
“To be sure! Your uncle is fairly infatuated.”
Just then Mrs. Forbush entered, followed by her daughter. She was no longer clad in a shabby dress, but wore an elegant toilet, handsome beyond her own wishes, but insisted upon by Uncle Oliver.
“I am glad to see you, Lavinia,” she said simply. “This is my daughter.”
Julia, too, was stylishly dressed, and Alonzo, in spite of his prejudices, could not help regarding this handsome cousin with favor.
I do not propose to detail the interview. Mrs. Pitkin was on her good behavior, and appeared very gracious.
Mrs. Forbush could not help recalling the difference between her demeanor now and on the recent occasion, when in her shabby dress she called at the house in Twelfth Street, but she was too generous to recall it.
As they were about to leave, Mr. Carter and Philip entered the room, sent for by Mrs. Forbush.
“How do you do, Philip?” said Mrs. Pitkin, graciously. “Alonzo, this is Philip.”
“How do?” growled Alonzo, staring enviously at Phil's handsome new suit, which was considerably handsomer than his own.
“Very well, Alonzo.”
“You must come and see Lonny,” said Mrs. Pitkin pleasantly.
“Thank you!” answered Phil politely.
He did not say it was a pleasure, for he was a boy of truth, and he did not feel that it would be.
Uncle Oliver was partially deceived by his niece's new manner. He was glad that there seemed to be a reconciliation, and he grew more cordial than he had been since his return.
After awhile Mrs. Pitkin rose to go.
When she was fairly in the carriage once more, she said passionately:
“How I hate them!”
“You were awful sweet on them, ma!” said Alonzo, opening his eyes.
“I had to be. But the time will come when I will open the eyes of Uncle Oliver to the designs of that scheming woman and that artful errand boy.”
It was Mrs. Pitkin's true self that spoke.