THE PENNSYLVANIA STATE
UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES


' ‘Gift plate of
Donald E. Frear
'' -














FIVE QUNDRED POLLARS
BY
HORATIO ILXLGER, JR.
AUTHOR or “THE ERIE TRAIN Bov,” “FROM FAR)‘ no? ‘no
sun/non," "THE YOUNG ACROBAT," arc.
...-‘ ‘ '
NTEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS


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- . 1- L1)


ALGER SERIES FOR BOYS.

UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
Adrltt in New York.
A Cousin‘s Conspiracy.
Andy Gordon.
AndgGrant's Pluck.
Bob urton.
Bound to Rise.
Brave and Bold.
Cash .
Cheater nd
Do and Dare.
Driven trom Home.
Erie Train Boy.
Facin the World.
Five undred Dollars.
Frank's Campaign.
r
G .
Hector-‘e Inheritance.
Helgieng Himself.
Her rt Carter's Legacy.
In a. New World.
J ack‘s Ward.
J ed. the Poor House Boy.
50?? Lgfik'st 1; Bo


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Tin fiox.
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Young Acrobat.
Young Adventurer.
Young Outlaw.
Young Salesman.
New Yomc.


FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS,
0R, JACOB MARLOWE’S SECRET.

CHAPTER I.
A NEW ARRIVAL IN LAKEVILLE.
SLOWLY through the village street walked
an elderly man, with bronzed features and
thin gray hair, supporting his somewhat un-
certain steps by a stout cane. He was appar-
ently tired, for, seeing a slight natural eleva-
tion under a branching elm tree, he sat down,
and looked thoughtfully about him.
“ Well,” he said, “ Lakeville hasn’t changed
much since I left it, twenty years since. Has
there been any change among those who are
near to me? I don’t know, but I shall soon
find out. Shall I receive a welcome or not?
There ought to be two families to greet me,
but ”
Hem a boy appeared on the scene, a boy of
8

396838


4 Five Hundred Dollars.
fifteen, with a sturdy figure and a pleasant
face, whose coarse suit indicated narrow
means, if not poverty. Seeing the old man,
with instinctive politeness he doffed his hat
and with a pleasant smile bade him good-
morning.
“ Good-morning,” returned ‘the traveller,
won by the boy’s pleasant face and manner.
“ If you are not in a hurry won’t you sit down
by me and answer a few questions?”
“ With pleasure, sir; my business isn’t driv-
ing.”
"' This is Lakeville, isn’t it? ”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ I used to know the place—a good many
years since. It hasn’t grown much.”
“ No, sir; it’s rather quiet.”
“ Ghiefly a farming region, isn’t it? ”
“Yes, sir; but there is a large shoe manu-
factory here, employing a hundred hands.”
“ Who is the owner? ”
“ Squire Marlowe.”
“Ha!” ejaculated the old man, evidently
interested. “ Albert Marlowe, isn’t it?”
“ Yes, sir; do you know him? ”
“ I haven’t met him for twenty years, but we
are acquainted. I suppose he is prosperous.”
“ He is considered. a rich man, sir. He is a
relation of mine.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 5
“ Indeed! What then is your name? ”
asked the old man, eagerly.
“ Herbert Barton—most people call me Bert
Barton.”
Bert was surprised at the keen scrutiny
which he received from the traveller.
“ Was your mother Mary Marlowe?” the
latter asked.
“ Yes, sir,” returned Bert. “ Did you know
her, too? ” .
“I ought to; she is my niece, as the man
you call Squire Marlowe is my nephew.”
“ Then you must be Uncle Jacob, who has
lived so many years in California? ” said Bert,
excitedly. -
“ The same.”
“Mother will be very glad to see you,”
added Bert, cordially.
“ Thank you, my boy. Your kind welcome
does me good. I hope your mother is well
and happy.”
“ She is a.widow,” answered Bert soberly.
“When did your father die? ”
“ Two years ago.”
“ I hope he left your mother in comfortable
circumstances.”
Bert shook his head.
“He only left the small house we live in,
and that is mortgaged for half its value.”


6 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ Then how do you live? ”
“ Mother covers base-balls for a firm in the
next town, and I am working in the big shoe
shop.”
“ Doesn’t Squire Marlowe do anything for
your mother?”
“ He gave me a place in the shop—that is
all.”
“ Yet he is rich,” said the old man, thought-
fully.
“ Yes, he lives in a fine house. You can see
it down the street on the other side—that
large one with a broad piazza. He keeps two
horses and two handsome carriages, and I am
sure he must have plenty of money.”
“ I am glad to hear it. I have been a long
time among strangers. It will be pleasant to
come to anchor at the house of a rich relation.
Where does your mother live? ”
“In a small cottage at the other end of
the street. Won’t you come home with me,
Uncle Jacob? Mother will be glad to see you.”
“ I must call at Albert Marlowe’s first.
What family has he?”
“ He has one boy about my own age.”
“I suppose you are very intimate—being
cousins.”
Bert laughed.
“ He wouldn’t thank you for calling us
/


Five Hundred Dollars. 7
cousins,” he ans wered. “ Percy Marlowe is a
boy who thinks a good deal of himself. He
puts on no end of airs.”
“ Like his father before him. Is he a smart
boy? ”
“ Do you mean in his studies?”
4‘ Yes.”
“ I don’t know what he could do if he tried,
but he doesn’t exert himself much. He says
it isn’t necessary for him, as his father is a
rich man.”
“ How is it with you? ”
“ I only wish I had his chance,” said Bert,
warmly. “ I am fond of study, but I am poor,
and must work for a living.”
“ You have the right idea, and he has not,”
said the old man, sententiously.
At this moment a light buggy was driven
swiftly by. Seated in it was a boy about the
age of Bert, apparently, but of slighter figure.
The horse, suddenly spying the old man, shied,
and in a trice the buggy wasmpset, and the
young dude went sprawling on the ground.
Bert grasped the situation, and sprang to
the rescue. He seized the terrified horse,
while the old man helped reverse the carriage,
which fortunately had not met with any ma-
terial damage. The same may be said of the
young driver who, with mortified face, strug-


8 Five Hundred Dollars.
gled to his feet, and surveyed ruefully the
muddy stains on his handsome suit.
“ I hope you’re n0t,hurt, Percy,” said Bert,
with solicitude.
“ I’ve spoiled my suit, that’s all,” returned
Percy, shortly. “What made you scare my
horse?”
“ I didn’t,” answered Bert, with spirit.
“What right have you to charge me with
such a thing? ”
“Then if it wasn’t you, it was that old
tramp you were talking with,” persisted Percy,
sullenly.
“Hush, Percy!” said Bert, apprehensive
lest the old man’s feelings might be hurt.
“ You don’t know who this gentleman is.”
“ I never met the gentleman before,” re
joined Percy, with ironical deference.
“Then let me introduce him as your uncle,
Jacob Marlowe, from California! ”
Percy’s face betrayed much more surprise
than pleasure as he stammered, “ Is that
true?”
“Yes,” answered the old man, smiling
calmly; “I have the honor to be related to
you, young gentleman.”
“ Does father know you are here? ”
“ No; I am going to call upon him.”
Percy hardly knew what to think. He had


Five Hundred Dollars. 9
heard his father speak of “ Uncle Jacob ” and
indulge in the hope that he had accumulated a
fortune in California. His shabby attire did
not suggest wealth, certainly, but Percy was
wise enough to know that appearances are not
always to be relied upon. If this old man
were wealthy, he would be worth propitiating.
At any rate, till he knew to the contrary he
had better be polite.
“ Will you ride to the house with me, sir? ”
he asked, considerably to Bert’s surprise.
“No, thank you. There might be another
upset. Jump into the buggy, and I’ll walk
along after you.”
Percy was relieved by this decision, for he
had no wish to be seen with such a companion.
“ All right, sir,” he,said. “ I’ll see you at
the house.”
Without a word of acknowledgment to Bert,
Percy sprang into the buggy and drove rapidly
away.
“ Shall I go with you, Uncle Jacob? ” asked
Bert. '
“ No, thank you. I can find the way. Tell
your mother that I will call on her very soon.”


10 Five Hundred Dollars.
CHAPTER II.
UNCLE JAcoB’s RECEPTION.
PERCY found his father at home, and
quickly acquainted him with the arrival in
town of Uncle Jacob. His news was received
with interest by Squire Marlowe.
“Why didn’t you invite him to ride home
with you? ” asked the squire.
“ I did; but he preferred to walk.”
“ What does he look like? ”
“ Like an old tramp,” answered Percy.
Squire Marlowe was taken aback; for, with-
out having received any definite intelligence
from the long absent relative, he had somehow
persuaded himself that Uncle Jacob had accu-
mulated a fortune at the mines.
“ Then he is shabbily dressed? ” said the
squire, inquiringly.
“ I should say so. I say, father, I thought
he was rich. You always said so.”
“ And I still think so.”
“ Then why don’t he dress better? ” .‘
“ He is rather eccentric, Percy; and these
California miners don’t care much for dress as
a rule. I shouldn’t wonder if he were worth
half a million. You’d better treat him with


Five Hundred Dollars. II
attention, for we are his natural heirs, and
there’s no telling what may happen.”
“ Enough said, father. I don’t care how he
dresses if he’s got the cash.”
“ I must go and speak to your mother, or
she will treat him coldly. You know how
particular she is.”
Squire Marlowe managed to drop a hint to
his wife, who was as worldly wise as himself,
and saw the advantage of being attentive to a
wealthy relative.
By this time Uncle Jacob had reached the
door.
Squire Marlowe himself answered the bell,
as a mark of special attention, and gazed with
curiosity at the old man.
Jacob Marlowe, though coarsely clad, was
scrupulously neat and clean, and there was a
pleasant smile on his bronzed face as he recog-
nized his nephew.
“ I believe you are Uncle Jacob,” said the
squire, afi'ably.
“ Yes, Albert, and I’m mighty glad to see a
relation. It’s twenty-five years since I have
seen one that was kin to me.”
“Welcome to Lakeville, Uncle Jacob. I am
glad to see you. Percy told me he met you on
the road. Why didn’t you ride up with him? ”
“ It wasn’t worth gettin’ in to ride a quarter


12 Five Hundred Dollars. ‘
of a mile. I am used to exercise in Cali-
fornia.”
“ To be sure. Come into the house, and lay
your valise down anywhere. Here is my wife,
Mrs. Marlowe. Julia, this is Uncle Jacob, of
whom you have heard me speak so often.”
“I am glad to see you, Mr. Marlowe,” said
the lady, formally, just touching the old man’s
hand.
“ Where are you going to put Uncle Jacob,
Julia? ” asked the squire.
“ You may take him to the blue room,” said
Mrs. Marlowe, in a tone of hesitation.
This blue room was the handsomest chamber
in the house, and was assigned to those whom
it was considered politic to honor.
“ Come right upstairs, Uncle Jacob. I’ll
show you your room myself,” said Albert
Marlowe.
“ I ain’t used to such luxury, Albert,” said
the old man, as he gazed around the comfort- -
ably appointed apartment. “You ought to
see my cabin at Murphy’s diggings. I reckon
your servant would turn up her nose at it.”
“ I know you don’t care much for style in
California, uncle.”
“ No, we don’t, though we’ve got as hand-
some houses in ’Frisco as anywhere else.


14 Five Hundred Dollars.
lady admitted. “But can’t you induce him
to wear better clothes? ”
“ I will suggest it very soon. We mustn’t
be too precipitate, for fear he should take
oflense. You know these rich uncles expect to
be treated with a good deal of consideration.”
“ Do you think he will expect to live with
us? I shall really give up if I have got to have
such a looking old tramp as a permanent mem-
ber of the family.”
“ But, Julia, if he is really very rich, it is
important for us to keep him strictly in view.
You know there will be plenty of designing
persons, who will be laying snares to entrap
him, and get possession of his money.”
“ How old is he? Is he likely to live long?”
“ I think he must be about sixty-five.”
“ And he looks alarmingly healthy,” said
Mrs. Marlowe, with a sigh. .
“ His father died at sixty-seven.”
Mrs. Marlowe brightened up. “That is en-
couraging,” she said, hopefully.
“I don’t think he looks so very healthy,”
added the squire.
“ He has a good color.”
“ His father was the picture of health till
within a few weeks of his death.”
“ What did he die of? ”
“ Apoplexy.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 15'
“ To be sure. The old man looks as if he
might go off that way.”
“In that case we should only need to be
troubled with him a couple of years, and for
that we should be richly repaid.”
“ They will seem like two eternities,”
groaned the lady, “ and the chief burden will '
come on me.” 4
“ You shall be repaid, my dear! Only treat
him well!”
“Will you give me half what money he
leaves to us? ”
“ Say one-third, Julia. That will repay you
richly for all your trouble.” '
“Very well! Let it be a third. But, Mr.
Marlowe, don’t let there be any mistake! I
depend upon you to find out as soon as pos-
sible how much money the old man has.”
“ Trust to me, Julia. I am just as anxious
to know as you are.”
In twenty minutes Uncle Jacob came down
stairs. He had done what he could to improve
his appearance, or “ slick himself up,” as he
expressed it, and wore a blue coat and vest,
each provided with brass buttons. But from
close packing in his valise both were creased
up in such a manner that Squire Marlowe and
his wife shuddered, and Percy’s face wore-an '
amused and supercilious smile.


16 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ I declare I feel better to be dressed up,”
said the old man. “ How long do you think
I’ve had this coat and vest, Albert? ”
“ I really couldn’t guess.”
“I had it made for me ten years ago in
Sacramento. It looks pretty well, but then
I’ve only worn it for best.”
Percy had to stufi his handkerchief in his
mouth to repress a laugh? Uncle Jacob re-
garded him with a benevolent smile, and
seemed himself to be amused about something.
“Now, Uncle Jacob, we’ll sit down to din-
ner. You must be hungry.”
“ Well, I have got a fairish appetite. What
a nice eatin’ room you’ve got, Albert. I ain’t
used to such style.”
“ I presume not,” said Mrs. Marlowe, dryly.
CHAPTER III.
A vrsrr rro rm: FACTORY.
DURING dinner the old man chatted away in
the frankest manner, but not a word did he
let drop as to his worldly circumstances. He
appeared to enjoy his dinner, and showed him-
self entirely at his ease.


Five Hundred Dol :rs. I7
“ I’m glad to see you so well fixed, Albert,”
he said. “ You’ve got a fine home.”
“ It will do very well,” returned the squire,
modestly.
“I suppose he never was in such a good
house before,” thought Mrs. Marlowe.
“ By the way, just before I fell in with you.
here,” went on Jacob, “ I ran across Mary‘s
boy.”
“ Herbert Barton? ” suggested the squire,
with a slight frown.
“ Yes; he said that was his name.”
“ They live in the village,” said his nephew,
shortly.
“ They’re poor, ain’t they? ”
“Yes; Barton was not a forehanded man.
He didn’t know how to accumulate money.”
“ I suppose he left very little to his widow.”
“ Very little. However, I have given the
boy a place in my factory, and I believe his
mother earns a trifle by covering base-balls.
They don't want for anything—that is, any-
thing in reason.
“ Bert Barton seems a likely boy.”
“ Oh, he’s as good as the average of boys in
his position.”
“ I suppose he and Percy are quite intimate,
being cousins.”
“ Indeed we are not!” returned Percy, toss-


18 Five Hundred Dollars.
ing his head. “ His position is very different
from mine.”
Uncle Jacob surveyed Percy in innocent
wonder.
“ Still, he’s kin to you,” he observed.
“That doesn’t always count,” said Percy.
“ He has his friends, and I have mine. I
don’t believe in mixing classes.”
“ I expect things have changed since I was
a boy,” said Uncle Jacob, mildly. “ Then, all
the boys were friendly and sociable, no matter
whether they were rich or poor.”
“ I agree with Percy,” broke in Mrs. Mar-
lowe, stiflly. “ His position in life will be very
different from that of the boy you refer to.
Any early intimacy, even if we encouraged it,
could not well be kept up in after-life.”
“ Perhaps you are right,” said the old man.
“ I’ve been away so long at the mines that I
haven’t kept up with the age or the fashions.”
Percy smiled, as his glance rested on his
uncle’s creased suit, and he felt quite ready to
agree with what he said.
“ I was thinkin’ how pleasant it would be if
you would invite Mary and her boy to tea——
we are all related, you know. We could talk
over old times and scenes, and have a real
social time.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 19
Mrs. Marlowe seemed horror-struck at the
suggestion.
“ I don’t think it would be convenient,” she
said, coldly.
“It would be better for you to see Mrs.
Barton at her own house,” put in the squire,
hastily.
“ Well, perhaps it would.”
“ By the way, Uncle Jacob, I hope your ex-
periences of California are pleasant,” insinu-
' ated Squire Marlowe.
“ They’re mixed, Albert. I’ve had my ups
' and downs.”
“ I have heard of large fortunes being made
. there,” pursued the squire. “ I suppose there’s
some truth in what we hear? ”
“To be sure! Why, ten years from the
> time I went to the mines I had a hundred
thousand dollars deposited to my credit in a
Sacramento bank.”
Squire Marlowe’s eyes sparkled with pleas-
ure. It was just what he had been hoping to
find out. So Uncle Jacob was rich, after all!
The squire’s manner became even more gra-
cious, and he pressed upon his relative another
plate of ice cream.
“ No, thank you, Albert,” said the old man.
“ I’m used to plain livin’. It isn’t often I sit
down to a meal like this. Do you know, there’s


20 Five Hundred Dollars.
nothing suits me better than a dinner of
corned beef and cabbage.”
“ How vulgar the old man is! ” thought Mrs.
Marlowe. “He may have money, but his
tastes are very common.”
“ We never have corned beef and cabbage
here,” she said, with a slight shudder.
“Very likely Bert Barton’s mother has it
very often,” suggested Percy.
“My dear,” said the squire, urbanely, “if
Uncle Jacob really enjoys those ,dishes so
much, you might provide them for his special
use.”
“ I will think of it,” replied Mrs. Marlowe,
shortly. ‘
Now that Uncle Jacob had hinted at the
possession of wealth, SquireMarlowe beheld
him as one tranfigured. He was no longer a
common, shabby old man, but a worthy old
gentleman of eccentric ideas in the matter of
wardrobe and manners.
“ I wonder if Uncle Jacob wouldn’t advance
me twenty-five thousand dollars,” was the
thought that was passing through his mind as
he gazed genially at his countrified guest. “ It
would help me amazingly in my business, and
enable me to do double as much. I will men-
tion it to him in good time.”
“I’ve a great mind to come upon the old


Five Hundred Dollars. 21
man for a handsome birthday present,”
thought Percy. “Fifty dollars wouldn’t be
much for him to give. I shan’t get more than
a fiver from the governor.”
“ Uncle Jacob,” said the squire, as they rose
from the table, “ suppose you walk over to the
factory with me; I should like you to see it.”
“ Nothing would please me better,” said
Jacob Marlowe, briskly.
“Will you come along, Percy?” asked his
father.
“ No, papa,” answered Percy, with a grim-
ace. “ You know I don’t like the smell of
leather.”
“I ought not to dislike it,” said the squire,
with a smile, “ for it gives me a very handsome
income.”
“ Oh, it’s different with you,” returned
Percy. “ Just give me the profits of the fac-
tory and I’ll go there every day.”
“ He’s a sharp one!” said the squire, with
a smile.
“ I am afraid he is too sharp to suit me,”
thought Uncle Jacob. “It seems to me the
boy’s mind runs upon money, and his own in-
terests.”
The shoe factory was a large building of two
stories, and within it was a hive of industry.
As the squire led the way he explained the


24 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ I hope he will. He was my poor mother’s
favorite brother—always kind and good-
hearted. How is he looking, Bert? ”
“ He seems in good health for an old man.
His face is browned up, as if he had been out
in the open air a good deal.”
“ I hope he has. It is twenty-five years
since he went to California. Does he look as
if he had prospered? ”
“I am afraid he is poor, mother, for al-
though his clothing is neat and clean, it is
plain and the cloth is faded? ”
“I am sorry to hear that, but I will wel-
come him none the less warmly. It will in-
deed seem like old times to have Uncle Jacob
in my house.”
Meanwhile Bert had been bringing in wood
and doing chores for his mother.
“Did Uncle Jacob tell you how long he in-
tended to stay in Lakeville? ”
“ No, mother; I only had a short time to
talk with him when Percy rode by, and then
he started to call on the squire. Do you
know, mother, I am rather surprised that he
should have been so well received, poor as he
looks.” ‘
“ I think better of Albert for it. It shows
that he is not so worldly as I feared. Cer-
tainly Uncle Jacob ought to be well received


Five Hundred Dollars. 25
by Albert Marlowe, for when Albert’s father
was in trouble Jacob lent him five hundred
dollars'—all in money he had—and I feel
sure the money has not been repaid to him to
this day.”
“ I don’t think Percy will be very cordial.
You know what high notions he has.”
“ He gets them principally from his mother,
who is extremely aristocratic in her ideas.”
“ Was she of a high family? ”
Mrs. Barton smiled.
“ Her father was a fisherman,” she replied,
“and when a girl she used to run barefoot
on the sand. Later on she sewed straw for a
living. She is no worse for that, certainly,
but it doesn’t give her any claims to aris-
tocracy.”
“ Do you think Percy knows about his
mother’s early life? ”
“I presume she has kept it secret from
him.” ‘
“ I shall think of it when Percy gets into
one of his patronizing moods.”
“ Remember, Bert, that neither he nor his
mother is any the worse for her humble birth.”
“I understand that, I hope, mother, just as
I don’t feel ashamed of our being poor.”
“ As long as we can make an honorable liv-
ing, we have no right to complain.”


26‘ Five Hundred Dollars.
“That reminds me, mother, that I hoard
bad news at the shop to-day.”
“ What is that?”
“ That the shop is likely to be shut down all
next month.”
“ Why is that? ” asked Mrs. Barton, an
anxious look coming over her face.
“ I believe the market is over-supplied with
shoes, and it is thought best to suspend tem-
porarily. It’ll be rather hard on me.”
“ Yes, it will,” said his mother, gravely.
“ I earn so little at sewing balls.” .
“ Don’t you think I could get a jobwat that,
mother?”
“No, you could not do the work satisfac-
torily. Besides there are hands enough for
all that is required. Well, we must hope for q
the best.” .
“I think I can manage to earn something,
mother,” said Bert, hopefully. " “ I’ll try
hard, anyway.” , ‘ii-5;
“ We won’t worry till the time'comés, Bert.”
An hour later there was a knock at the
door. Mrs. Barton answered it in person.
“Why, Uncle Jacob, is it really you? ” she
exclaimed, joyfully.
“ I’m delighted to see you, Mary,” *said the
old man, his face lighting up.v-,“I’ve been
waiting twenty-five years for this meeting.”
. £ ‘


Five Hundred Dollars. 27
“ Come right in, Uncle Jacob. I can hardly
believe it is really you. Now tell me why you
have not written these many years.”
“ I’ve no good excuse, Mary, but perhaps I
shall think of one bimeby. Now tell me how
you are getting along? ”
“ I am not rich, as you can see, Uncle
Jacob; but as long as Bert and I have our
health, and work to do, I shall be contented.”
“ Do you know, Mary,” said Jacob Mar-
lowe, looking about the plain little sitting-
room, “ I like your house better than Al-
bert’s? ”
“ I don’t think you will find many to agree
with you.”
“Perhaps not, but this seems like home,
and that doesn’t.”
“Albert’s house is finely furnished.”
“ True, and he lives in fine style; but I don’t
think I should ever be contented to live with
him.”
“ Has he invited you? ”
“Yes,” answered Jacob; “but,” he added,
with a smile, “I don’t think the invitation
will hold good after to-morrow.”
“ Why not?”
“The fact is, Albert and the whole family
think I am rich.”


28 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ I shouldn’t think they would judge that
from your appearance.”
“ Oh, they think I am eccentric and plain in
my tastes, and that I’ve got my pile safe some-
where.” -
“ I wish you had, Uncle Jacob.”
“Happiness doesn’t depend on money,
Mary, as you realize in your own case. I am
an old man, to be sure, but I am well and
strong, and able to work for a living.”
“ But at your age, Uncle Jacob, it would be
comfortable tofeel that you could rest.”
“Come, Mary, don’t make me out a patri-
arch. I’m only sixty-five, and I can tackle a
pretty good day’s work yet.”
“You might be sick, Uncle Jacob.”
“Don’t let us imagine unpleasant things,
Mary. I don’t mean to be sick.”
“And at any rate you can come and stay
with us. You will always find a home here,
though an humble one.”
“Do you really mean that, Mary?” said-
Uncle Jacob, earnestly. “Would you really
be willing to take in the old man, and provide
for his comforts? ”
“ Of course I would, Uncle Jacob,” answered
Mrs. Barton, heartily. “ I hope you didn’t
think so poorly of me as to doubt it.”
“ No, I was sure you hadn’t changed so
4


30 Five Hundred Dollars.
would like to consult me about any invest-
ments, I can perhaps be of service to you.”
“ Now for it!” thought the old man.
“I was thinkin’, Albert,” he said, “ of ask-
in’ your advice. I’m gettin’ on in years, and
can’t work as well as I could once. Do you
think it would pay me to open here in Lake-
ville a cigar and candy store, and ”
“What!” exclaimed Squire Marlowe, with
an expression of horror and disgust on his
face.
“You see I've got about five hundred dol-
lars, which I think would be enough to stock it
comfortably and '”
“But I thought you were a rich man,”
gasped Squire Marlowe. “ Didn’t you tell me
you had a hundred thousand dollars in a
Sacramento bank? ”
“ Yes, many years ago; but I bought mining
stocks, and after a while they went down to
nothing, and ” ‘
“ Then you are a pauper!” said the squire,
harshly.
“No. I have five hundred dollars, and I
hope with that to get started, so as to earn an
honest living.” '
Words cannot describe the scorn and dis-
gust that appeared on the faces of Percy and


Five Hundred Dollars. 31
his mother at the old man’s confession of
poverty.
“ Albert,” said the wife, “ may I peak with
you outside a moment?”
“Certainly, my dear.”
“Get rid of the old man as soon as you
can!” ,she said, imperiously. He doesn’t
eat another meal in my house!”
“ Be easy, my dear,” said the squire. “ I’ll
manage it.”
CHAPTER V.
UNCLE JACOB RECEIVES HIS WALKING PAPERS.
Sounm MARLOWE returned to the breakfast
room, wearing rather an embarrassed expres-
sion. Percy had followed his mother, and the
old man found himself for a short time alone.
There was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes,
which vanished on the reappearance of his
nephew.
“I am sorry to have left you alone, Uncle
Jacob,” said the squire, civilly.
“Oh, don’t treat me with any ceremony,
Albert. Being as we are such near relations,
we ought to be free and easy like.”


32 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ I am glad to hear you say so, for I shall be
obliged to treat you unceremoniously.”
“ Eh? ” said Uncle Jacob, inquiringly.
“ I regret to say that my wife, who is of a
very delicate organization, is taken suddenly
ill, and I am afraid I shall have to ask you to
cut your visit short, and come again some
other time.”
“I’m surprised to hear that, Albert. I
thought Mrs. Marlowe looked in excellent
health.”
“ You can’t always tell by outward ap-
pearances. She is subject to severe head-
aches, and in that condition can’t bear the
least noise or excitement. That is why I
can’t invite you to stay any longer.”
“ I understand,” said Uncle Jacob, with—it
might have been—a little significance in his
tone.
“I have no doubt,” went on the squire,
“that Mrs. Barton will be glad to have you
pay her a short visit. I will get Percy to
drive you down there.”
“ Thank you,” answered the old man, dryly,
“ but it’s only a little way, and I don’t mind
walking.”
“Just as you prefer,” said the squire, re-
lieved by Uncle Jacob’s declination of his of-


Five Hundred Dollars. 33

fer, for he knew that Percy would not enjoy
the trip.
“ I’ll get ready to go at once, Albert. Oh,
about my plan of opening a cigar store in
Lakeville? ”
“ I cannot advise you to do it,” rejoined the
squire, hastily. “ You wouldn’t make enough
to pay your rent, or not much more.”
“ Don’t the men in your factory smoke?
There’s a good many of them. If I could get
their trade_”
“ They smoke pipes for the most part,” said
the squire, hurriedly. “They’d find cigars
too expensive.”
“I meant to combine candy with cigars.
That would be a help.”
“They keep candy at the grocery tore,
Uncle Jacob.”
“ I see there isn’t much show for me. Now
if I only understood your business, .you could
give me something to do in the factory, A1-
bert.”
“ But you don’t, and, in fact, Uncle Jacob,
it’ too hard work for a man of your age.”
“Then what would you advise me to do,
Albert?” asked the old man, earnestly.
Squire Marlowe assumed a thoughtful look.
In fact, he was puzzled to decide how best to
get rid of the troublesome old man. To have


34 Five Hundred Dollars.
him remain in Lakeville was not to be thought
of. He would gladly have got rid of Mrs.
Barton and her son, whose relationship to his
family was unfortunately known, but there
seemed to be no way clear to that without the
expenditure of money. To have Uncle Jacob
for a neighbor, in addition, would be a source
of mortification, not only to himself, but even
more to his wife and Percy, whose aristocratic
ideas he well knew.
“I think you told me you had five hundred
dollars,” he said, after a pause.
“ About that.”
“ Then I really think it would be the best
thing you could do to go back to California,
where you are known, and where you can
doubtless obtain some humble employment
which will supply your moderate wants. It
won’t cost you much for dress——”
“ No, Albert; this coat and vest will, do me
for best five years longer.”
“ Just so! That is fortunate. So you see
you’ve only got your board to pay.”
“ I might get sick,” suggested Uncle Jacob,
doubtfully.
“You look pretty healthy. Besides, you’ll
have part of your five hundred dollars left,
you know.”
“That’s so! What a good calculator you


Five Hundred lJOllal'S. 35
are, Albert! Besides, if things came to the
worst, there’s that five hundred dollars I lent
your father twenty-seven years ago. N o doubt
you’d pay me back, and—”
“I don’t know what you refer to,” said
Squire Marlowe, coldly.
“ Surely you haven’t forgot the time when
your father was so driven for money, when
you were a lad of fifteen, and I let him have
all I had except about fifty dollars that I kept
for a rainy day.”
“ This is news to me, Uncle Jacob,” said the
squire, with a chilling frown. “You must
excuse me for saying that I think you labor
under a delusion.”
Uncle Jacob surveyed his neighbor intently,
with a gaze which disconcerted him in spite of
his assurance.
“Fortunately, I am able to prove what I
say,” he rejoined, after a slight pause.
He drew from his pocket a wallet which
bore the signs of long wear, and, opening it,
deliberately drew out a folded sheet of note
paper, grown yellow with age and brittle with
much handling. Then, adjusting his spec-
tacles, he added: “ Here’s something I’d like
to read to you, Albert. It’s written by your
father:


36 Five Hundred Dollars.
MY DEAR JACOB :
I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you
for lending me the five hundred dollars I so
urgently need. I know it is very nearly, if
not quite, all you possess in the world, and
that you can ill spare it. It will save me from
failure, and sometime I hope to repay it to
you. If I cannot, I will ask my son Albert to
do so when he is able. I don’t want you to
lose by your kindness to me.
Your affectionate brother,
CHARLES MARLowE.
“ You can see the signature, Albert. You
know your father’s handwriting, don’t you? ”
Squire Marlowe reluctantly took the paper
and glanced at it.
“ It may be my father’s writing,” he said.
“May be!” repeated the old man, indig-
nantly. “ What do you mean by that?”
“ I dare say it is. In fact, I remember his
mentioning the matter to me before he died.”
' “What did he say? ”
“ That it was quite a favor to him, the loan,
but that he repaid it within three years from
the time'he received it.”
“What!” exclaimed Uncle Jacob, pushing
his spectacles up, in his amazement. “Your
father said that? ”


38 F ive Hundred Dollars.
my poor brother were alive to disprove your
words.”
Even Albert Marlowe was shamed by the
old man’s sorrowful dignity.
“ We can’t agree about that, Uncle Jacob,”
he said; “ but if ever you get very hard up, let
me know, and I’ll see if I can’t help you—
in a small way.”
“ You are very kind,” answered the old man,
“ but I don’t think that time will come. As
you say, my wants are few, and I am still able
to work. I’ll go up to my room and get my
valise, and then I’ll go over to Mary Bar-
ton’s.”
“Thank Heaven! I’ve got rid of him,”
mused the squire, as from the doorway he saw
Uncle Jacob walking slowly down the street.
“I was afraid he’d mention that money he
lent father. With twenty-seven years’ inter-
est it would amount to a good deal of money—
more than I could well spare. I don’t think
I shall hear from it again.”
“Has he gone, Albert?” asked Mrs. Mar-
lowe, returning to the breakfast-room.
“ Yes; I told him you were indisposed, and
couldn’t stand excitement.”
“ No matter what you told him, as long as
we are rid of him.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 39
CHAPTER \ 2
soumn MARLOWE IS SURPRISED.
MRS. BARTON was washing the breakfast
dishes, and was alone, Bert having gone to
his daily work at the shoe shop, when the
outer door opened and Uncle Jacob entered
the cottage, valise in hand.
“ I’ve accepted your offer sooner than you
expected, Mary,” he said.
“You are heartily welcome, Uncle Jacob,”
responded his niece, with evident sincerity.
“ If you can put up with our poor accommoda-
tions after being entertained in Albert’s lux-
urious home——”
“ Don’t trouble yourself about that, Mary,”
interrupted the old man. “ Albert doesn’t
want me. He civilly asked me to find another
stopping place.”
“ You don’t mean it!” exclaimed Mrs. Bar-
ton indignantly.
“ You see,” explained Uncle Jacob, with a
quiet smile, “ his wife was taken suddenly in-
disposed—after she found I wasn’t as rich as
she expected.”
“ I hope you won’t take it too much to heart,
Uncle Jacob,” observed Mary Barton, in a
tone of solicitude.


40 Five Hundred Dollars.
Uncle Jacob’s amused laugh reassured her.
“ It is just what I expected, Mary,” he said,
“ and I shan’t grieve over it much. You ought
to have seen how they all looked when I asked
Albert’s advice about opening a small cigar
and candy store in the village. You can
imagine what a mortification it would be to
my high-toned nephew to havelmy sign out,
JACOB MARLOWE,
Candy and Cigars.
over a small seven by nine store, when our
relationship was known.”
“ I hope that won’t prevent your carrying
out the plan, Uncle Jacob. If your gains are
small, you can make your home with us and
pay what you can afford.”
“Thank you, Mary, you are a true friend,
and I‘shan’t forget your kind offer. But I
never had the slightest idea of opening such a
store. I only mentioned it to test Albert.”
“ But you will have to do something, Uncle
Jacob,” said Mary Barton, perplexed; “and
that would be as easy as anything. Bert could
go in the evening and help you if you found it
too confining.”
“ I have something else in view in the city,”
returned Jacob. “ I don’t need to earn much
you know. I don’t set up to be a dude,” he


Five Hundred Dollars. 41
added, with a comical glance at his rustic at-
tire, “ and I don’t mean to board at the Fifth
Avenue Hotel.”
“ I am sorry you can’t stay in Lakeville,”
said Mrs. Barton regretfully.
“ I will stay here a week, Mary, to get ac-
quainted with you and your boy. I have taken
a fancy to him. He is a fine, manly youth,
worth a dozen of such fellows as Percy Mar-
lowe.”
“ Indeed, he is a good boy,” said his mother
proudly. “ I don’t see what I could do with-
out him.”
“ So, Mary, if you’ll show me where you are
going to accommodate me, I’ll go up and take
possession.”
“Will you mind my putting you in with
Bert? I have but two chambers.”
“ Not a bit. It will be all the better. If I
were going to stay here permanently I would
build an extension to the house for you.”
“ But that would be expensive, Uncle
Jacob.”
-“ So it would. I’m always forgetting that
I am not a rich man. You see I was rich
once. As I told Albert, I have seen the time
when I had a hundred thousand dollars to my
credit in a bank of Sacramento.”
“ 0h, Uncle Jacob! Why didn’t you invest
a’-


42 Five Hundred Dollars.
it in government bonds, and you would have
been independent for life? ”
“ Because I was not so prudent as my niece,
I suppose. However, it’s no use crying over
spilt milk, and I’ve got a matter of five hun-
dred dollars left.”
“ But that won’t last long, Uncle Jacob.”
“ Not unless I work. But I’m pretty rugged
yet, and I guess I can manage to scrape along.”
When Bert came home to dinner, he was sur-
prised and pleased to find Uncle Jacob in-
stalled and evidently feeling quite at home.
“ I wish I could stay at home this afternoon
to keep you company,” he said; “ but I have
only an hour for dinner.”
“ Business first, my boy! ” said the old man.
“ For pleasure we’ll wait till this evening. Is
there a livery stable in the village? ”
“Yes, sir; Houghton’s.”
“ Then after supper we’ll hire a buggy, and
you and your mother and I will take a ride.”
“ But, Uncle Jacob, you forget that it will
cost a dollar, or perhaps two.”
“ No, I don’t, Mary; but I’m having a vaca
tion, and I want to enjoy myself a little be
fore pitching into hard work again. I am
sure you will be the better for a ride.”
“Yes, I shall. I haven’t had one for
months, and it will be a real treat.”


\ Five Hundred Dollars. 43
“ Then we will cast prudence to the winds
for once, and have a good time. I suppose
you can drive, Bert.”
“ Oh yes, sir; I like it. I worked for a few
weeks in the grocery store, and drove every
day. I like a horse.”
“So do I; but I don’t care much about
handling the reins myself. You’ll promise not
to upset the carriage, as Percy did the other
day? ”
“Not unless we meet two tramps, as he
did,” said Bert, laughing.
“I declare, Mary, there is your boy calling
his old uncle a tramp.”
“ And myself, too, uncle.”
“That makes it seem a little better.
you going back to the shop?”
“ Yes, uncle; my time is up.”
“ I’ll walk along with you.”
As the two walked together, Uncle Jacob
took a five dollar bill from his pocket, and
handed it to Bert.
“ There, Bert,” he said, “ I wan-t you to give
that to your mother toward buying groceries
and meat this week, as her expenses will be
increased by my being in the house.”
“ But, Uncle Jacob, we don’t want you to
pay boa ”
Are
' ‘ awgywn-i- .,


44 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ I am able to do it, and prefer it, Bert. So
say no more about it.” .
In truth, this donation was a relief to Bert
and his mother, for they were compelled to
economize closely, and yet wanted to live well
while Uncle Jacob was visiting them.
About seven o‘clock Bert drove round to the
house in a handsome top buggy, drawn by a
spirited black horse, the best in Houghton’s
stable. -
“ I’ll let you have it, Bert,” said Mr. Hough-
ton, “ because I know you’re a careful driver.
There are few persons I would trust with
Prince.”
“You may depend on me, Mr. Houghton.” -
“ I know I can, Bert;” and with a few di-
rections the stable keeper resigned the turn-
out to Bert.
“You have got a stylish rig, Bert,” said
Uncle Jacob. “ I think we shall have to drive
by Albert Marlowe’s.”
“Just what I would like,” remark-ed Bert,
with a smile.
Bert had his share of human nature, and
rather enjoyed being seen by his aristocratic
relatives in such a stylish turnout.
Supper was over at Squire Marlowe’s and
the family were sitting on the piazza, the even-


Five Hundred Dollars. 45
ing being warm, when Percy espied the buggy
approaching.
“ I wonder who’s driving Houghton’s best
team? ” he said.
“By gracious, if it isn’t Bert Barton and
his mother and Uncle Jacob!” he exclaimed,
a minute later.
The squire adjusted his eyeglasses, and
looked at the carriage now nearly opposite.
“You are right, Percy,” he said.
“What can it mean, Albert?” asked his
wife, in bewilderment, as Uncle Jacob bowed
from the buggy.
“It means that a fool and his money are
soon parted,” answered the squire.
“ I thought your uncle was poor.”
“ So he is, and he will soon be poorer from
all appearances. Uncle Jacob never was a
good financial manager. He was always too
liberal, or he wouldn’t be as poor as he is now.
Why with five hundred dollars he probably
feels as rich as a nabob.”
“ No doubt Bert Barton will help him spend
it,” said Percy. “It won’t last long at any
rate, if he drives out every evening.”
“ When his money is all gone he will prob-
ably throw himself on you for support,
father.”
“I wash my hands of him,” said Squire


46 Five Hundred Dollars.
Marlowe, in a hard tone. “ If he squanders
his money, he must take the consequences.”
“ I am glad to hear you speak in that way,
Albert,” commented his wife, approvingly.
Uncle Jacob enjoyed his drive and paid
two dollars at the stable without letting the
thought of his extravagance worry him.
“I hope you enjoyed it, Mary,” he said.
“ I don’t know when I have enjoyed myself
so much, Uncle Jacob.”
“Nor I,” put in Bert.
“Then I think the money well spent. It
makes me feel young again, Mary. I think I
made a mistake in staying away so long.”

CHAPTER VII.
UNCLE JACOB LEAVES LAKEVILLE.
ON his way home to dinner the next day,
Bert fell in with Percy Marlowe.
“I saw you out driving last evening,” re-
marked Percy.
“ Yes,” answered Bert composedly.
“ You had Houghton’s best team? ”
6‘ Yes.”
“ How much did you have to pay? ”
“ I believe Uncle Jacob paid two dollars”
“ He must be crazy to pay two dollars for
a ride. Why, he’s almost a pauper.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 47
“ I think that is his business, Percy. As to
being a pauper, I don’t believe he will ever be
that.”
“Don’t be too sure of it. Why, he told
father he had only five hundred dollars. How
long do you think that’s going to last him if
he throws away his money on carriage rides? ”
“It’s only for once, and, as I said, that
isn’t our business.”
“I don’t know about that, either. When
he has spent all his money he’ll be coming
upon father to support him.”
“I don’t believe he will,” said Bert, to
whom it was disagreeable to hear the kind old
man spoken of slightingly.
“ You see if he doesn’t. But it won’t do any
good. Father says as he makes his bed he
must lie on it. And I say, Bert Barton, it
isn’t very creditable to you and your mother
to help the old man squander his money.”
“ I don’t thank you for your advice, Percy
Marlowe,” retorted Bert, with spirit. “If
ever Uncle Jacob does come to want, I’ll work
for him, and help him all I can.”
“You! why you’re as poor as poverty it-
self!” exclaimed Percy, with a mocking laugh.
“Good morning!” said Bert shortly, pro-
voked, but not caring to prolong the discus-
sion.


48 Five Hundred Dollars.
When he reached home, he gave Uncle
Jacob an account of his conversation with
Percy.
The old man laughed.
“So Albert says that as I make my bed I
must lie upon it?” he repeated.
“ Yes, sir; but I hope you won’t be troubled
at that. You will always be welcome here.”
Uncle Jacob’s eyes grew moist, and he re-
garded Bert with afiection.
“You are a good boy and a true friend,
Bert,” he said, “and I shall not forget it.”
“ I don’t know but Percy was right, Uncle
Jacob. It does seem extravagant paying uch
a price for a ride.”
“ It’s only for once in a way, Bert. You
mustn’t grudge the old man a little enjoyment
in his vacation. I shall be going to work next
week.”
“ You will? Where?” asked Bert eagerly.
“In New York. An old California friend
of mine, who is in charge of a mine that has
been put on the New York market, will give
me a clerkship and a small salary which will
support me in comfort. So you see I am all
right.”
“ I am very glad to hear it, Uncle Jacob,”
said Bert joyfully. “ I was afraid you


50 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ Well, Mary, I shan’t have to open a cigar
store in Lakeville,” remarked Uncle Jacob, as
his niece entered the room,
Mrs. Barton looked an inquiry, and Bert
exclaimed: “ Uncle Jacob has secured a clerk-
ship in New York at twelve dollars a week.”
“ I am really glad! ” said Mrs. Barton, with
beaming face.
“Come, Mary, did you too think, like Bert
here, that I was headed for the poorhouse? ”
“ I felt a little anxious for you, Uncle Jacob,
I admit.”
“ You see that your fears were idle.”
“ Will you have to work very hard? ” asked
Mrs. Barton.
“ No; my employer is an intimate friend.”
“ When do you commence work? ”
“ Next Monday, so that I must leave you on
Saturday.”
“ Bert and I will both miss you; but as it
is for your good, we won’t complain. Now,
Uncle Jacob, I ‘hope you won’t take it amiss if
I urge you not to be too free with your money,
but to try to save up some of your salary so
that you can add to your little fund.”
“ Thank you, Mary. I suppose you are
afraid I will be driving fast 'horses in Central
Park, eh?”
“ I am more afraid you will be too generous


Five Hundred Dollars. 51
with your money, and give away more than
you can afford.”
“ Well thought of, Mary! So far from that,
I am going to turn miser and hoard up every
cent I can.”
“ I don’t think there is much danger of
that.”
“ Oh, you have no idea how mean I can be if
I try. However, as I shall be acting according
to your advice, you can’t find fault with me.”
“I see you don’t mean to follow my advice,
Uncle Jacob.”
“ Sill I am glad you gave it. It shows that
you feel a real interest in your shabby old
uncle. Some time—I can’t promise how soon
—-I shall invite you and Bert to come and
spend the day in New York. I will get a day
ofi from the office, and we’ll have a nice excur-
sion somewhere.”
On Friday, Uncle Jacob called on Squire
Marlowe; not at the house, however, but at
the factory.
“ I’ve come to bid you good-by, Albert,” he
said.
“ Are you going back to California? ” asked
the Squire.
“ No, I am going to New York.”
“ It is expensive living in New York.”
“ I have obtained a situation there.”


52 Five Hundred Dollars.
“Ah, indeed! That is different. What
sort of a position?”
“ I shall be a clerk in a mining office.”
“What pay will you get? ”
“ Twelve dollars a week.”
“ Very fair! I congratulate you. You
ought to live on that and save money besides.”
“ That’s what Mary Barton says.”
“Then she gives you very sensible advice.
It will be a great deal better than opening a-
cigar store in Lakeville.”
.“ I wouldn’t do that after what you said on
the subject,” returned Uncle Jacob in a defer-
ential tone, though there was a twinkle in his
eye.
“I am glad you recognize the fact that I
counseled you for your good,” said the Squire
pompously. “As an experienced business
man, my judgment is worth something, I ap-
prehend.” -
“ Quite so, Albert; quite so! Is your wife
feeling better? ”
(Uncle Jacob had seen Mrs. Marlowe rid-
ing out the day before, apparently in full
health.)
“She is somewhat improved, but still deli-
cate,” said Squire Marlowe guardedly. “ I
am sorry I cannot invite you to dine with us
again before you go to the city.”


54 Five Hundred Dollars.
CHAPTER VIII.
DISCHARGED.
THREE days later, while on his way to the
factory, Bert overtook Luke Crandall, who
was employed like himself in pegging shoes.
“ Have you heard the news, Bert?” asked
his friend.
“No; what is it?”
“ All the peggers are to be discharged; you
and I, and the two other boys.”
“ Is that true? ” asked Bert, stopping short,
and surveying his friend with a look of dis-
may.
“Yes; I wish it wasn’t.”
“What is the reason?”
“ The squire has bought a pegging machine,
and he has hired a man from out of town to
run it. So he will have no need of us.”
“How soon is he going to put it in? ” asked
Bert, with a sinking heart.
“Next Monday. At the end of this week
we shall be discharged.”
“What are you going to do?” Bert in-
quired, after a pause.
“I shall be all right. I have an uncle who
keeps a store in Bradford, and I am going
there to tend in the store, and shall board in
the family. What shall you do?”


Five Hundred Dollars. 55
“I don’t know,” answered Bert soberly.
“This has come on me so suddenly, that I
haven’t had time to think.”
“ There’s precious little chance for a boy in
Lakeville, unless he goes to work on a farm.”
“I don’t even know if there is a chance to
do that. All the farmers are supplied with
help. Besides, they generally pay a boy in
his board and clothes, and I need money to
help support my mother.”
“ Isn’t old Marlowe your uncle?”
“ No, but he is my mother’s cousin.”
“Then he ought to do something for you
out of relationship.”
“I don’t expect it,” answered Bert. “He
appears to feel very little interest in us.”
They had reached the factory, and entering,
were soon at work. Before noon the bad news
was confirmed, and the boys were informed
that their services would not be required after
Saturday night.
At dinner Bert informed his mother, and
she too was dismayed. It was a calamity she
had never dreamed of. She supposed Bert
was sure of continued employment in pegging
till he was old enough to be employed in some
other part of the business.
“I don’t see what we shall do, Bert,” she
said. “ There is no other shop in Lakeville.


56 Five Hundred Dollars.
If there were, you might get a chance there.”
“ There is no business of any kind here out-
side of Marlowe’s shop.”
“True. What are the other boys going to
do?”
“Luke Crandall is going into his uncle’s
shop at Bradford, and the other two boys talk
of leaving town.”
“ I do think Albert Marlowe might find
some place for you. We are near relations,
and he knows how I depend on your earn-
ings.”
“ He isn’t a man to consider that, mother.”
Mrs. Barton was silent, but she determined
to make an application to her cousin in Bert’s
behalf. Accordingly, in the evening, she said
to him. “Bert, I am going out to make a call.
I would like to have you look after the house
while I am gone.”
“ Yes, mother.”
Mrs. Barton did not venture to let Bert
know of her intention, for he would have done
his best to prevent her applying to the squire
for a special favor. Perhaps he was too proud,
but it was an honorable pride. Besides, he
knew very well that the appeal was likely to
prove ineffectual.
With a faltering step Mrs. Barton advanced
and rang the bell of her cousin’s handsome


Five Hundred Dollars. 57
001139. It was a call from which she shrank,
but she was spurred by necessity.
“ Is Mr. Marlowe in?” she inquired.
“ I will see, ma’am.”
Squire Marlowe was at home, and she was
ushered into his presence,
Albert Marlowe was not, on the whole, sur-
prised to see his cousin. He guessed the
errand that brought her, and he frowned
slightly as she entered the room.
“Good evening,” he said, in a distant tone.
“ I hope you are well.”
“Well in health, but anxious in mind, Al-
bert,” she said. “ Bert tells me that he has
been discharged from the shop.”
“ Yes, but he is not the only one. There are
three other boys.”
- “ It has come upon us like a thunderbolt. I
had no idea that he was in any danger of los~
ing his place.”
“ I have nothing against your son, Mrsl Bar-
ton. It is a business necessity that compels
me to dispense with his services.”
“ Why a business necessity? ”
“ You may have heard that I intend to in-
troduce a pegging machine. It will do the
work cheaper and more effectually than under
the present system.”
“ oh, why couldn't you have let matters re-


58 F ive Hundred Dollars.
main as they were? You may gain something,
but you are depriving the boys of their liveli-
hood.”
“You don’t regard the matter in a business
light, Mrs. Barton. I must keep up with the
times. Other manufacturers are making the
change, and I should stand in my own light if
I adhered to the old-fashioned system.”
“ I don’t pretend to know about business,
Albert, but I do know that in dismissing Bert
you deprive us of more than half our income,
and Heaven knows we need it- all.”
“ Your son can find something else to do.”
“ What is there for him to do in Lakeville?
I shall be grateful if you will suggest any-
thing.”
“ No doubt he can get a chance to work on a
farm.”
“I know of no farmer who needs his ser-
vices, and even if there were one he would not
get money for his services, and that is what
we want.”
“Of course farming isn’t the only thing,”
said the squire vaguely. “If he looks round
sharp he will come across something ”
Mrs. Barton shook her head.
“You know how little business there is in
Lakeville,” she answered. “ Isn’t there some


Five Hundred Dollars. 59
.-___— m,‘
other department in the factory in which you
can employ him?”
Squire Marlowe shook his head.
“He is too young for any other work,” he
said.
“Then what are we to do?”
“Oh, you’ll think of something,” said the
squire indefinitely. “He is to be in the shop
the rest of the week, and that will give you
time to think the matter over.”
“Then you can’t hold out any hope!” said
Mrs. Barton mournfully.
“ No, but you mustn’t be despondent.
Something will turn up.”
Mrs. Barton was silent, and her sad face
made the squire vaguely uncomfortable. He
Wished she would go.
“ Mrs. Marlowe is not feeling well this even-
ing,” he said awkwardly, “ or I would invite
you to meet her. Some other evening ”
“I am not in the mood to meet any one
to-night, Albert,” she said. “ I will be going,”
and she rose from her chair and moved toward
the door.
“ Good-evening, then. I am glad to have
seen you.”
Mrs. Barton did not reply to the compli-
ment. Her heart was too full of sorrow to
respond to what she knew to be insincere and


60 Five Hundred Dollars.
unmeaning. She understood very well that
Albert Marlowe was glad to be rid of her.
“ How unreasonable women are! ” muttered
Squire Marlowe, impatiently, as he closed the
door upon his unwelcome guest. “ Mary Bar-
ton would have had me postpone all improve-
ments in my shop for the sake of keeping that
boy of hers in his place. Business consider-
ations are as nothing to women. They are so
unpractical.”
Mrs. Barton walked homeward slowly, mus-
ing bitterly on her cousin’s want of feeling.
“How cold-hearted he is!” she murmured.
“ He evidently cares nothing for our needs, or
the prospect of our hardships. He lives in a
fine house, and rears his family in luxury,
while Bert and I are likely to want even the
necessaries of life.”
Perhaps Mrs. Barton was a little too de-
spondent. Perhaps she ought to have had
more trust in Providence; but there had been
sorrows in her life which had robbed her of
her natural hopefulness, and she was no
longer as courageous in the face of threatening
misfortune as she had once been.
She had nearly reached home when, from
out of the darkness, a man’s figure advanced
from the roadside and laid his hand upon her
arm.


Five Hundred Dollars. 61
“Who are you!” she asked faintly, sup—
pressing a scream.
“ Don’t be frightened, Mary,” was the reply,
“ I am your husband, Simeon Barton.”

CHAPTER IX.
MRS. BARTON’S sncnn'r.
Mas. BARTON staggered, and would have
fallen, had not the other held her up. “You
here,” she exclaimed, in amazement, “after
being absent so many years? ”
“ Yes; it has been a cruel exile. We have
been very unfortunate.”
“ Where have you been these last ten years,
Simeon? ”
“For the last eight years in Canada.”
“And you did not write me? ”
“ No; I feared it would set officers on my
track. I have heard from you now and then,
indirectly. Have you sufiered much?”
“ It has been a weary time. It would have
been easier to hear if I ha' heard from you.”
“A letter from Canada would have been
sure to attract attention and invite comment.
Besides, I had no money to send you. Mis-
fortune-has pursued me, and I have only been
able to support myself. When I think of the


62 Five Hundred Dollars.
probable author of my misfortunes, I own it
has‘ made me feel revengeful.”
“ To whom do you refer, Simeon? ”
“ To Albert Marlowe.”
“ What do you mean? How is he responsi-
ble for your—misfortune?”
“I will tell you. I believe that it was he
who stole the bonds, the loss of which was im-
puted to me.”
“ Is it possible that you have any proof of
this?” asked Mary Barton eagerly. “The
bond that was found in your possession ”
“Was placed in my overcoat pocket for the
express purpose of throwing suspicion upon
me. You remember that it was a bond for
five hundred dollars, while the amount stolen
was six thousand.”
‘6 Yes.”
“Albert and I were both at work in the
same establishment. We were on a level, so
far as means are concerned.”
“ Yes.”
“ Now he is a rich man,” added Simeon Bar-
‘ton significantly.
“Yes; he is considered worth thirty thou-
sand dollars.” '
“ It was the'stolen money that gave him his
start, I verily believe.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 63
“ He did not start in business for himself
for more than a year after—the trouble.”
“ No; for he thought it would invite suspi-
cion. I have reason to think that he disposed
of the bonds in Canada, and with the proceeds
started in as a manufacturer. How otherwise
could he have done so? He was only earning
two dollars a day when we were working to-
gether, and it cost him all of that to support
his family.”
“ I have often wondered where he obtained
money to go into business.”
“ I don’t think there is any mystery about
it.”
“ And you have been compelled to bear the
consequences of his wrong-doing while he has
been living in luxury?” said Mary Barton
bitterly.
“Yes; but mine is not a solitary case.
Wickedness often flourishes in this world. We
must look to the future for compensation.”
“Do you think you will ever be able to
prove your innocence, Simeon? ”
“It is all that I live for. If I can do that,
We can live together again. But tell me, be-
fore I go any further, how are you and the
boy , getting along? ”
“ We are comfortable,” answered Mary Bar-
ton briefly. She did not care to add to her


Five Hundred Dollars. 65
“He is a poor man,” she concluded. “As
I understand, he brought home but five hun-
dred dollars, but he is lucky enough to be em-
ployed in an ofi‘ice in New York at a salary of
twelve dollars a week.”
“ If I were earning that, and could hold up
my head an honest man, without a stain—-
an undeserved stain—upon my name, I should
be happy.”
“ Can you tell me Uncle Jacob’s address? ”
he asked, after a pause. “ I don’t think I
shall venture to call upon him, for I am sub-
ject to arrest on the old charge, as you know,
and the New York detectives are sharp, but I
might write to him and ask his advice. But
stay! he thinks me dead, does he not? ”
6‘ Yes.”
“ And Bert—is that what you still call him?
-—he still thinks that he has no father liv-
ing? ”
“You wished it so, Simeon.”
“ Yes; but the time may come when the
secret can be revealed to him. I may disclose
myelf to Uncle Jacob. I don’t remember him
very well, but ”
“ He is the best and kindest of men. I wish
he could have found employment here.”
“ Did he visit Albert?”
“ Yes; he remained at his house one night.”


66 Five Hundred Dollars.
“Was he well received? ”
“At first; for, coming from California, A1-
bert supposed him rich. When he found he
had but five hundred dollars, he lost no time
in turning him out of the house.”
“ Poor Uncle Jacob! It must have hurt the
old man’s feelings.”
“I feared it would, but he only seemed
amused—not at all offended.”
“ He has seen so much of the world that he
probably expected it. The old man seemed in
good spirits, then?”
“ Yes; he declared that he was well able to
earn his own living still, though he is sixty-
five, and was as gay and cheerful as a young
man. He insisted on paying his board while
he was with us.”
“ There is nothing mean about Uncle
Jacob.”
“ No; and it is a mystery to me why such
men as he, who would make so good use of
riches, should almost always be poor.”
“And men like Albert Marlowe are rich.”
“ Yes.”
“ There are a good many things that are dif-
ficult to make out. Where are you going to
stay to-night, Simeon?” she asked, after a
pause.


Five Hundred Dollars. b7
“ I—don’t know.” .
“I wish I could invite you to the hone
where you have the best right to be.”
“ I wish so, too.”
“Bert doesn’t know that you are alive.
Perhaps I might introduce you as an old
friend of his father.”
“If you think it would do. He would not
speak of your having a visitor?”
“ Not if I told him not to do so.”
“You have tempted me strongly, Mary. I
should like to see our boy, to see with my own
eyes how he is looking at fifteen. And it
would be a comfort to rest once more beneath
the same roof as the wife from whom I have
been so long separated.”
“ I think we can risk it, Simeon. I must in-
troduce you under another name.”
“Call me Robinson. That is the name I
have borne for some years past.”
“Mother!” was heard from a little dis-
tance.
“ Bert has come out in search of me, being
alarmed by my long absence. Now, be on
your guard.”
“Is that you, mother? Where have you
been so long? I got quite anxious about you.”
“I met an old friend of your father, Bert,
and in talking with him I forgot how time was


68 Five Hundred Dollars.
passing. Mr. Robinson, this is my son, Her-
bert.”
Bert greeted the stranger politely. As his
hand rested for a moment in the hand of Mr.
Robinson, he felt the latter tremble.
“ Do you remember your father, Herbert? ”
asked the supposed stranger.
“ Not very well. He died when I was quite
a young boy.”
“ True! It was indeed a long time since,”
murmured Robinson, with a sigh.
“ Bert, I have invited Mr. Robinson to stay
with us to-night. It is long since I have seen
him and we may not meet again for some time.
He will share your room.”
“ Certainly, mother.”
They went together to the cottage. Mrs.
Barton prepared some tea, and they sat down
to a slight meal.
“ Oh, if it could only continue thus!”
thought Simeon Barton, as he looked wistfully
at the wife and son from whom he had been so
long separated. “It is like a sight of the
promised land.”
“Do you know my mother’s cousin, Al-
bert Marlowe?” asked Bert, during the
evening.
“ I used to know him some years ago.”
—-—I __


Five Hundred Dollars. ()0
“Shall you call upon him? He is a rich
man now.”
“ I think not. I never—liked—him much.”
Bert laughed.
“Ditto for me!” he said. “He is a cold,
selfish man. He is not popular with his work-
men.”
“ By the way, Bert,” said his mother, “ you
need not mention.Mr. Robinson’s visit. His
business requires secrecy.”
“ All right, mother! I’ll bear it in mind.”

CHAPTER X.
STOLEN MONEY.
SATURDAY afternoon arrived, and with it
came Bert’s discharge from the shoe shop.
He put the four dollars in his pocket, and
with a sober face went home.
“ There are my week’s wages, mother,” he
said. “ I don’t know when I shall have any
more money to hand you.”
“ We won’t borrow trouble to-night, Bert,”
responded Mrs. Barton, concealing her solici-
tude under a cheerful exterior. “ To-morrow
is Sunday, and we will defer all worldly anx-
ieties till it is over.”
“ You are right, mother,” said Bert, readily


70 Five Hundred Dollars.
chiming in with her cheerful humor. “ I am
young and strong, and there is plenty of work
to be done in the world.”
“ Keep up your courage, Bert, and you will
be more likely to win success.”
When Sunday was over, however, Bert felt
that he must begin to look about him. But
the more he looked the more downhearted he
became. He went to the village store, having
heard that the boy employed there was about
to leave. After buying a pound of sugar for
his mother, he ventured to say, “ Mr. Jones,
don’t you want to hire a boy?”
“ Why should I want to hire a boy? ” asked
the store-keeper, in a tone of surprise.
“ I thought that Herman was going to leave
you.”
“ So he was, but he has changed his mind.”
“ 0h!” ejaculated Bert, disappointed.
“Are you asking for yourself?” inquired
the merchant.
“ Yes, sir.”
“I thought you were at work in the shoe
shop.”
“ So I was, but I have lost my place.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the store-keeper suspi-
ciously. “If Squire Marlowe has discharged
you, I don’t want to hire you.”
“You are mistaken, Mr. Jones, about the


Five Hundred Dollars. 71
cause of my discharge. He had no fault to
find with me.”
“So you say,” returned Jones, in evident
skepticism. “ Boys don’t get discharged for
nothing.”
Bert felt inclined to be angry, but he con-
trolled his temper.
“I am a pegger, and the squire has intro-
duced a pegging machine, so he has discharged
all the peggers.”
“Oh, that’s difierent. Well, I’m sorry for
you, but I have no vacancy.”
“ If Herman should change his mind again,
will you think of me? ”
“Yes, I will. I think you are a good boy,
and you look strong for your size.”
Bert felt a little encouraged by this promise,
though it was very doubtful if it would ever
amount to anything.
Day after day passed, and no employment
ofiered. But one morning a bright idea came
to Bert. Blueberries were just coming into
the market, and he knew of a large pasture a
little over a mile away.
“Mother,” he said, “ if you’ll give me a
large tin pail, I’ll go after some berries. I
may be able to sell them at the hotel.”
“If you can’t, we can use them ourselves,”
rejoined Mrs. Barton.


72 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ It will be better to sell them, for I hear
they are bringing fifteen cents a quart. They
won’t stay long at that figure, so we will put
of!’ having them ourselves till they are
cheaper.”
It was with a light heart that Bert set out
for the berry pasture. He had become tired of
having nothing to do. Any sort of employ-
ment seemed desirable. Besides, they were
very much in want of money, and here seemed
a chance of earning some.
Bert spent five hours in the pasture. Ber-
ries were high, because they were scarce, and
it took fully twice as long to gather a quart as
it would two weeks later. But he kept
steadily at his task, and at length the pail—
which held four quarts—was full. He was
tired enough and his back ached, but still he
felt happy as he left the field and trudged to-
ward the Lake House, which was the name of
the village hotel. There were a few summer
boarders there from New York and Philadel-
phia, who were glad to exchange the brick
walls and crowded city streets for the verdure
and pure breezes of the country.
Fortunately Bert found the landlord on the
piazza, and to him he preferred his request.
“ Would you like to buy some blueberries? ”
“ Go round to the side door, Bert,” said Mr.


Five Hundred Dollars. 73
Holbrook, the good-natured landlord. “ I
leave all such matters to Mrs. Holbrook.”
“Blueberries?” exclaimed the landlady.
“Why, it’s just what I wanted. Mrs. Case-
well, from Philadelphia, has been teasing me
for some blueberry pudding. What do you
ask?”
“Fifteen cents a quart,” answered Bert.
“You know they have just come into the
market.”
“That’s true. Well, I will pay you your
price,” said Mrs. Holbrook, who received a
good income from her boarders, and was will-
ing to be liberal to others. “ How many have
you got? ”
“ I think there are four quarts, but you can
measure them.”
There proved to be four quarts, and Bert
was made happy by receiving sixty cents in
silver.
“It is almost as much as I made in the
shop,” he reflected complacently. “And per-
haps I can sell some more to-morrow.”
Bert continued to pick berries, but the price
fell rapidly until it touched six cents, and it
was not so easy to sell the berries at all, for
many others engaged in picking them, and
the market was overstocked.
Bert occasionally fell in with Percy Mar-


74 Five Hundred Dollars.
lowe, but the manufacturer’s son usually took
very little notice of him. This did not trou-
ble Bert, however, who felt independent, and
cared little for the opinion or notice of his
wealthy cousin.
In one respect, however, Percy resembled
Bert. He was always short of money. His
father allowed him two dollars a week for
spending money, more than any other boy in
Lakeville received, but Percy felt that it was
too little. He had formed an intimacy with
Reginald Ward, a young man from New York,
who was boarding at the hotel, and with him
he used to play pool, which he found rather
an expensive game; and still worse, he played
poker with him in his own room, locking the
door carefully, as this game was not looked
upon with favor in Lakeville. The young
man from the city was much sharper than the
country boy, and steadily won his money till
Percy found himself in debt to him in the
sum of ten dollars. For this Percy gave his
note, but no one knew better than Reginald
Ward that it was not valid in law, and he re-
solved to secure the money, if possible.
“ Percy, you owe me ten dollars,” he said
one afternoon. ,
“ I know it,” admitted Percy, rather rue-
fully.


Five Hundred Dollars. 75
“When are you going to pay me? ”
“ I don’t know,” answered Percy.
“But that won’t do, don’t you know,” re-
turned Reginald frowning. “ I may go away
next week, and I want my money.”
“ I would pay it to you if I had it,” said
Percy; “ but you know I have only my allow-
ance of two dollars a week.”
“Stufi and nonsense! Do you think you
are going to put me ofi’: that way? ” demanded
Reginald angrily. “ I must have my money.”
“ Then I don’t see how you’re going to get
it,” said Percy doggedly. “ I can’t pay what
I haven’t got.”
“ Go to your father and ask for it.”
“ As if he would give it to me! You don’t
know him.”
“ Doesn’t he ever leave money lying
round? ” asked Reginald significantly.
“What do you mean?” asked Percy, red-
dening.
“ I see you understand. I was only suggest-
ing a way to get the money.”
“ I am not a thief.”
“ Who said you were? I see I shall have to
take the matter into my own hands.”
“ How? What do you mean? ” asked Percy
nervously.
“I will go to your father, show him this


76 Five Hundred Dollars.
I O U of yours, and ask him for the money.”
“ You wouldn’t do that, Reginald? He
would be awful mad with me, and you
wouldn’t get your money, either.”
“I must do something. I can’t afford to
lose the money.”
“ Just wait a day or two.
can do.”
“ Mind you do something, then.”
Percy regretted that he had ever made
the acquaintance of Reginald Ward, or con-
sented to play poker with him, but the regret
came too late. The mischief was done, and
he saw from Ward’s determined look that he
must do something. He was just in that
frame of mind when temptations have the
most‘ power.
In the evening he went to the village store
to purchase a fishing-line, for he had made an
arrangement to go out fishing with Reginald
Ward the next day. He made the purchase,
and was about to go when his eye caught sight
of a twenty-dollar bill lying on the desk. Mr.
Jones had gone to the other end of the store,
and no one was looking. On the impulse of
the moment he seized the bill, and with his
heart beating quickly, he left the store. As
he passed through the door Bert Barton en-
tered with a kerosene can in his hand, and
I’ll see what I


Five Hundred Dollars. 77
walked up to the counter, taking his stand
near the desk.

CHAPTER XI.
THE TWENTY-DOLLAR BILL.
IN order to understand what followed, it is
necessary to explain that the evening pre-
vious Bert and his mother found themselves‘
out of money. About a dollar was due the
latter for covering balls, but it would not be
paid for three days, and ‘meanwhile they were
in an embarrassing condition.
“ What shall we do?” asked Mrs. Barton,
with a troubled look. “If Uncle Jacob were
only here, I would ask his advice.”
“ He left a note to be opened if we got into
trouble,” said Bert, brightening up.
“So he did. Do you think the time has
come, Bert? ”
“ I have no doubt of it. Where is it,
mother?”
“I put it in a bureau drawer in my room.”
“Shall I go up and get it?”
“ No; I will do so, as I know exactly where
it is.”
She went upstairs, and returned almost im~
mediately with the letter in her hand. Bert
produced his knife and cut open the envelope


{'8 Five Hundred Dollars.
at one end. Then, drawing out the contents,
he found them to be a half sheet of note paper
and a bank bill.
“ It’s a twenty-dollar bill, mother!” he ex-
claimed joyfully.
“Shall I read the note?”
“Yes, read it, Bert.”
Bert read as follows:
MY DEAR NIEoE: As I know your income is
small, and you are liable, in case of sickness
or loss of employment to need help, I put
a twenty-dollar bill into this envelope, which
I wish you to use freely. Do not fear that
it will inconvenience me to give it. My health
is good, and I hope to earn my living for years
to come.
Your affectionate uncle,
JACOB MARLOWE.
“ Dear Uncle Jacob,” said the widow grate-
fully, “how good and kind he is. With his
small savings I don’t feel that he can afiord to
be so generous.”
“ I will pay him back some time, mother.”
“You think then that we are justified in
using it, Bert?”
“ Uncle Jacob meant us to do so. Before it
is gone I shall probably find something to do,


Five Hundred Dollars. 79
and then I may gradually be able to pay back
the money.”
“In that case, Bert, I am afraid we must
break into it to-morrow. Probably Mr. Jones
can change it for us.”
So it happened the next evening that Bert,
with the kerosene can in his hand, went to the
store, entering, as already described, just as
Percy left it with the bill which he had pur-
loined on the impulse of the moment. -
“ I would like two quarts of kerosene, Mr.
Jones,” said Bert, handing over the can.
The proprietor went to one corner of the
store to fill the can, and brought it back.
“Please take your pay out of this,” said
Bert, handing him the twenty-dollar bill.
Mr. Jones started in surprise, and his face
darkened ominously. He scanned the desk on
which he remembered placing his own twenty-
dollar bill, and it was nowhere to be seen.
“ Why, you audacious young thief!” he ex-
claimed in a fury.
“ What do you mean? ” demanded Bert
angrily,
“ What do I mean?” gasped Jones. “ You
know what I mean well enough. I never knew
such audacity.”
“Please explain yourself, Mr. Jones,” said


80 Five Hundred Dollars.
Bert with spirit. “ I didn’t come here to be
insulted.”
“ You are a hardened young reprobate! Do
you mean to say you didn’t steal this twenty-
dollar bill from my desk, where I laid it five
minutes since? ”
“ I don’t know anything about any twenty-
dollar bill of yours, Mr. Jones. This money is
mine, or rather my mother’s, and I brought it
with me from home.” .
“ Do you expect me to believe this bold
falsehood, Bert Barton? ” the store-keeper ex-
ploded wrathfully,
“ I don’t expect you to believe any falsehood
‘ at all, Mr. Jones. Will you either change that
bill or give it back to me?”
“ I will do neither.”
“ Then, sir, it is you who are the thief.”
“ You impudent young rascal, now I won’t
have any mercy on you. For your mother’s
sake, I might have done so, but as you persist
in brazening out your guilt, I will see that
you have a chance to repent. Here is the con-
stable come in just at the right moment. Mr.
Drake, please come here.”
A tall, pleasant~looking officer, who had just
entered the store, approached the desk.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Jones? ” he
asked.
Lu


Five Hundred Dollars. 81
“Arrest this boy!” said Jones, pointing
with flushed face at his young customer.
“Arrest Bert Barton!” exclaimed Consta-
ble Drake, in amazement. “ What on earth
has he done?”
“ Stolen a twenty-dollar bill from my desk,
and then presented it to me in payment for
some kerosene.”
“The charge is false!” said Bert, his eyes
glowing with indignation.
“Hear him deny it!” said Jones, looking
at the circle that had gathered around them.
“I find it hard to credit your charge, Mr.
Jones,” replied the constable. “ We all know
Bert Barton, and I don’t believe he would be
guilty of theft.”
“ I require you to arrest the boy! ” persisted
the store-keeper, stamping his foot in excite-
ment.
“Wait a moment! Did you see him take
the bill? ”
“No,” answered Jones reluctantly.
“Then why do you accuse him? Please
state the circumstances.”
“A few minutes since I was paid twenty.
dollars by Mr. Holbrook of the hotel, in settle-
ment of his weekly bill for groceries, and being
somewhat hurried I laid it down on the desk
while I was filling an order.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 83

twenty-dollar bills have you got at your
house? I wasn’t aware that your mother was
so wealthy.”
Again opinion was unfavorable to poor
Bert. His mother’s straitened cfrcumstances
were well known, and it certainly did seem
improbable upon the face of it that she should
have a twenty-dollar bill in her possession.
“ This was the only twenty-dollar bill that
my mother had,” replied Bert.
“ Oh, indeed! I thought as much,” said
Mr. Jones significantly. “ Mr. Drake, do you
intend to arrest that boy?” he added angrily.
“ I have no warrant,” returned the oflicer.
“ If you will swear that you saw him take the
bill, I will assume the responsibility.”
“ I didn’t see him take it,” the store-keeper
again admitted reluctantly; “ but it stands to
reason that it is mine.”
Here a young man in the outer circle
stepped forward. He was a summer boarder
at the hotel, and Bert knew him slightly.
“ I am a lawyer,” he said, “ and if Bert will
place his interests in my hands I will see what
I can do to throw light upon this mystery.”
“I shall be very glad to do so, Mr. Con-
way,” answered Bert.
“No lawyer is needed,” sputtered Jones.’
“ The case is as plain as can be. I have no


84 Five Hundred Dollars.
more doubt that the boy took my bill than if I
had seen him do it.”
“That isn’t legal proof; it is only an as-
sumption,” said the young lawyer. “Squire
Marlowe is, I believe, your magistrate here,
and I agree in behalf of my client to have the
matter brought before him to-morrow morn-
ing. Meanwhile, Mr. Jones, will you hand the
twenty-dollar bill in dispute to oflicer
Drake?”
“Why should I? The bill is mine,” said
the merchant sullenly.
“ That remains to be proved. Do I under-
stand that you refuse to give up the bill? ”
“I do?” answered Jones doggedly.
“Then I will apply at once for a warrant
for your arrest for holding property belonging
to my young client,” said Mr. Conway.

' CHAPTER XII.
MR. JONES IS EXCITED.
THE astonishment and wrath of Mr. Jones
were almost ludicrous as he stared at the
lawyer, who, cool and composed, reiterated his
threat.
“I never heard of such a thing!” he
gasped. “ You take my own money from
me?”


Five Hundred Dollars. 85
“ It remains to be proved whether it is your
own money. The boy says it is his.”
“The boy lies.”
“ Really, Mr. Jones, I cannot allow you to
make such charges against my client, unless
you are ready to substantiate them by proof.”
“ It stands to reason,” began Mr. Jones, but
the young lawyer interrupted him.
“Nothing stands to reason that you can’t
prove,” he said. “ We will give you an
opportunity to prove your ownership of the
bill to-morrow in court. Now hand the bill to
ofl‘icer Drake.”
Very much against his will, Mr. Jones felt
compelled to do this.
“ Isn’t the boy going to be arrested?” he
demanded, with an ugly look at Bert.
“ It is unnecessary. You can bring a
formal charge against him before Squire Mar-
lowe to-morrow.”
“ The boy may escape during the night. I
won’t trust him.”
There was a murmur of disapproval among
those present. All liked Bert, and Mr. Jones,
from his quick temper and ugly disposition,
was by no means a favorite. The store-keeper
saw that it would not be good policy to insist
upon Bert’s arrest, and he said, sullenly, “I


86 Five Hundred Dollars.
will hold you responsible for his presence at
the trial.”
Mr. Conway smiled.
“ If he is not present, I will myself see that
you do not suffer in consequence. Besides,
flight would be tantamount to confession,
and the case would go against him by de-
fault.”
“ And should I in that case get the twenty-
dollar bill? ”
“ I will take it upon me to offer no opposi-
tion,” said the lawyer.
“ Now, can I go? ” asked Bert.
“ Yes; I will accompany you home for con-
sultation.”
Bert took the can of kerosene and was
about to leave the store, when the store-keeper
said harshly: “ Put down that kerosene!
you haven’t paid for it!”
Bert flushed and looked embarrassed. It
was true that he had not paid for it, nor did
he have the money to pay, outside of the
twenty-dollar bill which had been taken from
him.
“ I have no money,” he said.
it till to-morrow.”
“ How much is it, Mr. Jones?” asked Con-
way.
“ Twenty-five cents.”
“ I will leave


Five Hundred Dollars. 87

“I will advance the money. Bert, take
your can.”
“You are very kind, Mr. Conway,” said the
boy gratefully.
“ We will settle hereafter. Now let us be
going.”
In explanation of the price vmentioned, I
may say that kerosene is now much cheaper
than at the date of my story.
“Now, Bert,” said Mr. Conway, “as your
legal adviser I shall have to ask you to tell
me just where you obtained the bill you
offered in payment to Mr. Jones for the kero-
sene. I have no doubt of your innocence, but
we must make it plain to all who may attend
the trial.”
“ I should like to have you come home with
me, Mr. Conway. Mother will confirm what
I say.”
“I shall be glad to do so. Will your
mother be alarmed?”
“Yes, I think she will; but you can make
things clear to her.”
Mrs. Barton was indeed startled when she
learned that Bert had been charged with
theft, but after a free talk with Mr. Conway
she felt much relieved.
“ Your defence is perfect, I think,” said the
young lawyer. “Of course Mr. Jones or his


88 Five Hundred Dollars.
lawyer may claim that you wrote the letter
yourself.”
“Will it be necessary to send to Uncle
Jacob and get him to testify?”
“I don’t think so. I think your defence
will be complete without it. There is another
point of considerable importance which I
shall look up to-night. If things turn out as
I suspect they will, we shall not need to dis-
turb your Uncle Jacob.”
At nine o’clock Mr. Conway took his leave
and returned to the hotel. He had a short
conference with the landlord, which was evi-
dently satisfactory.
“ I think we shall prove too many for Mr.
Jones,” he murmured softly, as he went up to
bed.

CHAPTER XIII.
PERCY GETS mo oF THE BILL.
WHEN Percy Marlowe left the grocery
store with the stolen bill in his hand, he was
tremulous with excitement and agitation. He
felt that he had committed a crime, and he
was almost tempted to go back and replace
the money. But it was possible that its loss
had already been discovered, and he might
be connected with it. He felt that it would be


Five Hundred Dollars. 89
safe to get as far away as possible from the
store.
“ Nobody will suspect me,” he said to him-
self, plucking up courage.
Then there was the pleasant thought that he
could pay up his debt to Reginald Ward, and
have ten dollars left over. It would be very
comfortable to have ten dollars to spend, and
Percy, whose conscience was not sensitive, be-
gan -to consider what would be the pleas-
' antest way of disposing of it. He soon came
to a decision on this point, having, like most
boys, rather a talent for spending money.
“I’ll go round by the hotel,” he said to
himself, “and if I find Reg there I’ll pay him
what I owe him and get it ofi my mind.”
Percy walked around to the Lake House,
and found Reginald Ward in the billiard
room. Ward treated him rather coldly.
“ Good-morning, Percy,” he said.
“ Good-morning, Reg.”
“I hope you have come prepared to pay me
what you owe me. I may have to go back to
New York to-morrow.”
“ I wish he would,” thought Percy. “ Then,
if there’s any trouble about this money, he
will be well out of the way, and nobody can
find out about it.”
“I can pay you to-night,” said Percy.


90 Five Hundred Dollars.
. “i.
“ You can? You’re a trump!” said Regi- '
nald, in gratified surprise.
“ Suppose we go up to your room,” went on -
'Percy nervously, “and don’t talk about it
here. I don’t want anybody to know that I
am owing you any money.”
“I understand. The governor wouldn't
like it, hey?”
“No, he’d be awful mad.”
“Follow me, then, Percy,” and Ward led
the way up to his room.
“ Lock the door,” said Percy.
“Seems to me we are mighty mysterious,”
commented Ward, laughing. “ Oh, well; any-
thing to accommodate. Now, where are the
spondulicks? ”
“Can you change a twenty-dollar bill?”
asked Percy.
“Whew! you are wealthy,” said Ward, in
surprise. “Let me see!” and he opened his
pocket book. “Much as ever,” he replied,
after investigating the contents. “ Here is a
five, a two, a silver dollar, and I think I can
make up two dollars in small change. It’ll
take up about all I’ve got.”
“ Then perhaps you’d rather wait till I have
a chance to get the bill changed,” suggested
Percy.
“Not much,” returned Reginald, with a.


Five Hundred Dollars. 9r
crafty smile. “ ‘ A bird in the hand is worth
two in the bush,’ as somebody says. I am
willing to be inconvenienced for the sake of
getting the debt paid.”
“ Oh, well; just as you say,” rejoined Percy,
secretly glad to get the tell-tale bill out of his
possession, and to replace it in his pocket with
the smaller bills and silver which Ward pro-
posed to give him. .
When the transfer was made, Ward asked,
“Where did you raise the twenty, Percy?”
Now it was that Percy looked embarrassed.
“ It is some money I had given to me a long
while ago,” he answered with hesitation.
“Oh!” exclaimed Ward, evidently incred-
ulous.
“ I promised not to use it, but to keep it
saved up,” continued Percy, “ and I meant to;
but you wanted me to pay what I owed you,
and so——”
“You acted like an honest young man,”
said Ward, finishing his sentence for him.
‘6 Yes.”
There was a peculiar smile on Reginald
Ward’s face, but he did not think it best to
question Percy’s statement. His money had
been paid him, and that was all he cared for.
“Percy’s found it in his father’s desk, I
reckon,” he said to himself, “ but that doesn’t


()2 Five Hundred Dollars.
concern me. I’ve got my money and that’s
more than I expected.” '
“ By the way, Reg,” said Percy hurriedly,
“don’t mention to any one my paying you
this money.”
“ Why not? ”
“It would be found out that I had been
playing cards for money, and there’d be no
end of a row. Besides, then it would come out
that I had parted with this bill.”
“ All right, Percy. I’ll keep mum. Won’t
you go down and have a game of billiards? ”
“Not to-night. I’m rather tired.”
“That boy’s got something on his mind,”
thought Reginald Ward.

CHAPTER XIV.
BERT STANDS TRIAL.
PERCY went to bed early, and heard nothing
of Bert’s arrest for the theft which he had
himself committed till at the breakfast table
the next morning his father said: “Well,
young Barton has got into a bad scrape.”
“What is it, father?” asked Percy, prick-
ing up his ears.
“He is charged with tealing a twenty-dol-
lar bill from Mr. Jones, the store-keeper.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 93
This was certainly amazing, and Percy, in
his agitation, nearly choked with some codes
that went the wrong way.
“ Be more careful, Percy!” said his mother
sharply.
“ I was so surprised, mother, at what father
told me,” apologized Percy.
“ I don’t know why you need be surprised,”
said Mrs. Marlowe. “ I never had a very good
opinion of the boy.”
“How did it happen?” asked Percy,
curious to know how suspicion could have
fallen upon Bert.
“It appears that Mr. Jones laid a twenty-
dollar bill on his desk—a very careless pro-
ceeding, by the way—while he was waiting
upon a customer in another part of the store.
About five minutes afterward the Barton boy
called upon him to fill a small can with kero-
sene, and actually had the hardihood to offer
his own twenty-dollar bill in payment.”
“Bert Barton offered Mr. Jones a twenty-
dollar bill?” asked Percy, in great surprise.
“ Yes; no wonder you are surprised at his
boldness.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t the same bill,” Percy
was constrained to suggest.
“You must be a fool, Percy. Where else
could he have got so large a bill as that? We


94 Five Hundred Dollars.
all know how poor the Bartons are. Besides,
the bill on the desk had disappeared.”
Percy was silent for a moment. He felt he-
wildered, and could not understand it at all.
He knew very well that it was not the same
bill. But where did the other bill come from?
How happened a poor boy like Bert Barton
to have such a large bill in his possession?
That was certainly mysterious.
“ Was—was Bert arrested? ” he asked, in a
hesitating tone.
“ He would have been but for the interfer-
ence of a meddlesome young lawyer, who, it
appears, is staying at the hotel.”
“Mr. Conway?”
“ I believe that is his name. - He offered to
defend the Barton boy, and would not permit
him to be arrested.”
Percy was glad to hear this. He was mean
and selfish, but he was not mean enough to
wish Bert to suffer for a crime of which he
knew him to be innocent.
“ What was done, then?” he asked, after a
pause.
“ The boy was allowed to go home, but his
trial is to take place before me this morning
at ten o’clock. You can be present, if you
desire.” -
“ I—don’t—know as I do,” said Percy.


Five Hundred Dollars. 95
His father looked surprised.
“ I thought you would be eager to be there,”
he said.
“I may come in,” said Percy; “ but I am
sorry for Bert, and I should not like to see
him under arrest.”
“You are too good-hearted, Percy,” said
his mother. “I am sure I hope the boy did
not do what is charged, though I don’t think
there is the slightest doubt of it; but if he is
guilty I want him punished. That is the only
way to protect the community from further
thefts.”
“ What would mother say if she knew I did
it?” thought Percy, shivering. “I wish I
hadn’t done it.”
But it was too late to wish that. He had
appropriated the money, and it had been paid
away. Suppose Reginald Ward should be-
tray him? Percy earnestly hoped that he
would leave town before he had a chance to
hear of the stolen money, for he felt certain
that sharp young man would suspect him of
having had something to do with it.
As the time drew near, Percy decided that
he had better not attend the trial. He was
afraid that some one would call to mind that
he too had been standing near the desk just
before the bill disappeared. He felt nervous


96 Five Hundred Dollars.
and excited. He wished it was all over, and
Bert was acquitted. Suppose he were found
guilty and sentenced to imprisonment? It
would be terrible, Percy admitted to himself;
but what could he do? He couldn't confess,
and incur the same punishment himself. The
very thought made him shudder. He walked
about the streets in a very uncomfortable
frame of mind till about a quarter of ten.
Then he suddenly encountered Bert, who, in
company with his lawyer, was on his way to a
room in the town hall where the trial was to
take place. Bert held his head erect, but his
face was flushed with shame at the unpleas-
. ant predicament in which he found himself.
When he saw Percy approaching he said to
himself bitterly: “There is one who will re-
joice at my misfortune.”
What was his surprise, then, when Percy
came up with a pleasant smile, and said,
“ Good-morning, Bert.”
Bert looked at him sharply, to see if there
was anything triumphant in his smile, but
Percy’s manner was cordial and friendly.
“Have you heard of my trouble, Percy?”
asked Bert abruptly.
“Yes, Bert, and I am very sorry for it.”
“ Do you believe me guilty? ”


Five Hundred Dollars. 97


“No, I don’t,” returned Percy, and he
offered his hand.
“Thank you, Percy,” said Bert, moved in
spite of himself. “ I misjudged you. If you
don’t believe me guilty, I hope others won’t.
Are you going to the trial? ”
“ I wasn’t thinking of doing so, but I will
walk with you as far as the town hall.”
There was quite a crowd gathered near the
entrance to the building, for it was generally
known that Bert was to 'be tried for the theft
that morning. Some of those composing it—
in fact most—were Bert’s friends; but there
were a few who delighted in scandal and
looked forward with eagerness to hearing the
details, and did not care much how Bert
might be affected by it.
The surprise was general when Bert ap-
proached, apparently in friendly converse
with Percy Marlowe, a boy whose want of
cordial feeling toward him was generally
known. The occasion was a- trial for Bert,
but Percy’s unexpected friendliness sustained
him, though he had not got over his surprise
at it.
All parties entered the court-room, and
presently Squire Marlowe himself appeared.
He walked with dignity to the platform, and


98 Five Hundred Dollars.
took his seat behind the desk over which jus-
tice was dispensed.
“Who is the complainant in this case? ” he
asked.
“ I am, squire,” said Mr. Jones, advancing
- eagerly.
“ State your case.”
“ I charge this boy—Bert Barton—with
stealing a twenty-dollar bill from my desk
last evening.”
“ Have you counsel?”
“ No, squire. The case is plain, and I can
manage it myself.”
“ I represent the defendant,” said the young
lawyer Conway.
“ You are a lawyer, are you? ” asked Squire
Marlowe, frowning,
“ Yes, sir.”
“Have you any evidence or certificate to
show this? ”
“ I can prove it, if necessary; but I will ven-
. ture to suggest that your doubts on the sub—
ject are very singular, and that, lawyer or no
lawyer, I am at liberty to appear for ‘the de
fendant if he desires it.”
Squire Marlowe coughed and looked dis-
pleased at this remark.
“ State your case, Mr. Jones,” he said, after
the latter had been sworn.


Five Hundred Dollars. 99
The grocer told the story as it happened.
making it bear as heavily against Bert as pos-
sible.
“Do you wish to ask the witness any
questions, Mr. Conway,” inquired the judge.
“Yes, sir. Mr. Jones, what makes you
think my client took your twenty-dollar
bill? ”
“It stands to reason—” commenced the
grocer.
“Never mind about that! Please stick to
facts.”
“ Well, the bill disappeared.”
“Admitted. Go on.”
“The Barton boy was standing near the
desk.”
“Did you see him take it?” -
“ No; how could I? My back was turned.”
“ This is important. Then, so far as your
knowledge goes, any other person may have
taken the‘bill.”
“ Didn’t I tell you that the boy was brazen
enough to offer me the same bill in payment
'for some kerosene which I got for him?”
“ You are very sure it was the same bill, are
you, Mr. Jones?” asked Conway carelessly.
“ Why, of course it was.”
“That won’t do! How can you prove it
was? ”


Five Hundred Dollars. IOI
“Well, there wasn’t any other twenty-dol-
lair bill around.”
“ How do you know! Young Barton says,‘
he brought the bill from home.”
“He says so!” repeated Mr. Jones, with
a suggestive sneer.
“ Upon that point I propose to call a wit<
nes who will corroborate his statement. Mrs.
Barton!”
The widow Barton came forward, pale and
anxious, and was sworn. She was regarded
with sympathy by all present except the gro-
cer and the acting judge. After one or two
unimportant questions, Mr. Conway asked:
“When your son went to the grocery store,
did he take any money with him?”
“ Yes, sir.” '
“How much?”
“Twenty dollars.”
“Was it in the form of one bill, or sev-
eral? ”
“ It was a single twenty-dollar bill.”
Mr. Jones, who had now taken his seat,
vlooked insultingly incredulous.
“ Can I ask a question? ” he said, turning
to Squire Marlowe.
“ You can.”
“I should like to ask Mrs. Barton where
the prisoner obtained the .wenty’dollar bill? ”


Five Hundred Dollars. 103
This note has already been quoted in Chap-
ter XI.
Mr. Jones looked somewhat nonplussed.
“I am free to confess,” he said, after a
pause, “that I doubt the genuineness of this
note. Nothing could be easier than to pre-
pare it.”
“ I appeal to the court to protect the wit-
ness from insult,” interposed Mr. Conway.
“I do not consider that she has been in-
sulted,” said Squire Marlowe coldly. “The
credibility of testimony is always a matter
to be considered.”
Mr. Jones eyed the young lawyer with a
triumphant smile.
“Have you any further questions to put,
Mr. Jones?” added Conway.
“No, sir, I am satisfied.”
“ Then the witness may step down. I call
upon Mr. Jones to take the witness stand
again.”
“ I have no objection, I am sure!” said the
grocer jauntily. He saw that the judge was
with him, and he confidently anticipated
Bert’s conviction.
“From whom did you obtain the twenty-
dollar bill which you charge my client with
taking?” asked Mr. Conway.


104 Five Hundred Dollars.
“From Mr. Holbrook, the landlord of the
hotel.”
“ You are sure of this?” demanded Conway
sternly.
“Of course I am.”
“ And you will swear that this is the case? ”
“Certainly!” answered Mr. Jones aggres-
sively, thinking it very important that he
should substantiate this fact.
“That will do, Mr. Jones.”
The grocer took his seat, feeling that he had
scored a victory and foiled the lawyer. It
was not long before he had occasion to change
his opinion.
“ Mr. Holbrook,” called Conway.
The landlord of the Lakeville Hotel took
the stand. He was a pleasant-looking, good-
hearted man, and he glanced sympathetically
at Bert and his mother.
“Mr. Holbrook,” said Conway, “do you
remember paying Mr. Jones, the complainant.
a twenty-dollar bill? ”
“ Yes, sir.”
The grocer smiled again. Everything
seemed to favor his side of the case.
“ For what was the payment made?”
“For groceries furnished by Mr. Jones.”
“Would you recognize the bill you paid if
you should see it again? ”


Five Hundred Dollars. 105
“ Yes, sir.”
“ Is this the bill?” asked the lawyer, ex-
hibiting the note taken from the grocer, and
now in the custody of the court.
Mr. Holbrook took the bill in his hand, and,
turning it over, looked at the reverse side.
All eyes were upon him, and there was a hush
of expectation, for it was felt that the whole
case hinged upon the answer to this question.
“ This is not the same bill,” answered the
landlord composedly.
Bert’s friends looked joyful, and Mr. Jones
looked dismayed.
“He is mistaken!” ejaculated the grocer,
much perturbed.
“Of course,” continued the young lawyer,
“you have some means of identification.
Please state to the court how you know that
this is not the same bill.”
“The bill which I paid to Mr. Jones,” an-
swered the landlord, “had the letters I. W.
written in red ink on the back. This note has
no such mark.”
Conway looked triumphant. It was his
turn now. He took the bank-note, and hold-
ing it up in sight of all, called the attention
of the court and those present to the fact at-
tested by the witness.
“ It is clear,” he said, “that nothing was


106 Five Hundred Dollars.
ever written on the back of this note in red
ink.”
“ It might have been efl’aced,” suggested the
grocer querulously.
“ The bill, since it was taken from the com-
plainant, has been in charge of the court,”
said Conway. “ I hardly think the complain-
ant will dare to assert that it has been
tampered with. And now, your honor,” turn-
ing to the presiding judge, “ I submit that the
charge has been completely answered. We
have shown that the bill tendered by my client
was not the bill lost by Mr. Jones. I claim his
discharge.”
Squire Marlowe hesitated, but he could
think of no pretext for holding Bert, since the
case against him had so signally failed.
“The prisoner is discharged!” he said
briefly, and rose from his seat.
Bert’s friends surrounded him, and he be-
gan to fear that in their enthusiasm they
would shake his hand ofi. It was almost as
serious as being a Presidential candidate. It
is needless to say, however, that Mr. Jones
was not one of the friends who congratulated
him. He, on the other hand, looked decidedly
grumpy, and as if he had lost his best friend.
He pushed his way through the crowd up to
the young lawyer.


Five Hundred Dollars. 107
“ This is all very fine, Mr. Lawyer,” he said,
“ but will you tell me how I am to get my
money back?”
“What money, Mr. Jones?”
“ The twenty-dollar bill taken from my
desk, of course.”
“ I wish I could, Mr. Jones, but I know no
more than the man in the moon.”
“ Is that all the satisfaction I am going to
get?” demanded Jones angrily.
“ From me—yes. You will have to find the
person who actually took the money.”
“ I don’t see how I am to do it. I would
have sworn that it was Bert Barton, and I am ‘
not sure now ”
“ Stop there, Mr. Jones! If after my
client's full vindication you insinuate any
charge of dishonesty, I shall advise him to sue
you for defamation of character.”
The grocer looked startled, and Conway
continued:
“ But I will volunteer the suggestion that
as you can now identify the bill, you can
advertise that a note so marked has been
stolen from you, and call upon any one into
whose hands it may come to help you trace it
back to the thief. There is a chance that you
may recover it.”


108 Five Hundred Dollars.
CHAPTER XVI.
WHAT BECAME on THE STOLEN NOTE.
AMONG the attentive listeners at Bert’s
trial was a tall young man with light hair and
pallid complexion, upon whose thin face there
played a shrewd smile. He seemed unusually
interested, as was indeed the case, for he
strongly suspected that he knew who was
the actual purloiner of the stolen twenty-dol-
lar bill. It is hardly necessary to say that the
young man was Percy’s friend, Reginald
Ward.
When the landlord gave his testimony, he
was no longer in doubt, for he had himself
noticed the letters I. W. on the back of the
bank-bill.
As he left the court-room, he saw Percy lin~
gering near the door.
“Come with me, Percy,” he said, linking
his arm with that of the boy. “ I have some-
thing to say to you.”
“I have an engagement,” pleaded Percy,
trying to release himself. “ I will call round
this afternoon.”
I can’t wait till afternoon,” said Reginald
decidedly. “ I must speak to you now on a
matter of importance.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 109
“ How did the trial come out?”
“The boy was acquitted.”
“ I thought he would be.”
“Why? ” asked Reginald Ward, eyeing
Percy curiously.
“Because I don’t think he would steal.”
“ Is he a friend of yours?”
“ No; he is only a working boy.”
“ Still you think he is honest? ”
,“ Oh, yes.”
“How then do you account for the bill’s
being stolen? ”
Percy shrugged his shoulders.
“ I don’t feel sure that any bill was stolen,”
he said. “ I don’t think much of old Jones.
I dare say he made up the story.”
“ That is hardly likely. What object could
he have? ”
“ He wanted to get hold of Bert Barton’s
bill. Where did Bert get -it from? Did he
say?”
“ He said it was left in an envelope by some
old uncle of his.”
“ Uncle Jacob? ”
“ Yes; I think that was the name.”
“ I didn’t think the old man had so much
money to spare.”
“ You seem to know him then? ”
“ I have heard of him.”


no Five Hundred Dollars.
By this time they had reached the hotel,
and Reginald asked Percy to come up to his
room.
“What was it you wanted to speak to me
about? ” asked Percy, as he took a seat at the
window. /
“ I wanted to tell you that the stolen bill
came from Mr. Holbrook. Mr. Jones testified
to this effect, and Mr. Holbrook also.”
“Well, what of that?”
“ Mr. Holbrook described this bill and
stated that the letters I. W. were written in
red ink on the reverse side.”
Percy began to see the point, and waited
anxiously for Reginald to continue.
Ward drew from his pocket the twenty-
dollar bill, and held it up to open view.
“ This is the bill you paid me last evening,”
he said. “ You will observe the letters I. W.
as described by the landlord. Now, where
did you get this bill?” he asked searchingly.
Drops of perspiration stood on Percy’s fore-
head, and he hesitated to reply. Finally an
inspiration came to him, and he said, “I
picked it up in the street, near the grocery
store. The thief must have dropped it.”
“ You didn’t tell me that when you paid it
to me.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 113
“ When are you going back to New York? ”
he asked.
“ To-morrow. I will leave you my address,
and hope you will have the honesty to pay me
what you owe me as soon as possible.”
“ Yes, I will, but I am afraid that won’t be
soon.”
“ You ought to make an efiort to pay me.”
“It isn’t as if I really owed it to you. It
is money I have lost at cards.”
“If you are a boy of honor,” said Reginald
impressively, “you will feel that such debts
ought to be paid above all others.”
“ Why hould they? ” asked Percy, and
there will be many others who will be disposed
to echo the question. “ Why should gambling
debts take precedence of honest obligations? ”
It is not necessary to repeat Reginald’s ex-
planation, as it was shallow and sophistical.
Two hours later Sam Doyle, a young Irish
boy, espied, under a bush by the roadside,
what seemed to be a letter. He picked it up,
and, though his education was by no means
extensive, he made out the name of Mr. Jones.
“Shure Mr. Jones must have dropped it
out of his pocket,” he said. “ I’ll carry it to
him.”
He entered the store, and attracted the
attention of the grocer, who was behind the


114 Five Hundred Dollars.
counter, and in a bad humor, smarting still
from his loss of twenty dollars.
“Clear out, you Sam Doyle!” he said,
“ unless you want to buy something. I don’t
want any boys loafing round my store.”
“ Is this your envelope, Mr. Jones? ” asked
Sam, producing the envelope. '
“ Give it to me.”
Mr. Jones read his name on the envelope in
some wonder and tore it open. What was his
amazement and delight when he saw the lost
bill!
“ Where did you get this, Sam? ” he asked.
“ I found it under a bush by the side of the
road, near the blacksmith’s shop.”
“ When? ”
“ Shure it wasn’t more’n five minutes.”
“ Do you know what was in the envelope? ”
H No.”
“ You are sure no one gave you the letter to
hand to me? ” said the grocer, with a search-
ing glance.
“ Shure, I found it.”
“Well, I’m glad to get it. You are a good
.boy to bring it to me. Here’s ten cents.”
Sam took the money, as much surprised as
pleased, for the grocer was considered, and
justly, a very mean man.
“ Thank you, Mr. Jones,” he said.


Five Hundred Dollars. 115
“ You are sure that Bert Barton didn’t give
you the letter? ”
“ Yes, sir. I haven’t seen Bert since morn-
in’),
“Did you see any other boy near?”
“ Yes, sir, I saw Percy Marlowe.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“ Yes, sir; he asked me what I’d got in my
hand.”
“What did you say?”
“ I showed him the letther.”
“Did he say anything to you then?”
“ He told me it was for you, and he said I’d
better take it' right over to your store.”
“ He gave you good advice. Wait a minute,
' and I’ll do up a pound of sugar and send it to
your mother as a present.”
“What’s come to the old man?” thought
Sam. “ Shure he’s gettin’ generous in his old
age!”
“ I wish I knew who took that bill,”
thought the grocer meditatively. “However
I’ve got it back, and that’s the main thing.”
When Percy dropped the envelope, he re-
mained near at hand, and seeing Sam pick it
up, instructed him to carry it to the grocer.
He then breathed a sigh of relief, and felt
that he was lucky to get out of a bad scrape
so safely.


116 Five Hundred Dollars.
CHAPTER XVII.
AFTER THE TRIAL.
“Mn CONWAY,” said Bert, as they walked
home together from the trial, “I am very.
grateful to you for getting me out of my
trouble. If you will let me know your fee, I
will pay it.”
“ My dear boy,” rejoined the young lawyer,
“ this is my vacation, and I only took up your
case to keep my hand in.”
“ You are very kind, and I shall always re-
member it.”
“Lawyers ‘ are not always mercenary,
though they have that reputation with some.
I should like, by the way, to find out who did
steal the bill.”
“ So should I. I have no idea for my part.”
“ If you ever find out, let me know. I go
back to New York to-morrow, and am glad to
leave the memory of a professional triumph
behind me.”
“ What is your address, Mr. Conway? ”
“No. 111 Nassau Street, Room 15. Here
is my card. When you come to New York,
call and see me.”
“ I shall do so, though it may be some time


Five Hundred Dollars. 117
in the future. Do you think I could get any-
thing to do in New York? ”
“Yes; but perhaps not enough to pay your
expenses.”
“ I find the same trouble here.”
“ You have been at work in the shoe fac-
tory, I believe.”
“Yes; but I have been discharged. My
place has been taken by a machine.”
“That is unfortunate. Is there no other
opening in Lakeville?”
“ I have not found any yet.” -
“I will keep your case in mind, and if I
hear of anything I will let you know.”
When Squire Marlowe returned home from
the trial, his wife inquired with interest,
“ How did the case come out? ”
“ The boy was acquitted,” answered her hus-
band shortly.
“Acquitted! Why, you thought it was a
close case.”
“ So I did, but it came out on the trial that
there were two twenty-dollar bills, and the one
which the Barton boy presented was left for
him by Uncle Jacob.”
“ By that old man? Why, I thought he was
poor.” '
“ So he is—worth only five hundred dollars,


:18 Five Hundred Dollars.
and he is making ducks and drakes of that as
fast as he can.”
“ And then he will fall back on you?”
“ I suppose so.”
“Then I hope you will let him go to the
poor house," said Mrs. Marlowe with energy.
“ I shall. I have no pity for a man who
throws away his money.”
Percy came home to dinner in lively spirits.
He was free from anxiety, and felt that he had
been remarkably fortunate.
“Were you at the trial, Percy? ” asked his
mother.
“ N 0, ma.”
“I thought you would be interested in see-
ing that boy on trial.”
“ I was sorry for him, and didn’t want to
be present.”
“ Sorry for him? ”
“ Yes; I felt sure he had not taken the
money.” '
“ Seems to me this is a new streak, Percy,”
said the squire. “ I thought you didn’t like
Bert Barton.”
“ I am not intimate with him,'for he is only
a working boy; but all the same I don’t want
him convicted when he is innocent.”
“It is a mystery to me who could have


Five Hundred Dollars. 119
taken the other twenty-dollar bill,” said the
squire. “ Can you think of anybody?”
“ No; how should I? ” returned Percy,
nearly swallowing a spoonful of soup the
wrong way.
“ There are so few people in the village, that
it must be some one we know.”
“Perhaps old Jones didn’t lose any money,
after all.”
“There is no doubt on that point. The
stolen bill has been returned to him in an
envelope by Sam Doyle.”
“Is that so?” exclaimed Percy, counter-
feiting surprise. “Why, it must be the same
envelope Sam showed me.”
“ He showed you the envelope?”
“Yes; he picked it up by the roadside. It
was directed in pencil to Mr. Jones. So that
contained the stolen bill? ”
“ Yes.”
“ Then perhaps it was taken in joke.”
“A poor joke! No; the thief got alarmed,
and took that way of returning it. I sug-
gested to Jones that the handwriting on the
envelope might furnish a clew to the thief.”
“What did he say? ” asked Percy, alarmed.
“He said he should do nothing about it,
now that he had the money back.”
“I guess ‘he’s right,” said Percy, relieved.


120 Five Hundred Dollars.
In the afternoon Bert met Percy in the
street. He advanced cordially.
“ Well, Percy, I got free, after all.”
“ Yes, I am glad of it.”
“ I feel grateful to you for believing in my
innocence.”
“ It’s all right,” said Percy, in a patronizing
tone. “ Even if you are a working boy, I was
sure you wouldn’t steal.”
Bert’s feelings cooled a little. Somehow
Percy’s manner kept him aloof.
“ Yes, I am a working boy,” he replied, “ or
at any rate I would like to be, but I don’t find
it easy to get wor .”
“Just so! If I hear of anything I will let
you know. Good—morning! ”
“I don’t know what to make of Percy,”
thought Bert, perplexed. “He was as kind
as he could be this morning, and now he is
offish. At any rate, he didn’t believe me
guilty, and I won’t forget that in a hurry.”
Two more weeks passed, and Bert still
found himself unable to find employment.
Berries had become so plenty that he was un-
able to sell any, and only picked some for con-
sumption at home. The sum of money which
had been received from Uncle Jacob gradually
dwindled, and Bert became alarmed. What
would they do when it was all gone? He had


Five Hundred Dollars. 121
no doubt that Uncle Jacob would give them
further assistance, if appealed to, but both
he and his mother felt that it would be an
imposition on the old man, with his limited
fund of money, to ask anything more of him.
“ I don’t want any more of Uncle Jacob’s
money, mother,” said Bert; “ but I should
like to ask him if he could find me a place in
New York.”
“ I couldn’t bear to have you leave me,
Bert.”
“ But I must take work wherever I can find
it.”
So Bert with his mother’s permission, wrote
to Uncle Jacob, informing him of his dis-
charge from the factory, and his desire to ob-
tain work elsewhere. This letter reached
Jacob Marlowe, and led to his writing as fol-
lows to the squire:
NEPHEW ALBERT:
I hear by a letter from Lakeville that you
have discharged Bert Barton from your em-
ployment, and that he cannot secure any other
kind of work. I am surprised that you should
treat Mary’s boy in this manner, considering
the relationship that exists between you. I
appeal to your better nature to reinstate him
in his old place. I can assure you that you .


I22
Five Hundred Dollars.
will have no cause to regret it. I have steady
work here, and am quite well satisfied with my
position and prospects.
JACOB MABLOWE.
“ The stupid old meddler! ” ejaculated the
squire, throwing the letter from him in impa-
tience. “ I suppose the Barton boy has been
writing to him. He evidently considers it my
duty to support all my poor relations, himself
included. I will undeceive him on that point.”
He drew writing materials toward him and
wrote as follows:
UNCLE JACOB:
I have received your letter asking me to re-
instate the Barton boy in his old place. This
is a business matter, and I don’t permit any
interference with my business. I may add
that, even if he is a poor relation, I do not feel
called upon to support all my needy relations.
I am glad you have obtained a situation in
which you can make an honest living. I hope
you will keep it, and won’t squander the small
sum of money you have in reserve.
Yours, etc.,
ALBERT MARLOWE.
When Uncle Jacob read this let-tor, he
smiled.
“ It is what I expected, ” he said to himself.

' l


Five Hundred Dollars. 123
“Albert Marlowe is thoroughly selfish, and
so, I think, are his wife and son. I must find
some other way of helping Bert.”
The day succeeding the receipt of Uncle
Jacob’s letter, the squire met Bert in the post-
oflice.
“ Have you been writing to Jacob Mar-
lowe?” he asked.
“ Yes, sir.”
“I suppose you asked him to urge me to
take you back into the factory? ”
“ No, sir.”
“At any rate, he has done so; but I allow
no one to interfere in my business afiairs.
You hear, do you?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“Then remember it!” and Squire Marlowe
turned his back rudely upon Bert.
“ Here is a letter for you, Bert!” said the
postmaster.
Bert opened the letter in some surprise, and
read it with interest and'excitement.

CHAPTER XVIII.
BERT OBTAINS woRK.
To begin with. the letter, which Bert so un-
expectedly received, contained a ten-dollar
bill.


124 Five Hundred Dollars.
“It must be from Uncle Jacob!” he
thought. He turned to the next page, and
looked for the signature. It was, as he antici-
pated, Jacob Marlowe. It was brief, as will
be seen from the copy given below:
MY DEAR NEPHEWZ
I am sorry to hear that you have lost your
place in the factory. I think Albert Marlowe
might at any rate have retained you, knowing
how much you and your mother needed your
weekly wages. I have written to him, asking
him to take you back into the shop, but I do
not suppose he will. It is more to test him
than anything else that I have made the re-
quest. But, at any rate, we will give him a
chance to deal cqnsiderately. Next week,
Thursday, if you should not have found work,
come up to the city and seek me at the ofi‘ice
where I am employed, No. 111 Nassau Street,
Room 19, and I may have it in my power to
employ you in an important matter. Bring
all your clothes with you, but take only money
enough to get to the city, leaving the balance
with your mother. Give my love to her, and
tell her to keep up good courage.
Your affectionate uncle,
JACOB MARLowE.


Five Hundred Dollars. 12 5
“ I am to go to New York!” thought Bert
joyfully. “ Perhaps Uncle Jacob will find me
a place there. I shall enjoy that ever so
much. Let me see, I am to go next week,
Thursday, and it is now Saturday. I wish
the time had come! ”
Of course, Bert carried the letter home and
showed it to his mother.
“ How kind Uncle Jacob is!” she mur-
mured. “ But I am afraid he is too generous.
He is a poor man. He cannot afiord to be giv-
ing us money all the time.”
“He is earning a good salary, you know,
mother.”
“Only twelve dollars a week, Bert.”
“ But that is a good deal. If I were earn-
ing twelve dollars a week-I should feel rich.”
“ It doesn’t go very far in a large and ex-
pensive city like New York.”
“ I could save half of it, if I had it. Would
you mind much, mother, if I should take a
place in New York?”
“It would be terribly lonely for me, Bert,”
sighed Mrs. Barton.
“ But you would not oppose it? ”
“ Not if your Uncle Jacob thought it best.
He seems to be our only friend just now.”
“Yes; I don’t know what we should have
done without him.”


126 Five Hundred Dollars.
On Monday morning, considerably to his
surprise, Bert received an ofier of employ-
ment.
About a mile from his mother’s cottage lived
Silas Wilson, an old farmer about sixty years
of age, who had the reputation of being one of
the meanest men in Lakeville. Even his
horses and cows had a hungry look, and it
was easy to see that they were not pampered
or injured by over-feeding. This was the man
who stopped his farm wagon in front of Mrs.
Barton’s dwelling, and spoke to Bert, who
was just coming out of the front door.
“ Here, you, Bert Barton!”
“ Good-morning, Mr. Wilson,” replied Bert.
“Squire Marlowe tells me you are out of a
job.”
“ Yes, sir.”
“And I’ve been thinkin’ I could give you
work on my farm.”
Bert was not overjoyed at this announce-
ment, but he felt that he ought to take into
consideration any ofier that might be made to
him.
“Would you expect me to board at your
house? ” he asked.
“ Sartin! All my boys board with me.”
“ How much wages would you be willing to
pay? n


Five Hundred Dollars. 127
“ Fifty cents a week and board. I calculate
that would be about right.”
“ Fifty cents a week and board?” repeated
Bert, by no means dazzled by the tempting
offer. -
“ Yes. What do you say?”
“ I shouldn’t be willing to work for that.”
“ You wouldn’t, hey? ” What did you get in
the shoe shop? ”
“ Four dollars a week.”
“ Board’s worth that, so I give you what’s
equal to four dollars and a half.”
Bert had heard something of the kind of
board supplied by the farmer, and ‘he was
hardly prepared to rate it so high.
“ It wouldn’t be worth that to me,” he said.
“ I would rather work for three dollars and a
half in cash, and board at home.”
“I’ve got to have my boy in the house,”
said Silas Wilson decidedly. “Come, now,
what do you say? ”
He regarded Bert with some anxiety, for
he had been suddenly left in the lurch by
a hired man who had received a better offer
elsewhere, and hardly knew where to turn for
assistance.
“ I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Bert.
“ I’ve got to go to New York on Thursday on
business, but I’ll come and work for you till


128 Five Hundred Dollars.
Wednesday night for half a dollar and my
board.”
“ I’ll give you thirty-five cents,” replied the
farmer cautiously.
Bert shook his head.
“ Forty, then, and that’s high pay for a half-
grown boy.”
“ I’m more than half grown,” returned Bert.
“ It’s no use, Mr. Wilson, I won’t take less
than fifty cents.”
“ Then jump on the wagon. It’s a big price
to pay, but I’m in a hole, and won’t stop to
dicker.”
“ I will go and tell my mother first.”
“ Well, hurry up, for part of the day is
gone already.”
“I don’t believe you’ll like it, Bert,” said
Mrs. Barton.
“Nor I, but I made up my mind to accept
the first ofli'er I got, and I shall feel better sat-
isfied if I keep my word. I’ll come round this
evening, after work, and tell you how I like
it as far as I’ve got.”
Bert seated himself in the wagon next to the
farmer.
“ Be you the boy that Jones charged with
stealin’? ” asked Silas.
“ Yes, sir.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 129
“ You didn’t do it?” asked Silas, in some
apprehension.
“ No, of course not!” answered Bert, indig-
nantly. “ Didn’t you know I was acquitted,
and that it was shown that there were two
twenty-dollar bills? ”
“ It’s wicked to steal,” observed the farmer,
apparently a little anxious still.
“ Of course it is.”
“ One of the boys that worked for me stole
some money from a chest-of-drawers in my
chamber. You see Mis’ Wilson and me sleep
in a bedroom on the first floor openin’ out of
the settin’ room.”
“ Did the boy take much? ” asked Bert, in
some curiosity,
“Yes; he took a twenty-five cent piece,”
answered Silas Wilson, soberly.
Bert wanted to laugh, but controlled his
facial muscles, though he eyed his companion
with a queer look.
“That was a good deal of money,” he said,
soberly.
“ Yes, it was.”
“How did you find him out—the boy, I
mean? ” ~
“ He spent the money at Jones’s store.”
“ What did he buy with it? ”
“ He bought some doughnuts.”


r30 Five Hundred Dollars. '
“ Did he board with you? ” asked Bert sig-
nificantly.
“ Yes, he did.”
“ Then,” thought Bert, “ I don’t wonder
much that he was tempted.”
“ I’ve got fifty cents in my pocket,” he said
aloud, producing the coin. “ I show it to you,
so that if you hear of my spending money you
needn’t think I took it from you.”
Silas Wilson eyed the half-dollar with a
covetous look, which the sight of money al-
ways brought to his face.
“ Hadn’t you better give it to me to keep
for you? ”
“ No, thank you; I am very careful. I shall
not lose it.”
“ Boys ginerally are keerless. They are apt
to lose money.”
“ I don’t believe you ever lose money, Mr.
Wilson”
“Not since I was a boy. I lost two cents
once, but it was a lesson to me, and I’ve never
lost a copper since.” a
By this time they had reached the farm-
house. The farmer drove into' the barn and
put up the horse.
“ Now we’ll go to work,” he said.
The work which awaited Bert was in the
cornfield. He was set to hoeing, and kept it


Five Hundred Dollars. 13!
up for three hours, along with the farmer in
the adjoining row. Noon came, and Silas,
pausing in his work, said: “I calculate Mis’
Wilson will have dinner ready. We’ll go to
the house.”

CHAPTER XIX.
BERT’s EXPERIENCE AS A FARMEn’s BOY.
BERT followed the farmer into the kitchen,
in the center of which a table was set. A
bony and angular woman was just placing on
it a large pitcher of water. .
“MisJ Wilson,” said the farmer, “this is
Bert Barton, who is helping me about the
farm work.”
Bert was no stranger to Mrs. Wilson, whose
pew in church was near the one he occupied.
“ How’s your ma?” she inquired jerkily.
“Pretty well, thank you, Mrs. Wilson.”
“-I’m glad to hear it. She looks like a
friend of mine, Mrs. Dusenberry, who died of
heart disease.” .
“ I don’t think her heart is affected,” said
Bert, not without anxiety.
“Maybe not, but you can’t tell. Folks
lives along for years with their hearts out at
kilter, who never find it out till some day they
drop dead.”
Mrs. Wilson decidedly was not a cheerful


132 Five Hundred Dollars.
converser. She prided herself on detecting
signs of unsuspected diseases,
“ Mebbe you’ve got heart disease yourself,
Sophia,” remarked the farmer jocosely.
“ Just as likely as not,” answered Mrs. Wi-l-
son calmly. “I’m sure my liver’s affected,
for I feel it squirm sometimes.”
“Mebbe I’d better look out for a second
M‘is’ Wilson,” suggested the farmer smiling.
“You ain’t over healthy yourself, Silas,”
responded his better half, surveying her hus-
band in a business-likev manner. “ It looks to
me as if your kidneys was out of order, and
you’re the very image of‘Jed Pettibone, who
died of apoplexy. He lived next door to my
mother. One day he was alive and well, and
to-morrow he was as the grass of the field.”
The farmer’s face wore a very uncomfort-
able look, and he was evidently by no means
pleased with his wife’s prognostications.
“ Nonsense! ” he said testily. “ I’m as well
as any man of my age in Lakeville.”
“ ‘ Boast not thyself of to-morrow ’! ”
quoted Mrs. Wilson solemnly.
“ Come, Bert, let us set down to dinner,”
said Silas hastily. “What have you got for
us, Sophia?”
“ I’ve warmed over them beans we had yes-
terday,” answered his helpmeet, “and there’s


r34 Five Hundred Dollars.
humors, particularly in boys, isn’t it, Mis’
Wilson?”
“ So I’ve always heard, Silas. Besides, as
we have it at breakfast and supper, that’s
enough. It goes fast enough, even then.
why, we used most a pound last week.”
“And butter twenty-seven cents a pound!”
chimed in the farmer. “Why, it’s extrava-
gant! ” ‘
“ Do you know, Silas, how much butter is
used in Squire Marlowe’s family?”
“No,” answered the farmer, with interest.
“ Hannah—Mrs. Marlowe’s girl—told me
they used six pounds and a half last week,
and there’s only four of them, including the
girl. What do you think of that? ”
“What do I think? I think it’s sinful—
positively sinful! Six pounds and a half at
twenty-seven cents——”
“They pay thirty-two, and get the best in
the market,” amended his wife.
“ Worse and worse! That comes to what—-
Bert? ”
“Two dollars and eight cents,” answered
Bert promptly.
“ Sho! Did you ever?”
“ Well, I s’pose the squire can stand it. No
doubt they live on the fat of the land. I just
wish they’d invite me to tea, so I could judge


Five Hundred Dollars. ' 135
for myself. I could tell within five cents how
much the supper cost.”
It must be confessed that Bert did not en-
joy his dinner. The sausage was far from rich
or juicy, and the beans were almost cold. The
potatoes and bread have already been referred
to. However, there was to be a second course,
and to that Bert looked forward anxiously, for
he had by no means satisfied his appetite. It
was a plain rice pudding, and partially satis-
factory, for it takes very little skill to boil
rice, and there is little variety in the qual-
ity. By way of sauce Mrs. Wilson provided
cheap grade of molasses. Still Bert enjoyed
it better than any other article on the table.
“There’s nothing like a good dinner to
strengthen us for the labors of the field,” said
Silas Wilson complacently, as he rose from
the table. “Come, Bert, now let us get to
work to make up for lost time.”
“So Mr. Wilson considers the time spent
in eating as lost time,” thought Bert. “ I’d
rather have one of mother’s dinners than half
a dozen like this. Ugh! how nasty those pota-
toes were.”
Bert returned to the field, and resumed his
work. He found it hard to keep up with Silas
Wilson, whose energies seemed to be quick-
ened by his midday meal.


136 Five Hundred Dollars.
About four o’clock a man came along who
wanted to see Silas on business, and he went
back to the house, leaving Bert to continue his
work alone.
“ This is about the longest day I ever
passed,” thought Bert, pausing to wipe his
moistened forehead. “I am afraid I shall
never want to be a farmer. I mustn’t for-
get, though, that I am to receive sixteen cents
and a little over per day, besides board—and
such board! Yet this is the way Silas Wilson
has lived all his life, and he must be sixty-five
at least. How much more enjoyment Uncle
Jacob has out of life, though he is a poor man
compared to the farmer.”
At this moment he heard wheels passing on
the road hard by, and looking up he recog-
nized Percy Marlowe, neat and trim in his
attire, driving a light buggy.
“Hallo!” called out Percy, checking his
horse.
“ Hallo, Percy!”
“Are you working for Silas Wilson?”
“Yes, for a few days.”
“I guess you’ll make a fortune in that
time?” said Percy laughing.
“ It seems like it,” responded Bert.
“How much does he pay you?”
“ Fifty cents for three days and board.”


Five Hundred Dollars. I37
Percy laughed.
“I should want fifty cents an hour, and
then I wouldn’t do it.”
“ I’d work all the year round at that price,”
said Bert.
“ I never expect to work—with my hands,”
went on Percy.
“ Have you decided what to do?” asked
Bert curiously.
“ My father wants me to be a manufacturer,
but I think I shall be a lawyer.”
“ I am afraid I shan’t have much choice. I
must take what I can get.”
“ You might stay with Mr. Wilson and be a
farmer.”
“ I don’t think that will suit me at any rate,
unless I can work for a different man.”
“ Perhaps father can take you back into the
shop when you are older.”
“ I wish he would take me back now. I like
it a great deal better than working out in the
field here.” -
“ You mustn’t get too high notions into
your head, Bert. You know you are a work-
ing boy and mustn’t expect to have things all
your own way.”
“ I am not likely to forget that I am a work-
ing boy, especially with kind friends to re
mind me of it. But we live in the best coun-


138 Five Hundred Dollars.
try in the world, and there is many a working
boy who grows up to be a distinguished man.”
Percy laughed ironically.
“I wouldn’t get such silly ideas into your
head, he said.
“ Why are they silly?”
“ You talk as if you expected to be a distin-
guished man. Ha, ha!”
“I hope to be a successful man,” answered
Bert stoutly.
Percy laughed again and drove on. Five
minutes later Bert saw the farmer running
from the house in a state of great apparent
excitement.
“Have you seen anything of my wallet?”
he gasped, as he came within hearing dis‘
tance.

CHAPTER XX.
BERT IS PLACED IN AN EMBARRASSING
POSITION,
BERT regarded his employer with surprise.
“Your wallet?” he repeated.
“ Yes,” answered Silas Wilson impatiently.
“ I had it in my pocket when I was at work
here. I didn’t think about it till just now,
after Mr. Dexter had left me. Then I found
that my pocket was empty.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 139
“ I haven’t seen it, but you may have
dropped it somewhere.”
“Just help me look for it. Has anybody
been here?”
“ No; at least not in the field. Percy Mar-
lowe passed in his buggy, and ”
“ Never mind about that. Help me look for
the wallet.”
The rows of corn were of considerable
length, and there were a good many of them.
At least ten minutes elapsed before anything
was seen of the missing article, and dark sus-
picions of his young assistant entered the
mind of Mr. Wilson. But at last Bert’s
sharp eyes espied a faded leather wallet be-
tween two hills in one of the rows which the
farmer had hoed.
“ Is this it? ” he asked, holding it up in his
hand.
“ Yes!” ' exclaimed Silas delighted.
“ Where did you find it?”
“ Just here.”
Mr, Wilson opened it, anxious to see
whether the contents were intact.
“ It’s all safe,” he said, with a sigh of relief.
“Was there much money in it?” asked
Bert.
“Yes; two dollars and sixty-sevenv cents.


14o Five Hundred Dollars.
It’s a narrow escape! Suppose a dishonest
person had found it?”
“ It would have been terrible!” said Bert,
successfully checking his disposition to laugh.
“ I’m much obliged to you, Bert, for findin’
it. I suppose you don’t want any reward?”
“ Oh, no! I am working for you, you know,
and it wasn’t my own time I was using.”
“That's true! Still, I am willin’ to give
you tplgieis to EHCWQEI.”
“ Thank you, Mr. Wilson; but I don’t need
any reward for that.”
“ You’re a good boy, and if you stay with
me I’ll make a man of you.”
“ Thank you.”
Bert was privately of opinion that if he re-
mained till the age of twenty-one in Silas Wil-
son’s employ, boarding at his table, he would
grow into a very thin, under-sized man in-
deed.
Supper was a less substantial meal thar
dinner in the Wilson household, consisting of
bread and butter and tea, ‘with the addition of
a plate of doughnuts, which were so tough
and hard that it occurred to Bert that they
would make very good baseballs if they had
been of the right shape.
After supper he went home for an hour.


Five Hundred Dollars. 141
“Don’t you feel very tired, Bert?” asked
his mother.
“Yes, mother, but I feel still more hungry.
If you’ve got anything left from supper I
think I can dispose of it.”
“ Certainly, Bert; but didn’t you eat supper
at Mr. Wilson’s?”
“Mother, they don’t know what good living
is there. I’d rather have one of your suppers
than a dozen of Mr. Wilson’s. I begin to
think that the board part won’t be worth
over fifty cents for three days. I am sure it
won’t cost them any more.”
“ I wish you were going to sleep here, Bert.
I shall feel lonely.”
“So do I, but I shall only be away two
nights. Silas Wilson promises to make a man
of me if I’ll stay, but I’d rather grow to man-
hood somewhere else.”
Bert returned to the farm-house, and about
half-past eight went to bed. He knew he
must be early astir, and he felt fatigued by his
day of labor in the field. Besides, Mr. and
Mrs. Wilson went to bed at this hour. The
farmer was not fond of reading, nor indeed
was there anything in the house to read, for
neither he nor his wife had a literary taste.
Once he took an agricultural paper for a year
at a cost of two dollars, but whenever the


142 Five Hundred Dollars.
paper arrived he groaned in spirit over the
cost, and deplored his extravagance in sub-
scribing for it.
The room assigned to Bert was over the
kitchen, which was in the ell part. The roof
was sloping, and, toward the eaves, very low.
There was one window near the bed which he
occupied.
Bert went to sleep in ten minutes, and slept
soundly for three or four hours. Then some-
thing roused him, and he opened his eyes.
What he saw startled him. By the bright
moonlight he perceived a man climbing in at
the window.
To say that Bert was perfectly calm would
not be true. He was very much startled, as I
think almost any boy, or man either, would
have been under the circumstances.
“ It is a burglar!” thought Bert in excite-
ment. “ What can I do? ”
Some one evidently had heard of Silas YVil-
son’s miserly disposition, and judged that
there would be a good chance to secure booty
in the farm house. Bert, though he did not
admire Mr. Wilson, felt that it was his duty
to protect him from being plundered, if possi-
ble. He knew that he was in some personal
peril, but he was‘ naturally a brave boy, and
his spirit rose to the occasion.


Five Hundred Dollars. 143
He waited until the supposed burglar was
in the room, and then, sitting up in bed, asked
stoutly: “Who are you? What brings you
here? ”
The man turned swiftly toward the bed, and
fixed his eyes on Bert, but did not immediately
speak.
“ If you are a burglar,” continued Bert, em-
boldened by the man’s hesitation, “ you had
better get 0 t of the window again, or I shall
call Mr. lson.”
“ No, don’t call him, at least not yet,” said
the intruder, sinking into a chair a few feet
from the bed. “Are you working here?”
“ Yes.”
“Who are you?”
This seemed a singular question. What
could his name matter to a burglar? How-
ever, Bert answered mechanically, “My name
is Bert Barton.”
“ The widow Barton’s boy?”
“ Yes; how do you know that?” demanded
Bert, in bewilderment.
“ Don’t you know me? ” was the unexpected
rejoinder.
He drew nearer to the bed, and Bert gazed
at him earnestly, but no light dawned upon
him.


144 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ No, I don’t know you,” he said, shaking
[his head.
“I am Silas Wilson’s son,” said the
stranger.
“ Phineas Wilson? ”
Now Bert remembered that eight year be-
fore, the farmer’s son, a man grown, had left
Lakeville, and, so far as he knew, had not been
heard of since. He had contracted a habit of
drinking and had tired of farm work. More’
over, when he left, he had taken fifty dollars
of his father's money with him, which had led
to bitter feelings on the part of the farmer,
who appeared to mourn the loss of his money
more than that of his son. And this was the
young man who had crept into his father’s
house like a thief in the night.
“Why did you get into my window? ” asked
Bert. “ Why didn’t you come to the door? ”
“ I—didn’t know if I would be welcome. I
wanted to ask. Do you know how my father
feels toward me? ”
“ No; I have only been here one day. He
ought ‘to be glad to see his son.”
“I took some money with me when I went
away,” said Phineas hesitating. “ Father’s
very fond of money.”
“ Yes,” assented Bert.
“ And he would find it hard to forget that.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 145
“ Why didn’t you come back before?”
“ I didn’t dare to come till I could bring the
money. I have got it with me, but not a dol-
lar more. If you want to know what brings
me back, look in my face and see for your-
self.”
The moon came out from behind a cloud,
and by its light Bert saw that the young man’s
face was thin and ghastly.
“ I am sick,” he said; “irregular hours and
whiskey have done their work. I am afraid
I have got to pass in my cheeks.”
“ What does that mean—die? ”
“ Yes.”
“Don’t give up!” said Bert, feeling his
sympathies go out toward this prodigal son.
“ You are young. It takes a good deal to kill
fa young man.”
“ You’re a good fellow, Bert. That’s your
‘,name, isn’t it? Will you do me a favor? ”
“To be sure I will.”
-“I am famished. I haven’t had anything
lto eat for twenty-four hours. Can you slip
downstairs and fetch me something to eat—
no matter what—and a glass of milk?”
Bert hesitated. He could get what was re-
quired in the pantry, but suppose the farmer
or his wife should wake up! It would make
his position a very awkward one.


:40 Five Hundred Dollars.
“Hadn’t you better go down yourself?”
he asked.
“I can hardly stand, I am so tired. Be-
sides, I don’t know where mother keeps
things.”
“ I will try,” said Bert; and he slipped on
his pantaloons, and went softly downstairs.

CHAPTER XXI.
THE MIDNIGHT vIsI'r TO THE PANTRY.
“ SUPPosn Mrs. Wilson sees me?” thought
Bert uncomfortably. “ She will take me for
a thief.”
He was actuated by the kindest motives, but
he heartily wished his errand were done. As
he stepped into the kitchen he heard the deep
breathing of Mrs. Wilson and the noisy snore
of her husband, and rightly judged that it
would not be easy to rouse either of them. He
opened the pantry door, and by the light of the
moon was able to inspect the shelves. There
was a half loaf of bread on one shelf, half a
dozen doughnuts on a plate on the shelf below,
and a few cold beans close beside them. Then
there was a small pitcher half-full of milk.
“I don’t think the beans or doughnuts will
set well on an empty stomach,” Bert reflected.


Five Hundred Dollars. 147
“ I’d better take the milk and two or three
slices of bread.”
Here the cat, who had been asleep on the
hearth, roused herself, perhaps at the sight of
the milk pitcher, and, mewing loudly, rubbed
herself against Bert’s legs.
“Scat!” cried Bert, in a low voice, anx-
iously looking toward the door of the bed
chamber in which the farmer and his wife lay
asleep.
The cat got between his legs and nearly
tripped him up, but he managed to get out of
the room and upstairs. Phineas looked at
him eagerly.
“I have some bread and milk here,” said
Bert. “I couldn’t find any butter. There
were some cold beans and doughnuts, but—”
“The bread and milk are better. Give
them to me. I am almost famished.”
The bread was dry and stale, but Phineas
was not in the mood to be particular. He ate
like one famished, and drained the pitcher to
the last drop,
“I feel better,” he said then, with a sigh of
relief.
“I suppose I had better take the pitcher
back to the kitchen. It will be missed,” re-
flected Bert, and he started downstairs again
in his bare feet. He paused at the kitchen


148 Five Hundred Dollars.
door, and heard the farmer talking in his
sleep. This alarmed him. He decided that it
would not do to replace the pitcher in the
pantry, as he would be likely to be heard. He
waited where he was for five minutes, and
then ventured into the kitchen. This time he
was successful, and with mind relieved re-
turned to his chamber.
Phineas was dozing in his chair.
“ You had better get into the bed, Mr. Wil-
son,” said Bert, filled with compassion for the-
weary wayfarer. “ I’ll lie on the floor.”
“If you don’t mind. I am fagged out.”
Bert made a pillow of his coat and trouserst
and stretched himself on the floor. He found
that there was an inside bolt, with which he
fastened the door, to guard against any unex~
pected visit from Mr. or Mrs. Wilson.
He fell asleep again, and was only roused
by a loud voice at the foot of the back stairs.
“ Time to get up!” called the farmer.
“ All right!” responded Bert in a loud
tone. -
Fortunately Silas Wilson did not think it
necessary to come up. Had he done so it
would have been embarrassing, for Phineas
was sound asleep on the bed. Bert thought
it best to rouse him before he went down
stairs.


150 Five Hundred Dollars.
with a glance at Tabby, who was lying near
the fire-place.
“It wasn’t the cat. She couldn’t get her
head inside the pitcher. Besides, there are
three slices of bread missing.”
“ Won’t cats eat bread? ”
“ It was a two-legged cat!” replied Mrs.
Wilson significantly.
Bert. reddened in spite of himself, and tried
to look unconscious. He saw that Mrs. Wil-
son was on the point of making a discovery,
and that suspicion was likely to fall upon
him. This he could clear up, but it would be
at the expense of the poor fellow who was
asleep upstairs.
“ But how could anybody get into the
house?” asked Silas. “ The doors were
locked, weren’t they?”
“Yes, Silas. In forty years I have never
failed to lock the door before I went to bed.”
“ Then I don’t see——”
“Nor I—yet!” said Mrs. Wilson signifi-
cantly, and Bert thought—but he may have
been mistaken—that her eyes turned for a mo-
ment in his direction.
“ At any rate it isn’t much of a loss. Was
there anything else in the closet?”
“There were some doughnuts and beans.”
“Were any of them taken?”


Five Hundred Dollars. 151
“No, not that I can see.”
“ Cats don’t care for them.”
“ Don’t be a fool, Silas! That poor cat had
no more to do with the robbery than I have.”
“Mebbe you’re right; but cats have been
known to steal. I like dogs better myself.”
“I don’t!” cried Mrs. Wilson with em-
phasis. “I’m not going to have any dog
trapesing over my floors with his muddy feet.”
“Just as you like, Sophia. You’d better
lock the pantry door in future.”
“ I’m not sure that that will answer, unless
I hide the key.”
“Do you seriously think a human being
took the things?”
“Yes, I do—in the middle of the night.”
“By gracious! that’s serious. He might
have come into our room and taken my wallet
and watch.”
“And maybe murdered us in our beds!”
added Mrs. Wilson grimly.
“ Did you hear anybody walking round the
house last night, Bert?” asked the farmer,
who was by this time worked up into a state
of agitation.
“ No,” answered Bert.
“I am glad he did not ask me whether I
saw anybody,” thought he. “ I don’t want to
tell a lie.”


152 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ I usually sleep pretty sound,” he added, a.
little ashamed of his duplicity, yet not know-
ing how else to avert suspicions.
“So we all do!” said the farmer’s wife.
“We might be all murdered in our beds with-
out knowing anything about it.”
“ I shouldn’t want to know anything about
it if that was going to happen,” observed
Silas, not without reason. “I don’t think it
could have been a very desperate ruffian, if he
contented himself with taking bread and
milk.”
“He may come again to-night,” suggested
Mrs. Wilson.
“ I hope not,” said Silas fervently. “ I—I
couldn’t sleep if I thought so.”
“We must get to the bottom of this,” went
on his wife resolutely. “ I am not willing to
have such goings on in my house.”
“How are you going to do it, Sophia?
Probably the thief’s miles off by this time.”
“ He may be, or he may not be! ” said Mrs.
Wilson in an oracular tone.
“ I’ve heard of folks walking in their sleep,”
she added, after a pause.
“ You don’t mean me? ” asked Silas.
“ No; if you did it I’d have had a chance to
find out in forty years. Do you ever walk in


Five Hundred Dollars. 153
your sleep? ” she asked, turning suddenly to
Bert.
The question was so unexpected that he
could not help changing color, and this served
to increase Mrs. Wilson’s dawning suspicions.
“Not that I ever heard of,” Bert answered,
after a pause.
“I knew a boy once that did—it was a
second cousin of my brother’s first wife.”
“ I am sure I never get up in my sleep.”
The door leading into the entry from which
the back-stairs ascended was open, and
through this, just at this moment, was heard
a sound that startled all three who were sit-
ting at the breakfast table.
It was a loud, unmistakeable sneeze, and it
came from the chamber which Bert had occu-
pied.
The farmer and his wife started as if the
house had been shaken by an exploding bomb-
shell. Both turned as pale as death, looked
fcarfully at each other, and clutched tightly
at the edges of the table.
“ Silas! ” said Mrs. Wilson, in a hollow
voice, “ the burglar is upstairs!”


I54 Five Hundred Dollars.
CHAPTER XXII.
A PANIC AT FARMER WILSON’S.
SILAS WILSON was not a brave man, and
at his wife’s suggestion he turned pale, and
looked panic-stricken.
“ Do—you—think so? ” he asked feebly.
“ Do I think so? I know so,” returned Mrs.
Wilson energetically.
“ How could he get up there? ”
Mrs. Wilson walked to the window, and
her lynx eyes detected the ladder by which
Phineas had climbed to the window of Bert’s
room.
“ Do you see that?” she asked.
It is rather surprising that she did not sus-
pect Bert of knowing something about the
matter, but she had not yet had time to put
two and two together.
“ It’s terrible!” murmured Silas, mopping
the cold perspiration from his forehead.
“ What can we do? ”
“ What can we do? Go and get your gun,
Silas, and go up and confront the villain.
That’s what we can do.”
Somehow the suggestion did not seem to
“ad favor with Mr. Wilson.


I56 Five Hundred Dollars.
ards,” returned Mrs. Wilson. “ Come, are
you going up or not?”
“ Hadn’t I better go to the foot of the stairs
and fire up?” asked Silas with a bright idea.
“And then he’d come down on you, when
your gun was discharged, and run his bayonet
into you,” said Mrs. Wilson, who knew that
at the battle of Bunker Hill the muskets had
bayonets attached.
“I’ll give him warnin’!” continued Silas.
“ It’ll only be fair. He’ll probably be fright-
ened and climb down the ladder.”
“I never did see such a ’fraid cat in my
life!” quoth Mrs. Wilson contemptuously.
“ Mebbe you’re braver’n I be. If you are,
go up yourself!” said Silas Wilson angrily.
“ You want to put your wife in danger, do
you?” returned Mrs. Wilson, who was as
averse to facing the burglar as her husband,
though she talked more courageously.
“And you want to expose your husband to
danger,” retorted Silas, “ so it’s an even thing,
so far as I can see.”
It is hardly necessary to say that Bert en-
joyed the dispute between the husband and
wife, though he maintained an outward
gravity which helped him to conceal his secret
amusement. By this time he thought it time
for him to take part.


Five Hundred Dollars. 157
'“I’ll go up,” he said.
“You will?” exclaimed Silas in surprise
and relief.
“ Yes, I am not afraid.”
“ To be sure! The burglar wouldn’t do you
no harm. You’re only a boy. Do you know
how to fire a gun? ”
“ Yes, but I shan't need the gun. I am sure
the burglar wouldn’t harm me.”
“ You’re a brave boy, Bert,” said the
farmer. “You're doing just what I would
have do'ne at your age.”
“ You never would have done it, Silas! I
should be ashamed anyway to own up I was
more of a coward as a grown man than as
a boy.” .
“Sophia, you don’t know much about burg-
lars and their ways. Don’t be afraid, Bert;
I’ll back you up; I’ll stand at the door of the
kitchen with the gun in my hand, and help
you if you need it.”
Bert smiled, for he knew just how valuable
Silas Wilson’s assistance would be, but he
made no comment, and started on his perilous
enterprise.
“ I hope he won’t come to no harm,” said
Mrs. Wilson. “ I don’t know but I’d better
go with him.”


Five Hundred Dollars. I 59
“ Has he got a gun with him? Did he offer
to shoot you?”
“ No,” answered Bert gravely. “ The poor
fellow is sick.”
“Poor fellow, indeed!” sniffed Mrs. Wil-
son. “ What does he mean by getting into a
respectable house through a window? He’ll
end up his days in jail.”
“ Does—does he look desperate?” inquired
Silas Wilson. “Would he be likely to hurt
me or Mis’ Wilson?”
“No; he says he would like to have you
come up.”
“ Well, of all things!” ejaculated Sophia.
“ I’ve got something to tell you,” went on
Bert, turning from one to the other. “He
wants me to tell you before you go up. It is
some one whom you both know, though you
haven’t seen him for a good many years.”
Silas did not understand, but a mother’s in-
stincts were quicker.
“ Is it our son—Phineas? ” she asked.
“Yes,” answered Bert; “it is your son.”
“Who stole fifty dollars from his father,
and crept away like a thief in the night!” ex-
claimed the farmer indignantly. /
“ He has sufiered, and is very weak,” re-
joined Bert. “He hadn’t had anything to
eat for twenty-four hours, and I may as well


160 Five Hundred Dollars.
tell you that it was I who came downstairs in
the night and took up the bread and milk
to him.”
“You did quite right,” said Mrs. Wilson,
who was half-way upstairs by this time. He
was her own son in spite of all, and though
she was not an emotional woman, she yearned
to see the face of her only child, with a
mother’s feelings all aroused within her.
“He took fifty dollars!” repeated Silas
Wilson, still harping on a wrong which he
had never forgotten nor forgiven.
Bert was rather disgusted at the farmer’s
meanness, but he relieved his anxiety.
“He’s brought you back the money!” he
said shortly.
“He has!” exclaimed Silas in a tone of
gladness. “ Did he tell you so? ”
“Yes; it is all the money he had, and he
went without food rather than spend any of
it.”
“ Come, that’s encouragin’,” said the
farmer. “ He’s turnin’ from his evil ways.”
When they reached Bert’s chamber they
saw Mrs. Wilson kneeling beside the bed, her
harsh features softened by the light of an af-
fection which had been absent from them for
years. She looked contented and happy, now
that her boy was restored to her.


Five Hundred Dollars. 161
“ Got back again, Phineas, hey? ” said Silas
Wilson. “ You’re lookin’ kinder peaked.”
“Yes, father, I’ve been sick, but now ”
“ I’ll soon get him well!” interposed Mrs.
Wilson. “I’ll go right down and bring up
some breakfast.”
“ I can eat it, mother. I have had nothing
except the bread and milk Bert brought me.”
On Wednesday evening Bert closed his en-
gagement with the farmer, and declined to
continue it, though urged strongly to do so.
He went home in a whirl of excitement, for
Phineas Wilson had told him something which
overwhelmed him with astonishment.


CHAPTER XXIII.
BERT FORMS A RESOLUTION.
“MOTHER,” said Bert abruptly, as he en-
tered the cottage at the close of his engage-
ment with the farmer, “ when did father
die? ”
Mrs. Barton sank into a chair, and looked
searchingly in her son’s face.
“Why—do—you—ask?” she said slowly.
“ I have been told today that he was living
only a year since.”
“ Who told you? ”
“ Phineas Wilson, the farmer’s son.”


162 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ Did he see him a year ago?”
“Yes, in some town in Canada—near T0-
ronto, I believe. But, mother, you don’t seem
surprised.”
“ No, Bert, for I knew your father was liv-
ing.”
“Then why don’t he come home. Why
don’t he live with us? Is there some mys-
tery?”
“Yes, Bert, and a painful one for your un-
fortunate father. It is the fear of a prison
that has kept him away from home.”
“ Surely, mother,” said Bert, painfully
shocked, “my father was not a criminal?”
“ No, but circumstances made him appear
such.”
“Tell me the story.”
“It is time that you heard it. Ten years
ago your father and Albert Marlowe were em-
ployed by Weeks Brothers, large shoe manu-
facturers in a Massachusetts town. Both
were skilled workmen ”
“Did Squire Marlowe work at the bench? ”
“Yes, his position was precisely the same
as your father’s, no worse and no better.
Both received the same pay—two dollars a
day.”
“ Does Percy know this?”


Five Hundred Dollars. 163
“Probably not. Albert Marlowe is not
fond of speaking of his early days when he
was a common workman. At that time our
families were intimate and associated on
equal terms. Our circumstances and ways
of living were the same. We lived in a double
house, Albert occupying one tenement, we the
other.”
“Were you and Mrs. Marlowe friendly
then?”
“Yes; she had not yet become a fine lady,
but did her own work, dispensing with a ser-
vant. We lived plainly, and, if anything,
your father was the more prosperous of the
was we managed to save from fifty to
seventy-five dollars a year, while I don’t be-
lieve Albert saved anything. But one day a
terrible thing happened. Mr. Weeks, the
senior partner, was a trustee and guardian for
some minor children. A part of their prop-
erty was invested in United States bonds,
5-20’s as they are called. He kept them in his
safe in the factory. One morning when he
opened the safe they were missing. You can
imagine the dismay of the guardian and his
indignation against the unknown thief. The
loss was publicly proclaimed, and a reward
of one hundred dollars was offered to any one
who could and would give any information


164 Five Hundred Dollars.
that would lead to the discovery of the thiet,
Some one—a young man named Harding-q
entered the oflice of the firm and informed
them that he had seen your father thrusting a
paper, looking like a government bond, into
the inside pocket of his overcoat—it was in
the middle of winter. The workmen. kept
their coats in a small room near the entrance
of the factory. Of course the room was
visited, your father’s coat was examined, and
in one of the pockets was found one of the
missing bonds, one for five hundred dollars.
Your father was summoned, charged with the
theft, and required to tell what he had done
with the remaining bonds. He was thunder-
struck at the accusation, and denied in the
most positive terms any knowledge of the
stolen property. His statement was not
credited. He was arrested, tried for the
ofl’ense, and sentenced to a term of imprison.
ment.”
“ Bert’s face flushed with indignation, and
he clinched his fist almost unconsciously.
“ Did he go to prison? ” he asked hoarsely.
“ N o ; some of his friends, who believed in
his innocence, helped him to escape, and sup
plied him with funds to get out of the country.
Now you know why he has remained absent
all these years.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 165

‘-_ _‘
“ But why was I never told of this, mother?
Why did I not know at the time? ”
“ You were only six years of age, and were
sent away during the excitement to the house
of a friend living at some distance. I moved
away from the town in which my misfortunes
were known, and eventually came here, learn—
ing that Albert Marlowe had established him-
self in business here. You readily believed
that your father was dead.”
“ I understand now, mother. But is it not
terrible that the happiness of a family should
be broken up in this way?”
“ Yes, Bert. Providence permits it for some
wise purpose, no doubt, though it is hard for
us to understand why it should be.”
“ One thing I don’t understand, mother.
You say that Squire Marlowe was a common
workman, like my father, and a poor man?”
“Yes, Bert.”
“How is it that he is now a rich manufac-
turer? Where did he get the necessary capi-
tal? ”
“Nobody knew. He took all his friends by
surprise when he went into business for him-
self on a large scale. Whatever the amount of
his capital, he has never been financially
embarrassed, and has gone on prospering.”
“ Till now he is a rich man, living in luxury,


166 Five Hundred Dollars.
while we are living from hand to mouth, and
poor father is an exile somewhere.”
“ Yes, Bert.”
“ Don’t you receive letters from father? ”
“ If I should, it would draw attention to
him, and might imperil his safety.”
“ I might meet him sometime, and not know
him.”
“ Have you no recollection of him? ”
“Not the least? Haven’t you any picture
of him, mother?”
“ Yes, I have a daguerreotype upstairs—an
old-style picture.”
“ Why have you never shown it to me? ”
"Because it would have led you to ask
questions which would have been embarrass-
ing for me to answer. You might have men-
tioned the existence of the picture before some
visitor, and compelled me to produce it. Sup-
pose this had been the case, and it had been
recognized, it might have got your father into
trouble.”
“Now that I know all the circumstances,
won’t you show me the picture, mother?”
“Yes, Bert; the only objection I had is
now removed.”
Mrs. Barton went upstairs, and soon re-
turned with one of those old-fashioned pic‘


168 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ He thinks he has found out—at any rate
he has strong suspicions—who was the real
thief for whom he suffered.”
“ Who is it, mother? Is it any one I ever
knew? ”
“ Yes, Bert.”
“Tell me quick.” '
“ Then you must promise to keep it secret
till we are in a condition to prove the truth of
our suspicions. It was Albert Marlowe.”
“The squire? ”
“ Yes.”
“That must explain his being able to go
into business for himself.”
“Yes. Your father is on the track of a
man who was his accomplice, or rather his
tool, in the matter—the young man named
Harding, on whose information your father
was arrested. Of course he is placed under a
disadvantage in making these inquiries, being
under the ban of the‘ law.”
“ Mother,” said Bert solemnly, “ I am going
to solve the mystery, if possible, make my
father’s evidence clear, and expose the real
criminal. I am only a boy, and I don’t know
how I shall accomplish it, but I won’t rest till
I have done it.”
“May Heaven grant you success, my dear
boy!” responded Mrs. Barton fervently.


17o Five Hundred Dollars.
“ He will soon be at leisure,” said the one
who had just entered, and seated himself at
another desk in the outer room.
“That must be Uncle Jacob’s employer,”
thought Bert.
“What news do you hear of the mine?” he
heard the elderly man ask.
“Excellent,” answered Uncle Jacob. “It
has gone up five points within two weeks.
The output is steadily increasing.”
“Do you know anything of it from your
own knowledge? ”
“ Certainly; I ought to, for I was myself its
discoverer.”
This rather surprised Bert.
“ It was a rich find,” continued Uncle Jacob,
“ and I have no hesitation in putting it on the
New York market."
“ There are so many wild-cat mines, you
know, that a man needs to be very cautious.”
“Quite true. In such mines it is only the
men who capitalize them who make money. I
would not lend myself to any such scheme of
deception. I have a reputation to sustain, and
I value that more than money. Our mine has
found favor with some of the most conserv-
ative investors in the city.” Here Uncle Jacob
mentioned several names, so prominent that


Five Hundred Dollars. 171
they were familiar to Bert, country boy
though he was.
“ You may put me down for five hundred
shares,” said the elderly man, apparently con-
vinced. “ I will send you round a check to-
morrow. To whom shall I make it payable? ”
“ To me.”
“ Very well.”
The old gentleman rose, drew on his gloves,
and went out, Uncle Jacob accompanying him
to the door. This brought him face to face
with Bert.
“ So you have come, Bert,” he said with a
pleasant smile. “How did you leave your
mother? ”
“ Very well, uncle.”
“ At what time did you breakfast? ”
“At half-past six.” v
“ Then you must be hungry. It is rather
early for my lunch, but I will go out with you
now. Mr. Bascom, I shall be back within an
hour. If any one calls to see me, try to keep
him.”
“ Yes, sir,” answered Bascom deferentially.
“ He can’t be Uncle Jacob’s employer,”
thought Bert. “He is too respectful. I had
no idea uncle was such a man of business.
He doesn’t appear to be afraid of anybody.”
They descended in the elevator, rather to


172 Five Hundred Dollars.
Bert’s surprise, who had climbed up by the
staircase. Crossing the street they entered a
dairy restaurant, which in spite of the name
supplied the usual variety of dishes. They
found a table at which no others were seated,
and Uncle Jacob ordered a substantial meal of
roast beef and vegetables.
“Did you find me easily, Bert? ” he in-
quired. ‘
“ Oh, yes, uncle. I had to inquire the way
once only. Do you like your place?”
“Very well, indeed, Bert.”
“ Is it a good man you work for?”
Uncle Jacob smiled.
“I have no fault to find with him,” he an-
swered.
“I thought perhaps that man with black
hair and whiskers might be the boss.”
“ No, he is a clerk.”
“ Like you? ” .
“ Yes,” answered Jacob, with another smile,
“ Does the boss often come in?”
“He doesn’t interfere much. You see he
has a good deal of confidence in Mr. Bascom
and myself.”
“ So I thought.”
“ What made you think so? ”
“ You seem to talk and act as if you were
independent.”


I74 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ No, thanks to you, Uncle Jacob. Mother
thought you ought not to have sent so much.”
“I don’t think I shall miss it, Bert,” said
Uncle Jacob. “ I am glad that it helped you.”
“The twenty-dollar bill got me into trou-
ble.” .
“ How was that? ”
Bert told the story of his arrest on the
charge of robbing Mr. Jones, and gave an ac-
count of his trial.
“ And you were tried before Albert Mar-
lowe? ”
“ Yes.”
“I suppose Percy rejoiced in your humili-
ation? ”
“No, he didn’t. He behaved like a brick.
He walked to the court-room with me, and
told me he was sure I was not guilty.”
“ I am certainly surprised, but I am pleased
also. That is a point in Percy’s favor, an un~
expected one. He shan’t lose by it.”
“ I am afraid I shouldn’t have got off if it
hadn’t been for a young lawyer from New
York, named Conway, who volunteered to de-
fend me.”
“Go on. Give me an account of it. Can
you give me the address of Mr. Conway? ”
“ Yes, uncle. I have it here.”


Five Hundred Dollars. I75
“ I may be able to throw a little business in
his way. One good turn deserves another.”
“ I wish you would, Uncle Jacob. Mr. Con-
way refused to accept a fee, knowing that I
could not afiord to pay him.”
Uncle Jacob asked other questions as the
dinner proceeded. Finally Bert brought out
his most important piece of news.
“ I have just found out that my father is
still alive,” he said.
“Yes, I knew that,” returned Uncle Jacob
calmly.
“ You knew it? ”
“ Yes, he has been to see me.”
“ He has! When? ”
“ Last week.”
“ You don’t think him guilty of the charge
which was brought against him? ”
“ No; I think him a badly-used man.”
“I wish I could be the means of proving
his innocence.”
“I mean that you shall be.”
Bert surveyed his uncle in surprise.
“ In fact, it is for that reason I have sent
for you. Your father has put his case into
my hands, and I propose to see him righted.
This evening, when I am free from business
cares, I will speak further with you on this
subject.”


176 Five Hundred Dollars.
Uncle Jacob called for his check, paid it,
and they returned to the ofi‘ice.

CHAPTER XXV.
AN ADVERTISEMENT AND WHAT CAME OF IT.
UNCLE JAooB left the oflice at five o’clock,
and Bert, who had been exploring the lower
part of New York, went uptown with him on.
the Sixth Avenue road. They got out at
Twenty-third Street, and Jacob Marlowe led
the way to a large, roomy house near Seventh
Avenue. He took out a night-key, and open-
ing the outer door proceeded to a large, hand-
somely furnished apartment on the second
floor, with a bedroom attached.
“ This is where I live, Bert,” he remarked,
as he took off his hat and hung it up in a.
closet.
Bert looked around him. To him the room
looked quite luxurious, being furnished in a.
style which would compare favorably even
with Squire Marlowe’s, the best house in
Lakeville.
Bert knew nothing of room rents in New
York; but, inexperienced as he was, he was
surprised that his uncle, on a salary of twelve
dollars a week, should be able to live so well.
He would have been even more amazed had he



Y‘.
Five Hundred Dollars. ' "1 177
known that the weekly rent of the room he
was in was twelve dollars.
“ You’ve got a splendid room, Uncle Jacob,”
he said. “ I shouldn’t thinkyou could afford
to live in such style.”
“ Some of my friends think I am extrava-
gant,” observed Jacob Marlowe with a smile.
“ Perhaps they are right.”
“ I am afraid you can’t save anything,”
went on Bert gravely. “What if you should
get sick? ” -
“ I see, Bert, you are more prudent than I
am. However I have invested some of my
money in the Magnet Mine, and it is likely to
double. So I feel justified in making myself
comfortable.”
“ I am glad to hear that, Uncle Jacob. You
deserve to succeed, you are so kind to
others.”
“ I am glad you think so, Bert. I want to
do some good while I live. It gives a man
something to live for.”
After supper, which was taken at a restau-
rant near by, Uncle Jacob said: “ Now let us
come to business. I promised your father
that I would do what I could to prove him in-
nocent of the charge made against him ten
years since.”
“ Where is my father? Is he in the city? ”


:78 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ No; it is not safe for him to stay here, as
he is subject to arrest, and might be recog-
nized. He has gone back to Canada. Do
you know the particulars of his story? ”
“Yes; mother told me all about it last
night.”
“ You know, then, that a young man named
Ralph Harding informed against him, and
that it was his testimony that led to your
father’s arrest.”
6‘ Yes.”
“ Your father is under the impression that
this Harding was in league with Albert Mar~
lowe, and was employed by him to throw sus-
picion upon your father. The weak point of
the prosecution was that your father could
only be connected with the five-hundred dollar
bond found in his overcoat pocket, while a
large balance was wholly unaccounted for.
That made it seem like a cunning conspiracy,
as undoubtedly it was.”
“Were the other bonds never traced?”
“ I understand not. No list of the numbers
had been kept, and, not being registered, they
could easily be sold. Your father thinks that
upon these the present prosperity of Albert
Marlowe was built up.”
“ How are we to prove that? ”
“It will be diflicult. One thing is abso


180 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ Have you taken any steps yet, Uncle
Jacob? ”
“Yes; your father remembered that Hard-
ing was a Pennsylvanian by birth, and this
made it possible, at least, that he had gone
back to his native State. Accordingly, last
week, I inserted an advertisement in two daily
papers printed in Philadelphia, calling for in-
formation touching the man of whom we are
in search. I will show you a copy of it.”
Uncle Jacob took from his wallet a news-
paper clipping and showed it to Bert.
It ran thus: ‘
WANTEn.—Information as to the present
residence of Ralph Harding, who in the year
187 3 was employed in the shoe manufactory of
Weeks Brothers, in Lynn, Mass. He will
hear something to his advantage.
“ Have you had any answer to this adver-
tisement? ” asked Bert.
“ Not till this morning, when I received a
letter from Harrisburg, written in a feminine
hand. Here it is.”
He placed in Bert’s hands the following
letter:
DEAR Sm: I have read in the Philadelphia
Ledger your advertisement for a man named
Ralph Harding. A man by that name


184 Five Hundred Dollars.
shirts, socks, and underclothing than he had
brought with him.
“ You may be gone some time,” he said.
Just as Bert got into the cars, Uncle Jacob
handed him a wallet.
“ This contains a sum of money for your im-
mediate needs,” he explained. “ When you
are out, send to me.”
After the cars started, Bert opened the wal-
let, and to his surprise found that he had
fifty dollars in his possession.
“ Uncle Jacob’s money won’t last long at
this rate,” he said to himself. “I must be
very careful and economical. I should like to
take back to him a part of this sum.”
Of course Bert enjoyed his trip. The sun
shone bright1y, the air was cool and invigorat-
ing, and the scenes through which he was rap-
idly speeding were new 'to him. In spite of
the sense of responsibility which rested upon
him, he felt cheerful and exhilarated.
“ If I can only succeed in my mission!” he
thought. “ If I can only find Ralph Harding,
and induce him to vindicate my father’s repu-
tation, I shall feel happy!”
It so happened that he had seated himself in
the smoking car, the car behind, which he first
entered, being full.


Five Hundred Dollars. 185
'A tall, thin man, wearing a white hat, sat
down beside him.
“ Have a cigar, young man? ” he asked, as
he produced two of rather poor quality,
one of which he lighted and proceeded to
smoke.
“ No, thank you, sir.”
“Better accept a good ofier,” urged the
stranger.
“ Thank you, but I don’t smoke.”
“ Indeed! How old are you?”
“ I am sixteen,” replied Bert.
“ Then you are a ram am's—that means a
rare bird. Most boys of your age smoke.”
“ They’d be better off without it.”
“ Perhaps so. I see you are a prudent
young man. How far are you going?”
“ To Harrisburg.”
“ So am I. Queer coincidence, isn’t it? ”
“I don’t know,” answered Bert, smiling.
“I presume there are other passengers on
board who are also bound for that city.”
“ Very possibly. Ever been there before? ”
“ No, sir.”
“ I have often, and the long ride is rather
tedious. What do you say to a little game of
cards to fill up the time? ”
“ Thank you, but I would rather look out of
the window.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 187
to you before the train reaches Harrisburg.
I have had a streak of bad luck, and that man
over there has won all my money. But I’ve
got on to his game, and I will soon have it all
back, if I get a start. You’ll be doing me a
great favor, and there will be no risk.”
“ He must take me for a fool,” thought Bert.
“You had better apply to some one else,”
he said coldly. “ I can’t posibly help you.”
“ So young and so hard-hearted ! ” mur-
mured the other, eying Bert reproachfully.
“ ’Twas ever thus from childhood’s hour. I
was born under an unlucky star. Sir, I am
afraid I must withdraw from our pleasant
game unless you will kindly lend me a dollar
to continue.”
His late antagonist shrugged his shoulders.
“ I don’t see how that would benefit me,” he
said. “ We’ll wait till another time when you
are in funds. Then I shall be happy to accom-
modate you.”
“ Did you lose much?” asked Bert, as his
companion resumed a seat at his side.
“ Fifteen dollars! ’Tis not much, but ’twas
my all. If you would oblige me with a dollar,
I can win it all back.”
Bert shook his head.
“ I have no money of my own,” he said.
“ Never mind! Twenty times I have been


Five Hundred Dollars. 189
Bert rang the bell, and inquired for Mrs.
Stubbs.
He was ushered into a small reception room
on one side of the front door, furnished in
cheap, boarding-house style, and took a seat
on a stifi-backed cane chair.
Presently a thin lady, with cork-screw curls,
and a pale, washed-out complexion, entered
'the room.
“Did you wish to see me, sir?” she said.
“ Yes,” answered Bert. “ You answered an
advertisement about Ralph Harding. I come
from New York.”
“ Have you brought my money?” asked
Mrs. Stubbs, with animation.
“What money do you refer to?”
“ Mr. Harding’s board bill. I sent it in the
letter.”
“ We don’t feel called upon to pay Mr.
Harding’s debts,” returned Bert, who had been
instructed by Uncle Jacob to say this.
“ Must I lose thirty-two dollars, then?”
said the lady tragically. “ It’s a shame.”
“ No doubt it is, but we don’t even know
MI‘. Harding.”
“ Then why did you advertise for him? ”
“ Because we want his testimony in a law
case.” '
“ The advertisement said that it would be


190 Five Hundred Dollars.
for Mr. Harding’s advantage to report to you.”
“ So it will, if we can find him. He will re-
ceive money enough to settle your bill, and
more, too. We will see that he does, if you
help us find him.”
“I am sure I am willing to do all I can,”
said Mrs. Stubbs, considerably mollified.
“Have you got a small room vacant?”
asked Bert. “I may be detained in Harris-
burg for a while.”
“Yes; you can have the one Mr. Harding
used to occupy. If you occupy it alone, it will
be five dollars a week with board.”
“ I will take it,” said Bert promptly. “ Can
I have possession at once?”
“Yes. Let me show you the way.”
The room was on the third floor. It was a
small one, but would answer the purpose.
Bert took out his clothes, and laid them away
in the pine bureau near the window.
“Well,” he said, as he waited for the bell
to summon him to supper, “I have taken the
first step toward finding Ralph Harding. I
am occupying the room which was once his.
What shall be the next step?”
He little anticipated the singular experi-
ence that same evening had in store for him.


Five Hundred Dollars. IQ!
CHAPTER XXVII.
A BOARDING-HOUSE IN HARRISBURG.
AT the supper table Bert made acquaint-
ance with his fellow-boarders. There were
eight in all. Three of them worked in the
shoe factory where Ralph Harding had been
employed, two young ladies were saleswomen
in a dry-goods store, Professor Silvio and wife
taught a dancing school, and the eighth was
the landlady’s daughter, a young woman of
twenty-five, who resembled Mrs. Stubbs
closely. Bert learned afterward that she was
employed in a millinery store.
“ Gentlemen and ladies,” said Mrs. Stubbs,
as Bert took the vacant chair that had been
assigned to him, “let me introduce a new
boarder, Mr. Barton.”
Eight pairs of curious eyes were fixed upon
Bert, and he blushed a little, not being ac-
customed to the scrutiny of strangers.
“ He is a friend of a former boarder, Mr.
Harding, whom some of you will remember.”
“ Have you heard from Mr. Harding lately,
Mr. Barton? ” asked Angelica Stubbs, who sat
next to our hero.
“ No,” answered Bert.


‘92
Five Hundred Dollars.
l
“He left quite suddenly, owing ma eight
weeks’ board.”
“ So I heard.”
“Do you think he will ever pay it up? ”
“ If I succeed in finding him I think there
is some chance of it.”
“ Mr. Harding and I were very good
friends,” continued Miss Stubbs. He—in fact
—showed quite a fondness for my society,”
she added, casting down her eyes modestly.
“No wonder!” said Bert, smiling.
“ Oh, you sad flatterer!” said Miss Angel-
ica, appearing pleased at what she regarded
as a compliment.
“ Didn’t he tell you where he was going? ”
asked Bert. I
“No; I think he was called away by bad
news.”
“What sort of a looking man was he?”
Bert inquired. ‘
“ You ask me that?” said Angelica, in sur-
prise. “ I thought you were a friend of his.”
“ I never saw him in my life.”
“That’s funny. Why then did ma intro-
duce you as a friend of his?”
“She thought me so. I am interested in
finding him, that is all.”
“You are not a horrid detective, I hope?
Has poor Mr. Harding committed a crime?


Five Hundred Dollars. 193
Oh, tell me quick. You actually make me
creep all over.”
“ I don’t mean any harm, but his testimony
is wanted in a law case. You haven’t told me
about his appearance yet.”
“ I’ve got his photograph, and will show it
to you after supper.”
“ Oh, thank you! ” said Bert, much pleased.
“That is, if you are sure it won’t do him
any harm. He used to talk to me very con-
fidentially, and I can’t help liking him, even
if he did get in debt to ma.”
“ Perhaps he was unfortunate and couldn’t
pay.”
“That’s what I tell ma, but ma’s rather
severe on boarders that go away without pay-
ing her.”
“ Did he take all his baggage with him, Miss
Stubbs? ”
“ He left behind a box of books and papers.
They weren’t of much account—some old
letters and such.”
“Did your mother preserve them?” asked
Bert eagerly. '
“Yes, I believe so; but she would have
preferred to have him leave his trunk. That
might have been sold for a part of his board
bill.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 197
“ Where is the theatre? ” he asked of a boy
who was studying the bill at the same time
with himself.
“Just round the corner. I’ll show you,”
was the reply.
“Thank you.”
“Are you goin’ to see de play? ” asked the
boy with interest.
“I think I shall.”
“I'd go myself if I had another nickel,”
said the young vguide. “ I’ve got ten cents.”
“ But I thought twenty-five cents was the
lowest price.”
“ I can go to de gallery for fifteen cents.
De gallery is good enough for me.”
“ If a nickel will help you, here is one.”
“Thank you,” said the boy. “It’s a boss
play, dey tell me.”
“ I hope it is, as I am going myself.”
The theatre was near at hand, and the two
boys soon stood before it. It was rather early,
being only a quarter past seven, but a small
crowd of boys was already waiting for a
chance to obtain admission to the gallery.
There seemed to be no hurry about buying
a ticket, and Bert took a standing position
near the box oflice, surveying with interest
the passers by. All at once he felt a hand on


200 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ I was sure of it. Then you accept?”
“ If you think I can do it, and will tell me
exactly what to do.”
“ Come round at once to the stage entrance.
I will give you your lines and tell you the
business. We’ll speak about terms later.”
As Bert followed Orville round to the stage
door he asked himself whether he was not
acting foolishly in accepting, at such short
notice, a position to which he was entirely un-
accustomed. If he had not liked declamation,
and felt moderately self-possessed before an
audience, he would have promptly refused.
As it was, the prospect, while it somewhat
daunted, also pleased him. Besides, he saw
that, though he might not be able to fill the
place of Bob H-azleton, it was imperatively
necessary that the part should be taken by
some one, and there was no time to lose in
hunting up another boy. If he did poorly, he
could limit his engagement to one evening.
He was not at home behind the scenes, and
at the outset came near tumbling through a
trap door. He followed Orville to the general
dressing-room, where the manager assisted
him to attire himself in the costume provided
for the newsboy. It is needless to say that it
was not of a costly description, and would
have been dear at a dollar and a half.


Five Hundred Dollars. 201
“ I’ll dress you first, and give you the lines
afterward.”
In five minutes Bert surveyed himself in a
cracked mirror, and wondered if he were the
same boy. Orville ruflled up his hair, taught
him the free and easy walk of the typical
newsboy, briefly instructed him in the “ busi-
ness ” of the part, and then gave him his lines
to commit.
“Read them to me,” he said. “I want
to see if you’ve caught the spirit of the part.”
Of course Bert needed a little coaching, but
“ caught on,” as Orville expressed it, with re-
markable quickness. After a few minutes’
rehearsal,-his teacher said: “ You’ll do; that
is, if you don’t get rattled.”
“ What’s that? ”
“ Get an attack of stage fright, and forget
your lines.”
“I won’t do that,” said Bert confidently.
“Then you’ll have no trouble. Now, stay
. here till you get a summons from the call boy.
I must make up for my part, though I don’t
appear, either, till the second act. Remember
that we rely upon you.”
“I’ll get through,” said Bert confidently.
By this time our hero looked forward
eagerly to the moment when he would appear
on the stage. He felt excited, and yearned to


Five Hundred Dollars. 203
Orville said, “Barton, you did yourself
proud! Keep it up when you appear again
in the fourth act, and you may consider your-
self an actor.”
In the fourth and last act Bert went on the
stage in his street dress. His circumstances
and his social position were supposed to have
improved.
At the close of the performance Orville in-
troduced Bert to the difierent members of
the company.
“ Do you mean to say you have never acted
before? ” asked Mr. Pearson.
“ This is my first appearance on any stage,”
said Bert with a smile.
“ Then you have done yourself great credit.
I was myself trained at Wallack’s Theatre,
but had been a year on the boards before I
could acquit myself as well as you.”
“ Thank you. I have done better than I ex-
pected.”
“ You more than filled Hazleton’s place.”
“ Has he been long with you? ”
“A year.”
Bert felt this was indeed praise, that on his
first appearance he should have equaled a boy
with a year’s experience.
“ Of course you will play with us the bal-
ance of the week?” said Pearson.


204 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ If you wish me to do so.”
“What salary will you expect?”
Bert smiled.
“ I hardly know what will be a fair price to
ask.”
“We will give you the same salary that
Hazleton received, fifteen dollars a week, and
you pay your own board. Is that satisfac-
tory?”
Bert opened his eyes. Fifteen dollars a
week seemed to him a large sum, for evening
work. He found afterward that he was ex-
pected to appear at rehearsal; but even with
this additional duty, the post appeared to him
an easy one.
“I accept the terms,” he said.
“All right; where are you boarding?”
He gave the address.
“Please be at the theatre tomorrow at
ten, and Mr. Pearson will hear you rehearse
and give you a few points.”
Unknown to Bert there were two persons
present at the theatre that night who recog-
nized him. One of the male boarders,
prompted by a rather significant hint from
Miss Angelica, had invited that young lady
to accompany him to the performance. They
sat in the sixth row from the stage, though


Five Hundred Dollars. 20 5
Bert, who attended only to his duties, did not
see them.
When he first came on as a newsboy, Miss
Stubbs said: “ How much that newsboy looks
like Mr. Barton, ma’s new boarder.”
“ He does look some like him.”
“ But of course it isn’t he. I wonder if he
is here this evening.”
“ I don’t see him anywhere,” said the
escort.
When Bert appeared in his own clothes in
the fourth act, Angelica exclaimed: “ Why, it
is Mr. Barton, after all! Is it possible that I
know a live actor? Why, I was talking to
him at supper, and he was really quite atten-
tive to me.”
“ He is put down on the bill as Bob Hazle-
ton,” said the young man, consulting the pro-
gramme.
“ That must be his stage name. I will get
him to tell me all about acting to-morrow.
Do you know, Mr. Cutting, I should like to go
on the stage myself? I should so like to play
Juliet.”
“ If you do, will you let me be Romeo? ”
“ Yes,.if you desire it,” said Angelica, tap-
ping her escort coquettishly with her fan.
It’s safe to say that Mr. Cutting, who was
barely five feet in height, and Miss Angelica,


206 Five Hundred Dollars.
who was tall, thin, and angular, would have
made a very remarkable Romeo and Juliet.
As Bert left the stage door, a boy touched
his arm. Looking round he saw that it was
the one who had guided him to the theatre.
The boy’s face wore a respectful look as he
said:
“ Say, you didn’t tell me you was one of de
actors.”
“ I didn’t know it myself,” answered Bert.
“ It was you that took off de newsboy,” con-
'tinued the boy.
“ Yes, but I’m not the regular actor. He’s
sick and I took his place.”
“It was tiptop. Are you goin’ to act to-
morrow night? ”
“I shall act all this week.”
“ I’d like to see de play again. It’s a boss
play.”
Bert felt in a liberal mood.
“ Here is fifteen cents,” he said. “ Tell
your friends to come.”
“ I’ll bring ’em. I’ll tell ’em I know one of
de actors.”
It may be remarked that Tom Roach, for
this was the boy’s name, gave such glowing ac-
counts of the play to his intimate friends that
no less than ten of them accompanied him to
the theatre the next evening, and were espe


Five Hundred Dollars. 207
cially enthusiastic when Bert was on the
stage. Their liberal applause raised Bert in
the good opinion of the management, who felt
that they had secured a prize in the new actor.

CHAPTER XXIX.
nnn'r SECUBES A BOX on MR. HARDING’S PAPERS.
WHEN our hero went down to breakfast
next morning, he found himself the observed
of all observers. Miss Angelica Stubbs and
her escort had already made known that he
was a member of the dramatic company, and
as none of the boarders had ever before met
“ a live actor,” all felt great curiosity and a
desire to become acquainted with so distin-
guished a public character.
As he took his seat beside Miss Stubbs, she
said: “ I saw you on the stage last evening,
Mr. Barton.”
“ Did you? I was not aware that you were
in the house.”
“ Why didn’t you tell me that you were an
actor? I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
“ I didn’t know it myself, Miss Stubbs.”
“ You mean to say you didn’t play the news‘
boy? Oh, Mr. Barton!”


Five Hundred Dollars. 209
she was intimately acquainted with one of the
leading actors in “The Streets of Gotham,”
and that he was really very attentive to her.
“ What would my friends at Lakeville say
if they knew my new business? ” thought
Bert. “ I should be glad if Percy Marlowe
could see me on the stage.”
He determined, however, not to say any;
thing in his letters about this new engage- -'
ment, for, though he had been successful thus
far, his success and popularity might not last.
“Did you see the notice of your play in
the morning paper, Mr. Barton? ” asked Miss
Angelica.
“ No; I haven’t seen the paper yet.”
“ It speaks of one of the actors. I won’t say
who,” continued Miss Stubbs, nodding play-
fully.
“ Do you mean me?” asked Bert in excite-
ment.
“ Yes, here it is.”
Bert ran his eye hastily over the notice,
which occupied a quarter of a column. This
is the portion that most interested him:
“The part of the newsboy was effectively
taken by Mr. Bert Barton, who was engaged
at the last moment to fill the place of Mr.
Hazleton. His acting was spirited, and the
fact that it was liked was shown by the hearty


210 Five Hundred Dollars.
call before the curtain at the end of the second
act. The management are fortunate in secur-
ing so good a substitute for Bob Hazleton.”
Bert’s face showed his gratification. “It
almost seemed a dream to him that he had
really appeared on the stage, and he was glad
that he had given satisfaction.
At ten o’clock he reported at the stage en-
trance, where he was met by Mr. Pearson, who
was associate manager. He went through a
rehearsal which enabled him to look forward
with more confidence to a repetition of the
part.
The afternoon he had to himself, and a part
of this he spent in trying to find out what he
could about Ralph Harding. He learned that
Harding had been employed in the shoe fac-
tory of Benedict & Co. Two of Mrs. Stubbs’s
boarders worked at the same place, but
neither had been intimate with Harding.
Bert learned that he was looked upon as “ a
rolling stone,” never content to remain long
in one place. He had been employed less
than six months at the Benedict shop, when,
without assigning any reason, he gave notice
that he wanted to leave.
“What sort of a man is he?” asked Bert.
“ He is restless and at times gloomy,” an-
swered Blanchard, to whom he had put the


Five Hundred Dollars. 211
question. “ I worked next to him, but he
seldom made any conversation with me.”
“ Was he a good workman? ”
“Excellent, but he evidently did not like
the business. He often lamented that he had
not the means of getting out of it.”
“ Have you any idea where he went when
he left Harrisburg? ”
“ From what I have heard him say, I think
it probable that he went to some Western
‘town or city.”
“You have not heard from him since he
left Harrisburg?”
“ No; he was not likely to correspond with
me. I doubt if he was intimate enough with
any one here to do so, except possibly with
Miss Stubbs,” added Blanchard, with a smile.
“ She tells me Mr. Harding paid her a good
deal of attention.”
“ It is more probable that Miss Stubbs paid
him a good deal of attention. At present you
are her favorite.”
“I don’t want to interfere with you, Mr.
Blanchard,” said Bert, much amused.
“ I can’t undertake to compete with an
actor, Mr. Barton.”
“ I can’t get over my surprise at being
called an actor. However, as long as it pays
me better than anything else, I don’t object.”


212 Five Hundred Dollars.
‘The next day Mrs. Stubbs intercepted Bert
as he was leaving the house.
“My daughter tells me,” she said, “that
}you are willing to pay four dollars for the
‘papers which Mr. Harding left behind him?”
“Yes,” answered Bert eagerly.
“ I don’t see why I shouldn’t sell them. I
.can’t afford to lose eight weeks’ board.”
“ Quite true, Mrs. Stubbs. I don’t see why
they won’t be just as safe in my hands as in
yours.”
“ You don’t want to do Mr. Harding any
harm; though I don’t know why I should
think of that, after the way he has served
me!”
“ Instead of that, Mrs. Stubbs, I can assure
you that it will be money in his pocket, if,
through his papers, I am able to find him.”
“And in that case you will try to get him
to pay his honest debts?”
“ I will, Mrs. Stubbs.”
“Then, Mr. Barton, if you will come up to
the attic I will hand you the papers.”
Bert gladly followed Mrs. Stubbs upstairs,
and was shown on the attic floor a wooden
box about half full of old letters and other
papers. The box certainly did not look very
valuable, and Bert said so. '
“I wouldn’t have kept it,” said the land-


Five Hundred Dollars. 213
lady, “if I could have got hold of his trunk.
But he got the start of me, and it was in the
hands of an expressman before I knew that
he was going to move. I was downstairs in
the basement when Mr. Harding took the ex-
pressman upstairs, and the trunk was brought
down and put in his wagon before I knew
what was going on. Mr. Harding didn’t even
say good-by, and I haven’t seen or heard of
him from that day to this.”
“Well, Mrs. Stubbs, here are your four dol-
lars, and I hope you will some day get the
balance of the debt.”
Bert carried the box downstairs and into
his room, where he proceeded to examine the
contents, among which he was destined to
come across a document of considerable in-
terest to him.

CHAPTER XXX.
BERT OBTAINS AN IMPORTANT CLEW.
MR. HARDING was not a literary man, and
his papers would hardly have been of any
value to a publisher. They consisted prin-
cipally of letters, some of them ten years old.
It seemed to have been a habit of Ralph Hard- '
ing to keep his letters, though he probablY
set no great value upon them.


214 Five Hundred Dollars.
Bert opened fifteen or twenty, and glanced
over them, only to find that they related to
matters in which he felt no interest whatever.
He began to doubt whether they were even
worth the small sum he had paid for them,
when all at once he made a discovery. He
found ‘a letter dated Lakeville.
“Who can have written him from Lake-
ville?” he asked himself, and naturally
turned the page to read the signature.
His heart beat quickly when he read the
name of the writer—Albert Marlowe. It was
dated about two years previous, and ran as
follows:
DEAR SIR: I have received your letter, and am surprised
that you should have the boldness to write to me for money. I
am sorry to hear that you have been in bad luck, but I presume
it is your own fault. You are able to earn good wages, and
ought to pay your own way without depending on anybody.
Look at me! I was once a common workman like you, but,
thanks to my energy and enterprise, I am now the owner of a
large factory, and able to live in comparative luxury. I don’t
know why you should expect me to support you. I have a
family of my own to care for, and my first duty is to them.
You intimate that you are in possession of a. secret which, if
made known, will injure me. I suppose I know what you
mean. I don’t think, however, that you will find any one to
believe what you may say to my disadvantage, and I warn you
to be careful what you do, or I may testify that you yourself
took the missing bonds. Don’t trouble yourself to write to me
again, for it will be time thrown away.
ALBERT MABLOWE


Five Hundred Dollars. 215
Underneath the signature were a few lines,
evidently written by Ralph Harding:
Who would believe that the writer of this letter is a thief,
and that the capital on which he started in business was stolen I
I bitterly repent that I was induced to join in the plot against
poor Barton. He—poor fellow—is in exile, afraid to return to
his own country, while the man who committed the crime
which has shadowed his life, is rich and prosperous, and holds
up his head in society. And I—miserable tool that I was—by
my testimony helped him to fasten the crime on an innocent
man. I don’t know whether it will do any good to write again.
I am a poor man, and Albert Marlowe is rich. He will defy me,
and perhaps swear that I was implicated in the robbery myself.
So I was, alas l for I accepted a bribe of two hundred dollars
for my part in the matter. I wish I could see poor Barton
righted !
Bert read this letter with flushed face and
beating heart. Here was proof positive that
his father was innocent; and Albert Marlowe,
the rich manufacturer, the magnate of Lake-
ville, was guilty not only of robbery, but,
what was even more contemptible, had
schemed successfully to throw the guilt upon
an innocent man, the husband of his cousin.
Through him John Barton had sufiered a ten-
years’ exile, and had been deprived for that
time of his good name and the society of his
family. '
“I wouldn’t take a thousand dollars for
this letter,” said Bert to himself in exultation.
“ I don’t know what it amounts to in the eyes


216 Five Hundred Dollars.
of the law, but I am sure it is valuable. Now,
if I could only find Ralph Harding himself.”
Bert continued his search among the letters,
and finally found one postmarked Peoria, Il-
linois, which appeared to have been received
by Ralph Harding about a week before he left
Harrisburg.
This is an extract therefrom:
It is five years since I have seen you. This is a long separa
tion considering that we two are the only ones left of the
family. If you are in your old business as I infer from you]
letter, why can’t you get work just as Well here in Peoria as in
Harrisburg? There is a large shop here, where I think you
would not have any difliculty in securing employment. I pre
same as good wages are paid here as at the East. We have a
small room which you could occupy, and it would be pleasant
for a brother and sister who have been so long separated to
find themselves under the same roof.
My husband is a carpenter, as you know. His earnings are
not large, and he doesn’t always have work, but we have a little
sum saved up which we can fall back upon in time of need. I
can't lend you any money, and indeed you ought not to expect
it, as you are a single man, and have no one to take care of but
yourself. I am afraid you are not a very good manager. Come
to Peoria, and I will see if I can’t help you save money. Con-
sider what a position you would be in if you should fall sick.
Your afleotionate sister,
HELEN CLIFTON.
Underneath, in Ralph Harding’s' handwrit-
ing, was this brief indorsement:
All true. every word of it ! Helen was always prudent ands
good manager. It is true, as she says, that there are but two
of us. Why shouldn’t I go to Peoria, and see her I


218 Five Hundred Dollars.
leave the company, as it is very important for
me to find this man.”
“There will be no occasion for you to leave
the company. When we leave Harrisburg, we
jump to Chicago, and probably three weeks
from now we shall be playing in Peoria. It is
on our list of places, and is a very good city
for a short engagement. Will that be soon
enough?”
Bert hesitated. If he remained with the
company, his expenses would be paid out to
Peoria, and he would be earning fifteen dollars
a week besides.
“Come, now, don’t hesitate!” said Mr.
Pearson. “We shouldn’t know how to get
along without you.”
Naturally this pleased Bert, and helped to
fix his resolution.
“I don’t know but I can wait two or three
weeks,” he said slowly, “ if you are sure we
shall play at Peoria.”
“I am certain of it. The route was made
up this morning. We are having some 119“
hills printed in which your name is substi-
tuted for that of Bob Hazleton. So you see,
my boy, you will be getting a reputation un.
der your own colors.”
This had its eflect, for Bert felt that he
should like to have a bill of the play in which


Five Hundred Dollars. 219
his own name appeared. Otherwise he might
find his friends incredulous as to his having
actually been upon the stage. Later in the
day he gave his promise that he would go
with the company when they left Harrisburg,
but would not sign an engagement for any
definite time, as he did not wish to put any
obstacle in the way of his following any clew
that might lead to the discovery of Harding.
“Well, Mr. Barton,” said Mrs. Stubbs after
supper, “did you find anything of value in
that box of papers?”
“Yes; I obtained some information that
will probably be of value. Besides it gave me
a clew to his present residence.”
“Indeed,” said Angelica, who was present,
“ where is he? ”
“In Peoria, Illinois. He has a married
sister living there.”
“ Shall you go out West to find him?”
“ I expect to go with the company. They
will play an engagement in Peoria.”
“ If you see Mr. Harding, please remember
me to him. Say—that is, you may hint that I
still think of him with interest, and—and
hope he will some day return to us.”
“That message ought to bring him, Miss
Angelica.”
“ Of course I only think of him as a friend,


Five Hundred Dollars. 225
him with surprise. There—at a neighboring
table—sat Uncle Jacob, enjoying a luxurious
dinner, the cost of which the squire, with the
bill of fare before him, estimated must come
to a high figure. -
“Can that be Uncle Jacob?” Albert Mar-
lowe asked himself in amazement. “ How
on earth can a clerk on twelve dollars a week
salary afford to dine at a restaurant like
this? ”
As he had not yet given his order, he moved
over to the table occupied by Uncle Jacob, and
took a seat opposite him. -
“ Albert Marlowe! ” exclaimed the old man,
recognizing him with surprise. '
“ Yes, Uncle Jacob, it is I. But what on
earth brings you here?”
“ I should think it was pretty evident,” said
Jacob Marlowe with a smile, “ I came in for
my dinner.”
“ Yes, but—do you usually come here?”
“ Not always—perhaps half the time. I
make my heartiest meal of the day at this
time—unlike most New Yorkers—and like it
to be a good one.”
“ Of course, but—how can you afford to eat
here? Didn’t you say that your salary was
twelve dollars a week? ”
“ I think I said so.”


230 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ I shall be glad to have you. I can’t af-
ford to have my rooms remain vacant.”
“ What will be your terms? ”
“ Six dollars each, including board.”
“ Is that satisfactory, Bert?” asked Pear-
son.
“ Quite so, Mr. Pearson.”
“ Then we will take possession. I hope it
is almost time for a meal, Mrs. Shelby. I am
almost famished.”
“You will only have to wait an hour. I
will show you to your rooms, and then I must
be excused, as my presence is required down-
stairs.”
The room shown by the landlady was of fair
size and neatly furnished. Bert looked about
him in satisfaction.
“ I would rather be here than at a hotel,”
he said.
,“ So would I, as long as I have a compan-
ion,” returned Mr. Pearson. “Besides, I
shall be saving from four to five dollars a
week. I ought to pay more than half of it,
as I am receiving a considerably higher salary
than you.”
“ No, Mr. Pearson, I prefer to pay my
share. But for you I should be paying more
at a hotel.”
Bert felt a little diffidence in appearing be-


-\.
"x.
. 
Five Hundred Dollars. 235
“Yes; I am in the old line. Like Albert
Marlowe, I am the owner of a large shoe fac-
tory, and I am worth, I should say, consider-
ably more money.”
Hiram French occupied a handsome house
on Indiana Avenue, furnished with taste, and
was, as his style of living showed, in easy cir-
cumstances. He introduced Bert to his wife
and daughter, who seemed at once drawn to
the young actor. When he left the house the
next morning after breakfast he was urgently
invited to call again during his stay, and par-
tially promised to do so. But he was in haste
to reach Peoria, for there it was he hoped to
find a witness that would vindicate his father’s
name and fame.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
A LATE ARRIVAL AT MRS. BARToN’s COTTAGE.
ONE evening, about eight o’clock, Mrs. Bar-
ton was sewing in her little sitting-room when
an unusual feeling of loneliness overcame her.
Circumstances had separated her from her
husband, and her only son was hundreds of
miles away.
“ Why,” she asked herself. “ can I not fare


Five Hundred Dollars. 237
“ I think so. The fact is, Bert has made an
important discovery, and is likely to make
more. We are in a fair way to prove your
husband‘s innocence, and put the guilt where
it belongs.”
“ And where does it belong?”
“The man who stole the bonds, we have
every reason to believe, is Albert Marlowe.”
“ I do not wish to get him into trouble, but
if it is necessary in order to vindicate my hus-
band’s reputation, I will not object.”
“ Albert Marlowe has been a cruel enemy to
you and your family,” said Jacob Marlowe,
sternly. “He is entitled to no consideration.
The past ten years cannot be recalled; but I
think that we shall be able to provide a
brighter future for yourself and Mr. Barton.
The first thing to do is to get him well.”
“What is the matter with you, John?”
asked Mrs. Barton, now for the first time not-
ing with alarm her husband’s pale face.
“ The doctor says my system is run down,
and that I need time to recuperate. I was liv-
ing in a boarding-house in Montreal, and the
prospect of being sick there was too much for
me. I wanted my wife to take care of me,
and, taking the first train to New York, I con-
sulted Uncle Jacob as to whether it would be
safe. In the light of Bert’s discoveries he told


24o Five Hundred Dollars.
surprised. It will be only because I follow
your advice.”
“ You can never become mean or close-
fisted, Uncle Jacob. It isn’t in your nature
to be either. But I hope you will be reason-
ably economical, and not give away so much
money to others.”
“ You are a good little woman, Mary,” said
Uncle Jacob, feelingly. “If you are ‘ever
blessed with means, you will do just as you
advise me not to do. Don’t be worried about
me, Mary. God loves a cheerful giver, you
know, and whatever I give to you is cheerfully
given.”
An hour was spent in conversation, and
then, as Mr. Barton showed fatigue, he and
Uncle Jacob retired to bed, and Mrs. Barton
mixed some flour so as 'to be able to give her
guests warm biscuits in the morning, for she
remembered that her husband had been very
fond of them in former years.
The next morning after breakfast Uncle
Jacob took his departure.
“ I leave you in good hands, John,” he said
to Mr. Barton. “Now, get well as fast as
you can.” '\
“There is one thing that will make me
well,” said Barton, “and that is, vindication
from the false charge that has darkened my


242 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ Uncle Jacob.”
“ Has he been here, then? ”
“ Yes; he came in the evening and went back
the next morning.”
“ I wonder he did not call upon us,” said
the squire thoughtfully.
“ It’s no great loss if he didn’t,” returned
Percy, pertly. “ He would probably wont to
borrow money.”
“ No; he appears to be doing very well in
the city; that is, for him. But what could in-
duce a gentleman from the city to come here
to Lakeville to board in a humble cottage? ”
“ I hear he is in poor health,” said Percy.
“Have you seen him? Do you know what
his appearance is?”
“ Yes. I saw him sitting at Mrs. Barton’s
window. He is of dark ‘complexion, and has
dark hair. Then he seemed to have a high
forehead.”
Squire Marlowe started in surprise.
“ Dark complexion, dark hair, a high fore-
head! Is it possible that it can be——”
“ Who, father?” asked Percy, curiously.
“ Never mind, my son. Some one whom I
used to know answers to that description.”
As Percy went out, Albert Marlowe said to
himself: “ If it should be he, what shall I do
about it? It is not for my interest that he


Five Hundred Dollars. 243
should remain in Lakeville. I might de-
nounce him to the authorities, but I would
warn him first. Then, if he still lingers, he
must take the consequences.”
CHAPTER XXXIV.
BERT INTERVIEWS HARDING’S SISTER.
THE next week Bert found himself in Be‘
- oria. His heart beat with excitement, for here
he hoped he would attain the object he had in
view.
The first day he was occupied in obtaining
a boarding place, and in matters connected
' with the play. He understood his duty to
his employers, and, eager as he was to seek
out Ralph Harding, he waited till he could do
so without intrenching upon their time.
After considerable inquiry he found him-
self standing in front of a neat-looking frame
house of two stories in a quiet street. The
plate on the front door bore the name
CLIFTON.
Bert rang the bell.
The door was opened by a girl about twelve
years of age.


244 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ Is Mrs. Clifton at home?” asked Bert.
“Yes, sir. Won’t you walk in?”
She led the way into a tiny parlor, so small
that the owner would have found it difficult
to give a fashionable party, or indeed any
party at all.
“ Sit down here,” said the young girl, point-
ing to a rocking-chair, “ and I will call ma.”
Bert took a seat, and was startled a minute
later by a hoarse voice saying, with much
energy, “ Get out, you tramp!”
He looked around the room in angry amaze-
ment, but could see no one.
Directly afterward he heard a discordant
laugh, and, guided by the sound, looked up to
see that it proceeded from a green parrot in
a cage above his head.
Bert smiled. It was impossible for him to
be angry with a parrot, however impolite the
bird might be.
Just then a lady entered the room—a lady
of middle size and middle age, plain in fea-
ture, but not unpleasant to look upon.
“ Did you wish to see me, sir? ” she asked.
“Are you the sister of Ralph Harding?”
asked Bert.
The woman’s face changed instantly.
“Yes,” she answered eagerly. “Do you


246 Five Hundred Dollars.
“Is it,” she asked with hesitation, “likely
to get Ralph into trouble?”
“No, madam. On the contrary, if I find
him it will be of advantage to him.”
“ Then I hope you may find him. But I am
afraid it will be diflicult. Ralph is very rest-
less. We tried all we could to keep him here,
but it was of no use. He had a good place,
and, though I say it myself, a good home,
where he enjoyed every comfort, but all that
didn’t prevent him leaving us, to go among
strangers,” she concluded, with a sigh.
“ I only just came from Chicago. I wish I
had known that he was there.”
“Did you come to Peoria expressly to see
my brother?” asked Mrs. Clifton, showing
some curiosity.
“Not entirely. I am connected with the
theatrical company. We play the ‘ Streets of
Gotham.’ ”
“Are you an actor, and so young,” asked
Mrs. Clifton, in surprise.
“ I take a small part in the play,” answered
Bert, modestly. “ Allow me to place two ad-
mission tickets at your disposal.”
“0h ma, can I go with you?” asked the
young girl who had opened the front door.
“Perhaps so, Belle.”
"Have you any picture of your brother


Five Hundred Dollars. 247
which you could show me?” asked Bert, re-
turning to the object of his visit.
“ Fortunately, Ralph had some photographs
taken while he was here. But for me he
would not have done so, but I insisted, and
paid for them myself. Belle, go and get one
of the pictures of your Uncle Ralph.”
The little girl left the room, and soon re-
turned with a photograph.
“ You can have that, if you like,” said Mrs.
Clifton. “ I got a dozen, and Ralph did not
feel enough interest to keep one for himself,
so I have plenty. I suppose it isn’t anything
extra, but it look like Ralph.”
Bert was eagerly scanning the picture which
Ralph Harding’s sister had given him.
The face was long, the nose aquiline, the
cheeks hollow, and the expression was that of
a man who was dissatisfied with life. There
were side whiskers of scanty growth, and there
was a scrubby mustache of yellowish hue. It
was a front view, and both ears were visible.
They were of extraordinary size and stood out
prominently from the head.
“ I think I shall know Ralph Harding if I
see him,” thought Bert.
“ I am very much obliged to you for the pic-
ture,” said Bert. “ With it to help me I hope
I may find your brother.”


Five Hundred Dollars. 249
sure he would be better oflc‘ with us than among
strangers.”
“I agree with you, Mrs. Clifton. You
may rest assured that, should I be fortunate
enough to find your brother, I will do all I
can to induce him to return to you when our
business is concluded. This may require him
to go East, but afterward he will be free to go
where he pleases. The secret you refer to may
relate to the business upon which I wished to
see him.
As Bert rose to go Mrs. Clifton took his
hand, and said, earnestly: “ I wish you suc-
cess, I am sure. I feel better for your visit.”
The information which Bert had received
made him desirous of going back to Chicago
as soon as possible and making every efi'drt to
find Ralph Harding. But there was one ev
barrassment. He did not like to leave the‘-
company till they were able to find a substi-
tute. In New York this would have been
easy, but here in Peoria there would be a great
difliculty.
But he was unexpectedly relieved from this
perplexity.
On Friday morning Mr. Pearson, who had
just come from the manager’s room, said to
him, “ I have news for you, Bert.”
“ What is it, Mr. Pearson? ”


2 52 Five Hundred Dollars.
to money, and I therefore send you an order
for fifty dollars. Present it to Clement Green,
of No. 13% La Salle Street, and he will cash
it. He is not a banker, but an insurance
agent, with whom I am well acquainted. I
am glad to hear that you have left the stage,
as it will permit you to devote your entire
time to hunting up Ralph Harding.”
On account of the income from his dramatic
engagement, Bert had spent but little of his
uncle’s money for the last three weeks. How-
ever, he thought it best to cash the order at
once, as he might have unforeseen expenses.
He accordingly made his way to the office on
La Salle Street to which he had been directed,
and presented his order to Mr. Green in per-
son.
“ How is my old friend Mr. Marlowe? ”
asked that gentleman, courteously.
“ He was very well when I left New York,”
answered Bert.
“I knew him in California. In fact, we
both worked together in the same mine. Try
to persuade him to come out to Chicago. I
should be delighted to entertain him. Are
you a relative of his? ”
“ Yes, sir; he is my great uncle.”
“ Shall you stay long in Chicago? ”


Five Hundred Dollars. 253
“ I am not sure. It will depend on my busi-
ness.”
“ You are young to be intrusted with a busi-
ness matter.”
“ Yes, sir; but there was no one else to un-
dertake it.”
“ How will you have the money? ”
“In tens and fives.”
“Very well. Let me advise you to divide
your money and not carry it all in your
pocket-book. You know, of course, that in a.
city like this there are pickpockets and de-
signing persons who would be glad to rob
you.”
“ Thank you for the suggestion. I will fol-
low your advice.” Bert borrowed an en-
velope, and put all his money, except about
ten dollars in small bills, in the inside pocket
of his vest. This was wise, for he had fifty
dollars besides the sum which he had just been
paid. It proved to be a prudent precaution.
Outside the office a young man of rather
flashy appearance had noticed Bert, and, fol-
lowing him in on some pretext that would
avert suspicion, had seen that Mr. Green was
paying him money. He went out quickly, and
waited till Bert emerged into the street. He
then quickened his steps, and overtook him.
“ Good-morning, young man,” he said.


254 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ Good-morning,” returned Bert, eyeing the‘
stranger with some curiosity.
“ You must excuse the liberty I have taken
in addressing you, but if you will favor me
with a few minutes’ conversation, I think I
can make it worth your while.”
“Very well. I am ready to hear what you
have to say.”
“ By the way, are you staying at a hotel? ”
“ No; I am boarding on Monroe Street.”
“ Is it a good boarding-house?”
“ Excellent.”
“ I am looking for one, and if you will allow
me, I will walk round with you, and see what
it is like.” ,
Bert knew that Mrs. Shelby had a room
which she was anxious to let, and he readily
agreed to introduce the stranger.
“I am staying at a hotel just now,” ex
plained his companion, “ but I prefer a board-
ing-house as more - home-like. Are you a.
stranger in the city?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“Where from?”
“ From New York.”
“I am from San Francisco. I have only
been here a week.”
They conversed upon indifferent topics till
they reached Mrs. Shelby’s.


256 Five Hundred Dollars.
row, for you can double your money on the
watch. Any one will give you fifty for it.”
“ Then why do you offer it to me for twenty-
five? ” asked Bert shrewdly.
“ Because I can’t wait to hunt up a custo-
mer.”
“ I cannot buy it.”
“ Then I will make you another offer. Lend
me ten dollars on it, and I will redeem it in
three days, and give you five dollars for the
accommodation.”
Bert hesitated. It seemed an easy way of
earning five dollars.
“ If I don’t redeem it, you have the watch
itself for security for a ridiculously small
sum. Of course I han’t give you the chance,
if I can help it. I expect funds from San
Francisco to-morrow.”
“ I think I shall have to decline,” Bert said,
after a pause; “ but your offer seems a good
one, and I have no doubt you will easily get
accommodated elsewhere.”
Bert was not prepared for the next move-
ment.
The stranger rose from his seat, drew a
sponge from his pocket, and quickly applied it
to Bert’s nostrils. He felt his head swimming
and consciousness departing.


Five Hundred Dollars. 257

“Aha,” thought the stranger. “My pru-
dent young friend will advance money this
time without security.”
He hastily thrust his hand into Bert’s
pocket, drew out his pocket-book, and, without
stopping to open it or examine its contents,
sprang to the door, with the intention of mak-
ing his escape.
But another boarder chanced to be passing
through the entry at the moment. A quick
glance revealed to him Bert unconscious on a
chair, and the pocket-book in the hand of the
man who was leaving the room. He took in
the situation at once.
“Give me that pocket-book,” he said sternly.
The other looked undecided.
“ Give it to me, or I will hold you and sum-
mon help. If you surrender it, I will let you
go scot free.”
The thief muttered an execration, but did
not dare to refuse.
The boarder entered the room and set him-
self to reviving Bert.
“Where am I? ” asked Bert, languidly.
“ You are all right now,” was the reply.


258 Five Hundred Dollars.
Bert looked up in the face of his visitor, and
started in great excitement.
“ Tell me, quick,” he said, “ are you not
Ralph Harding?”
“ Yes, answered the other in great surprise.
“ Who are you that recognizes me?”
CHAPTER XXXVI.
RALPH HARDING 1s FOUND.
BERT was still partly under the influence of
chloroform; but the sight of Ralph Hard-ing,
.whom he recognized from the photograph
which had been given him, roused him from
his stupefaction.
Harding repeated his question.
“Who are you?” he asked, “and how do
you know me?”
“ I am Bert Barton.”
“ What? not the son of John Barton? ” ex-
claimed Harding, drawing back with a trou-
bled look.
“ Yes,” answered Bert, gravely; “ I am the


26o Five Hundred Dollars.
“ You had something to do with it, but you
were the instrument of another.”
“ How do you know that? ” admitted Hard-
ing, incautiously.
“ Shall I tell you the name of that other? ”
6‘ Yes.”
“ It is Albert Marlowe.”
Ralph Harding started in surprise.
“ Does he admit it? ” he asked, after a
pause.
“ No; he does not know that it is suspected.
I want you to back me up in the demand that
he clear my father from suspicion.”
“ He will never do it. How could he, with-
out criminating himself? ”
“ Whatever be the result, my father’s char-
acter must be cleared.”
“ Tell me, is your father still living? ” asked
Ralph Harding, earnestly.
“ Yes, he is.”
“ Have you seen him? ”
“ Yes. Poor father, he has suffered much.
He has been separated from my mother and
myself these many years, and has not dared
to show himself at his old home, or among


268 Five Hundred Dollars.
cottage. When he saw Albert Marlowe he
turned away, and was about to re-enter the
house. The squire did not need this cor-
roboration of his suspicion, for he had al-
ready recognized Barton, though the two had
not met for ten years.
He set his face firmly; his expression be-
came hard and dogged.
“ That man mum leave Lakeville!” he said
to himself. '
Without hesitation he opened the gate and
entered the yard.
Meanwhile John Barton, seeing that he was
recognized, came to a. halt, and, turning
around, faced the man who had been his bitter
enemy. He showed no signs of fear, for what
had happened was only what he had antici-
pated.
Squire Marlowe came up and stood at his
side.
“ You are John Barton,” he said. “ Do not
attempt to deny it!” v
“ I do not propose to deny it to you—Albert
Marlowe,” answered Barton, calmly.
“You are here under an assumed name.


Five Hundred Dollars. 269
I was told that Mrs. Barton’s boarder was
named Robinson.”
“ I am passing under that name. You know
why.”
“ Yes, I do know why. You are under the
ban of the law. You are afraid of beingar-
rested and brought to trial a second time.”
“ I know there is danger of it, and of course
I shrink from it.”
“Then why do you come here? Are you
mad?”
“After ten years I wished to see my wife
once more. I am a sick man. I came to her
to be nursed back to health.”
“ Take care, or when you leave here it will
be for a less desirable boarding-place! ” said
the squire, in a menacing tone.
“ You mean the prison?”
“Yes; that is what I mean.”
“No one in Lakeville knows who I am.
Why should I fear? ”
“ I know.”
“Surely you would not betray me—you,
the man who worked for years at my side? ”
“I cannot compromise with crime. It is


274 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ It did not immediately occur to me; but
when you started in business on a large scale,
though you were no better ofi than myself at
the time of the theft, it set me to thinking.”
“ I have already told you that I used bor-
rowed money.”
“ You won’t tell me where you borrowed it.”
“ Because it is my private business. John
Barton, I warn you that you are making a
powerful enemy. If you keep quiet and let me
alone, I will not call attention to your presence
in Lakeville, and for safety’s sake I will not
appear to know anything about you. Do you
make that promise? ”
“Albert Marlowe, I am an innocent man,
but I am under a ban. I want to prove my
innocence, and regain the right to live with my
family, and hold up my head before my fellow-
men. If, in doing this, attention should be
drawn to you as the real criminal I cannot
help it.”
“ So you defy me, do you?” demanded the
squire. -
“If what I have said is a defiance, then I
defy you,” answered John Barton, calmly.


Five Hundred Dollars. 275
Squire Marlowe rose from his seat, his face
flushed with anger.
“ Be it so,” he ‘said. “ You will hear from
me again.”
“ Oh, John,” exclaimed Mrs. Barton as the
squire left the room, “ I am afraid Albert will
do you some harm.”
“ Then, Mary, to relieve you, let me say that
I have heard through Uncle Jacob that Bert
has found the missing witness, Ralph Harding,
.' and that both are probably in New York at
this moment.”
On his return Squire Marlowe telegraphed
' from a neighboring town as follows:
. “ To Robert Manning, No. 71 1-2 Fulton St.,
Brooklyn:
“John Barton, who ten years since stole
your bonds, and escaped trial, is at Lakeville,
at his wife’s house.
“ ALBERT MARLOWE.”
The last act in the drama was about to be
played, and Squire Marlowe went about with
a gleam in his eye as he anticipated the final
downfall of the man who had dared to defy
him.


Five Hundred Dollars. 279
' “ You don’t want to be arrested, I take it? ”
“ Is there any danger of it? ”
“ Yes; I telegraphed yesterday to Robert
Manning that you were here. Officers of the
law may arrive at any time.”
“Why did you betray me? ” asked Barton,
quietly.
“ Because I thought it my duty. I had no
right to shield a criminal.”
“ Then why have you put me on my guard?”
“ For your wife’s sake.”
“ I am surprised at your consideration. You
showed very little when you discharged my
boy from your factory.”
“ That was a matter of business. But there
is no time to waste in dicussion. I advise you
to go to the station at once. A train will leave
for New York in half an hour, and you may be
able to escape before the arrival of the offi-
cers.”
“ But I don’t want to escape.”
“ Are you mad? ” demanded the squire, im-
patiently. “ Do you want to spend a term of
years in prison? ”
“ Heaven forbid! ”


280 Five Hundred Dollars.
“Then profit by my warning, and escape
while there is time.”
“ N o. If I am arrested I will stand trial.”
“ Have you taken leave of your senses? ”
“ No; I wish to prove my innocence.”
“ What chance have you of that? ”
“The testimony of Ralph Harding ”
“ What! ” exclaimed Squire Marlowe, rising
in great agitation. “Where is Ralph Hard-
ing? ”
“ Here!” was the unexpected reply, and
Uncle Jacob entered the room, accompanied
by Bert and Mr. Harding.
Albert Marlowe turned his gaze from one to
another in ill-concealed dismay.
“ What is the meaning of this?” he asked,
hoarsely. “ Have you been hatching up a plot
against me? ”
“ No,” answered Uncle Jacob with dignity.
“ It is our object to relieve John Barton from
the stigma upon his fair name. In doing so it
may be necessary to fasten the crime upon the
guilty party. Who that is, you know as well
as I do.”
“ No one will credit the testimony of that


Five Hundred Dollars. 281
man!” said the squire, pointing scornfully at
Ralph Harding.
“ Don’t be too sure of that! His story is
plain and straightforward, and I think it will
impress the court that way.”
“ Albert has been urging me to escape,” said
John Barton. “ He has set the oflicers on my
track.”
“Has he done this?” asked Uncle Jacob,
sharply.
“ So he says.”
At this moment a knock was heard at the
door, and there was a new and unexpected ar-
rival, which produced a sensation.
It was Robert Manning, of Brooklyn.
“You telegraphed to me, Mr. Marlowe,” he
said. “ This man, I believe, is John Barton.”
“ You are right, sir,” responded Barton,
calmly.
“I might have brought with me an officer
and an order of arrest, but I have chosen in-
stead to offer to drop all action against you
if you will restore the bonds or their equival-
ent. I have no wish to be revenged, but i want
reparation.”


.482 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ As I never took your bonds, I am not the
person to apply to,” replied Barton.
“Then perhaps you will have the kindness
to tell me who did take the bonds,” said Man-
ning, incredulously.
“ I will do that,” responded Ralph Harding,
coming forward. ' “ There he stands!”
“ It is a lie!” interposed the squire, hoarsely.
“ It is true. You hired me to put a five-hun-
dred dollar bond into John Barton’s pocket
while you appropriated the remainder. It was
this that enabled you to go into business for
yourself in Lakeville. It was in this way that
you got together your wealth.”
Albert Marlowe was overwhelmed, and did
not immediately reply.
“I think I remember you,” said Robert
Manning.v “ It was your testimony that
weighed so heavily against Mr. Barton.”
“And it has weighed heavily upon my con-
science ever since. I have at last determined
to tell the truth.”
“What have you to say to this, Mr. Mar~
lowe? ” asked Manning pointedly.
“ It is a lie,” answered the squire, feebly.


F We Hundred Dollars.
283

“ You are willing to have the matter go to
trial? ”
“ Albert,” put in Uncle Jacob, “it appears
to me that you are in a bad box. Ralph Hard-
ing’s testimony is sure to convict you. Will
you take my advice? ”
“What is it? ” asked the squire, sullenly.
“ Accept the offer made to John Barton un-
der a misapprehension. Repay to Mr. Man-
ning the value of the stolen bonds ”
“With interest attached,” interposed Man-
ning.
“ And he will drop the matter. Am I right,
Mr. Manning? ”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ It will amount to about double the origi-
nal sum—say twelve thousand dollars.”
“ I can’t raise so large an amount in cash.”
“You are worth more? ”
“ Yes; but not in ready money.”
“ I will advance it to you, and take a bill of
sale of the factory and your house,” said Uncle
Jacob.
All eyes were turned upon the old man in
amazement.
'—"_'_'


284 Five Hundred Dollars.
“ But where will you get the money?”
gasped the squire.
“I can raise ten times that sum, if neces-
sary.”
“ But I thought you were a poor man? ”
“ I never told you so. I said I had five hun-
dred dollars; but I didn’t add that I am worth
at least two hundred thousand dollars more.
That was my secret!”
“ You said that you invested all your money
in some mining shares that depreciated to
nothing.”
“ I foresaw the decline, and sold out at a
small loss.”
“ Why did you deceive us? ” asked the
squire, irritably.”
“ I wanted to test you all. When you
thought me poor, you gave me my walking
ticket; but Mary here,” and Uncle Jacob
glanced affectionately at Mrs. Barton, “ gave
me a warm welcome, though she thought me
nearly as poor as herself. I shall not forget
it. Bert also did not look down upon his old
uncle, even though he had littleto expect from
him."


-n. R38
“I7 








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