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Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library 
 Gift of Seymour B. Durst Old York Library 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/adriftinnewyorkoOOalge_0 
 
"Who are you?" asked Florence in alarm, "and what are 
 you doing there? " Page 28. Adrift in New York 
 
Adrift in New York 
 
 OR 
 
 Tom and Florence Braving the 
 World 
 
 By HORATIO ALGER, Jr. 
 
 Author of "Mark Mason's Victory," "Ben Bruce,'* 
 '* Bernard Brook's Adventures/' "A Debt of Honor," 
 etc., etc. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ J^ jfi 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 
 NEW YORK 
 
■A3 
 
 JO)t>^ov 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE MISSING HEIR. 
 
 "Uncle, you are not looking well to-night/' 
 
 'Tm not well, Florence. I sometimes doubt if I 
 shall ever be any better." 
 
 "Surely, uncle, you cannot mean " 
 
 "Yes, my child, I have reason to believe that I 
 am nearing the end." 
 
 "I cannot bear to hear you speak so, uncle," said 
 Florence Linden, in irrepressible agitation. "You 
 are not an old man. You are but fifty-four." 
 
 "True, Florence, but it is not years only that make 
 a man old. Two great sorrows have embittered my 
 life. First, the death of my dearly beloved wife, and 
 next, the loss of my boy, Harvey." 
 
 "It is long since I have heard you refer to my 
 cousin's loss. I thought you had become reconciled 
 
a ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 — no, I do not mean that, — I thought your regret 
 might be less poignant." 
 
 *1 have not permitted myself to speak of it, but I 
 have never ceased to think of it day and night." 
 John Linden paused sadly, then resumed: 
 **If he had died, I might, as you say, have become 
 reconciled; but he was abducted at the age of four 
 by a revengeful servant whom I had discharged 
 from my employment. Heaven knows whether he is 
 living or dead, but it is impressed upon my mind that 
 he still lives, it may be in misery, it may be as a crim- 
 inal, while I, his unhappy father, live on in luxury 
 which I cannot enjoy, with no one to care for 
 
 Florence Linden sank impulsively on her knees be- 
 side her uncle's chair. 
 
 "Don't say that, uncle," she pleaded. "You know 
 that I love you. Uncle John." 
 
 "And I, too, uncle." 
 
 There was a shade of jeaiousy in the voice of Cur- 
 tis Waring as he entered the library through the 
 open door, and approaching his uncle, pressed his 
 hand. 
 
 He was a tall, dark-complexioned man, of perhaps 
 thirty-five, with shifty, black eyes and thin lips, 
 shaded by a dark mustache. It was not a face to 
 trust. 
 
 Even when he smiled the expression of his face did 
 not soften. Yet he could moderate his voice so as to 
 express tenderness and sympathy. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 3 
 
 He was the son of an elder sister of Mr. Linden, 
 while Florence was the daughter of a younger 
 brother. 
 
 Both were orphans, and both formed a part of Mr. 
 Linden's household, and owed everything to his 
 bounty. 
 
 Curtis was supposed to be in some business down- 
 town; but he received a liberal allowance from his 
 uncle, and often drew upon him for outside assist- 
 ance. 
 
 As he stood with his uncle's hand in his, he was 
 necessarily Ifrought near Florence, who instinctively 
 drew a little away, with a slight shudder indicating 
 repugnance. 
 
 Slight as it w^as, Curtis detected it, and his face 
 darkened. 
 
 John Linden looked from one to the other. 
 
 "Yes,'' he said, "I must not forget that I have a 
 nephew and a niece. You are both dear to me, but 
 no one can take the place of the boy I have lost." 
 
 "But it is so long ago, uncle," said Curtis. "It 
 must be fourteen years." 
 
 "It is fourteen years." 
 
 "And the boy is long since dead!" 
 
 "No, no !" said John Linden, vehemently. "I do 
 not, I will not, believe it. He still lives, and I live 
 only in the hope of one day clasping him in my 
 arms." 
 
 "That is very improbable, uncle," said Curtis, in a 
 tone of annoyance. "There isn't one chance in a 
 
4 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 hundred that my cousin still lives. The grave has 
 closed over him long since. The sooner you make 
 up your mind to accept the inevitable the better." 
 
 The drawn features of the old man showed that 
 the words had a depressing effect upon his mind, but 
 Florence interrupted her cousin with an indignant 
 protest. 
 
 "How can you speak so, Curtis?" she exclaimed. 
 "Leave Uncle John the hope that he has so long 
 cherished. I have a presentiment that Harvey still 
 lives." 
 
 John Linden's face brightened up ' 
 
 "You, too, believe it possible, Florence?" he said, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Yes, uncle. I not only believe it possible, but 
 probable. How old would Harvey be if he still 
 lived?" 
 
 "Eighteen — nearly a year older than yourself." 
 
 "How strange! I always think of him as a little 
 boy." 
 
 "And I, too, Florence. He rises before me in his 
 little velvet suit, as he was when I last saw him, with 
 his sweet, boyish face, in which his mother's looks 
 were reflected." 
 
 "Yet, if still living," interrupted Curtis, harshly, 
 "he is a rough street boy, perchance serving his time 
 at Blackwell's Island, and, a hardened young ruffian, 
 whom it would be bitter mortification to recognize 
 as your son." 
 
 "That's the sorrowful part of it," said his uncle, 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. s 
 
 in a voice of anguish. ''That is what I most dread." 
 
 "Then, since even if he were living you would 
 not care to recognize him, why not cease to think 
 of him, or else regard him as dead?" 
 
 ''Curtis Waring, have you no heart?" dernanded 
 Florence, indignantly. 
 
 "Indeed, Florence, you ought to know," said Cur- 
 tis, sinking his voice into softly modulated accents. 
 
 "I know nothing of it," said Florence, coldly, 
 rising from her recumbent position, and drawing 
 aloof from Curtis. 
 
 "You know that the dearest wish of my heart is 
 to find favor in your eyes. Uncle, you know my 
 wish, and approve of it, do you not?" 
 
 "Yes, Curtis; you and Florence are equally dear 
 to me, and it is my hope that you may be united. In 
 that case, there will be no division of my fortune. It 
 will be left to you jointly." 
 
 "Believe me, sir," said Curtis, with faltering voice, 
 feigning an emotion which he did not feel, "believe 
 me, that I fully appreciate your goodness. I am sure 
 Florence joins with me " 
 
 "Florence can speak for herself," said his cousin, 
 coldly. "My uncle needs no assurance from me. 
 He is always kind, and I am always grateful." 
 
 John Linden seemed absorbed in thought. 
 
 "I do not doubt your affection," he said; "and I 
 have shown it by making you my joint heirs in the 
 event of your marriage; but it is only fair to say 
 that my property goes to my boy, if he still lives." 
 
5 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "But, sir," protested Curtis, ''is not that likely to 
 create unnecessary trouble? It can never be known, 
 and meanwhile " 
 
 ''You and Florence will hold the property in 
 trust." 
 
 "Have you so specified in your will?" asked Cur- 
 tis. 
 
 "I have made two wills. Both are in yonder sec- 
 retary. By the first the property is bequeathed to 
 you and Florence. By the second and later, it goes 
 to my lost boy in the event of his recovery. Of 
 course, you and Florence are not forgotten, but the 
 bulk of the property goes to Harvey." 
 
 "I sincerely wish the boy might be restored to 
 you," said Curtis ; but his tone belied his words. "Be- 
 lieve me, the loss of the property would affect me 
 little, if you could be made happy by realizing your 
 warmest desire; but, uncle, I think it only the part 
 c^ a friend to point out to you, as I have already 
 done, the baselessness of any such expectation." 
 
 "It may be as you say, Curtis," said his uncle, 
 with a sigh. "If I were thoroughly convinced of it, 
 I would destroy the later will, and leave my prop- 
 erty absolutely to you and Florence." 
 
 "No, uncle," said Florence, impulsively, "make 
 no change; let the will stand." 
 
 Curtis, screened from his uncle's view, darted 
 a glance of bitter indignation at Florence. 
 
 "Is the girl mad ?" he muttered to himself. "Must 
 she forever balk me?" 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 7 
 
 ''Let it be so for the present, then," said Mr. Lin- 
 den, wearily. 'Curtis, will you ring the bell? I 
 am tired, and shall retire to my couch early." 
 
 "Let me help you. Uncle John," said Florence, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "It is too much for your strength, my child. I am 
 growing more and more helpless." 
 
 "I, too, can help," said Curtis. 
 
 John Linden, supported on either side by his 
 nephew and niece, left the room, and was assiscv. : 
 to his chamber. 
 
 Curtis and Florence returned to the library. 
 
 "Florence," said her cousin, "my uncle's inten- 
 tions, as expressed to-night, make it desirable that 
 there should be an understanding between us. Take 
 a seat beside me" — leading her to a sofa — "and let 
 us talk this matter over." 
 
 With a gesture of repulsion Florence declined the 
 profTered seat, and remained standing. 
 
 "As you please," she answered, coldly. 
 
 "Will you be seated?" 
 
 "No; our interview will be brief." 
 
 "Then I will come to the point. Uncle John wishes 
 to see us united." 
 
 "It can never be !" said Florence, decidedly. 
 
 Curtis bit his lip in mortification, for her tone was 
 cold and scornful. 
 
 Mingled with this mortification was genuine re- 
 gret, for, so far as he was capable of loving any one, 
 he loved his fair young cousin. 
 
8 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "You profess to love Uncle John, and yet you 
 would disappoint his cherished hope !" he returned. 
 
 "Is it his cherished hope?" 
 
 "There is no doubt about it. He has spoken to me 
 more than once on the subject. Feeling that his 
 end is near, he wishes to leave you in charge of a 
 protector." 
 
 "I can protect myself," said Florence, proudly. 
 
 "You think so. You do not consider the hapless 
 lot of a penniless girl in a cold and selfish world." 
 
 "Penniless?" repeated Florence, in an accent of 
 surprise. 
 
 "Yes, penniless. Our uncle's bequest to you is 
 conditional upon your acceptance of my hand." 
 
 "Has he said this?" asked Florence, sinking into 
 an armchair, with a helpless look. 
 
 "He has told me so more than once," returned 
 Curtis, smoothly. "You don't know how near to 
 his heart this marriage is. I know what you would 
 say: If the property comes to me I could come to 
 your assistance, but I am expressly prohibited from 
 doing so. I have pleaded with my uncle in your 
 behalf, but in vain." 
 
 Florence was too clear-sighted not to penetrate 
 his falsehood. 
 
 "If my uncle's heart is hardened against me," she 
 said, "I shall be too wise to turn to you. I am to 
 understand, then, that my choice lies between pov- 
 erty and a union with you?" 
 
 "You have stated it correctly, Florence." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 9 
 
 "Then," said Florence, arising, "I will not hesi- 
 tate. I shrink from poverty, for I have been reared 
 in luxury, but I will sooner live in a hovel " 
 
 ''Or a tenement house," interjected Curtis, with a 
 sneer. 
 
 ''Yes, or a tenement house, than become the wife 
 of one I loathe." 
 
 "Girl, you shall bitterly repent that word!" said 
 Curtis, stung to fury. 
 
 She did not reply, but, pale and sorrowful, glided 
 from the room to weep bitter tears in the seclusion 
 of her chamber. 
 
lo ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A STRANGER VISITOR. 
 
 Curtis Waring followed the retreating form of 
 his cousin with a sardonic smile. 
 
 "She is in the toils! She cannot escape me!'' he 
 muttered. "But" — and here his brow darkened — 
 "it vexes me to see how she repels my advances, as 
 if I were some loathsome thing ! If only she would 
 return my love — for I do love her, cold as she is — I 
 should be happy. Can there be a rival? But no! 
 we live so quietly that she has met no one who could 
 win her affection. Why can she not turn to me? 
 Surely, I am not so ill-favored, and though twice 
 her age, I am still a young man. Nay, it is only 
 a young girl's caprice. She shall yet come to my 
 arms, a willing captive." 
 
 His thoughts took a turn, as he arose from his 
 seat, and walked over to the secretary. 
 
 "So it is here that the two wills are deposited!" 
 he said to him.self ; "one making me a rich man, the 
 other a beggar! While the last is in existence I am 
 not safe. The boy may be alive, and liable to turn 
 up at any moment. If only he were dead — or the 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. ii 
 
 will destroyed " Here he made a suggestive 
 
 pause. 
 
 He took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and 
 tried one after another, but without success. He 
 was so absorbed in his work that he did not notice 
 the entrance of a dark-browed, broad-shouldered 
 man, dressed in a shabby corduroy suit, till the intru- 
 der indulged in a short cough, intended to draw at- 
 tention. 
 
 Starting with guilty consciousness, Curtis turned 
 sharply around, and his glance fell on the intruder. 
 
 "Who are you?" he demanded, angrily. *'And 
 how dare you enter a gentleman's house unbidden?" 
 
 ''Are you the gentleman ?" asked the intruder, with 
 intentional insolence. 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 "You own this house?" 
 
 "Not at present. It is my uncle's." 
 
 "And that secretary — pardon my curiosity — is 
 his?" 
 
 "Yes; but what business is it of yours?" 
 
 "Not much. Only it makes me laugh to see a 
 gentleman picking a lock. You should leave such 
 business to men like me!" 
 
 "You are an insolent fellow!" said Curtis, more 
 embarrassed than he liked to confess, for this rough- 
 looking man had becomxC possessed of a dangerous 
 secret. "I am my uncle's confidential agent, and it 
 was on business of his that I wished to open the 
 desk." 
 
12 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *'Why not go to him for the key?" 
 
 "Because he is sick. But, pshaw! why should 
 I apologize or give any explanation to you? What 
 can you know of him or me ?" 
 
 ''More, perhaps, than you suspect/' said the in- 
 truder, quietly. 
 
 "Then, you know, perhaps, that I am my uncle's 
 heir?" 
 
 "Don't be too sure of that." 
 
 "Look here, fellow," said Curtis, thoroughly pro- 
 voked, "I don't know who you are nor what you 
 mean, but let me inform you that your presence 
 here is an intrusion, and the sooner you leave the 
 house the better!" 
 
 "I will leave it when I get ready." 
 
 Curtis started to his feet, and advanced to his visi- 
 tor with an air of menace. 
 
 "Go at once," he exclaimed, angrily, "or I will 
 kick you out of the door !" 
 
 "What's the matter with the window?" returned 
 the stranger, with an insolent leer. 
 
 "That's as you prefer, but if you don't leave at 
 once I will eject you." 
 
 By way of reply, the rough visitor coolly seated 
 himself in a luxurious easy-chair, and, looking up 
 into the angry face of Waring, said : 
 
 "Oh, no, you won't." 
 
 "And why not, may I ask?" said Curtis, with a 
 feeling of uneasiness for which he could not ac- 
 count. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 13 
 
 "Why not? Because, in that case, I should seek 
 an interview with your uncle, and tell him " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "That his son still lives; and that I can restore 
 him to his " 
 
 The face of Curtis Waring blanched; he stag- 
 gered as if he had been struck; and he cried out, 
 hoarsely : 
 
 "It is a lie!" 
 
 "It is the truth, begging your pardon. Do you 
 mind my smoking?" and he coolly produced a com- 
 mon clay pipe, filled and lighted it. 
 
 "Who are you?" asked Curtis, scanning the man's 
 features with painful anxiety. 
 
 "Have you forgotten Tim Bolton?" 
 
 "Are you Tim Bolton?" faltered Curtis. 
 
 "Yes; but you don't seem glad to see me?" 
 
 "I thought you were " 
 
 "In Australia. So I was three years since. Then 
 I got homesick, and came back to New York." 
 
 "You have been here three years?" 
 
 "Yes," chuckled Bolton. "You didn't suspect it, 
 did you?" 
 
 "Where?" asked Curtis, in a hollow voice. 
 
 "I keep a saloon on the Bowery. There's my 
 card. Call around when convenient." 
 
 Curtis was about to throw the card into the grate, 
 but on second thought dropped it into his pocket. 
 
 "And the boy?" he asked, slowly. 
 
 "Is alive and well. He hasn't been starved. 
 
14 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Though I dare say you wouldn't have grieved if he 
 had." 
 
 "And he is actually in this city?" 
 
 "Just so." 
 
 "Does he know anything of — ^you know what I 
 mean." 
 
 "He doesn't know that he is the son of a rich 
 man, and heir to the property which you look upon 
 as yours. That's what you mean, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes. What is he doing? Is he at work?" 
 
 "He helps me some in the saloon, sells papers in 
 the evenings, and makes himself generally useful." 
 
 "Has he any education?" 
 
 "Well, I haven't sent him to boarding school or 
 college," answered Tim. "He don't know no Greek, 
 or Latin, or mathematics — phew, that's a hard word. 
 You didn't tell me you wanted him made a scholar 
 of." 
 
 "I didn't. I wanted never to see or hear from 
 him again. What made you bring him back to New 
 York?" 
 
 "Couldn't keep away, governor. I got home- 
 sick, I did. There ain't but one Bowery in the world, 
 and I hankered after that " 
 
 "Didn't I pay you money to keep away, Tim Bol- 
 ton?" 
 
 "I don't deny it; but what's three thousand dol- 
 lars? Why, the kid's cost me more than that. I've 
 had the care of him for fourteen years, and it's only 
 about two hundred a year." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 15 
 
 "You nave broken your promise to me !'* said Cur- 
 tis, sternly. 
 
 "There's worse things than breaking your prom- 
 ise/' retorted Bolton. 
 
 Scarcely had he spoken than a change came over 
 his face, and he stared open-mouthed behind him and 
 beyond Curtis. 
 
 Startled himself, Curtis turned, and saw, with a 
 feeling akin to dismay, the tall figure of his uncle 
 standing on the threshold of the left portal, clad 
 in a morning gown, with his eyes fixed inquiringly 
 upon Bolton and himself. 
 
1 6 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 AN UNHOLY COMPACT. 
 
 "Who is that man, Curtis?" asked John Linden, 
 pointing his thin finger at Tim Bolton, who looked 
 strangely out of place, as, with clay pipe, he sat in 
 the luxurious library on a sumptuous chair. 
 
 "That man?'' stammered Curtis, quite at a loss 
 what to say. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "He is a poor man out of luck, who has applied 
 to me for assistance," answered Curtis, recovering 
 his wits. 
 
 "That's it, governor," said Bolton, thinking it 
 necessary to confirm the statement. "I've got five 
 small children at home almost starvin', your honor." 
 
 "That is sad. What is your business, my man?" 
 
 It was Bolton's turn to be embarrassed. 
 
 "My business?" he repeated. 
 
 "That is what I said." 
 
 "Fm a blacksmith, but I'm willing to do any 
 honest work." 
 
 "That is commendable; but don't you know that 
 it is very ill-bred to smoke a pipe in a gentleman's 
 house?" 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 17 
 
 "Excuse me, governor!" 
 
 And Bolton extinguished his pipe, and put it away 
 in a pocket of his corduroy coat. 
 
 ''I was just telling him the same thing," said 
 Curtis. *'Don't trouble yourself any further, uncle. 
 I will inquire into the man's circumstances, and help 
 him if I can." 
 
 "Very well, Curtis. I came down because I 
 thought I heard voices." 
 
 John Linden slowly returned to his chamber, and 
 left the two alone. 
 
 "The governor's getting old," said Bolton. "When 
 I was butler here, fifteen years ago, he looked like 
 a young man. He didn't suspect that he had ever 
 seen me before." 
 
 "Nor that you had carried away his son, Bolton." 
 
 "Who hired me to do it? Who put me up to the 
 job, as far as that goes?" 
 
 "Hush ! Walls have ears. Let us return to busi- 
 ness." 
 
 "That suits me." 
 
 "Look here, Tim Bolton," said Curtis, drawing up 
 a chair, and lowering his voice to a confidential pitch, 
 "you say you want money?" 
 
 "Of course I do." 
 
 "Well, I don't give money for nothing." 
 
 "I know that. What's wanted now?" 
 
 "You say the boy is alive?'* 
 
 "He's very much alive." 
 
 "Is there any necessity for his living?" asked 
 
1 8 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Curtis, in a sharp, hissing tone, fixing his eyes 
 searchingly on Bolton, to see how his hint would be 
 taken. 
 
 "You mean that you want me to murder him?" 
 said Bolton, quickly. 
 
 **Why not? You don't look over scrupulous." 
 
 "I am a bad man, I admit it," said Bolton, with 
 a gesture of repugnance, *'a thief, a low blackguard, 
 perhaps, but, thank Heaven ! I am no murderer ! And 
 if I was, I wouldn't spill a drop of that boy's blood 
 for the fortune that is his by right." 
 
 "I didn't give you credit for so much sentiment, 
 Bolton," said Curtis, with a sneer. "You don't look 
 like it, but appearances are deceitful. We'll drop the 
 subject. You can serve me in another way. Can 
 you open this secretary?" 
 
 "Yes; that's in my line." 
 
 "There is a paper in it that I want. It is my 
 uncle's will. I have a curiosity to read it." 
 
 "I understand. Well, I'm agreeable." 
 
 'If you find any money or valuables, you are wel- 
 come to them. I only want the paper. When will 
 you make the attempt?" 
 
 "To-morrow night. When will it be safe?" 
 
 'At eleven o'clock. We all retire early in this 
 house. Can you force an entrance?" 
 
 "Yes; but it will be better for you to leave the 
 outer door unlocked." 
 
 "I have a better plan. • Here is my latchkey." 
 
 "Good! I may not do the job myself, but I will 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 19 
 
 see that it is done. How shall I know the will?'* 
 *'It is in a big envelope, tied with a narrow tape. 
 Probably it is inscribed : 'My will.' " 
 
 "Suppose I succeed, when shall I see you?" 
 "I will come around to your place on the Bowery. 
 Good-night !" 
 
 Curtis Waring saw Bolton to the door, and let 
 him out. Returning, he flung himself on a sofa. 
 
 "I can make that man useful!" he reflected. 
 *There is an element of danger in the boy's presence 
 in New York; but it will go hard if I can't get rid 
 of him ! Tim Bolton is unexpectedly squeamish, but 
 there are others to whom I can apply. With gold 
 everything is possible. It's time matters came to a 
 finish. My uncle's health is rapidly failing — the doc- 
 tor hints that he has heart disease — and the fortune 
 for which I have been waiting so long will soon be 
 mine, if I work my cards right. I can't afford to 
 make any mistakes now." 
 
20 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 Florence Linden sat in the library the following 
 evening in an attitude of depression. Her eyelids 
 were swollen, and it was evident she had been weep- 
 ing. During the day she had had an interview with 
 her uncle, in which he harshly insisted upon her 
 yielding to his wishes, and marrying her cousin, Cui^- 
 tis. 
 
 *'But, uncle," she objected, '*I do not love him," 
 
 "Marry him, and love will come." 
 
 "Never!" she said, vehemently. 
 
 "You speak confidently, miss," said Mr. Linden, 
 with irritation. 
 
 "Listen, Uncle John. It is not alone that I do 
 not love him. I dislike him — I loathe — him." 
 
 "Nonsense! that is a young girl's extravp.gant 
 nonsense." 
 
 "No, uncle." 
 
 "There can be no reason for such a foolish dislike. 
 What can you have against him?" 
 
 "It is impressed upon me, uncle, that Curtis is a 
 bad man. There is something false — treacherous — 
 about him." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 21 
 
 "Pooh ! child ! you are more foolish than I thought. 
 I don't say Curtis is an angel. No man is ; at least, 
 I never met any such. But he is no worse than the 
 generality of men. In marrying him you will carry 
 out my cherished wish. Florence, I have not long to 
 live. I shall be glad to see you well established in 
 life before I leave you. As the wife of Curtis you 
 will have a recognized position. You will go on liv- 
 ing in this house, and the old home will be main- 
 tained." 
 
 "But why is it necessary for me to marry at all, 
 Uncle John?" 
 
 "You will be sure to marry some one. Should 
 I divide my fortune between you and Curtis, you 
 would become the prey of some unscrupulous fortune 
 hunter." 
 
 "Better that than become the wife of Curtis War- 
 ing—" 
 
 "I see^ you are incorrigible," said her uncle, an- 
 grily. "Do you refuse obedience to my wishes?" 
 
 "Command me in anything else. Uncle John, and 
 I will obey," pleaded Florence. 
 
 "Indeed! You only thwart me in my cherished 
 wish, but are willing to obey me in unimportant 
 matters. You forget the debt you owe me." 
 
 "I forget nothing, dear uncle. I do not forget 
 that, when I was a poor little child, helpless and desti- 
 tute, you took me in your arms, gave me a home, and 
 have cared for me from that time to this as only a 
 parent could." 
 
22 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "You remember that, then?'* 
 
 "Yes, uncle. I hope you will not consider me 
 wholly ungrateful.'* 
 
 "It only makes matters worse. You own your ob- 
 ligations, yet refuse to make the only return I de- 
 sire. You refuse to comfort me in the closing days 
 of my life by marrying your cousin." 
 
 "Because that so nearly concerns my happiness 
 that no one has a right to ask me to sacrifice all I 
 hold dear." 
 
 "I see you are incorrigible," said John Linden, 
 stormily. "Do you know what will be the conse- 
 quences?" 
 
 "I am prepared for all.'* 
 
 "Then listen ! If you persist in balking me, I shall 
 leave the entire estate to Curtis." 
 
 "Do with your money as you will, uncle. I have 
 no claim to more than I have received." 
 
 "You are right there; but that is not all." 
 
 Florence fixed upon him a mute look of inquiry. 
 
 "I will give you twenty-four hours more to come 
 to your senses. Then, if you persist in your ingrati- 
 tude and disobedience, you must find another home." 
 
 "Oh, uncle, you do not mean that?" exclaimed 
 Florence, deeply moved. 
 
 "I do mean it, and I shall not allow your tears to 
 move me. Not another word, for I will not hear it. 
 Take twenty-four hours to think over what I have 
 said." 
 
 Florence bowed her head on her hands, and gave 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 23 
 
 herself up to sorrowful thoughts. But she was in- 
 terrupted by the entrance of the servant, who an- 
 nounced : 
 
 "Mr. Percy de Brabazon." 
 
 An effeminate-looking young man, foppishly 
 dressed, followed the servant into the room, and 
 made it impossible for Florence to deny herself, as 
 she wished to do. 
 
 "I hope I see you well. Miss Florence," he sim- 
 pered. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. de Brabazon," said Florence, 
 coldly. "I have a slight headache." 
 
 "I am awfully sorry, I am, upon my word. Miss 
 Florence. My doctor tells me it is only those whose 
 bwains are vewy active that are troubled with head- 
 aches." 
 
 "Then, I presume, Mr. de Brabazon," said Flor- 
 ence, with intentional sarcasm, "that you never have 
 a headache." 
 
 "Weally, Miss Florence, that is vewy clevah. You 
 will have your joke." 
 
 "It was no joke, I assure you, Mr. de Brabazon." 
 
 "I — I thought it might be. Didn't I see you at the 
 opewa last evening?" 
 
 "Possibly. I was there." 
 
 "I often go to the opewa. It's so — so fashionable, 
 don't you know?" 
 
 "Then you don't go to hear the music?" 
 
 "Oh, of course, but one can't always be listening 
 to the music, don't you know. I had a fwiend with 
 
24 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 me last evening — an Englishman — a charming fel- 
 low, I assure you. He's the second cousin of a lord, 
 and yet — you'll hardly credit it — we're weally vewy 
 intimate. He tells me. Miss Florence, that Fm the 
 perfect image of his cousin, Lord Fitz Noodle." 
 
 ''I am not at all surprised." 
 
 ''Weally, you are vewy kind. Miss Florence. I 
 thought it a great compliment. I don't know how it 
 is, but evewybody takes me for an Englishman. 
 Strange, isn't it?" 
 
 "I am very glad." 
 
 *'May I ask why, Miss Florence?" 
 
 "Because Well, perhaps I had better not ex- 
 plain. It seems to give you pleasure. You would, 
 probably, prefer to be an Englishman." 
 
 "I admit that I have a great admiration for the 
 English character. It's a gweat pity we have no 
 lords in America. Now, if you would only allow 
 me to bring my English fwiend here '* 
 
 'I don't care to make any new acquaintances. Even 
 if I did, I prefer my own countrymen. Don't you 
 like America, Mr. de Brabazon?" 
 
 "Oh, of courth, if we only had some lords here." 
 
 "We have plenty of flunkeys." 
 
 "That's awfully clevah, 'pon my wo^d " 
 
 "Is it? I am afraid you are too complimentary. 
 You are very good-natured." 
 
 "I always feel good-natured in your company, 
 Miss Florence. I — wish I could always be with 
 you." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 25 
 
 ^'Really! Wouldn't that be a trifle monotonous?" 
 asked Florence, sarcastically. 
 
 ''Not if we were married," saiii Percy, boldly 
 breaking the ice. 
 
 "What do you mean, Mr. de Brabazon?" 
 
 **I hope you will excuse me, Miss Florence — Miss 
 Linden, I mean; but I'm awfully in love with you, 
 and have been ever so long — but I never dared to 
 tell you so. I felt so nervous, don't you know? 
 Will you marry me? I'll be awfully obliged if you 
 will." 
 
 Mr. de Brabazon rather awkwardly slipped from 
 his chair, and sank on one knee before Florence. 
 
 'Tlease arise, Mr. de Brabazon," said Florence, 
 hurriedly. "It is quite out of the question — what 
 you ask — I assure you." 
 
 "Ah! I see how it is," said Percy, clasping his 
 hands sadly. "You love another." 
 
 "Not that I am aware of." 
 
 "Then I may still hope?" 
 
 "I cannot encourage you, Mr. de Brabazon. My 
 heart is free^ but it can never be yours." 
 
 "Then," said Percy, gloomily, "there is only one 
 thing for me to do." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "I shall go to the Bwooklyn Bwidge, climb to the 
 parapet, jump into the water, and end my misewable 
 life." 
 
 "You had better think twice before adopting such 
 a desperate resolution, Mr. de Brabazon. You will 
 
26 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 meet others who will be kinder to you than I have 
 been " 
 
 "I can never love another. My heart is broken. 
 Farewell, cruel girl. When you read the papers to- 
 morrow morning, think of the unhappy Percy de 
 Brabazon !" 
 
 Mr. de Brabazon folded his arms gloomily, and 
 stalked out of the room. 
 
 *'If my position were not so sad, I should be 
 tempted to smile," said Florence. *'Mr. de Brabazon 
 will not do this thing. His emotions are as strong 
 as those of a butterfly." 
 
 After a brief pause Florence seated herself at the 
 table, and drew toward her writing materials. 
 
 *'It is I whose heart should be broken !" she mur- 
 mured; "I who am driven from the only home I 
 have ever known. What can have turned against 
 me my uncle, usually so kind and considerate? It 
 must be that Curtis has exerted a baneful influence 
 upon him. I cannot leave him without one word of 
 farewell." 
 
 She took up a sheet of paper, and wTote, rapidly : 
 
 "Dear Uncle : You have told me to leave your 
 house, and I obey. I cannot tell you how sad I feel, 
 when I reflect that I have lost your love, and must 
 go forth among strangers — I know not where. I 
 was but a little girl when you gave me a home. I 
 have grown up in an atmosphere of love, and I have 
 felt very grateful to you for all you have done for 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 27 
 
 me. I have tried to conform to your wishes, and I 
 vvould obey you in all else — but I cannot marry Cur- 
 tis ; I think I would rather die. Let me still live with 
 you as I have done. I do not care for any part of 
 your money — leave it all to him, if you think best — 
 but give me back m.y place in your heart. You are 
 angry now, but you will some time pity and forgive 
 your poor Florence, who will never cease to bless 
 and pray for you. Good-bye! 
 
 "Florence." 
 
 She was about to sign herself Florence Linden, 
 but reflected that she was no longer entitled to use 
 a name which would seem to carry with it a claim 
 upon her uncle. 
 
 The tears fell upon the paper as she was writing, 
 but she heeded them not. It was the saddest hour of 
 her life. Hitherto she had been shielded from all 
 sorrow, and secure in the affection of her uncle, had 
 never dreamed that there would come a time when 
 she would feel obliged to leave all behind her, and 
 go out into the world, friendless and penniless, but 
 poorest of all in the loss of that love which she had 
 hitherto enjoyed. 
 
 After completing the note, Florence let her head 
 fall upon the table, and sobbed herself to sleep. 
 
 An hour and a half passed, the servant looked in, 
 but noticing that her mistress was sleeping, contented 
 herself with lowering the gas, but refrained from 
 waking her. 
 
28 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 And so she slept on till the French clock upon the 
 mantle struck eleven. 
 
 Five minutes later and the door of the room slowly 
 opened, and a boy entered on tiptoe. He was rough- 
 ly dressed. His figure was manly and vigorous, and 
 despite his stealthy step and suspicious movements 
 his face was prepossessing. 
 
 He started when he saw Florence. 
 
 "What, a sleeping gal !" he said to himself. "Tim 
 told me I'd find the coast clear, but I guess she's 
 sound asleep, and won't hear nothing. I don't half 
 like this job, but I've got to do as Tim told me. He 
 says he's my father, so I s'pose it's all right. All 
 the same, I shall be nabbed some day, and then the 
 family'll be disgraced. It's a queer life I've led ever 
 since I can remember. Sometimes I feel like leaving 
 Tim, and settin' up for myself. I wonder how 
 'twould seem to be respectable." 
 
 The boy approached the secretary, and with some 
 tools he had brought essayed to open it. After a 
 brief delay he succeeded, and lifted the cover. He 
 was about to explore it, according to Tim's direc- 
 tions, when he heard a cry of fear, and turning swift- 
 ly saw Florence, her eyes dilated with terror, gazing 
 at him. 
 
 "Who are you?" she asked in alarm, "and what 
 are you doing there?" 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 29 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DODGER. 
 
 The boy sprang to the side of Florence, and 
 siezed her wrists in his strong young grasp. 
 
 "Don't you alarm the house/' he said, "or 
 
 rii " 
 
 "What will you do?" gasped Florence, in alarm. 
 
 The boy was evidently softened by her beauty, 
 and answered in a tone of hesitation : 
 
 "I don't know. I won't harm you if you keep 
 quiet." 
 
 "What are you here for?'' asked Florence, fixing 
 her eyes on the boy's face; "are you a thief?" 
 
 "I don't know — yes, I suppose I am." 
 
 "How sad, when you are so young." 
 
 "What! miss, do you pity me?" 
 
 "Yes, my poor boy , you must be very poor, or you 
 wouldn't bring yourself to steal." 
 
 "No. I ain't poor; leastways, I have enough to 
 eat, and I have a place to sleep." 
 
 "Then why don't you earn your living by honest 
 means?" 
 
 "I can't; I must obey orders." 
 
30 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "Whose orders?" 
 
 "Why, the guv'nor's, to be sure." 
 
 "Did he tell you to open that secretary?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Who is the guv'nor, as you call him?" 
 
 "I can't tell; it wouldn't be square." 
 
 "He must be a very wicked man.'' 
 
 "Well, he ain't exactly what you call an angel, 
 but I've seen wuss men than the guv'nor." 
 
 "Do you mind telling me your own name?" 
 
 "No; for I know you won't peach on me. Tom 
 Dodger." 
 
 "Dodger?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That isn't a surname." 
 
 "It's all I've got. That's what I'm always called." 
 
 "It is very singular," said Florence, fixing a 
 glance of mingled curiosity and perplexity upon the 
 young visitor. 
 
 While the two were earnestly conversing in that 
 subdued light, afforded by the lowered gaslight, Tim 
 Bolton crept in through the door unobserved by 
 either, tiptoed across the room to the secretary, 
 snatched the will and a roll of bills, and escaped with- 
 out attracting attention. 
 
 "Oh, I wish I could persuade you to give up this 
 bad life," resumed Florence, earnestly, "and become 
 honest." 
 
 "Do you really care what becomes of me, miss?" 
 asked Dodger, slowly. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 31 
 
 **I do, indeed.' 
 
 'That's very kind of you miss; but I don't un- 
 derstand it. You are a rich young lady, and Frn 
 only a poor boy, livin' in a Bowery dive." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "Never mind, miss, such as you wouldn't under- 
 stand. Why, all my life I've lived with thieves, and 
 drunkards, and bunco men, and " 
 
 "But I'm sure you don't like it. You are fit 
 for something better." 
 
 "Do you really think so?" asked Dodger, doubt- 
 fullly. 
 
 "Yes; you have a good face. You were meant 
 to be good and honest, I am sure." 
 
 "Would you trust me?" asked the boy, earnestly, 
 fixing his large, dark eyes eloquently on the face of 
 Florence. 
 
 "Yes, I would if you would only leave your evil 
 companions, and become true to your better nature." 
 
 "No one ever spoke to me like that before, miss," 
 said Dodger, his expressive features showing that he 
 was strongly moved. "You think I could be good 
 if I tried hard, and grow up respectable?" 
 
 "I am sure you could," said Florence, confidently. 
 
 There was something in this boy, young outlaw 
 though he was, that moved her powerfully, and even 
 fascinated her, though she hardly realized it. It 
 was something more than a feeling of compassion 
 for a wayward and misguided youth. 
 
 "I could if I was rich like you, and lived in a 
 
32 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 nice house, and 'sociated with swells. If you had a 
 father like mine " 
 
 "Is he a bad man?" 
 
 *'Well, he don't belong to the church. He keeps 
 a gin mill, and has ever since I was a kid." 
 
 ''Have you always lived with him?" 
 
 "Yes, but not in New York." 
 
 "Where then?" 
 
 "In Melbourne." 
 
 "That's in Australia." 
 
 ''Yes, miss." 
 
 "How long since you came to New York?" 
 
 "I guess it's about three years." 
 
 "And you have always had this man as a guard- 
 ian? Poor boy!" 
 
 "You've got a different father from me, miss?" 
 
 Tears forced themselves to the eyes of Florence, 
 as this remark brought forcibly to her mind the po- 
 sition in which she was placed. 
 
 "Alas!" she answered, impulsively, "I am alone 
 in the world !" 
 
 "What! ain't the old gentleman that lives here 
 your father?" 
 
 "He is my uncle ; but he is very, very angry with 
 me, and has this very day ordered me to leave the 
 house.'' 
 
 "Why, what a cantankerous old ruffian he is, to 
 be sure!" exclaimed the boy, indignantly. 
 
 "Hush ! you must not talk against my uncle. He 
 has always been kind to me till now." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 33 
 
 ''Why, what's up? What's the old gentleman 
 mad about?" 
 
 ''He wants me to marry my cousin Curtis — a man 
 I do not even like." 
 
 "That's a shame! Is it the dude I saw come out 
 of the house a little while ago?" 
 
 "Oh, no; that's a different gentleman. It's Mr. 
 de Brabazon." 
 
 "You don't want to marry him, do you ?" 
 
 "No, no!" 
 
 "I'm glad of that. He don't look as if he knew 
 enough to come in when it rained." 
 
 "The poor young man is not very brilliant, but 
 I think I would rather marry him than Curtis War- 
 ing." 
 
 "I've seen him, too. He's got dark hair and a 
 dark complexion, and a wicked look in his eye." 
 
 "You, too, have noticed that?" 
 
 "I've seen such as him before. He's a bad man." 
 
 "Do you know anything about him?" asked Flor- 
 ence, eagerly. 
 
 "Only his looks." 
 
 "I am not deceived," murmured Florence, "it's not 
 wholly prejudice. The boy distrusts him, too. So 
 you see. Dodger," she added, aloud, "I am not a rich 
 young lady, as you suppose. I must leave this house, 
 and work for my living. I have no home any 
 more." 
 
 "If you have no home," said Dodger, impulsively, 
 "com.e home with me." 
 
34 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *To the home you have described, my poor boy? 
 How could I do that?" 
 
 "No ; I will hire a room for you in a quiet street, 
 and you shall be my sister. I will work for you, and 
 give you my money." 
 
 *'You are kind, and I am glad to think I have 
 found a friend when I need one most. But I could 
 not accept stolen money. It would be as bad as if 
 I, too, were a thief." 
 
 **I am not a thief! That is, I won't be any more. 
 
 "And you will give up your plan of robbing my 
 uncle?" 
 
 "Yes, I will ; though I don't know what my guv'- 
 nor will say. He'll half murder me, I expect. He'll 
 be sure to cut up rough." 
 
 "Do right. Dodger, whatever happens. Promise 
 me that you will never steal again?" 
 
 "There's my hand, miss — I promise. Nobody 
 ever talked to me like you. I never thought much 
 about bein' respectable, and growin' up to be some- 
 body, but if you take an interest in me, I'll try hard 
 to do right." 
 
 At this moment, Mr. Linden, clad in a long morn- 
 ing gown, and holding a candle in his hand, entered 
 the room, and started in astonishment when he saw 
 Florence clasping the hand of one whose appearance 
 led him to stamp as a young rough. 
 
 "Shameless girl!" he exclaimed, in stern reproof. 
 "So this is the company you keep when you think I 
 am out of the way !" 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 35 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A TEMPEST. 
 
 The charge was so strange and unexpected that 
 Florence was overwhelmed. She could only mur- 
 mur : 
 
 "Oh, uncle!" 
 
 Her young companion was indignant. Already he 
 felt that Florence had consented to accept him as a 
 friend, and he was resolved to stand by her'. 
 
 '^I say, old man," he bristled up, "don't you go 
 to insult her! She's an angel!" 
 
 "No doubt you think so," rejoined. Mr. Linden, in 
 a tone of sarcasm. "Upon my word, miss, I con- 
 gratulate you on your elevated taste. So this is your 
 reason for not being willing to marry your Cousin 
 Curtis?" 
 
 "Indeed, uncle, you are mistaken. I never met 
 this boy till to-night." 
 
 "Don't try to deceive me. Young man, did you 
 open my secretary?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "And robbed it into the bargain," continued Lin- 
 den, going to the secretary, and examining it. He 
 
36 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 did not, however, miss the will, but only the roll of 
 bills. **Give me back the money you have taken 
 from me, you young rascal !" 
 
 "I took nothing, sir." 
 
 "It's a lie! The money is gone, and no one else 
 could have taken it." 
 
 "I don't allow no one to call me a liar. Just take 
 that back, old man, or I " 
 
 "Indeed, uncle, he took nothing, for he had only 
 just opened the secretary when I woke up and spoke 
 to him." 
 
 "You stand by him, of course, shameless girl ! I 
 blush to think that you are my niece. I am glad to 
 think that my eyes are opened before it is too late." 
 
 The old merchant rang the bell violently, and 
 aroused the house. Dodger made no attempt to es- 
 cape, but stood beside Florence in the attitude of a 
 protector. But a short time elapsed before Curtis 
 Waring and the servants entered the room, and 
 gazed with wonder at the tableau presented by the 
 excited old man and the two young people. 
 
 "My friends," said John Linden, in a tone of 
 excitement, "I call you to witness that this girl, 
 whom I blush to acknowledge as my niece, has 
 proved herself unworthy of my kindness. In your 
 presence I cut her off, and bid her never again 
 darken my door." 
 
 "But what has she done, uncle?" asked Curtis. 
 He was prepared for the presence of Dodger, whom 
 he rightly concluded to be the agent of Tim Bolton, 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 37 
 
 but he could not understand why Florence should be 
 in the library at this late hour. Nor was he able to 
 understand the evidently friendly relations between 
 her and the young visitor. 
 
 "What has she done?" repeated John Linden. 
 "She has introduced that young ruffian into the 
 house to rob me. Look at that secretary ! He has 
 forced it open, and stolen a large sum of money." 
 
 "It is not true, sir," said Dodger, calmly, "about 
 taking the money, I mean. I haven't taken a cent." 
 
 "Then why did you open the secretary?" 
 
 "I did mean to take money, but she stopped me." 
 
 "Oh, she stopped you?" repeated Linden, with 
 withering sarcasm. "Then, perhaps, you will tell me 
 vv'here the money is gone?" 
 
 "He hasn't discovered about the will," thought 
 Curtis, congratulating himself; "if the boy has it, I 
 must manage to give him a chance to escape." 
 
 "You can search me if you want to," continued 
 Dodger, proudly. "You won't find no money on 
 me. 
 
 "Do you think I am a fool, you young burglar?" 
 exclaimed John Linden, angrily. 
 
 "Uncle, let me speak to the boy," said Curtis, 
 soothingly. "I think he will tell me." 
 
 "As you like, Curtis; but I am convinced that 
 he is a thief." 
 
 Curtis Waring beckoned Dodger into an adjoining 
 room. 
 
 "Now, my boy," he said, smoothly, "give me what. 
 
38 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 you took from tlie secretary, and I will see that you 
 are not arrested." 
 
 "But, sir, I didn't take nothing — it's just as I told 
 the old duffer. The girl waked up just as I'd got 
 the secretary open, and I didn't have a chance." 
 
 *'But the money is gone," said Curtis, in an in- 
 credulous tone. 
 
 "I don't know nothing about that." 
 
 "Come, you'd better examine your pockets. In 
 the hurry of the moment you may have taken it with- 
 out knowing it." 
 
 "No, I couldn't." 
 
 "Didn't you take a paper of any kind?" asked 
 Curtis, eagerly. "Sometimes papers are of more 
 value than money." 
 
 "No, I didn't take no paper, though Tim told me 
 to." 
 
 Curtis quietly ignored the allusion to Tim, for 
 it did not suit his purpose to get Tim into trouble. 
 His unscrupulous agent knew too much that would 
 compromise his principal. 
 
 "Are you willing that I should examine you?'* 
 
 "Yes, I am. Go ahead." 
 
 Curtis thrust his hand into the pockets of the boy, 
 who, boy as he was, was as tall as himself, but was 
 not repaid by the discovery of anything. He was 
 very much perplexed. 
 
 "Didn't you throw the articles on the floor?" he 
 demanded, suspiciously. 
 
 "No, I didn't." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 39 
 
 *'You didn't give them to the young lady?'* 
 
 "No; if I had she'd have said so." 
 
 "Humph! this is strange. What is your name?" 
 
 "Dodger." 
 
 "That's a queer name; have you no other?'* 
 
 "Not as I know of." 
 
 "With whom do you Hve?" 
 
 "With my father. Leastways, he says he's my 
 father." 
 
 There was a growing suspicion in the mind of 
 Curtis Waring. He scanned the boy's features with 
 attention. Could this ill-dressed boy — a street boy in 
 appearance — be his long-lost and deeply wronged 
 cousin? 
 
 "Who is it that says he is your father?" he de- 
 manded, abruptly. 
 
 "Do you want to get him into trouble?" 
 
 "No, I don't want to get him into trouble, or you 
 either. Better tell me all, and I will be your friend." 
 
 "You're a better sort than I thought at first," said 
 Dodger. "The man I live with is called Tim Bol- 
 ton." 
 
 "I though so," quickly ejaculated Curtis. He had 
 scarcely got out the words before he was sensible 
 that he had made a mistake. 
 
 "What! do you know Tim?" inquired Dodger, 
 in surprise. 
 
 "I mean," replied Curtis, lamely, "that I have 
 heard of this man Bolton. He keeps a saloon on tiie 
 Bowery, doesn't he?" 
 
40 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "Yes.'^ 
 
 *'I thought you would be living with some such 
 man. Did he come to the house with you to- 
 night?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 *'Whereishe?" 
 
 *TIe stayed outside." 
 
 *Terhaps he is there now." 
 
 "Don't you go to having him arrested/' said Dod- 
 ger, suspiciously. 
 
 "I will keep my promise. Are you sure you didn't 
 pass out the paper and the money to him? Think 
 now." 
 
 "No, I didn't. I didn't have a chance. When I 
 came into the room yonder I saw the gal asleep, and 
 I thought she wouldn't hear me, but when I got the 
 desk open she spoke to me, and asked me what I 
 was d(jin'." 
 
 **Ahd you took nothing?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "It seems very strange. I cannot understand it. 
 Yet my uncle says the money is gone. Did anyone 
 else enter the room while you were talking with 
 Miss Linden ?" 
 
 "I didn't see any one." 
 
 "What were you talking about?" 
 
 "She said the old man wanted ner to marry you, 
 and she didn't want to." 
 
 "She told you that?" exclaimed Curtis, in dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 41 
 
 ''Yes, she did. She said she'd rather marry the 
 dude that was here early this evenin'." 
 
 ''Mr. de Brabazon !" 
 
 *'Yes, that's the name." 
 
 *'Upon my word, she was very confidential. You 
 are a queer person for her to select as a confidant." 
 
 "Maybe so, sir; but she knows I'm her friend." 
 
 "You like the young lady, then? Perhaps you 
 would like to marry her yourself?" 
 
 "As if she'd take any notice of a poor boy like me. 
 I told her if her uncle sent her away, I'd take care 
 of her and be a brother to her." 
 
 "How would Mr. Tim Bolton — that's his name, 
 isn't it?— like that?" 
 
 "I wouldn't take her to where he lives." 
 
 "I think, myself, it would hardly be a suitable 
 home for a young lady brought up on Madison Ave- 
 nue. There is certainly no accounting for tastes. 
 Miss Florence " 
 
 "That's her name, is it?" 
 
 "Yes; didn't she tell you?" 
 
 "No; but it's a nice name." 
 
 "She declines my hand, and accepts your protec- 
 tion. It will certainly be a proud distinction to be- 
 come Mrs. Dodger." 
 
 "Don't laugh at her!" said Dodger, suspiciously. 
 
 "I don't propose to. But I think we may as well 
 return to the library." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Linden, as his nephew returned 
 v/ith Dodger. 
 
42 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "I have examined the boy, and found nothing 
 en his person," said Curtis; *'I confess I am puzzled. 
 Ke appears to have a high admiration for Flor- 
 ence " 
 
 ''As I supposed." 
 
 "She has even confided to him her dislike for me, 
 and he has offered her his protection." 
 
 "Is this so, miss?" demanded Mr. Linden, sternly. 
 
 "Yes, uncle," faltered Florence. 
 
 "Then you can join the young person you have 
 selected whenever you please. For your sake I will 
 not have him arrested for attempted burglary. He is 
 welcome to what he has taken, since he is likely to 
 marry into the family. You may stay here to-night, 
 and he can call for you in the morning." 
 
 John Linden closed the secretary, and left the 
 room, leaving Florence sobbing. The servants, too, 
 retired, and Curtis was left alone with her. 
 
 "Florence," he said, "accept my hand, and I will 
 reconcile my uncle to you. Say but the word, 
 and " 
 
 "I can never speak it, Curtis ! I will take my un- 
 cle at his word. Dodger, call for me to-morrow at 
 eight, and I will accept your friendly services in 
 finding me a new home." 
 
 "I'll be on hand, miss. Good-night !" 
 
 "Be it so, obstinate girl !" said Curtis, angrily. 
 "The time will come when you will bitterly repent 
 your mad decision." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 4^, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FLORENCE LEAVES HOME. 
 
 Florence passed a sleepless night. It had come 
 upon her so suddenly, this expulsion from the home 
 of her childhood, that she could not fully realize it. 
 She could not feel that she was taking her last look 
 at the familiar room^ and well-remembered dining- 
 room, where she had sat down for the last time for 
 breakfast. She was alone at the breakfast table, for 
 the usual hour was half-past eight, and she had ap- 
 pointed Dodger to call for her at eight. 
 
 "Is it true, Miss Florence, that you're going 
 away?" asked Jane, the warm-hearted table girl, as 
 she waited upon Florence. 
 
 "Yes, Jane," answered Florence, sadly. 
 
 "It's a shame, so it is! I didn't think your un- 
 cle w^ould be so hard-hearted." 
 
 "He is disappointed because I won't marry my 
 Cousin Curtis." 
 
 "I don't blame you for it, miss. I never liked 
 Mr. Waring. He isn't half good enough for you." 
 
 "I say nothing about that, Jane; but I will not 
 marry a man I do not love." 
 
44 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *'Nor would I, miss. Where are you going, if I 
 may make so bold?" 
 
 "I don't know, Jane," said Florence, despondently. 
 
 **But you can't walk about the streets." 
 
 *'A trusty friend is going to call for me at eight 
 o'clock; when he comes admit him." 
 
 "It is a — a young gentleman?" 
 
 "You wouldn't call him such. He is a boy, a poor 
 boy; but I think he is a true friend. He says he 
 will find me a comfortable room somewhere, where 
 I can settle down and look for work." 
 
 "Are you going to work for a living, Miss Flor- 
 ence?" asked Jane, horrified. 
 
 "I must, Jane." 
 
 "It's a great shame — you, a lady born." 
 
 "No, Jane, I do not look upon it in that light. I 
 shall be happier for having my mind and my hands 
 occupied." 
 
 "What work will you do?" 
 
 "I don't know yet. Dodger will advise me." 
 
 "Who, miss?" 
 
 "Dodger." 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 "It's the boy I spoke of." 
 
 "Shure, he's got a quare name." 
 
 "Yes; but names don't count for much. It's the 
 heart I think of, and this boy has a kind heart." 
 
 "Have you known him long?" 
 
 "I saw him yesterday for the first time." 
 
 ''Is it the young fellow who was here last night?" 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 45 
 
 ^'Yes." 
 
 *'He isn't fit company for the likes of you, Miss 
 Florence." 
 
 "You forget, Jane^ that I am no longer a rich 
 young lady. I am poorer than even you. This 
 Dodger is kind, and I feel that I can trust him." 
 
 "If you are poor. Miss Florence," said Jane, hesi- 
 tatingly, "would you mind borrowing some money 
 of me? I've got ten dollars upstairs in my trunk, 
 and I don't need it at all. It's proud I'll be to lend 
 it to you." 
 
 "Thank you, Jane," said Florence, gratefully. "I 
 thought I had but one friend. I find I have 
 two " 
 
 "Then you'll take the money ? I'll go right up and 
 get it." 
 
 "No, Jane; not at present. I have twenty dol- 
 lars in my purse, and it will last me till I can earn 
 more." 
 
 "But, miss, twenty dollars will soon go," said 
 Jane, disappointed. 
 
 "If I find that I need the sum you so kindly offer 
 me, I will let you know, I promise that." 
 
 "Thank you, miss." 
 
 At this point a bell rang from above. 
 
 "It's from Mr. Curtis' room," said Jane. 
 
 "Go and see what he wants." 
 
 Jane returned in a brief time with a note in her 
 hand. 
 
 "Mr. Curtis asked me if you were still here," she 
 
46 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 explained, ''and when I told him you were he asked 
 me to give you this." 
 
 Florence took the note^ and, opening it, read these 
 lines : 
 
 ''Florence: Now that you have had time to 
 think over your plan of leaving your old home, I 
 hope you have come to see how foolish it is. Re- 
 flect that, if carried out, a life of poverty and squalid 
 wretchedness amid homely and uncongenial sur- 
 roundings awaits you; while, as my wife, you will 
 live a life of luxury and high social position. 
 There are many young ladies who would be glad to 
 accept the chance w'hich you so recklessly reject. 
 By accepting my hand you will gratify our excel- 
 lent uncle, and make me the happiest of mortals. 
 You will acquit me of mercenary motives, since 
 you are now penniless, and your disobedience leaves 
 me sole heir to Uncle John. I love you, and it will 
 be my chief object, if you will permit it, to make you 
 happy. Curtis Waring." 
 
 Florence ran her eyes rapidly over this note, but 
 her heart did not respond, and her resolution was 
 not shaken. 
 
 *Tell Mr. Waring there is no answer, Jane, if 
 he inquires," she said. 
 
 "Was he tryin' to wheedle you into marryin' 
 him?" asked Jane. 
 
 "He wished me to change my decision." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 47 
 
 'Tm glad you've given him the bounce," said 
 Jane, whose expressions were not always refined. 
 ^'1 wouldn't marry him myself." 
 
 Florence smiled. Jane was red haired, and her 
 nose was what is euphemistically called retrousse. 
 Even in her own circles she was not regarded as 
 beautiful, and was hardly likely to lead a rich man 
 to overlook her humble station, and sue for her 
 hand. 
 
 "Then, Jane, you at least will not blame me for 
 refusing my cousin's hand?" 
 
 "That I won't, miss. Do you know, Miss Flor- 
 ence" — and here Jane lowered her voice — "I've a 
 suspicion that Mr. Curtis is married already?" 
 
 "What do you mean, Jane?" asked Florence, 
 startled. 
 
 "There was a poor young woman called here last 
 month and inquired for Mr. Curtis. She was very 
 sorrowful-like, and poorly dressed. He came up 
 when she was at the door, and he spoke harshlike, 
 and told her to walk away with him. What they 
 said I couldn't hear, but I've a suspicion that she 
 was miarried to him, secretlike for I saw a wedding 
 ring upon her finger." 
 
 "But, Jane, it would be base and infamous for 
 him to ask for my hand when he was already mar- 
 ried." 
 
 "I can't help it, miss. That's just what he 
 wouldn't mind doin'. Oh, he's a sly deceiver, Mr. 
 Curtis. I'd like to see him foolin' around me." 
 
48 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Jane nodded her head with emphasis, as if to in- 
 timate the kind of reception Curtis Waring would 
 get if he attempted to trifle with her virgin affec- 
 tions. 
 
 "I hope what you suspect is not true," said Flor- 
 ence, gravely. "I do not like or respect Curtis, but 
 I don't like to think he would be so base as that. 
 If you ever see this young woman again, try to find 
 out where she lives. I would like to make her ac- 
 quaintance, and be a friend to her if she needs 
 one." 
 
 "Shure, Miss Florence, you will be needin' a 
 friend yourself." 
 
 "It is true, Jane. I forgot that I am no longer 
 a young lady of fortune, but a penniless girl, obliged 
 to work for a living." 
 
 "What would your uncle say if he knew that Mr. 
 Curtis had a wife?" 
 
 "We don't know that he has one, and till we do, 
 it would not be honorable to intimate such a thing 
 to Uncle John." 
 
 "Shure, he wouldn't be particular. It's all his 
 fault that you're obliged to leave home, and go into 
 the streets. Why couldn't he take no for an an- 
 swer, and marry somebody else, if he can find any- 
 body to have him?" 
 
 "I wish, indeed, that he had fixed his affections 
 elsewhere," responded Florence, with a sigh. 
 
 "Shure, he's twice as old as you, Miss Florence, 
 anyway." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 49 
 
 *'I shouldn't mind that so much, if that was the 
 only objection." 
 
 "It'll be a great deal better marryin' a young 
 man." 
 
 "I don't care to marry any one, Jane. I don't 
 think I shall ever marry." 
 
 'It's all very well to say that. Miss Florence. 
 Lots of girls say so, but they change their minds. 
 I don't mean to live out always myself." 
 
 "Is there any young man you are interested in, 
 Jane?" 
 
 "Maybe there is, and maybe there isn't. Miss 
 Florence. If I ever do get married I'll invite you 
 to the wedding." 
 
 "And I'll promise to come if I can. But I hear 
 the bell. I think my friend Dodger has come." 
 
 "Shall I ask him in, miss?" 
 
 "No. Tell him I will be ready to accompany him 
 at once." 
 
 She went out into the hall, and when the door 
 was opened the visitor proved to be Dodger. He 
 had improved his appearance so far as his limited 
 means would allow. His hands and face were thor- 
 oughly clean ; he had bought a new collar and neck- 
 tie; his shoes were polished, and despite his shabby 
 suit, he looked quite respectable. Getting a full 
 view of him, Florence saw that his face was frank 
 and handsome, his eyes bright, and his teeth like 
 pearls. 
 
 "Shure, he's a great deal better lookin' than Mr. 
 
50 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Curtis," whispered Jane. ''Here, Mr. Dodger, take 
 Miss Florence's valise, and mind you take good care 
 of her." 
 
 "I will," answered Dodger, heartily. "Come, 
 Miss Florence, if you don't mind walking over to 
 Fourth Avenue, we'll take the horse cars." 
 
 So, under strange guidance, Florence Linden 
 left her luxurious home, knowing not what awaited 
 her. What haven of refuge she might find she knew 
 not. She, like Dodger, was adrift in New York. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 51 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A FRIENDLY COMPACT. 
 
 Florence, as she stepped on the sidewalk, 
 turned, and fixed a last sad look on the house that 
 had been her home for so many years. She had 
 never anticipated such a sundering of home ties, and 
 even now she found it difficult to realize that the 
 moment had come when her life was to be rent in 
 twain, and the sunlight of prosperity was to be dark- 
 ened and obscured by a gloomy and uncertain fu- 
 ture. 
 
 She had hastily packed a few indispensable arti- 
 cles in a valise which she carried in her hand. 
 
 *'Let me take your bag. Miss Florence," said 
 Dodger, reaching out his hand. 
 
 ''I don't want to trouble you, Dodger." 
 
 "It ain't no trouble, Miss Florence. I'm stronger 
 than you, and it looks better for me to carry it." 
 
 "You are very kind. Dodger. What would I do 
 without you?" 
 
 "There's plenty that would be glad of the chance 
 of helping you," said Dodger, with a glance of ad- 
 miration at the fair face of his companion. 
 
 "I don't know where to find them," said Flor- 
 
52 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 ence, sadly. ''Even my uncle has turned against 
 me." 
 
 ''He's an old chump!" ejaculated Dodger, in a 
 tone of disgust. 
 
 *'Hush! I cannot hear a word against him. He 
 has always been kind and considerate till now. 1 1 
 is the evil influence of my Cousin Curtis that has 
 turned him against me. When he comes to himsejf 
 I am sure he will regret his cruelty." 
 
 "He would take you back if you would marry 
 your cousin." 
 
 "Yes; but that I will never do!" exclaimed Flor- 
 ence, with energy. 
 
 "Bully for you!" said Dodger. "Excuse me," 
 he said, apologetically. "I ain't used to talkin' to 
 young ladies, and perhaps that ain't proper for me 
 to say." 
 
 "I don't mind. Dodger; your heart is in the right 
 place." 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Florence. I'm glad you've got 
 confidence in me. I'll try to deserve it." 
 
 "Where are we going?" asked the young lady, 
 whose only thought up to this moment had been to 
 get away from the presence of Curtis and his per- 
 secutions. 
 
 They had now reached Fourth Avenue, and a sur- 
 face car was close at hand. 
 
 "We're going to get aboard that car," said 
 Dodger, signaling with his free hand. "Fll tell you 
 more when we're inside." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 53 
 
 Florence entered the car, and Dodger, following, 
 took a seat at her side. 
 
 They presented a noticeable contrast, for Flor- 
 ence was dressed as beseemed her station, while 
 Dodger, in spite of his manly, attractive face, was 
 roughly attired, and looked like a working boy. 
 
 When the conductor came along, he drew out a 
 dime, and tendered it in payment of the double fare. 
 The money was in the conductor's hand before Flor- 
 ence was fully aware. 
 
 "You must not pay for me, Dodger," she said. 
 
 ''Why not?" asked the boy. ''Ain't we friends?" 
 
 "Yes, but you have no money to spare. Here, 
 let me return the money." 
 
 And she offered him a dime from her own 
 purse. 
 
 "You can pay next time. Miss Florence. It's all 
 right. Now, I'll tell you where we are goin'. A 
 friend of mine, Mrs. O'Keefe, has a lodgin' house, 
 just off the Bowery. I saw her last night, and she 
 says she's got a good room that she can give you for 
 two dollars a week — I don't know how much you'd 
 be willing to pay, but " 
 
 "I can pay that for a time at 'least. I have a little 
 money, and I must find some work to do soon. Is 
 this Mrs. O'Keefe a nice lady?" 
 
 "She ain't a lady at all," answered Dodger, 
 bluntly. "She keeps an apple-stand near the corner 
 of Bowery and Grand Street; but she's a good, re- 
 spectable woman, and she's good-hearted. She'll be 
 
54 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 kind to you, and try to make things pleasant ; but if 
 you ain't satisfied " 
 
 *'It will do for the present. Kindness is what I 
 need, driven as I am from the home of my child- 
 hood. But you. Dodger, where do you live?" 
 
 'I'm goin' to take a small room in the same 
 house, Miss Florence." 
 
 *'I shall be glad to have you near me." 
 
 '1 am proud to hear you say that. I'm a poor 
 boy, and you're a rich lady, but " 
 
 "Not rich. Dodger. I am as poor as yourself." 
 
 "You're a reg'lar lady, anyway. You ain't one 
 of my kind, but I'm going to improve and raise my- 
 self. I was readin' the other day of a rich man that 
 was once a poor boy, and sold papers like me. But 
 there's one thing in the way — I ain't got no eddi- 
 cation." 
 
 ''You can read and write, can't you. Dodger?" 
 
 "Yes; I can read pretty well, but I can*t writ^ 
 much." 
 
 "I will teach you in the evenings, when we are 
 both at leisure." 
 
 "Will you?" asked the boy, with a glad smile. 
 "You're very kind — I'd like a teacher like you." 
 
 "Then it's a bargain. Dodger," and Florence's 
 face for the first time lost its sad look, as she saw an 
 opportunity of helping one who had befriended her. 
 "But you must promise to study faithfully." 
 
 "That I will. If I don't, I'll give you leave to lick 
 me." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 53 
 
 "I shan't forget that," said Florence, amused. *'I 
 will buy a ruler of good hard wood, and then you 
 must look out. But, tell me, where have you lived 
 hitherto ?" 
 
 "I don't like to tell you, Miss Florence. I've lived 
 ever since I was a kid with a man named Tim Bol- 
 ton. He keeps a saloon on the Bowery, near Hous- 
 ton Street. It's a tough place, I tell you. I've got 
 a bed in one corner — it's tucked away in a closet in 
 the day." 
 
 "I suppose it is a drinking saloon?" 
 
 "Yes, that's what it is." 
 
 "And kept open very late?" 
 
 "Pretty much all night." 
 
 "Is this Tim Bolton any relation of yours?" 
 
 "He says he's my father; but I don't believe 
 it." 
 
 "Have you always lived with him?" 
 
 "Ever since I was a small kid." 
 
 "Have you always lived in New York?" 
 
 "No ; I was out in Australia. Tim was out in the 
 country part of the time, and part of the time he kept 
 a saloon in Melbourne. There was thieves and 
 burglars used to come into his place. I knew what 
 they were, though they didn't think I did." 
 
 "How terrible for a boy to be subjected to such 
 influences." 
 
 "But I've made up my mind I won't live with Tim 
 no longer. I can earn my own livin' sellin' papers, 
 or smashin' baggage, and keep aw^ay from Tim. I'd 
 
SG ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 have done it before if I'd had a friend Hke you to 
 care for me." 
 
 *'We will stand by each other, Dodger. Heaven 
 knows I need a friend, and if I can be a friend to 
 you, and help you, I will." 
 
 "We'll get out here. Miss Florence. I told Mrs. 
 O'Keefe I'd call at her stand, and she'll go over and 
 show you your room." 
 
 They left the car at the corner of Grand Street, 
 and Dodger led the way to an apple-stand, presided 
 over by a lady of ample proportions, whose broad, 
 Celtic face seemed to indicate alike shrewd good 
 sense and a kindly spirit. 
 
 ''Mrs. O'Keefe," said Dodger, ''this is the young 
 lady I spoke to you about — Miss Florence Linden." 
 
 "It's welcome you are, my dear, and I'm very 
 glad to make your acquaintance. You look like a 
 rale leddy, and I don't know how you'll like the 
 room I've got for you." 
 
 "I cannot afford to be particular, Mrs. O'Keefe. 
 I have had a — a reverse of circumstances, and I must 
 be content with an humble home." 
 
 "Then I'll go over and show it to you. Here, 
 Kitty, come and mind the stand," she called to a 
 girl about thirteen across the street, "and don't let 
 anybody steal the apples. Look out for Jimmy Ma- 
 hone, he stole a couple of apples right under my 
 nose this mornin', the young spalpeen !" 
 
 As they were crossing the street, a boy of fourteen 
 ran up to Dodger. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 57 
 
 ^'Dodger,'' said he, ''you'd better go right ovei 
 to Tim Bolton's. He's in an awful stew — says he'll 
 skin you alive if you don't come to the s'loon right 
 away." 
 
58 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE NEW HOME. 
 
 *'You can tell Tim Bolton," said Dodger, "that 
 I don't intend to come back at all." 
 
 *'You don't mean it. Dodger?" said Ben Holt, 
 incredulously. 
 
 "Yes, I do. I'm going to set up for myself." 
 
 "Oh, Dodger," said Florence, "I'm afraid you 
 will get into trouble for my sake!" 
 
 "Don't worry about that, Miss Florence. I'm 
 old enough to take care of myself, and I've got 
 tired of livin' with Tim." 
 
 "But he may beat you !" 
 
 "He'll have to get hold of me first." 
 
 They had reached a four-story tenement of shabby 
 brick, which was evidently well filled up by a mis- 
 cellaneous crowd of tenants; shop girls, mechanics, 
 laborers and widows, living by their daily toil. 
 
 Florence had never visited this part of the city, 
 and her heart sank within her as she followed Mrs. 
 O'Keefe through a dirty hallway, up a rickety stair- 
 case, to the second floor. 
 
 "One more flight of stairs, my dear," said Mrs. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 59 
 
 O'Keefe, encouragingly. "I've got four rooms up- 
 stairs; one of them is for you, and one for Dodger." 
 
 Florence did not reply. She began to understand 
 at what cost she had secured her freedom from a dis- 
 tasteful marriage. 
 
 In her Madison Avenue home all the rooms were 
 
 light, clean and luxuriously furnished. Here 
 
 But words were inadequate to describe the contrast. 
 
 Mrs. O'Keefe threw open the door of a back room 
 about twelve feet square, furnished in the plainest 
 manner, uncarpeted, except for a strip that was laid, 
 like a rug, beside the bedstead. 
 
 There was a washstand, with a mirror, twelve by 
 fifteen inches, placed above it, a pine bureau, a couple 
 of wooden chairs, and a cane-seated rocking-chair. 
 
 "There, my dear, what do you say to that?" asked 
 Mrs. O'Keefe, complacently. "All nice and com- 
 fortable as you would wish to see." 
 
 *Tt is — very nice," said Florence, faintly, sacrific- 
 ing truth to politeness. 
 
 "And who do you think used to live here?" asked 
 the apple-woman. 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know." 
 
 "The bearded woman in the dime museum," an- 
 swered Mrs. O'Keefe, nodding her head. "She 
 lived with me three months, and she furnished the 
 room herself. When she went away she was hard 
 up, and I bought the furniture of her cheap. You 
 remember Madam Berger, don't you. Dodger?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I seen her often." 
 
6o ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 ''She got twenty-five dollars a week, and she'd 
 ought to have saved money, but she had a good-for- 
 nothin' husband that drank up all her hard earnin's/' 
 
 "I hope she didn't drink herself," said Florence, 
 who shuddered at the idea of succeeding a drunken 
 tenant. 
 
 ''Not a drop. She was a good, sober lady, if she 
 did work in a dime museum. She only left here 
 two weeks ago. It isn't every one I'd be willin' to 
 take in her place, but I see you're a real leddy, let 
 alone that Dodger recommends you. I hope you'll 
 like the room, and I'll do all I can to make things 
 pleasant. You can go into my room any hour, my 
 dear, and do your little cookin' on my stove. I 
 s'pose you'll do your own cookin' ?" 
 
 "Well, not just at present," faltered Florence. 
 "I am afraid I don't know much about cooking." 
 
 "You'll find it a deal cheaper, and it's more quiet 
 and gentale than goin' to the eatin'-houses. I'll 
 help you all I can, and glad to." 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs. O'Keefe, you are very kind," 
 said Florence, gratefully. "Perhaps just at first 
 you wouldn't object to taking me as a boarder, and 
 letting me take my meals with you. I don't think 
 I would like to go to the eating-houses alone." 
 
 "To be sure, my dear, if you wish it, and I'll be 
 glad of your company. I'll make the terms satis- 
 factory." 
 
 "I have no doubt of that," said Florence, feeling 
 very much relieved. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 6r 
 
 *'If I might be so bold, what kind of work are you 
 going to do?" 
 
 "I hardly know. It has come upon me so sud- 
 aenly. I shall have to do something, for I haven't 
 got much money. What I should like best would 
 be to write " 
 
 "Is it for the papers you mean?" 
 
 "Oh, no; I mean for some author or lawyer." 
 
 **I don't know much about that," said Mrs. 
 O'Keefe. "In fact, I don't mind tellin' you, my 
 dear, that I can't write myself, but I earn a good 
 livin' all the same by my apple-stand. I tell you^ 
 my dear," she continued in a confidential tone, 
 "there is a good dale of profit in sellin' apples. It's 
 better than sewin' or writin'. Of course, a young- 
 leddy like you wouldn't like to go into the busi- 
 ness." 
 
 Florence shook her head, with a smile. 
 
 "No, Mrs. O'Keefe," she said. "I am afraid I 
 haven't a business turn, and I should hardly like so 
 public an employment." 
 
 "Lor', miss, it's nothin' if you get used to it. 
 There's nothin' dull about my business, unless it 
 rains, and you get used to havin' people look at you." 
 
 "It isn't all that are worth looking at like you, 
 Mrs. O'Keefe," said Dodger, slyly. 
 
 "Oh, go away wid your fun. Dodger," said the 
 apple-woman, good-naturedly. "I ain't much to 
 look at, I know." 
 
 "I think there's a good deal of you to look at. 
 
62 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Mrs. O'Keefe. You must weigh near three hun- 
 dred." 
 
 'Tve a good mind to box your ears, Dodger. I 
 only weigh a hundred and ninety-five. But I can't 
 be bothered wid your jokes. Can you sew, Miss 
 Florence?" 
 
 ''Yes; but I would rather earn my Hving some 
 other way, if possible." 
 
 ''Small blame to you for that. I had a girl in 
 Dodger's room last year who used to sew for a liv- 
 in'. Early and late she worked, poor thing, and she 
 couldn't make but two dollars a week." 
 
 "How could she live?" asked Florence, startled, 
 for she knew very little of the starvation wages paid 
 to toiling women. 
 
 "She didn't live. She just faded away, and it's 
 my belief the poor thing didn't get enough to eat. 
 Every day or two I'd make an excuse to take her 
 in something from my own table, a plate of meat, 
 or a bit of toast and a cup of tay, makin' belave she 
 didn't get a chance to cook for herself, but she got 
 thinner and thinner, and her poor cheeks got hollow, 
 and she died in the hospital at last." 
 
 The warm-hearted apple-woman wiped away a 
 tear with the corner of her apron, as she thought of 
 the poor girl whose sad fate she described. 
 
 "You won't die of consumption, Mrs. O'Keefe," 
 said Dodger. "It'll take a good while for you to 
 fade away." 
 
 "Hear him now," said the apple-woman, laughing. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 63 
 
 '*He will have his joke, Miss Florence, but he's a 
 good bye for all that, and I'm glad he's goin' to lave 
 Tim Bolton, that ould thafe of the v^orruld." 
 
 ''Now, Mrs. O'Keefe, you know you'd marry 
 Tim if he'd only ask you." 
 
 ''Marry him, is it? I'd lay my broom over his 
 head if he had the impudence to ask me. When 
 L'laggie O'Keefe marries ag'in, she won't marry a 
 man wid a red nose." 
 
 "Break it gently to him, Mrs. O'Keefe. Tim is 
 just the man to break his heart for love of you." 
 
 Mrs. O'Keefe aimed a blow at Dodger, but he 
 proved true to his name, and skillfully evaded it. 
 
 "I must be goin'," he said. "I've got to work, or 
 I can't pay room rent when the week comes round." 
 
 "What are you going to do. Dodger?" asked Flor- 
 ence. 
 
 "It isn't time for the evenin' papers yet, so I shall 
 go 'round to the piers and see if I can't get a job at 
 smashin' baggage." 
 
 "But I shouldn't think any one would want to do 
 that," said Florence, puzzled. 
 
 "It's what we boys call it. Ife's just carryin' valises 
 and bundles. Sometimes I show strangers the way 
 to Broadway. Last week an old man paid me a 
 dollar to show him the way to the Cooper Institute. 
 He was a gentleman, he was. I'd like to meet him 
 ag'in. Good-by, Miss Florence; I'll be back some 
 time this afternoon." 
 
 "And I must be goin', too," said Mrs. O'Keefe. 
 
64 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "I can't depend on that Kitty; she's a wild slip of a 
 girl, and just as like as not I'll find a dozen apples 
 stole when I get back. I hope you won't feel lonely, 
 my dear." 
 
 *'I think I will lie down a while,*' said Florence. 
 ''I have a headache." 
 
 She threw herself on the bed, and a feeling of 
 loneliness and desolation came over her. 
 
 Her new friends were kind, but they could not 
 make up to her for her uncle's love, so strangely 
 lost, and the home she had left behind. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 65 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE ARCH CONSPIRATOR. 
 
 In the house on Madison Avenue, Curtis Waring 
 was left in possession of the field. Through his 
 machinations Florence had been driven from home 
 and disinherited. 
 
 He was left sole heir to his uncle's large property 
 with the prospect of soon succeeding, for though 
 only fifty-four, John Linden looked at least ten 
 years older, and was as feeble as many men past 
 seventy. 
 
 Yet, as Curtis seated himself at the breakfast table 
 an hour after Florence had left the house, he looked 
 far from happy or triumphant. 
 
 One thing he had not succeeded in, the conquest 
 of his cousin's heart. Though he loved himself 
 best, he was really in love with Florence, so far as 
 he was capable of being in love with any one. 
 
 She was only half his age — scarcely that — but he 
 persuaded himself that the match was in every way 
 suitable. 
 
 He liked to fancy her at the head of his table, 
 after the death of his uncle, which he anticipated in 
 a few months at latest. 
 
66 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 The more she appeared to disHke him, the more 
 he determined to marry her, even against her will. 
 
 She was the only one likely to inherit John Lin- 
 den's wealth, and by marrying her he would make 
 sure of it. 
 
 Yet she had been willing to leave the home of her 
 youth, to renounce luxury for a life of poverty, 
 rather than to marry him. 
 
 When he thought of this his face became set and 
 its expression stern and determined. 
 
 "Florence shall yet be mine," he declared, reso- 
 lutely. "I will yet be master of her fate, and bend 
 her to my will. Foolish girl, how dare she match 
 her puny strength against the resolute will of Curtis 
 Waring?" 
 
 "Was there any one else whom she loved?" he 
 asked himself, anxiously. No, he could think of 
 none. On account of his uncle's chronic invalidism, 
 they had neither gone into society, nor entertained 
 visitors, and in the midst of a great city Florence 
 and her uncle had practically led the lives of re- 
 cluses. 
 
 There had been no opportunity to meet young 
 men who might have proved claimants for her 
 hand. 
 
 "When did Miss Florence leave the house, Jane?" 
 he inquired, as he seated himself at the table. 
 
 "Most an hour since," the girl answered, coldly, 
 for she disliked Curtis as much as she loved and 
 admired Florence. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 67 
 
 "It is sad, very sad that she should be so head- 
 strong," said Curtis, with hypocritical sorrow. 
 
 *'It is sad for her to go away from her own uncle's 
 house," returned Jane. 
 
 "And very — very foolish." 
 
 "I don't know about that, sir. She had her rea- 
 sons," said Jane, significantly. 
 
 Curtis coughed. 
 
 He had no doubt that Florence had talked over 
 the matter with her hand-maiden. 
 
 "Did she say where she was going, Jane?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "I don't think the poor child knew herself, sir." 
 
 "Did she go alone?" 
 
 "No, sir; the boy that was here last night called 
 for her." 
 
 "That ragamuffin!" said Curtis, scornfully. "She 
 certainly shows extraordinary taste for a young lady 
 of family." 
 
 "The boy seems a very kind and respectable boy," 
 said Jane, who had been quite won by Dodger's 
 kindness to her young mistress. 
 
 "He may be respectable, though I am not so sure 
 of that ; but his position in life is very humble. He 
 is probably a bootblack; a singular person to select 
 for the friend of a girl like Florence." 
 
 "There's them that stands higher that isn't h^f so 
 good," retorted Jane, with more zeal than good 
 grammar. 
 
 "Did Miss Florence take a cab?" 
 
6S ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *'No; she just walked." 
 
 "But she took some clothing with her?'* 
 
 *'She took a handbag — that is all. She will send 
 for her trunk." 
 
 "If you find out where she is living, just let me 
 know, Jane." 
 
 "I will if she is willing to have me," answered 
 Jane, independently. 
 
 "Look here, Jane," said Curtis, angrily, "don't 
 forget that you are not her servant, but my uncle's. 
 It is to him you look for wages, not to Miss Flor- 
 ence." 
 
 "I don't need to be told that, sir.^ I know that 
 well enough." 
 
 "Then you know that it is to him that your faith- 
 ful services are due, not to Florence?" 
 
 "I'm faithful to both, Mr. Waring." 
 
 "You are aware that my uncle is justly displeased 
 with my cousin?" 
 
 "I know he's displeased, but I am sure he has no 
 good reason to be." 
 
 Curtis Waring bit his lips. The girl, servant as 
 she was, seemed to be openly defying him. His im- 
 perious temper could ill brook this. 
 
 "Take care!" he said, with a frown. "You seem 
 to be lacking in respect to me. You don't appear 
 to understand my position in this house." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I do. I know you have schemed to get 
 my poor young mistress out of the house, and have 
 succeeded." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 69 
 
 *'I have a great mind to discharge you, girl," said 
 Curtis, with lowering brow. 
 
 "I am not your servant, sir. You have nothing 
 to do with me." 
 
 "You will see whether I have or not. I will let 
 you remain for a time, as it is your attachment to 
 Miss Florence that has made you forget yourself. 
 You will find that it is for your interest to treat me 
 respectfully." 
 
 A feeble step was heard at the door, and John 
 Linden entered the breakfast-room. His face was 
 sad, and he hgaved a sigh as he glanced mechani- 
 cally at the head of the table, where Florence usu- 
 ally sat. 
 
 Curtis Waring sprang to his feet, and placing 
 himself at his uncle's side, led him to his seat. 
 
 "How do you feel this morning, uncle?" he asked, 
 with feigned solicitude. 
 
 "Ill, Curtis. I didn't sleep well last night." 
 
 "I don't wonder, sir. You had much to try you." 
 
 "Is — is Florence here?" 
 
 "No, sir," answered Jane, promptly. "She left 
 the house an hour ago." 
 
 A look of pain appeared on John Linden's pale 
 face. 
 
 "Did — did she leave a message for me?" he asked, 
 slowly. 
 
 "She asked me to bid you good-by for her," an- 
 swered Jane, quickly. 
 
 "Uncle, don't let yourself be disturbed now with 
 
70 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 painful thoughts. Eat your breakfast first, and then 
 we will speak of Florence." 
 
 John Linden ate a very light breakfast. He 
 seemed to have lost his appetite and merely toyed 
 with his food. 
 
 When he arose from the table, Curtis supported 
 him to the library. 
 
 "It is very painful to me — this conduct of Flor- 
 ence's, Curtis," he said, as he sank into his arm- 
 chair. 
 
 "I understand it fully, uncle," said Curtis. 
 "When I think of it, it makes me very angry with 
 the misguided girl." 
 
 'Terhaps I have been too harsh — too stern!" 
 
 "You, uncle, too harsh! Why, you are the soul 
 of gentleness. Florence has shown herself very un- 
 grateful." 
 
 "Yet, Curtis, I love that girl. Her mother 
 seemed to live again in her. Have I not acted 
 cruelly in requiring her to obey me or leave the 
 house?" 
 
 "You have acted only for good. You are seek- 
 ing her happiness." 
 
 "You really think this, Curtis?" 
 
 "I am sure of it." 
 
 "But how will it all end?" asked Linden, bend- 
 ing an anxious look upon his wily nephew. 
 
 "By Florence yielding." 
 
 "You are sure of that?" 
 
 "Yes. Listen, uncle; Florence is only capricious, 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 71 
 
 like most girls of her age. She foolishly desires to 
 have her own way. It is nothing more serious, I 
 can assure you." 
 
 *'But she has left the house. That seems to show 
 that she is in earnest." 
 
 *'She thinks, uncle, that by doing so she can bend 
 you to her wishes. She hasn't the slightest idea of 
 any permanent separation. She is merely experi- 
 menting upon your weakness. She expects you will 
 recall her in a week, at the latest. That is all of it." 
 
 Like most weak men, it made Mr. Linden angry 
 to have his strength doubted. 
 
 "You think that?" he said. 
 
 *'I have no doubt of it." 
 
 "She shall find that I am resolute," he said, irri- 
 tably. "I will not recall her." 
 
 "Bravo, uncle! Only stick to that, and she will 
 yield unconditionally within a fortnight. A little 
 patience, and you will carry your point. Then all 
 will be smooth sailing." 
 
 "I hope so, Curtis. Your words have cheered 
 me. I will be patient. But I hope I shan't have to 
 wait long. Where is the morning paper?" 
 
 "I shall have to humor and deceive him," thought 
 Curtis. "I shall have a difficult part to play, but I 
 am sure to succeed at last." 
 
72 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 FLORENCE SECURES EMPLOYMENT. 
 
 For a few days after being installed in her new 
 home Florence was like one dazed. 
 
 She could not settle her mind to any plan of self- 
 support. 
 
 She was too unhappy in her enforced exile from 
 her home, and it saddened her to think that the 
 uncle who had always been so kind was permanently 
 estranged from her. 
 
 Though Mrs. O'Keefe was kind, and Dodger was 
 her faithful friend, she could not accustom herself 
 to her poor surroundings. 
 
 She had not supposed luxury so essential to her 
 happiness. 
 
 It was worse for her because she had nothing to 
 do but give way to her morbid fancies. 
 
 This Mrs. O'Keefe was clear-sighted enough to 
 see. 
 
 "I am sorry to see you so downcast like, my dear 
 young lady," she said. 
 
 *'How can I help it, Mrs. O'Keefe?" returned 
 Florence. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 73 
 
 "Try not to think of your wicked cousin, my 
 dear." 
 
 "It isn't of him that I think — it is of my uncle. 
 How could he be so cruel, and turn against me after 
 years of kindness?" 
 
 "It's that wicked Curtis that is settin' him against 
 you, take my word for it, Miss Florence. Shure, 
 he must be wake-minded to let such a spalpeen set 
 him against a swate young leddy like you." 
 
 "He is weak in body, not in mind, Mrs. O'Keefe. 
 You are right in thinking that it is Curtis that is 
 the cause of my misfortune." 
 
 "Your uncle will come to his right mind some 
 day, never fear! And now, my dear, shall I give 
 you a bit of advice?" 
 
 "Go on, my kind friend. I will promise to con- 
 sider whatever you say." 
 
 "Then you'd better get some kind of work to 
 take up your mind — a bit of sewin', or writin', or 
 anything that comes to hand. I suppose you 
 wouldn't want to mind my apple-stand a couple of 
 hours every day?" 
 
 "No," answered Florence. "I don't feel equal 
 to that." 
 
 "It would do you no end of good to be out in the 
 open air. It would bring back the roses to your 
 pale cheeks. If you coop yourself up in this dark 
 room, you'll fade away and get thin." 
 
 "You are right. I will make an effort and go 
 out. Besides, I must see about work." 
 
74 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Here Dodger entered the room in his usual breezy 
 way. 
 
 In his hand he brandished a morning paper. 
 
 *'How are you feehn', Florence?" he asked; he 
 had given up saying Miss Florence at her request. 
 ''Here's an advertisement that'll maybe suit you." 
 
 ''Show it to me, Dodger," said Florence, begin- 
 ning to show some interest. 
 
 The boy directed her attention to the following 
 advertisement : 
 
 "Wanted. — A governess for a girl of twelve. 
 Must be a good performer on the piano, and able to 
 instruct in French and the usual English branches. 
 Terms must be moderate. Apply to Mrs. Leighton, 
 at 127 W. Street." 
 
 "There, Florence, w^hat do you say to that? 
 That's better than sewin'." 
 
 "I don't know, Dodger, whether I am competent." 
 
 "You play on the planner, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well enough to teach?" 
 
 "I think so ; but I may not have the gift of teach- 
 ing." 
 
 "Yes, you have. Haven't you been teachin' me 
 every evenin'? You make everything just as clear 
 as mud — no, I don't mean that. You just explain 
 so that I can't help understandin'." 
 
 "Then," said Florence, "I suppose I am at liberty 
 to refer to you.'' 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 75 
 
 ''Yes ; you can tell the lady to call at the office of 
 Dodger, Esq., any mornin' after sunrise, and he'll 
 give her full particulars." 
 
 Florence did not immediately decide to apply for 
 the situation, but the more she thought of it the 
 more she felt inclined to do so. The little experienc: 
 she had had with Dodger satisfied her that she 
 should enjoy teaching better than sewing or writing. 
 
 Accordingly, an hour later, she put on her street 
 dress and went uptown to the address given in the 
 advertisement. 
 
 No. 127 was a handsome brown-stone house, not 
 unlike the one in which Florence had been accus- 
 tomed to live. It was a refreshing contrast to the 
 poor tenement in which she lived at present. 
 
 "Is Mrs. Leighton at home?" inquired Florence. 
 
 "Yes, miss," answered the servant, respectfully. 
 "Whom shall I say?" 
 
 "I have come to apply for the situation of gov- 
 erness," answered Florence, feeling rather awkward 
 as she made the statement. 
 
 "Ah," said the servant, with a perceptible decline 
 in respect. "Won't you step in ?" 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 "Well, she do dress fine for a governess," said 
 Nancy to herself. "It's likely she'll put on airs." 
 
 The fact v/as that Florence was dressed according 
 to her past social position — in a costly street attire — 
 but it had never occurred to her that she was too 
 well dressed for a governess. 
 
76 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 She took her seat in the drawing-room, and five 
 minutes later there was a rusthng heard, and Mrs. 
 Leighton w^alked into the room. 
 
 ''Are you the apphcant for the position of gov- 
 erness?" she asked, surveying the elegantly attired 
 young lady seated on the sofa. 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Leighton," answered Florence, easily, 
 for she felt more at home in a house like this than 
 in the tenement. 
 
 ''Have you taught before?" 
 
 "Very little," answered Florence, smiling to her- 
 self, as she wondered what Mrs. Leighton wouLl 
 say if she could see Dodger, the only pupil she ever 
 had. "However, I like teaching, and I like chil- 
 dren." 
 
 "Pardon me, but you don't look like a governess. 
 Miss " 
 
 "Linden," suggested Florence, filling out the sen- 
 tence. "Do governesses have a peculiar look?" 
 
 "I mean as to dress. You are more expensively 
 dressed than the average governess can afford." 
 
 "It is only lately that my circumstances required 
 me to support myself. I should not be able to buy 
 such a dress out of my present earnings." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say that, for I do not pro- 
 pose to give a large salary." 
 
 "I do not expect one," said Florence, quietly. 
 
 "You consider yourself competent to instruct in 
 music, French and the English branches?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 77 
 
 ^*Do you speak French?" 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 "Would you favor me with a specimen of your 
 piano playing?" 
 
 There was a piano in the back parlor. Florence 
 removed her gloves, and taking a seat before it, 
 dashed into a spirited selection from Strauss. 
 
 Mrs. Leighton listened with surprised approval. 
 
 "Certainly you are a fine performer," she said. 
 "What — if I should engage you — would you ex- 
 pect in the way of compensation?" 
 
 "How much time would you expect me to give?" 
 
 "Three hours daily — from nine to twelve." 
 
 "I hardly know what to say. What did you ex- 
 pect to pay?" 
 
 "About fifty cents an hour." 
 
 Florence knew very well, from the sums that had 
 been paid for her own education, that this was mis- 
 erably small pay; but it was much more than she 
 could earn by sewing. 
 
 "I will teach a month on those terms," she said, 
 after a pause. 
 
 Mrs. Leighton looked well pleased. She knew 
 that she was making a great bargain. 
 
 "Oh, by the way," she said, "can you give refer- 
 ences?" 
 
 "I can refer you to Madam Morrison," naming 
 the head of a celebrated female seminary. "She edu- 
 cated me." 
 
 "That will be quite satisfactory," said Mrs. 
 
78 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Leighton, graciously. ''Can you begin to-morrow?" 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 "You will then see your pupil. At present she is 
 out." 
 
 Florence bowed and withdrew. 
 
 She had been afraid Mrs. Leighton would inquire 
 where she lived, and she would hardly dare to name 
 the humble street which she called home. 
 
 She walked toward Fifth Avenue, when, just as 
 she was turning the corner, she met Mr. Percy de 
 Brabazon, swinging a slender cane, and dressed in 
 the extreme of the fashion. 
 
 "Miss Linden!" he exclaimed, eagerly. "This is 
 — aw — indeed a pleasure. Where are you walking 
 this fine morning? May I — aw — have the pleasure 
 of accompanying you?" 
 
 Florence stopped short in deep embarrassment. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 79 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A FRIEND, THOUGH A DUDE. 
 
 Percy de Brabazon looked sincerely glad to 
 meet Florence, and she herself felt some pleasure in 
 meeting one who reminded her of her former life. 
 
 But it was quite impossible that she should allow 
 him to accompany her to her poor home on the East 
 Side. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. de Brabazon, but my engage- 
 ments this morning will hardly permit me to accept 
 your escort," she said. 
 
 "I suppose that means that you are going shop- 
 ping; but I don't mind it, I assure you, and I will 
 carry your bundles," he added, magnanimously. 
 
 "That would never do. What! the fashionable 
 Mr. de Brabazon carrying bundles? You would 
 lose your social status." 
 
 "I don't mind, Miss Florence, as long as you give 
 me — aw — an approving smile." 
 
 "I will give it now, as I bid you good-morning." 
 
 "May I — aw — have the pleasure of calling upon 
 you to-morrow evening, Miss Linden ?" 
 
 "It is evident that you have not heard that I am 
 no longer residing with my uncle.'* 
 
8o ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Mr. de Brabazon looked surprised. 
 
 "No, I had not heard. May I ask — aw — where 
 you are wesiding?" 
 
 "With friends," answered Florence, briefly. "As 
 you are a friend and will be likely to hear it, I may 
 as well mention that my uncle is displeased with me, 
 and has practically disowned me." 
 
 "Then, Miss Florence," said Mr. de Brabazon, 
 eagerly, "won't you accept — aw — my heart and 
 hand? My mother will be charmed to receive you, 
 and I — aw — will strive to make you happy." 
 
 "I appreciate your devotion, I do, indeed, Mr. de 
 Brabazon," said Florence, earnestly; "but I must 
 decline your offer. I will not marry without love." 
 
 "I don't mind that," said Percy, "if you'll agree 
 to take a feller; you'll learn in time to like him a 
 little. I am wich — I know you don't care for that 
 — but I can give you as good a home as your uncle. 
 If you would give me hope — aw " 
 
 "I am afraid I cannot, Mr. de Brabazon, but if 
 you will allow me to look upon you as a friend, I 
 will call upon you if I have need of a friend's serv- 
 ices." 
 
 "Will you, weally?" 
 
 "Yes, there is my hand on it. I ought to tell you 
 that I must now earn my own living, and am to give 
 
 lessons to a young pupil in West Street, three 
 
 hours daily." 
 
 "You don't mean to say you are actually poor?" 
 said Mr. de Brabazon, horrified. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 8i 
 
 "Yes, indeed, I am." 
 
 *Then, won't you let me lend you some money? 
 I've got more than I need, I have, 'pon my honor." 
 
 "Thank you, I promise to call upon you if I need 
 it." 
 
 Mr. de Brabazon looked pleased. 
 
 "Would you mind telling me where you are going 
 to teach, Miss Florence?" 
 
 Florence hesitated, but there was something so 
 sincere and friendly in the young man's manner — • 
 dude though he was — that she consented to grant 
 his request. 
 
 "I am to teach the daughter of Mr. Robert Leigh- 
 ton." 
 
 "Why, Miss Leighton is my cousin," said Percy, 
 in joyous excitement. 
 
 "Indeed ! Had I known that I would hardly have 
 told you." 
 
 "Don't be afwaid! I will be vewy discreet," said 
 Mr. de Brabazon. 
 
 "Thank you, and good-morning." 
 
 Florence went on her way, cheered and encour- 
 aged in spite of herself, by her success in obtaining 
 employment, and by the friendly offers of Mr. de 
 ■ Brabazon. 
 
 "It is wrong to get discouraged," she said to her- 
 self. "After all, there are warm hearts in the 
 world." 
 
 When she entered her humble home, she found 
 Dodger already there. There was an eagerness in 
 
82 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 his manner, and a light in his eye, that seemed to 
 indicate good news. 
 
 ''Well, Dodger, what is it?'* 
 
 ''I've been waitin' half an hour to see you, Flor- 
 ence," he said. "I've got some work for you." 
 
 'What is it — sewing on a button, or mending a 
 coat?" 
 
 "No, I mean workin' for money. You can play 
 on the planner, can't you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "They want a young lady to play the planner at a 
 dime museum, for nine dollars a week. It's a bully 
 chance. I just told the manager — he's a friend of 
 mine — that I had a young lady friend that was a 
 stunnin' player, and he wants you to come around 
 and see him." 
 
 It was a preposterous idea — so Florence thought 
 — that she should consent to play at such a place ; but 
 she couldn't expect Dodger to look at the matter 
 in the same light, so she answered, very gently and 
 pleasantly : 
 
 "You are very kind, Dodger, to look out for me, 
 but I shall not need to accept your friend's offer. I 
 have secured a chance to teach uptown." 
 
 "You have? What'll you get?" 
 
 "I am to be employed three hours daily, at fifty 
 cents an hour." 
 
 "Geewhillikens! that's good! You'd have to 
 work as much as twelve hours at the museum for 
 the same pay." 
 
ADJ^IFT IN NEW YORK. 83 
 
 *'You see, therefore, that I am provided for — 
 that is, if I suit." 
 
 Dodger was a httle disappointed. Still, he could 
 not help admitting that it would l^e better for Flor- 
 ence to teach three hours, than to work ten or twelve. 
 As to her having any objection to appearing at a 
 dime museum, that never occurred to him. 
 
 Florence had sent for her trunk, and it was now 
 in her room. 
 
 Dodger accompanied an expressman to the 
 house, and luckily saw Jane, who arranged every- 
 thing for him. 
 
 *'How's the old gentleman?" asked Dodger. 
 ''Florence wanted me to ask." 
 
 "He's feeble," said Jane, shaking her head 
 
 *'Does he miss Florence?" 
 
 "That he do." 
 
 "Why don't he send for her, then, to come back?" 
 asked Dodger, bluntly. 
 
 "Because Curtis Waring makes him believe she'll 
 come around and ask forgiveness, if he only holds 
 out. I tell you. Dodger, that Curtis is a viper." 
 
 "So he is," answered Dodger, who was not quite 
 clear in his mind as to what a viper was. "Fd like 
 to step on his necktie." 
 
 "If it wasn't for him, my dear young mistress 
 would be back in the house within twenty-four 
 hours." 
 
 "I don't see how the old gentleman can let him 
 turn Florence out of the house." 
 
84 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 **He's a snake in the grass, Dodger. It may be 
 wicked, but I just wish something would happen to 
 him. And how is Miss Florence lookin', poor 
 dear?" 
 
 ''She's lookin' like a daisy." 
 
 ''Does she worry much?" 
 
 "She did at first, but now she's workin' every day, 
 and she looks more cheerful-like." 
 
 "Miss Florence workin' ! She that was always 
 brought up like a lady!" 
 
 "She's teachin' a little girl three hours a day." 
 
 "Well, that isn't so bad!" said Jane, relieved. 
 "Teachin' is genteel. I wish I could see her some 
 day. Will you tell her, Dodger, that next Sunday 
 is my day out, and I'll be in Central Park up by the 
 menagerie at three o'clock, if she'll only take the 
 trouble to be up there?" 
 
 "I'll tell her, Jane, and I'm sure she'll be there." 
 
 A day or two afterward Curtis Waring asked : 
 
 "Have you heard from my Cousin Florence since 
 she went away?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Indeed! Where is she staying?" 
 
 "She didn't send me word." 
 
 "How, then, did you hear from her?" 
 
 "Dodger came with an expressman for her 
 trunk." 
 
 Curtis Waring frowned. 
 
 "And you let him have it?" he demanded, sternly. 
 
 "Of course I did. Why shouldn't I ?" 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 85 
 
 "You should have asked me." 
 
 "And what business have you with Miss Flor- 
 ence's trunk, Fd like to know?" said Jane, inde- 
 pendently. 
 
 "Never mind; you ought to have asked my per- 
 mission." 
 
 "I didn't think you'd want to wear any of Miss 
 Florence's things, Mr. Waring." 
 
 "You are silly and impertinent," said Curtis, bit- 
 ing his lips. "Did that boy tell you anything about 
 her?" 
 
 "Only that she wasn't worry in' any for you, Mr. 
 Curtis." 
 
 Curtis glanced angrily at his cousin's devoted 
 friend, and then, turning on his heel, left the room. 
 
 "I'll bring her to terms yet," he muttered. "No 
 girl of seventeen shall defy me!" 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 TIM BOLTON'S saloon. 
 
 Not far from Houston Street, on the west side of 
 the Bowery, is an underground saloon, with whose 
 proprietor we are already acquainted. 
 
 It was kept by Tim Bolton, whose peculiar tastes 
 and shady characteristics well fitted him for such a 
 business. 
 
 It was early evening, and the gas jets lighted up 
 a characteristic scene. 
 
 On the sanded floor were set several tables, around 
 which were seated a motley company, all of them 
 with glasses of beer or whiskey before them. 
 
 Tim, with a white apron on, was moving about 
 behind the bar, ministering to the wants of his pa- 
 trons. There was a scowl upon his face, for he was 
 not fond of work, and he missed Dodger's assistance. 
 
 The boy understood the business of mixing drinks 
 as well as he, and often officiated for hours at a 
 time, thus giving his guardian and reputed father a 
 chance to leave the place and meet outside engage- 
 ments. 
 
 A tall, erect gentleman entered the saloon, and 
 .walked up to the bar. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 87 
 
 "Good-evening-, colonel," said Tim. 
 
 "Good-evening, sir," said the newcomer, v^ith a 
 stately inclination of the head. 
 
 He was really a colonel, having served in the 
 Civil War at the head of a Georgia regiment. 
 
 He had all the stately courtesy of a Southern gen- 
 tleman, though not above the weakness of a frequent 
 indulgence in the strongest fluids dispensed by Tim 
 Bolton. 
 
 "What'll you have, colonel?" 
 
 "Whiskey straight, sir. It's the only drink fit for 
 a gentleman. Will you join me, Mr. Bolton?" 
 
 "Of course, I will," said Tim, as, pouring out a 
 glass for himself, he handed the bottle to the colonel. 
 
 "Your health, sir," said the colonel, bowing. 
 
 "Same to you, colonel," responded Tim, with a 
 nod. 
 
 "Where's the boy?" 
 
 Col. Martin had always taken considerable notice 
 of Dodger, being naturally fond of boys, and having 
 once had a son of his own, who was killed in a rail- 
 road accident when about Dodger's age. 
 
 "Danged if I know!" answered Tim, crossly. 
 
 "He hasn't left you, has he?" 
 
 "Yes ; he's cleared out, the ungrateful young imp ! 
 I'd like to lay my hands on the young rascal." 
 
 "Was he your son?" 
 
 "He was my — stepson," answered Tim, hesitat- 
 ing. 
 
 "I see, you married his mother." 
 
88 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 **Yes/' said Tim, considering the explanation sat- 
 isfactory, and resolved to adopt it. "I've always 
 treated him as if he was my own flesh and blood, 
 and I've raised him from a young kid. Now he's 
 gone and left me." 
 
 ''Can you think of any reason for his leaving 
 you?" 
 
 ''Not one. I always treated him well. He's been 
 a great expense to me, and now he's got old enough 
 to help me he must clear out. He's the most un- 
 grateful cub I ever seen." 
 
 "I am sorry he has gone — I used to like to have 
 him serve me." 
 
 "And now what's the consequence? Here I am 
 tied down to the bar day and night." 
 
 "Can't you get some one in his place?" 
 
 "Yes, but I'd likely be robbed; I had a bartender 
 once who robbed me of two or three dollars a day." 
 
 "But you trusted the boy?" 
 
 "Yes, Dodger wouldn't steal — I can say that 
 much for him." 
 
 "There's one thing I noticed about the boy,'* said 
 the colonel, reflectively. "He wouldn't drink. 
 More than once I have asked him to drink with me, 
 but he would always say, 'Thank you, colonel, but I 
 don't like whiskey.' I never asked him to take any- 
 thing else, for whiskey's the only drink fit for a gen- 
 tleman. Do you expect to get the boy back?" 
 
 "If I could only get out for a day I'd hunt him 
 tip; but I'm tied down here." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 89 
 
 **I seed him yesterday, Tim/' said a red-nosed man 
 who had just entered the saloon, in company with a 
 friend of the same general appearance. Both wore 
 silk hats, dented and soiled with stains of dirt, coats 
 long since superannuated, and wore the general look 
 of barroom loafers. 
 
 They seldom had any money, but lay in wait for 
 any liberal stranger, in the hope of securing a free 
 drink. 
 
 ''Where did you see him, Hooker?" asked Tim 
 Bolton, with sudden interest. 
 
 "Selling papers down by the Astor House.*' 
 
 "Think of that, colonel !" said Tim, disgusted. 
 "Becomin' a common newsboy, when he might be 
 in a genteel employment! Did you speak to him, 
 Hooker?" 
 
 "Yes, I asked him if he had left you.'* 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "That he had left you for good — that he was go- 
 ing to grow up respectable!" 
 
 "Think of that !" said Tim, with renewed disgust. 
 "Did he say where he lived?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Did he ask after me?" 
 
 "No, except he said that you were no relation of 
 his. He said he expected you stole him when he was 
 a kid, and he hoped some time to find his rela- 
 tions." 
 
 Tim Bolton's face changed color, and he was evi- 
 dently disturbed. Could the boy have heard any- 
 
90 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 thing? he wondered, for his suspicions were very 
 near the truth. 
 
 *'It's all nonsense !" he said, roughly. "Next time 
 you see him, Hooker, foller him home, and find out 
 where he lives." 
 
 "All right, Tim. It ought to be worth some- 
 thing," he insinuated, with a husky cough. 
 
 "That's so. What'll you take?" 
 
 "Whiskey," answered Hooker, with a look of 
 pleased anticipation. 
 
 "You're a gentleman, Tim," he said, as he gulped 
 down the contents of a glass without winking. 
 
 Briggs, his dilapidated companion, had been look- 
 ing on in thirsty envy. 
 
 "I'll help Hooker to look for Dodger," he said. 
 
 "Very well, Briggs." 
 
 "Couldn't you stand a glass for me, too, Tim?" 
 asked Briggs, eagerly. 
 
 "No," answered Bolton, irritably. "I've been at 
 enough expense for that young rascal already." 
 
 But the colonel noticed the pathetic look of disap- 
 pointment on the face of Briggs, and he was stirred 
 to compassion. 
 
 "Drink with me, sir," he said, turning to the over- 
 joyed Briggs. 
 
 "Thank you, colonel. You're a gentleman!" 
 
 "Two glasses, Tim." 
 
 So the colonel drained a second glass, and Briggs, 
 pouring out with trembling fingers as much as he 
 dared, followed suit. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 91 
 
 When the last drop was drunk, he breathed a deep 
 sigh of measureless enjoyment. 
 
 **If either of you bring that boy in here," said 
 Tim, 'Til stand a couple of glasses for both." 
 
 ''We're your men, Tim," said Hooker. "Ain't 
 we, Briggs?" 
 
 'That's so, Hooker. Shake!" 
 
 And the poor victims of drink shook hands ener- 
 getically. Long since they had sunk their manhood 
 in the intoxicating cup, and henceforth lived only to 
 gratify their unnatural craving for what would 
 sooner or later bring them to a drunkard's grave. 
 
 As they left the saloon, the colonel turned to Tim, 
 and said : 
 
 "I like whiskey, sir; but I'll be hanged if I can 
 respect such men as those." 
 
 "They're bums, colonel, that's what they are!" 
 
 "How do they live?" 
 
 "Don't know. They're in here about every day." 
 
 "If it's drink that's brought them where they are, 
 I'm half inclined to give it up; but, after 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. 
 
92 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "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 com.e home? The baby's dead, 
 and we haven't a cent in the house!" 
 
 Even Tim was moved by this. 
 
 'Til tell him," he said. "Take a drink your- 
 self; 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 chiv- 
 alrous 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 gal- 
 lant Southern gentleman escorted her up to the side- 
 walk. 
 
 "I'd like to horsewhip that woman's husband. 
 Don't you sell him another drop !" he said, when he 
 returned. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 93 
 
 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 im- 
 mediately 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. 
 
94 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *'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 neghgence? 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. Peo- 
 ple would say I was closed up." 
 
 "And have you done nothing toward his recov- 
 ery?" 
 
 "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 my- 
 self." 
 
 "But why do you want to see him ? Do you want 
 to restore him to his rights?" 
 
 "Hush!" said Curtis, glancing around him ap- 
 prehensively. "What we say may be overheard and 
 excite suspicion. One thing may be secured by find- 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 95 
 
 ing him — the knowledge of Florence's where- 
 abouts." 
 
 "What makes you think she and the boy are to- 
 gether?" 
 
 ''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, consid- 
 ering 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 
 
96 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 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 itwas 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 mar- 
 ried; 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 disap- 
 peared." 
 
 "Is it possible?" asked Bolton, in astonishment. 
 "When was it missed ?" 
 
 "On the night of the burglary." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 97 
 
 *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. 
 
 "1 have not seen him since the night of the rob- 
 bery." 
 
 "If he has read the will, it may lead to dangerous 
 "suspicions." 
 
 ''He would give it to your cousin, Florence, would 
 lie not?" 
 
 "Perhaps so. Bolton, you must get the boy back, 
 ^nd 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, sus- 
 piciously. 
 
98 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *'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 
 niuch, but I think half a million. What does he 
 p^et 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 
 ine to it." 
 
 "Will you put that in writing?" 
 
 "Do you take me for a fool ? To put It in writ- 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 99 
 
 ing 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 fina 
 tlie 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?" 
 
100 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE NEW GOVERNESS. 
 
 "Wish me luck, Dodger !'* 
 
 "So I do, Florence. Are you goin' to begin teach- 
 in' this mornin'?" 
 
 "Yes; and I hope to produce a favorable impres- 
 sion. It is very important to me to please Mrs, 
 Leighton and my future pupil." 
 
 "Fm 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 presenta- 
 ble. As she stepped out of the shabby doorway 
 upon the sidewalk no one supposed her to be a ten- 
 ant, but she was generally thought to be a visitor, 
 periiaps 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. Dod- 
 ger, and I am afraid you would not be dignified. 
 <jOod-morning ! I shall be back to dinner." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. loi 
 
 "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. 
 
 *1 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 re- 
 lieved. 
 
 ''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 cham- 
 ber. 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 Flor- 
 ence, 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?" 
 
102 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 ''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, con- 
 fidently. "You are too young and pretty." 
 
 "Thank you, Carrie," said Florence, with a lit-. 
 tie blush. "You say that, I hope, because you are 
 going to like me." 
 
 "I like you already," said the little girl, impul- 
 sively. "I've got a cousin that will like you, too." 
 
 "A young girl ?" 
 
 "No; of course not. He is a young man. Flis 
 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. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 103 
 
 *'Is he a handsome young man?" she asked, de- 
 murely. 
 
 "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 al- 
 ways looks as if he had just come out of a band- 
 box." 
 
 "Is he in any business?" 
 
 "No; he has an independent fortune, so mamma 
 says. He was in Europe last year." 
 
 "I think, Carrie, we must give up talking and at- 
 tend to business. I should have checked you be- 
 fore, but I thought a little conversation would help 
 us to get acquainted. Now show me your books, 
 and I will assign your lessons." 
 
 "Don't give me too long lessons, please. Miss 
 Linden." 
 
 "I will take care not to task you beyond your 
 strength. I don't want my pupil to grow sick on 
 my hands." 
 
 "I hope you won't be too strict. When May 
 Robinson makes two mistakes her governess makes 
 her learn her lessons over again." 
 
 "I will promise not to be too strict. Now let me 
 see your books." 
 
 The rest of the forenoon was devoted to study. 
 
104 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Florence was not only an excellent scholar, but 
 she had the art of imparting knowledge, and, what 
 is very important, she was able in a few luminous 
 words to explain difficulties and make clear what 
 seemed to her pupil obscure. 
 
 So the time slipped quickly and pleasantly away, 
 and it was noon before either she or her pupil real- 
 ized it. 
 
 ''It can't be twelve," said Carrie, surprised. 
 
 *'Yes, it is. We must defer further study till 
 to-morrow." 
 
 *'Why, it is a great deal pleasanter than going 
 to school, Miss Linden. I dreaded studying at 
 home, but now I like it." 
 
 "I hope you will continue to, Carrie. I can say 
 that the time has passed away pleasantly for fne." 
 
 As Florence prepared to resume her street dress, 
 Carrie said : 
 
 ''Oh, I forgot! Mamma asked me to invite you 
 to stay to lunch with me. I take lunch as soon as 
 school is out, at twelve o'clock, so I won't detain 
 you long." 
 
 "Thank you, Carrie ; I will stay with pleasure." 
 
 "I am glad of that, for I don't like to sit down 
 to the table alone. Mamma is never here at this 
 time. She goes out shopping or making calls, so 
 poor I have to sit down to the table alone. It will 
 be ever so much pleasure to have you with me." 
 
 Florence was by no means sorry to accept the 
 invitation. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 105 
 
 The meals she got at home were by no means 
 luxurious, and the manner of serving them was by 
 no means what she enjoyed. 
 
 Mrs. O'Keefe, though a good friend and a kind- 
 hearted woman, was not a model housekeeper, and 
 Florence had been made fastidious by her early 
 training. Lunch was, of course, a plain meal, but 
 what was furnished was of the best quality, and 
 the table service was such as might be expected in 
 a luxurious home. 
 
 Just as Florence v/as rising from the table, Mrs. 
 Leighton entered the room in street dress. 
 
 "I am glad you remained to lunch. Miss Linden,'^ 
 she said. "You will be company for my little girl, 
 who is very sociable. Carrie, I hope you w^ere a 
 good girl, and gave Miss Linden no trouble." 
 
 "Ask Miss Linden, mamma," said Carrie, con- 
 fidently. 
 
 "Indeed, she did very well," said Florence. "I 
 foresee that we shall get along admirably." 
 
 "I am glad to hear that. She is apt to be in« 
 dolent." 
 
 "I won't be with Miss Linden, mamma. She 
 makes the studies so interesting." 
 
 After Florence left the house, Carrie pronounced 
 an eulogium upon her which led Mrs. Leighton 
 to congratulate herself upon having secured a gov- 
 erness who had produced so favorable an impres- 
 sion on her little girl. 
 
 "Was you kept after school, Florence?" asked 
 
io6 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Dodger, as she entered her humble home. **I am 
 afraid you'll find your dinner cold." 
 
 ''Never mind, Dodger. I am to take dinner — 
 or lunch, rather — at the house where I am teach- 
 ing; so hereafter Mrs. O'Keefe need not wait for 
 me." 
 
 ''And how do you like your place?" 
 
 "It is everything that is pleasant. You wished me 
 good luck, Dodger, and your wish has been 
 granted." 
 
 "I was lucky, too, Florence. I've made a dol- 
 lar and a quarter this mornin'." 
 
 "Not by selling papers, surely?" 
 
 "Not all. A gentleman gave me fifty cents for 
 takin' his valise to the Long Branch boat." 
 
 "It seems we are both getting rich," said Flor- 
 ence, smiling. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 107 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 DODGER BECOMES AMBITIOUS. 
 
 "Ah, there, Dodger!" 
 
 Dodger, who had been busily and successfully 
 selHng evening papers in front of the Astor House, 
 turned quickly as he heard his name called. 
 
 His glance rested on two men, dressed in soiled 
 white hats and shabby suits, who were apparently 
 holding each other up, having both been imbib- 
 ing. 
 
 He at once recognized Hooker and Briggs, for he 
 had waited upon them too many times in Tim's 
 saloon not to recognize them. 
 
 ''Well," he said, cautiously, "what do you want?" 
 
 "Tim has sent us for you!" answered the two, 
 in unison. 
 
 "What does he want of me?" 
 
 "He wants you to come home. He says he can't 
 get along without you." 
 
 "He will have to get along without me," said 
 the boy, independently. "Tell him I'm not goin' 
 back!" 
 
 "You're wrong. Dodger," said Hooker, shaking 
 his head, solemnly. "Ain't he your father?" 
 
 "No, he ain't.'* 
 
io8 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 ''He says he is," continued Hooker, looking puz- 
 zled. 
 
 "That don't make it so." 
 
 "He ought to know," put in Briggs. 
 
 "Yes; he ought to know!" chimed in Hooker, 
 
 "No doubt he does, but he can't make me believe 
 he's any relation of mine." 
 
 "Just go and argy the point with him," said 
 Hooker, coaxingly. 
 
 "It wouldn't do no good." 
 
 "Maybe it would. Just go back with us, that's 
 a good boy." 
 
 "What makes you so anxious about it?" asked 
 Dodger, suspiciously. 
 
 "Well," said Hooker, coughing, "we're Tim's 
 friends, don't you know." 
 
 "What's he goin' to give you if I go back w^ith 
 you?" asked the boy, shrewdly. 
 
 "A glass of whiskey!" replied Hooker and Briggs 
 in unison. 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "Maybe he'd make it two." 
 
 "I won't go back with you," said Dodger, after 
 a moment's thought; "but I don't want you to lose 
 anything by me. Here's a dime apiece, and you 
 can go and get a drink somewhere else." 
 
 "You're a trump, Dodger," said Hooker, eagerly 
 holding out his hand. 
 
 "I always liked you, Dodger," said Briggs, with 
 a similar motion. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 109 
 
 "Now, don't let Tim know you've seen me," said 
 the newsboy, warningly. 
 
 "We won't." 
 
 And the interesting pair ambled off in the direc- 
 tion of the Bowery. 
 
 "So Tim sent them fellers after me?" soliloqized 
 Dodger. "I guess I'll have to change my office, 
 or maybe Tim himself will be droppin' down on me 
 some mornin'. It'll be harder to get rid of him 
 than of them chumps." 
 
 So it happened that he used to take down his 
 morning papers to the piers on the North River, 
 and take his chance of selling them to passengers 
 from Boston and others ports arriving by the Fall 
 River boats, and others from different points. 
 
 The advantage of this was that he often got 
 a chance to serve as guide to strangers visiting the 
 city for the first time, or as porter, to carry their 
 valise or other luggage. 
 
 Being a bright, wideawake boy, with a pleasant 
 face and manner, he found his services considerably 
 in demand; and on counting up his money at the 
 end of the week, he found, much to his encourage- 
 ment, that he had received on an average about a 
 dollar and twenty-five cents per day. 
 
 "That's better than sellin' papers alone," thought 
 he. "Besides, Tim isn't likely to come across me 
 here. I wonder I didn't think of settin' up for my- 
 self before!" 
 
 In the evening he spent an hour, and sometimes 
 
no ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 more, pursuing his studies, under the direction of 
 Florence. At first his attention was given chiefly 
 to improving his reading and spelHng, for Dodger 
 v^as far from fluent in the first, while his style of 
 spelling many words was strikingly original. 
 
 ''Ain't I stupid, Florence?" he asked one day, 
 after spelling a word of three syllables with sue-- 
 ingenious incorrectness as to convulse his young 
 teacher with merriment. 
 
 ''Not at all, Dodger. You are making excellent 
 progress; but sometimes you are so droll that I 
 can't help laughing." 
 
 "I don't mind that if you think I am really gettin' 
 on." 
 
 "Undoubtedly you are!" 
 
 "I make a great many mistakes," said Dodger, 
 dubiously. 
 
 "Yes, you do; but you must remember that you 
 have taken lessons only a short time. Don't you 
 think you can read a good deal more easily than you 
 did?" 
 
 "Yes; I don't trip up half so often as I did. I'm 
 afraid you'll get tired of teachin' me." 
 
 "No fear of that, Dodger. As long as I see that 
 you are improving, I shall feel encouraged to go 
 on." 
 
 "I wish I knew as much as your other scholar." 
 
 "You will in time if you go on. You mustn't 
 get discouraged." 
 
 "I won't!" said Dodger, stoutly. "If a little 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. iii 
 
 gal like her can learn, I'd ought to be ashamed if 
 I don't- -a big boy of eighteen." 
 
 "It isn't the size of the boy that counts, Dodger." 
 
 "I know that, but I ain't goin' to give in, and 
 let a little gal get ahead of me!" 
 
 "Keep to that determination, Dodger, and you will 
 succeed in time, never fear." 
 
 On the whole, Florence enjoyed both her pupils. 
 She had the faculty of teaching, and she became 
 very much interested in both. 
 
 As for Dodger, she thought, rough diamond as 
 he was, that she saw in him the making of a manly 
 man, and she felt that it was a privilege to assist 
 in the development of his intellectual nature. 
 
 Again, he had picked up a good deal of slang 
 from the nature of- his associates, and she set to 
 work to improve his language, and teach him re- 
 finement. 
 
 It was necessarily a slow process, but she began 
 to find after a time that a gradual change was com- 
 ing over him. 
 
 "I want you to grow up a gentleman, Dodger," 
 she said to him one day. 
 
 "I'm too rough for that, Florence. I'm only an 
 ignorant street boy.'* 
 
 "You are not going to be an ignorant street boy 
 all your life. I don't see why you should not grow- 
 up a polished gentleman." 
 
 "I shall never be like that de Brabazon young 
 
112 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "No, Dodger; I don't think you will," said Flor- 
 ence, laughing. ''I don't want you to become ef- 
 feminate nor a dude. I think I would like you less 
 than I do now." 
 
 ''Do you like me, Florence?" asked Dodger, 
 brightening up. 
 
 "To be sure I do. I hope you don't doubt it." 
 
 "Why, it don't seem natural-like. You're a fash- 
 ionable young lady " 
 
 "Not very fashionable. Dodger, just at present." 
 
 "Well, a high-toned young lady — one of the tip- 
 tops, and I am a rough Bowery boy." 
 
 "You were once, but you are getting over that 
 rapidly. Did you ever hear of Andy Johnson ?" 
 
 "Who was he?" 
 
 "He became President of the United States. Well, 
 at the age of twenty-one he could neither read nor 
 write." 
 
 "At twenty-one?" repeated Dodger. "Why, I'm 
 only eighteen, and I do know something of readin' 
 and writin'." 
 
 "To be sure! Well, Andy Johnson was taught 
 to read and write by his wife. He kept on im- 
 proving himself till, in course of time, he became a 
 United States Senator, Vice-President, and after- 
 ward. President. Now, I don't expect you to equal 
 him, but I see no reason why you should not be- 
 come a well-educated man if you are content to 
 work, and keep on working." 
 
 "I will keep on, Florence," said Dodger, earnestly. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 113 
 
 "li I ever find my relations I don't want them to 
 be ashamed of me." 
 
 It was not the first time he had referred to his 
 uncertain origin. 
 
 ''Won't Tim Bolton tell you anything about your 
 family?" 
 
 "No; I've asked him more'n once. He always 
 says he's my father, and that makes me mad.'* 
 
 "It is strange," said Florence, thoughtfully. "I 
 had a young cousin stolen many years ago." 
 
 "Was it the son of the old gentleman you lived 
 with on Madison Avenue?" 
 
 "Yes; it was the son of Uncle John. It quite 
 broke him down. After my cousin's loss he felt 
 that he had nothing to live for." 
 
 "I wish I was your cousin, Florence," said Dod- 
 ger, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Well, then, I will adopt you as my cousin, or 
 brother, whichever you prefer!" 
 
 "I would rather be your cousin." 
 
 "Then cousin let it be! Now we are bound to 
 each other by strong and near ties." 
 
 "But when your uncle takes you back you'll for- 
 get all about poor Dodger." 
 
 "No, I won't. Dodger. There's my hand on it. 
 Whatever comes, we are friends forever." 
 
 "Then I'll try not to disgrace you, Florence. I'll 
 learn as fast as I can, and see if I don't grow up 
 to be a gentleman." 
 
114 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURE. 
 
 Several weeks passed without changing in any 
 way the position or employment of Dodger or Flor- 
 ence. 
 
 They had settled down to their respective forms 
 of labor, and were able not only to pay their mod- 
 est expenses, but to save up something for a rainy 
 day. 
 
 Florence had but one source of regret. 
 
 She enjoyed her work, and did not now lament 
 the luxurious home which she had lost. 
 
 But she did feel sore at heart that her uncle made 
 no sign of regret for their separation. 
 
 From him she received no message of forgiveness 
 or reconciliation. 
 
 "He has forgotten me!" she said to herself, bit- 
 terly. ''He has cast me utterly out of his heart. 
 I do not care for his money, but I do not like to 
 think that my kind uncle — for he was always kind 
 till the last trouble — has steeled his heart against 
 me forever." 
 
 But she learned through a chance meeting with 
 Jane, that this was not so. 
 
 **Mr. Linden is getting very nervous and low- 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 115 
 
 spirited," said the girl, *'and sits hour after hoiir 
 in the library looking into the fire, a-fotchin' deep 
 sighs every few minutes. Once I saw him with 
 your photograph — the one you had taken last spring 
 — in his hands, and he looked sad-like when he laid 
 it down." 
 
 "My dear uncle ! Then he does think of me some- 
 times?" 
 
 "It's my belief he'd send for you if Curtis would 
 let him." 
 
 "Surely Curtis cannot exercise any restraint upon 
 him?" 
 
 "He has frequent talks with the old gentleman. 
 I don't know what he says, but it's sure to be some- 
 thing wicked. I expect he does all he can to set 
 him against you. Oh, he's a cunning villain, he 
 is, even if he is your cousin. Miss Florence." 
 
 "And do you think my uncle is unhappy, Jane?" 
 said Florence, thoughtfully. 
 
 "That I do, miss." 
 
 "He never was very bright or cheerful, you 
 know." 
 
 "But he never was like this. And I do think 
 he's gettin' more and more feeble." 
 
 "Do you think I ought to call upon him, and 
 risk his sending me away ?" 
 
 "It might be worth tryin', Miss Florence." 
 
 The result of this conversation was that Florence 
 did make up her mind the very next afternoon to 
 seek her old home. She had just reached the front 
 
ii6 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 steps, and was about to ascend, when the door 
 opened and Curtis appeared. 
 
 He started at sight of his cousin. 
 
 "Florence!" he said. 'Tell me why you came 
 here?" 
 
 *'I am anxious about my uncle," she said. "Tell 
 m.e, Curtis, how he is." 
 
 "You know he's never in vigorous health," said 
 Curtis, evasively. 
 
 "But is he as well as usual?" 
 
 "He is about the same as ever. One thing would 
 do more for him than anything else." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "Your agreement to marry me," and he fixed his 
 eyes upon her face eagerly. 
 
 Florence shook her head. 
 
 "I should be glad to help my uncle," she said, 
 "but I cannot agree to marry you." 
 
 "Why not?" he demanded, roughly. 
 
 "Because I do not love you, and never shall," she 
 responded, firmly. 
 
 "In other words, you refuse to do the only thing 
 that will restore our uncle to health and happiness ?" 
 
 "It is too much to ask." Then, fixing her eyes 
 upon him keenly: "Why should uncle insist upon 
 this marriage ? Is it not because you have influenced 
 him in the matter?" 
 
 "No," answered Curtis, falsely. "He has some 
 secret reason, which he will not disclose to me, for 
 desiring it." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 117 
 
 Florence had learned to distrust the words of her 
 wily cousin. 
 
 "May I not see him?" she asked. "Perhaps he 
 will tell me." 
 
 "No; I cannot permit it." 
 
 "You cannot permit it? Are you, then, our un- 
 cle's guardian?" 
 
 "No, and yes. I do not seek to control him, but 
 I wish to save him from serious agitation. Should 
 he see you, and find that you are still rebellious, the 
 shock might kill him." 
 
 "I have reason to doubt your words," said Flor- 
 ence, coldly. "I think you are resolved to keep us 
 apart." 
 
 "Listen, and I will tell you a secret; Uncle John 
 has heart disease, so the doctor assures me. Any 
 unwonted agitation might kill him instantly. I am 
 sure you would not like to expose him to such a 
 risk." 
 
 He spoke with apparent sincerity, but Florence 
 did not feel certain that his words were truthful. 
 
 "Very well," she said. "Then I will give up see- 
 ing him." 
 
 "It is best, unless you are ready to accede to his 
 wishes — and mine." 
 
 She did not answer, but walked away slowly. 
 
 "It would never do to have them meet!" mut- 
 tered Curtis. "The old gentleman would ask her 
 to come back on any terms, and then all my schem- 
 ing would be upset. That was a happy invention 
 
ii8 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 of mine, about heart disease," he continued, with 
 a low laugh. 'Though she only half believed it, 
 she will not dare to run the risk of giving him a 
 shock." 
 
 It was about this time that the quiet tenor of 
 Dodger's life was interrupted by a startling event. 
 
 He still continued to visit the piers, and one after- 
 noon about six o'clock, he stood on the pier await- 
 ing the arrival of the day boat from Albany, with 
 a small supply of evening papers under his arm. 
 
 He had sold all but half a dozen when the boat 
 touched the pier. He stood watching the various 
 passengers as they left the boat and turned their 
 steps in different directions, when some one touched 
 him on the shoulder. 
 
 Looking up, he saw standing at his side a man 
 of slender figure, with gray hair and whiskers. 
 
 ''Boy," he said, "I am a stranger in the city. Can 
 I ask your assistance?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; certainly," answered Dodger, briskly. 
 
 "Do you know where the nearest station of the 
 elevated road is?" 
 
 "Yes, sir?" 
 
 "I want to go uptown, but I know very little 
 about the city. Will you accompany me as guide? 
 I will pay you well." 
 
 "All right, sir," answered Dodger. 
 
 It was just the job he was seeking. 
 
 "We will have to walk a few blocks, unless you 
 want to take a carriage." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 119 
 
 *'It isn't necessary. I am strong, in spite of my 
 gray hair." 
 
 And indeed he appeared to be. 
 
 Dodger noticed that he walked with the elastic 
 step of a young man, while his face certainly 
 showed no trace of wrinkles. 
 
 "I live in the West," said the stranger, as they 
 walked along. '^1 have not been here for ten 
 years." 
 
 ^'Then you have never ridden on the elevated 
 road?" said Dodger. 
 
 "N-no," answered the stranger, with curious hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 Yet when they reached the station he went up the 
 staircase and purchased his ticket with the air of 
 a man who was thoroughly accustomed to doing it. 
 
 ''I suppose you don't want me any longer," said 
 Dodger, preparing to resign the valise he was car- 
 rying, and which, by the way, was remarkably light 
 considering the size. 
 
 ''Yes, I shall need you," said the other hurriedly. 
 'There may be some distance to walk after we get 
 uptow^n." 
 
 "All right, sir." 
 
 Dodger was glad that further service was re- 
 quired, for this would of course increase the com- 
 pensation which he would feel entitled to ask. 
 
 They entered one of the cars, and sat down side 
 by side. 
 
 The old gentleman drew a paper from his pocket, 
 
120 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 and began to read, while Dodger, left to his own 
 devices, sat quiet and looked about him. 
 
 He was rather surprised that the old gentleman, 
 who, according to his own representation, was rid- 
 ing upon the elevated road for the first time, seemed 
 to feel no curiosity on the subject, but conducted 
 himself in all respects like an experienced traveler. 
 
 *'He's a queer customer!" thought Dodger. 
 "However, it's all one to me, as long as he pays me 
 well for the job." 
 
 They got out at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth 
 Street, and struck down toward the river. Dodger 
 carrying the valise. 
 
 *1 wonder where we're going?" he asked him- 
 self. 
 
 At length they reached a wooden house of three 
 stories, standing by itself, and here the stranger 
 stopped. 
 
 He rang the bell, and the door was opened by a 
 hump-backed negro, who looked curiously at 
 Dodger. 
 
 *'Is the room ready, Julius?" asked the old man. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Boy, take the valise upstairs, and I will follow 
 you." 
 
 Up two flights of stairs walked Dodger, followed 
 by the old man and the negro. 
 
 The latter opened the door of a back room, and 
 Dodger, obedient to directions, took the valise in- 
 side and deposited it on a chair. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 121 
 
 He had hardly done so when the door closed be- 
 hind him, and he heard the slipping of a bolt. 
 
 ''What does all this mean?" Dodger asked him- 
 self in amazement. 
 
122 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 IN A TRAP. 
 
 "Hold on there ! Open that door !" he exclaimed, 
 aloud. 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 "I say, let me out!" continued our hero, begin- 
 ning to kick at the panels. 
 
 This time there was an answer. 
 
 ''Stop that kicking, boy! I will come back in 
 fifteen minutes and explain all." 
 
 ''Well," thought Dodger, "this is about the 
 strangest thing that ever happened to me. How- 
 ever, I can wait fifteen minutes." 
 
 He sat down on a cane chair — there were two 
 in the room — and looked about him. 
 
 He was in an ordinary bedroom, furnished in the 
 usual manner. There was nothing at all singular 
 in its appearance. 
 
 On a book shelf were a few books, and some old 
 numbers of magazines. There was one window 
 looking into a back yard, but as the room was small 
 it was sufficient to light the apartment. 
 
 Dodger looked about in a cursory manner, not 
 feeling any particular interest in his surroundings, 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 123 
 
 for he had but fifteen minutes to wedt, but lie 
 thought it rather queer that it should be tliouglit 
 necessary to lock him in. 
 
 He waited impatiently for the time to pass. 
 
 Seventeen minutes had passed when he heard 
 the bolt drawn. Fixing his eyes eagerly on the door 
 he saw it open, and two persons entered. 
 
 One was the hump-backed negro, carrying on a 
 waiter a plate of buttered bread, and a cup of tea; 
 the other person was — not the old man, but, to 
 Dodger's great amazement, a person well-remem- 
 bered, though he had only seen him once — Curtis 
 Waring. 
 
 ''Set down the waiter on the table, Julius," said 
 Waring. 
 
 Dodger looked on in stupefaction. He was get- 
 ting more and more bewildered. 
 
 ''Now, you can go!" said Curtis, in a tone of 
 authority. 
 
 The negro bowed, and after he had disposed of 
 the waiter, withdrew. 
 
 "Do you know me, boy?" asked Curtis, turning 
 now and addressing Dodger. 
 
 "Yes; you are Mr. Waring." 
 
 "You remember where you last saw me?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. At your uncle's house on Madison 
 Avenue." 
 
 "Quite right." 
 
 "How did you come here? Where is the old 
 man whose valise I brought from the Albany boat ?'* 
 
124 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Curtis smiled, and drew from his pocket a gray 
 wig and whiskers. 
 
 ''You understand now, don't you?'* 
 "Yes, sir; I understand that I have been got here 
 by a trick." 
 
 **Yes," answered Curtis, coolly. "I have deemed 
 it wise to use a little stratagem. But you must be 
 hungry. Sit down and eat your supper while I am 
 talking to you." 
 
 Dodger was hungry, for it was past his usual 
 supper time, and he saw no reason why he should 
 not accept the invitation. 
 
 Accordingly, he drew his chair up to the table 
 and began to eat. Curtis seated himself on the 
 other chair. 
 
 ''I have a few questions to ask you, and that is 
 w^hy I arranged this interview. We are quite by 
 ourselves," he added, significantly. 
 
 "Very well, sir; go ahead." 
 
 "Where is my Cousin Florence? I am right, I 
 take it, in assuming that you know where she is." 
 
 "Yes, sir; I know," answered Dodger, slowly. 
 
 "Very well, tell me." 
 
 "I don't think she wants you to know." 
 
 Curtis frowned. 
 
 "It is necessary I should know!" he said, em- 
 phatically. 
 
 "I will ask her If I may tell you." 
 
 "I can't wait for that. You must tell me at 
 once." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 125 
 
 "I can't do that." 
 
 "You are mistaken; you , can do it." 
 
 *Then, I won't!" said Dodger, looking his com- 
 panion full in the face. 
 
 Curtis Waring darted a wicked look at him, and 
 seemed ready to attack the boy who was audacious 
 enough to thwart him, but he restrained himself and 
 said: 
 
 "Let that pass for the present. I have another 
 question to ask. Where is the document you took 
 from my uncle's desk on the night of the bur- 
 glary?" 
 
 And he emphasized the last word. 
 
 Dodger looked surprised. 
 
 "I took no paper," he said. 
 
 "Do you deny that you opened the desk?" asked 
 Curtis. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "When I came to examine the contents in the 
 presence of my uncle, it was found that a document 
 — ^his will — had disappeared, and with it a consider- 
 able sum of money." 
 
 And he looked sharply at Dodger. 
 
 "I don't know anything about it, sir. I took 
 nothing." 
 
 "You can hardly make me believe that. Why 
 did you open the desk if you did not propose to 
 take anything?" 
 
 "I did intend to take something. I was under 
 orders to do so, for I wouldn't have done it of my 
 
126 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 own free will; but the moment I got the desk open 
 I heard a cry, and looking around, I saw Miss Flor- 
 ence looking at me." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "I was startled, and ran to her side " 
 
 "And then you went back and completed the rob- 
 bery?" 
 
 "No, I didn't. She talked to me so that I felt 
 ashamed of it. I never stole before, and I wouldn't 
 have tried to do it then, if — if some one hadn't 
 told me to." 
 
 "I know whom you mean — Tim Bolton." 
 
 "Yes, Tim Bolton, since you know." 
 
 "What did he tell you to take?" 
 
 "The will and the money." 
 
 "Eactly. Now we are coming to it. You took 
 them, and gave them to him?" 
 
 "No, I didn't. I haven't seen him since that 
 night." 
 
 Curtis Waring regarded the boy thoughtfully. 
 His story was straightforward, and it agreed with 
 the story told by Tim himself. But, on the other 
 hand, he denied taking the missing articles, and yet 
 they had disappeared. 
 
 Curtis decided that both he and Tim had lied, 
 and that this story had been concocted between 
 them. 
 
 Probably Bolton had the will and the money — 
 the latter he did not care for — and this thought made 
 him uneasy, for he knew that Tim Bolton was an 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 127 
 
 unscrupulous man, and quite capable of injuring 
 him, if he saw the way clear to do so. 
 
 *'My young friend," he said, "your story is not 
 even plausible. The articles are missing, and there 
 was no one but yourself and Florence who were 
 in a position to take them. Do you wish me to 
 think that my Cousin Florence robbed the desk ?" 
 
 "No, sir; I don't. Florence wouldn't do such 
 a thing," said Dodger, warmly. 
 
 "Florence. Is that the way you speak of a young- 
 lady?" 
 
 "She tells me to call her Florence. I used to 
 call her Miss Florence, but she didn't care for it." 
 
 "It seems you two have become very intimate," 
 said Curtis, with a sneer. 
 
 "Florence is a good friend to me. I never had 
 so good a friend before." 
 
 "All that is very affecting; however, it isn't to 
 the point. Do you know," he continued, in a 
 sterner tone, "that I could have you arrested for 
 entering and breaking open my uncle's desk with 
 burglarious intent?" 
 
 "I suppose you could," said Dodger; "but Flor- 
 ence would testify that I took nothing." 
 
 "Am I to understand, then, that you refuse to 
 give me any information as to 'the will and the 
 money?" 
 
 "No, sir; I don't refuse. I would tell you if 
 I knew." 
 
 Curtis regarded the boy in some perplexity. 
 
128 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 He had every appearance of telling the truth. 
 
 Dodger had one of those honest, truthful counte- 
 nances which lend confirmation to any words spoken. 
 If the boy told the truth, what could have become 
 of the will — and the money? As to the former, it 
 might be possible that his uncle had destroyed it, 
 but the disappearance of the money presented an 
 independent difficulty. 
 
 *'The will is all I care for," he said, at length. 
 *'The thief is welcome to the money, though there 
 was a considerable sum." 
 
 ''I would find the will for you if I could," said 
 Dodger, earnestly. 
 
 ''You are positive you didn't give it to Bolton?" 
 
 "Positive, sir. I haven't seen Tim since that 
 night." 
 
 "You may be speaking the truth, or you may 
 not. I will talk with you again to-rnorrow," and 
 Curtis arose from his chair. 
 
 "You don't mean to keep me here?" said Dodger, 
 in alarm. 
 
 "I shall be obliged to do so." 
 
 "I won't stay!" exclaimed Dodger, in excitement, 
 and he ran to the door, meaning to get out; but 
 Curtis drew a pistol from his pocket and aimed it 
 at the boy. 
 
 "Understand me, boy," he said, "I am in ear- 
 nest, and I am not to be trifled with." 
 
 Dodger drew back, and Curtis opened the door 
 and went out, bolting it after him. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 129 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AN ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE. 
 
 While Dodger had no discomfort to complain 
 of, it occurred to him that Florence would be 
 alarmed by his long absence, for now it seemed cer- 
 tain that he would have to remain overnight. 
 
 If only he could escape he would take care not 
 to fall into such a trap again. 
 
 He went to the window and looked out, but the 
 distance to the ground was so great — for the room 
 was on the third floor — that he did not dare to im- 
 peril his life by attempting a descent. 
 
 If there had been a rope at hand he would not 
 have felt afraid to make the attempt. 
 
 He examine d the bed to see if it rested upon cords, 
 but there were slats instead. 
 
 As has already been said, there were no houses 
 near by. 
 
 That part of the city had not been much settled, 
 and it was as solitary as it is in the outskirts of a 
 country village. 
 
 If he could only reveal his position to some per- 
 
130 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 son outside, so as to insure interference, he might 
 yet obtain his freedom. 
 
 With this thought he tore a blank leaf from one 
 of the books in the room, and hastily penciled the 
 following lines : 
 
 *'l am kept a prisoner in this house. I was in- 
 duced to come here by a trick. Please get some 
 one to join you, and come and demand my release." 
 
 Some weeks before Dodger could not have writ- 
 ten so creditable a note, but he had greatly improved 
 since he had been under the influence and instruc- 
 tion of Florence. 
 
 Dodger now posted himself at the window and 
 waited anxiously for some one to pass, so that he 
 might attract his attention and throw down the 
 paper. 
 
 He had to wait for fifteen minutes. Then he saw 
 approaching a young man, not far from twenty- 
 one, who looked like a young mechanic, returning 
 from his daily work. 
 
 Now was Dodger's opportunity. Ht put his head 
 out of the window and called out: 
 
 "Hello, there!" 
 
 The young man looked and saw him at the win- 
 dow. 
 
 ''What do you want?" he asked. 
 
 *'Catch this paper, and read what there is on it." 
 
 He threw down the leaf, which, after fluttering 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 1131 
 
 in the gentle evening breeze, found its way to the 
 ground and was picked up. 
 
 After reading it, the young man looked up and 
 said: 'Til go around to the door and inquire." 
 
 He was as good as his word. He went to the 
 outer door and rang the bell. 
 
 Julius came to the door. 
 
 **What's wanted, boss?" he said. 
 
 "You've got a boy locked up in a room." 
 
 "Who told you, boss?" 
 
 "He threw down a paper to me, telling me he was 
 kept a prisoner." 
 
 "What did he say?" asked Julius. 
 
 The young man read the note aloud. 
 
 "What have to say to that, you black imp?" he 
 demanded, sternly. 
 
 The ready wit of Julius served him in this emer- 
 gency. 
 
 "Dat boy is crazy as a loon, boss !" he answered, 
 readily. "We have to keep him shut up for fear 
 he'll kill some of us." 
 
 "You don't say !" ejaculated the young mechanic. 
 "He don't look like it." 
 
 "No, he don't; dat's a fact, boss. Fact is, dat 
 boy is the artfullest lunytick you ever seed. He 
 tried to kill his mother last week." 
 
 "Is that true?" 
 
 "Dat's so, boss. And all de while he looks as 
 innocent as a baby. If I was to let him put he'd kill 
 somebody, sure." 
 
132 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 **I never would have believed it," said the young 
 man. 
 
 "If you want to take the risk, boss, you might go 
 up and see him. I believe he's got a carvin'-knife 
 about him, but I don't dare to go up and get it 
 away. It would be as much as this niggah's life 
 is worth." 
 
 "No," answered the young man, hastily. "I 
 don't want to see him. I never did like crazy folks. 
 I'm sorry I gave you the trouble to come to the 
 door." 
 
 "Oh, no trouble, boss." 
 
 "I guess I've fixed dat boy!" chuckled Julius. 
 **Ho, ho! he can't get ahead of old Julius! Crazy 
 as a loon, ho, ho!" 
 
 Dodger waited anxiously for the young man to 
 get through his interview. He hoped that he would 
 force his way up to the third floor, draw the bolt, 
 and release him from his imprisonment. 
 
 He kept watch at the window, and when the 
 young man reappeared, he looked at him eagerly. 
 
 "Did you ask them to let me out?" he shouted. 
 
 The other looked up at him with an odd expres- 
 sion of suspicion and repulsion. 
 
 "You're better off where you are," he said, rather 
 impatiently. 
 
 "But they have locked me up here/* 
 
 "And reason enough, too !" 
 
 "What makes you say that?" 
 
 "Because you're crazy as a loon." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 133 
 
 ''Did the black man say that?" inquired Dodger, 
 indignantly. 
 
 ''Yes, he did — said you tried to kill your mother, 
 and had a carving-knife hidden in the room." 
 
 "It's a lie — an outrageous lie!" exclaimed Dod- 
 ger, his eyes flashing. 
 
 "Don't go into one of your tantrums," said the 
 man, rather alarmed; "it won't do any good." 
 
 "But I want you to understand that I am no more 
 crazy than you are." 
 
 "Sho? I know better. Where's your carving- 
 knife?" 
 
 "I haven't got any; I never had any. That ne- 
 gro has been telling you lies. Just go to the door 
 again, and insist on seeing me." 
 
 "I wouldn't dast to. You'd stab me," said the 
 man, fearfully.- 
 
 "Listen to me!" said Dodger, getting out of pa- 
 tience. "I'm not crazy. I'm a newsboy and bag- 
 gage-smasher. An old man got me to bring his 
 valise here, and then locked me up. Won't you go 
 around to the station-house and send a policeman 
 here?" 
 
 "I'll see about it," said the young man, who did 
 not believe a word that Dodger had said to him. 
 
 "He won't do it!" said Dodger to himself, in a 
 tone of discouragement. "That miserable nigger 
 has made him believe I am a lunatic. I'll have him 
 up, anyway." 
 
 Forthwith he began to pound and kick so forcibly; 
 
134 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 that Julius came upstairs on a run, half inclined to 
 believe that Dodger had really become insane. 
 
 "What do you want, boy?" he inquired from out- 
 side the door. 
 ^ *'I want you to unbolt the door and let me out." 
 
 '1 couldn't do it, nohow," said Julius. *lt would 
 be as much as my place is worth." 
 
 *'I will give you a dollar — five dollars — if you will 
 only let me out. The man who brought me here 
 is a bad man, who is trying to cheat his cousin — a 
 young lady — out of a fortune." 
 
 *'Don't know nothin' 'bout that," said Julius. 
 
 *TIe has no right to keep me here." 
 
 ''Don't know nothin' 'bout that, either. I'm act- 
 in' accordin' to orders." 
 
 "Look here," said Dodger, bethinking himself 
 of what had just happened. "Did you tell that 
 young man who called here just now that I was 
 crazy?" 
 
 Julius burst into a loud guffaw. 
 
 "I expect I did," he laughed. "Said you'd got 
 a long carvin'-knife hid in de room." 
 
 "What made you lie so?" demanded Dodger, 
 sternly. 
 
 "Couldn't get rid of him no other way. Oh, 
 how scared he looked when I told him you tried to 
 kill your mother." 
 
 And the negro burst into another hearty laugh 
 which exasperated Dodger exceedingly. 
 
 "How long is Mr. Waring going to keep me 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 135 
 
 here? Did he tell you?" Dodger asked, after a 
 pause. 
 
 "No; he didn't say/* 
 
 "When is he coming here again?" 
 
 "Said he'd come to-morrow most likely/* 
 
 "Will you bring me a light?" 
 
 "Couldn't do it. You'd set the house on fire." 
 
 It seemed useless to prolong the conversation. 
 
 Dodger threw himself on the bed at an early hour, 
 but he did not undress, thinking there might pos- 
 sibly be a chance to escape during the night. 
 
 But the morning came and found him still a pris- 
 oner, but not in the solitary dwelling. 
 
1^6 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A MIDNIGHT RIDE 
 
 Curtis Waring had entrapped Dodger for a dou- 
 ble purpose. 
 
 It was not merely that he thought it possible the 
 boy had the will, or knew where it was. He had 
 begun to think of the boy's presence in New York 
 as dangerous to his plans. 
 
 John Linden might at any time learn that the 
 son, for whose appearance he had grieved so bit- 
 terly, was still living in the person of this street 
 boy. Then there would be an end of his hopes of 
 inheriting the estate. 
 
 Only a few months more and the danger would 
 be over, for he felt convinced that his uncle's tenure 
 of life would be brief. The one essential thing, 
 then, seemed to be to get Dodger out of the city. 
 
 The first step had already been taken; what the 
 next was will soon appear. 
 
 Scarcely had Dodger failed in his attempt to ob- 
 tain outside assistance when an unaccountable drow- 
 siness overcame him, considerably to his surprise. 
 
 "I don't know what's come to me," he said to 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 137 
 
 himself. 'It can't be more than seven or eight 
 o'clock, and, yet I feel so sleepy I can hardly keep 
 my eyes open. I haven't worked any harder than 
 usual to-day, and I can't understand it." 
 
 Dodger had reason to be surprised, for he didn't 
 usually retire till eleven o'clock. 
 
 In a city like New York, where many of the 
 streets are tolerably well filled even at midnight, 
 people get in the way of sitting up much later than 
 in the country, and Dodger was no exception to 
 this rule. 
 
 Yet here he was ready to drop off to sleep be- 
 fore eight o'clock. To him it was a mystery, for 
 he did not know that the cup of tea which he had 
 drunk at supper had been drugged by direction of 
 Curtis Waring, with an ulterior purpose, which will 
 soon appear. 
 
 "I may as well lie down, as there is nothing else 
 to do," thought Dodger. 'There isn't much fun 
 sitting in the dark. If I can sleep, so much the bet- 
 ter." 
 
 Five minutes had scarcely passed after his head 
 struck the pillow, when our hero was fast asleep. 
 
 At eleven o'clock a hack stopped in front of the 
 house, and Curtis Waring descended from it. 
 
 "Stay here," he said to the driver. 'There will 
 be another passenger. If you are detained I will 
 make it right when I come to pay you." 
 
 "All right, sir," said the hackman. "I don't 
 care how long it is if I am paid for my time." 
 
138 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Curtis opened the door with a pass-key, and found 
 Julius dozing in a chair in the hall. 
 
 ''Wake up, you sleepy-head," he said. "Has any- 
 thing happened since I left here?'* 
 
 "Yes, sir; the boy tried to get away.'* 
 
 "Did he? I don't see how he could do that. You 
 kept the door bolted, didn't you?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; but he throwed a piece of paper out'n 
 de window, sayin' he was kep' a prisoner here. A 
 young man picked it up, and came to de house to ax 
 about it." 
 
 Curtis looked alarmed. 
 
 "What did you say?" he inquired, apprehensively. 
 
 "Told him de boy was crazy as a loon — dat he 
 tried to kill his mother las' week, and had a carvin'- 
 knife hid in his room." 
 
 "Good, Julius ! I didn't give you credit for such 
 a fertile imagination. 
 
 "What's dat, massa?" asked Julius, looking puz- 
 zled. 
 
 "I didn't know you were such a skillful liar.*' 
 
 "Yah! yah!" laughed Julius, quite comprehend- 
 ing this compliment. "I reckon I can twis' de trufe 
 pretty well, Massa Curtis!" 
 
 "You have done well, Julius," said Curtis, ap- 
 provingly. "Here's a dollar !" 
 
 The negro was quite effusive in his gratitude. 
 
 "What did the young man say?" 
 
 "He looked scared. I tol' him he could go up 
 and see de boy if he wasn't af eared of the carvin'- 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 139 
 
 knife, but he said he guessed he wouldn't — he didn't 
 like crazy folks." 
 
 Curtis laughed heartily. 
 
 ''So it all ended as it should. Did the boy make 
 any more trouble?" 
 
 ''Yes; he pounded and kicked till I had to go up 
 and see what was the matter. I didn't give him no 
 satisfaction, and I guess he went to bed." 
 
 "He ought to be in a deep sleep by this time. I 
 will go up and see. Go up with me, Julius, for 
 I may have to ask you to help me bring him down." 
 
 Though Julius was naturally a coward, he felt 
 quite brave when he had company, and he at once 
 went upstairs with Curtis Waring. 
 
 Curtis drew the bolt, and, entering the chamber, 
 his glance fell upon Dodger, fast asleep on the bed. 
 
 "I am glad the boy did not undress," he said. 
 "It will save me a great deal of trouble. Now, Ju- 
 lius, you can take his feet and I will lift his head, 
 and we will take him downstairs." 
 
 "S'pos'n he wakes up, Massa Curtis?" 
 
 "He won't wake up. I took care the sleepmg po- 
 tion should be strong enough to produce profound 
 slumber for eighteen hours." 
 
 "Seems as if he was dead," said Julius, nervously. 
 
 "Tush, you fool ! He's no more dead than you 
 or I." 
 
 The hackman looked curious when the two men 
 appeared with their sleeping burden, and Curtis felt 
 that some explanation was required. 
 
140 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "The boy has a very painful disease," he said, 
 "and the doctor gave him a sleeping draught. He 
 is going abroad for his health, and, under the cir- 
 cumstances, I think it best not to wake him up. Drive 
 slowly and carefully to Pier No. — , as I don't want 
 the boy aroused if it can be helped." 
 
 "All right, sir." 
 
 "Julius, you may lock the door and come with 
 me. I shall need your help to get him on board the 
 ship." 
 
 "All right, Massa Curtis." 
 
 "And, mind you, don't go to sleep in the carriage, 
 you black rascal !" added Curtis, as he saw that the 
 negro found it hard to keep his eyes open. 
 
 "All right, massa, I'll keep awake. How am I 
 to get home?" 
 
 "I will instruct the hackman to take you home." 
 
 "Yah, yah; I'll be ridin' like a gentleman!" 
 
 The journey was successfully accomplished, but 
 it took an hour, for, according to directions, the 
 hackman did not force his pace, but drove slowly, 
 till he reached the North River pier indicated. 
 
 At the pier was a large, stanch vessel — the Co- 
 lumbia — bound for San Francisco, around Cape 
 Horn. 
 
 All was dark, but the second officer was pacing 
 the deck. 
 
 Curtis Waring hailed him. 
 
 "What time do you get off?" 
 
 *'Early to-morrow morning." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 141 
 
 "So the captain told me. I have brought you 
 a passenger." 
 
 'The captain told me about him." 
 
 "Is his stateroom ready?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. You are rather late." 
 
 "True; and the boy is asleep, as you will see. 
 He is going to make the voyage for his health, and, 
 as he has been suffering some pain, I thought I 
 would not wake him up. Who will direct me to 
 his stateroom?" 
 
 The mate summoned the steward, and Dodger, 
 still unconscious, was brought on board and quietly 
 transferred to the bunk that had been prepared for 
 him. 
 
 It was a critical moment for poor Dodger, but 
 he was quite unconscious of it. 
 
 "What is the boy's name?" asked the mate. 
 
 "Arthur Grant. The captain has it on his list. 
 Is he on board?" 
 
 "Yes; but he is asleep." 
 
 "I do not need to see him. I have transacted 
 all necessary business with him — and paid the pas- 
 sage money. Julius, bring the valise." 
 
 Julius did so. 
 
 "This contains the boy's clothing. Take it to 
 the stateroom, Julius." 
 
 "All right, Massa Curtis." 
 
 "What is your usual time between New York and 
 San Francisco?" asked Curtis, addressing the mate. 
 
 "From four to six months. Four months is very 
 
142 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 short, six months very long. We ought to get 
 there in five months, or perhaps a little sooner, with 
 average weather." 
 
 "Very well. I believe there is no more to be said. 
 Good-night !" 
 
 **Good-night, sir." 
 
 **So he is well out of the way for five months!" 
 soliloquized Curtis. "In five months much may 
 happen. Before that time I hope to be in posses- 
 sion of my uncle's property. Then I can snap my 
 fingers at fate." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 A SEASICK PASSENGER. 
 
 The good ship Columbia had got fifty miles un- 
 der way before Dodger opened his eyes. 
 
 He looked about him languidly at first, but this 
 feeling was succeeded by the wildest amazement, 
 as his eyes took in his unusual surroundings. 
 
 He had gone to sleep on a bed — he found him- 
 self on awakening in a ship's bunk. 
 
 He half arose in his birth, but the motion of the 
 vessel and a slight feeling of dizziness compelled him 
 to resume a recumbent position. 
 
 "I must be dreaming," thought Dodger. "It's 
 very queer. I am dreaming I am at sea. I sup- 
 pose that explains it." 
 
 He listened and heard the swish of the waters 
 as they beat against the sides of the vessel. 
 
 He noted the pitching of the ship, and there was 
 an unsteady feeling in his head, such as those who 
 have gone to sea will readily recall. 
 
 Dodger became more and more bewildered. 
 
 *'If it's a dream, it's the most real dream I ever 
 had," he said to himself. 
 
144 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 'This seems like a ship's cabin," he continued, 
 looking about him. ''I think if I got up I should 
 be seasick. I wonder if people ever get seasick in 
 dreams?" 
 
 There was another pitch, and Dodger instinctively 
 clung to the edge of his berth, to save himself from 
 being thrown out. 
 
 "Let me see," he said, trying to collect his scat- 
 tered recollection. ''I went to sleep in a house up- 
 town — a house to which Curtis Waring lured me, 
 and then made me a prisoner. The house was some- 
 where near One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street. 
 Now it seems as if I was on board a ship. How 
 could I get here? I wish somebody would come 
 in that I could ask." 
 
 As no one came in. Dodger got out of the berth, 
 and tried to stand on the cabin floor. 
 
 But before he knew it he was staggering like one 
 intoxicated, and his head began to feel bad, partly, 
 no doubt, on account of the sleeping potion which 
 he had unconsciously taken. 
 
 At this moment the steward entered the cabin. 
 
 ''Hello, young man! Have you got up?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Where am I?" asked Dodger, looking at him 
 with a dazed expression. 
 
 "Where are you? You're on the good ship Co- 
 lumbia, to be sure?" 
 
 "Are we out to sea?" 
 
 "Of course you are." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 145 
 
 ''How far from land?" 
 
 ''Well, about fifty miles, more or less, I should 
 judge/' 
 
 "How long have I been here?" 
 
 "It seems to me you have a poor memory. You 
 came on board last evening." 
 
 "I suppose Curtis Waring brought me," said 
 Dodger, beginning to get his bearings. 
 
 "There was a gentleman came with you — so the 
 mate told me. I don't know his name." 
 
 "Where is the ship bound?" 
 
 "To San Francisco, around Cape Horn. I sup- 
 posed you knew that." 
 
 "I never heard of the ship Columbia before, and 
 I never had any idea of making a sea voyage." 
 
 The steward looked surprised. 
 
 "I suppose your guardian arranged about that. 
 Didn't he tell you?" 
 
 "I have no guardian." 
 
 "Well, you'll have to ask Capt. Barnes about 
 that. I know nothing, except that you are a pas- 
 senger, and that your fare has been paid." 
 
 "My fare paid to San Francisco?" asked 
 Dodger, more and more at sea, both mentally and 
 physically. 
 
 "Yes; we don't take any deadheads on the Cohim- 
 hiar 
 
 "Can you tell me what time it is?" 
 
 "About twelve o'clock. Do you feel hungry?" 
 
 "N — not very," returned Dodger, as a ghastly ex- 
 
146 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 pression came over his face, and he tumbled back 
 into his berth, looking very pale. 
 
 The steward smiled. 
 
 "I see how it is," he said; ''you are getting ini- 
 tiated." 
 
 "What's that?" muttered Dodger, feebly. 
 
 "You're going to be seasick. You'll hardly be 
 able to appear at the dinner table." 
 
 "It makes me sick to think of eating," said Dod- 
 ger, feebly. 
 
 As he sank back into his berth, all thoughts of 
 his unexpected position gave way to an overpow- 
 ering feeling of seasickness. 
 
 He had never been tried in this way before, and 
 he found the sensation far from agreeable. 
 
 "If only the vessel would stop pitching," he 
 groaned. "Oh, how happy I should be if I were 
 on dry land." 
 
 But the vessel wouldn't stop — even for a minute. 
 
 The motion, on the other hand, seemed to in- 
 crease, as was natural, for they were getting far- 
 ther and farther from land and were exposed to the 
 more violent winds that swept the open ocean. 
 
 There is something about seasickness that swal- 
 lows up and draws away all minor cares and, anx- 
 ieties, and Dodger was too much affected to con- 
 sider how or why it was that he so unexpectedly 
 found himself a passenger to California. 
 
 "Lie flat on your back," said the steward. "You 
 will feel better if you do." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 147 
 
 ''How long is it going to last?" groaned Dodger, 
 feeling quite miserable. 
 
 ''Oh, you'll feel better to-morrow. I'll bring 
 you some porridge presently. You can get that 
 down, and it is better to have something on your 
 stomach." 
 
 He was right. The next day Dodger felt con- 
 siderably better, and ventured to go upon deck. He 
 looked about him in surprise. 
 
 There had been a storm, and the waves were 
 white with foam. 
 
 As far as the eye could see there was a tumult 
 and an uproar. 
 
 The ship was tossed about like a cockle shell. 
 But the sailors went about their work unruffled. 
 It was no new sight for them. 
 
 Though his head did not feel exactly right, the 
 strong wind entered Dodger's lungs, and he felt ex- 
 hilarated. His eyes brightened, and he began to 
 share in the excitement of the scene. 
 
 Pacing the deck was a stout, bronzed seaman, 
 whose dress made it clear even to the inexperienced 
 eyes of Dodger that he was the captain. 
 
 *'Good-morning, Master Grant," he said, pleas- 
 antly. ''Are you getting your sea legs on?" 
 
 The name was unfamiliar to Dodger, but he could 
 see that the remark was addressed to him. 
 
 *'Yes, sir," he answered. 
 
 "Ever been to sea before?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
148 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 '^You'll get used to it. Bless me, you'll stand it 
 like an old sailor before we get to 'Frisco." 
 
 ''Is it a long voyage, captain?" asked Dodger. 
 
 ''Five months, probably. We may get there a 
 little sooner. It depends on the winds and weather." 
 
 "Five months," said Dodger to himself, in a tone 
 of dismay. 
 
 The captain laughed. 
 
 "It'll be a grand experience for a lad like you, 
 Arthur!" said the captain, encouragingly. 
 
 Arthur! So his name was Arthur! He had just 
 been called Master Grant, so Arthur Grant was his 
 name on board ship. 
 
 Dodger was rather glad to have a name provided, 
 for he had only been known as Dodger heretofore, 
 and this name would excite surprise. He had re- 
 cently felt the need of a name, and didn't see why 
 this wouldn't answer his purpose as well as any 
 other. 
 
 "I must write it down so as not to forget it," he 
 resolved. "It would seem queer if I forgot my 
 own name." 
 
 "I shouldn't enjoy it much if I were going to 
 be seasick all the time," he answered. 
 
 "Oh, a strong, healthy boy like you will soon be 
 all right. You don't look like an invalid." 
 
 "I never was sick in my life." 
 
 "But your guardian told me he was sending you 
 on a sea voyage for your health." 
 
 "Did Mr. Waring say that?" 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 149 
 
 ^Yes; didn't you know the object of your sea 
 trip?" asked Capt. Barnes, in surprise. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "There may be some tendency to disease in your 
 system — some hereditary tendency," said the cap- 
 tain, after a pause. "Were your parents healthy?" 
 
 "They — died young," answered Dodger, hesitat- 
 ingly. 
 
 "That accounts for your guardian's anxiety. 
 However, you look strong enough, in all con- 
 science; and if you're not healthy, you will be be- 
 fore the voyage ends." 
 
 "I don't know what I am to do for clothes," said 
 Dodger, as a new source of perplexity presented it- 
 self. "I can't get along with one shirt and col- 
 lar for five months." 
 
 "You will find plenty of clothes in your valise. 
 Hasn't it been given you?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "You may ask the steward for it. You didn't 
 think your guardian would send you on a five- 
 months' voyage without a change of clothing, did 
 you?" 
 
 And the captain laughed heartily. 
 
 "I don't know Mr. Waring very well," said 
 Dodger, awkwardly. 
 
 As he went downstairs to inquire about his valise, 
 this question haunted him: 
 
 "Why did Curtis Waring send him on a sea voy- 
 age?" 
 
15© ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE OTHER PASSENGER. 
 
 Dodger sought the steward, and asked for his 
 valise. 
 
 "Isn't it in your stateroom?" asked that func- 
 tionary. 
 
 "I haven't seen it." 
 
 "I remember now. It was put with the lug- 
 gage of the other passenger. I will show it to 
 you." 
 
 He took Dodger to a part of the ship where 
 freight was stored, and pointed to a sizable valise 
 with a card attached to it on which was inscribed 
 the name: ''Arthur Grant." 
 
 'This must be yours," he said. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," answered Dodger, glad to 
 have found out the new name which had been given 
 him, otherwise he would have supposed the valise 
 belonged to some other person. 
 
 He took the valise to his stateroom, and, finding 
 a key tied to the handles, he opened it at once. 
 
 It proved to contain a very fair supply of under- 
 clothing, socks, handkerchiefs, etc., with a tooth 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 151 
 
 brush, a hair brush and comb, and a sponge. Never 
 in his hfe had Dodger been so well supplied witli 
 clothing before. There were four white shirts, two 
 tennis shirts, half a dozen handkerchiefs and the 
 same number of socks, with three changes of under- 
 clothing. 
 
 "I begin to feel like a gentleman," said Dodger 
 to himself, complacently. 
 
 That was not all. At the bottom of the valise 
 was an envelope, sealed, on which was inscribed the 
 name : ^'Dodger." 
 
 ''That is for me, at any rate," thought our hero. 
 "1 suppose it is from Curtis Waring." 
 
 He opened the envelope, and found inclosed twen- 
 ty-five dollars in bills, with a few lines written on 
 a half-sheet of paper. These Dodger read, with 
 interest and curiosity. They were as follows : 
 
 ''Dodger: — The money inclosed is for you. 
 When you reach California you w411 find it of use. 
 I have sent you out there because you will find in 
 a new country a better chance to rise than in the 
 city of New York. I advise you to stay there and 
 grow up with the country. In New York you were 
 under the influence of a bad man, from whom it 
 is best that you should be permanently separated. 
 I know something of the early history of Tim Bol- 
 ton. He was detected in a crime, and fled to escape 
 the consequences. You are not his son, but his 
 nephew. Your mother was his sister, but quite su- 
 
152 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 perior to himself. Your right name is Arthur 
 Grant, and it will be well for you to assume it here- 
 after. I have entered you in the list of passengers 
 under that name. 
 
 **I thought you had taken the will from my un- 
 cle's desk, but I am inclined to think you had noth- 
 ing to do with it. If you know where it is, or 
 whether Bolton has it, I expect you to notify me in 
 return for the money I have expended in your be- 
 half. In that case you can write to me. No. — 
 Madison Avenue. Curtis Waring." 
 
 Dodger read the letter over twice, and it puzzled 
 him. 
 
 ''He seems from the letter to take an interest in 
 me," he soliloquized. ''At any rate, he has given 
 me money and clothes, and paid my passage to 
 California. What for, I wonder? I don't believe 
 it is to get me away from the bad influence of Tim. 
 There must be some other reason." 
 
 There was another part of the letter with which 
 Dodger did not agree. 
 
 Curtis asserted positively that he was the nephew 
 of Tim Bolton, while he was positive that there was 
 no relationship between them. 
 
 In that case Curtis must have been an early ac- 
 quaintance of Tim's. At any rate, he seemed to 
 know about his past life. 
 
 Dodger now comprehended his present situation 
 fully. He was a passenger on the ship Columbia, 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 153 
 
 and there was no chance of leaving it. He had 
 ascertainel on inquiry that the vessel would not put 
 in anywhere, but would make the long voyage di- 
 rect. It would be over four months, at any rate, 
 before he could communicate with Florence, and 
 in the meantime, she and Mrs. O'Keefe, whom he 
 recognized as a good friend, would conclude that 
 he was dead. 
 
 It was very provoking to think that he could not 
 even telegraph, as that would relieve all anxiety, and 
 he felt sure that Florence was enough his friend 
 to feel anxious about him. 
 
 He had just closed up his valise, when a young 
 man of dark complexion and of an attractive, in- 
 tellectual expression, entered the cabin. 
 
 He nodded pleasantly to Dodger, and said: 
 
 "I suppose this is Arthur Grant?" 
 
 *'Yes, sir," answered Dodger, for he had decided 
 to adopt the name. 
 
 *'We ought to become close friends, for we are, 
 I believe, the only passengers." 
 
 'Then you are a passenger, too?" said Dodger, 
 deciding, after a brief scrutiny, that he should like 
 his new acquaintance. 
 
 ''Yes. My name is Randolph Leslie. I have 
 been, for the last five years, a reporter on leading 
 New York daily papers, and worked so closely that 
 my health has become somewhat affected. My doc- 
 tor recommended a sea voyage, and I have arranged 
 for a pretty long one." 
 
154 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 ''What papers have you worked for?" 
 
 *'0h, all the leading ones — Tribune, World, Her- 
 ald, and Sun — sometimes one, and sometimes an- 
 other. Your reason for taking this trip can hardly 
 be the same as mine. You don't look as if your 
 health required you to travel." 
 
 ''No," answered Dodger, smiling; "but I under- 
 stand that the gentleman who engaged my passage 
 said I was going to sea for my health." 
 
 ''If I were as robust as you, I shouldn't give much 
 thought to my health. Do you intend to remain 
 in California?" 
 
 "I don't know what I do intend," replied Dod- 
 ger. "I didn't know I was going to California at 
 all until I woke up in my stateroom." 
 
 The young man looked surprised. 
 
 "Didn't you know the destination of the vessel 
 when you came on board?" he asked. 
 
 "I was brought aboard in my sleep." 
 
 "This is curious. It looks to me as if you had 
 a story to tell. 
 
 "Of course, I don't want to be curious, but if 
 there is anyway in which I can help you, by advice, 
 or in any other way, I am quite ready to do so." 
 
 Dodger paused, but only briefly. This young- 
 man looked friendly, and might help him to pen- 
 etrate the mystery which at present baffled him. 
 
 At any rate, his experience qualified him to give 
 friendly advice, and of this Dodger felt that he 
 stood in need. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 155 
 
 "1 ought to tell you, to begin with," he said, 
 *'that I am a poor boy, and made my living as best 
 I could, by carrying baggage, selling papers, etc." 
 
 *'I don't think any the worse of you for that. 
 Did you live at the lodging houses?" 
 
 *'No; until lately I lived with a man who keeps 
 a saloon on the Bowery, and tended bar for him." 
 
 *'What was his name? As a reporter I know the 
 Bowery pretty well." 
 
 ^Tim Bolton." 
 
 *Tim Bolton? I know his place well. I think 
 I must have seen you there. Your face looked 
 familiar to me as soon as I set eyes on you." 
 
 "Very likely. A good many people came into 
 Tim's. I couldn't pretend to remember them all." 
 
 *'Was Tim a relative of yours?" 
 
 "I don't believe he was. I always thought that 
 he got hold of me when I was a kid. I don't re- 
 member the time when I wasn't with him." 
 
 "I suppose you have always lived in New York?" 
 
 "No ; I lived for several years in Australia. Tim 
 was in the same business there. I came on with him 
 a year or more since." 
 
 "Do you think you ever lived in New York be- 
 fore?" 
 
 "Yes; Tim has told me that I was born in New 
 York." 
 
 "I understand that you have left Tim now?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why, may I ask?" 
 
156 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 ''Because I didn't like the business he was in. 
 But I Hked it better than the one he wanted me to 
 go into." 
 
 "What was that?" 
 
 "Burglary." 
 
 The young reporter started in surprise. 
 
 "Well," he said, "this is a new tack for Tim. 
 However, I never looked upon him as a man who 
 would shrink from any violation of the laws, ex- 
 cept murder. I don't think he would do that." 
 
 "No; Tim isn't quite so bad. He isn't the worst 
 man alive, though he is a rather hard customer. 
 It was his wanting me to enter a house on Madi- 
 son Avenue and open a desk that led to me going 
 on this trip." 
 
 "Tell me about it, if you don't mind." 
 
 Thus invited, Dodger told his story to Ran- 
 dolph Leslie, keeping nothing back. 
 
 He finished by showing him the letter he had 
 found in the valise. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 157 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE. 
 
 *Well, this is certainly a remarkable letter," 
 said the reporter, as he handed it back to Dodger. 
 *'I am at a loss to understand the interest which 
 this man appears to feel in you." 
 
 *'I look upon him as my enemy," said Dodger. 
 "But an enemy doesn't spend so much money upon 
 another as he has." 
 
 ^'Unless he has object in it," amended Leslie, 
 shrewdly. ''Do you know of any connection this 
 man has with you?" 
 
 *'No; I never heard of him until I entered his 
 house," and Dodger flushed as he thought that 
 his entrance into the mansion on Madison Avenue 
 had been as a burglar. 
 
 "It seems to me that he knows more about you 
 than you do about him. It also seems to me that 
 he is anxious to get you out of New York, the far- 
 ther the better." 
 
 "But what harm could I do him in New York?" 
 asked Dodger, puzzled. 
 
 "That is the question which I cannot answer. You 
 
158 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 say he was instrumental in getting his Cousin Flor- 
 ence out of the house?" 
 
 *'Yes; he wanted to marry her." 
 
 *'And she would not consent ?" 
 
 *'No; I think she hates him." 
 
 "How old is she?" 
 
 "Seventeen." 
 
 "And he?" 
 
 "He looks about thirty-five." 
 
 "The difference in years isn't great enough to 
 constitute an obstacle, provided she loved him. I 
 am thirty years old." 
 
 "I am suFe Florence would prefer you to Curtis 
 Waring." 
 
 "Don't flatter me. I am vain enough already. 
 The time may come when I may ask your good 
 offices with Miss Linden. What I was about to 
 ask was: Is Miss Linden also entitled to a share 
 in her uncle's estate?" 
 
 "She is just as nearly related to him as Mr. War- 
 ing." 
 
 "Then I can understand his wishing to get rid 
 of her. I don't know why he should want to send 
 you to a distance. I suppose there can't be any re- 
 lationship ?" 
 
 "Is it likely that I — a poor street boy — should 
 be related to a rich man like Mr. Linden?" 
 
 "It doesn't seem likely, I admit," said Leslie, mu- 
 singly. "Well, I suppose," he continued, after a 
 pause, "there is no use in speculating about the mat- 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 159 
 
 ter now. The important point is, what are we to 
 do with ourselves during the four or five months 
 we must spend on shipboard?" 
 
 "I don't know what I can do," said Dodger. *'I 
 can't sell papers, and I can't smash baggage." 
 
 **And there appears to be no need of your doing 
 either, as you are provided with board and lodg- 
 ing till we reach shore." 
 
 'That seems strange to me, for I've always had 
 to hustle for a living." 
 
 '1 was about to make a proposal to you. But 
 first let me ask you about your education. I sup- 
 pose you are not an accomplished scholar?" 
 
 "I'm about as ignorant as they make 'em," an- 
 swered Dodger, drolly. "Tim was afraid to send 
 me to college, for fear I'd get to know too much 
 for my business." 
 
 "Tending bar does not require an acquaintance 
 with Latin and Greek. Would you like to know 
 more?" 
 
 "I wish I did. Florence was teaching me nights 
 when I was in New York. Now I've got to give 
 up all that." 
 
 "Not necessarily. Listen to me, Arthur. Be- 
 fore I came to New York to go into journalism, 
 I taught school for two years; and I believe I may 
 say that I was tolerably successful. Suppose I take 
 you as a scholar?" 
 
 "I should like it very much, Mr. Leslie, but I'm 
 afraid I haven't got money enough to pay you." 
 
i6o ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "That is true. You will need all the money you 
 have when you land in California. Twenty -five 
 dollars won't go far — still you have all the money 
 that is necessary, for I do not intend to charge you 
 anything." 
 
 ''You are very kind to me, Mr. Leslie, consider- 
 in' you don't know me," said Dodger, gratefully. 
 
 ''On the contrary, I think I know you very well. 
 But about the kindness — my motives are somewhat 
 mixed. I should like to do you a service, but I 
 should also like to find employment for myself that 
 will make the days less monotonous. I have a col- 
 lection of books in my trunk, enough for our needs, 
 and if you will agree we will commence our studies 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "I should like it very much. I'd like to show 
 Florence, when I see her, that I have improved. Till 
 I saw her I didn't care much, but when I talk with 
 her I feel awfully ignorant." 
 
 "In four months a great deal can be accomplished. 
 I don't know how quick you are to learn. After 
 we have had one or two lessons I can judge bet- 
 ter." 
 
 Two days later Mr. Leslie pronounced his opin- 
 ion, and a favorable one. 
 
 "You have not exaggerated your ignorance," he 
 said to Dodger. "You have a great deal to learn, 
 but on the other hand you are quick, have a reten- 
 tive memory, and are very anxious to learn. I shall 
 make something of you." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. i6r 
 
 "I learn faster with you than with Florence," said 
 Dodger. 
 
 'Trobably she would succeed better with girls, 
 but I hold that a male teacher is better for boys. 
 How long are you willing to study every day?" 
 
 "As long as you think best." 
 
 "Then we will say from two to three hours. I 
 think you have talent for arithmetic. I don't ex- 
 pect to make you fit for a bookkeeper, but I hope 
 to make you equal to most office boys by the time 
 we reach San Francisco. What do you intend to 
 do in California?" 
 
 "I don't know. I should like to go back to New 
 York, but I shall not have money enough." 
 
 "No; twenty-five dollars would go but a little 
 way toward the passage. Evidently Mr. Waring 
 did not intend to have you return, or he would have 
 provided you with more." 
 
 "That is just why I should like to go back. I 
 am afraid he will do some harm to Florence." 
 
 "And you would like to be on hand to protect 
 her?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Randolph Leslie smiled. 
 
 "You seem to take a great deal of interest in Flor- 
 ence, if I may make as free with her name as you 
 do." 
 
 "Yes; I do, Mr. Leslie." 
 
 "If you were only a little older I might suspect 
 the nature of that interest." 
 
i62 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 ''I am older than she is/' 
 
 "In years, yes. But a young lady of seventeen, 
 brought up as she has been, is older by years than 
 a boy of eighteen. I don't think you need appre- 
 hend any harm to Miss Linden, except that Mr. 
 Waring may cheat her out of her rightful share of 
 the inheritance. Is her uncle in good health?" 
 "No, sir; he is a very feeble man." 
 "Is he an old man?" 
 
 "Not so very old. I don't believe he is over 
 sixty." 
 
 Really Mr. Linden was but fifty-four, but, being 
 a confirmed invalid, he looked older. 
 
 "Should you say that he was likely to live very 
 long?" 
 
 "No," answered Dodger. "He looks as if you 
 could knock him over with a feather. Besides, I've 
 heard Florence say that she was afraid her uncle 
 could not live long." 
 
 "Probably Curtis Waring is counting upon this. 
 If he can keep Florence and her uncle apart for a 
 few months, Mr. Linden will die, and he will in- 
 herit the whole estate. What is this will he speaks 
 of in the letter you showed me?" 
 "I don't know, sir." 
 
 "Whatever the provisions are, it is evident that 
 he thinks it important to get it into his possession. 
 If favorable to him, he will keep it carefully. If 
 unfavorable, I think a man like him would not hesi- 
 tate to suppress it." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 163 
 
 "No doubt you are right, sir. I don't know 
 much about wills," said Dodger. 
 
 *'No; I suppose not. You never made any, I 
 suppose," remarked the reporter, with a smile. 
 
 *'I never had nothing to leave," said Dodger. 
 
 "Anything would be a better expression. As 
 your tutor I feel it incumbent upon me to correct 
 your grammar." 
 
 "I wish you would, Mr. Leslie. What do you 
 mean to do when you get to San Francisco?" 
 
 "I shall seek employment on one of the San 
 Farncisco daily papers. Six months or a year so 
 spent will restore my health, and enable me to live 
 without drawing upon my moderate savings." 
 
 "I expect I shall have to work, too, to get money 
 to take me back to New York." 
 
 And now we must ask the reader to imagine four 
 months and one week passed. 
 
 There had been favorable weather on the whole, 
 and the voyage was unusually short. 
 
 Dodger and the reporter stood on deck, and with 
 eager interest watched the passage through the 
 Golden Gate. A little later and the queen city of 
 the Pacific came in sight, crowning the hill on which 
 a part of the city is built, with the vast Palace Hotel 
 a conspicuous object in the foreground. 
 
1 64 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 FLORENCE IN SUSPENSE. 
 
 We must now return to New York to Dodger's 
 old home. 
 
 When he did not return at the usual hour, neither 
 Florence nor Mrs. O'Keefe was particularly dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 It was thought that he had gone on some errand 
 of unusual length, and would return an hour or two 
 late. 
 
 Eight o'clock came, the hour at which the boy 
 was accustomed to repair to Florence's room to 
 study, and still he didn't make his appearance. 
 
 "Dodger's late this evening, Mrs. O'Keefe," said 
 Florence, going up to the room of her landlady. 
 
 "Shure he is. It's likely he's gone to Brooklyn 
 or up to Harlem, wid a bundle. He'll be comin' 
 in soon." 
 
 *'I hope he will be well paid for the errand, since 
 it keeps him so long." 
 
 "I hope so, too, Florence, for he's a good boy, 
 is Dodger. Did I tell you how he served the rap- 
 scallion that tried to stale my apples the other day ?'* 
 
 **No; I would like to hear it." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 165 
 
 "A big, black-bearded man came along, and asked 
 me for an apple. 
 
 '' 'You can have one for two pennies,' says I. 
 
 " 'But I haven't got them,' says he. 
 
 " Then you must go widout it,' says I. 
 
 ** 'We'll see about that,' says he. 
 
 "And what do you think? — the fellow picked out 
 one of my biggest apples, and was walkin' away! 
 That made me mad. 
 
 " 'Come back, you thafe of the worruld !' says L 
 
 " 'Silence, you old hag !' says he. 
 
 "Actilly he called me an old hag! I wanted to 
 go after him, but there was two hoodlums hang- 
 in' round, and I knew they'd carry off some of my 
 apples, when, just as I was at my wits' end. Dodger 
 came round the corner. 
 
 " 'Dodger,' I screamed, 'go after that man ! He's 
 taken one of my apples, widout lave or license!' 
 
 "Upon that. Dodger, brave as a lion, walked up 
 to the man, and, says he : 
 
 " 'Give back that apple, or pay for it !' 
 
 " 'What's that to you, you impudent young ras- 
 cal?' says the man, raisin' the apple to his mouth. 
 But he didn't get a chance to bite it, for Dodger, 
 with a flip of his hand, knocked it on the sidewalk, 
 and picked it up. 
 
 "Wasn't the man mad just?" 
 
 " 'I'll smash you, boy,' he growled. 
 
 " 'I'm a baggage-smasher myself,' says Dodger, 
 *and I can smash as well as you.' > 
 
i66 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 '*Wid that the man up with his fist and struck at 
 Dodger, but he dodged the blow, and gave him 
 one for himself wid his right. Just then up came 
 a cop. 
 
 "What's all this?' says he. 
 
 " That man tried to run off wid one of my ap- 
 ples,' says I. 
 
 " 'Come along,' says the cop. 'You're wanted at 
 the station-house.' 
 
 '' 'It's a lie,' says the man. 'I paid the woman 
 for the apple, and that young rascal knocked it 
 out of my hand.' 
 
 " 'I know the boy,' says the cop, 'and he ain't 
 one of that kind. I'll let you go if you buy five 
 apples from the lady, and pay for 'em.' 
 
 "The man made up an ugly face, but he didn't 
 want to be locked up, and so he paid me a dime for 
 five apples." 
 
 "Dodger is very brave," said Florence. "Some- 
 times I think he is too daring. He is liable to get 
 into trouble." 
 
 "If he does he'll get himself out of it, never you 
 fe^r. Dodger can take care of himself." 
 
 Nine o'clock came, and Florence became alarmed. 
 She had not been aware how much she had depended 
 upon the company 6f her faithful friend, humble 
 as his station was. 
 
 Again she went into Mrs. O'Keefe's room. The 
 apple-woman had been out to buy some groceries 
 and had just returned. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 167 
 
 "I am getting anxious about Dodger," said Flor- 
 ence. "It is nine o'clock." 
 
 "And what's nine o'clock for a boy like him? 
 Shure he's used to bein' out at all hours of the 
 night." 
 
 "I shall feel relieved when he comes home. What 
 should I do without him?" 
 
 "Shure I'd miss him myself; but it isn't the first 
 time he has been out late." 
 
 "Perhaps that terrible Tim Bolton has got hold 
 of him," suggested Florence. 
 
 "Tim isn't so bad, Florence. He isn't fit com- 
 pany for the likes of you, but there's worse men 
 nor Tim." 
 
 "Didn't he send out Dodger to commit a bur- 
 glary?" 
 
 "And if he hadn't you'd never made Dodger's 
 acquaintance." 
 
 "That's true; but it doesn't make burglary any 
 more excusable. Don't you really think Tim Bol- 
 ton has got hold of him?" 
 
 "If he has, he won't keep him long, I'll make 
 oath of that. He might keep him over night, but 
 Dodger would come back in the morning." 
 
 Florence was somewhat cheered by Mrs. 
 O'Keefe's refusal to believe that Dodger was in 
 any serious trouble, but she could not wholly free 
 herself from uneasiness. When eleven o'clock came 
 she went to bed very unwillingly, and got very lit- 
 tle rest during the night. Morning came, and still 
 
1 68 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Dodger did not show up. As we know, he was 
 fairly started on his long- voyage, though he had 
 not yet recovered consciousness. 
 
 Florence took a very light breakfast, and at the 
 usual time went to Airs. Leighton's to meet her 
 pupil. When the study hour was over, she did 
 not remain to lunch, but hurried back, stopping 
 at Mrs. O'Keefe's apple-stand just as that lady was 
 preparing to go home to prepare dinner. 
 
 ''Have you seen anything of Dodger, Mrs. 
 O'Keefe?'' asked Florence, breathlessly. 
 
 ''No, I haven't, Florence. I've had my eye out 
 watchin' for him, and he hasn't showed up." 
 
 "Is there anything we can do?" asked Florence, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Well, we might go around and see Tim — ^and 
 find out whether he's got hold of him." 
 • "Let us go at once." 
 
 "Shure I didn't know you cared so much for the 
 boy," said Mrs. O'Keefe, with a shrewd look at 
 Florence's anxious face. 
 
 "Why shouldn't I care for him? He is my only 
 friend." 
 
 "Is he now ? And what's the matter wid Bridget 
 O'Keefe?" asked the apple-woman. 
 
 "Excuse me, Mrs. O'Keefe. I know very well you 
 are my friend, and a kind friend, too. I should 
 not have forgotten you." 
 
 "It's all right, Florence. You're flustrated like, 
 and that's why you forget me." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 169 
 
 "I have so few friends that I can't spare one," 
 continued Florence. 
 
 'That's so. Come along wid me, and we'll see 
 what Tim has to tell us." 
 
 A short walk brought the two strangely assorted 
 companions to the entrance of Tim Bolton's saloon. 
 
 'Tm afraid to go in, Mrs. O'Keefe," said Flor- 
 ence. 
 
 ''Come along wid me, my dear, I won't let any- 
 thing harm you. . You ain't used to such a place, 
 but I've been here more than once to fill the growler. 
 Be careful as you go down the steps, Florence." 
 
 Tim Bolton was standing behind the bar, and 
 as he heard steps he looked carelessly toward the 
 entrance, but when he saw Florence, his indiffer- 
 ence vanished. He came from behind the bar, and 
 advanced to meet her. 
 
 "Miss Linden," he said. 
 
 Florence shrank back and clung to her compan- 
 ion's arm. 
 
 "Is there anything I can do for you? I am a 
 rough man, but I'm not so bad as you may think." 
 
 "That's what I told her, Tim," said Mrs. 
 O'Keefe. "I told Florence there was worse men 
 than you." 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs. O'Keefe. Can I offer you a 
 glass of whiskey?" 
 
 The apple-woman was about to accept, but she 
 felt an alarmed tug at her arm, and saw that Flor- 
 ence would be placed in an embarrassing position 
 
lyo ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 if she accepted. So, by an exercise of self-denial 
 — for Mrs. O'Keefe was by no means insensible to 
 the attractions of whiskey, though she never drank 
 to excess — she said : 
 
 "Thank you kindly, Mr. Bolton. I won't take 
 any just now ; but I'll remind you of your offer an- 
 other day." 
 
 'TIave it your own way, Mrs. O'Keefe. And 
 now, what can I do for you and Miss Linden?" 
 
 *'0h, Mr. Bolton," broke in Florence, unable to 
 bear the suspense longer, "where is Dodger?" 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 171 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 FINDING THE CLEW. 
 
 Tim Bolton looked at Florence in undisguised 
 astonishment. 
 
 ''Dodger !" he repeated. ''How should I know? 
 I supposed that you had lured him away from me." 
 
 "He didn't like the business you were in. He 
 preferred to make a living in some other way." 
 
 "Then why do you ask me where he is?" 
 
 "Because he did not come home last night. Shure 
 he rooms at my house," put in Mrs. O'Keefe, "and 
 he hasn't showed up since ■' 
 
 "And you thought I might have got hold of 
 him?" said Bolton, inquiringly. 
 
 "Then you are mistaken. I haven't seen the boy 
 for weeks." 
 
 Tim Bolton spoke so straightforwardly that there 
 was no chance to doubt his word. 
 
 "When he was living with you, Mr. Bolton," con- 
 tinued Florence, "did he ever stay away like this?" 
 
 "No," answered Bolton. "Dodger was always 
 very regular about comin' home." 
 
 "Then something must have happened to him," 
 said Florence, anxiously. 
 
172 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *'He might have got run in," suggested the ap- 
 ple-woman. ''Some of them cops is mighty offi- 
 cious." 
 
 ^'Dodger would never do anything to deserve ar- 
 rest," Florence said, quickly. 
 
 "Thrue for you, Florence, but some innersent 
 parties are nabbed. I know of one young man 
 who was standin' on a strate corner waitin' for the 
 cars, when a cop came up and arristed him for dis- 
 orderly conduct." 
 
 ''But that is shameful!" said Florence, indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 'Thrue for you, my dear. We might go round 
 to the police headquarters and inquire if the boy's 
 been run in." 
 
 ''What do you think, Mr. Bolton?" asked Flor- 
 ence. 
 
 Tim Eolton seemed busy thinking. Finally he 
 brought down his hand forcibly on the bar, and 
 said : "I begin to see through it." 
 
 Florence did not speak, but she fixed an eager look 
 of inquiry on the face of the saloon-keeper. 
 
 "I believe Curtis Waring is at the bottom of 
 this," he said. 
 
 "My cousin!" exclaimed Florence, in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Yes, your cousin. Miss Linden." 
 
 "But what can he have against poor Dodger! Is 
 it because the boy has taken my part and is a friend 
 to me?" 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 173 
 
 ''He wouldn't like him any better on account of 
 that; but he has another and a more powerful rea- 
 son." 
 
 ''Would you mind telling me what it is? I can- 
 not conceive what it can be." 
 
 "At present," answered Bolton, cautiously, "I 
 prefer to say nothing on the subject. I will only 
 say the boy's disappearance interferes with my 
 plans, and I will see if I can't find out what has 
 become of him." 
 
 "If you only will, Mr. Bolton, I shall be so grate- 
 ful. I am afraid I have misjudged you. I thought 
 you were an enemy of Dodger's." 
 
 "Then you were mistaken. I have had the boy 
 with me since he was a kid, and though I've been 
 rough with him at times, maybe, I like him, and 
 I may some time have a chance to show him that 
 old Tim Bolton is one of his best friends." 
 
 "I will believe it now, Mr. Bolton," said Flor- 
 ence, impulsively, holding out her hand to the burly 
 saloon-keeper. 
 
 He was surprised, but it was evident that he was 
 pleased, also, and he took the little hand respect- 
 fully in his own ample palm, and pressed it in a 
 friendly manner. 
 
 "There's one thing more I want you to believe. 
 Miss Linden," he said, "and that is, that I am your 
 friend, also." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Bolton. And now let us all 
 work together to find Dodger." 
 
174 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "You can count on me, Miss Linden. If you'll 
 tell me where you live I'll send or bring you any 
 news I may hear." 
 
 "I live with Mrs. O'Keefe, my good friend, 
 here." 
 
 *'I haven't my kyard with me, Tim," said the ap- 
 ple-woman, *'but I'll give you my strate and num- 
 ber. You know my place of business?" 
 
 *'Yes." 
 
 "If you come to me there I'll let Florence know 
 whatever you tell me. She is not always at home." 
 
 The two went away relieved in mind, for, help- 
 less and bewildered as they were, they felt that Tim 
 Bolton would make a valuable ally. 
 
 When they had gone Tim turned to Hooker and 
 Briggs, who were lounging at a table, waiting for 
 some generous customer to invite them to the 
 bar. 
 
 "Boys," said Tim, "has either of you seen any- 
 thing of Dodger lately?" 
 
 "No," answered the two in unison. 
 
 "Have you heard anything of him?" 
 
 "I heard that he was baggage-smashin' down by 
 the steamboat landings," said Hooker. 
 
 "Go down there, both of you, and see if you can 
 see or hear anything of him." 
 
 "All right, Tim." 
 
 And the two left the saloon and took a westerly 
 route toward the North River piers. 
 
 Three hours later they returned. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 175 
 
 "Have you heard anything?" asked Bolton. "Did 
 you see Dodger?" 
 
 **No; we didn't see him." 
 
 *'But you heard something?" 
 
 "Yes; we found a boy, a friend of his, that said 
 the last he saw of Dodger was last evenin'." 
 
 "Where did he see him?" 
 
 "Near the pier of the Albany boats." 
 
 "What was he doin' ?" 
 
 "Carryin' a valise for a man." 
 
 "What kind of a man? How did he look?" 
 
 "He had gray hair and gray whiskers." 
 
 Tim was puzzled by the description. 
 
 If, as he suspected, Curtis were concerned in the 
 abduction, this man could not have been he. 
 
 "The man was a passenger by the Albany boat, 
 I suppose?" 
 
 "No; that was what looked queer. Before the 
 Albany boat came in the man was lyin' round with 
 his valise, and the boy thought he was goin' off 
 somewhere. But when the boat came in he just 
 mixed in with the passengers, and came up to the 
 entrance of the pier. Two boys asked to carry his 
 valise, but he shook his head till Dodger came 
 round, and he engaged him right off." 
 
 Tim Bolton nodded knowingly. 
 
 "It was a plan," he said. "The man wanted to 
 get hold of Dodger. What puzzles me is, that you 
 said he was an old man." 
 
 "His hair and beard were gray." 
 
176 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *''And Curtis has no beard, and his hair is black." 
 
 "But the boy said he didn't look like an old man, 
 except the hair. He walked off like a young man." 
 
 Tim Bolton's face lighted up with sudden intel- 
 ligence. 
 
 'Til bet a hat it was Curtis in disguise," he solilo- 
 quized. 
 
 'That's all we could find out, Mr. Bolton," said 
 Briggs, with another longing look at the bar. 
 
 ''It is enough! You have earned your whiskey. 
 Walk up, gentlemen!" 
 
 Hooker and Briggs needed no second invitation. 
 
 "Will either of you take a note for me to Mrs. 
 O'Keefe? For another drink, of course." 
 
 "I will, Tim," said Hooker, eagerly. 
 
 "No; take me, Mr. Bolton," entreated Briggs. 
 
 "You can both go," said Tim, generously. "Wait 
 a minute, and I'll have it ready for you." 
 
 He found a half sheet of note paper, and scrib- 
 bled on it this message : 
 
 "Mrs. O'Keefe :— Tell Miss Linden that I have 
 a clew. I am almost surtin her cozen has got away 
 with Dodger. He won't hurt him, but he will get 
 him out of the city. Wen I hear more I will right. 
 
 "T. Bolton." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 177 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 BOLTON MAKES A DISCOVERY. 
 
 ''I SEE it all," Bolton said to himself, thought- 
 fully. "Curtis Waring is afraid of the boy — and 
 of me. He's circumvented me neatly, and the game 
 is his — so far my little plan is dished. I must find 
 out for certain whether he's had anything to do 
 with gettin' Dodger out of the way, and then, Tim 
 Bolton, you must set your wits to work to spoil 
 his little game." 
 
 Bolton succeeded in securing the services of a 
 young man who had experience at tending bar, and 
 about eight o'clock, after donning his best attire, 
 he hailed a Fourth Avenue surface car and got 
 aboard. 
 
 Getting out at the proper street, he made his 
 way to Madison Avenue, and ascended the stens 
 of John Linden's residence. 
 
 The door was opened by Jane, who eyed the vis- 
 itor with no friendly glance. 
 
 "What do you want?" she asked, in a hostile 
 tone. 
 
 "Is Mr. Waring at home?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
178 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *'Is Miss Florence at home?" 
 
 ''Do you know her?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes; I am a friend of hers." 
 
 Jane evidently thought that Florence must have 
 made some queer friends. 
 
 ''Have you seen her lately?" she asked eagerly. ^ 
 
 "I saw her to-day." 
 
 *'Is she well?" 
 
 "Yes; she is well, but she is in trouble." 
 
 "Is she Does she need any money?" 
 
 "No; it isn't that. The boy Dodger has disap- 
 peared, and she is afraid something has happened 
 to him." 
 
 "Oh, I am so sorry! He was a good friend of 
 Miss Florence." 
 
 "I see you know him. I am trying to help him 
 and her." 
 
 "But you asked for Mr. Waring?" said Jane, 
 suspiciously. 
 
 "So I did. Shall I tell you why?" 
 
 "I wish you would." 
 
 "I think he has something to do with gettin' 
 Dodger out of the way, and Fm goin' to try to 
 find out." 
 
 "He won't tell you." 
 
 "You don't understand. I shall make him think 
 I am on his side. Was he at home last night?" 
 
 "He went away at dinner time, and he didn't 
 come home till after twelve. I ought to know, for 
 he forgot his latchkey, and I had to get up and let 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 179 
 
 him in. I won't lo it again. I'll let him stay out 
 first." 
 
 "1 see; he was with Dodger, no doubt. Did 
 you say he was in ?" 
 
 "No, sir; but he will be in directly. Won't you 
 step into the library?" 
 
 ''Shall I meet the old gentleman there?" asked 
 Bolton, in a tone of hesitation. 
 
 ''No. He goes up to his chamber directly after 
 dinner." 
 
 "How is he?" 
 
 "I think he's failing." 
 
 "I hope there is no immediate danger," said Bol- 
 ton, anxiously. 
 
 "No; but he's worrying about Miss Florence. 
 It's my belief that if she were at home, he'd live 
 a good while." 
 
 "Doesn't he ask for her?" 
 
 "Mr. Curtis tells him she'll come round soon if 
 he'll only be firm. I don't see, for my part, why 
 Mr. Linden wants her to marry such a disagree- 
 able man. There's plenty better husbands she could 
 get. Come in, sir, and I'll tell him as soon as he 
 comes in. Shall you see Miss Florence soon?" 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 "Then tell her not to give up. Things will come 
 right some time." 
 
 "I'll tell her." 
 
 Bolton was ushered into the library, where, amid 
 the fashionable furniture he looked quite out of 
 
i8o ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 place. He did not feel so, however, for he drew 
 a cigar out of his pocket and, lighting it noncha- 
 lantly, leaned back in a luxurious armchair and be- 
 gan to smoke. 
 
 ^'Curtis Waring is well fixed — that's a fact!" 
 he soliloquized. "I suppose he is the master here, 
 for the old man isn't likely to interfere. Still he 
 will like it better when his uncle is out of the way." 
 
 He had to wait but fifteen minutes in solitude, 
 for at the end of that time Curtis Waring appeared. 
 
 He paused on the threshold, and frowned when 
 he saw who it was that awaited him. 
 
 ''Jane told me that a gentleman was waiting to 
 see me," he said. 
 
 ''Well, she was right." 
 
 "And you, I suppose, are the gentleman?" said 
 Curtis, in a sneering tone. 
 
 "Yes; I am the gentleman," remarked Bolton, 
 coolly. 
 
 "I am not in the habit of receiving visits from 
 gentlemen of your class. However, I suppose you 
 have an object in calling." 
 
 "It shall go hard with me if I don't pay you 
 for your sneers some day," thought Bolton; but 
 he remained outwardly unruffled. 
 
 "Well," he answered, "I can't say that I have any 
 particular business to see you about. I saw your 
 cousin recently." 
 
 "Florence?" asked Curtis, eagerly. 
 
 "Yes.*' 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. i8i 
 
 "What did she say? Did you speak with her?'' 
 
 "Yes. She doesn't seem any more willin' to 
 marry you." 
 
 Curtis Waring frowned. 
 
 "She is a fooHsh girl," he said. "She doesn't 
 know her own mind." 
 
 "She looks to me like a gal that knows her own 
 mind particularly well." 
 
 "Pshaw ! what can you know about it?" 
 
 Then you really expect to marry her some time, 
 Mr. Waring?" 
 
 "Certainly I do." 
 
 "And to inherit your uncle's fortune?'* 
 
 "Of course. Why not?" 
 
 "I was thinkin' of the boy." 
 
 "The boy is dead " 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Bolton, jumping to his feet 
 in irresistible excitement. 
 
 "Don't be a fool. Wait till I finish my sen- 
 tence. He is dead so far as his prospects are con- 
 cerned. Who is there that can identify him with 
 the lost child of John Linden?" 
 
 "I can." 
 
 "Yes; if any one would believe you. However, 
 it is for your interest to keep silent." 
 
 "That is just what I want to know. I suppose 
 you can make it for my interest." 
 
 "Yes, and will — after I get the property. I don't 
 believe in counting my chickens before they are 
 hatched." 
 
i82 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "Of course you know that the boy has left me?" 
 said Bolton. 
 
 "Yes," answered Curtis, indifferently. "He is 
 with my cousin, I believe." 
 
 "Yes; and through her I can learn where he is, 
 and get hold of him if I desire." 
 
 A cynical smile played over the face of Curtis 
 Waring. 
 
 "Do you propose to get him back?" he asked, 
 shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 "I am right," thought Bolton, shrewdly. "From 
 his manner it is easy to see that Curtis is quite at 
 ease as regards Dodger. He knows where he is!" 
 
 "You asked me what business I came about, Mr. 
 Waring," he said, after a pause. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Of course I am devoted to your interests, but 
 is it quite fair to make me wait till you come into 
 your fortune before allowing me anything?" 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 *'You don't seem to consider that I can bring the 
 boy here and make him known to your uncle as the 
 son he lost so long ago?" 
 
 "You are quite sure you can bring the boy here?" 
 asked Curtis. 
 
 "Why not? I have only to go to Florence and 
 ask her to send the boy to me." 
 
 "You are quite at liberty to do so if you like, 
 Tim Bolton," said Curtis, with a mocking smile. 
 "I am glad, at any rate, that you have shown me 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 183 
 
 what is in your mind. You are very sharp, but 
 you are not quite so sharp as I am." 
 
 *'I don't understand you." 
 
 *Then I will be more explicit. It's out of your 
 power to make use of the boy against me, be- 
 cause " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Because he is not in the city." 
 
 "Where is he, then?" 
 
 "Where you are not likely to find him." 
 
 "If you have killed him " Bolton began, but 
 
 Curtis interrupted him. 
 
 "'The boy is safe — I will tell you that much," 
 he said; "but for reasons which you can guess, I 
 think it better that he should be out of New York. 
 When the proper time comes, and all is safe, he 
 may come back, but not in time to help you in your 
 cunning plans, Mr. Tim Bolton." 
 
 "Then, I suppose," said Bolton, assuming an air 
 of mortification and discomfiture, "it is no use for 
 me to remain here any longer." 
 
 "You are quite right. I wish you a pleasant 
 journey home. Give my love to Florence when you 
 see her." 
 
 "That man is a fiend!" soliloquized Bolton, as 
 he walked back, leisurely, to his place of business. 
 "Let me get hold of Dodger and I will foil him 
 yet!" 
 
1 84 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIL 
 
 DODGER STRIKES LUCK. 
 
 When Dodger landed in San Francisco, in spite 
 of the fact that he had made the journey against 
 his will, he felt a natural exhilaration and pleasure 
 in the new and striking circumstances and scenes 
 in which he found himself placed. 
 
 It was in the year 1877, and the city was by no 
 means what it is now. Yet it probably contained 
 not far from two hundred thousand people, lively, 
 earnest, enterprising. All seemed busy and hope- 
 ful, and Dodger caught the contagion. 
 
 As he walked with the reporter to a modest ho- 
 tel, where the rates were a dollar and a half a day, 
 not far from Montgomery Street, Randolph Les- 
 lie asked : 
 
 "How do you like San Francisco thus far, Ar- 
 thur?" 
 
 It will be remembered that Dodger, feeling that 
 the name by which he had hitherto been known was 
 hardly likely to recommend him, adopted the one 
 given him by Curtis Waring. 
 
 ''I think I shall like it ever so much," answered 
 Dodger. "Everybody seems to be wideawake." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 185; 
 
 "Do you think you will like it better than New 
 York?'; 
 
 "1 think a poor boy will have more of a chance 
 of making a living here. In New York I was too 
 well known. If I got a place anywhere some one 
 would recognize me as Tim Bolton's boy — accus- 
 tomed to tend bar — or some gentleman would re- 
 member that he had bought papers of me. Here 
 nobody knows me, and I can start fair." 
 
 'There is a great deal in what you say," returned 
 Leslie. *'What do you think of trying to do?" 
 
 "First of all I will write a letter to Florence, and 
 tell her I am all right. How long does it take a 
 letter to go from here to New York?" 
 
 "About seven days." 
 
 "And it took us over four months! That seems 
 wonderful." 
 
 "Yes; there is a great difference between coming 
 by sea around Cape Horn and speeding across the 
 country on an express train." 
 
 "If I could only know how Florence is getting 
 along," Dodger said, anxiously. "I suppose she 
 thinks I am dead." 
 
 "You forget the letter you gave to the vessel 
 we spoke off the coast of Brazil." 
 
 "Yes; but do you think it went straight?" 
 
 "The chances are in favor of it. However, your 
 idea is a good one. Write, by all means, and then 
 we will discuss future plans." 
 
 "What are your plans, Mr. Leslie?" 
 
1 86 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *'I shall try to secure a reporter's berth on one 
 of the daily papers — the Call or Chronicle. I will 
 wait a few days, however, as I have a few hundred 
 dollars by me, and can afford to take a little time 
 to look around." 
 
 "I wish I were as well provided; but I have less 
 than twenty-five dollars." 
 
 "Don't worry about that, Arthur," said Ran- 
 dolph, laying his hand affectionately on the boy's 
 shoulder. "I shall not allow you to want." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Leslie," said Dodger, grate- 
 fully. "It's something new to me to have a friend 
 like you. But I don't want to be any expense to 
 you. I am large enough and strong enough to earn 
 my own living." 
 
 "True; and I feel sure you will have a chance 
 in this enterprising city." 
 
 They bought copies of the day's papers, and Dod- 
 ger looked eagerly over the advertising columns. 
 
 At length he saw an advertisement that read as 
 follows : 
 
 WANTED — A young man of i8 or 20 to as- 
 sist in the office of a local express. Inquire at No. 
 St." 
 
 "Do you think I would answer for such a place?'* 
 he asked. 
 
 "I don't see why not. At any rate, 'nothing 
 venture, nothing gain.' You may as well go around 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 187 
 
 and inquire. And, by the way, as your suit is 
 rather shabby, let me lend you one of mine. We 
 are of nearly the same size." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Leslie." 
 
 *Tine feathers make fine birds, you know, and 
 a neat dress always increases the chances of an ap- 
 plicant for employment, though, when it is carried 
 too far, it is apt to excite suspicion. I remember 
 a friend of mine advertised for a bookkeeper. 
 Among the applicants was a young man wearing 
 a sixty-dollar suit, a ruffled shirt, a handsome gold 
 watch and a diamond pin. He was a man of taste, 
 and he was strongly impressed with the young 
 man's elegant appearance. So, largely upon the 
 strength of these, he engaged him, and in less than 
 six months discovered that he had been swindled 
 to the extent of eight hundred dollars by his aes- 
 thetic bookkeeper." 
 
 "Then I will leave my diamond pin at home," 
 said Dodger, smiling. "Suppose they ask me for 
 recommendations ?" 
 
 "I will go with you and indorse you. I hap- 
 pen to know one or two prominent gentlemen in 
 San Francisco — among them the president of a bank 
 — and I presume my indorsement will be sufficient." 
 
 Dodger went back to the hotel, put on a suit of 
 Mr. Leslie's, got his boots blacked, and then, in 
 company with the young reporter, went to the ex- 
 press office. 
 
 "I am afraid some one will have been engaged 
 
i88 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 already," said the reporter; ''but if not, your 
 chances will be good." 
 
 They entered a good-sized office on a prominent 
 street, and Dodger inquired for Mr. Tucker. 
 
 A small man of about forty, keen-eyed and alert, 
 eyed him attentively. 
 
 ''I am Mr. Tucker," he said. 
 
 "I saw your advertisement for an assistant, Mr. 
 Tucker," said Dodger, modestly; ''have you filled 
 the place?" 
 
 "Let me see," said Tucker, reflectively, "you are 
 the ninth young man who has applied — ^but the place 
 is still open." 
 
 "Then I am afraid you won't want me, as you 
 have rejected so many." 
 
 "I don't know. How long have you been in the 
 city?" 
 
 "I only just arrived." 
 
 "Where from?" 
 
 "From New York." 
 
 "Have you any idea of going to the mines when 
 you get money enough?" 
 
 "I think I would prefer to remain in the city." 
 
 "Good! How is your education?" 
 
 "I have never been to college," answered Dod- 
 ger, with a smile. 
 
 "Good! I don't care for your college men. I 
 am a practical man myself." 
 
 "I am a poor scholar, but Mr. Leslie tells me I 
 write a fair hand." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 189 
 
 **Let me see a specimen of your writing." 
 
 Now Dodger had taken special pains on the voy- 
 age to improve his penmanship, with excellent re- 
 sults. 
 
 So it happened that the specimen which he fur- 
 nished had the good fortune to please Mr. Tucker. 
 
 ''Good !" he said. ''You will, a part of the time, 
 be taking orders. Your handwriting is plain and 
 will do. Never mind about Latin and Greek. You 
 won't need it. Qiinese would be more serviceable 
 to you here. When can you go to work?" 
 
 "To-morrow morning. To-day, if necessary," 
 answered Dodger, promptly. 
 
 Mr. Tucker seemed pleased with his answer. 
 
 "To-morrow morning let it be, then! Hours 
 are from eight in the morning till six at night." 
 
 "Very well, sir." 
 
 "Your wages will be fifteen dollars a week. How 
 will that suit you?" 
 
 Dodger wanted to indulge in a loud whoop of 
 exultation, for fifteen dollars was beyond his wild- 
 est hopes; but he was too politic to express his de- 
 light. So he contented himself with saying: 
 
 "I shall be quite satisfied with that." 
 
 "Oh, by the way, I suppose I ought to have some 
 reference," said Mr. Tucker, "though as a general 
 thing I judge a good deal by outward appearance." 
 
 "I can refer you to my friend, Mr. Leslie, here." 
 
 "And who will indorse him?" asked the express- 
 man, shrewdly. 
 
190 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Leslie smiled. 
 
 "1 see, Air. Tucker, you are a thorough man of 
 
 business. I can refer you to Mr. , president 
 
 of the Bank in this city." 
 
 "That is sufficient, sir. I am sure you would 
 not refer me to him unless you felt satisfied that 
 he would speak favorably of you. I won't, there- 
 fore, take the trouble to inquire. Where are you 
 staying?" 
 
 "At the Pacific Hotel; but we shall take a pri- 
 vate apartment within a day or two." 
 
 As they passed out of the office, Randolph Les- 
 lie said : 
 
 "You've done splendidly, Arthur." 
 
 "Haven't I ? I feel like a millionaire." 
 
 "As you are to go to work to-morrow, we may 
 as well take up a room at once. It will be cheaper." 
 
 In a short time they had engaged a neat suite 
 of rooms, two in number, not far from the Palace 
 Hotel, at twenty dollars per month. 
 
 The next day Leslie procured a position on the 
 San Francisco Chronicle, at twenty-five dollars per 
 week. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 191 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 FLORENCE RECEIVES A LETTER. 
 
 The discovery, through Tim Bolton, that Cur- 
 tis Waring* had a hand in the disappearance of Dod- 
 ger, partially relieved the anxiety of Florence — but 
 only partially. 
 
 He might be detained in captivity, but even that 
 was far better than an accident to life or limb. 
 
 She knew that he would try to get word to her 
 at the earliest opportunity, in order to relieve her 
 fears. 
 
 But week after week passed, and no tidings came. 
 
 At length, at the end of ten weeks, a note came 
 to her, written on a rough sheet of paper, the en- 
 velope marked by a foreign stamp. 
 
 It ran thus : 
 
 ''Dear Florence: — I am sure you have wor- 
 ried over my disappearance. Perhaps you thought 
 I was dead, but I was never better in my life. I 
 am on the ship Columbia, bound for San Francisco, 
 around Cape Horn; and just now, as one of the 
 officers tells me, we are off the coast of Brazil. 
 
192 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *There is a ship coming north, and we are go- 
 ing to hail her and give her letters to carry home, 
 so I hope these few lines will reach you all right. 
 I suppose I am in for it, and must keep on to San 
 Francisco. But I haven't told you yet how I came 
 here. 
 
 "It was through a trick of your cousin, Curtis 
 Waring. I haven't time to tell you about it; but 
 I was drugged and brought aboard in my sleep; 
 when I woke up I was forty miles at sea. 
 
 "Don't worry about me, for I have a good friend 
 on board, Mr. Randolph Leslie, who has been a 
 reporter on one of the New York daily papers. 
 He advises me to get something to do in San Fran- 
 cisco, and work till I have earned money enough 
 to get home. He says I can do better there, where 
 I am not known, and can get higher pay. He is 
 giving me lessons every day, and he says I am learn- 
 ing fast. 
 
 "The ship is almost here, and I must stop. Take 
 good care of yourself, and remember me to Mrs. 
 O'Keefe, and I will write you again as soon as I 
 get to San Francisco. Dodger. 
 
 "P. S. — Don't let on to Curtis that you have 
 heard from me, or he might try to play me some 
 trick in San Francisco." 
 
 Florence's face was radiant when she had read 
 the letter. 
 
 Dodger was alive, well, and in good spirits. The 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 193 
 
 letter arrived during the afternoon, and she put on 
 her street dress at once and went over to the apple- 
 stand and read the letter to Mrs. O'Keefe. 
 
 "Well, well !" ejaculated the apple-woman. *'So 
 it's that ould thafe of the worruld, Curtis Waring, 
 that has got hold of poor Dodger, just as Tim told 
 us. It seems mighty quare to me that he should 
 want to stale poor Dodger. If it was you, now, 
 I could understand it." 
 
 ''It seems strange to me, Mrs. O'Keefe," said 
 Florence, thoughtfully. "I thought it might be be- 
 cause Dodger was my friend, but that doesn't seem 
 to be sufficient explanation. Don't you think we 
 ought to show this letter to Mr. Bolton?" 
 
 ''I was going to suggest that sam.e. If you'll 
 give tt to me, Florence, I'll get Mattie to tend my 
 stand, and slip round wid it to Tim's right off." 
 
 "I will go with you, Mrs. O'Keefe." 
 
 Mattie, who was playing around the corner, was 
 summoned. 
 
 *'Now, Mattie, just mind the stand, and don't 
 be runnin' away, or them boys will get away wid 
 my whole mornin's profits. Do you hear?" 
 
 "Yes, mum." 
 
 "And don't you be eatin' all the while you are 
 here. Here's one apple you can have," and the 
 apple-woman carefully picked out one that she con- 
 sidered unsalable. 
 
 "That's specked, Mrs. O'Keefe," objected Mat- 
 tie. 
 
194 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *'And what if it is? Can't you bite out the 
 specks? The rest of the apple is good. You're 
 gettin' mighty particular." 
 
 Mattie bit a piece out of the sound part of the 
 apple, and, when Mrs. O'Keefe was at a safe dis- 
 tance, gave the rest to a lame bootblack, and picked 
 out one of the best apples for her own eating. 
 
 "Bridget O'Keefe is awful mane wid her ap- 
 ples!" soliloquized Mattie, "but I'm too smart for 
 her. Tryin' to pass off one of her old specked ap- 
 ples on me! If I don't take three good one I'm 
 a sinner." 
 
 Arrived at the front of the saloon, Mrs. O'Keefe 
 penetrated the interior, and met Tim near the 
 door. 
 
 "Have you come in for some whiskey, old lady?" 
 asked Tim, in a jesting tone. 
 
 "I'll take that by and by. Florence is outside, 
 and we've got some news for you." 
 
 "Won't she come in?" 
 
 "No; she don't like to be seen in a place like 
 this. She's got a letter from Dodger." 
 
 "You don't mean it!" ejaculated Tim, with sud- 
 den interest. "Where is he?" 
 
 "Come out and see." 
 
 "Good afternoon, Miss Linden," said Tim, gal- 
 lantly. "So you've news from Dodger?" 
 
 "Yes; here is the letter." 
 
 Bolton read it through attentively. 
 
 "Curtis is smart," he said, as he handed it back. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 195 
 
 'Tie couldn't have thought of a better plan for get- 
 ting rid of the boy. It will take several months for 
 him to reach 'Frisco, and after that he can't get 
 back, for he won't have any money." 
 
 ^'Dodger says he will try to save money enough 
 to pay his way back." 
 
 *'It will take him a good while." 
 
 "It doesn't take long to come back by cars, does 
 it?" 
 
 "No; but it costs a great deal of money. Why, 
 it may take Dodger a year to earn enough to pay 
 his way back on the railroad." 
 
 "A year!" exclaimed Florence, in genuine dis- 
 may — "a year, in addition to the time it takes to 
 go out there! Where will we all be at the end 
 of that time?" 
 
 "Not in jail, I hope," answered Bolton, jocularly. 
 "I am afraid your uncle will no longer be in the 
 land of the living." 
 
 A shadow came over Florence's face. 
 
 "Poor Uncle John!" she said, sadly. "It is ter- 
 rible to think he may die thinking hardly of me." 
 
 "Leavin' his whole fortune to Curtis," continued 
 Tim. 
 
 "That is the least thing that troubles me," said 
 Florence. 
 
 "A woman's a queer thing," said Tim^ shrug- 
 ging his shoulders. "Here's a fortune oi^ maybe 
 half a million, and half of it rightfully yours, and 
 you don't give it a thought." 
 
196 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "Not compared with the loss of my uncle's af- 
 fections." 
 
 ''Money is a great deal more practical than af- 
 fection." 
 
 "Perhaps so, from your standpoint, Mr. Bolton," 
 said Florence, with dignity. 
 
 "No offense, miss. When youVe lived as long 
 as I, you'll look at things different. Well, I'm 
 glad to hear from the lad. If Curtis had done him 
 any harm, I'd have got even with him if it sent 
 me to jail." 
 
 A quiet, determined look replaced Tim Bolton's 
 usual expression of easy good humor. He could 
 not have said anything that would have ingratiated 
 him more with Florence. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Bolton," she said, earnestly. 
 "I shall always count upon your help. I believe 
 you are a true friend of Dodger " 
 
 "And of yours, too, miss " 
 
 "I believe it," she said, with a smile that quite 
 captivated Tim. 
 
 "If it would be any satisfaction to you. Miss 
 Florence," he continued, "I'll give Curtis Waring 
 a lickin'. He deserves it for persecutin' you and 
 gettin' you turned out of your uncle's house." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Bolton; it wouldn't be any sat- 
 isfaction to me to see Curtis injured in any way." 
 
 "You're too good a Christian, you are, Miss Flor- 
 ence." 
 
 "I wish I deserved your praise, but I can hardly 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 197 
 
 lay claim to it. Now, Mr. Bolton, tell me what 
 can I do to help Dodger?" 
 
 "I don't see that you can do anything now, as 
 it will be most three months before he reaches 
 'Frisco. You might write to him toward the time 
 he gets there." 
 
 "I will." 
 
 ''Direct to the post office. I think he'll have 
 sense enough to ask for letters." 
 
 "I wish I could send him some money. I am 
 afraid he will land penniless." 
 
 "If he lands in good health you can trust him 
 for makin' a livin'. A New York boy, brought up 
 as he was, isn't goin' to starve where there are pa- 
 pers to sell and errands to run. Why, he'll light on 
 his feet in 'Frisco, take my word for it." 
 
 Florence felt a good deal encouraged by Tim's 
 words of assurance, and she went home with her 
 heart perceptibly lightened. 
 
 But she was soon to have trials of her own, which 
 for the time being would make her forgetful of 
 Dodger. 
 
198 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 MRS. leighton's party. 
 
 "Miss Linden," said Mrs. Leighton, one day in 
 the fourth month of Dodger's absence, ''Carrie has 
 perhaps told you that I give a party next Thursday 
 evening." 
 
 ''She told me," answered the governess. 
 
 *'I expected Prof. Bouvier to furnish dancing 
 music — in fact, I had engaged him — but I have 
 just received a note stating that he is unwell, and 
 I am left unprovided. It is very inconsiderate on 
 his part," added the lady, in a tone of annoyance. 
 
 Florence did not reply. She took rather a dif- 
 ferent view of the professor's letter, and did not 
 care to offend Mrs. Leighton. 
 
 "Under the circumstances," continued the lady, 
 "it has occurred to me that, as you are really quite 
 a nice performer, you might fill his place. I shall 
 be willing to allow you a dollar for the evening. 
 What do you say?" 
 
 Florence felt embarrassed. She shrank from ap- 
 pearing in society in her present separation from her 
 family, yet could think of no good excuse. Notic- 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 199 
 
 ing her hesitation, Mrs. Leighton added, patroniz- 
 ingly : 
 
 ''On second thought, I will pay you a dollar and 
 a half — Prof. Bouvier was to have charged ten 
 dollars — "and you will be kind enough to come in 
 your best attire. You seem to be well provided 
 with dresses." 
 
 "Yes, madam, there will be no difficulty on that 
 score." 
 
 "Nor on any other, I hope. As governess in 
 my family, I think I have a right to command your 
 services." 
 
 "I will come," said Florence, meekly. She felt 
 that it would not do to refuse after this. 
 
 As she entered the handsomely decorated rooms 
 on the night of the party, she looked around her 
 nervously, fearing to see some one whom she had 
 known in earlier days. She noticed one only — 
 Percy de Brabazon, whose face lighted up when he 
 saw her, for he had been expecting to see her. 
 
 She managed to convey a caution by a quiet 
 movement, as it would not be wise for Mrs. Leigh- 
 ton to know of their previous acquaintance. But 
 Percy was determined to get an opportunity to 
 speak to her. 
 
 "Who is that young lady. Aunt Mary?" he asked. 
 "The one standing near the piano." 
 
 "That is Carrie's governess," answered Mrs. 
 Leighton, carelessly. 
 
 "She seems quite a ladylike person." 
 
200 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "Yes. I understand she has seen better days. 
 She is to play for us in the absence of Prof. Bou- 
 vier." 
 
 "Will you introduce me, aunt?'* 
 
 "Why?" asked Mrs. Leighton, with a searching 
 look. 
 
 "I should like to inquire about Carrie's progress 
 in her studies," said the cunning Percy. 
 
 "Oh, certainly," answered the aunt, quite de- 
 ceived by his words. 
 
 "Miss Linden," she said, "let me introduce my 
 nephew, Mr. de Brabazon. He wishes to inquire 
 about Carrie's progress in her studies." 
 
 And the lady sailed off to another part of the 
 room. 
 
 "I can assure you, Mr. de Brabazon," said Flor- 
 ence, "that my young charge is making excellent 
 progress." 
 
 "I can easily believe it, under your instruction," 
 said Percy. 
 
 "I am very glad you take such an interest in your 
 cousin," added Florence, with a smile. "It does 
 you great credit." 
 
 "It's only an excuse, you know, to get a chance 
 to talk with you. Miss Linden. May I say Miss 
 Florence?" 
 
 "No," answered Florence, decidedly. "It won't 
 'do. You must be very formal." 
 
 "Then tell me how you like teaching." 
 
 "Very well, indeed." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 201 
 
 "It must be an awful bore, I think." 
 
 *'l don't think so. Carrie is a warm-hearted, af- 
 fectionate girl. Besides, she is very bright and 
 gives me very little trouble." 
 
 ''Don't you think you could take another pupil, 
 Miss Linden?" 
 
 "A young girl?" 
 
 "No, a young man. In fact, myself." 
 
 "What could I teach you, Mr. de Brabazon?" 
 
 "Lots of things. I am not very sound in — in 
 spelling and grammar." 
 
 "What a pity!" answered Florence, with mock 
 seriousness. "I am afraid your aunt would hardly 
 consent to have a boy of your size in the school- 
 room." 
 
 "Then perhaps you could give me some private 
 lessons in the afternoon?" 
 
 "That would not be possible." 
 
 Just then Mrs. Leighton came up. 
 
 "Well," she said, "what does Miss Linden say 
 of Carrie?" 
 
 "She has quite satisfied my mind about her," an- 
 swered Percy, with excusable duplicity. "I think 
 her methods are excellent. I was telling her that 
 I might be able to procure her another pupil." 
 
 "I have no objection, as long as it does not in- 
 terfere with Carrie's hours. Miss Linden, there is 
 a call for music. Will you go to the piano and 
 play a Stauss waltz?" 
 
 Florence inclined her head obediently. 
 
202 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *'Let me escort you to the piano, Miss Linden," 
 said Percy. 
 
 *Thank you," answered Florence, in a formal 
 tone. 
 
 For an hour Florence was engaged in playing 
 waltzes, gallops and lanciers music. Then a lady 
 who was proud of her daughter's proficiency volun- 
 teered her services to reheve Florence. 
 
 "Now you can dance yourself," said Percy, in 
 a low tone. "Will you give me a waltz?" 
 
 "Not at once. Wait till the second dance." 
 
 Percy de Brabazon was prompt in presenting him- 
 self as soon as permitted, and he led Florence out 
 for a dance. 
 
 Both were excellent dancers, and attracted gen- 
 era! attention. 
 
 Florence really enjoyed dancing, and forgot for 
 a time that she was only a guest on sufferance, as 
 she moved with rhythmic grace about the handsome 
 rooms. 
 
 Percy was disposed to prolong the dance, but 
 Florence was cautious. 
 
 "I think I will rest now, Mr. de Brabazon," she 
 said. 
 
 "You will favor me again later in the evening?" 
 he pleaded. 
 
 "I hardly think it will be wise." 
 
 But when, half an hour later, he asked her again, 
 Florence could not find it in her heart to say no. 
 It would have been wise if she had done so. A 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 203 
 
 pair of jealous eyes was fixed upon her. Miss 
 Emily Carter had for a considerable time tried to 
 fascinate Mr. de Brabazon, whose wealth made him 
 a very desirable match, and she viewed his decided 
 penchant for Florence with alarm and indignation. 
 
 "To be thrown in the shade by a governess is 
 really too humiliating!" she murmured to herself 
 in vexation, "li it were a girl in my own station 
 I should not care so much," and she eyed Florence 
 with marked hostility. 
 
 ''Mamma," she said, ''do you see how Mr. de 
 Barbazon is carrying on with Mrs. Leighton's gov- 
 erness? Really, I think it very discreditable." 
 
 Mrs. Carter looked through her gold eye-glasses 
 at the couple. 
 
 "Is the girl really a governess?" she added. "She 
 is very well dressed." 
 
 "I don't know where she got her dress, but she 
 is really a governess." 
 
 "She seems very bold." 
 
 "So she does." 
 
 Poor Florence ! She was far from deserving their 
 unkindly remarks. 
 
 "I suppose she is trying to ensnare young de 
 Brabazon," said Emily, spitefully. "People of her 
 class are very artful. Don't you think it would 
 be well to call Mrs. Leighton's attention? Percy 
 de Brabazon is her nephew, you know." 
 
 "True. The suggestion is a good one, Emily." 
 
 Mrs. Carter was quite as desirous as her daugh- 
 
204 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 ter of bringing about an alliance with Percy, and 
 she readily agreed to second her plans. 
 
 She looked about for Mrs. Leighton, and took 
 a seat at her side. 
 
 **Your nephew seems quite attentive to your gov- 
 erness," she commenced. 
 
 ^'Indeed! In what w^ay?" 
 
 *'He has danced with her three or four times. 
 I believe. It looks rather marked." 
 
 "So it does," said Mrs. Leighton. **He is quite 
 inconsiderate." 
 
 "Oh, well, it is of no great consequence. She 
 is quite stylish for a governess, and doubtless your 
 nephew is taken with her." 
 
 "That will not suit my views at all," said Mrs. 
 Leighton, coldly. "I shall speak to her to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 "Pray don't. It really is a matter of squall con- 
 sequence — quite natural, in fact." 
 
 "Leave the matter with me. You have done 
 quite right in mentioning it." 
 
 At twelve o'clock the next day, when Florence 
 had just completed her lessons with Carrie, Mrs. 
 Leighton entered the room. 
 
 "Please remain a moment. Miss Linden," she 
 said. "I have a few words to say to you." 
 
 Mrs. Leighton's tone was cold and unfriendly, 
 and Florence felt that something unpleasant was 
 coming. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 205 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 FLORENCE IS FOLLOWED HOME. 
 
 "I AM listening, madam," said Florence, inclin- 
 ing her head. 
 
 ''I wish to speak to you about last evening, Miss 
 Linden." 
 
 "I hope my playing was satisfactory, Mrs. Leigh- 
 ton. I did my best." 
 
 *'I have no fault to find with your music. It 
 came up to my expectations." 
 
 "I am glad of that, madam." 
 
 *1 referred, rather, to your behavior. Miss Lin- 
 den." 
 
 "I don't understand you, Mrs. Leighton," Flor- 
 ence responded, in unaffected surprise. *Tlease ex- 
 plain." 
 
 *'You danced several times with my nephew, Mr. 
 Percy de Brabazon." 
 
 "Twice, madam." 
 
 "I understood it was oftener. However, that is 
 immaterial. You hardly seemed conscious of your 
 position." 
 
 **What was my position, Mrs. Leighton?" asked 
 
2o6 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Florence, quietly, looking her employer in the face. 
 **Well — ahem!" answered Mrs. Leighton, a lit- 
 tle ill at ease, ''you were a hired musician." 
 'Well?" 
 
 "And you acted as if you were an invited guest." 
 
 "I am sorry you did not give me instructions as 
 
 to my conduct," said the governess, coldly. "I 
 
 should not have danced if I had been aware that 
 
 it was prohibited." 
 
 "I am sorry. Miss Linden, that you persist in 
 misunderstanding me. Mr. de Brabazon, being in 
 a different social position from yourself, it looked 
 hardly proper that he should have devoted himself 
 to you more than to any other lady." 
 
 "Did he? I was not aware of it. Don't you 
 think, under the circumstances, that he is the one 
 whom you should take to task? I didn't invite 
 his attentions." 
 
 "You seemed glad to receive them." 
 "I was. He is undoubtedly a gentleman." 
 "Certainly he is. He is my nephew." 
 "It was not my part to instruct him as to what 
 was proper, surely." 
 
 "You are very plausible. Miss Linden, I think 
 it right to tell you that your conduct was commented 
 upon by one of my lady guests as unbecoming. 
 However, I will remember, in extenuation, that you 
 are unaccustomed to society, and doubtless erred 
 ignorantly." 
 
 Florence bowed, but forbore to make any remark. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 207 
 
 "Do you wish to speak further to me, Mrs. Leigh- 
 ton?'^ 
 
 "No, I think not." 
 
 "Then I will bid you good-morning." 
 
 When the governess had left the house, Mrs. 
 Leighton asked herself whether in her encounter 
 with her governess the victory rested with her, and 
 she was forced to acknowledge that it was at least 
 a matter of doubt. 
 
 "Miss Linden is a faithful teacher, but she does 
 not appear to appreciate the difference that exists 
 between her and my guests. I think, however, that 
 upon reflection, she w411 see that I am right in my 
 stricture upon her conduct." 
 
 Florence left the house indignant and mortified. 
 It was something new to her to be regarded as a 
 social inferior, and she felt sure that there were 
 many in Mrs. Leighton's position who would have 
 seen no harm in her behavior on the previous even- 
 ing. 
 
 Four days afterward, when Florence entered the 
 Madison Avenue car to ride downtown, she had 
 scarcely reached her seat when an eager voice ad- 
 dressed her : 
 
 "Miss Linden, how fortunate I am in meeting 
 you!" 
 
 Florence looked up and saw Mr. de Brabazon 
 sitting nearly opposite her. 
 
 Though she felt an esteem for him, she was sorry 
 to see him, for, with Mrs. Leighton's rebuke fresh 
 
2o8 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 in her mind, it could only be a source of embar- 
 rassment, and, if discovered, subject her in all prob- 
 ability to a fresh reprimand. 
 
 ''You are kind to say so, Mr. de Brabazon." 
 
 "Not at all. I hoped I might meet you again 
 soon. What a pleasant time we had at the party." 
 
 ''I thought so at the time, but the next day I 
 changed my mind." 
 
 "Why, may I ask?" 
 
 "Because your aunt, Mrs. Leighton, took me to 
 task for dancing with you twice." 
 
 "Was she so absurd?" ejaculated Percy. 
 
 "It is not necessarily absurd. She said our so- 
 cial positions were so different that it was unbe- 
 coming for me to receive attention from you." 
 
 "Rubbish!" exclaimed Percy, warmly. 
 
 "I am afraid I ought not to listen to such stric- 
 tures upon the words of my employer." 
 
 "I wish you didn't have to teach." 
 
 "I can't join you in that wish. I enjoy my 
 work." 
 
 "But you ought to be relieved from the neces- 
 sity." 
 
 "We must accept things as we find them," said 
 Florence, gravely. 
 
 'There is a way out of it," said Percy, quickly. 
 "You understand me, do you not?" 
 
 "I think I do, Mr. de Brabazon, and I am grate- 
 ful to you, but I am afraid it can never be." 
 
 Percy remained silent. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 209 
 
 **How far are you going?" asked Florence, un- 
 easily, for she did not care to have her companion 
 learn where she lived. 
 
 "I intend to get out at Fourteenth Street.'' 
 
 "Then I must bid you good-afternoon, for we 
 are already at Fifteenth Street." 
 
 "If I can be of any service to you, I will ride 
 farther." 
 
 "Thank you," said Florence, hastily, "but it is 
 quite unnecessary." 
 
 "Then, good morning!" 
 
 And Percy descended from the car. 
 
 In another part of the car sat a young lady, who 
 listened with sensations far from pleasant to the 
 conversation that had taken place between Florence 
 and Mr. de Brabazon. 
 
 It was Emily Carter, whose jealousy had been 
 excited on the evening of the party. She dropped 
 her veil, fearing to be recognized by Mr. de Bra- 
 bazon, with whom she was well acquainted. She, 
 too, had intended getting off at Fourteenth Street, 
 but decided to remain longer in the car. 
 
 "I will find out where that girl lives," she re- 
 solved. "Her conduct with Percy de Brabazon is 
 positively disgraceful. She is evidently doing her 
 best to captivate him. I feel that it is due to Mrs. 
 Leighton, who would be shocked at the thought 
 of her nephew's making a low alliance, to find out 
 all I can, and put her on her guard." 
 
 She kept her seat, still keeping her veil down, 
 
210 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 for it was possible that Florence might recognize 
 her ; and the car moved steadily onward till it turned 
 into the Bowery. 
 
 "Where on earth is she leading me?" Miss Car- 
 ter asked herself. ''I have never been in this neigh- 
 borhood before. However, it won't do to give up, 
 when I am, perhaps, on the verge of some important 
 discoveries." 
 
 Still the car sped on. Not far from Grand 
 Street, Florence left the car, followed, though she 
 was unconscious of it, by her aristocratic fellow- 
 passenger. 
 
 Florence stopped a moment to speak to Mrs. 
 O'Keefe at her apple-stand. 
 
 *'So you're through wid your work, Florence. 
 Are you goin' home?" 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. O'Keefe." 
 
 "Then I'll go wid you, for Fve got a nasty head- 
 ache, and I'll lie down for an hour." 
 
 They crossed the street, not noticing the veiled 
 young lady, who followed within ear shot, and 
 listened to their conversation. At length they 
 reached the tenement house — Florence's humble 
 home — and went in. 
 
 "I've learned more than I bargained for," said 
 Emily Carter, in malicious exultation. "I am well 
 repaid for coming to this horrid part of the city. 
 I wonder if Mr. de Brabazon knows where his 
 charmer lives? I will see that Mrs. Leighton 
 knows, at any rate." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 FLORENCE IS DISCHARGED. 
 
 Mrs. Leighton sat in her boudoir with a stern 
 face and tightly compressed Hps. Miss Carter had 
 called the previous afternoon and informed her 
 of the astounding discoveries she had made respect- 
 ing the governess. 
 
 She rang the bell. 
 
 ''Janet," she said, "when the governess comes 
 you may bring her up here to me." 
 
 ''Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "She's going to catch it — I wonder what for?" 
 thought Janet, as she noted the grim visage of her 
 employer. 
 
 So when Florence entered the house she was 
 told that Mrs. Leighton wished to see her at once. 
 
 "I wonder what's the matter nov/?" she asked 
 herself. "Has she heard of my meeting her nephew 
 in the car?" 
 
 When she entered the room she saw at once that 
 something was wrong. 
 
 "You wished to see me, Mrs. Leighton?" she said. 
 
 "Yes," answered Mrs. Leighton, grimly. "Will 
 you be seated?" 
 
212 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Florence sat down a few feet from her employer 
 and waited for an explanation. 
 
 She certainly was not prepared for Mrs. Leigh- 
 ton's first words: 
 
 *'Miss Linden, where do you live?" 
 
 Florence started, and her face flushed. 
 
 "I live in the lower part of the city/' she an- 
 swered, with hesitation. 
 
 "That is not sufficiently definite." 
 
 "1 live at No. 2y Street." 
 
 *'I think that is east of the Bowery." 
 
 "You are right, madam." 
 
 "You lodge with an apple- woman, do you not?" 
 
 "I do," answered Florence, calmly. 
 
 "In a tenement house?" 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 "And you actually come from such a squalid 
 home to instruct my daughter!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Leighton, indignantly. "It is a wonder you have 
 not brought some terrible disease into the house." 
 
 "There has been no case of disease in the hum- 
 ble dwelling in which I make my home. I should 
 be as sorry to expose your daughter to any danger 
 of that kind as you would be to have me." 
 
 "It is a merciful dispensation of Providence, for 
 which I ought to be truly thankful. But the idea 
 of receiving in my house an inmate of a tenement 
 house! I am truly shocked. Is this apple-woman 
 your mother?" 
 
 "I assure you that she is not," answered Flfir- 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 213 
 
 ence, with a smile which she could not repress. 
 
 ''Or your aunt?" 
 
 "She is in no way related to me. She is an 
 humble friend. 
 
 ''Miss Linden, your tastes must be low to select 
 such a home and such a friend." 
 
 "The state of my purse had something to do with 
 the selection, and the kindness shown me by Mrs. 
 O'Keefe, when I needed a friend, will explain my 
 location further." 
 
 "That is not all. You met in the Madison Ave- 
 nue car yesterday my nephew, Mr. Percy de Bra- 
 bazon." 
 
 "It is coming," thought Florence. "Who could 
 have seen us?" Then aloud: 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 "Was it by appointment?" 
 
 "Do you mean to insult me, Mrs. Leighton?" de- 
 manded Florence, rising and looking at the lady 
 with flashing eyes. 
 
 "I never insult anybody," replied Mrs. Leighton. 
 "Pray, resume your seat." 
 
 Florence did so. 
 
 "Then I may assume that it was accidental. You 
 talked together with the freedom of old friends?" 
 
 "You are correctly informed." 
 
 "You seem to make acquaintances very readily. 
 Miss Linden. It seems singular, to say the least, 
 that after meeting my nephew for a single evening, 
 you should become such intimate friends." 
 
214 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "You will be surprised, Mrs. Leighton, when I 
 say that Mr. de Brabazon and I are old friends. 
 We have met frequently." 
 
 ''Where, in Heaven's name?" ejaculated Mrs. 
 Leighton. 
 
 ''At my residence." 
 
 "Good Heavens !" exclaimed the scandalized lady. 
 "Does my nephew Percy visit at the house of this 
 apple- woman ?" 
 
 "No, madam. He does not know where I live." 
 
 "Then you will explain your previous statement?" 
 said Mrs. Leighton, haughtily. 
 
 "I am at present suffering reversed circumstances. 
 It is but a short time since I was very differently 
 situated." 
 
 "I won't inquire into your change of circum- 
 stances. I feel compelled to perform an unpleas- 
 ant duty." 
 
 Florence did not feel called upon to make any 
 reply, but waited for Mrs. Leighton to finish speak- 
 ing. 
 
 "I shall be obliged to dispense with your serv- 
 ices as my daughter's governess. It is quite out 
 of the question for me to employ a person who lives 
 in a tenement-house." 
 
 Florence bowed acquiescence, but she felt very 
 sad. She had become attached to her young charge, 
 and it cost her a pang to part from her. 
 
 Besides, how was she to supply the income of 
 which this would deprive her? 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 215 
 
 "I bow to your decision, madam/' she said, with 
 proud humiHty. 
 
 ''You will find here the sum that I owe you, with 
 payment for an extra week in lieu of notice." 
 
 'Thank you. May I bid Carrie good-by, Mrs. 
 Leighton?" 
 
 "It is better not to do so, I think. The more 
 quietly we dissolve our unfortunate connection the 
 better!" 
 
 Florence's heart swelled, and the tears came to 
 her eyes, but she could not press her request. 
 
 She was destined, however, to obtain the privi- 
 lege which Mrs. Leigh ton denied her. Carrie, who 
 had become impatient, came downstairs and burst 
 into the room. 
 
 "What keeps you so long. Miss Linden?" she 
 said. "Is mamma keeping you?" 
 
 Florence was silent, leaving the explanations to 
 Mrs. Leighton. 
 
 "Miss Linden has resigned her position as your 
 governess, Carrie." 
 
 "Miss Linden going away! I won't have her 
 go ! What makes you go. Miss Linden ?" 
 
 "Your mamma thinks it best," answered Flor- 
 ence, with moistened eyes. 
 
 "Well, I don't!" exclaimed Carrie, stamping her 
 foot, angrily. "I won't have any other governess 
 but you." 
 
 "Carrie, you are behaving very unbecomingly," 
 said her mother. 
 
2i6 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "Will you tell me, mamma, why you are sending 
 Miss Linden away?" 
 
 "I will tell you some other time." 
 
 "But I want to know now." 
 
 "I am very much displeased with you, Carrie." 
 
 "And I am very much displeased with you, 
 mamma." 
 
 I do not pretend to defend Carrie, whose con- 
 duct was hardly respectful enough to her mother; 
 but with all her faults she had a warm heart, while 
 her mother had always been cold and selfish. 
 
 "I am getting tired of this," said Mrs. Leighton. 
 "Miss Linden, as you are here to-day, you may give 
 Carrie the usual lessons. As I shall be out when 
 you get through, I bid you good-by now." 
 
 "Good-by, Mrs. Leighton." 
 
 Carrie and Florence went to the schoolroom for 
 the last time. 
 
 Florence gave her young pupil a partial explana- 
 tion of the cause which had led to her discharge. 
 
 "What do I care if you live in a poor house. Miss 
 Linden?" said Carrie, impetuously. "I will make 
 mamma take you back !" 
 
 Florence smiled; but she knew that there would 
 be no return for her. 
 
 When she reached her humble home she had a 
 severe headache and lay down. Mrs. O'Keefe came 
 in later to see her. 
 
 "And what's the matter with you, Florence?" 
 she asked. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 217 
 
 /'I have a bad headache, Mrs. O'Keefe." 
 
 *'You work too hard, Florence, wid your teach- 
 er. That is what gives you the headache." 
 
 'Then I shan't have it again, for I have got 
 through with my teaching." 
 
 "What's that you say?" 
 
 "I am discharged." 
 
 "And what's it all about?" 
 
 Florence explained matters. Mrs. O'Keefe be- 
 came indignant. 
 
 "She's a mean trollop, that Mrs. Leighton!" she 
 exclaimed, "and I'd like to tell her so to her face. 
 Where does she live?" 
 
 "It will do no good to interfere, my good friend. 
 She is not willing to receive a governess from a 
 tenement house. " 
 
 "Shure you used to live in as grand a house as 
 herself." 
 
 "But I don't now." 
 
 "Don't mind it too much, mavoureen. You'll 
 soon be gettin' another scholar. Go to sleep now, 
 and you'll sleep the headache away." 
 
 Florence finally succeeded in following the advice 
 of her humble friend. 
 
 She resolved to leave till the morrow the cares 
 of the morrow. 
 
 She had twelve dollars, and before that was spent 
 she hoped to be in a position to earn some more. 
 
2i8 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 AN EXCITING ADVENTURE. 
 
 Dodger soon became accustomed to his duties at 
 Tucker's express office, in his new San Francisco 
 home. He found Mr. Tucker an exacting, but not 
 an unreasonable, man. He watched his new as- 
 sistant closely for the first few days, and was quietly 
 taking his measure. 
 
 At the end of the first week he paid the salary 
 agreed upon — fifteen dollars. 
 
 *'You have been with me a week, Arthur," he 
 said. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "And I have been making up my mind about 
 you." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Dodger, looking up inquiringly. 
 "I hope you are satisfied with me?" 
 
 "Yes, I think I may say that I am. You don't 
 seem to be afraid of work." 
 
 "I have always been accustomed to work " 
 
 "That is well. I was once induced to take the 
 son of a rich man in the place you now occupy. 
 He had never done a stroke of work, having al- 
 ways been at school. He didn't take kindly to work, 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 219 
 
 and seemed afraid that he would be called upon to 
 do more than he had bargained for. One evening 
 I was particularly busy, and asked him to remain 
 an hour overtime. 
 
 " *It will be very inconvenient, Mr. Tucker/ said 
 the young man, 'as I have an engagement with a 
 friend.' 
 
 "He left me to do all the extra work, and — 
 I suppose you know what happened the next Sat- 
 urday evening?" 
 
 "I can guess," returned Dodger, with a smile. 
 
 "I told him that I thought the duties were too 
 heavy for his constitution, and he had better seek 
 an easier place. Let me see — I kept you an hour 
 and a half overtime last Wednesday." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "You made no objection, but worked on just as 
 if you liked it." 
 
 "Yes, sir; I am always willing to stay when you 
 need me." 
 
 "Good! I shan't forget it." 
 
 Dodger felt proud of his success, and put away 
 the fifteen dollars w^ith a feeling of satisfaction. 
 He had never saved half that sum in the same time 
 before. 
 
 "Curtis Waring did me a favor when he sent 
 me out here," he reflected; "but as he didn't mean 
 it, I have no occasion to feel grateful." 
 
 Dodger found that he could live for eight dol- 
 lars a week, and he began to lay by seven dollars 
 
220 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 a week with the view of securing funds sufficient 
 to take him back to New York. 
 
 He was in no hurry to leave San Francisco, but 
 he felt that Florence might need a friend. But he 
 found that he was making progress slowly. 
 
 At that time the price of a first-class ticket to 
 New York was one hundred and twenty-eight dol- 
 lars, besides the expense of sleeping berths, amount- 
 ing then, as now, to twenty-two dollars extra. So 
 it looked as if Dodger would be compelled to wait 
 at least six months before he should be in a posi- 
 tion to set out on the return journey. 
 
 About this time Dodger received a letter from 
 Florence, in which she spoke of her discharge by 
 Mrs. Leighton. 
 
 ''I shall try to obtain another position as teacher," 
 she said, concealing her anxiety. "I am sure, in 
 a large city, I can find something to do." 
 
 But Dodger knew better than she the difficul- 
 ties that beset the path of an applicant for work, 
 and he could not help feeling anxious for Florence. 
 
 "If I were only in New York," he said to him- 
 self, "I would see that Florence didn't suffer. I 
 will write her to let me know if she is in need, and 
 I will send her some money." 
 
 About this time he met with an adventure which 
 deserves to be noted. 
 
 It was about seven o'clock one evening that he 
 found himself in Mission Street. 
 
 At a street corner his attention was drawn to 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 22X 
 
 a woman poorly dressed, who held by the hand a 
 child of three. 
 
 Her clothing was shabby, and her attitude was 
 one of despondency. It was clear that she was ill 
 and in trouble. 
 
 Dodger possessed quick sympathies, and his own 
 experience made him quick to understand and feel 
 for the troubles of others. 
 
 Though the woman made no appeal, he felt in- 
 stinctively that she needed help. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said, with as much defer- 
 ence as if he were addressing one favored by for- 
 tune, ''but you seem to be in need of help?" 
 
 *'God knows, I am!" said the woman, sadly. 
 
 "Perhaps I can be of service to you. Will you 
 tell me how?" 
 
 ^'Neither I nor my child has tasted food since 
 yesterday." 
 
 "Well, that can be easily remedied," said Dod- 
 ger, cheerfully. "There is a restaurant close by. I 
 was about to eat supper. Will you come in with 
 me?" 
 
 "I am ashamed to impose upon the kindness of 
 a stranger," murmured the woman. 
 
 "Don't mention it. I shall be very glad of com- 
 pany," said Dodger, heartily. 
 
 "But you are a poor boy. You may be ill able 
 to afford the expense." 
 
 "I am not a millionaire," said Dodger, "and I 
 don't see any immediate prospect of my building 
 
222 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 a palace on Nob Hill" — where live some of San 
 Francisco's wealthiest citizens — *'but I am very well 
 supplied with money." 
 
 ''Then I will accept your kind invitation." 
 
 It was a small restaurant, but neat in its ap- 
 pointments, and, as in most San Francisco restau- 
 rants, the prices were remarkably moderate. 
 
 At an expense of twenty-five cents each, the three 
 obtained a satisfactory meal. 
 
 The woman and child both seemed to enjoy it, 
 and Dodger was glad to see that the former be- 
 came more cheerful as time went on. 
 
 There was something in the child's face that 
 looked familiar to Dodger. It was a resemblance 
 to some one that he had seen, but he could not for 
 the life of him decide who it was. 
 
 ^'How can I ever thank you for your kindness?" 
 said the lady, as she arose from the table. "You 
 don't know what it is to be famished " 
 
 ''Don't I?" asked Dodger. "I have been hungry 
 more than once, without money enough to buy a 
 meal." 
 
 "You don't look it," she said. 
 
 "No, for now I have a good place and am earn- 
 ing a good salary." 
 
 "Are you a native of San Francisco?" 
 
 "No, madam. I can't tell you where I was born, 
 for I know little or nothing of my family. I have 
 only been here a short time. I came from New 
 York/' 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 223 
 
 **So did I,'* said the woman, with a sigh. '*'! 
 wish I were back there again." 
 
 "How came you to be here? Don't answer if 
 you prefer not to," Dodger added, hastily. 
 
 "I have no objection. My husband deserted me, 
 and left me to shift for myself and support my 
 child." 
 
 *'How have you done it?" 
 
 "By taking in sewing. But that Is a hard way 
 of earning money. There are too many poor women 
 who are ready to work for starvation wages, and 
 so we all suffer." 
 
 "I know that," answered Dodger. "Do you live 
 near here?" 
 
 The woman mentioned a street near by. 
 
 "I have one poor back room on the third floor," 
 she explained; "but I should be glad if I were sure 
 to stay there." 
 
 "Is there any danger of your being ejected?" 
 
 "I am owing for two weeks* rent, and this is 
 the middle of the third week. Unless I can pay up 
 at the end of this week I shall be forced to go out 
 into the streets with my poor child." 
 
 "How much rent do you pay?" 
 
 "A dollar a week." 
 
 "Then three dollars will relieve you for the pres- 
 ent?" 
 
 "Yes; but it might as well be three hundred," 
 said the woman, bitterly. 
 
 "Not quite; I can supply you with three dollars, 
 
224 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 but three hundred would be rather beyond my 
 means." 
 
 "You are too kind, too generous! I ought not 
 to accept such a liberal gift." 
 
 *'Mamma, I am tired. Take me up in your 
 arms," said the child. 
 
 "Poor child! He has been on his feet all day," 
 sighed the mother. 
 
 She tried to lift the child, but her own strength 
 had been undermined by privation, and she was 
 clearly unable to do so. 
 
 "Let me take him!" said Dodger. "Here, lit- 
 tle one, jump up !" 
 
 He raised the child easily, and despite the moth- 
 er's protest, carried him in his arms. 
 
 "I will see you home, madam," he said. 
 
 "I fear the child will be too heavy for you." 
 
 "I hope not. Why, I could carry a child twice 
 as heavy." 
 
 They reached the room at last — a poor one, but 
 a welcome repose from the streets. 
 
 "Don't you ever expect to see your husband 
 again?" asked Dodger. "Can't you compel him 
 to support you?" 
 
 "I don't know where he is," answered the woman, 
 despondently. 
 
 "If you will tell me his name, I may come across 
 him some day." 
 
 "His name," said the woman, "is Curtis Waring." 
 
 Dodger stared at her, overwhelmed with surprise. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY. 
 
 "Curtis Waring!" ejaculated Dodger, his face 
 showing intense surprise. "Is that the name of 
 your husband?" 
 
 "Yes. Is it possible that you know him?" asked 
 the woman, struck by Dodger's tone. 
 
 "I know a man by that name. I will describe 
 him, and you can tell me whether it is he. He is 
 rather tall, dark hair, sallow complexion, black eyes, 
 and a long, thin nose." 
 
 "It is like him in every particular. Oh, tell me 
 where he is to be found?" 
 
 "He lives in New York. He is the nephew of a 
 rich man, and is expecting to inherit his wealth. 
 Through his influence a cousin of his, a young lady, 
 has been driven from home." 
 
 "Was he afraid she would deprive him of the 
 estate?" 
 
 "That was partly the reason. But it was partly 
 to revenge himself on her because she would not 
 agree to marry him." 
 
 "But how could he marry her," exclaimed the 
 
226 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 unfortunate woman, "when he is already married 
 to me?" 
 
 "Neither she nor any one of his family or friends 
 knew that he was already married. I don't think 
 it would trouble him much." 
 
 "But it must be stopped!" she exclaimed, wildly. 
 "He is my husband. I shall not give him up to 
 any one else." 
 
 "So far as Florence is concerned — she is the 
 cousin — she has no wish to deprive you of him. 
 But is it possible that you are attached to a man 
 who has treated you so meanly?" asked Dodger, 
 in surprise. 
 
 "There was a time when he treated me well, when 
 he appeared to love me," was the murmured reply. 
 "I cannot forget that he is the father of my child." 
 
 Dodger did not understand the nature of women 
 or the mysteries of the female heart, and he evi- 
 dently thought this poor woman very foolish to 
 cling with such pertinacity to a man like Curtis 
 Waring. 
 
 "Do you mind telling me how you came to marry 
 him?" he asked. 
 
 "It was over four years ago that I met him in 
 this city," was the reply. "I am a San Francisco 
 girl. I had rfiever been out of California. I was 
 considered pretty then," she added, with a remnant 
 of pride, "faded as I am to-day." 
 
 Looking closely in her face, Dodger was ready 
 to believe this. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 227 
 
 Grief and privation had changed her appearance, 
 but it had not altogether effaced the bloom and 
 beauty of youth. 
 
 *'At any rate, he seemed to think so. He was 
 living at the Palace Hotel, and I made his acquaint- 
 ance at a small social gathering at the house of 
 my uncle. I am an orphan, and was perhaps the 
 more ready to marry on that account." 
 
 "Did Mr. Waring represent himself as wealthy?" 
 
 "He said he had expectations from a wealthy 
 relative, but did not mention where he lived." 
 
 "He told the truth, then." 
 
 "We married, securing apartments on Kearney 
 Street. We lived together till my child was born, 
 and for three months afterward. Then Mr. War- 
 ing claimed to be called away from San Francisco 
 on business. He said he might be absent six weeks. 
 He left me a hundred dollars, and urged me to be 
 careful of it, as he was short of money, and needed 
 considerable for the expenses of the journey. He 
 left me, and I have never seen or heard from him 
 since." 
 
 "Did he tell you where he was going, Mrs. War- 
 ing?" 
 
 "No; he said he would be obliged to visit several 
 places — among others, Colorado, where he claimed 
 to have some mining property. He told me that 
 he hoped to bring back considerable money." 
 
 "Do you think he meant to stay away alto- 
 gether?" 
 
228 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "I don't know what to think. Well, I lived on 
 patiently, for I had perfect confidence in my hus- 
 band. I made the money last me ten weeks instead 
 of six, but then I found myself penniless." 
 
 "Did you receive any letters in that time?" 
 
 *'No, and it was that that worried me. When 
 at last the mbney gave out, I began to pawn my 
 things — more than once I was tempted to pawn my 
 wedding-ring, but I could not bring my mind to do 
 that. I do not like to think ill of my husband, 
 and was forced, as the only alternative, to conclude 
 that he had met with some accident, perhaps had 
 died. I have not felt certain that this was not so 
 till you told me this evening that you know him." 
 
 "I can hardly say that I know him well, yet I 
 know him a good deal better than I wish I did. 
 But for him I would not now be in San Francisco." 
 
 "How is that? Please explain." 
 
 Dodger told her briefly the story of his abduc- 
 tion. 
 
 "But what motive could he have in getting you 
 out of New York? I cannot understand." 
 
 "I don't understand myself, except that I am the 
 friend of Florence." 
 
 "His cousin?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But why should she be compelled to leave her 
 uncle's home?" 
 
 "Because Curtis Waring made him set his heart 
 \ipon the match. She had her choice to marry Cur- 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 229 
 
 tis or to leave the house, and forfeit all chance of 
 the estate. She chose to leave the house." 
 
 "She ought to know that he has no right to 
 marry," said the poor woman, who, not understand- 
 ing the dislike of Florence for the man whom she 
 herself loved, feared that she might yet be induced 
 to marry him. 
 
 "She ought to know, and her uncle ought to 
 know," said Dodger. "Mrs. Waring, I can't see 
 my way clear yet. If I were in New York I would 
 know just what to do. Will you agree to stand by 
 me, and help me?" 
 
 "Yes, I will," answered the woman, earnestly. 
 
 "I will see you again to-morrow evening. Here 
 is some money to help you along for the present„ 
 Good-night." 
 
 Dodger, as he walked away, pondered over the 
 remarkable discovery he had made. 
 
 It was likely to prove of the utmost importance 
 to Florence. 
 
 Her uncle's displeasure was wholly based upon 
 her refusal to marry Curtis Waring, but if it should 
 be proved to him that Curtis was already a mar- 
 ried man, there would seem no bar to reconcilia- 
 tion. 
 
 Moreover — and thas was particularly satisfactory 
 — it would bring Curtis himself into disfavor. 
 
 Florence would be reinstated in her rightful place 
 in her uncle's family, and once more be recognized 
 as heiress to at least a portion of his large fortune. 
 
230 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 This last consideration might not weigh so much 
 with Florence, but Dodger was more practical, and 
 he wished to restore her to the social position which 
 she had lost through the knavery of her cousin. 
 
 But in San Francisco — at a distance of over three 
 thousand miles — Dodger felt at a loss how to act. 
 
 Even if Mr. Linden was informed that his nephew 
 had a wife living in San Francisco, the statement 
 would no doubt be denied by Curtis, who would 
 brand the woman as an impudent adventuress. 
 
 'The. absent are always in the wrong," says a 
 French proverb. 
 
 At all events, they are very much at a disadvan- 
 tage, and therefore it seemed imperatively neces- 
 sary, not only that Dodger, but that Curtis War- 
 ing's wife should go to New York to confront the 
 unprincipled man whose schemes had brought sor- 
 row to so many. 
 
 It was easy to decide what plan was best, but 
 how to carry it out presented a difficulty which 
 seemed insurmountable. 
 
 The expenses of a journey to New York for Dod- 
 ger, Mrs. Waring and her child would not be very 
 tar from five hundred dollars, and where to obtain 
 this money was a problem. 
 
 Randolph Leslie probably had that sum, but Dod- 
 ger could not in conscience ask him to lend it, be- 
 ing unable to furnish adequate security, or to in- 
 sure repayment. 
 
 "If I could only find a nugget," thought Dod- 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 231 
 
 ger, knitting his brows, ''everything would be easy."' 
 
 But nuggets are rare enough in the gold fields, 
 and still rarer in city streets. 
 
 He who trusts wholly to luck trusts to a will-o'- 
 the-wisp, and is about as sure of success as one who 
 owns a castle in Spain. 
 
 The time might come when Dodger, by his own 
 efforts, could accumulate the needed sum, but it 
 would require a year at least, and in that time Mr. 
 Linden would probably be dead. 
 
 Absorbed and disturbed by these reflections, Dod- 
 ger walked slowly through the darkened streets till 
 he heard a stifled cry, and looking up, beheld a sight 
 that startled him. 
 
 On the sidewalk lay the prostrate figure of a man. 
 Over him, bludgeon in hand, bent a rufiian, whose 
 purpose was only too clearly evident. 
 
532 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 JUST IN TIME. 
 
 Dodger, who was a strong, stout boy, gathered 
 himself up and dashed against the ruffian with such 
 impetuosity that he fell over his intended victim, 
 and his bludgeon fell from his hand. 
 
 It was the work of an instant to lift it, and raise 
 it in a menacing position. 
 
 The discomfited villain broke into a volley of 
 oaths, and proceeded to pick himself up. 
 
 He was a brutal-looking fellow, but was no larger 
 than Dodger, who was as tall as the majority of 
 men. 
 
 "Give me that stick," he exclaimed, furiously. 
 
 *'Come and take it," returned Dodger, undaunted. 
 
 The fellow took him at his word, and made a 
 rush at our hero, but a vigorous blow from the blud- 
 geon made him cautious about repeating the at- 
 tack. 
 
 "Curse you!" he cried, between his teeth. "I'd 
 like to chaw you up." 
 
 "I have no doubt you would," answered Dod- 
 ger; "but I don't think you will. Were you going 
 to rob this man?" 
 
 "None of your business!" 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 233 
 
 **I shall make it my business. You'd better 'go,. 
 or you may be locked up." 
 
 "Give me that stick, then." 
 
 ''You'll have to do without it." 
 
 He made another rush, and Dodger struck him 
 such a blow on his arm that he winced with pain. 
 
 "Now I shall summon the police, and you can 
 do as you please about going." 
 
 Dodger struck the stick sharply on the sidewalk 
 three times, and the ruffian, apprehensive of arrest, 
 ran around the corner just in time to rush into the 
 arms of a policeman. 
 
 "What has this man been doing?" asked the city 
 guardian, turning to Dodger. 
 
 "He was about to rob this man." 
 
 "Is the man hurt?" 
 
 "Where am I?" asked the prostrate man, in a 
 bewildered tone. 
 
 "I will take care of him, if you will take charge 
 of that fellow." 
 
 "Can you get up, sir?" asked Dodger, bending 
 over the fallen man. 
 
 The latter answered by struggling to his feet and 
 looking about him in a confused way. 
 
 "Where am I?" he asked. "What has hap- 
 pened ?" 
 
 "You were attacked by a ruffian. I found you 
 on the sidewalk, with him bending over you with 
 this club in his hand." 
 
 "He must have followed me. I was imprudent 
 
234 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 enough to show a well-filled pocketbook in a sa- 
 loon where I stopped to take a drink. No doubt 
 he planned to relieve me of it." 
 
 "You have had a narrow escape, sir." 
 
 "I have no doubt of it. I presume the fellow was 
 ready to take my life, if he found it necessary." 
 
 "1 will leave you now, sir, if you think you can 
 manage." 
 
 "No, stay with me. I feel rather upset." 
 
 "Where are you staying, sir?" 
 
 "At the Palace Hotel. Of course you know 
 where that is?" 
 
 "Certainly. Will you take my arm?" 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 Little was said till they found themselves in the 
 sumptuous hotel, which hardly has an equal in 
 America. 
 
 "Come to my room, young man; I want to speak 
 to you." 
 
 It was still early in the evening, and Dodger's 
 time was his own. 
 
 He had no hesitation, therefore, in accepting the 
 stranger's invitation. 
 
 On the third floor the stranger produced a key 
 and opened the door of a large, handsomely-fur- 
 nished room. 
 
 "If you have a match, please light the gas." 
 
 Dodger proceeded to do so, and now, for the 
 first time, obtained a good view of the man he had 
 rescued. He was a man of about the average height, 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 235 
 
 probably not far from fifty, dressed in a neat busi- 
 ness suit, and looked like a substantial merchant. 
 
 "Please be seated." 
 
 Dodger sat down in an easy-chair conveniently 
 near him. 
 
 ''Young man," said the stranger, impressively, 
 "you have done me a great favor." 
 
 Dodger felt that this was true, and did not dis- 
 claim it. 
 
 "I am very glad I came up just as I did," he 
 said. 
 
 "How large a sum of money do you think I had 
 about me?" asked his companion. 
 
 "Five hundred dollars?" 
 
 "Five hundred dollars! Why, that would be a 
 mere trifle." 
 
 "It wouldn't be a trifle to me, sir," said Dodger. 
 
 "Are you poor?" asked the man, earnestly. 
 
 "I have a good situation that pays me fifteen dol- 
 lars a week, so I ought not to consider myself poor." 
 
 "Suppose you had a considerable sum of money 
 given you, what would you do with it?" 
 
 "If I had five hundred dollars, I should be able 
 to defeat the schemes of a villain, and restore a 
 young lady to her rights." 
 
 "That seems interesting. Tell me the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 Dodger told the story as briefly as he could. He 
 was encouraged to find that the stranger listened to 
 him with attention. 
 
236 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 *'D: y:u know." ht ri;^ rt-.e-:t:ve'v. "yiu have 
 
 done f:r rr.e what I :;:cc -i.i ::' ?-r::htr — a rich 
 
 inan? The caie was very 5 r ;: I as a p:cr 
 
 fc: t tiine. Dc ^ . :tn:e?" 
 
 ■ .V::^ was it, s::" 
 
 "A doDar! W ..-. i: y- :--: :f :-: f:r ge- 
 crcsitT?" 
 
 "W'ell, sir, it wasn't ez^2.r.\y hterah Did you ac- 
 cept itr' 
 
 "77:. I t:!(i him that I didn't wish to incon- 
 vt I I i :ed you how much money 
 
 y: sed I r.^i. I will tell you. In a wal- 
 
 T r eleve- :h '-' ic^ars in bank notes 
 
 r _ : . flies.'' 
 
 "Tha: is a rer, dazzled at the 
 
 - picHLy more, oui vi- ■"'. 
 s^ life. Through ; 
 
 t escaped without loss. I 
 
 f the service you 
 
 ,-.. -„- -— L.. . :f it, please accept 
 
 :: " :^ : h v :rl ; anded them 
 
 \;ii- " 
 
 :■'--- '- '-^'^ -^:.:- ..-hy, started 
 ::r fi^e hundred dol- 
 lars, 
 
 ''You have given -e c thv-^-^ ^::k-!" h= 
 gasped 
 
 "I am aware of it I consider my life worth that. 
 
ADRIFT L\ NEW YORK. 237 
 
 at least. James Swinton never fails to pay his 
 debts." 
 
 ''But, sir, a thousand dollars 
 
 ''It's no more than you deserve. \Mien I tell 
 my wife, on my return to Chicago, about this af- 
 fair, she will blame me for not giving you more.'' 
 
 "You seem to belong to a liberal family, sir." 
 
 "I detest meanness, and would rather err on the 
 side of liberality. Now, if agreeable to you, I will 
 order a bottle of champagne, and solace ourselves 
 for this little incident."" 
 
 "Thank you, ^Mr. Swinton, but I have made up 
 my mind not to drink anything stronger than wa- 
 ter. I have tended bar in Xew York, and what I 
 have seen has given me a dislike for liquor of any 
 kind." 
 
 "You are a sensible young man. You are right, 
 and I won't urge you. There is my card, and if 
 you ever come to Chicago, call upon me." 
 
 "I will, sir." 
 
 When Dodger left the Palace Hotel he felt that 
 he was a favorite of fortune. 
 
 It is not always that the money we need is so 
 quickly supplied. 
 
 He resolved to return to Xew York as soon as 
 he could manage it, and take with him the wife and 
 child of Curtis \\'aring. 
 
 This would cost him about five hundred dollars, 
 and he would have the same amount left. 
 
 ^Ir. Tucker was reluctant to part with Dodger. 
 
238 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "You are the best assistant I ever had," he said. 
 "I will pay you twenty dollars a week, if that will 
 induce you to stay." 
 
 "I would stay if it were not very important for 
 me to return to New York, Mr. Tucker. I do not 
 expect to get a place in New York as good." 
 
 "If you come back to San Francisco at any time, 
 I will make a place for you." 
 
 "Thank you, sir." 
 
 Mrs. Waring was overjoyed when Dodger called 
 upon her and offered to take her back to New York. 
 
 "I shall see Curtis again," she said. "How can 
 I ever thank you ?" 
 
 But Dodger, though unwilling to disturb her 
 dreams of happiness, thought it exceedingly doubt- 
 ful if her husband would be equally glad to see her. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 239 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE DARKEST DAY. 
 
 When Florence left the employ of Mrs. Leigh- 
 ton she had a few dollars as a reserve fund. As this 
 would not last long, she at once made an effort to 
 obtain employment. 
 
 She desired another position as 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." 
 
 *'l 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 in- 
 quiries. 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 rea- 
 son, it appeared. 
 
240 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 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 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 241 
 
 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. Y»ou will, I think, understand 
 my position. If you applied for a position in one 
 of the public schools, I don't think that your resi- 
 dence w^ould be an objection." 
 
 Florence left the house, sad and despondent. She 
 sav/ that Mrs. Leighton, by her unfriendly repre- 
 sentations, would prevent her from getting any op- 
 portunity to teach. She must seek some more hum- 
 ble 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." 
 
242 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "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 Flor- 
 ence! There's Mrs. Brady wants to sell out on ac- 
 count 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 Flor- 
 ence 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 un- 
 dertaking. 
 
 'She was an expert needlewoman, and proved ade- 
 quate 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? 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 243 
 
 **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 habit- 
 ually sad. 
 
 She had husbanded her savings as a governess 
 as closely as she could, but in spite of all her econ- 
 omy 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. 
 
244 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 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 knov/ 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, des- 
 perately. 
 
 "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." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 245 
 
 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 T^ 
 
 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 pawn- 
 broker'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 
 
246 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 the ring, which he made sure would not be re- 
 claimed; but there was no help for it. 
 
 As they emerged into the street, Dodger said: 
 **rve come back to restore you to your rights, 
 and give Curtis Waring the most disagreeable sur- 
 prise 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." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 MRS. o'kEEFE in a new ROLE. 
 
 No time was lost in seeing Bolton and arrang- 
 ing a plan of campaign. 
 
 Curtis Waring, nearing the accomplishment of 
 his plans, was far from anticipating impending dis- 
 aster. 
 
 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 ad- 
 vertisement 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 man- 
 age." 
 
 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 will- 
 ing to work for four dollars a week, while the low- 
 est outside demand was seven. 
 
 We will now enter the house, in which the last 
 scenes of our story are to take place. 
 
248 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Mr. Linden, weak and emaciated, was sitting in 
 an easy-chair in his Hbrary. 
 
 ^TIow 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 w^eli, Curtis. I do not wish to confine 
 you to my bedside." 
 
 "The nurse is below," said Jane, the servant, en- 
 tering. 
 
 "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. Lin 
 den, 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." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 249 
 
 *'Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Lin- 
 den?" 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. 
 
 "Fm 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." 
 
250 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "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 Cur- 
 tis a surprise." 
 
 "And a mighty disagreeable one, I'll be bound," 
 soliloquized Mrs. O'Keefe. 
 
 "I think, Mrs. Barnes, I will retire to my cham- 
 ber, 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?" 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 251 
 
 ''You're to go to Chicago and bring back Flor- 
 ence/" 
 
 ''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 pro- 
 gramme? 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 be very 
 sick?" 
 
 "He's wake as a rat. Curtis would kill him soon 
 if we didn't interfere. But we'll soon circumvent 
 him, the snake in the grass! Miss Florence will 
 soon come to her own, and Curtis Waring will be 
 out in the cold." 
 
 "The most I have against him is that he tried to 
 marry Florence when he had a wife already." 
 
 "He's as bad as they make 'em. Dodger. It won't 
 be my fault if Mr. Linden's eyes are not opened to 
 his wickedness." 
 
252 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE DIPLOMACY OF MRS. o'kEEFE. 
 
 Mrs. O'Keefe was a warm-hearted woman, and 
 the sad, drawn face of Mr. Linden appealed to her 
 pity. 
 
 *'Why should I let the poor man suffer when I 
 can relieve him?" she asked herself. 
 
 So the next morning, after Curtis had, accord- 
 ing to his custom, gone downtown, being in the 
 invalid's sick chamber, she began to act in a mys- 
 terious manner. She tiptoed to the door, closed 
 it and approached Mr. Linden's bedside with the 
 air of one about to unfold a strange story. 
 
 "Whist now," she said, with her finger on her 
 lips. 
 
 ''What is the matter?" asked the invalid, rather 
 alarmed. 
 
 ''Can you bear a surprise, sir?" 
 
 "Have you any bad news for me?" 
 
 "No; it's good news, but you must promise not 
 to tell Curtis." 
 
 "Is it about Florence? Your messenger can 
 hardly have reached Chicago." 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 253 
 
 "He isn't going there, sir.'^ 
 
 "But you promised that he should," said Mr. 
 Linden, disturbed. 
 
 "I'll tell you why, sir. Florence is not in Chi- 
 cago." 
 
 "I — I don't understand. You said she was 
 there." 
 
 "Begging your pardon, sir, it was Curtis that 
 said so, though he knew she was in New York." 
 
 "But what motive could he have had for thus 
 misrepresenting matters?" 
 
 "He doesn't want you to take her back." 
 
 "I can't believe you, Mrs. Barnes. He loves her, 
 and wants to marry her." 
 
 "He couldn't marry her if she consented to take 
 him." 
 
 "Why not? Mrs. Barnes, you confuse me." 
 
 "I won't deceive you as he has done. There's 
 rason in plinty. He's married already." 
 
 "Is this true?" demanded Mr. Linden, in excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "It's true enough; more by token, to-morrow, 
 whin he's out, his wife will come here and tell you 
 so herself." 
 
 "But who are you who seem to know so much 
 about my family?" 
 
 "I'm a friend of the pore girl you've driven from 
 the house, because she would not marry a rascally 
 spalpeen that's been schemin' to get your property 
 into his hands." 
 
254 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "You're a friend of Florence? Where is she?" 
 
 "She's in my house, and has been there ever 
 since she left her home." 
 
 "Is she— well?" 
 
 "As well as she can be whin she's been workin' 
 her fingers to the bone wid sewin' to keep from 
 starvin'." 
 
 "My God! what have I done?" 
 
 "You've let Curtis Waring wind you around his 
 little finger — that's what you've done, Mr. Lin- 
 den." 
 
 "How soon can I see Florence?" 
 
 "How soon can you bear it?" 
 
 "The sooner the better." 
 
 "Then it'll be to-morrow, I'm thinkin', that is 
 if you won't tell Curtis." 
 
 "No, no; I promise." 
 
 "I'll manage everything, sir. Don't worry now." 
 
 Mr. Linden's face lost its anxious look — so that 
 when, later in the day, Curtis looked into the room 
 he was surprised. 
 
 "My uncle looks better," he said. 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered the nurse. "I've soothed 
 him like." 
 
 "Indeed! You seem to be a very accomplished 
 nurse." 
 
 "Faith, that I am, sir, though it isn't I that should 
 say it." 
 
 "May I ask how you soothed him?" inquired 
 Curtis, anxiously. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 255 
 
 ''I told him that Miss Florence would soon be 
 home.'* 
 
 "I do not think it right to hold out hopes that may 
 prove ill-founded." 
 
 "I know what I am about, Mr. Curtis." 
 
 ^'I dare say you understand your business, Mrs. 
 Barnes, but if my uncle should be disappointed, I 
 am afraid the consequences will be lamentable." 
 
 ''Do you think he'll live long, sir?" 
 
 Curtis shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 'It is very hard to tell. My uncle is a very fee- 
 ble man." 
 
 "And if he dies, I suppose the property goes to 
 you?" 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 "But where does Florence come in?" 
 
 "It seems to me, Mrs. Barnes, that you take a 
 good deal of interest in our family affairs," said 
 Curtis, suspiciously. 
 
 "That's true, sir. Why shouldn't I take an in- 
 terest in a nice gentleman like you?" 
 
 Curtis smiled. 
 
 "I am doing my best to find Florence. Then our 
 marriage will take place, and it matters little to 
 whom the property is left." 
 
 "But I thought Miss Florence didn't care to 
 marry you?" 
 
 "It is only because she thinks cousins ought not 
 to marry. It's a foolish fancy, and she'll get over 
 it." 
 
256 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "Thrue for you, sir. My first husband was m)' 
 cousin, and we always agreed, barrin' an occasional 
 fight " 
 
 '1 don't think Florence and I will ever fight, Mrs. 
 Barnes." 
 
 ''What surprises me, Mr. Curtis, is that a nice- 
 lookin' gentleman like you hasn't been married be- 
 fore." 
 
 Curtis eyed her keenly, but her face told him 
 nothing. 
 
 ''I never saw one I wanted to marry till my cousin 
 grew up," he said. 
 
 "I belave in marryin', meself. I was first mar- 
 ried at sivinteen." 
 
 ''How long ago was that, Mrs. Barnes?" 
 
 "It's long ago, Mr. Curtis. I'm an old woman 
 now. I was thirty-five last birthday." 
 
 Curtis came near laughing outright, for he sus- 
 pected — what was true — that the nurse would never 
 see her fiftieth birthday again. 
 
 "Then you are just my age," he said. 
 
 "If I make him laugh he won't suspect nothing," 
 soliloquized the wily nurse. "That's a pretty big 
 lie, even for me." 
 
 "Shure I look older, Mr. Curtis," she said, aloud. 
 "What wid the worry of losin' two fond husbands, 
 I look much older than you." 
 
 "Oh, your are very well preserved, Mrs. Barnes." 
 
 Curtis went into his uncle's chamber. 
 
 "How are you feeling, uncle?" he asked. 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 257 
 
 "I think I am better," answered Mr. Linden, 
 coldly, for he had not forgotten Mrs. Barnes' reve- 
 lations. 
 
 "That is right. Only make an effort, and you 
 will soon be strong again." 
 
 "I think I may. I may live ten years to annoy 
 you." 
 
 *T fervently hope so," said Curtis, but there was 
 a false ring in his voice that his uncle detected. 
 "How do you like the new nurse?" 
 
 "She is helping me wonderfully. You made a 
 good selection." 
 
 "I will see that she is soon discharged," Curtis 
 inwardly resolved. "If her being here is to pro- 
 long my uncle's life, and keep me still waiting for 
 the estate, I must clear the house of her." 
 
 "You must not allow her to buoy you up with 
 unfounded hopes. She has been telling you that 
 Florence will soon return." 
 
 "Yes; she seems convinced of it." 
 
 "Of course she knows nothing of it. She may 
 return, but I doubt whether she is in Chicago now. 
 I think the family she was with has gone to Eu- 
 rope." 
 
 "Where did you hear that, Curtis?" asked Mr. 
 Linden, with unwonted sharpness. 
 
 "I have sources of information which at pres- 
 ent I do not care to impart. Rest assured that I 
 am doing all I can to get her back." 
 
 "You still want to marry her, Curtis?" 
 
258 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "I do, most certainly." 
 
 "I shall not insist upon it. I should not have 
 done so before." 
 
 "Have you changed your mind, uncle?'' 
 
 "Yes; I have made a mistake, and I have de- 
 cided to correct it." 
 
 "What has come over him?" Curtis asked him- 
 self. "Some influence hostile to me has been 
 brought to bear. It must be that nurse. I will 
 quietly dismiss her to-morrow, paying her a week's 
 wages, in lieu of warning. She's evidently a med- 
 dler/' 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 259 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE CLOSING SCENE. 
 
 The next day Tim Bolton, dressed in a jaunty 
 style, walked up the steps of the Linden mansion. 
 
 "Is Mr. Waring at home?" he asked. 
 
 "No, sir; he has gone downtown." 
 
 *T11 step in and wait for him. Please show me 
 to the library." 
 
 Jane, who had been taken into confidence by the 
 nurse, showed him at once into the room mentioned. 
 
 Half an hour later Curtis entered. 
 
 "How long have you been here, Bolton?" 
 
 "But a short time. You sent for me?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "On business?". 
 
 "Well, yes." 
 
 "Is there anything new?" 
 
 "Yes, my uncle is failing fast.' 
 
 "Is he likely to die soon?" 
 
 "I shouldn't be surprised if he died within a 
 week." 
 
 "I suspect Curtis means to help him ! Well, what 
 has that to do with me?" he asked. "You will step 
 into the property, of course?" 
 
26o ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 "There is a little difficulty in the way which I 
 can overcome with your help." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "I can't get him to give up the foolish notion 
 that the boy he lost is still alive." 
 
 "It happens to be true." 
 
 "Yes; but he must not know it. Before he dies 
 I want him to make a new will, revoking all others, 
 leaving all the property to me." 
 
 "Will he do it?" 
 
 "I don't know. As long as he thinks the boy 
 is living, I don't believe he will. You see what 
 a drawback that is." 
 
 "I see. What can I do to improve the situa- 
 tion?" 
 
 "I want you to sign a paper confessing that you 
 abducted the boy " 
 
 "At your instigation?" 
 
 "That must not be mentioned. You will go on 
 to say that a year or two later — the time is not mate- 
 rial — he died of typhoid fever. You can say that 
 you did not dare to reveal this before, but do so 
 now, impelled by remorse." 
 
 "Have you got it written out? I can't remem- 
 ber all them words." 
 
 "Yes; here it is." 
 
 "All right," said Bolton, taking the paper and 
 tucking it into an inside pocket. "I'll copy it out 
 in my own handwriting. How much are you go- 
 ing to give me for doing this?" 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 261 
 
 **A thousand dollars." 
 
 ''Cash?" 
 
 "I can't do that. I have met with losses at the 
 gaming table, and I don't dare ask money from 
 my uncle at this time. He thinks I am thoroughly 
 steady." 
 
 **At how much do you value the estate?" 
 
 ''At four hundred thousand dollars. I wormed 
 it out of my uncle's lawyer the other day." 
 
 "And you expect me to help you to that amount 
 for only a thousand dollars?" 
 
 "A thousand dollars is a good deal of money." 
 
 "And so is four hundred thousand. After all, 
 your uncle may not die." 
 
 "He is sure to.'' 
 
 "You seem very confident." 
 
 "And with good reason. Leave that to me. I 
 promise you, on my honor, to pay you two thou- 
 sand dollars when I get the estate." 
 
 "But what is going to happen to poor Dodger, 
 the rightful heir?" 
 
 "Well, let it be three hundred dollars a year, 
 then." 
 
 "Where is he now?" 
 
 "I don't mind telling you, as it can do no narm. 
 He is in California." 
 
 "Whew! That was smart. How did you get 
 him there?" 
 
 "I drugged him, and had him sent on board a 
 ship bound for San Francisco, around Cape Horn. 
 
262 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 The fact is, I was getting a little suspicious of you, 
 and I wanted to put you beyond the reach of tempta- 
 tion." 
 
 "You are a clever rascal, Curtis. After all, sup- 
 pose the prize should slip through your fingers?" 
 
 'It won't. I have taken every precaution." 
 
 "When do you want this document?" 
 
 "Bring it back to me this afternoon, copied and 
 signed. That is all you have to do; I will attend 
 to the rest." 
 
 While this conversation was going on there were 
 unseen listeners. 
 
 Behind a portiere Mrs. Barnes, the nurse, and 
 John Linden heard every word that was said. 
 
 "And w^hat do you think now, sir?" whispered 
 Mrs. O'Keefe (to give her real name). 
 
 "It is terrible. I would not have believed Cur- 
 tis capable of such a crime. But is it really true, 
 Mrs. Barnes? Is my lost boy alive?" 
 
 "To be sure he is." 
 
 "Have you seen him?" 
 
 "I know him as well as I know you, sir, and bet- 
 ter, too." 
 
 "Is he — tell me, is he a good boy? Curtis told 
 me that he might be a criminal." 
 
 "He might, but he isn't. He's as dacent and 
 honest a boy as iver trod shoe leather. You'll be 
 proud of him, sir." 
 
 "But he's in California." 
 
 "He was; but he's got back. You shall see him 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 263 
 
 to-day, and Florence, too. Hark! I hear the door 
 bell. They're here now. I think you had better 
 go in and confront Curtis." 
 
 "I feel weak, Mrs. Barnes. Let me lean on you." 
 
 "You can 'do that, and welcome; sir." 
 
 The nurse pushed aside the portiere, and the two 
 entered the library — Mrs. Barnes rotund and smil- 
 ing, Mr. Linden gaunt and spectral looking, like one 
 risen from the grave. 
 
 Curtis eyed the pair with a startled look. 
 
 *'Mrs. Barnes," he said, angrily, "what do you 
 mean by taking my uncle from his bed and bring- 
 ing him down here? It is as much as his life is 
 worth. You seem unfit for your duties as nurse. 
 You will leave the house to-morrow, and I will 
 engage a substitute." 
 
 "I shall lave whin I git ready, Mr. Curtis War- 
 ing," said the nurse, her arms akimbo. "Maybe 
 somebody else will lave the house. Me and Mr. 
 Linden have been behind the curtain for twenty 
 minutes, and he has heard every word you said." 
 
 Curtis turned livid, and his heart sank. 
 
 "It's true, Curtis," said John Linden's hollow 
 voice. "I have heard all. It was you who ab- 
 ducted my boy, and have made my life a lonely one 
 all these years. Oh, man! man! how could you 
 have the heart to do it?" 
 
 Curtis stared at him with parched lips, unable 
 to speak. 
 
 "Not content with this, you drove from* the house 
 
264 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 my dear niece, Florence. You made me act cruelly 
 toward her. I fear she will not forgive me." 
 
 But just then the door opened, and Florence, 
 rushing into the room, sank at her uncle's feet. 
 
 *'0h, uncle," she said, "will you take me back?" 
 
 "Yes, Florence, never again to leave me. And 
 who is this?" he asked, fixing his eyes on Dodger, 
 who stood shyly in the doorway. 
 
 "I'll tell you, sir," said Tim Bolton. "That is 
 your own son, whom I stole away from you when 
 he was a kid, being hired to do it by Curtis War- 
 ing." 
 
 "It's a lie," said Curtis, hoarsely. 
 
 "Come to me, my boy," said Mr. Linden, with a 
 glad light in his eyes. 
 
 "At last Heaven has heard my prayers," he ejac- 
 ulated. "We will never be separated. I was ready 
 to die, but now I hope to live for many years. I 
 feel that I have a new lease of life." 
 
 With a baffled growl Curtis Waring darted a fu- 
 rious look at the three. 
 
 "That boy is an impostor," he said. "They are 
 deceiving you." 
 
 "He is my son. I see his mother's look in his 
 face. As for you, Curtis Waring, my eyes are 
 open at last to your villainy. You deserve nothing 
 at my hands; but I will make some provision for 
 you." 
 
 There was another surprise. 
 
 Curtis Waring's deserted wife, brought from 
 
ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 265 
 
 California by Dodger, entered the room, leading 
 by the hand a young child. 
 
 ''Oh, Curtis," she said, reproachfully. "How 
 could you leave me ? I have come to you, my hus- 
 band, with our little child." 
 
 ''Begone! woman!" said Curtis, furiously. "I 
 will never receive or recognize you !" 
 
 "Oh, sir !" she said, turning to Mr. Linden, "what 
 shall I do?" 
 
 "Curtis Waring," said Mr. Linden, sternly, "un- 
 less you receive this woman and treat her prop- 
 erly, you shall receive nothing from me." 
 
 "And if I do?" 
 
 "You will receive an income of two thousand dol- 
 lars a year, payable quarterly. Mrs. Waring, you 
 will remain here with your child till your husband 
 provides another home for you." 
 
 Curtis slunk out of the room, but he was too wise 
 to refuse his uncle's offer. 
 
 He and his wife are living in Chicago, and he 
 treats her fairly well, fearing that, otherwise, he 
 will lose his income. 
 
 Mr. Linden looks ten years younger than he did 
 at the opening of the story. 
 
 Florence and Dodger — now known as Harvey 
 Linden — live with him. 
 
 Dodger, under a competent private tutor, is mak- 
 ing up the deficiencies in his education. 
 
 It is early yet to speak of marriage, but it is pos- 
 sible that Florence may marry a cousin, after all. 
 
266 ADRIFT IN NEW YORK. 
 
 Tim Bolton has turned over a new leaf, given 
 up his saloon, and is carrying on a country hotel 
 within fifty miles of New York. 
 
 He has five thousand dollars in the bank, pre- 
 sented by Dodger, with his father's sanction, and is 
 considered quite a reputable citizen. 
 
 As for Mrs. O'Keefe, she still keeps the apple- 
 stand, being unwilling to give it up; but she, too, 
 has a handsome sum in the bank, and calls often 
 upon her two children, as she calls them. 
 
 In the midst of their prosperity Florence and 
 Dodger will never forget the time when they were 
 adrift in New York. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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