 CHAPTER 31 Florence is discharged. Mrs. Layton sat in her boudoir with a stern face and tightly compressed lips. Miss Carter had called the previous afternoon and informed her of the astounding discoveries she had made respecting 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. Layton wished to see her at once. ''I wonder what's the matter now?'' 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 wish to see me, Mrs. Layton?'' she said. ''Yes,' answered Mrs. Layton grimly. ''Will you be seated?'' Florence sat down a few feet from her employer and waited for an explanation. She certainly was not prepared for Mrs. Layton'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 answered, with hesitation. ''That is not sufficiently definite. I live at number twenty-seven, Blank Street. I think that is east of the Bowery. You are right, madame. You lodge with an apple-woman, do you not?'' ''I do,'' answered Florence, calmly. ''In a tenement house?'' ''Yes, madame. And you actually come from such a squalid home to instruct my daughter?'' exclaimed Mrs. Layton indignantly. It is a wonder you have not brought some terrible disease into the house. There has been no case of disease in the humble 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 Florence, 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 Lyndon, your taste 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 Avenue car yesterday, my nephew, Mr. Piercy Dubrabazon. It is coming,'' thought Florence, ''who could have seen us?'' Then allowed. ''Yes, madame. Was it by appointment?'' ''Do you mean to insult me, Mrs. Layton?'' demanded Florence, rising, and looking at the lady with flashing eyes. ''I never insult anybody,'' replied Mrs. Layton, ''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 were correctly informed. You seemed to make acquaintances very readily, Miss Lyndon. It seemed singular, to say the least, that after meeting my nephew for a single evening you should become such intimate friends. You will be surprised, Mrs. Layton, when I say that Mr. Dubrabazon and I are old friends. We have met frequently. ''Where, in Heaven's name, ejaculated Mrs. Layton at my residence?'' ''Good. Heavens!'' exclaimed the scandalized lady. ''Does my nephew Piercy visit at the house of this Apple woman?'' ''No, madame. He does not know where I live.' ''Then you will explain your previous statement,'' said Mrs. Layton, 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 circumstances. I feel compelled to perform an unpleasant duty. Florence did not feel called upon to make any reply, but waited for Mrs. Layton to finish speaking. I shall be obliged to dispense with your services 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 paying to part from her. Besides, how was she to supply the income of which this would deprive her? ''I bow to your decision, madame,'' she said, with proud humility. ''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 goodbye, Mrs. Layton?'' ''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 privilege which Mrs. Layton denied her. Carrie, who had become impatient, came downstairs and burst into the room. ''What keeps you so long, Miss. London?'' she said. ''Is Mama keeping you?'' Florence was silent, leaving the explanations to Mrs. Layton. Miss. London has resigned her position as your governess, Carrie. ''Miss. London going away? I won't have her go. What makes you go, Miss. London?'' ''Your mama thinks at best,'' answered Florence, 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. ''Will you tell me, Mama, why you are sending Miss. London 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, Mama. I do not pretend to defend Carrie, whose conduct 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. Layton. ''Miss. London, as you are here today, you may give Carrie the usual lessons. As I shall be out when you get through, I bid you good-bye now.'' ''Good-bye, Mrs. Layton.'' Carrie and Florence went to the school room for the last time. Florence gave her young people a partial explanation of the cause which had led to her discharge. ''What do I care if you live in a poor house?'' Miss. London said Carrie impetuously. ''I will make Mama 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. ''I have a bad headache, Mrs. O'Keefe. You work too hard, Florence, with your teacher. 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 became indignant. ''She's a mean trollop, that, Mrs. Layton,'' 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. Sure, you used to live in as grand a house as herself. But I don't know.'' ''Don't mind it too much, Mavorine. You'll soon be getting 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 tomorrow, 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. 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 assistant 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 know occupy. He had never done a stroke of work, having always been at school. He didn't take kindly to work, 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 over time. ''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 Saturday 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 over time 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 with a feeling of satisfaction. He had never saved half that sum in the same time before. This warring did me a favour 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 dollars a week, and he began to lay by seven dollars a week, with a 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. With that time the price of a first-class ticket to New York was one hundred and twenty-eight dollars, besides the expense of sleeping-births, amounting 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 position 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. Layton. 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 difficulties 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 himself, 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. But 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 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 instinctively that she needed help. I beg your pardon, he said, with as much deference as if he were addressing one favored by fortune. 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 Dodger 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 company, 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 a place on Knob 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 knee in its appointments. And as in most San Francisco restaurants, 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 became more cheerful as time went on. There was something in the child's face that looked familiar to Dodger. It was a resemblance to someone 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 I'm earning a good salary. Are you a native of San Francisco? No, madame. 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. So did I, said the woman with a sigh. I wish I were back there again. How came you to be here? Don't answer me 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 and 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 nearby. 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 if you're 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 present? Yes, but it might as well be three hundred, said the woman bitterly. Not quite. I can supply you with three dollars, but three hundred would be rather beyond my means. You are too kind, too generous. I ought not to accept such a liberal gift. Mama, I am tired. Take me up in your arms, said the child. Poor child, he has been on his feet all day, beside 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, little one, jump up. He raised the child easily, and despite the mother's protest carried him in his arms. I will see you home, madame, 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 Warring. Dodger stared at her, overwhelmed by surprise. End of CHAPTER XXXII. Curtis Warring, 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, shallow 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 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 anyone 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 woman, or the mysteries of the female heart. And he evidently thought this poor woman very foolish to cling with such pernacity to a man like Curtis Warring. Do you mind telling me how you came to marry him? he asked. It was over four years ago that I met him in the city, was the reply. I am a San Francisco girl. I had never been out of California. I was considered pretty then, she added, with a remnant of pride, faded as I am today. Looking closely in her face, Dodger was ready to believe this. 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 acquaintance 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. Warring 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. Warring 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. Warring? 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 altogether? I don't know what to think. Well, I lived impatiently, for I had perfect confidence in my husband. 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 money 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 abduction. 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 husband's home? Because Curtis Waring made him set his heart upon the match. She had her choice to marry Curtis, 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 understanding 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. This is 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 tomorrow 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 married man, there would seem no bar to reconciliation. Moreover, and this 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. 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 navery of her cousin. But in San Francisco, at a distance of over three thousand miles, Dodger fell 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 adventurous. The absent are always in the wrong, says a French proverb. At all events, they are very much at a disadvantage, and therefore it seemed imperatively necessary, not only that Dodger, but that Curtis Waring's wife should go to New York to confront the unprincipled man whose schemes had brought sorrow 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 Dodger, Mrs. Waring and her child would not be very far from five hundred dollars, and where to obtain this money was a problem. Randolph Leslie probably had that sum, but Dodger could not in conscience ask him to lend it, being unable to furnish adequate security or to ensure repayment. If I could only find a nugget, thought Dodger, knitting his brows, everything would be easy. But nuggets are rare enough in the gold fields, and still rare in city streets. He who trusts wholly to luck trusts to a will of 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. Menden would probably be dead. Absorbed and disturbed by these reflections, Dodger 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 press-straight figure of a man. Over him, bludgeon in hand, bent a ruffian, whose purpose was only too clearly evident. 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 the 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 valley 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 bludgeon made him cautious about repeating the attack. Curse you, he cried, between his teeth. I'd like to chaw you up. I have no doubt you would, answered Dodger, but I don't think you will. Were you going to rob this man? None of your business. 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 in 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, and he 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 happened? 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 enough to show a well-filled pocketbook and a saloon where I stopped to take a drink. No doubt he planned to relive 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. I 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 furnished 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, probably not far from fifty, dressed in a neat business 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 disclaim 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 dollars 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 circumstances. Dodger told the story as briefly as he could. He was encouraged to find that the stranger listened to him with attention. Do you know, he said reflectively, you have done for me what I once did for another, average man. The case was very similar. I was a poor boy at the time. Do you know what he gave me? What was it, sir? A dollar. What do you think of that for generosity? Well, sir, it wasn't exactly liberal. Did you accept it? No. I told him that I didn't wish to inconvenience him. But I asked you how much money you supposed I had. I will tell you, in a wallet I have eleven thousand dollars in bank notes and securities. That is a fortune, said Dodger, dazzled at the mention of such a sum. If I had lost it I have plenty more, but the most serious peril was to my life. Through your opportune assistance I have escaped without loss. I fully appreciate the magnitude of the service you have done for me. As an evidence of it, please accept these bills. He drew from the roll two bills and handed them to Dodger. The boy, glancing at them mechanically, started an amazement. Each bill was for five hundred dollars. You have given me a thousand dollars, he gasped. I am aware of it. I consider my life worth that, at least. James Swinton never fails to pay his debts. But sir, a thousand dollars. It's no more than you deserve. When I tell my wife on my return to Chicago about this affair, 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 water. I have tended bar in New 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 favor of fortune. It is not always that the money we need is so quickly supplied. He resolved to return to New York as soon as he could manage it, and take with him the wife and child of Curtis Warring. This would cost him about five hundred dollars, and he would have the same amount left. Mr. Tucker was reluctant to part with Dodger. 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. Warring 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 doubtful if her husband would be equally glad to see her. End of CHAPTERS 33 AND 34 CHAPTERS 35 AND 36 OF A DRIFT IN NEW YORK. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Bridget Gage, A Drift in New York by Horatio Elger, Jr. CHAPTER 36 THE DARKEST DAY When Florence left the employ of Mrs. Layton, 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 an answer to an advertisement. The lady-like manner evidently impressed the lady to whom she applied. I suppose you have taught before, she said. Yes, madame. In whose family? I taught the daughter of Mrs. Layton of West Blank Street. I have heard of the lady. Of course you are at liberty to refer to her. Yes, madame. But there was a hesitation in her tone that excited surprise. Very well, I will call upon her and make inquiries. If you will call tomorrow morning, I can give you a decisive answer. Florence fervently hoped that this might prove favourable, but was apprehensive, and with good reason it appeared. When she presented herself the next day, Mrs. Cole said, I am afraid, Miss Linden, you will not suit me. May I ask why, Florence inquired, schooling herself to calmness. I called on Mrs. Layton, 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 for getting 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 lady-like 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. Layton 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 a humble friend of mine, and has been kind to me. You cannot be very fastidious, however, that is your own affair. I am sorry to disappoint you, Miss Linden, but it will be quite impossible for me to employ you. Then I will bid you good morning, Mrs. Cole, said Florence, sore at heart. Good morning. You will, I think, understand my position. If you applied for a position in one of the public schools, I don't think that your residence would be an objection. Florence left the house, sad and despondent. She saw that Mrs. Layton, by her unfriendly representations, would prevent her from getting any opportunity to teach. She must seek some more humble employment. Well, Florence, did you get a place? asked Mrs. O'Keefe, as she passed that lady's stand. No, Mrs. O'Keefe, answered Florence, wearily. And why not? Did the woman think you didn't know enough? She objected to me, because I was not living in a fashionable quarter. At least that was one of her objections. I'm sure you've got a Nate clain home, and it looks as Nate is 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 that Mrs. Layton did not speak very highly of me. The trollop, I'd like to give her a box on the air, drag her impudence, said the irate Apple woman. And what will you be doing now? Do you think I can get some sewing to do, Mrs. O'Keefe? Yes, Mrs. Florence, I'll get you some vests to make. But it's hard work, and poor pay. I must take what I can get, said Florence. I cannot choose. If you'd only tend an Apple stand, Miss Florence, there's Mrs. Brady wants to sell out on account of the rheumatics, and I've got a trifle in the savings bank, enough to buy it. You'd make a dollar a day, easy. It isn't to be thought of, Mrs. O'Keefe. If you will kindly see about getting me some sewing, I will see how I can get along. The result was that Mrs. O'Keefe brought Florence, in the course of the day, half a dozen vests, for which she was to be paid the munificent sum of twenty-five cents each. Florence had very little idea of what she was undertaking. She was an expert needle-woman, and proved adequate to the work, but with her utmost 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. Sure, I won't let you starve, Florence, said the warm-hearted Applewoman. But Mrs. O'Keefe, I can't consent to live on you. And why not? I'm well and strong, and I'm making more money than I need. I couldn't think of it, though I thank you for your kindness. Sure, 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 main blackguard, and I'd say it to his face. Weeks rolled by, and Florence began to show the effects of hard work and confinement. She grew pale and thin, and her face was habitually sad. She had husbanded her savings as a governess as closely as she could, but in spite of all her economy it dwindled till she had none left. Henceforth she must depend on twenty-five cents a day. And this seemed well-nigh impossible. In this emergency the pawnbroker occurred to her. She had a variety of nice dresses, and she had also a handsome ring given her by her uncle on her last birthday. This she felt sure must have cost fifty dollars. It was a trial to part with it, but there seemed to be no alternative. If my uncle has withdrawn his affection from me, she said to herself, why should I scruple to pawn the ring? It is the symbol of a love that no longer exists. So she entered the pawnbrokers, 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 practised eye at once detected its value. But it was not professional to admit this. Ring's is a drug in the market, young lady, he said. I've got more than I know what to do with. I'll give you four—four dollars. Four dollars, repeated Florence in dismay. Why it must have cost fifty. It was bought in Tiffany's. You are mistaken, my dear. Did you buy it yourself there? No, my uncle gave it to me. He may have said he paid fifty dollars for it, said the pawnbroker, wagging his head. But we know better. But what will you give? Asked Florence desperately. I'll give you five dollars, and not a penny more, said the broker, surveying her distressed face shrewdly. You can take it or not. What could Florence do? She must have the money, and feared that no other pawnbroker would give her more. Make out the ticket, then, she said, wearily, with a sigh. This was done, and she left the place, half timid, half ashamed, and wholly discouraged. But the darkest hour is sometimes nearest the dawn. A great, overwhelming surprise awaited her. She had scarcely left the shop when a glad voice cried, I have found you at last, Florence. She looked up and saw a dodger. But not the old dodger. She saw a nicely dressed young gentleman, larger than the friend she had parted with six months before, with a brighter, more intelligent, and manly look. Dodger! She faltered. Yes, it is Dodger. Where did you come from? From San Francisco. But what have you been doing there? And Dodger pointed in the direction of the pawnbroker's shop. I ponded my ring. Then I shall get it back at once. How much did you get on it? Five dollars. Give me the ticket, and go in with me. The pawnbroker was very reluctant to part with the ring, which he made sure would not be reclaimed. But there was no help for it. As they emerged into the street, Dodger said, I have come back to restore you to your rights, and give Curtis Warring the most disagreeable surprise he ever had. Come home, and I'll tell you all about it. I have struck luck, Florence, and you are going to share it. After thirty-six, Mrs. O'Keefe in a new role. No time was lost in seeing Bolton, and arranging a plan of campaign. Curtis Warring, nearing the accomplishment of his plans, was far from anticipating impending disaster. His uncle's health had become so poor, and his strength had been so far undermined that it was thought desirable to employ a sickness nurse. An advertisement was inserted in a morning paper, which luckily attracted the attention of Bolton. You must go, Mrs. O'Keefe, he said to the Applewoman. It is important that we have someone in the house, some friend of Florence and the boy, to watch what is going on. Bridget O'Keefe is no fool. Leave her to manage. The result was that among a large number of applicants, Mrs. O'Keefe was selected by Curtis as Mr. Linden's nurse, as she expressed herself willing to work for four dollars a week, while the lowest outside demand was seven. We will now enter the house, in which the last scenes of our story are to take place. Mr. Linden, weak and emaciated, was sitting in an easy chair in his library. How do you feel this morning, uncle? asked Curtis, entering the room. I am very weak, Curtis. I don't think I shall ever be any better. I have engaged a nurse, uncle, as you desired, and I expect her this morning. That is well, Curtis. I do not wish to confine you to my bedside. The nurse is below, said Jane, the servant, entering. Send her up. Mrs. O'Keefe entered in the sober attire of a nurse. She dropped a curtsy. Are you the nurse I engaged? said Curtis. Yes, sir. Your name, please. Mrs. Barns, sir. Have you experienced as a nurse? Plenty, sir. Uncle, this is Mrs. Barns, your new nurse. I hope you will find her satisfactory. She looks like a good woman, said Mr. Linden, feebly. I think she will suit me. Indeed, 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. Barns. Sure, I'll take care of him, sir. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Linden? asked the new nurse, in a tone of sympathy. Can you minister to a mind diseased? I'll take the best care of you, Mr. Linden. But it isn't as if you had a wife or daughter. Ah, that is a sore thought. I have no wife or daughter, but I have a niece. And where is she, sir? I don't know. I drove her from me by my unkindness. I repent bitterly, but it's now too late. And why don't you send for her to come home? I would gladly do so, but I don't know where she is. Curtis has tried to find her, but in vain. He says she is in Chicago. And what should take her to Chicago? He says she is there as a governess and 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, she said, aloud. Do you think so? asked Linden eagerly. I'm sure of it. But I don't know where to send. I know of a party that would be sure to find her. Who is it? It's a young man. They call him Dodger. If anyone can find Miss Florence, he can. You know my niece's name? I have heard it somewhere, from Mr. Warring, I think. And do you think this young man would agree to go to Chicago and find her? Yes, sir. I make bold to say he will. Tell him to go at once. He will need money. In Yonder Desk you will find a picture of my niece and a roll of bills. Give them to him and send him at once. Yes, sir, I will. But if you'll take my advice, you won't say anything to Mr. Curtis. He might think it foolish. True, if your friend succeeds, we'll give Curtis a surprise. And a mighty disagreeable one I'll be bound, so little acquiesed, Mrs. O'Keefe. I think, Mrs. Barnes, I will retire to my chamber, if you will assist me. She assisted Mr. Linden to his room and then returned to the library. Mrs. Barnes, there's a young man inquiring for you, said Jane, entering. Send him in, Jane. The visitor was Dodger, neatly dressed. How are things going, Mrs. O'Keefe? He asked. Splendid, Dodger. Here's some money for you. What for? You're to go to Chicago and bring back Florence. But she isn't there. Never mind. You're to pretend to go. But that won't take money. Give it to Florence, then. It's hers by right. 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 program? She's very anxious to see her husband. The more fool she, cape her at home and out of his sight, or there's no known what he'll do. And, Dodger, dear, cape an eye in 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' warring 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 him, Dodger. It won't be my fault if Mr. London's eyes are not opened to his wickedness. CHAPTER 37 The Diplomacy of Mrs. O'Keefe Mrs. O'Keefe was a warm-hearted woman, and the sad, drawn face of Mr. London 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, according to his custom, gone downtown, being in the invalid's sick chamber, she began to act in a mysterious manner. She tiptoed to the door, closed it, and approached Mr. London's bedside with the air of one about to unfold a strange story. Wist now, she said, with a 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. He isn't going there, sir. But you promised that he should, said Mr. London, disturbed. I'll tell you why, sir. Florence is not in Chicago. 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 raisin' and plenty. He's married already. Is this true? Demanded Mr. London, in excitement. It's true enough. More by token, tomorrow, when 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 poor girl you've driven from the house, because she would not marry a rascally spell-peen that's been scheming to get your property into his hands. You are a friend of Florence? Where is she? She's in my house, and has been there ever since she left home. Is she well? As well as she can be when she's been rickin' her fingers to the bone, would so want to keep from starvin'. My God, what have I done? You've let Curtis Warring wind you around his little finger. That's what you've done, Mr. London. How soon can I see Florence? How soon can you bear it? The sooner the better. Then it'll be tomorrow, 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. London'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 answer, though it is an eye that should say it. May I ask how you soothed him, inquired Curtis, anxiously. 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 feeble 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 interest 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. True for you, sir, my first husband was my cousin, and we always agreed, barn and occasional fight. I don't think Florence and I will ever fight, Mrs. Barnes. What surprises me, Mr. Curtis, is that a nice-looking gentleman like you hasn't been married before. Curtis eyed her keenly, but her face told him nothing. I never saw when I wanted to marry till my cousin grew up, he said. I believe in marrying myself. I was first married at seventeen. 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 suspected, what was true, that the nurse would never see her fiftieth birthday again. Then you were just my age, he said. If I make him laugh he won't suspect nothing, so ill-acquised the wily nurse. That's a pretty big lie, even for me. Sure, I look older, Mr. Curtis, she said aloud. What with the worry of losing two fond husbands, I look much older than you. Oh, you are very well preserved, Mrs. Barnes. Curtis went into his uncle's chamber. How are you feeling, uncle, he asked? I think I am better, answered Mr. Lyndon coldly, for he had not forgotten Mrs. Barnes' revelations. 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. I 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 prolong 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 Europe. Where did you hear that, Curtis? asked Mr. Lyndon, with unwanted sharpness. I have sources of information, which at present 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? 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 decided to correct it. What has come over him, Curtis asked himself. 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 is evidently a meddler. CHAPTER XXXVIII THE CLOSING SCENE The next day Tim Bolton, dressed in a jaunty style, walked up the steps of the Lyndon mansion. Is Mr. Warring at home, he asked? No, sir, he has gone downtown. I'll 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. 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 situation? 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 material. 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 remember 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 going to give me for doing this? A thousand dollars. Cash? I can't do that. I have met with losses at the gambling 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 thousand dollars when I get the estate. But what is going to happen to 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 harm. He is in California. Wee, 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. The fact is, I was getting a little suspicious of you, and I wanted to put you beyond the reach of temptation. You are a clever rascal, Curtis. After all, suppose the price 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. The portier, Mrs. Barnes, the nurse, and John Linden heard every word that was said. And what do you think now, sir? whispered Mrs. O'Keeffe, to give her real name. It is terrible. I would not have believed Curtis 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 better, too. Is he—tell me—is he a good boy? He just told me that he might be a criminal. He might, but he isn't. He's as dacent and honest a boy as ever 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 today, and Florence, too. Hark! I hear the doorbell. 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 poor cheer, and the two entered the library. Mrs. Barnes rotunded and smiling. 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 bringing 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 when I get ready, Mr. Curtis, warring, said the nurse, her arms a kimbo. 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 hallow voice. I have heard all. It was you who abducted 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 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. Oh, 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 Warring. 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 ejaculated. 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 Warring darted a furious look at the three. That boy is an imposter, he said. They are deceiving you. He is my son. I see his mother's look in his face. As for you, Curtis Warring, 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 Warring's deserted wife, brought from 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 husband, with our little child. Be gone, woman, said Curtis furiously. I will never receive or recognize you. Oh, sir, she said, turning to Mr. Linden. What shall I do?" Curtis Warring said Mr. Linden sternly, unless you receive this woman and treat her properly, you shall receive nothing from me. And if I do, you will receive an income of two thousand dollars per year, payable quarterly. Mrs. Warring, 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 making up the deficiencies in his education. It is early yet to speak of marriage, but it is possible that Florence may marry a cousin after all. 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, presented 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 End of A Drift in New York by Horatio Elger, Jr.