*****
 
 1 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 MABEL R. GILLIS
 
 THE STARRY FLAG SERIES, 
 
 BY OLIVER OPTIC. 
 
 I. THE STARRY FLAG; OR, THE YOUNG FISHERMAN OP 
 CAPE ANN. 
 
 II. FREAKS OF FORTUNE ; OR, HALF ROUND THE WORLD. 
 
 III. BREAKING AWAY ; OR, THE FORTUNES OF A STUDENT. 
 
 IV. SEEK AND FIND; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A SMART 
 
 BOY. 
 
 V. MAKE OR BREAK ; OR, THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 VI. DOWN THE RIVER; OR, BCCK BRADFORD AND HIS 
 TYRANTS.
 
 MAKE OR BREAK; 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 BY 
 
 OLIVER OPTIC, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD," " THE ARMY AND NAVY STORIES," 
 
 "THE WOODVILLL STOKIES," "THE BOAT-CLUB STORIES," 
 
 " THE RIVKUDALE STOKIES," KTC. 
 
 
 BOSTON 
 LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
 
 Entered, according to Act a Congress, in the year 1868, by 
 
 WILLIAM T. ADAMS, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Distrir* of Massachusetts 
 
 COPTRISHT, 1896, BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 MAKK OK BREAK.
 
 . 
 
 ^ 
 
 I 
 
 TO 
 
 MY YOUNG FRIEND 
 
 KATE V. AUSTIN 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 " MAKE OR BREAK," is the fifth of the serial stories pub 
 lished in " OUR BOYS AND GIRLS" a magazine which has 
 become so much the pet of the author, that he never sits 
 down to write a story for it without being impressed by a 
 very peculiar responsibility. Twenty thousand youthful faces 
 seem to surround him, crying out for something that will 
 excite their minds, and thrill their very souls, while a calm 
 er, holier voice, speaking in the tones of divine command, 
 breathes gently forth, " Feed my lambs." 
 
 The lambs will not eat dry husks ; they loathe the taste 
 less morsel which well-meaning sectarians offer them, and 
 hunger for that which will warm their hearts and stir their 
 blood. The heart may be warmed, and the blood may be 
 stirred, without corrupting the moral nature. The writer 
 has endeavored to meet this demand in this way, and he is 
 quite sure that the patient, striving, toiling Leo, and th 
 
 (5)
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 gentle, self-sacrificing, and devoted Maggie, do nothing in the 
 story which will defile the mind or the heart of the young 
 people. The Bible teaches what they sought to practise. He 
 is satisfied that none of his readers will like Mr. Fitzherbert 
 Wittleworth well enough to make him their model. 
 
 The author is willing the story should pass for what it is 
 worth; and there is no danger that it will be over or under 
 valued, for the young people are even more critical than 
 their elders. But the favor already bestowed upon it has 
 added to the weight of the writer's obligation to the juvenile 
 reading public ; and in giving them the story in its present 
 permanent form, he. trusts that it will continue to be not only 
 a source of pleasure, but a stimulus to higher aims, and a 
 more resolute striving for what is worth having both in the 
 moral and material world. 
 
 WILLIAM T. ADAMS. 
 
 HARBISON SQUARE, MASS., 
 July 28, 18C8.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MR. "WlTTLEWORTH GETS SHAVED 11 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 BOY WANTED 22 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 MR. CHECKYNSHAW is VIOLENT 34 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 MR. CHECKYNSHAW RUSHES 46 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 LEO MAGGIMORE 57 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 LEO'S WORKSHOP 69 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 MON PERB 81 
 
 (7)
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 MAKE OR BREAK 94 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 MR. CHECKYNSHAW AND FAMILY 105 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE WlTTLEWORTH FAMILY 117 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 THE MOUSE BUSINESS 129 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LEO'S WONDERFUL PERFORMERS 141 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WlTTLEWORTH VS. CHECKYNSHAW 153 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 MR. CHECKYNSHAW is LIBERAL 166 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 A SUCCESS IN THE MOUSE BUSINESS 179 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 THE LETTER FROJI MARGUERITE 192 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 THE LETTER FROM FRANCE 204
 
 CONTENTS. 9 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 THE QUITCLAIM DEED 211 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD ........ 229 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 AN AVALANCHE OP GOOD FORTUNE 241 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 MR. WITTLEWORTH'S WRONGS 254 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 THE TWO MARGUERITES 266 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 THE GOLD LOCKET 279 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 ME AND CHOATE 291 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE ELEGANT YOUNG LADY 303 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER 315
 
 MAKE OR BREAK; 
 
 OK, 
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MB. WITTLEWORTH GETS SHAVED. 
 
 "IV "TEXT gentleman!" said Andre Maggimore, one 
 .1^1 of the journeyman barbers in the extensive 
 shaving saloon of Cutts & Stropmore, which was situ 
 ated near the Plutonian temples of State Street, in 
 the city of Boston. 
 
 " Next gentleman ! " repeated Andre, in tones as 
 soft and feminine as those of a woman, when no one 
 responded to his summons. 
 
 "My turn?" asked a spare young man of sixteen, 
 throwing down the Post, with a languid air, and rising 
 to his feet. 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied Andre, politely; and if the speaker
 
 12 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 had been ou: c. sight, one would have supposed it was 
 .1 lady who spoi:e. " Have your hair cut ? " 
 
 ''No; shave." 
 
 The barber seemed to be startled by the announce 
 ment, though there was not the faintest smile on his 
 face to discourage the candidate for tonsorial honors. 
 The young man looked important, threw his head 
 back, pursed up his lips, and felt of his chin, on which 
 there was not the slightest suspicion of a beard visi 
 ble to the naked eye. Mr. Fitzherbert Wittleworth 
 5vould not have been willing to acknowledge that he 
 had not been shaved for three weeks; but no one 
 could have discovered the fact without the aid of a 
 powerful microscope. 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth spread out his attenuated frame in 
 the barber's chair, and dropped his head back upon the 
 rest. Andre looked as grave and serious as though he 
 had been called to operate upon the face of one of the 
 venerable and dignified bank presidents who frequent 
 ed the shop. He was a journeyman barber, and it 
 was his business to shave any one who sat down in 
 his chair, whether the applicant had a beard or not. 
 If Andre's voice was soft and musical, his resemblance
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 13 
 
 to the gentler sex did not end there, for his hand 
 was as silky and delicate, and his touch as velvety, 
 as though he had been bred in a boudoir. 
 
 He adjusted the napkin to the neck of the juvenile 
 customer with the nicest care, and then, from the force 
 of habit, passed his downy hand over the face upon 
 which he was to operate, as if to determine whether 
 it was a hard or a tender skin. Several of the custom 
 ers smiled and coughed, and even the half-dozen jour 
 neymen were not unmoved by the spectacle. 
 
 "What are you going to do, Fitz?" asked the occu 
 pant of the adjoining chair, who had just straightened 
 himself up to be " brushed off." 
 
 " I'm going to have a shave," answered Mr. Wittle- 
 worth, as confidently as though the proceedings were 
 entirely regular. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " To have my beard taken off, of course. What do 
 you shave for ? " 
 
 " Put on the cream, and let the cat lick it off." 
 
 "That's a venerable joke. I dare say the barber 
 did not gap his razor when he shaved you. I always 
 feel better after I have been shaved," added Mr. Wjt-
 
 14 MAKE OB BREAK, OE 
 
 tleworth, as Andre laid a brush full of lather upon his 
 smooth chin. 
 
 Those in the shop chuckled, and some of them were 
 ill-mannered enough to laugh aloud, at the conceit of 
 the young man who thus announced to the world that 
 his beard had grown. Even the proprietors of the 
 extensive shaving saloon looked uncommonly good- 
 natured, though it was not prudent for them to rebuke 
 the ambition of the prospective customer. 
 
 Andre lathered the face of the juvenile with as 
 much care as though it had been that of the parsimo 
 nious broker at the corner, who shaved only when his 
 beard was an eighth of a"n inch in length. Not satis 
 fied with this preparatory step, he resorted to the 
 process used for particularly hard beards, of rubbing 
 the lather in with a towel wet in hot water ; but An 
 dre did not smile, or by word or deed indicate that 
 all he was doing was not absolutely necessary in order 
 to give his customer a clean and an easy shave. Then 
 he stropped his razor with zealous enthusiasm, making 
 the shop ring with the melody of the thin steel, as he 
 whipped it back and forth on the long strip of soft 
 leather, one en^ ->f which was nailed to the case, and
 
 THi; RICH MAX'S DAUGHTER. 15 
 
 whe other end held in his hand. The music was doubt 
 less sweet to the listening ears of Mr. Wittleworth, 
 if not as the prelude of an easy shave, at least as an 
 assurance that all the customary forms had been scru 
 pulously complied with in his individual case. 
 
 Slapping the broad-bladed razor on his soft hand, 
 the barber approached the young man in the chair. 
 With a graceful movement he brought the instrument 
 to bear gently on the face. 
 
 "Does it pull, Fitz?" asked the tormentor in the 
 next chair. 
 
 "Of course not; Andre always gives a man an easy 
 shave," replied Mr. Wittleworth. 
 
 " Certainly ; but some people have tough beards and 
 tender faces." 
 
 " If your beard is as soft as your head, it won't hurt 
 you to shave with a handsaw," retorted Mr. Wittle 
 worth. 
 
 The laugh was at the expense of the tormentor, and 
 he retreated from the shop in the "guffaw," and Fitz 
 was permitted to finish his shave in peace in peace, 
 at least, so far as this particular tormentor was con 
 cerned, for a more formidable one assailed him before
 
 16 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 his departure. Andre went over his face with the 
 nicest care ; then lathered it again, and proceeded to 
 give it the finishing touches. He was faithful to the 
 end, and gave the juvenile patron the benefit of the 
 entire length and breadth of his art, omitting nothing 
 that could add dignity or perfection to the operation. 
 It was quite certain that, if there was anything like an 
 imperceptible down on his face at the commencement 
 of the process, there was nothing left of it at the end. 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth's hair was oiled, moistened with 
 diluted Cologne water, combed, brushed, parted, and 
 tossed in wavy flakes over his head, and was as fra 
 grant, glossy, and unctuous as the skill of Andre could 
 make it. 
 
 "One feels more like a Christian after a clean shave," 
 said Mr. Wittleworth, as he rose from the chair, and 
 passed his hand approvingly over his polished chin. 
 "Barbers, good barbers, do a missionary work in the 
 world." 
 
 "What are you doing here, Fitz?" demanded a 
 stern-looking gentleman, who had just entered the 
 shop, and stepped up behind the juvenile customer. 
 
 " I came in to get shaved," replied Mr. Wittleworth, 
 abashed by the harsh tones.
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 17 
 
 "Shaved!" exclnimed Mr. Checkynshaw, the stern- 
 looking gentleman, well known as the senior partner 
 of the great banking house of Checkynshaw, Hart, & 
 
 Co. " Shaved ! " 
 - 
 
 "Yes, sir; I came here to be shaved, and I have 
 
 been shaved," replied the young man, trying to assume 
 an air of bravado, though he was actually trembling 
 in his boots before the lofty and dignified personage 
 who confronted and confounded him. 
 
 "Is this the way you waste your time and your 
 money ? I sent you to the post-office, and you have 
 been gone over half an horn*." 
 
 " I had to wait for iny turn," pleaded Mr. Wittle- 
 worth. 
 
 " When I send you to the post-office, you will not 
 loiter away your time in a barber's shop, you conceited 
 puppy. I'll discharge you ! " 
 
 "Discharge mef" exclaimed Mr. Wittleworth, stung 
 by the epithet of the banker. " I think not, sir." 
 
 The young gentleman placed his hat upon his head, 
 
 canting it over on one side, so as to give him a saucy 
 
 and jaunty appearance. Mr. Checkynshaw, whose 
 
 clerk, or rather " boy," he was, had often scolded him, 
 
 2
 
 18 MAKE OB BREAK, OK 
 
 and even abused him, in the private office of the bank 
 ing-house, but never before in a place so public as a 
 barber's shop in 'Change Street, and in 'change hours. 
 He felt outraged by the assault ; for Mr. Wittleworth, 
 as his employer had rather indelicately hinted, had a 
 high opinion of himself. He straightened himself up, 
 and looked impudent a phase in his conduct which 
 the banker had never before observed, and he stood 
 aghast at this indication of incipient rebellion. 
 
 "You think not, you puppy!" exclaimed the banker, 
 stamping his feet with rage. 
 
 "I think not! It wouldn't be a prudent step for 
 you to take," answered Mr. Wittleworth, stung again 
 by the insulting appellations heaped upon him. "I 
 know rather too much about your affairs to be cast 
 out so thoughtlessly." 
 
 " I will discharge you this very day ! " replied the 
 banker, his teeth set firmly together. 
 
 "I think you will find that the affairs of Messrs. 
 Checkynshaw, Hart, & Co. will not go on so smoothly 
 without me as they do with me," added Mr. Wittle 
 worth, as he canted his hat over a little more on one 
 side, and pulled up his shirt collar.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 19 
 
 " Without you ! " gasped the banker, confounded by 
 the assumption of his employee. 
 
 " Perhaps you will find it so, after you have done 
 your worst." 
 
 " Conceited puppy ! I took you into my office out 
 of chanty ! Go to your place. Charity can do no 
 more for you." 
 
 "If you can afford to discharge me, I can afford to 
 be discharged," replied Mr. Wittleworth, as he stroked 
 his chin, and walked out of the shop. 
 
 " The young vagabond ! " muttered Mr. Checkyn- 
 shaw. " I took him to keep his mother from starving. 
 Andre," he added, imperiously. 
 
 The barber with the effeminate voice and the silky 
 hands turned from the customer he was shaving, and 
 bowed politely to the magnate of the house of Check- 
 ynshaw, Hart, & Co. 
 
 "Andre, my daughter Elinora goes to a juvenile 
 party this evening, and wishes you to dress her hair 
 at four o'clock." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; with Mr. Cutts's permission, I will attend 
 her at that hour." 
 
 Mr. Checkyushaw looked as though Mr. Cutts's per-
 
 20 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 mission was not at all necessary when he desired any 
 thing; but Mi*. Cutts did not venture to interpose any 
 obstacle to the wish of a person so influential as the 
 banker. Mr. Checkynshaw turned to leave, went as 
 far as the door, and then returned. 
 
 "Andre," he continued, "you spoke to me of a boy 
 of yours." 
 
 "My adopted son, sir," replied the barber. 
 
 " I don't care whether he is your son, or your adopt 
 ed son. "What sort of a boy is he ? " 
 
 " He is a very good boy, sir," answered Andre. 
 
 "Can he read and write ?" 
 
 "Very well indeed, sir. The master of his school 
 says he will take the medal at the close of the year." 
 
 "I shall discharge that puppy, and I want a good 
 boy in his place. Send him to me at half past two 
 this afternoon." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Checkynshaw. Perhaps 
 I spoke too soon, sir; but I did not want a place for 
 him till next vacation." 
 
 " Send him up, and I will talk with him," said the 
 banker, imperatively and patronizingly, as he hurried 
 out of the shop.
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 21 
 
 He was met at the door by a girl of fifteen, who 
 modestly stepped out of the way to let the magnate 
 pass. She was dressed very plainly, but very neatly, 
 and in her hand she carried a tin pail. The loud talk 
 of the barber's shop politicians and the coarse jests of 
 rude men ceased as she walked behind the long line 
 of chairs to that where Andre was at work. She was 
 rather tall for her age ; her face was pretty, and her 
 form delicately moulded. She was all gentleness and 
 grace, and rude men were awed by her presence. 
 
 Andre smiled as sweetly as a woman when he saw 
 her, and his eye followed her as she went to the stove, 
 and placed the pail by its side. 
 
 " Maggie, send Leo to me as soon as you go home," 
 said he, in the softest of his soft tones, as she left the 
 shop.
 
 22 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 BOY WANTED. 
 
 FROM the tin kettle, which Maggie had placed 
 by the stove, there arose an odor of fried sau 
 sages a savory mess to a hungry man, possessed 
 of a reasonable amount of confidence in the integrity 
 and conscientiousness of sausage-makers in general. 
 Andre made himself as useful as possible to his em 
 ployers, and they could not well spare him in the 
 middle of the clay to go home to his dinner, for 
 during 'change hours the shop was full of customers. 
 If there was a lull any time before three o'clock, he 
 ate the contents of the tin pail ; if not, he dined at 
 a fashionable hour. 
 
 Andre could not well be spared, because there 
 were certain dignified men, presidents of banks and 
 insurance companies, venerable personages with a 
 hold upon the last generation, who came from their 
 homes in the middle of the day to read the news-
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 23 
 
 papers at the " China," or the " Fireman ; " staid 
 old merchants, who had retired from active life, 
 and went to the counting-room only to look after 
 the junior partners men who always shaved down 
 town, and would not let any barber but Andre 
 touch their faces. His hand was so soft and silky, 
 his touch so tender and delicate, and his razors 
 were so keen and skilfully handled, that he was 
 a favorite in the shop. 
 
 Years before, Andre had set up a shop for him 
 self; but he had no talent for business, and the 
 experiment was a failure. He was too effeminate 
 to control his journeymen, and his shop was not 
 well ordered. All his regular customers insisted on 
 being shaved by Andre; and, while he paid the 
 wages of two men, he did all the work himself. 
 The rent and other expenses overwhelmed him ; 
 but he had the good sense to sell out before he 
 became involved in debt. 
 
 There he was, in the shop of Cutts & Stropmore, 
 and there he was likely to be a journeyman bar 
 ber to the end of his mortal pilgrimage. The high 
 est wages were paid him; but Andre had no am-
 
 24 MAKE OB BREAK, OK 
 
 bition to gratify, and when one week's wages were 
 due, every cent of the earnings of the preceding 
 one was invariably used up. If there was a ten-cent 
 piece left in his pocket on Saturday morning, he 
 took care to spend it for something to gratify 
 Maggie or Leo before he went to the shop. For 
 this boy and girl though they were not his own 
 children, or even of any blood relation to him he 
 lived and labored as lovingly and patiently as 
 though God had blessed him in the paternal tie. 
 
 Half an hour after Maggie left the shop there 
 was a brief lull in the business, and Andre seized 
 his kettle, and bore it to a kind of closet, where 
 hair oils, hair washes, and the " Celebrated Capillary 
 Compound " were concocted. With a sausage in 
 one hand and a penny roll in the other, he ate as 
 a hungry man eats when the time is short. Andre's 
 appetite was good, and thus pleasantly was he em 
 ployed when Leo, the barber's adopted son, entered 
 the laboratory of odoriferous compounds. 
 
 " Maggie says you want to see me," said Leo. 
 
 The boy was dressed as neatly as the barber him 
 self, but in other respects he was totally unlike him.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 25 
 
 He had a sharp, bright eye, and his voice wag 
 heavy, and rather guttural, being in the process of 
 changing, for he was fifteen years old. On the 
 books of the grammar school, where he was a can 
 didate for the highest honors of the institution, his 
 name was recorded as Leopold Maggimore. If Leo 
 was his pet name, it was not because he bore any 
 resemblance to the lion, though he was a bold fel 
 low, with no little dignity in his expression. 
 
 "I sent for you, Leo," replied Andre, when he 
 had waited long enough after the entrance of the 
 boy to enable us to describe the youth, and himself 
 to dispose of the overplus of fried sausage in his 
 mouth, so that he could utter the words ; " Mr. 
 Checkynshaw spoke to me about you. He wishes 
 to see you at half past two o'clock." 
 
 " Mr. Checkynshaw ! " exclaimed Leo, wondering 
 what the head of the well-known banking house 
 could want with an individual so insignificant as 
 himself. 
 
 " He wants a boy." 
 
 " Does he want me ? " 
 
 "I suppose he does."
 
 26 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " But, father, I shall lose my medal if I leave 
 school now," added Leo. 
 
 " You must not leave now ; but you can see Mr. 
 Checkynshaw, and explain the matter to him. He 
 is a great man, and when you want a place, he may 
 be able to help you." 
 
 " The cat may look at the king, and I will go 
 and see him ; but I don't see what good it will do. 
 Fitz Wittleworth is there." 
 
 " He is to be discharged," quietly added Andre, 
 as he deposited half a sausage in his mouth. 
 
 " Fitz discharged ! " exclaimed Leo, opening his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Yes ; he has been, or will be to-day." 
 
 " But what will the firm of Checkynshaw, Hart, 
 & Co. do without him ? Fitz tells me that he car 
 ries on the concern himself." 
 
 " Fitz is conceited ; and I think the concern will 
 be able to get along without him." 
 
 "But he is some relation to Mr. Checkynshaw." 
 
 " I think not ; the banker says he took him into 
 his office to keep him from starving." 
 
 " Fitz says Mr. Checkynshaw's first wife was his 
 mother's sister."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 27 
 
 "That is not a very near relation, and the banker 
 will not tolerate his impudence on that account. 
 K"o matter about that ; Mr. Checkynshaw wishes 
 to see you at half past two. You can tell him 
 about your medal, and tell him, very respectfully 
 and politely, that you can't leave school. lie may 
 like the looks of you, and help you to a place 
 when you do want one." 
 
 Andre did not think it would be possible for any 
 one to see Leo without liking the looks of him ; 
 and he was quite sure that he would make a fa 
 vorable impression upon even the cold, stern banker. 
 A call-bell on the case of Mr. Cutts sounded, and 
 Andre hastened back to the shop, having only half 
 satisfied the cravings of his hunger. A customer 
 was already seated in his chair, and he went to 
 work upon him, with his thoughts still following 
 Leo to the banker's private office. He had high 
 hopes for that boy. Mr. Cutts had proposed to 
 take him as an apprentice to the barber's business; 
 but, while Andre had no ambition for himself, he 
 had for Leo, and he would not think of such a 
 thing as permitting him to follow his trade, which,
 
 28 MAK"R OR BREAK, Ol 
 
 however nonorsblo r.nc! r.seful die! not open to the 
 youth the avenues of fame and fortune. 
 
 On this important subject Leo had some views 
 of his own. lie certainly did not wish to be a 
 barber, and he was almost as much opposed to be 
 ing a banker or a merchant. lie wished to be a car 
 penter or a machinist. He was born to be a me 
 chanic, and all his thoughts were in this direction, 
 though he had not yet decided whether he pre 
 ferred to work in wood or in iron. But his foster- 
 father had higher aspirations for him, and Leo had 
 not the heart to disappoint him, though he continued 
 to hope that, before the time came for him to com 
 mence in earnest the business of life, he should be 
 able to convince him that the path to fame and for 
 tune lay in the mechanic arts as well as in com 
 merce and finance. Leo walked out into State 
 Street, and, by the clock on the old State House, 
 saw that it was too early to call upon the banker, 
 
 Mr. Fitzherbert Wittleworth did not go to the 
 banker's office when ordered to do so. He went 
 to his mother's house, to tell her that Mr. Checkyn- 
 shaw had threatened to discharge him. He had a
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 29 
 
 long talk with her. She was a sensible woman, and 
 reproved his self-conceit, and insisted that he should 
 make peace with the powerful man by a humble 
 apology. 
 
 "Mother, you may eat humble pie at the feet of 
 Mr. Checkynshaw, if you like; I shall not," replied 
 Fitz, as he was familiarly called, though the brief 
 appellative always galled him, and the way to reach 
 his heart was to call him Mr. Wittleworth. 
 
 "If you get turned off, what will become of us? 
 Your father isn't good for anything, and what both 
 of us can earn is hardly -enough to keep us from 
 starving," answered the poor woman, whose spirit had 
 long before been broken by poverty, disappointment, 
 and sorrow. 
 
 "I would rather starve than have the heel of that 
 man on my neck. I have done everything I could 
 for the concern. I have worked early and late, and 
 kept everything up square in the private office; but 
 there is no more gratitude in that man than there is 
 in a truck horse. He don't even thank me for it." 
 
 "But he pays you wages; and that's enough," re 
 plied his more practical mother.
 
 30 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " That is not enough, especially when he pays 
 me but five dollars a week. I ani worth a thousand 
 dollars a year, at least, to the concern. Checkyn- 
 sha\v will find that out after he has discharged 
 me," added Mr. AVittleworth, pulling up his collar, 
 as was his wont when his dignity was damaged. 
 
 " Go back to him ; tell him you are soriy for 
 what you said, and ask him to forgive you," per 
 sisted Mrs. "NVittleworth. "This is no time for poor 
 people to be proud. The times are so hard that 
 I made only a dollar last week, and if you lose 
 your place, we must go to the almshouse." 
 
 " What's the use of saying that, mother ? " con~ 
 tinued the son. " It seems to me you take pride 
 in talking about our poverty." 
 
 "It's nothing but the truth," added Mrs. "Wittle- 
 worth, wiping the tears from her pale, thin face, 
 which was becoming paler and thinner every day, 
 for- she toiled far into the night, making shirts at 
 eight cents apiece. "I have only fifty cents in 
 money left to buy provisions for the rest of the 
 week." 
 
 "Folks will trust you," said Fitz, impatiently.
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 31 
 
 "I don't want them to trust me, if I am not 
 to have the means of paying them. It was wrong 
 for you to pay six cents to be shaved; it's silly and 
 ridiculous, to say nothing of leaving the office for 
 half an hour. You did wrong, and you ought to 
 acknowledge it." 
 
 " Mother, I'm tired of this kind of a life." 
 
 " So am I ; but we cannot starve," replied the 
 poor woman, bitterly. " It is harder for me than for 
 you, for I was brought up in plenty and luxury, 
 and never knew what it was to want for anything 
 till your father spent all my property, and then be 
 came a burden upon me. You have been a good 
 boy, Fitzherbert, and I hope you will not disappoint 
 me now." 
 
 " I shall do everything I can for you, mother, of 
 course ; but it is hard to be ground down by that 
 man, as I am." 
 
 The young gentleman said that man with an em 
 phasis which meant something. 
 
 " I cannot help it," sighed the mother. 
 
 " Yes, you can. In my opinion, and I think I 
 understand the matter as well as any other man,
 
 82 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 in my opinion, Mr. Checkynshaw owes you fifty 
 thousand dollars, and is keeping you out of your 
 just due. That's what galls me," added Fitz, rap 
 ping the table violently with his fist. 
 
 "It may be and it may not be. I don't know." 
 " I know ! That man is not an honest man. I 
 know something about his affairs, and if he pre 
 sumes to discharge me, I shall devote some of my 
 valuable time to the duty of ventilating them." 
 "Don't you do any such thing, Fitz." 
 " I will, mother ! I will find out whether the 
 money belongs to you or not," added the young 
 man, decidedly. "I have my private opinion about 
 the matter. I know enough about Checkynshaw to 
 feel certain that he wouldn't let fifty thousand dol 
 lars slip through his fingers, if by any trickery he 
 could hold on to it. If he has a daughter in France, 
 fifteen years old, as she must be, wouldn't she write 
 to him? Wouldn't he write to her? "Wouldn't he 
 go and see her? Wouldn't he send her money? 
 She don't do it; he don't do it. I do all the post- 
 office business for the firm, and no such letters go 
 or come."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 33 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth was very decided in his " private 
 opinion ; " but at last he so far yielded to the en 
 treaties of his mother as to consent to return to the 
 office, and if Mr. Checkynshaw wasn't savage, he 
 would apologize. This he regarded as a great con 
 cession, very humiliating, and to be made only to 
 please his mother. 
 3
 
 34 MAKE OB BREAK, OE 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MB. CHECKYXSHAW IS VIOLEXT. 
 
 MR. FITZHERBEET "VViTTLEWOETii walked slowly 
 and nervously from his home to the banking- 
 house in State Street. The situation was just as far 
 from pleasant as it could be. lie did not wish to de 
 prive the family of the necessaries of life, which were 
 purchased with his meagre salary, on the one hand, 
 and it was almost impossible to endure the tyranny of 
 Mr. Checkynshaw on the other hand. To a young 
 man with so high an opinion of himself as the banker's 
 clerk entertained, the greatest privation to which he 
 could be subjected was a want of appreciation of his 
 personal character and valuable services. 
 
 The banker had an utter contempt for him person 
 ally, and regarded his salary as high at five dollars a 
 week, which was indeed a high rate for a young man 
 of sixteen. Mr. Checkynshaw sat in his private office, 
 adjoining the banking-house, when Mr. Wittleworth
 
 THE RIOH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 35 
 
 presented himself. He scowled savagely as the young 
 man entered. 
 
 " You have concluded to come back have you ? " 
 said he. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Fitz. 
 
 " Well, sir, you have only come to be discharged ; 
 for I will no longer have a stupid and useless block 
 head about. I was willing to tolerate you for your 
 mother's sake ; but I won't submit to your impu 
 dence." 
 
 Stupid and useless blockhead ! It was no use to 
 attempt to effect a reconciliation with a person who 
 had, or professed to have, such an opinion of him. 
 Not even the strait to which his family was reduced 
 could justify him in submitting to such abuse. 
 
 " Mr. Checkynshaw, I don't allow any man to insult 
 me," Fitz began. " I have treated you like a gentle 
 man, and I demand as much in return." 
 
 *' Insult you ? Impudent puppy ! " gasped Mr. 
 Checkynshaw. " What are we coining to ? " 
 
 "You insulted me in a public barber's shop. Not 
 content with that, you call me a stupid and useless 
 blockhead me, sir."
 
 36 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 " No more of this ! Take your pay, and be gone ! 
 There's five dollars, a full week's salary for three 
 days' service," added the banker, pushing a five-dollar 
 bill across the desk towards Fitz. 
 
 The young man was not too proud to take it. 
 
 " Go ! Don't stop here another minute," said the 
 wrathy banker, glancing at the clock, which now in 
 dicated the time he had appointed for the coming 
 of Leo Maggimore. 
 
 "I am not ready to go just yet. I have a demand 
 to make upon you. You have defrauded my mother 
 out of a fortune." 
 
 " That will do ! Not another word," said Mr. 
 Checkynshaw, turning red in the face. 
 
 "My mother will take steps to obtain her rights." 
 
 " Will you go ? " demanded the banker. 
 
 " No, sir. I will not till I have said what I have to 
 say. You shall either prove that your first daughter is 
 alive, or you shall deliver to my mother the property." 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw could not endure such speech as 
 this from any man, much less from his discharged 
 clerk. He rose from his chair, and rushed upon the 
 slender youth with a fury worthy a more stalwart foe.
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 37 
 
 Grasping him by the collar, he dragged him out of 
 the private office, through the long entry, to the street, 
 and then pitched him far out upon the sidewalk. As 
 he passed through the entry, Leo Maggimore was 
 going into the banking-office. Not knowing the way, 
 he inquired of a person he met in the long hall. 
 
 Leo did not know the banker, and was not aware 
 that the excited gentleman he had seen was he ; 
 and he did not recognize Fitz in the young man who 
 was so violently hurried before him. He followed the 
 direction given him, and reached the private office 
 of the banker. Through an open window he saw the 
 clerks and cashiers rushing to the door to witness the 
 extraordinary scene that was transpiring in the street. 
 Taking off his cap, he waited for the appearance of 
 Mr. Checkynshaw, who, he supposed, had also gone to 
 " see the fun." As he stood there, a jaunty-looking 
 individual hastily entered the office. 
 
 " What do you want ? " asked this person. 
 
 " I want to see Mr. Checkynshaw," replied Leo. 
 
 " Go through that door, and you will find him," 
 added the jaunty-looking man, in hurried tones. 
 
 Leo, supposing the man belonged there, did as he
 
 38 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 was directed, and inquired of an elderly clerk, who 
 had not left his desk, for the banker. He was told 
 to wait in the private office, and he returned, as he 
 was bidden. 
 
 He found the jaunty -looking person taking some 
 papers from the safe. He put a quantity of them 
 into the pockets of his overcoat, locked the heavy 
 iron door, and took out the key. 
 
 " Mr. Checkynshaw won't be here again to-day. 
 You will have to call to-morrow," said the man, in 
 sharp and decided business tones. 
 
 " lie sent for me to come to-day at half past two," 
 replied Leo. 
 
 . " He was unexpectedly called away ; come again 
 to-morrow at this time," added the jaunty person, 
 briskly. 
 
 "I can't come to-morrow at this hour; school 
 keeps." 
 
 u Come at one, then," replied the business man, 
 who did not seem to care whether school kept or not. 
 
 " Will you tell him, sir, that I came as he wished, 
 and will call again at one to-morrow?" 
 
 "Yes, yes. I will tell him all about it," answered
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 39 
 
 the brisk personage, as he took a small carpet-bag in 
 his hand, and led the way out through the banking- 
 room. 
 
 The clerks had returned to their desks, and were 
 again busy over their books and papers ; for the ex 
 citement had subsided, and people went their way as 
 though nothing had happened. The unwonted scene 
 of a man in Mr. Checkynshaw's position putting a 
 clerk out of his office excited a little comment, and 
 the banker had stopped in the long hall to explain 
 to a bank president the occasion of his prompt and 
 decisive action. Leo and the jaunty man passed him 
 as they left the building ; but the boy did not know 
 him from Adam. 
 
 " Where do you live, my boy ? " asked the jaunty 
 man, coming up to him when he had crossed State 
 and entered Congress Street. 
 
 "No. 3 Phillimore Court," replied Leo. 
 
 Pie had before lost sight of the man, who, he had 
 already concluded, from finding him in the private 
 office and at the safe, was one of the partners in the 
 house of Checkynshaw, Hart, & Co. He could not 
 imagine what a person of so much importance could
 
 40 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 want of him, or how it concerned him to know where 
 he lived. 
 
 "Is it far from here?" 
 
 "Not very far." 
 
 "I want the use of a room for five minutes, to 
 change my clothes. I live out of town, and am going 
 to New York to-night. Perhaps your mother would 
 let me have a room for a short time," added the 
 person. 
 
 " I haven't any mother ; but you can have my 
 room as long as you like," answered Leo, glad to 
 accommodate so important a person. " It isn't a very 
 nice one." 
 
 " Nice enough for me. How far is it ? " 
 
 " Close by High Street ; but it's right on your way 
 to the cars." 
 
 " Very well ; thank you. I'm much obliged to you. 
 If it's far off, I can run up to a hotel, for I'm in a 
 hurry. I have no time to spare." 
 
 The jaunty man walked at a rapid pace, and seemed 
 to be greatly excited, which Leo attributed to his 
 proposed journey, or to the pressure of his business. 
 
 " Do you know Mr. Checkynshaw ? " asked the 
 man of business.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 41 
 
 "No, sir; I never saw him in my life, that I know 
 of," replied Leo. " You are one of the partners 
 are you not?" 
 
 " Yes," replied the jaunty man, promptly. 
 
 " Are you Mr. Hart, sir ? " 
 
 "That is my name. How did you know me ?" 
 
 " I didn't know you ; but I guessed it was Mr. 
 Hart." 
 
 They hurried along in silence for a few moments 
 more. Leo was thinking, just then, how it would be 
 possible for Mr. Hart to tell Mr. Checkynshaw that 
 he had called that day, and that he would call at 
 one the next day, if he was going to New Yoi-k by 
 the afternoon train. He was quite sure Mr. Hart 
 could not get back in time to tell the banker that 
 he had obeyed his mandate. He was a little per 
 plexed, and he was afraid the mighty man would be 
 angry with him for not keeping the appointment, 
 and perhaps visit the neglect upon his foster-father. 
 Being unable to solve the problem himself, he ven 
 tured to ask Mr. Hart for a solution. 
 
 " It won't make any difference, Mr. Checkynshaw 
 will not think of the matter again till he sees you
 
 42 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 tomorrow," replied Mr. Hart. " He will have enough 
 to think of when he gets to the office to-morrow 
 without troubling his head about you." 
 
 "Perhaps, as you are his partner, Mr. Hart, you 
 can do the business just as well," said Leo. 
 
 "Very likely I can. What did Mr. Checkynshaw 
 want of you ? " asked the partner. 
 
 "He is going to discharge Fitz, and " 
 
 " Discharge Fitz ! What is that for ? " demanded 
 Mr. Hart, as if very much astonished at the intelli 
 gence. 
 
 "I don't exactly understand what for; but he wants 
 me to come in his place ; or at least he wants to 
 see me about coming." 
 
 " Well, you seem to be a very likely young fellow, 
 and I have no doubt you will suit us. I am willing 
 to engage you, even after what little I have seen 
 of you." 
 
 "But I can't go yet, Mr. Hart," interposed Leo. 
 
 "Why not? When can you come?" 
 
 "I can't go till the first of August ; that's what I 
 wanted to tell Mr. Checkynshaw. He was so kind 
 as to think of me when he wanted a boy ; and I
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 43 
 
 want to have it made all right with him. I expect 
 to take one of the Franklin medals at the next ex 
 hibition, and if I leave now I shall lose it." 
 
 " That's right, my boy ; stick to your school, and I 
 will see that you . have a first-rate place when you 
 have taken the medal. Haven't we got most to your 
 house ? " 
 
 " Just round the corner, sir. I'm afraid Mr. 
 Checkynshaw will not like it because he did not see 
 me this afternoon." 
 
 " He was out, and it isn't your fault ; but I will 
 tell him all about it when I come back, and he will 
 not think of it again." 
 
 "But he wants a boy." 
 
 "Well, he can find a hundred of them in an hour's 
 time ; and, as you can't take the place, it will make 
 no difference to you. I will make it all right with 
 him so far as you are concerned." 
 
 "This is my house," said Leo, when they reached 
 the dwelling at No. 3 Phillimore Court. 
 
 Leo opened the front door, which was indeed 
 the only door, and led the banker to his own 
 room on the second floor. The gentleman closed
 
 44 MAKE OE BREAK, OK 
 
 the door, and as there was no lock upon it, he 
 placed a chair against it to serve as a fastening. He 
 did not appear to be in a very great hurry now, 
 and it was evident that he did not intend to change 
 his clothes; for, instead of doing so, he took from 
 the pockets of his overcoat the papers and packages 
 he had removed from the safe. He broke the seals 
 on some of the parcels, and opened the papers 
 they contained. He did not stop to read any of 
 them. In a bank book he found a package of bank 
 notes. 
 
 " Three hundred and fifty dollars," muttered he, as 
 he counted the money. " A mean haul ! " 
 
 He examined all the papers, but no more money 
 was discovered. The jaunty man looked as though 
 he was sorely disappointed. He gathered up the 
 papers, rolled them together, and then looked about 
 the little chamber. On one side of it there was a 
 painted chest, which contained Leo's rather scanty 
 wardrobe. He raised the lid, and thrust the bundle 
 of papers down to the bottom of it, burying them 
 beneath the boy's summer clothing. Closing the 
 chest, he took his carpet-bag, and left the room.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DATTHTER. 45 
 
 Leo was waiting for him in the entry ; but " Mr. 
 Hart" was again in a hurry, and could not do any 
 thing more than say again he would make it all 
 right with Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 
 Probably he did not keep his promise.
 
 46 MAKE OB BREAK, OB 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ME. CHECKYNSHAW BUSHES. 
 
 MR. CHECKYNSHAW felt that he had fully 
 vindicated his personal dignity, and that of 
 the well-known house whose head he was. The bank 
 president he met in the entry did not think so, but 
 believed that a person of such eminent gravity ought 
 to call a policeman, instead of making himself ridicu 
 lous by resorting to violence. The banker explained, 
 and then returned to his office. He was alone ; and, 
 seating himself in his cushioned chair, he gave himself 
 up to the reflections of the moment, whatever they 
 were. 
 
 Whether the grave charges and the angry threats 
 of Mr. Fitzherbert Wittleworth were the subject of 
 his thoughts was known only to himself; but as he 
 reflected, the muscles of his mouth moved about, his 
 brow contracted, and he seemed to be mentally de 
 fending himself from the charges, and repelling the
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 47 
 
 threats. Certainly the bold accusation of the banker's 
 late clerk had produced an impression, and stirred up 
 the anger of the great man ; but it was very impoli 
 tic for the discharged clerk to " beard the lion in his 
 den." 
 
 The safe in the private office contained the valuable 
 papers of the banker, while those of the firm whose 
 head he was were placed in the vaults of the great 
 banking-room. He kept the key of this safe himself. 
 If it ever went into the hands of the clerk, it was only 
 to bring it from the lock-drawer in the vaults; he was 
 never trusted to deposit it there. Mr. Checkynshaw 
 did not look at the safe till he had thoroughly digested 
 the affair which had just transpired. When he was 
 ready to go home to dinner, just before three o'clock, 
 he went to the safe to lock it, and secure the key 
 where prying curiosity could not obtain it. 
 
 It was not in the door, where he had left it; but 
 this did not startle him. His thoughts appeared to 
 be still abstracted by the subject which had occupied 
 them since the affray, and he was walking mechani 
 cally about the office. He went to the safe as much 
 from the force of habit as for any reason, for he always 
 secured it when he was about to leave.
 
 48 MAKE OR BKEAK, OR 
 
 "Charles!" he called, raising one of the ground-glass 
 windows between the office and the banking-room. 
 
 The door opened, and one of the younger clerks 
 presented himself. 
 
 "Bring me the key of this safe from ray drawer in 
 the vault." 
 
 Charles bowed, and Mr. Cheeky nsh aw continued to 
 walk back and forth, absorbed in thought. 
 
 "The key of the safe is not in the drawer, sir," 
 replied the clerk. 
 
 The banker tried the safe door, and then felt in all 
 his pockets. The safe was locked, but he had not the 
 key. He went to the vault himself, but with no better 
 success than the clerk had had. 
 
 M The puppy ! " muttered the banker. " He has 
 stolen that key!" 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw's lips were compressed, and his 
 teeth were set tight together. He paced the room 
 more rapidly than before. 
 
 "Fudge!" exclaimed he, after he had worked him 
 self into a state of partial frenzy, as the hard mus 
 cles of his face suddenly relaxed, and something 
 like a smile rested upon his lips. "He couldn't have 
 done it."
 
 THE KICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 49 
 
 Certainly not. The banker had not opened the 
 safe till after his return from the barber's shop, where 
 he had reproved his clerk, and Fitz did not go neai* 
 the safe during the sharp interview in the office. 
 
 "Burnet," said the banker, going to the open 
 window. 
 
 This time the elderly man, to whom Leo Maggi- 
 more had applied, presented himself. 
 
 "Have you seen the key of my safe?" demanded 
 Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Where is it, then?" 
 
 " I do not know, sir," replied Burnet, whose commu 
 nications were always " yea, yea ; nay, nay." 
 
 " I have discharged Fitz." 
 
 Burnet bowed. 
 
 " He was saucy.'* 
 
 Burnet bowed again. 
 
 "I kicked him out for his impudence." 
 
 Burnet bowed a third time. 
 
 "My key is gone." 
 
 Burnet waited. 
 
 " But the safe is locked." 
 4
 
 60 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 Burnet glanced at the safe. 
 
 " Who has been in my office ? " 
 
 "A boy, sir." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir; he asked for you. I sent him 
 to your office." 
 
 " That was the barber's boy." 
 
 Burnet bowed : he never wasted words ; never left 
 his desk to see a row or a military company, and 
 would not have done so if an earthquake had torn up 
 the pavement of State Street, so long as the banking- 
 house of Checkynshaw, Hart, & Co. was undisturbed. 
 
 " Who else ? " asked the banker. 
 
 "A man, sir." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "I don't know; he entered by your private door; 
 the boy and the man went out together." 
 
 " Send for the safe people." 
 
 Burnet bowed, and retired. In half an hour two 
 ;nen from the safe manufactory appeared. They 
 opened the iron door, and the banker tinned pale 
 when he found that his valuable papers had been 
 abstracted. The three hundred and fifty dollars which
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTEB. 51 
 
 "Mr. Hart" had taken was of no consequence, com 
 pared with the documents that were missing; for 
 they were his private papers, on which other eyes 
 than his own must not look. 
 
 The safe men fitted a new key, altering the wards 
 of the lock, so that the old one would not open the 
 door. "What remained of the papers were secured; 
 but those that were gone were of more importance 
 than those that were left. Mr. Checkynshaw groaned 
 in spirit. The threats of Mr. Fitzherbert Wittleworth 
 seemed to have some weight now, and that young 
 gentleman suddenly became of more consequence than 
 he had ever been before. Fitz could not have stolen 
 these papers himself, but he might have been a party 
 to the act. 
 
 " Btirnet ! " called the banker. 
 
 The old clerk came again. Nothing ever excited 
 or disturbed him, and that was what made him so 
 reliable as a financial clerk and cashier. He never 
 made any mistakes, never overpaid any one, and his 
 cash always "balanced." 
 
 " What shall I do ? My private papers have been 
 stolen!" said the banker, nervously. "Who was the 
 man that came out of the office ? "
 
 52 MAKE OE BREAK, OB 
 
 " I don't know, sir." 
 
 " What was he like ? " demanded Mr. Checkynshaw, 
 impatiently. 
 
 " Well-dressed, rowdyish, foppish." 
 
 " And the boy ? " 
 
 " Fourteen or fifteen looked well." 
 
 " Send for Andre Maggimore, the barber." 
 
 Burnet bowed and retired. Charles was sent to the 
 saloon of Cutts & Stropmore ; but it was four o'clock, 
 and Andre had gone to dress the hair of Elinora 
 Checkynshaw. The banker was annoyed, vexed, angry. 
 He wanted to see the boy who had left the office with 
 the man " well-dressed, rowdyish, foppish." He did 
 not know where Leo lived, and the barber had no 
 business to be where he could not put his hand on 
 him when wanted. Impatiently he drew on his over 
 coat, rushed out of the office, and rushed into the shop 
 of Cutts & Stropmore. Mr. Cutts did not know where 
 Andre lived, and Mr. Stropmore did not know. Andre 
 was always at the shop when he was wanted there, 
 and they had no occasion to know where he lived. 
 Probably they had known ; if they had, they had for 
 gotten. It was somewhere in High Street, or in some
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. T)3 
 
 street or court that led out of High Street, or some 
 where near High Street; at any rate, High Street was 
 in the direction. 
 
 There was nothing in this very definite information 
 that afforded Mr. Checkynshaw a grain of comfort. 
 He was excited ; but, without telling the barbers what 
 the matter was, he rushed up State Street, up Court 
 Street, up Pemberton Square, to his residence. He 
 wanted a carriage ; but of course there was no car 
 riage within hailing distance, just because he hap 
 pened to want one. He reached his home out of 
 breath; but then his key to the night-latch would not 
 fit, just because he was excited and in a hurry. 
 
 He rang the bell furiously. Lawrence, the man 
 servant, was eating his dinner, and he stopped to finish 
 his pudding. The banker rang again ; but Lawrence, 
 concluding the person at the door was a pedler, with 
 needles or a new invention to sell, finished the pud 
 ding pedlers ring with so much more* unction than 
 other people. The banker rang again. Fortunately 
 for the banker, more fortunately for himself, Lawrence 
 had completely disposed of the pudding, and went to 
 the door.
 
 54 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 "What are you about, you blockhead? Why don't 
 you open the door when I ring ? " stormed the banker. 
 
 "I think the bell must be out of order, sir," pleaded 
 Lawrence, who had heard it every time it rang. 
 
 "Go and get a carriage, quick! If you are gone 
 five minutes I'll discharge you!" added the great 
 man, fiercely, as he rushed into the parlor. 
 
 "You are late to dinner," said Mrs. Checkynshaw. 
 
 "Don't talk to me about dinner! Where is Eli- 
 nora ? " 
 
 "Why, what is the matter?" asked the lady, not a 
 little alarmed by the violent manner of the husband. 
 
 " Matter enough ! Where is Elinora ? Answer me, 
 and don't be all day about it ! " 
 
 "In her dressing-room. Andre, the hair-dresser/ is 
 with her." 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw rushed up stairs, and rushed into 
 the apartment where Andre was curling the hair of a 
 pale, but rather pretty young lady of twelve. His 
 abrupt appearance and his violent movements startled 
 the nervous miss, so that, in turning her head sud 
 denly, she brought one of her ears into contact with 
 the hot curling-tongs with which the barber was 
 operating upon her flowing locks.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 55 
 
 "O, dear! Mercy! You have killed mo, Andre!" 
 screamed Elinora, as her father bolted into the room. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Miss Checkynshaw," pleaded 
 Andre. 
 
 " You have burned me to death ! How you fright 
 ened me, pa ! " gasped the young lady. 
 
 " Mind what you are about, Andre ! " exclaimed the 
 banker, sternly, as he examined the ear, which was not 
 badly damaged. 
 
 " The young lady moved her head suddenly. It 
 was really not my fault, sir," added Andre. 
 
 " Yes, it was your fault, Andre," replied Elinora, 
 petulantly. " You mean to burn me to death." 
 
 " I assure you, mademoiselle " 
 
 "Where do you live, Andre?" demanded the banker, 
 interrupting him. 
 
 "Phillimore Court, No. 3," replied the barber. 
 
 " I want you to go there with me at once," bustled 
 the banker. " Is your boy What's his name ? " 
 
 "Leo, sir." 
 
 " Leo. Is he at home ? " 
 
 " I think he is. Do you wish to see him, sir?" 
 
 " I do. Come with me, and be quick ! "
 
 56 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " Leo would not be able to serve you, sir ; he cannot 
 leave his school." 
 
 "I want to see him; my safe has been robbed, and 
 your boy was with the man who did it." 
 
 "Leo!" gasped the barber, dropping his hot iron 
 npon the floor, and starting back, as though a bolt of 
 lightning had blasted him. 
 
 "Yes; but come along! I tell you I'm in a hurry!" 
 snapped Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 
 "He can't go now, pa," interposed the daughter. 
 "He must finish dressing my hair." 
 
 "He shall return in a short time, Elinora," replied 
 the banker. 
 
 " He shall not go ! " added she, decidedly, and with 
 an emphasis worthy of an only daughter. 
 
 "Leo!" murmured the poor barber, apparently 
 crushed by the terrible charge against the boy. 
 
 "No. 3 Phillimore Court, you say," continued the 
 banker, as he moved towards the door, yielding to 
 the whim of the spoiled child. 
 
 The barber did not answer. His eyes rolled up in 
 his head ; he staggered and fell upon the floor. Eli 
 nora shrieked in terror, and was hurried from the 
 room by her father.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 57 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LEO MAGGIMORE. 
 
 ANDRE MAGGIMORE had an apoplectic fit> 
 Perhaps the immense dinner he had eaten in 
 the shop had some connection with his malady; but 
 the shock he received when the banker told him 
 that Leo was implicated in the robbery of the safe 
 was the immediate exciting cause. Andre was a 
 great eater, and took but little exercise in the open 
 air, and was probably predisposed to the disease. 
 The dark shadow of trouble which the banker's 
 words foreboded disturbed the circulation, and has 
 tened what might otherwise have been longer re 
 tarded. 
 
 Doubtless Mr. Checkynshaw thought it was very 
 inconsiderate in Andre Maggimore to have an attack 
 of apoplexy in his house, in the presence of his ner 
 vous daughter, and especially when he was in such 
 a hurry to ascertain what had become of his valuable
 
 58 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 private papers. If the banker was excited before, 
 he was desperate now. He rang the bells furiously, 
 and used some strong expressions because the ser 
 vants did not appear as soon as they were sum 
 moned. 
 
 Lawrence had gone for -the carriage, and one of 
 the female servants was sent for the doctor. Mr. 
 Checkynshaw handed his daughter over to her moth 
 er, who also thought it was very stupid for the barber 
 to have a fit before such a nervous miss as Elinora. 
 The banker returned to the room in which Andre lay. 
 He turned him over, and wished he was anywhere 
 but in his house, which was no place for a sick bar 
 ber. But the doctor immediately came to his relief. 
 He examined the patient ; Andre might live, and 
 might die a valuable opinion; but the wisest man 
 could have said no more. 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw could not afford to be bothered 
 by the affair any longer. He had pressing business 
 on his hands. He directed the doctor to do all 
 that was necessary, and to have his patient removed 
 to his own residence as soon as practicable. After 
 assuring himself that Elinora had neither been burned
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 59 
 
 to death nor frightened to death, he stepped into 
 the carriage, and ordered the driver to take him to 
 ISTo. 3 PMllimore Court. 
 
 The banker was very much annoyed by the awk 
 wardness of the circumstances. He judged from 
 what Andre had said, that he was much attached 
 to his foster-son, and he concluded that Leo was 
 equally interested in his foster-father. It was not 
 pleasant to tell the boy that the barber had fallen 
 in a fit, and might die from the effects of it ; and 
 if he did, Leo might not be able to give him the 
 information he needed. It would confuse his mind, 
 and overwhelm him with grief. Mr. Checkynshaw 
 could not see why poor people should grieve at the 
 sickness or death of their friends, though it was a 
 fact they did so, just like rich people of sensibility 
 and cultivation. 
 
 He thought of this matter as the driver, in obe 
 dience to his mandate, hurried him to Phillimore 
 Court. If he told Leo, there would be an awkward 
 scene, and he would be expected to comfort the 
 poor boy, instead of worming out of him the dry 
 facts of the robbery. If he had ever heard of Mag-
 
 60 MAKE O*R BREAK, OK 
 
 gie, he had forgotten all about her. Had he thought 
 of her, the circumstances would have appeared still 
 more awkward. He had already decided not to in 
 form Leo of the sudden illness of his father. When 
 he reached the humble abode of the barber, and his 
 summons at the door was answered by the fair Mag 
 gie, he was the more determined not to speak of 
 the calamity which had befallen them. 
 
 Leo was at home ; but it would be disagreeable 
 to examine him in his own house, and in the pres 
 ence of Maggie. He changed his tactics at once, 
 and desired the boy to ride up to his office with 
 him. Leo wondered what Mr. Checkynshaw could 
 want of him at that time of day. It was strange 
 that a person of his consequence had thought of 
 him at all; and even "Mr. Hart" had proved to 
 be a false prophet. He concluded that the banker 
 had discharged Fitz, and needed a boy at once ; 
 but the gentleman was too imperative to be denied, 
 and Leo did not venture to object to anything he 
 proposed. He followed the great man into the car 
 riage, and regarded it as a piece of condescension 
 on his part to permit a poor boy like him to ride in 
 the same vehicle with him.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 61 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw did not speak till the carriage 
 stopped before the banking-house in State Street ; 
 and Leo was too much abashed by the lofty pres 
 ence of the great man to ask any question, or to 
 open the subject which he supposed was to be dis 
 cussed in the private office. He followed the banker 
 into that apartment, thinking only of the manner 
 in which he should decline to enter the service of 
 his intended employer before the completion of his 
 school year. 
 
 " Burnet," said Mr. Checkynshaw, opening the 
 window of the banking-room. 
 
 The old cashier entered, and bowed deferentially 
 to the head of the house. 
 
 " Send for Mr. Clapp," added the banker ; and 
 Burnet bowed and retired, like an approved courtier. 
 
 Leo was not at all familiar with the police rec 
 ords, and had not learned that Mr. Clapp was the 
 well-known constable, the "Old Reed" or the 
 "Old Hayos" of his day and generation, and the 
 name had no terrors to him. 
 
 " Boy, what is your name ? " demanded Mr. 
 Checkynshaw, when the door had closed behind 
 the cashier.
 
 62 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 "Leopold Mnggimore, sir,'' replied he. 
 
 "Leopold," repeated the banker. 
 
 "I am generally called Leo, sir." 
 
 " Did the barber your father, if he is your 
 father send you to my office to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; he sent me, and I came ; but you were 
 not in." 
 
 " Why didn't you wait for me ? " 
 
 " I was told you would not be back again to 
 day, sir." 
 
 " What time were you here ? " 
 
 "At half past two, sir. There was some trouble 
 in the entry at the time. A gentleman had a 
 young fellow by the collar, and was putting him 
 out of the building." 
 
 " Just so. Who was the gentleman ? " 
 
 "I don't know, sir; I didn't see his face." 
 
 "I was that gentleman." 
 
 " I didn't know it, sir. It was just half past two, 
 and I wanted to be on time." 
 
 " Who told you I should not be back again ? w 
 demanded the banker more sternly than he had be 
 fore spoken.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 63 
 
 "Mr. Hart," replied Leo, who regarded his inform 
 ant as excellent authority. 
 
 " Mr. Hart ! " exclaimed Mr. Checkynshaw, staring 
 into the bright eyes of Leo to detect any appear' 
 ance of deception. 
 
 The banker prided himself upon his shrewdness. 
 He believed that, if there was any person in the 
 world who was peculiarly qualified to expose the 
 roguery of a suspected individual, he was that per 
 son. In conducting the present examination he. 
 only wanted Derastus Clapp for the terror of his 
 name, rather than his professional skill as a de 
 tective. 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw believed that he had intrapped 
 his victim. Mr. Hart could not have told Leo that 
 the head of the house would not return to the 
 office that day, for the very simple reason that Mr. 
 Hart was dead and gone. The old style of the 
 firm was retained, but the Hart was gone out of it. 
 The boy was telling a wrong story, and the banker 
 laid his toils for unveiling the details of a gigantic 
 conspiracy. Fitz lived somewhere in the vicinity 
 of High Street, Mr. Checkynshaw did not know
 
 64 MAKE OB BKEAK, OB 
 
 where, for it would not be dignified for a great man 
 like him to know where his clerk resided, and it 
 was more than possible that Leo and he were ac 
 quainted. Yery likely the innocent-looking youth 
 before him was an accomplice of Fitz, who, since 
 the disappearance of the papers, had really become 
 a terrible character. 
 
 "Yes, sir; Mr. Hart told me," repeated Leo, who 
 could not see anything so very strange in the cir 
 cumstance. 
 
 " Mr. Hart told you ! " said the banker, again, en- 
 devoring to overwhelm the boy by the intensity of 
 his gaze. 
 
 "Yes, sir, Mr. Hart." 
 
 "Was Mr. Hart in this office?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "What was Mr. Hart doing?" 
 
 "He wasn't doing anything. I was standing here 
 waiting for you when he came in." 
 
 " Which way did he come in ? " interrupted the 
 banker. 
 
 " The same way we did just now," added Leo, 
 pointing to the door which opened into the long 
 entry.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 65 
 
 " Very well ; go on." 
 
 " He told me to go into the big room," continued 
 Leo, pointing to the banking-room. "I went in 
 there, and asked the man that just came in here 
 for you." 
 
 " You asked Burnet for me ? " 
 
 "I didn't know what his name was; but it was 
 the man you just called in here." 
 
 " Burnet ; go on." 
 
 " He told me to come in here and wait for you." 
 
 "Burnet told you so?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and when I came back, Mr. Hart was 
 taking some papers and things from that safe, and 
 putting them in the pocket of his overcoat. Then 
 he locked the safe, and put the key in his pocket." 
 
 " Go on," said Mr. Checkynshaw, excited by these 
 details. 
 
 " Then Mr. Hart told me Mr. Checkynshaw would 
 not be in again to-day, and I must come again to 
 morrow." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "I went out through the big room, and he came 
 right after me." 
 5
 
 66 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 Leo, without knowing why he was required to 
 do so, described in full all that had taken place 
 after he left the banking-room till " Mr. Hart " had 
 changed his clothes, and left the house of Andre. 
 
 " How did you know this person was Mr. Hart ? " 
 asked the banker. 
 
 " He told me so, sir. I asked him before we got 
 to my house if he was Mr. Hart, and he said he 
 was. When he told me Mr. Checkynshaw was not 
 in, and I saw him take the things out of the safe, 
 and put the key in his pocket, I knew he belonged 
 here, and being in this office, I guessed it was Mr. 
 Hart. He promised to get me a good place when 
 I leave school, and to explain the matter to you, 
 and make it all right, when he came back from 
 New York." 
 
 " Perhaps he will do so," added Mr. Checkynshaw, 
 with a sneer. 
 
 But the banker was completely " nonplussed." 
 He found it difficult to believe that this boy had 
 anything to do with the robbery of his safe. At 
 this point in the investigation, Mr. Clapp arrived. 
 It was now quite dark. Most of the clerks in the
 
 THE RICH MAX'S DAUGHTER. 67 
 
 banking-room had left ; but Burnet was called, and 
 instructed to remain with Leo, while the banker and 
 the detective held a conference in the next room. 
 Leo could not tell what it was all about. Not a 
 word had been said about a boy to fill Fitz's place 
 He asked Burnet what Mr. Checkynshaw wanted 
 of him; but the cashier was dumb. 
 
 After the banker had told the officer all about 
 the affair, they went into the private office, and 
 Leo was subjected to a long and severe questioning. 
 Then he learned that " Mr. Hart " was not Mr. 
 Hart, and that the safe had been plundered. He 
 was filled with astonishment, not to say horror ; but 
 every answer he gave was straightforward, and at 
 the end of it the skilled detective declared that he 
 had had nothing to do with the robbery. 
 
 " Do you know Fitz Wittleworth ? " demanded 
 Mr. Checkynshaw, sharply. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Did he ever say anything to you about me?" 
 
 " I have heard him call you Old Checkynshaw ; 
 but he never said anything that I can remember, 
 except that you couldn't get along in your business 
 without him."
 
 68 MAKE OB BREAK, OK 
 
 " Did he ever say anything about any papers of 
 mine ? " asked the banker, scowling fiercely. 
 
 No, sir." 
 
 The banker plied Leo with questions in this di 
 rection ; but he failed to elicit anything which con 
 firmed his fears. A carriage was called, and Mr. 
 Checkynshaw and the constable, taking Leo with 
 them, were driven to the house of the barber.
 
 THE KICK MAN'S DAUGHTEB. 69 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LEO'S WORKSHOP. 
 
 WHEN the banker and the detective reached 
 the barber's house, the supper table was 
 waiting for Andre and Leo. Perhaps Mr. Checkyn- 
 shaw wondered how even a poor man could live 
 in such a small house, with such " little bits of 
 rooms." It had been built to fill a corner, and it 
 fitted very snugly in its place. Andre thought it 
 was the nicest house in Boston, and for many years 
 it had been a palace to him. 
 
 It contained only four rooms, two on each floor, 
 The two rooms up stairs were appropriated to tha 
 use of Majjjjie and Leo. The front room down 
 
 OO 
 
 stairs was required to do double duty, as a parlor, 
 and a sleeping-room for Andre ; but the bedstead 
 was folded up into a secretary during the day. In 
 the rear of this was the " living room." In the 
 winter the parlor was not used, for the slendei
 
 70 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 income of the barber would not pei'mit him to keep 
 two fires. In this apartment, which served as a 
 kitchen, dining and sitting room, was spread the 
 table which waited for Andre and Leo. 
 
 The barber almost always came home before six 
 o'clock; for, in the vicinity of State Street, all is 
 quiet at this hour, and the shop was closed. Maggie 
 sat before the stove, wondering why Andre did not 
 come; but she was not alarmed at his non-appear 
 ance, for occasionally he was called away to dress 
 a lady's hair, or to render other " professional " ser 
 vice at the houses of the customers. Certainly she 
 had no suspicion of the fearful truth. 
 
 She was rather startled when the unexpected vis 
 itors were ushered into the room by Leo ; but the 
 detective was gentle as a lamb, and even the bank 
 er, in the presence of one so fair and winning as 
 Maggie, was not disposed to be rude or rough. 
 Mr. Clapp asked some questions about the man 
 who had come to the house that afternoon, and 
 gone up to Leo's room. She had seen him, and 
 her description of his appearance and his move 
 ments did not differ from that of her brother. No
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 71 
 
 new light was obtained ; but Mr. Clapp desired to 
 visit the apartment which " Mr. Hart " had used. 
 
 Leo conducted the visitors to this room. It was 
 possible, if the robber had changed his clothes there, 
 that he had left something which might afford some 
 clew to his identity. The detective searched the 
 chamber, but not very carefully. As he did so, he 
 told Leo that he desired to clear him from any 
 connection with the crime. 
 
 " I hadn't anything to do with it, and I don't 
 know anything about the man," replied Leo, blush 
 ing deeply. 
 
 " I don't think you had, my boy," added the 
 officer, candidly. " But this man may have hidden 
 something in the house, without your knowledge." 
 
 "I hope you will find it if he did. You may 
 search the house from cellar to garret, if you like ; 
 but he didn't go into any room but this one." 
 
 " How long was he in this room ? " 
 
 " Not more than twenty minutes, I guess ; I don't 
 know." 
 
 "Where were you while he was here?" 
 
 "I was down cellar."
 
 72 MAKE OB BBEAK, OR, 
 
 " Down cellar ! " exclaimed Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 "All the time he was in the room?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "What were you doing there?" 
 
 " I was at work there. When I heard Mr. Hart, 
 or the man, whatever his name is, coming down 
 stairs, I went up and met him in the entry. You 
 can go down cellar, if you like." 
 
 "I think we will," said Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 
 The detective looked into the bed, under it, in 
 the closets, drawers, and into the seaman's chest 
 which contained Leo's wardrobe. He did not ex 
 pect to find anything, and his search was not very 
 thorough. He examined the till, and felt in the 
 clothing; but he did not put his hand down deep 
 enough to find the papers the robber had deposited 
 there. If the rogue had left anything, he had no 
 object in concealing it ; and Mr. Clapp reasoned 
 that he would be more likely to leave it in sight 
 than to hide it. 
 
 When the search had been finished in the room, 
 and the result was as the detective anticipated, Leo 
 led the way to the cellar. Here was presented to
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 73 
 
 the visitors a complete revelation of the boy's 
 character and tastes a revelation which assured 
 the skilful detective, deeply versed as he was in 
 a knowledge of human nature, that Leo was not a 
 boy to be in league with bad men, or knowingly 
 to assist a robber in disposing of his ill-gotten booty. 
 
 The cellar or basement was only partly under 
 ground, and there was room enough for two pretty 
 large windows at each end, the front and rear of 
 the house, and in the daytime the apartment was 
 as light and cheerful as the rooms up stairs. Across 
 the end, under the front windows, was a work 
 bench, with a variety of carpenter's tools, few in 
 number, and of the most useful kind. On the bench 
 was an unfinished piece of work, whose intended 
 use would have puzzled a philosopher, if several 
 similar specimens of mechanism, completed and prac 
 tically applied, had not appeared in the cellar to 
 explain the problem. 
 
 On the wall of the basement, and on a post in 
 the centre of it, supported by brackets, were half a 
 dozen queer little structures, something like minia 
 ture houses, all of them occupied by, and some of
 
 74 MAKE OB BREAK, OR 
 
 them swarming with, white mice. In the construc 
 tion of these houses, or, as Andre facetiously called 
 them, " Les Palais des Mice" Leo displayed a 
 great deal of skill and ingenuity. He was a nat 
 ural-born carpenter, with inventive powers of a high 
 order. He not only made them neatly and nicely, 
 but lie designed them, making regular working plans 
 for their construction. 
 
 The largest of them was about three feet long. 
 At each end of a board of this length, and fifteen 
 inches in width, was a box or house, seven inches 
 deep, to contain the retiring rooms and nests of the 
 occupants of the establishment. Each of these houses 
 was three stories high, and each story contained four 
 apartments, or twenty-four in the whole palace. 
 The space between the two houses was open in 
 front, leaving an area of twenty-two by fifteen inches 
 for a playground, or grand parade, for the mice. 
 The three sides of this middle space were filled 
 with shelves or galleries, from which opened the 
 doors leading into the private apartments. The 
 galleries were reached by inclined planes, cut like 
 steps.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 75 
 
 Monsieur Souris Blanc passed from the gallery 
 into one room, and from this apartment to another, 
 which had no exterior door, thus securing greater 
 privacy, though on the outside was a slide by which 
 the curious proprietor of the palace could investigate 
 the affairs of the family. Madame Souris Blanche, 
 who considerately added from four to a dozen little 
 ones to the population of the colony every three or 
 four weeks, apparently approved this arrangement 
 of rooms, though it was observed that three or 
 four mothers, notwithstanding the multiplicity of 
 strictly private apartments, would bring up their 
 families in the same nest, cuddled up in the same 
 mass of cotton wool. 
 
 Over the " grand parade " was a roof, which pre 
 vented the mice from getting out over the tops of 
 the nest-houses. Though this space was open in 
 front, and the play-ground protected only by a fence 
 an inch high, the little creatures seldom fell out, 
 for it was five feet to the floor of the cellar, and 
 this was a giddy height for them to look down. 
 
 This establishment contained fifty or sixty white 
 mice from the venerable grandfather and grand-
 
 76 MAKE OK BREAK, OB 
 
 mother down to the little juveniles two weeks old, 
 to say nothing of sundry little ones which had not 
 appeared on the "grand parade," and which looked 
 like bits of beef, or more like pieces of a large fish 
 worm. Other establishments on the wall container 
 smaller numbers; and, though it was impossible to 
 count them, there were not less than a hundred and 
 fifty white mice in the basement. 
 
 When Leo conducted the visitors to the cellar, 
 all the tribes of mice were in the highest enjoyment 
 of colonial and domestic bliss. Though most of 
 them scampered to their lairs when the gentlemen 
 appeared, they returned in a moment, looked at the 
 strangers, snuffed and stared, and then went to 
 work upon the buckwheat and canary seed, which 
 Leo gave them as a special treat. Squatting on 
 their hind legs, they picked up grains or seeds, and 
 holding them in their fore paws, like squirrels, picked 
 out the kernels. 
 
 In other houses, they were chasing each other 
 along the galleries, performing various gymnastics 
 on the apparatus provided for the purpose, or re-, 
 volving in the whirligigs that some of the cages
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTEE. 77 
 
 contained. It was after dark ; and, having reposed 
 during the day, they were full of life and spirit at 
 night. The detective was delighted, and even Mr. 
 Checkynshaw for a few moments forgot that his 
 valuable papers had been stolen. Both of them 
 gazed with interest at the cunning movements and 
 the agile performances of the little creatures. 
 
 "I see why you remained down cellar so long," 
 said the detective, with a smile. 
 
 "I was at work on that mouse-house," replied 
 Leo, pointing to the bench. 
 
 The palace in process of construction was some 
 what different from the others. Instead of being 
 open in front of the "grand parade," it had a glass 
 door, so that the occupants of the establishment 
 could be seen, but could not fall out. 
 
 "What is that one for?" asked Mr. Clapp. 
 
 " I'm making that for Mr. Stropmore," answered 
 Leo. "I gave him one lot, but his cat killed them 
 all. The cat can't get at them in this house, and 
 they can't fall out." 
 
 " Elinora would like to see them," said Mr. Check 
 ynshaw, graciously.
 
 78 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " I should be very glad to show them to her, ot 
 to give her as many of them as she wants," replied 
 Leo. 
 
 "Perhaps she will come and see them. But, Mr. 
 Clapp, we must attend to business." 
 
 The detective was in no hurry to attend to busi 
 ness, so interested was he in the performances of 
 the mice. He was quite satisfied that a boy whose 
 thoughts were occupied as Leo's were could not be 
 implicated in the robbery. The banker led the 
 way up stairs, and Leo was questioned again. He 
 described the rogue once more, and was sure he 
 should know him if he saw him again. The banker 
 said he would call and see Mrs. Wittleworth and 
 her son, while the detective was to take the night 
 train for New York, where " Mr. Hart " was sup 
 posed to have gone. The officer, who knew all the 
 rogues, was confident, from the description, that 
 the thief was " Pilky Wayne," a noted " confidence 
 man." The theft was according to his method of 
 operation. 
 
 " Where do you suppose father is ? " asked Mag 
 gie, as Leo was about to leave the house to show
 
 THE KICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 79 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw where Mrs. Wittleworth lived. 
 "It is after seven o'clock, and he is never so late 
 as this." 
 
 " I don't know," replied Leo. " I haven't seen 
 him since one o'clock." 
 
 The banker was disturbed by the question. It 
 would be annoying to tell such a pretty and inter 
 esting young lady, poor girl though she was, that 
 her father was very ill. It would make a " scene," 
 and he would be expected to comfort her in her 
 great grief. 
 
 "Your father Is he your father, miss?" asked 
 he, doubtfully. 
 
 "He is just the same. He adopted both Leo 
 and me," replied Maggie. 
 
 " He went to my house, this afternoon, to dress 
 my daughter's hair," added Mr. Checkynshaw ; and 
 there was something in his manner which disturbed 
 the fair girl. 
 
 " Is he there now ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think he is. My people will take good 
 care of him." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean, sir?" demanded Mag 
 gie. " Take good care of him ? "
 
 80 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 "He had an ill turn this afternoon." 
 
 " My father ! " exclaimed Maggie. 
 
 " I sent for the doctor, and he has had good 
 care," added the banker, as soothingly as he could 
 speak, which, however, was not saying much. 
 
 " What ails him ? " 
 
 " Well, it was an attack of apoplexy, paralysis, of 
 something of that kind." 
 
 " My poor father ! " ejaculated Maggie, her eyes 
 filling with tears. "I must go to him at once." 
 
 Maggie took down her cloak and hood, and put 
 them on.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 81 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MON PERE. 
 
 MAGGIE'S ideas of apoplexy or paralysis were 
 not very definite, and she only understood 
 that something very terrible had happened to her 
 foster-father, whom she loved as though he had been 
 her real parent. Leo was hardly less affected, though, 
 being a boy, his susceptibility was not so keen. His 
 first feeling was one of indignation that the banker 
 had not told him before of the misfortune which had 
 overtaken the family. It was cruel to have kept 
 Maggie from her father a single moment longer than 
 was necessary. 
 
 "Where is poor father now?" asked Maggie, as she 
 adjusted her hood, and wiped the tears from her eyes 
 
 " He is at my house ; but you need not worry about 
 him," replied Mr. Checkynshaw. " The doctor ha? 
 attended to his case, and he shall have everything 
 he needs." 
 
 6
 
 82 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 "Where do you live, sir?" asked Leo. 
 
 " No. Pemberton Square." 
 
 "Come, Maggie, we will go to him," added the boy. 
 
 "I want you to go with me, and show me where 
 Fitz lives," interposed the banker. 
 
 " He lives at No. Atkinson Street, up the court," 
 answered Leo, rather coolly, as he picked up his cap 
 and comforter. 
 
 " I want you to show me the house." 
 
 "I must go with Maggie." 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw looked as though the barber's 
 serious illness was of no consequence, compared with 
 his affairs. 
 
 " We can go that way, Leo, and you can show 
 him the house as we pass through Atkinson Street," 
 said Maggie, leading the way to the door. 
 
 This arrangement was satisfactory to the banker ; 
 the house was locked, and Leo led the way out of 
 the court. The humble abode of Mrs. Wittleworth 
 was pointed out to Mr. Checkynshaw ; and, after he 
 had been admitted, Leo and Maggie hastened to Pem 
 berton Square, so sad and sorrowful that hardly a 
 word was spoken till they reached the lofty mansion
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 83 
 
 of the great man. With trembling hand Leo rang 
 the bell ; and Maggie's slender frame quivered with 
 apprehension while they waited for a reply to the 
 summons. Lawrence answered the bell more promptly 
 than when its call had disturbed him at his dinner. 
 
 " Is Andre Maggimore here ? " asked Leo, timidly. 
 
 " Who ? " demanded Lawrence. 
 
 "Andre Maggimore the barber the hair-dresser," 
 replied Leo. 
 
 "You mane the man that had the fit," added the 
 servant. " Indade, he's here, thin." 
 
 " How is he ? " asked Maggie, her heart bounding 
 with fear lest she should be told that her poor father- 
 was no more. 
 
 "He's a little better; but the docthor says it'll be 
 a long day till he is able to handle his razors again. 
 What's this he called the disase ? The para4y-sis ! 
 That's just what it is!" 
 
 "Poor mon peref" sighed Maggie. 
 
 " We would like to see him, if you please," added 
 Leo. 
 
 " And who be you ? Are you his children ? " 
 asked Lawrence.
 
 84 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 "We are." 
 
 " I'm sorry for you ; but he's very bad," added 
 Lawrence, who had an Irish heart under his vest, as 
 he closed the front door. 
 
 Is he will he " 
 
 Poor Maggie could not ask the question she de 
 sired to ask, and she covered her face and wept. 
 
 "No, he won't," replied Lawrence, tenderly. "He 
 won't die. The docthor says he's comin' out ot 
 it ; but the para-?y-sis will bodther him for a long 
 time." 
 
 Maggie was comforted by this reply, and she fol 
 lowed Lawrence up stairs to the chamber where 
 Andre lay. He had been conveyed from Elinora's 
 dressing-room to an apartment in the L, over the 
 dining-room, where the banker and his friends smoked 
 their cigars after dinner. He was lying on a lounge, 
 covered with blankets, and the housekeeper was 
 attending him. 
 
 " Poor man pere ! " exclaimed Maggie, as she 
 threw herself on her knees on the floor by the side 
 of the sick man's couch, and kissed his pale, thin 
 face.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 85 
 
 Leo bent over his father's prostrate form, and 
 clasped one of his silky hands, which now felt so 
 cold that the touch chilled his heart. The doctor 
 had just come in to pay his patient a second visit, 
 and stood by the lounge, regarding with interest the 
 devotion of the boy and girl. 
 
 Andre had " come out " of the fit, and recognized 
 his children, as he always called them. He smiled 
 faintly, and tried to return the pressure of Leo's 
 hand, and to kiss the lips of Maggie, pressed to his 
 own ; but his strength was not yet equal to his 
 desire. 
 
 " I think it would be better to remove him to the 
 hospital," said the doctor to the housekeeper. " He 
 will be well nursed there." 
 
 " No, no, no ! " exclaimed Maggie, rising and walk 
 ing up to the physician. 
 
 Her idea of the hospital was not a very clear one, 
 and she did not consider it much better than a 
 prison ; at least, it was to her a place where sick 
 people who had neither home nor friends were sent ; 
 a place where other hands than her own would lave 
 her father's fevered brow, and administer the cooling
 
 86 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 draught. To her it was sacrilege to permit any but 
 herself to nurse him; and she felt that it was a privi 
 lege to stand day and night by his bed, and hold his 
 hand, and anticipate all his wants. Her womanly 
 instincts were strong, and she heard with horror the 
 suggestion to take the sufferer to the hospital. 
 
 " Your father would be very kindly cared for at the 
 hospital," said the doctor. 
 
 " But it would not be his own home ! " pleaded 
 Maggie. " O, he so loves his own home ! He always 
 staid there when he was not in the shop. It would 
 break his heart to send him away from his own 
 home when he is sick." 
 
 " Have you a mother? " asked Dr. Fisher, kindly. 
 
 "I have not; but I will nurse him by day and 
 night. I will be mother, wife, and daughter to him. 
 Do not send him away from me not from his own 
 home ! " continued Maggie, so imploringly that the 
 good physician had to take off his spectacles and 
 wipe the moisture from his eyes. 
 
 " We will take good care of him at home," added 
 Leo. 
 
 "Very well," replied the doctor. "He shall be
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 87 
 
 removed to his own home, since you desire it so 
 much. Lawrence, will you send for a carnage ? " 
 
 " I will, sir," answered the servant, leaving the 
 room. 
 
 Andre had turned his eyes towards the group, 
 and appeared to understand the matter they were 
 discussing. He smiled as he comprehended the de 
 cision, and made an effort to embrace Maggie, when 
 she again knelt at his side ; but a portion of his frame 
 was paralyzed, and he could not move. 
 
 "Your father may be sick a long time," said Dr. 
 Fisher. 
 
 " I'm so sorry ! But I will take such good care 
 of him ! " replied Maggie. 
 
 " He needs very careful nursing." 
 
 "O, he shall have it! He would rather have me 
 nurse him than any other person. I will watch him 
 all the time. I will sit by his bed all day and all 
 night," added she, with womanly enthusiasm. 
 
 " You will wear yourself out. You are not strong 
 enough to do without your sleep." 
 
 " I am very strong, sir. I do all the work in the 
 house myself. I know how to make gruel, and
 
 88 MAKE OK BREAK, OR 
 
 porridge, and beef tea, and soup ; and mon pere 
 shall have everything nice." 
 
 The doctor smiled, and felt sure that no better 
 nurse could be provided for the sick man. 
 
 " Where is your mother ? " he asked. " Is she 
 living?" 
 
 " I have no mother. Leo has no mother. We are 
 not Andre's own children ; but we love him just the 
 same, and he loves us just the same." 
 
 "But who was your mother?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " Doesn't Andre know ? " 
 
 "He does not." 
 
 "You have some kind of a history, I suppose," 
 added the doctor, greatly interested in the girl. 
 
 " Mon pere don't like to talk about it. He seems 
 to be afraid that some one will get me away from 
 him ; but I'm sure I don't want to go away from 
 him; I wouldn't leave him for a king's palace." 
 
 " Why do you call him 'mon pere'?" 
 
 " He taught me to call him so when I was little. 
 Andre's father was an Italian, and his mother a French 
 woman ; but he was born in London."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 89 
 
 "Where did he find you?" 
 
 "At the cholera hospital." 
 
 Where ? " 
 
 " I don't know. He always looked so sad, and his 
 heart seemed to be so pained when I asked him any 
 questions about myself, that I stopped doing so long 
 ago. When I was five years old, he found me play- 
 ing about the hospital, where hundreds and hundreds 
 of people had died with cholera. I had the cholera 
 myself; and he came to play with me every day; 
 and when they were going to send me to an orphan 
 asylum, or some such place, he took me away, ana 
 promised to take care of me. Ah, man pere" said 
 she, glancing tenderly at the sick man, and wiping a 
 tear from her eyes, " how well he has kept his prom 
 ise! I can't help thinking he loved me more than 
 any real father could. I never saw any father who 
 was so kind, and tender, and loving to his child as 
 Andre is to me." 
 
 " And you don't know where this hospital was r " 
 
 "No, sir; and I don't want to know. Mon pere 
 thinks my parents died of the cholera; but Andre 
 has been father and mother to me. He would die 
 if he lost me."
 
 90 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " And your brother was he taken from tin 
 cholera hospital ? " asked the doctor. 
 
 "No, sir," replied Maggie, rising and speaking in 3, 
 whisper to the physician, so that Leo should not hear 
 vhat she said. " Andre had to leave me all alone 
 when he went to the shop, and he went to the alms- 
 house to find a poor orphan to keep me company. 
 He found Leo, whose father and mother had both 
 died from drinking too much. He took him home, 
 and mon pere has been as good to him as he has 
 to me." 
 
 "His name is Leo the Lion?" 
 
 "No, sir; not the lion. Mon pere called him Leo 
 pold, after the King of Belgium, in whose service he 
 once was ; but we always call him Leo. He is a real 
 good boy, and will get the medal at his school this 
 year." 
 
 " The carriage has come, sir," said Lawrence, open 
 ing the door. 
 
 The arrangements were made for the removal of 
 the barber to his house. The hackman and the man 
 servant came to carry him down stairs in an arm 
 chair, and the doctor was to go with his patient, and
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 91 
 
 assist in disposing of him at his house. Andre was 
 placed in the chair, covered with blankets, and the 
 door opened in readiness to carry him down. Mag 
 gie kept close to him, comforting him with the kindest 
 words, and adjusting the blanket so that the rude 
 blasts of winter might not reach him. 
 
 " Lawrence ! " called Elinora, in a petulant tone, 
 from the dressing-room on the same floor. 
 
 Under the circumstances, Lawrence was not dis 
 posed to heed the call ; but it was so often and so 
 ill-naturedly repeated, that Dr. Fisher told him to go 
 and see what she wanted, fearful that some accident 
 had happened to her. The man went into the hall. 
 Elinora had come out of her room in her impatience, 
 arrayed for the party she was to attend. Another 
 hair-dresser had been sent for to complete the work 
 which Andre had begun ; but the young lady was 
 more than an hour late, and proportionally impa 
 tient. 
 
 " Are you deaf, Lawrence ? The carriage has 
 come," pouted Elinora. 
 
 "That's not the carriage for you, miss. It's to 
 take the barber to his own place," replied Lawrence.
 
 92 MAKE OR BKEAK, OK 
 
 "That horrid barber again! I shall not get over 
 the fright he gave me for a month ! I will take this 
 carriage, and he may have the other when it comes," 
 said she, walking to the stairs. " Go down and open 
 the door for rne." 
 
 " If you plaze, miss, you can't go in this carnage. 
 It's for the sick man." 
 
 " I don't care what it's for ! I'm in a hurry, Law 
 rence. I must have the first carriage." 
 
 "Indacle, miss, but we have the sick man up in 
 the chair, ready to take him down the stairs. It's 
 very bad he is." 
 
 " Let him wait ! Go down and open the door, as 
 I tell you." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, miss, but the docthor " 
 
 " If you don't do what I tell you this instant, I'll 
 ask pa to discharge you." 
 
 Dr. Fisher came out to ascertain the cause of the 
 delay. He explained that the carriage had been 
 ordered to convey the barber to his home, and he 
 insisted that it should be used for that purpose. 
 Andre was his patient, and he would not permit any
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 93 
 
 further delay. Elinora pouted and flouted, and hopped 
 back into her chamber. 
 
 Andre was borne carefully down the stairs, and 
 placed in the carriage. Maggie and the doctor en 
 tered the vehicle with him, and they were driven to 
 the barber's own home, where he was placed upon 
 his bed in the front room.
 
 91 MAKE OR BREAK, OK 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MAKE OR BREAK. 
 
 MAGGIE plied the kind-hearted physician with 
 questions in regard to her father's condition 
 with questions which no man with merely human 
 knowledge could answer. He thought Andre would 
 be able to talk to her by the next day ; but he feared 
 the patient would not be well enough to resume his 
 place in the shop for weeks, and perhaps months. 
 
 Andre appeared to be quite comfortable, and did 
 not seem to be suffering very severely. The doctor 
 had given him some medicine before he was removed 
 from the banker's house, and the sick man went to 
 sleep soon after he was put to bed in his own room. 
 Dr. Fisher then went out into the rear room, and told 
 Maggie that her father would probably sleep for sev 
 eral hours. 
 
 "I will come again in the morning, Maggie," said 
 he. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 95 
 
 " Nothing more, I thank you, sir," replied she. " I 
 am very grateful to you for what you have done." 
 
 " I know nothing about your father's circumstances ; 
 but if you need any assistance, I hope you will make 
 it known." 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; I don't think we need anything," 
 replied Maggie, a slight blush mantling her pretty 
 face ; for the idea of asking or accepting charity was 
 painful to her. 
 
 " I fear it will be a long time before your father will 
 be able to work again," continued Dr. Fisher, glancing 
 around the room to ascertain, if possible, whether tho 
 singular family were in poverty or in plenty. 
 
 "I will take good care of him, whether it be for 
 weeks or for months, or even for years. You don't 
 know how sorry I am to have poor mon pere sick; 
 but you can't think what a pleasure it is to me to have 
 an opportunity to do something for him. I wish I 
 could tell you how good and kind he has always been 
 to me ; how tenderly he watched over me when I was 
 sick; how lovingly he prayed for me; but I cannot, 
 though it makes me happy to think I can now do 
 something for him."
 
 96 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " You are a good girl, Maggie, and I don't see how 
 Andre could have done any less for you," replied the 
 doctor. "Who keeps house here?" 
 
 " O, I do that, sir." 
 
 "Then you must have to Avork very hard." 
 
 " Indeed, I don't ! I have to keep busy almost all 
 day ; but it is such a pleasure to me to know that I 
 am doing something for mon pere, that I never think 
 it is hard at all." 
 
 Everything looked so neat and nice in the house 
 that the doctor could not decide whether any assist 
 ance was required or not. Pie was one of those 'good 
 physicians who felt for the poor and the humble. 
 Though he practised in some of the richest and most 
 aristocratic families in the city, his mission was not to 
 them alone. He visited the haunts of poverty, and 
 not only contributed his professional services in their 
 aid, but he gave with no stinted hand from his own 
 purSe to relieve their wants. When he died, the ser 
 mon preached on the Sunday after his funeral was 
 from the text, "The beloved physician;" and no one 
 ever went to his reward in heaven who better de 
 served the praise bestowed upon him. 

 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 97 
 
 In the present instance, he felt that his work was 
 not alone to heal the sick. His patient was a journey 
 man barber, with only a boy, and a girl of fifteen, to 
 depend upon. This same doctor often went among 
 his friends in State Street, in 'change hours, to preach 
 the gospel of charity in his own unostentatious way. 
 All gave Avhen he asked, and it was not a very diffi 
 cult matter for him to raise fifty or a hundred dollars 
 for a deserving family. He purposed to do this for 
 those under the barber's humble roof, who, without 
 being connected by the remotest tie of blood, were 
 more loving and devoted towards each other than 
 many whom God had joined by the ties of kindred. 
 
 The doctor never told anybody of his good deeds. 
 Hardly did his left hand know what his right hand 
 did ; and one of his eyes, which followed not the 
 other's apparent line of vision, seemed to be looking 
 out all the time for some hidden source of human 
 suffering. He was as tender of the feelings of others 
 as he was of the visible wounds of his patients. He 
 saw the blush upon the cheeks of Maggie, and he 
 interpreted it as readily as though the sentiment had 
 been expressed in words. He forbore to make any 
 7
 
 98 
 
 further inquiries in regard to the pecuniary condition 
 of the strange family ; but he was determined that all 
 their wants should be supplied, without injury to their 
 laudable pride. lie went away, and Maggie and Leo 
 were left to themselves. 
 
 "You haven't been to supper, Leo," said Maggie, 
 when Dr. Fisher had gone. 
 
 "I don't seem to care about any supper," replied 
 Leo, gloomily. 
 
 "You must eat your supper, Leo," added Maggie, 
 as she placed the teapot on the table. "There are 
 some cold sausages I saved for mon pere. Sit down, 
 Leo. "We must work now, and we need all the strength 
 we can get." 
 
 Then she crept on tiptoe into the front room, and 
 looked into the face of the sleeper. He was still slum 
 bering, and she returned to the table, seating herself 
 in her accustomed place, near the stove. Leo looked 
 heavy and gloomy, as well he might ; for the sad event 
 of that day promised to blast the bright hopes in which 
 his sanguine nature revelled. He knew, and Maggie 
 knew, that Andre Maggimore had made no prepara 
 tion for the calamity which had so suddenly overtaken 
 him.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 99 
 
 It was Wednesday, and the wages of the preceding 
 week were more than half used. He had no money, 
 no resources, no friends upon whom he could depend, 
 to fall back on in the day of his weakness. The bar 
 ber was faithful and affectionate as a woman, but he 
 had no business calculation, and his forethought 1'arely 
 extended beyond the duration of a single week. While 
 he owed no man anything, and never contracted any 
 debts, he had never saved a dollar beyond what he 
 had invested in furnishing the small house. 
 
 The dark day had come, and Leo was the first to 
 see it. In another week, or, at most, in two weeks, 
 every dollar the barber had would have been spent. 
 It was plain enough to him that he could not con 
 tinue to attend school till exhibition day came, and 
 he would lose the medal he coveted, and for which he 
 had worked most diligently. Maggie poured out his 
 cup of tea, and handed it to him. He was eating his 
 supper ; but his head was bowed down. 
 
 " Leo," said she. 
 
 He looked up with a start, took his tea, and imme 
 diately lost himself again. 
 
 "Leo!" added Maggie, in her peculiarly tender 
 tones.
 
 100 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 He looked up again. 
 
 "What are you thinking about, Leo?" she con 
 tinned, gazing earnestly at him. " I need not ask you, 
 Leo. You are thinking of poor mon pere." 
 
 "I was thinking of him. I was thinking, too, that 
 I should lose my medal now," replied Leo, gloomily. 
 
 " Fie on your medal ! Don't think of such a trifle as 
 that! "she added, gently rebuking the selfish thought 
 of her brother. 
 
 "You don't quite understand me, Maggie." 
 
 "I hope you are not thinking of yourself, Leo 
 only of mon pere" 
 
 "I was thinking that he has worked for me, and 
 now I must work for him. I must give up my school 
 now." 
 
 "You must, indeed, Leo." 
 
 " We can't stay in this house unless we pay the 
 rent. Father made ten dollars a week, and it took 
 every cent of it to pay the expenses. What shall we 
 do now?" 
 
 " We must both work." 
 
 "We can't make ten dollars a week if both of us 
 work. But you can't do anything more than take
 
 THE KICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 101 
 
 care of father. I don't see how we are going to get 
 along. Fitz Wittleworth has only five dollars a week 
 at Mr. Checkynshaw's. If he gave me the same 
 wages, it wouldn't more than half pay our expenses." 
 
 Maggie looked puzzled and perplexed at this plain 
 statement. It was a view of the situation she had 
 not before taken, and she could not suggest any 
 method of solving the difficult problem. 
 
 " We can reduce our expenses," said she, at last, a 
 cheerful glow lighting up her face as she seemed to 
 have found the remedy. 
 
 "You can't reduce them. The doctor's bill and the 
 medicines will more than make up for anything we 
 can save in things to eat and drink." 
 
 "That's very true, Leo. What shall we do?" in 
 quired Maggie, sorrowfully, as her ingenious argument 
 was overthrown. 
 
 " I don't know what we can do. They say doctors 
 charge a dollar a visit, and that will make seven dol 
 lars a week. The medicines will cost another dollar, 
 at least, perhaps two or three. That makes eight dol 
 lars. Even if we save three dollars a week in pro 
 visions and such things, it will cost fifteen dollars a
 
 102 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 week. I might as well try to fly as to make that. I 
 couldn't do it. It's half as much again as father could 
 make." 
 
 "O, dear!" sighed Maggie, appalled by this array 
 of financial demands. 
 
 " I suppose the doctor won't bring in his bill yet a 
 while," added Leo. 
 
 "But we must pay him. Mon pere would worry 
 himself to death in a short time if he knew he was 
 getting in debt." 
 
 "I don't see how we can do it." 
 
 Leo relapsed into silence again, and finished his 
 supper. The problem troubled him. He sat down 
 by the stove, and did not move for half an hour. 
 Maggie cleared off the table, washed the dishes and 
 put them away, creeping stealthily into the front room 
 every few moments to assure herself that all was well 
 with her father. 
 
 "Leo, don't worry any more. We shall be cared 
 for somehow. Our good Father in heaven will watch 
 over us in the future, as he has in the past. Trust in 
 God, Leo," said Maggie, impressively. "I will not 
 worry any more, and you must not."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 103 
 
 " I will trust in God ; but God expects me to do 
 something more than that. He helps those who help 
 themselves. I am going to do something!" exclaimed 
 he, springing to his feet. "MAKE OR BREAK, I'm 
 going to do my duty; I'm going to do my whole 
 duty." 
 
 " What are you going to do, Leo ? " 
 
 " I don't know yet ; but, make or break, I'm going 
 to do something. It's no use for me to work for Mr. 
 Checkynshaw at five dollars a week, when it will cost 
 us fifteen dollars a week to get along. I'm going to 
 do something," continued Leo, as he took a lamp from 
 the shelf and lighted it. 
 
 Then he stopped before Maggie, and looked her full 
 in the face, his eyes lighting up with unusual lustre. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter, Leo ? What makes you 
 look at me so ? " 
 
 "Maggie, Andre is not our own father; but he has 
 done all that an own father could do for us. Maggie, 
 let me take your hand." 
 
 She gave him her hand, and was awed by the im 
 pressive earnestness of his manner. 
 
 " Maggie, I'm going to do my duty now. I want
 
 104 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 to promise you that poor father shall never want for 
 anything. I want to promise you that I will do all 
 for him that a real son could do." 
 
 "Good, kind Leo! We will both do our whole duty." 
 
 Leo dropped her hand, and went down stairs into 
 his workshop. The white mice were capering and 
 gamboling about their palatial abodes, all unconscious 
 that poor Andre had been stricken down. Leo gave 
 ihem their suppers, and sat down on the work-bench. 
 fie was in deep thought, and remained immovable for 
 ri long time. 
 
 He was a natural mechanic. His head was full of 
 mechanical ideas. Was there not some useful article 
 which he could make and sell a boot-jack, a work- 
 box, a writing-desk something new and novel? He 
 had half a dozen such things in his mind, and he was 
 thinking which one it would pay best to mature. His 
 thought excited him, and he twisted about on the 
 bench, knocking a chisel on the floor. The noise 
 frightened the mice, and they made a stampede to 
 their nests. He looked up at them. 
 
 " That's an idea ! " exclaimed he, leaping off the 
 . "Make or break, I'll put it through!"
 
 THE KICK MAN'S DAUGHTER. 105 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MR. CHECKYNSHAW AND FAMILY. 
 
 "E left Mr. Checkynshaw entering the house 
 of Mrs. Wittleworth, in Atkinson Street ; 
 and, as he was a gentleman of eminent dignity and 
 gravity, we feel compelled to beg his pardon for 
 leaving him so long out in the cold of a winter 
 night. Having made the barber as comfortable as 
 the circumstances would permit, we are entirely will 
 ing to let the banker in, though the abode at which 
 he sought admission was hardly worthy of the dis 
 tinguished honor thus conferred upon it. 
 
 Mrs. "VVittleworth cautiously opened the door, for 
 those who have the least to steal are often the most 
 afraid of robbers ; but, recognizing the lofty person 
 age at the door, she invited him to enter, much 
 wondering what had driven him from his comfort 
 able abode in Pernberton Square to seek out her 
 obscure residence at that hour in the evening. Mr. 
 
 V
 
 106 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 Checkynshaw was conducted to an apartment which 
 served as kitchen, parlor, and bed-room for the poor 
 woman, her son having a chamber up stairs. A seat 
 was handed to the great man, and he sat down by 
 the cooking-stove, after bestowing a glance of apparent 
 disgust at the room and its furnishings. 
 
 The banker rubbed his hands, and looked as though 
 he meant business ; and Mrs. Wittleworth actually 
 trembled with fear lest some new calamity was about 
 to be heaped upon the pile of misfortunes that already 
 weighed her down. Mr. Checkynshaw had never be 
 fore darkened her doors. Though she had once been 
 a welcome guest within his drawing-rooms, she had 
 long since been discarded, and cast out, and forgotten. 
 When the poor woman, worse than a widow, pleaded 
 before him for the means of living, he had given her 
 son a place in his office, at a salary of five dollars a 
 week. If she had gone to him again, doubtless he 
 would have done more for her; but, as long as she 
 could keep soul and body together by her ill-paid 
 drudgery, she could not endure the humiliation of 
 displaying her poverty to him. 
 
 Mrs. Wittlevvorth had once lived in affluence. She
 
 THE men MAN'S DAUGHTER. 107 
 
 had been brought up in ease and luxury, and hei 
 present lot was all the harder for the contrast. Her 
 father, James Osborne, was an enterprising merchant, 
 who had accumulated a fortune of a hundred thou 
 sand dollars, on which he had the good sense to 
 retire from active business. Of his four children, the 
 two sons died, leaving the two daughters to inherit 
 his wealth. 
 
 John Wittleworth, the father of Fitz, was a clerk in 
 the counting-room of Mr. Osborne, and finally became 
 the partner of his employer, whose confidence he ob 
 tained to such a degree that the merchant was willing 
 to trust him with all he had. He married Ellen 
 Osborne ; and when her father retired from business, 
 his son-in-law carried it on alone. At this time, 
 doubtless, John Wittleworth was worthy of all the 
 confidence reposed in him, for the terrible habit, which 
 eventually beggared him, had not developed itself to 
 an extent which seemed perilous even to the eye of 
 affection. 
 
 A few years after the marriage of Ellen, Mr. Check- 
 ynshaw, then aspiring to no higher title than that of a 
 simple broker, presented himself as the suitor of Mary, 
 V
 
 108 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 the younger daughter of the retired merchant. Mr. 
 Osborne did not like him very well ; but Mary did, 
 and their affair was permitted to take its course. 
 Only a few months after this alliance of the Checkyn- 
 shaw and the Osborne, the merchant was taken sick. 
 When it was evident that his days were drawing to a 
 close, he made his will. 
 
 His property consisted of about one hundred thou 
 sand dollars. One half of it was invested in a block 
 of stores, which paid a heavy rental, and the other 
 half was in money, stocks, and debts. In settling the 
 affairs of the firm he had taken John Wittleworth's 
 notes for thirty thousand dollars, secured by a mort 
 gage on the stock. In. making his will, Mr. Osborne 
 gave to Ellen or what was the same thing in those 
 days, when a woman did not own her own property 
 to her husband, all the money, stocks, and debts due 
 from Wittleworth. He did this because his late part 
 ner wanted more capital to increase his business. 
 
 To Mary, the wife of Mr. Checkynshaw, he gave 
 the block of stores ; but, not having so much confi 
 dence in Mary's husband as in Ellen's, he gave her 
 the property with certain restrictions. The income of
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 109 
 
 the estate was to be hers or her husband's during 
 her life. At her death the estate was to pass to her 
 children. If she died without children, the property 
 was to be her sister's, or her sister's children's. But 
 Mr. Osborne did not wish to exhibit any want of con 
 fidence in Mary's husband ; so he made Mr. Checkyn 
 shaw the trustee, to hold the block of stores for his 
 wife and for her children. He had the power to col 
 lect the rents, and as long as his wife lived, or as 
 long as her children lived, the money was practically 
 his own. 
 
 Mary, the first Mrs. Checkynshaw, was in rather 
 feeble health, and the doctors advised her to spend 
 the winter in the south of France. Her husband com 
 plied with this advice; and her child, Marguerite, was 
 born in Perpignan, and had a French name because 
 she was born in France. The family returned home 
 in the following spring; but Mrs. Checkynshaw died 
 during the succeeding winter. Marguerite was a fine, 
 healthy child ; and to her now belonged the block of 
 stores bequeathed by her grandfather, her father hold 
 ing it in trust for her. 
 
 In another year Mr. Checkynshaw married hia
 
 110 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 second wife, who treated little Marguerite well enough, 
 though she felt no deep and motherly intei-est in her, 
 especially after Elinora, her own daughter, was bora 
 Mr. Checkynshaw called himself a banker now. He 
 had taken Mr. Hart and another gentleman into the 
 concern as partners, and the banking-house of Check 
 ynshaw, Hart, & Co. was a rising establishment. 
 
 The second Mrs. Checkynshaw was an ambitious 
 woman, vain and pretentious. Her friends had been 
 to London, Paris, Naples, and Rome. She had never 
 been in Europe, and it galled her to be out of the 
 fashion. When Elinora was only two years old, she 
 insisted upon going abroad. Her husband did not 
 like the idea of travelling with two children, one five 
 and the other two years old. But he was over- 
 persuaded, and finally consented to go. They arrived 
 in Paris in July, and intended to remain there two 
 months; but, before this period elapsed, the banker 
 received a letter from Mr. Hart informing him of the 
 sudden death of the third partner in their house. 
 This event compelled him to return immediately ; but 
 Mrs. Checkynshaw was so well pleased with Parisian 
 life, that she was unwilling to leave the city so soon.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. Ill 
 
 The voyage to her was terrible, and she had seen 
 little or nothing of Europe. The family had taken 
 apartments, and she was loath to leave them. 
 
 A friend of the banker, who with his wife occupied 
 rooms in the same house, suggested that Mrs. Check- 
 ynshaw and her children should remain until her 
 husband could return, two or three months later. An 
 arrangement to this effect was made, and the banker 
 hastened home to settle his business affairs. He had 
 hardly departed before the cholera broke out with 
 fearful violence in Paris. One of its first victims was 
 the gentleman who had charge of Mr. Checkynshaw's 
 family. His wife followed him, only a day later, to 
 the cholera hospital. 
 
 Of course the banker's wife was terribly frightened, 
 and instantly made her preparations to leave the in 
 fected city. Poor little Marguerite was the first of 
 the family to take the disease, and she was hurried off 
 to the hospital by the landlord of the house, who was 
 very polite, but very heartless. This event would not 
 have delayed the departure of Mrs. Checkynshaw, 
 but she was stricken down herself before she could 
 leave. The fearful malady ragea with awful violence j
 
 112 MAKE OB BREAK, OB 
 
 hospitals were crowded with patients, and the dead 
 were hurried to their last resting-place without a 
 prayer or a dirge. 
 
 Little Elinora was taken by her nurse to the Sisters 
 of Charity, and escaped the disease. Mrs. Checkyn- 
 shaw recovered, and as soon as she was able, 
 reclaimed her child, and fled to the interior of Swit 
 zerland, to a small town which the plague had not 
 yet visited. When the panic had subsided, she re 
 turned to Paris. She had been informed, before her 
 departure, that little Marguerite had died of the 
 disease ; but, on her return, she visited the hospital, 
 and made more careful inquiry in regard to the little 
 patient. She was told that the child answering to her 
 description had died, and been buried with a dozen 
 others. It was then impossible to identify the remains 
 s>f the child. 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw returned to Paiis in September. 
 His wife had written to him and to Mrs. Wittleworth 
 as soon as she was able, and her husband had received 
 her letter before his departure from Boston. Poor lit 
 tle Marguerite ! She was his own child, and he was 
 sorely grieved at her death. He was not quite satis-
 
 THE HIGH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 113 
 
 ficd with his wife's investigations, and he determined 
 to inquire further. "With Mrs. Checkynshaw he went 
 to the hospital. 
 
 "The child died the day after it was brought here," 
 replied the director. " Here is the name ; " and he 
 pointed to the record. 
 
 The name indicated certainly was not " Checkyn 
 shaw," though it was as near it as a Frenchman could 
 be expected to write it. The letters spelled " Chuck- 
 ingham." 
 
 " Allow me to look at the book," said Mr. Checkyn 
 shaw. 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; but I remember the case well. She 
 was a little English girl," added the director. 
 
 " This child was American," interposed the anxious 
 father. 
 
 "We cannot tell the difference. She spoke only 
 English." 
 
 " What is this ? " asked Mr. Checkynshaw, pointing 
 to another name. "Marguerite Poulebah." 
 
 " That patient was discharged, cured." 
 
 "Do you translate English proper names?" 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 8
 
 J 14 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " What became of this patient ? " asked Mr. Check 
 ynshaw, deeply interested. 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 The banker was satisfied that " Marguerite Poule- 
 bah " was his daughter ; that the persons who had 
 brought her to the hospital understood a little Eng 
 lish, and had translated his surname literally from 
 " chicken " and " pshaw." He investigated the matter 
 for a week. The concierge of the lodgings where he 
 had resided assured him he had not given the name 
 as " Poulebah." At the end of the week he informed 
 his wife that he had obtained a clew to the child. She 
 had been taken from the hospital by the Sisters of 
 Charity, and sent to Strasburg, that she might not 
 have a relapse. Mr. Checkynshaw went to Strasburg 
 atone. 
 
 On his return he assured his wife that he had found 
 Marguerite ; that she was happy with the Sisters, and 
 cried when he spoke of taking her away. The de 
 voted ladies were very much attached to her, he said ; 
 and he had concluded that it would be best to leave 
 her there, at least until they were ready to embark 
 for home. Mrs. Checkynshaw did not object. She
 
 THE ETCH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 115 
 
 had no love for the child, and though she had treated 
 her well from a sense of duty, was rather glad to get 
 rid of her. 
 
 The family remained in Europe till the next spring. 
 Mr. Cheeky nshaw went to see his daughter again. 
 The Sisters were educating her, and he declared that 
 Marguerite was so very happy with them, and begged 
 so hard not to be taken from them, that he had con 
 sented to let her remain at their school. Mrs. Check- 
 ynshaw did not care ; she thought it was strange ; but 
 if the child's father deemed it best for her to remain 
 with the Sisters, it was not for her to say anything. 
 She did not say anything Marguerite was not her 
 own child. 
 
 When they returned to Boston, the friends of the 
 Osbornes wished to know what had become of the 
 child. Mr. Checkynshaw had not informed any one 
 of the death of Marguerite when the intelligence came 
 to him in his wife's letter, though Mrs. Wittleworth 
 had received it direct from the same source. He had 
 grieved deeply at the loss of the child. Yet his sor 
 row was not alone for poor Marguerite ; the block of 
 stores, every year increasing in value, must not pass 
 out of his hands-
 
 116 MAKE OK BREAK, OR 
 
 " The poor child had the cholera in Paris, and svr.s 
 sent to the hospital," was his reply. " When t;he 
 recovered, Mrs. Checkynshaw was down with the 
 disease, and the Sisters of Charity took her in charge. 
 They treated her as a mother treats her own child, 
 and Marguerite loves them better than she does ray 
 wife. I don't like to say anything about it, and will 
 not, except to most intimate friends ; but Marguerite 
 was not Mrs. Cheeky nshaw's own daughter. They 
 were not very fond of each other, and well, I think 
 you ought to be able to understand the matter without 
 my saying anything more. The poor child is very 
 happy where she is, and I had not the heart to sep 
 arate her from such dear friends." 
 
 Everybody inferred that Mrs. Checkynshaw did not 
 treat the child well, and no more questions were 
 asked. The banking-house of Checkynshaw, Hart, & 
 Co. increased in wealth and importance, and had ex 
 tensive foreign connections in England. Every year 
 or two the head of the house crossed the ocean, 
 partly, as he declared, to transact his business in 
 London, and partly to visit his child in France.
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 117 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE WITTLEWORTH FAMILY. 
 
 WHILE everything appeared to be well with 
 the banker, into whose exchequer the rev 
 enues of the block of stores flowed with unintermit- 
 ting regularity, the affairs of the other branch of 
 the Osborne family were in a far less hopeful con 
 dition. John Wittleworth drank to excess, and did 
 not attend to his business. It was said that he 
 gambled largely ; but it was not necessary to add 
 this vice to the other in order to rob him of his 
 property, and filch from him his good name. 
 
 He failed in business, and was unable to reestab 
 lish himself. He obtained a situation as a clerk, 
 but his intemperate habits unfitted him for his du 
 ties. If he could not take care of his own affairs, 
 much less could he manage the affairs of another. 
 He had become a confirmed sot, had sacrificed 
 everything, and given himself up to the demon of
 
 118 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 the cup. He became a ragged, filthy drunkard ; and 
 as such, friends who had formerly honored him re 
 fused to recognize him, or to permit him to enter 
 their counting-rooms. Just before the opening of our 
 story, he had been arrested as a common drunkard; 
 and it was even a relief to his poor wife to know 
 that he was safely lodged in the House of Cor 
 rection. 
 
 When Mrs. Wittleworth found she could no 
 longer depend upon her natural protector, she went 
 to work with her own hands, like an heroic woman, 
 as she was. As soon as her son was old enough 
 to be of any assistance to her, a place was found 
 for him in a lawyer's office, where he received a 
 couple of dollars a week. Her own health giving 
 way under the drudgery of toil, to which she had 
 never been accustomed, she was obliged to depend 
 more and more upon Fitz, who, in the main, was 
 not a bad boy, though his notions were not suited 
 to the station in which he was compelled to walk. 
 At last she was obliged to appeal to her brother, 
 in-law, who gave Fitz his situation. 
 
 Fitz was rather "airy." He had a better opinion
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 119 
 
 of himself than anybody else had a vicious habit, 
 which the world does not readily forgive. He 
 wanted to dress himself up, and "swell" round 
 among bigger men than himself. His mother was 
 disappointed in him, and tried to teach him better 
 things; but he believed that his mother was only 
 a woman, and that he was wiser, and more skilful 
 in worldly affairs, than she was. He paid her three 
 dollars a week out of his salary of five dollars, and 
 in doing this he believed that he discharged his 
 whole duty to her. 
 
 Perhaps we ought again to apologize to Mr. 
 Checkynshaw for leaving him so long in such a dis 
 agreeable place as the poor home of his first wife's 
 sister ; but he was seated before the cooking-stove, 
 and the contemplation of poverty would do him no 
 harm ; so we shall not beg his pardon. 
 
 The banker looked around the room, at the 
 meagre and mean furniture, and then at the wo 
 man herself; her who had once been the belle of 
 the circle in which she moved, now clothed in the 
 cheapest calico, her face pale and hollow from hard 
 work and ceaseless anxiety. Perhaps he found it
 
 120 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 difficult to believe that she was the sister of hia 
 first wife. 
 
 " Where is Fitz ? " asked he, in gruff accents. 
 
 " He has gone up in Summer Street. He will 
 be back in a few minutes," replied Mrs. Wittle- 
 worth, as she seated herself opposite the banker, 
 still fearing that some -new calamity was about to 
 overtake her. 
 
 " I want to see him," added Mr. Checkynshaw, 
 in the most uncompromising tones. 
 
 " Fitz says you discharged him," continued the 
 poor woman, heaving a deep sigh. 
 
 " I didn't ; he discharged himself. I could not 
 endure the puppy's impudence. But that is neither 
 here nor there. I don't want to see him about that." 
 
 "I hope you will take him back." 
 
 "Take him back if he will behave himself." 
 
 " Will you ? " asked she, eagerly. 
 
 " I will ; that is, if it turns out that he was not 
 concerned in robbing my safe." 
 
 "In what?" exclaimed Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 "My safe has been robbed of some of my most 
 valuable papers."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 123 
 
 Robbed ! " 
 
 "Yes, robbed." 
 
 " Did Fitz do it ? " gasped the wretched mother ; 
 and this was even a greater calamity than any she 
 had dreaded. 
 
 " I don't know whether he did or not ; that's what 
 I want to find out ; that's what I want to see him for." 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw proceeded to relate the circum 
 stances under which the safe had been robbed. Be 
 fore he had finished, Fitz came in, and his mother 
 was too impatient to wait for her distinguished 
 visitor to set any of his verbal traps nd snares. 
 She bluntly informed her hopeful son that he was 
 suspected of being concerned in the robbery. 
 
 " I don't know anything about it. I had nothing 
 to do with it," protested Fitz. " There's nothing 
 too mean for Checkynshaw to say." 
 
 " Don't be saucy, Fitz. Try to be civil," pleaded 
 his mother. 
 
 " Be civil ! What, when he comes here to accuse 
 me of robbing his safe ? I can't stand that, and I 
 won't, if I know myself," replied Fitz, shaking his 
 head vehemently at the banker.
 
 122 MAKE OR BREAK, OK 
 
 "I haven't accused you of anything, Fitz," added 
 Mr. Cheeky nshaw, very mildly for him. " I came 
 to inquire about it." 
 
 "Do you think if I did it that I would tell you 
 of it ? " 
 
 " I wish to ask you some questions." 
 
 "Well, you needn't!" 
 
 "Very well, young man," said the banker, rising 
 from his chair, " if you don't choose to answer me, 
 you can answer somebody else. I'll have you ar 
 rested." 
 
 "Arrested ! I'd like to see you do if! What for? 
 I know something about law ! " He had been an 
 errand boy in a lawyer's office ! 
 
 " Don't be so rude, Fitz," begged his mother. 
 
 " Arrest me ! " repeated the violent youth, whose 
 dignity had been touched by the threat. " Do it ! 
 Why didn't you do it before you came here? You 
 can't scare me ! I wasn't bi-ought up in the city to 
 be frightened by a brick house. Why don't you 
 go for a constable, and take me up now ? I'd like 
 to have you do it." 
 
 "I will do it if you don't behave yourself," said
 
 THE KICK MAN'S DAUGHTER. 123 
 
 the banker, beginning to be a little ruffled by the 
 violent and unreasonable conduct of Mr. Wittle- 
 worth. 
 
 " I wish you would ! I really wish you would ! I 
 should like to know what my friend Choate would 
 say about it." 
 
 " How silly you talk ! " exclaimed his mother, 
 quite as much disgusted as her stately visitor. 
 
 " You may let him badger you, if you like, moth 
 er ; but he shall not come any odds on me not 
 if I know it, and I think I do ! " 
 
 "It is useless for me to attempt to say anything 
 to such a young porcupine," added Mr. Checkyn- 
 shaw, taking his hat from the table. 
 
 Mrs. Wittleworth burst into tears. She had hoped 
 to effect a reconciliation between her son and his 
 employe] 1 , upon which her very immunity from blank 
 starvation seemed to depend. The case was a des 
 perate one, and the bad behavior of Fitz seemed 
 to destroy her last hope. 
 
 "I will give up now, Fitz, and go to the alms- 
 house," sobbed she. 
 
 Fitz was inclined to give up also when this stun-
 
 124 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 
 
 ning acknowledgment was made in the presence of 
 his great enemy, the arch dragon of respectability. 
 
 " I am willing to work, but not to be trodden 
 upon," added he, sullenly ; but his spirit for the mo 
 ment seemed to be subdued. 
 
 " Mr. Checkynshaw wishes to ask you some ques 
 tions, and it is your duty to answer them," said 
 Mrs. Wittleworth, a little encouraged by the more 
 hopeful aspect of her belligerent son. 
 
 "Ask away," replied Fitz, settling himself into a 
 chair, and fixing his gaze upon the stove. 
 
 " Do you know Pilky Wayne ? " asked the banker, 
 who had a certain undefined fear of Fitz since the 
 robbery, which, however, the immensity of his dig 
 nity prevented him from exposing. 
 
 " Know who ? " demanded Fitz, looking up. 
 
 "Pilky Wayne." 
 
 " Never heard of him before." 
 
 tt Yes, you have ; you made an arrangement with 
 him to rob my safe," continued the banker, who 
 could not help browbeating his inferior. 
 
 "Did I? Well, if I did, I did," answered Fitz, 
 shaking his head. " What do you think my friend 
 Choate would say to that ? "
 
 THE KICH MAN^S DAUGHTER. 125 
 
 " He would say you were a silly fellow," interposed 
 Mrs. Wittleworth. " Don't be impudent, Fitz." 
 
 " Well, I won't be impudent ! " said Fitz, with a 
 kind of suppressed chuckle. 
 
 "There were, or you thought there were, certain 
 papers in my safe which might be useful to you," 
 added Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 
 "I don't believe there were any letters from my 
 cousin Marguerite among them," replied Fitz, with 
 a sneering laugh. " Marguerite must be able to 
 write very pretty letters by this time." 
 
 "Be still, Fitz," pleaded Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 " Fitz, I don't want to quarrel with you," con 
 tinued Mr. Checkynshaw, in the most pliable tones 
 Fitz had ever heard the banker use to him. 
 
 " I thought you did. Accusing a gentleman of 
 robbing your safe is not exactly the way to make 
 friends with him," said Fitz, so much astonished at 
 the great man's change of tone that he hardly knew 
 what to say. 
 
 " I accuse you of nothing. Fitz, if you want your 
 place in my office again, you can return to-morrow 
 moraine."
 
 126 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth looked at his disconsolate mother. 
 A gleam of triumph rested on his face. The banker, 
 the head and front of the great house of Checkyn- 
 shaw, Hart, & Co., had fully and directly recognized 
 the value of his services ; had fairly " backed out," 
 and actually entreated him to return, and fill the 
 vacant place, which no other person was competent 
 to fill ! That was glory enough for one day. But 
 he concluded that it would be better for the banker 
 to come down a peg farther, and apologize for his 
 abusive treatment of his confidential clerk. 
 
 " Certainly he will be glad to take the place again, 
 sir," said Mrs. Wittleworth, who was anxious to 
 help along the negotiation. 
 
 " Perhaps I will ; and then again, perhaps I will 
 not," replied Mr. Wittleworth, who was beginning 
 to be airy again, and threw himself back on his 
 chair, sucked his teeth, and looked as magnificent as 
 an Eastern prince. "Are you willing to double my 
 salary, Mr. Checkynshaw ? " 
 
 "After what I have heard here to-night, I am," 
 answered the banker, promptly. " I ought to have 
 done it before ; and I should, had I known your 
 mother's circumstances."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 127 
 
 That was very unlike Mr. Checkynshaw. Mr. 
 Wittleworth did not like it. His salary was to be 
 doubled as an act of charity, rather than because he 
 deserved such a favor. It was not like the banker 
 to want him at all after what had happened. There 
 was something deep under it; but Fitz was deep 
 himself. 
 
 " Perhaps you might help me in finding my pa 
 pers. Of course I don't care a straw for the three 
 hundred and fifty dollars or so which was stolen 
 with them," suggested Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 
 " Perhaps I might ; perhaps I have some skill in 
 business of that kind, though I suppose it doesn't 
 exactly become me to say so," added Fitz, stroking 
 his chin. " But if you mean to intimate that I 
 know anything about them, you are utterly and 
 entirely mistaken. I'm an honest man the no 
 blest work of God." 
 
 " I will give you ten dollars a week for the future, 
 if you will return," said Mr. Checkynshaw, im 
 patiently. 
 
 " Of course he will," almost gasped the eager 
 mother.
 
 128 MAKE OR BREAK, OR, 
 
 Fitz was deep. The banker was anxious. It 
 meant something. Fitz thought lie knew what it 
 meant. 
 
 " On the whole, I think I will not return," replied 
 he, deliberately. 
 
 ',' Are you crazy, Fitz ? " groaned Mrs. Wittle- 
 worth, in despair. 
 
 "Never a more sane man walked the earth. Mr. 
 Checkynshaw knows what he is about ; I know 
 what I am about." 
 
 " "We shall both starve, Fitz ! " cried his mother. 
 
 " On the contrary, mother, we shall soon be in 
 possession of that block of stores, with an income 
 of five or six thousand a year," added Fitz, com 
 placently. 
 
 " The boy's an idiot ! " exclaimed the banker, as 
 he took his hat, and rushed out of the house.
 
 THE RICH HAN'S DAUGHTER. 129 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE MOUSE BUSINESS. 
 
 WHILE Maggie Maggimore took upon herself 
 the blessed task of nursing the barber, Leo 
 charged himself with the duty of providing for the 
 wants of the family. Each had assumed all that one 
 person could be expected to achieve. It was no small 
 thing for a girl of fifteen to take the entire care of a 
 helpless invalid ; and it was no small thing for a boy 
 of fifteen to take upon himself the task of providing 
 for the expenses of the house, and the medical attend 
 ance of the sick man. 
 
 It would have been much easier for Leo to fail in 
 his assumed task than for Maggie to do so. Even a 
 young man of so much importance as Fitzherbert 
 Wittleworth, upon whom the salvation of the great 
 house of Checkynshaw, Hart, & Co. seemed to depend, 
 toiled for the meagre pittance of five dollars a week. 
 Leo had some acquaintance with the late clerk in the
 
 130 MAKE OK BREAK, OS 
 
 private office of the banker, and he had listened with 
 wonder to the astounding achievements of Fitz in the 
 postal and financial departments of the house. Of 
 course Mr. Wittle worth would be a partner in the 
 concern as soon as he was twenty-one, if not before; 
 for, besides his own marvellous abilities, he had the 
 additional advantage of being a relative of the distin 
 guished head of the concern. 
 
 Leo was abashed at his own insignificance when he 
 stood in the presence of the banker's clerk. If such 
 an astonishing combination of talent as Mr. Wittle- 
 worth possessed could be purchased for five dollars a 
 week, what could lie, who was only a mere tinker, ex 
 pect to obtain ? Half that sum would have been an 
 extravagant valuation of his own services, under ordi 
 nary circumstances. But beneath the burden which 
 now rested upon him, he felt an inspiration which had 
 never before fired his soul ; he felt called upon to per 
 form a miracle. 
 
 He was born with a mechanical genius, and he felt 
 it working within him. There was no end of wooden 
 tiip-hammers, saw-mills, and other working machines 
 he had invented and constructed. Under the pressure
 
 THE KICK MAX'S DAUGHTER. 131 
 
 of the present necessity he felt able to accomplish bet 
 ter things. Something must be done which would 
 produce fifteen, or at least ten, dollars a week. It was 
 no use to think it couldn't be done ; it must be done. 
 It looked like a species of lunacy on his part to flatter 
 himself that it was possible to make even more than a 
 journeyman mechanic's wages. 
 
 Leo had in his busy brain half a dozen crude plans 
 of simple machines. Often, when he saw people at 
 work, he tried to think how the labor might be done 
 by machinery. As he sat in the kitchen, where Mag 
 gie was sewing or preparing the dinner, he was de 
 vising a way to perform the task with wood and iron. 
 Only a few days before the illness of the barber, he 
 had seen her slicing potatoes to fry, and the operation 
 had suggested a potato slicer, which would answer 
 equally well for cucumbers, onions, and apples. 
 
 Sitting on the bench, he was thinking of this appa 
 ratus, when fifteen dollars a week became a necessity. 
 But the machine required more iron than wood work, 
 and he had not the means to do the former, and no 
 capital to invest in other people's labor. Then he 
 turned his attention to a new kind of boot-jack he
 
 132 MAKE OB BREAK, OB 
 
 had in his mind an improvement on one he had 
 seen, which could be folded up and put in a traveller's 
 carpet-bag. As this implement was all wood except 
 the hinges and screws, it looked more hopeful. He 
 could make half a dozen of them in a day, and they 
 would sell for half a dollar apiece. He was thinking 
 of an improvement on the improvement, when the 
 stampede of the mice deranged his ideas ; but they 
 gave him a new one. 
 
 White mice were beautiful little ci'eatures. Their 
 fur was so very white, their eyes so very pink, and 
 their paws so very cunning, that everybody liked to 
 see them. Even the magnificent Mr. Checkynshaw 
 had deigned to regard them with some attention, and 
 had condescended to say that his daughter Elinora 
 would be delighted to see them. Then the houses, 
 and the gymnastic apparatus which Leo attached to 
 them, rendered them tenfold more interesting. At a 
 store in Court Street the enterprising young man had 
 Been them sold for half a dollar a pair; indeed, he 
 had paid this sum for the ancestral couple from which 
 had descended, in the brief space of a year and a 
 haK the numerous tribes and families that peopled 
 t*i miniature palaces on the basement walls.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 133 
 
 At this rate his present stock was worth seventy- 
 five dollars the coveted salary of five whole weeks! 
 In another month, at least fifty more little downy 
 pink-eyes would emerge from their nests, adding 
 twenty-five dollars more to his capital stock in trade ! 
 
 Leo had already decided to go into the mouse 
 business. 
 
 He was counting his chickens before they were 
 hatched, and building magnificent castles in the air; 
 but even the most brilliant success, as well as the most 
 decided failure, is generally preceded by a vast amount 
 of ground and lofty tumbling in the imagination. If 
 the man in Court Street could sell a pair of white 
 mice for fifty cents, and a beggarly tin box with a 
 whirligig for a dollar, making the establishment and 
 its occupants cost a dollar and a half, why would not 
 one of his splendid palaces, with two or three pairs 
 of mice in it, bring three, or even five dollars? That 
 was the point, and there was the argument all lying in 
 a nutshell. 
 
 Leo had faith. What would a rich man care for 
 five dollars when he wanted to please his children? 
 He had watched his mice day after day, and week
 
 134 MAKE OK BREAK, OR 
 
 after week, by the hour at a time, and had never failed 
 to be amused at their gambols. Everybody that came 
 to the house was delighted with them. If the man in 
 Court Street could sell them, he could. There was 
 money in the speculation, Leo reasoned, and it should 
 not fail for the want of a fair trial. 
 
 He could make houses of various sizes, styles, and 
 prices, and thus suit all tastes. He could stock each 
 one with as many iv.ice as the customer desired. He 
 cpuld make a pretty elaborate establishment in two 
 days five-dollar size ; and of the smaller and plainer 
 kind two-dollar pattern he could make two in a 
 day. 
 
 The palace on the bench was nearly completed, 
 and he went to work at once and finished it. It had 
 a glass front, so that the dainty little occupants of 
 the institution could not get out, and the foe of white 
 mice, the terrible cat, could not get in. This estab 
 lishment had been intended for Mr. Stroprnore; but 
 as that gentleman had not been informed of his pur 
 pose to present it, Leo decided that it should be used 
 to initiate the experiment on whose success so much 
 depended.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 135 
 
 It was ten o'clock at night when the grand palace 
 on the bench was finished. Leo put some cotton 
 wool into the sleeping apartments, and then trans 
 ferred three pairs of mice from the most densely 
 populated house to the new one. He watched them 
 for a while, as they explored their elegant hotel, go 
 ing up stairs and down, snuffing in every corner, 
 standing upon their hind legs, and taking the most 
 minute observations of the surroundings. 
 
 Leo was entirely satisfied with the woj& of his 
 hands, and with the conduct of the mice who had 
 been promoted to a residence in its elegant and spa 
 cious quarters. If there was not five dollars in that 
 establishment, then the rich men of Boston were 
 stingy and ungrateful. If they could not appreciate 
 that superb palace, and those supple little beauties 
 who held court within its ample walls, why, they 
 were not worthy to be citizens of the Athens of 
 America ! 
 
 Leo went up stairs. Andre still slept, and Maggie 
 sat by the bedside, patiently watching him in his 
 slumbers. He crept softly into the front room, and 
 looked at the pale face of his father. His heart was
 
 136 MAKE OR BKEAK, OK 
 
 lighter than it had been before since the news of the 
 calamity was told to him. He was full of hope, and 
 almost believed that he had solved the problem of 
 supplying all the wants of the family. 
 
 "You must sleep yourself, Maggie," said he, in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " Hush ! " said she, fearful that the sleeper might be 
 disturbed, as she led the way into the rear room. 
 
 " I will sit up half the night, Maggie." 
 
 "No, Leo; there is no need of that. I wake very 
 easily, and I can sleep enough in the rocking-chair. 
 You seem to be quite cheerful now, Leo," added she, 
 noticing the change which had come over him. 
 
 " I feel so, Maggie. You say we shall want fifteen 
 dollars a week." 
 
 "No, you said so, Leo. I might take in sewing; 
 but I don't think both of us can make anything like 
 that sum. I am very much worried. I don't know 
 what will become of us." 
 
 "Don't be worried any more. I'm going to make 
 that money myself. You needn't do anything but 
 take care of father; and I'll help you do the house- 
 work," added Leo, cheerfully.
 
 THE KICK MAN'S DAUGHTER. 137 
 
 "What are you going to do?" 
 
 "I'm going into the mouse business." 
 
 "Into what?" 
 
 "The mouse business," replied Leo, gravely. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " asked Maggie, 
 puzzled as much by his gravity as by the unintelligi 
 ble phrase he had used. 
 
 Leo explained what he meant, and argued the case 
 with much skill and enthusiasm. 
 
 Maggie would have laughed if she had not been 
 solemnly impressed by the condition of her father, 
 and by the burden of responsibility that rested upon 
 her as his nurse. She went into the basement, and 
 looked at the house which Leo had just finished. It 
 was certainly very pretty, and the mice in it were 
 very cunning. 
 
 " You don't think any one will give you five dollars 
 for that house do you?" said she, as she joined him 
 in the back room again. 
 
 " I mean to ask six for it, and if folks won't give 
 it, they are mean. That is all I've got to say about 
 it," replied Leo. 
 
 "But they won't."
 
 138 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 "Why, the mice alone are worth a dollar and a 
 half; and there is two days' work in the house, be 
 sides the stock and the glass. I certainly expect to 
 get six dollars for the concern, though I shall not 
 complain if I don't get but five. I can make from 
 three to a dozen of them in a week, and if I don't 
 make at least fifteen dollars a week out of the mouse 
 business, I shall be disappointed that's all." 
 
 "I am afraid you will be disappointed, Leo," replied 
 Maggie, with a sigh, as she thought what a sad thing 
 it would be when the brilliant air-castle tumbled to 
 the ground. 
 
 " Perhaps I shall ; if I do, I can't help it. But if 
 this fails, I have got another string to my bow." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " I shall go into the boot-jack business next ; and I 
 hope to get up my machine for slicing potatoes, and 
 such things, soon." 
 
 "O, dear, Leo! You are full of strange ideas. I 
 only hope that some of them will work well," added 
 Maggie. 
 
 " I'm going to be reasonable, sis. I'm not going to 
 give up if a thing fails once, twice, or nineteen times.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 139 
 
 I'm going to keep pulling. I've got half a dozen 
 things in my head ; if five of them fail, I shall make 
 a big thing out of the sixth." 
 
 " I hope you will ; you are so patient and perse 
 vering that you ought to succeed in something." 
 
 " O, I shall ; you may depend upon that ! Make or 
 break, I'm bound to succeed in something." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' make or break,' Leo ? It 
 sounds just as though you meant to make money if 
 you sacrificed everything." 
 
 "I don't mean that." 
 
 "I would rather go to the almshouse than be dis 
 honest. I can't think of anything more horrid than 
 being wicked." 
 
 " Nor I either. I don't mean to be dishonest, Mag 
 gie. I would rather be a good man than a rich one, 
 any day; but I think a man can be both. A good 
 man, with lots of money, is better than a good man 
 without it ; for he can do good with it. When I say, 
 'make or break,' I don't mean anything bad by it. 
 I'll tell you what I mean, Maggie. It seems to me, 
 when I get hold of a good thing, I ought to keep 
 pulling till I carry my point, or pull away till some-
 
 140 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 thing breaks. I don't mean to risk everything on a 
 turn of the wheel of fortune ; nothing of that sort. I 
 mean to persevere and stick to anything so long as 
 there's any chance of success till the strings break, 
 and the whole thing tumbles down. That's my idea." 
 The idea was satisfactory to Maggie, and she re 
 turned to her patient, while Leo went up to bed; 
 but not to sleep for hours, for the "mouse business" 
 excited his brain, and kept him awake.
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 141 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LEO'S WONDERFUL PERFORMERS. 
 
 MAGGIE, at the sick bed of Andre, slept even 
 more than Leo. She had a lounge in the 
 room, placed near her charge, on which she rested 
 comfortably, though she rose several times in the 
 night to assure herself that all was well with her 
 father. In the morning Andre seemed to be in the 
 entire possession of his faculties. He had slumbered 
 quietly all night, hardly opening his eyes after he 
 took the doctor's prescription. 
 
 He awoke before his attentive nurse. He had 
 but a faint remembrance of the events of the pre 
 ceding evening ; for, after he came out of the fit, 
 he was in a kind of stupor. He had noticed Maggie 
 and Leo at the house of the banker ; but everything 
 seemed like a dream. 
 
 "Maggie," said he, as he looked around the famil 
 iar apartment, and saw her lying on the lounge.
 
 142 . MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 She sprang to her feet, and went to him, glad to 
 hear the sound of his voice, but fearful that the call 
 might be the prelude of another attack. He smiled 
 as she approached him, and made an effort to ex 
 tend his right hand to her ; but he could not 
 move it. 
 
 " Father ! " exclaimed the fond girl, as she bent 
 over him and kissed his pale face, now slightly 
 flushed with fever. 
 
 " I have been very ill," he added. 
 
 " You have, indeed ; but you are better now ; and 
 I am so glad, rnon pere!" 
 
 " Ah, ma fille, you are a good girl ! You have 
 been by my side all night. It was selfish for me 
 to wake you." 
 
 " No, no ! It was not. I'm glad you did. I am 
 RO happy to find you better!" 
 
 " What ails me ? I can't move my right arm, 
 nor my right leg," asked Andre, struggling to raise 
 his limbs. "There is no feeling in my right side." 
 
 "The doctor will come by and by, and tell you 
 all about it." 
 
 " My head feels very strange," added the sufferer.
 
 THE RICH MAX'S DAUGHTER. 143 
 
 "I am sorry, mon pere. What can I do?" said 
 Maggie, tenderly. 
 
 " Give me some cold water." 
 
 She gave him the drink, supporting his head 
 with her arm. It was plain, even to Maggie, that 
 Andre was in a very bad way. 
 
 " Go up stairs, and go to bed now, Maggie. You 
 have been up all night," said he, with a loving 
 glance at her. 
 
 " No, mon pere, I have no need to go to bed. I 
 have slept on the lounge nearly all night. I feel 
 quite bright, only I'm so sad to think you are sick." 
 
 " I shall be well soon. I must be well soon," he 
 added, looking anxiously at her. 
 
 " I hope you will be well soon ; but it may be 
 several weeks before you are able to go out," re 
 plied Maggie, wishing to have him reconciled to his 
 lot as soon as possible. 
 
 " Several weeks, Maggie ! O, no ! I must go to 
 the shop sooner than that." 
 
 " You must be very patient, mon pere" 
 
 " I will be patient, Maggie ; but I must go to the 
 shop soon."
 
 144 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 w Don't think of the shop yet." 
 
 "My poor children! What will become of you ^ 
 I have no money. I must work, or you will starve, 
 and be turned out of the house because the rent n 
 not paid. Indeed I must go to the shop, Maggie.'' 
 
 "But you cannot. You are not able to lift your 
 right arm at all, and you are so weak you couM 
 not stand up. Do be patient, and not think at aU 
 of the shop." 
 
 " I must do as you bid me now, Maggie." 
 
 "Then don't think of the shop, or anything but 
 oar nice little home, where we have always been 
 BO happy." 
 
 " How shall we pay the rent if I lie here ? "Where 
 will you get food to eat and clothes to wear? "de 
 manded Andre, with something like a shudder of 
 his paralyzed frame. 
 
 "Don't think of those things." 
 
 " I must. I was wicked not to ' save up some 
 money." 
 
 " No, you were not wicked ; you were always as 
 good as you could be. The good God will take 
 care of us."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 145 
 
 " They will send us all to the almshouse." 
 
 " No, no ; Leo is going to make heaps of money ! " 
 replied Maggie, though she had not much confi 
 dence in her brother's brilliant scheme, or even in 
 the inventions that reposed in his active brain. 
 " Can't you go to sleep again, mon pere ? " 
 
 " I will try," replied he, meekly. " I will if you 
 go to bed, and sleep. What should I do if you 
 were sick?" 
 
 " I shall not be sick. I have slept enough. I 
 will go and make you some beef tea, and get break 
 fast for Leo. I shall hear you if you call." 
 
 Leo had made the fire in the cooking-stove, and 
 in a short time the odor of fried sausages pervaded 
 the house ; the beef tea was in course of prepara 
 tion, and the coffee was boiling on the stove. Mag 
 gie was as busy as a bee ; but every five minutes 
 she ran into the front room, and asked Andre if 
 he wanted anything. She went to the front door, 
 where the baker had deposited half a dozen two- 
 cent rolls, each of which was nearly as big as one 
 sold for five cents now. 
 
 For a girl of fifteen, Maggie was an excellent 
 10
 
 146 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 cook ; indeed, she would have been regarded as a 
 prodigy in this respect in our day and generation. 
 She had acquired all her skill from Andre, whose 
 accomplishments were almost unlimited. When he 
 first came to Boston, he had boarded out; but, when 
 "Maggie was eight years old, he had taken this house. 
 At first he had done the housework himself, with 
 what little help she could give him, till now she 
 had entirely relieved him from any care of this kind. 
 At this time he had taken Leo from the almshouse, 
 to be her companion in his absence. 
 
 Breakfast was soon ready ; and Leo was called 
 up from the workshop, where he had already got 
 out a portion of the stock for four small mouse- 
 houses, each intended to accommodate a single pair 
 of mice. He was still cheerful and hopeful, and 
 went in to see Andre before lie sat down at the 
 table. He told his fath2r he was sure he could 
 make ten dollars a week by his splendid enterprise. 
 He intended to take the palace he had finished up 
 to State Street, for sale, at noon that day. The 
 problem would soon be solved, and he was already 
 nearly as well satisfied as though he had the price 
 of his curious merchandise in his pocket.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 147 
 
 After breakfast he returned to the shop. He was 
 sad when he thought of staying away from school, 
 and of giving up the medal he had set his heart 
 upon ; but, then, it was a very great pleasure to do 
 something for his devoted father, who had been so 
 good to him. It was a great sacrifice that he was 
 called upon to make ; but there was no help for it, 
 and he tried to yield cheerfully to the necessity of 
 the occasion. Gladly and hopefully he sawed and 
 planed, and squared, and grooved, and moitised his 
 work, and nailed the parts together. 
 
 At ten o'clock the doctor came. He was as gen 
 tle and kind as he had been the evening before, 
 Andre was partially paralyzed on one side of his 
 frame ; but Dr. Fisher was quite hopeful of his 
 patient, though it was not likely that he could go 
 to work for some months. The physician was much 
 pleased with Maggie, and when he was taking his 
 leave he asked for Leo. 
 
 " He is in his shop at work," said Maggie. " Every 
 one that comes here goes down to see his white 
 mice; perhaps you would like to do so." 
 
 " I would," replied the doctor, with one of thoa**
 
 148 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 benevolent smiles which all who knew him will r^ 
 member to the end of their days. 
 
 Maggie conducted him to the basement, and then 
 returned to Andre's chamber. The doctor examined 
 the cages and palaces with wondering interest, though 
 the mice were all asleep in their lairs. Leo put a 
 little canary seed in the grand parade of each house, 
 and this was quite enough to rouse them from their 
 slumbers, and induce them to exhibit themselves to 
 the astonished visitor. 
 
 " These are my performing mice," said Leo, point 
 ing to a house in which seven full-grown ones were 
 nibbling the seed. 
 
 "What do they perform?" laughed the doctor. 
 
 "I'll show you, sir." 
 
 Leo swept out the canary seed from the grand 
 parade, so that the little actors should have nothing 
 to distract their attention. Taking six little sticks 
 that looked something like guns he rapped with 
 his finger-nail on the floor of the house. The seven 
 mice stood up on their hind legs, in a straight line, 
 like a file of soldiers. He then gave each of the 
 first six his musket, and to the seventh a sword.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 149 
 
 " Shoulder arms ! " said he, with a movement 
 of his forefinger, which probably had more effect 
 than the words. 
 
 The mice, with becoming gravity, obeyed the or 
 der, and successively went through four movements 
 in the manual of arms. Then one of the little sol 
 diers was deprived of his gun, and Leo explained 
 that he was a deserter, and was to be shot for his 
 crime. At a movement of the boy's forefinger, the 
 culprit took his station at one side of the grand 
 parade, while his companions formed a line on the 
 other side, with their muskets pointed at the de 
 serter. 
 
 " Fire ! " said Leo, at the same time dropping a 
 torpedo on the floor of the house, which exploded. 
 
 The infamous wretch of a white mouse, which had 
 basely deserted his flag, dropped upon his back, and 
 lay as still as though he had actually suffered the 
 extreme penalty of martial law. It must be added 
 that the captain of the firing party was so frightened 
 by the noise of the torpedo that he scampered away 
 into his nest, much to the mortification of Leo ; but 
 he was recalled, and compelled to face the music at 
 the head of his squad.
 
 150 MAKE OK BREAK, OR 
 
 Leo rapped again on the floor, and the defunct 
 mouse was suddenly resurrected. The tragedy com 
 pleted, the squad was dismissed, and immediately be 
 came white mice again, snuffing about the parade, 
 doubtless wondering what had become of the canary 
 seed, which was choice food, served out only on 
 extra occasions. 
 
 " That is really wonderful," said Dr. Fisher. " Did 
 you train them yourself?" 
 
 " Partly ; but my father did most of it," replied 
 Leo, who proceeded to explain the method by which 
 the little creatures had been educated. 
 
 " Leo," said the doctor, as he was about to depart, 
 " your sister seems to be a very sensitive young 
 lady. I wanted to ask her some questions ; but I 
 did not feel quite equal to it. I will ask them of 
 you ; but I wish you to understand that I do so as 
 your friend." 
 
 The good physician then inquired into the circum 
 stances of the poor barber. Leo told him the exact 
 truth, but assured him the family were in no need 
 of assistance, and did not feel like accepting charity. 
 Modestly, and with much enthusiasm, he then stated 
 in what manner he intended to support the family.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 151 
 
 " Certainly there are plenty of people who would 
 be glad to have some of your beautiful little pets, 
 especially in these elegant houses you make," added 
 the physician. " I would take one myself if I had 
 time to attend to them." The doctor was a bachelor. 
 
 " I have no doubt I can sell them, sir." 
 
 " I hope you will not take it amiss if I mention 
 the fact among my friends and patients that you 
 4ave them for sale," added Dr. Fisher. 
 
 " No, sir ; I'm sure I should not ! I should be 
 very much obliged to you." 
 
 " Then I will recommend your wares to those 
 who are able to buy them ; and I trust you will 
 drive a large trade in the mouse business." 
 
 The doctor went away ; and Leo, encouraged by 
 the promise of the powerful influence of his visitor, 
 resumed his work. At twelve o'clock, when Maggie 
 called him to dinner, he had made considerable prog 
 ress in the four houses in process of construction. 
 When he had finished his noonday meal, he went 
 out and found Tom Casey, an Irish boy whom he 
 had befriended in various ways. Tom agreed to go 
 with him to State Street ; and the new " HOTEL DBS
 
 152 MAKE OB BREAK, OB 
 
 MICE " as it was labelled in large letters on the 
 front gable was loaded upon a little wagon of 
 Leo's build, and they started for the busy street, 
 attended by a crowd of curious youngsters, of both 
 sexes and of all conditions. 
 
 The mice were astonished at the sudden revolution 
 which was taking place in their affairs ; and Leo 
 was as anxious as though the fate of the nation de 
 pended upon his success.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 153 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WITTLEWORTH VS. CHECKYNSHAW. 
 
 MR. CHECKYNSHAW did a rushing business 
 on the day his papers were stolen from the 
 safe; therefore he rushed out of the humble abode 
 of Mrs. Wittleworth. It is more than probable that 
 he was entirely sincere when he called Fitz an idiot; 
 but whether he was or not, that young gentle 
 man's mother was satisfied that truer words had 
 never been spoken. The banker had actually offered 
 to give him ten dollars a week, and Fitz had de 
 clined to return. It was a degree of lunacy which 
 she could neither understand nor appreciate. She 
 was both grieved and angry. She wept, and re 
 proached the reckless youth. 
 
 " I must give up in despair, Fitz," said she, bitterly. 
 "If I could support you, I would." 
 
 4 . don't want you to support me, mother," replied 
 Fitz, stung by the reproach. "If you will leave this 
 matter to me, I will manage it right."
 
 154 MAKE OK BREAK, OR 
 
 "Leave it to you, Fitz! That would bring starva^ 
 tion to our door." 
 
 "No, mother; you look on the dark side. Here's 
 five dollars for my week's salary," he added, handing 
 her the money. "I give you the whole of it this 
 week." 
 
 " This may keep off the wolf for a week or two," 
 sighed Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 " I shall get into another place soon, mother ; don't 
 worry about it." 
 
 "But why didn't you take the place when he of 
 fered it to you at double wages, Fitz? It seems to 
 me you are crazy." 
 
 " No, I am not crazy. I know what I am about, 
 and Checkynshaw knows what he is about. What 
 do you suppose induced him to double my salary 
 so readily?" 
 
 " Because he saw how poor we were." 
 
 " What does he care for that ? There is no more 
 soul in him than there is in a brickbat, mother. It 
 wouldn't trouble him if you starved to death 
 though you are his first wife's sister. That wasn't 
 the reason."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 155 
 
 " What was the reason, then, Fitz ? " asked she, 
 curiously. 
 
 " Checkynshaw is afraid of me," replied Fitz, stop 
 ping in his walk up and down the room, and looking 
 into his mother's face to note the effect of this star 
 tling announcement. 
 
 " Afraid of you, Fitz ! You are losing your 
 senses ! " exclaimed she, with an expression of strong 
 disgust. 
 
 "It's just as I say, mother. He's afraid of me." 
 
 " Why should he be afraid of you ? You are not 
 so very terrible as to alarm a man in his position." 
 
 " Mother, that block of stores ought to be yours. 
 You should have had the income of it ever since 
 Checkynshaw came from France with his wife. I 
 tell you that child died of the cholera, when Mrs. 
 Checkynshaw had it. That is just as plain to me as 
 the nose on a man's face." 
 
 " Nonsense, Fitz ! Do you suppose Mr. Checkyn 
 shaw would keep me out of it if it belonged to 
 me?" 
 
 " I know he would. I know the man. I haven't 
 been in his office two years for nothing. I keep my
 
 156 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 eyes open I do," answered Fitz, holding up hU 
 head till his neck was stretched to its full length. 
 " Checkynshaw may be an honest man, as things go; 
 but you can't make me believe he would give up 
 that block of stores while he could hold on to it by 
 hook or by crook. He wants me under his thumb, 
 where he can know what I'm about. He has lost 
 his papers, and he feels nervous about them. In my 
 opinion, there's something or other among those docu 
 ments which would let the light in upon that block 
 of stores. That's why he is so anxious to find out 
 where they are. That's why he don't care for the 
 money that was stolen. He knows what he is about, 
 and I know what I'm about." 
 
 " What is the use for us to think anything about 
 the block of stores? You don't know that little 
 Marguerite died," added Mrs. Wittleworth, interested, 
 in spite of herself, in the extravagant pretensions of 
 her son. 
 
 " I don't know it, I admit ; but I think we ought 
 to find out. Checkynshaw says the child is still liv 
 ing with the Sisters of Charity, somewhere in France. 
 We have nothing but his word for it."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 157 
 
 " That's enough. He says the child is living, and 
 he don't like to have her ill-treated by her mother- 
 in-law. She is happy at the boarding school, and 
 when her education is finished, doubtless she will 
 come home." 
 
 " That's all bosh ! Did any one ever see a letter 
 from her? Did Checkynshaw ever write a letter to 
 her? Does he ever send her any money?" 
 
 "But he goes to see her every year or two, when 
 he visits Europe." 
 
 " Perhaps he does, and then perhaps he don't. 
 Did any one else ever see the child ? Has any one 
 any knowledge of her existence except through 
 Checkynshaw ? I think not. Don't tell me, mother, 
 that a man would leave his daughter in a foreign 
 country for ten years, and only go to see her every 
 year or two. In my opinion, and I think my 
 opinion is worth something, the child died in the 
 hospital. Checkynshaw keeps up this fiction because 
 it puts five or six thousand dollars a year into his 
 pocket. No one has ever claimed the block of 
 stores, and of course he will hold on to it till some 
 one does."
 
 158 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 Mrs. Wittleworth could not help thinking, while 
 starvation or the almshouse stared her full in the 
 face, what a blessing that block of stores would be 
 to her. If her sister's child was dead, it rightfully 
 belonged to her. It was certainly proper for Mr. 
 Checkynshaw to prove that Marguerite was still liv 
 ing, or at least to satisfy her privately on the point. 
 
 "What can we do, Fitz?" she asked. 
 
 " What can we do, mother ? That's the ques 
 tion. When I was in Summer Street, this evening, 
 I thought I would call upon my friend Choate. 
 Choate is a gentleman and a scholar he is." 
 
 "Pshaw, Fitz ! " ejaculated the poor woman. " Why 
 will you talk about your friend Choate ? He is not 
 your friend. He would not touch you with a ten- 
 foot pole. He looks down upon you from an infinite 
 height." 
 
 "Not he. Choate always treats everybody like 
 gentleman. He always treated me like a gentleman 
 I believe in Choate I do." 
 
 "It is ridiculous for you to talk about his being 
 your friend." 
 
 " He is my friend in very deed. I called upon him
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 159 
 
 at his residence, in Winthrop Place, this evening. 
 He treated me like a gentleman. He was glad to 
 see me. He shook hands with me, and welcomed 
 me to his house, as though I had been the governoi 
 of the state. Everett was there, and Winthrop came 
 in before I left. I heard them speak of Webster, 
 and I suppose he was expected. I was introduced 
 to Everett and Winthrop." 
 
 " You ! " exclaimed his mother. 
 
 "I, mother!" 
 
 " Poor child, they were making fun of you ! " 
 sighed Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 " Not they. Everett bowed to me as gracefully 
 as though I had been the President. Winthrop 
 was a little stiff; but what did I care for him, as 
 long as Choate and Everett were on good terms 
 with me ? " 
 
 "Your head is turned, Fitz." 
 
 " No matter if it is, so long as it is turned in 
 the right direction. Choate told Everett and Win 
 throp that I had formerly occupied a place in his 
 office, and that he had a high regard for me. He 
 smiled pleasantly, and so did Everett. Winthrop
 
 160 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 didn't take much notice of me. Choate asked me 
 if I wanted to see him for anything particular. I told 
 him I did ; I wanted a little legal advice in the mat 
 ter of Wittleworth vs. Checkynshaw. He smiled 
 very kindly upon me ; he smiled as only Choate can 
 smile." 
 
 " What did he say to you ? " demanded Mrs. Wit 
 tleworth, impatiently. 
 
 " He apologized for his inability to attend to the 
 case at that time, as he was engaged upon a matter 
 of politics with Everett and Winthrop ; but he hoped 
 he should find time to see me in the course of a 
 week. Of course I didn't care about breaking up 
 his conference with Everett and Winthrop ; so I 
 apologized for the interruption, and promised him I 
 would call upon him at his office the next day." 
 
 " I suppose he was very sorry he could not attend 
 to the case," added Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 "He appeared to be. He expressed his regrets; 
 and, as he was attending to the affairs of the nation, 
 J could not be hard on him, you know." 
 
 " Certainly not," said his mother, amused in spite 
 of the weakness of her son.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 161 
 
 " Choate is a good fellow Choate is," added 
 Fitz, rubbing his chin, and puffing out his lips. 
 " When he gets hold of this case, he will make 
 things fly, mother." 
 
 " What are you going to do, Fitz ? " asked Mrs 
 Wittleworth, seriously. 
 
 " I'm not going to mince the matter any longer 
 I am going to bring a suit against Checkynshaw for 
 the block of stores, and the income received from them 
 for the last ten years," replied Fitz, magnificently. 
 
 "You are!" 
 
 " I am ; that is, when I say I am, of course I am 
 going to do it in your name, for I am the next heir 
 to you. That will bring things to a head, and we 
 shall soon find out whether Checkynshaw is ready 
 to stand trial or not." 
 
 "We have no money to go to law with," pleaded 
 the poor woman. 
 
 " We don't want any, mother. I have looked into 
 this business, and what I don't know about it isn't 
 -worth knowing. I know something about law, for I 
 used to keep my eyes aud ears open when I was in 
 the law business."
 
 162 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth had been an errand boy in Mr. 
 Choate's office ! 
 
 "I. don't think you can go to law without money, 
 Fitz. I have always heard it was very expensive," 
 added Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 "All we want, mother, is a copy of my grand 
 father's will. We attach the block of stores, if 
 necessary. Under the will it belongs to you, unless 
 Checkynshaw can produce your sister's child." 
 
 "Suppose he should produce her?" 
 
 " That's the very thing he can't do. If he does, 
 of course our case falls to the ground ; but he can't." 
 
 "But if he does produce the child, where is the 
 money to pay the expenses ? " 
 
 "The expenses won't be much. I shall say to 
 Choate, * Choate,' says I, ' here's a piece of property 
 which belongs to my mother. You can go up to the 
 Registry of Probate, and read the will yourself. 
 Give my mother legal possession of it, and I will 
 pay you five or ten thousand dollars ' I haven't 
 just decided exactly what to offer him. He takes 
 the case, brings the suit, and gets the property for 
 you."
 
 THE KICH MAX'S DAUGHTER. 163 
 
 " Suppose he doesn't get it ? " 
 
 " Then he will get nothing. When I was in the 
 Jaw business, cases were sometimes taken in this way." 
 
 Mrs. Wittleworth was encouraged by this hopeful 
 statement, and disposed to let Fitz have his own 
 way. Abject poverty was so terrible that she could 
 not afford to lose such a chance. Mr. Checkynshaw's 
 conduct in leaving his child in France, among stran 
 gers, for ten years, was singular enough to beget 
 suspicion. 
 
 The conversation was continued till tke fire went 
 out, and the chill air of the room drove the in 
 tended litigants to their chambers. Fitz did not 
 come down till breakfast time the next morning. He 
 lay in his warm bed, building castles in the air, and 
 thinking what a great man he should be when the 
 block of stores and its revenues were reclaimed from 
 the grasp of Mr. Checkynshaw. He thought it quit* 
 possible that he could then go into a barber's sho| 
 and be shaved without any one having the impudeno 
 to laugh at him. 
 
 Mrs. Wittleworth had thought a great deal akout 
 the property, but she could not quite maL.<3 up her
 
 164 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 mind to take such decided steps as those indicated 
 by her son. If the attempt was made, and proved to 
 be a failure, Mr. Checkynshaw would never forgive 
 her, and might injure her in revenge. When she 
 came down stairs, she had decided to call upon the 
 banker, and state the case to him. If he chose to 
 satisfy her that Marguerite was still living, it would 
 save trouble and future disappointment. 
 
 " You can see him. if you like, mother. I have 
 no doubt he will smooth you over. Checkynshaw 
 is a plausible man Checkynshaw is. He carries 
 too many guns for a woman. I would call myself 
 if it were not for letting myself down to his level," 
 said Mr. Wittleworth, stroking his chin, when his 
 mother was ready to go. 
 
 " Don't be so silly, Fitz ! " 
 
 " Checkynshaw won't stand trial, in my opinion. 
 He is shrewd he is." 
 
 " I only intend to ask him what he means to 
 do," added Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 " He means to hold on to the property that's 
 what he means to do, mother. He may try to buy 
 you off don't do it, on any account. Leave this
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 165 
 
 matter all to me. Me and Choate will fix it right. 
 Now, be careful what you do." 
 
 "I will not do anything," said his mother, as she 
 put on her bonnet. 
 
 " I will see Choate to-day. Me and Choate will 
 touch off a volcano under Checkynshaw's feet in 
 the course of a week or two," he added, as his 
 mother left the house.
 
 166 MAKE OB BREAK, OR 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ME. CHECKYNSHAW IS LIBERAL. 
 
 MRS WITTLEWORTH went directly to the 
 door of the private office. She had her doubts 
 in regard to the interview which was to take place. 
 Mr. Checkynshaw had never treated her very hand 
 somely. She had called upon him only once since 
 the downfall of her husband. The banker had lis 
 tened very coldly to her story of hardship and suffer 
 ing. He had taken Fitz into his employ at that time ; 
 but her reception was so cold, and the great man's 
 manner so forbidding, that she had resolved that 
 nothing but imminent starvation should induce her 
 to repeat the visit. 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw was a hard, selfish, money-getting 
 man. He was not one whom a poor relative would 
 willingly approach with a tale of suffering. Though 
 this was not Mrs. Wittleworth's present errand, she 
 dreaded the result almost as much as though she had
 
 THE KICK MAN'S DAUGHTER. 167 
 
 been an applicant for charity. The banker was over 
 bearing and haughty in his way. He bullied his social 
 inferiors, and looked upon them from a height which 
 was appalling to them. She opened the door and 
 entered. The banker was alone, sitting in the stuffed 
 arm-chair at his desk. 
 
 "Ellen?" said he, glancing at her with an inquiring 
 look, probably satisfied that she had come to plead for 
 the return of her son^to the place from which he had 
 been discharged. 
 
 It did not occur to him that human impudence 
 could extend so far as to permit such people to bring 
 a suit against him for their rights, however well de 
 fined or clearly established. If he owed them any 
 thing, or they had any claims against him, it was 
 their duty to be solemnly impressed by the loftiness 
 of his social position, and humbly to beg for what 
 belonged to them. 
 
 " I thought I would come up and see you this morn 
 ing, Mr. Checkynshaw," stammered the poor woman ; 
 and poverty had so subdued her, and so broken her 
 spirit, that she hardly knew how to introduce the 
 subject upon her mind.
 
 168 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 "If you come to ask me to take Fitz back, it will 
 do no good. You permit the puppy to insult me," 
 replied the banker, in the most forbidding tones. 
 
 "I don't permit him to insult you. I did what I 
 could to make him speak properly to you," replied 
 Mrs. Wittleworth, meekly. 
 
 "It's all the same; it was bad bringing up.- I can't 
 have him in my office again," added Mr. Checkynshaw, 
 though at that moment, for some reason best known 
 to himself, he would have been very glad to forgive 
 the young man's insolence, and take him back at 
 double salary. "That boy has outraged my good 
 nature. When I saw how hard the times were with 
 you, I was willing to give him double wages ; but the 
 ingrate only insulted me for it." 
 
 "He is very wilful; I wish he was not so head 
 strong." 
 
 "I can't take him back now; at least not till he 
 has apologized for his impudence, and promised bet 
 ter things for the future," continued the banker, 
 shaking his head, as though his mind was firmly 
 made up for the issue. 
 
 "I did not come to ask you to take him back," 
 added Mrs. Wittleworth.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 169 
 
 O, you didn't!" 
 
 "No, sir; he is not yet willing to come." 
 
 "What did you come for to beg?" 
 
 " I don't come to you to beg," replied shej with a 
 little display of spirit. 
 
 "What do you want, then?" 
 
 "You mustn't be angry with me, Mr. Checkyn- 
 shaw." 
 
 "I'm not angry with you. If you have anything 
 to say, say it. I hate long stories," said the banker, 
 impatiently. 
 
 " Fitz has taken it into his head that the block of 
 stores which my father gave to Mary belongs to us," 
 continued Mrs. Wittleworth, looking down to the 
 floor, as if fearful that the great man's glance would 
 blast her if she beheld it. 
 
 "Has he, indeed?" 
 
 If Mrs. Wittleworth had looked at the banker in 
 stead of the floor, she might have seen that his face 
 flushed slightly ; that his lip quivered, and his chest 
 heaved ; but, as she did not look at him, the banker 
 had time to suppress these tell-tale emotions. 
 
 "He thinks so; and he seems to be determined
 
 170 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 that something shall be done about it," added the 
 poor woman, still gazing intently at the floor. 
 
 " And you encourage such ridiculous notions do 
 you, Ellen ? " said Mr. Checkynshaw, severely. 
 
 "I don't know that I encourage them. I can't 
 help his thoughts." 
 
 "Probably you don't wish to help them. Well, 
 you can do as you please about it. If you choose 
 to get him and yourself into difficulty, I suppose 
 nothing I can say will have any influence with you." 
 
 " I don't want to get into trouble, or to spend any 
 money in going to law." 
 
 " I should judge, from the appearance of your house, 
 that you hadn't much to spend in that way," sneered 
 the banker. 
 
 "I have not, indeed. I said all I could to dis 
 suade Fitz from doing anything about the matter; 
 but he is bent upon it. He has been to see Mr. 
 Choate about it." 
 
 "To see Mr. Choate!" exclaimed the banker, spring 
 ing out of his chair; and now his face was deadly pale. 
 
 But in an instant Mr. Checkynshaw was conscious 
 that he was revealing the weakness of his position,
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 171 
 
 and he sat down in his chair again, with a placid 
 smile upon his face. 
 
 "Am I to understand that Fitz and you intend to 
 fight me in the law upon this matter?" demanded he, 
 with a sardonic grin on his face, indicating both fear 
 and malice. 
 
 " Fitz says there will be no fighting about it. We 
 are to bring a suit to recover the property, according 
 to the terms of my father's will, with the income for 
 ten years." 
 
 "Fitz says so does he?" 
 
 " He thinks Marguerite died when your present 
 wife had the cholera. He says all you have to do 
 is to produce the child. If you do, that will be 
 the end of it; if not, the property certainly belongs 
 to us." 
 
 " What makes Fitz think that Marguerite is not 
 living?" asked Mr. Checkynshaw, more mildly than 
 he had yet spoken. 
 
 " Well, he has his reasons," replied she, not quite 
 certain that she might not say something which would 
 compromise her son. 
 
 "What are his reasons 1 n
 
 172 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 " I don't know that it is necessary to mention 
 them. I think myself it is very strange that you 
 haven't brought her home. She must be fifteen years 
 old by this time." 
 
 "That is her age." 
 
 "I don't want any trouble about this business, Mr. 
 Checkynshaw ; so I thought I would come up and see 
 you. Perhaps you can show me some letters from 
 Marguerite, or something else that will convince Fitz 
 that she is alive." 
 
 "I have no letters here." 
 
 " Have you any at your house ? " asked Mrs. Wittle- 
 worth. 
 
 "Not that I am aware of. I never preserve any 
 but business letters. If I understand you, Ellen, 
 Fitz's modest claim is for the block of stores and 
 the income of them for the last ten years." 
 
 "That's what he said." 
 
 " Are you aware of the amount of this claim ? " 
 asked the banker, nervously. 
 
 "I don't know, exactly." 
 
 "I suppose not," said Mr. Checkynshaw, pausing 
 to reflect. " I don't wish to bring Marguerite home
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 173 
 
 till her education is completed, and this thing may 
 cause me some annoyance." 
 
 " I'm sure I don't want to annoy you," pleaded Mrs. 
 Wittleworth. 
 
 "Perhaps you do not; but Fitz does. If you re 
 fuse to be a party to this suit, of course he can do 
 nothing. He has no rights yet in the premises him 
 self, and he is under age." 
 
 "I think myself the matter ought to be settled up 
 somehow or other," replied Mrs. Wittleworth, timidly. 
 " I am so poor I can hardly keep soul and body to 
 gether, and Fitz has lost his place." 
 
 "I will give him his place, at ten dollars a week. 
 I will see that you have a good house, properly fur 
 nished, and a sufficient income to live on. If I had 
 known that you were so badly off, I should have done 
 something for you before. Why didn't you come to 
 me?" 
 
 " I don't like to ask favors ; besides, we have been 
 able to get along till times came on so hard this 
 winter that I couldn't get any work." 
 
 "I don't wish to be bothered with this thing, and 
 be compelled to go to France in the middle of the
 
 174 , MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 winter after Marguerite. Fitz saw that he could 
 annoy me, and he has taken this means to vent hia 
 spite upon me. But the suit depends upon you. He 
 can do nothing without you. Mr. Choate will have 
 nothing to do with it. He doesn't take cases of this 
 kind ; but Fitz can find some unprincipled lawyer 
 who will undertake the case, and compel me to de 
 range my plans." 
 
 " Could you show me some letters from Marguerite, 
 or some bill you have paid for her board or tuition ? " 
 
 "Perhaps I may be able to find something of the 
 kind at my house. I'll see. But I think we had 
 better settle up this business between ourselves, with 
 out Fitz." 
 
 Mr. Cheeky nshaw looked troubled, and Mrs. Wittle- 
 worth could see it now. 
 
 "How can we settle it, if you have nothing to show 
 me to prove that Marguerite is living ? " asked the 
 poor woman. 
 
 "Marguerite is living, or was eighteen months ago, 
 when I was in France." 
 
 "Haven't you heard from her for eighteen months?" 
 
 "Of course I have; but that is neither here noi
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 175 
 
 there. I don't wish to be annoyed in this way, or 
 to have your son boasting that he has a claim on 
 me. I don't choose to submit to that sort of thing 
 any longer. Neither is it my intention to bring Mar 
 guerite home till she is eighteen years old. She ia 
 very much attached to the institution in which she 
 spent her childhood." 
 
 "I should think you would wish to see her oftenei 
 than once in two years," added Mrs. Wittleworth, the 
 remark prompted by her woman's heart. 
 
 "So I would. But you know just how it is. 1 
 can't bring her home without having trouble in my 
 family; and she is perfectly happy where she is. I 
 ought to have done more for you, Ellen, than I have ; 
 but I didn't know the world went so hard with you. 
 I blame myself for not thinking more about it; but 
 I am plunged in business, so that I hardly have 
 time to think of my own family. I don't see how I 
 can do it in any other way than by settling a fixed 
 sum upon you at once. Then I can do all that I 
 have to do at one time, and you will not have to 
 depend upon my bad memory." 
 
 "I'm sure I've no claims on you of that kind,"
 
 176 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 replied Mrs. Wittleworth, amazed at this outburst of 
 generosity. 
 
 "I know you have no legal claims upon me; but 
 you are the sister of my first wife. I have not for 
 gotten her yet, and I never shall," continued Mr. 
 
 Checkynshaw, with a gush of sentiment such as the 
 
 
 poor woman had never before seen proceed from him. 
 
 " Property from your father's estate came into my 
 family, and it would not be right for me to permit 
 you to want for the comforts of life, to say nothing 
 of the necessities. I'm going to do something for 
 you here and now something so that you shall not 
 be dependent upon Fitz, whether I forget you for 
 the time or not. Do you think you could live on 
 the income of ten thousand dollars a year? That 
 would be six hundred dollars, or about twelve dol 
 lars a week." 
 
 "That is more than I have had for years," gasped 
 Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 " Very well ; I will give you a check for that sum ; 
 or I will invest it for you in the best paying stocks I 
 can find." 
 
 "You are too good! I did not expect this!" ex-
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 177 
 
 claimed the poor woman, wiping the tears from her 
 eyes. 
 
 " I shall do no more than my duty what I ought 
 to have done before," replied the banker, magnani 
 mously. "And, by the way, it would be as well for 
 you to sign a paper, so as to set this business at rest, 
 and prevent Fitz from annoying me," said the banker, 
 as he took down his check-book, and shuffled the 
 papers about the desk with assumed indifference. 
 
 " What paper am I to sign ? " asked Mrs. Wittle- 
 worth, beginning to open her eyes. 
 
 " I mean a quitclaim deed on the block of stores ; 
 but of course that has nothing to do with the ten 
 thousand dollars I am to pay you." 
 
 Mrs. Wittleworth knew what a quitclaim deed was. 
 It was a deed by which she relinquished all her right, 
 title, and interest in the block of stores. 
 
 "I think I will not sign it to-day, Mr. Checkyn- 
 shaw," said she, rather fearfully. 
 
 The banker urged her in vain. Fitz had warned 
 her against such a step, and she had more confi 
 dence in Fitz's judgment at that moment than ever 
 before. 
 
 12
 
 178 
 
 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 "Very well; I will have the deed drawn, and fill 
 out the check ready for you the next time you call," 
 added the banker, more disappointed than his manner 
 indicated. 
 
 Mrs. Wittleworth went home.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 179 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A SUCCESS IN THE MOUSE BUSINESS. 
 
 " ~"TV~TOW, Tom, if you will draw the wagon, I 
 
 1 T| will steady the house, and see that the mice 
 don't get out and run away," said Leo, when he had 
 drawn the chariot of the beauties a short distance. 
 
 " Small loss if they do," replied Tom Casey, who 
 had already made up his mind that they were going 
 on a fool's errand. 
 
 "Not a bit of it, Tom. These mice are worth 
 fifty cents a pair," added Leo, as he placed himself 
 by the house, and his companion took the pole of 
 the wagon. 
 
 " Fifty cints is it ? Sure who'd give fifty cints 
 for those bits o' crayturs ? I wouldn't give fifty cints 
 for a tousand of 'em, let alone a pair of 'em." 
 
 " When I come back with five or six dollars in 
 my pocket, which I shall get for this establishment, 
 you will change your tune, Tom."
 
 180 MAKE OK BREAK, OB 
 
 "Well, the house is forst rate, and you may get 
 five dollars for that. Sure I think it's worth it ; 
 but I wouldn't give two cints for all the mice that's 
 in it." 
 
 " Perhaps you wouldn't, Tom. You haven't any 
 taste for white mice." 
 
 "Taste is it? Sure, would anyone ate 'em?" 
 
 Tom Casey was a recent importation from the 
 Green Isle, and the emerald dust had not been 
 rubbed off him by the civilizing and humanizing in 
 fluence of the public schools ; but he brought with 
 him from Ireland a big heart, which was worth 
 more than polish and refinement, though both go 
 very well together. In spite of the grave responsi 
 bility which rested upon him, Leo laughed heartily 
 at the blunder, and took the trouble to explain the 
 meaning of taste in its artistic sense. 
 
 The procession for the crowd of boys and girls 
 was augmented continually when the mouse-car 
 reached High Street advanced towards its desti 
 nation, and Leo had all he could do to keep the 
 youngsters from crowding upon and upsetting the 
 wagon, in their eagerness to see the mice and their 
 magnificent dwelling-house.
 
 THE KICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 181 
 
 " Just tAvig 'em, Jimmy ! " shouted one who had 
 tipped over half a dozen of his companions in his 
 enthusiasm. " Their tails is as long as Seven's 
 rope." 
 
 " Hotel dees mice," said another, spelling out the 
 sign over the grand parade. "What does that 
 mean, Billy?" 
 
 " They're going to take 'em to a hotel to make 
 soup of. I guess there's some Chinamen at the 
 Tremont. They say them coveys eats rats. Twig 
 the red eyes they has ! " 
 
 Leo kept the youngsters at bay as well as he 
 could, and hurried Tom along, till they reached 
 State Street, where he took a stand in front of the 
 Exchange. A crowd of curious merchants, clerks, 
 and curb-stone brokers immediately gathered around 
 the palace to examine the structure and its inhab 
 itants. It was a novel establishment, and excited 
 no little attention. 
 
 "What have you there, my boy?" asked a well- 
 dressed gentleman, working his way into the inte 
 rior of the ring. 
 
 " White mice, sir," replied Leo.
 
 182 MAKE OB BREAK, OR 
 
 " They are cunning little creatures," added the 
 gentleman, bending down and looking into the grand 
 parade, where the mice were now feeding on canary 
 seed. 
 
 They had become somewhat accustomed to the 
 crowd, and, as if conscious that they were for sale, 
 put the best foot forward. 
 
 " What's the price of them ? " asked the gentle 
 man. 
 
 " Six dollars for the mice and house," replied Leo ; 
 but the words almost choked him. 
 
 " Six dollars ! " exclaimed the questioner, edging 
 off. " That's a very modest price, young man." 
 
 "The mice bring fifty cents a pair, and there's a 
 great deal of work in the house, besides the stock." 
 
 " But you don't expect any one to give you six 
 dollars for a trap like that, with half a dozen rats 
 in it do you ? " 
 
 "I think it is worth that, sir. Do you wish to 
 buy it?" 
 
 " I thought it would amuse my children ; but I 
 can't think of giving anything like six dollars for 
 it," added the gentleman, shaking his head.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 183 
 
 " What would you be willing to give for it ? " 
 
 " I'll give you a dollar for it." 
 
 " No, sir, I couldn't think of selling it at any such 
 price as that. I would give it away before I would 
 sell it for that," replied Leo, indignant at having his 
 work so grossly undervalued. 
 
 " I will give you two dollars for it. I have a lit 
 tle lame boy at home, who can't go out, and I am 
 willing to give two for it." 
 
 " I will not sell it for less than five dollars, sir." 
 
 " Why, that's a rascally price ! " exclaimed the 
 proposed purchaser. " Five dollars for a mere rat- 
 trap ! " 
 
 " That's my lowest price, sir. If you don't want 
 it, the law don't compel you to take it," added Leo, 
 vexed to have the person run down his handiwork. 
 
 The gentleman backed out of the crowd, and dis 
 appeared. Leo thought he could not care much 
 for his little lame boy, if he was not willing to pay 
 five dollars for such an elegant establishment as the 
 "Hotel des Mice" which could not help being a 
 very great pleasure to the invalid. Half a dozen 
 others looked into the palace, asked questions about
 
 184 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 the habits of the mice, and inquired the price of ihe 
 house and its inmates. Leo answered them all very 
 politely ; but they laughed and sneered when he 
 mentioned the six dollars. 
 
 The " mouse business " did not seem so prosperous 
 as Leo had anticipated. He had been confident that 
 a dozen persons would want the elegant establish 
 ment, and he was not quite sure there would not be 
 a quarrel among them for the possession of it at the 
 price he named. He could not see why these rich 
 merchants and bankers should haggle at six dollars 
 if they had any children at home. His heart began 
 to feel heavy in his bosom, for he had expected to 
 ,ell his present stock of merchandise as soon as he 
 named the price, and to find half a dozen more who 
 *vould want them badly enough to give him ad- 
 *ance orders. 
 
 There appeared to be a discount on the mouse 
 business. The gentlemen in State Street were sin 
 gularly cold and wanting in enthusiasm on the sub 
 ject of white mice. It began to look like a failure, 
 and Tom Casey seemed to be a true prophet. What 
 an inglorious termination to his career as a mouse
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 185 
 
 merchant it would be to drag the palace back to 
 No. 3 Phillimore Court, and tell Maggie that no 
 one would buy it, even at the moderate price of 
 five dollars ! 
 
 But Leo soon realized that he was becoming 
 chicken-hearted ; that he was almost in despair even 
 before he had been half an hour in the field. This 
 was not his usual style, and he was ashamed of it, 
 as he considered his weakness. 
 
 " Make or break ! " exclaimed he, slapping hia 
 hand upon his chest, and throwing his shoulders 
 back, as if to stiffen his frame. " I'll stick to it till 
 something breaks. This is a new business, and I 
 must make the trade." 
 
 The effect of this slapping of the chest and this 
 stiffening of the frame was immediately apparent in 
 his demeanor, for they were the visible manifesta 
 tions of a firm will. He was more cheerful, an 
 swered inquiries more briskly, and was less affected 
 by adverse criticism of his handicraft. Men asked 
 the price, sneered, and turned away. There were 
 plenty to admire his workmanship, but as yet none 
 to buy. While Leo was thus struggling against tho
 
 186 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 tide of fortune, the crowd opened, and Mr. Checkyn- 
 shaw appeared within the ring. He was a great 
 man, and he showed it in his manner perhaps 
 more in his manner than in any other way. 
 
 Mrs. Wittleworth had taken leave of the banker 
 an hour before, and since that time he had been 
 alone in his private office, only occasionally inter 
 rupted by a business call. Mr. Checkynshaw was 
 troubled. Fitz was a thorn in his flesh and a stum 
 bling-block in his path. Doubtless it was very an 
 noying for the father of Marguerite to break up the 
 educational and social relations she had sustained 
 from early childhood. Doubtless it was very wicked 
 of Fitz to put him to all this trouble for nothing. 
 Perhaps it was rash in him to discharge his clerk ; 
 but Fitz was so airy and impudent, that a decent 
 self-respect would not permit him to tolerate his 
 insolence. 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw wrote a letter, upon which he 
 labored for a long time ; for the letter appeared to 
 be full of difficulties. He finished it at last; but, 
 instead of enclosing it in an envelope, he folded it 
 up and put it into his pocket. Then he took his
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 187 
 
 hat, drew on his overcoat, and went out. He vis 
 ited a stationery store in the lower part of the street, 
 purchased some French paper and envelopes, and 
 walked up the street till he saw the crowd in front 
 of the Exchange, which had gathered around the 
 "Hotel des Mice:' 
 
 " What have you here, boy ? " he asked, when he 
 recognized Leo. 
 
 " White mice, sir. My father can't work now, and 
 I am going to try and make something by selling 
 them," replied Leo, cheerfully. 
 
 " What is the price ? " demanded the banker, 
 rather curtly. 
 
 "Six dollars, sir." 
 
 " I'll take it, boy," replied Mr. Checkynshaw, with 
 a promptness which astonished the young mechanic. 
 
 The banker took the money from his pocket-book 
 and handed it to Leo. 
 
 " Good on your head ! " whispered Tom Casey, 
 his eyes opening as wide as teacups when he saw 
 the bank bills ; and his dark prophecy was suddenly 
 demolished. 
 
 " You know where I live ? " interrogated Mr. 
 Checkynshaw.
 
 188 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Take it up to the house, then," added the banker. 
 
 "I will, sir;" and Leo thought the great man, as 
 his first customer, was worthy of his reputation. 
 
 Just then the gentleman who had the lame boy 
 pushed his way into the middle of the ring. 
 
 " What's the lowest price you will take for the 
 concern ? " said he. 
 
 " It is sold, sir," replied Leo, triumphantly. 
 
 " Sold ! " exclaimed the tardy customer, who ap 
 peared to think that no one could be foolish enough 
 to buy such an establishment unless he had a lame 
 son. 
 
 "Yes, sir; I just sold it." 
 
 "What did you get?" 
 
 "Six dollars." 
 
 " I bought it," interposed Mr. Checkynshaw, bow 
 ing to the other gentleman, as though he knew him. 
 
 " I'm sorry I didn't take it, for it would have 
 pleased my boy." 
 
 " You are too late." 
 
 " But I will get up another for you," said Leo, ex 
 hilarated by this sudden improvement of the mouse 
 business.
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 189 
 
 " When can you do it ? " asked the gentleman, 
 who was quite disappointed to find he could not 
 purchase the establishment at his own price, as he 
 had expected to do at a later hour in the day, after 
 the young man had had an opportunity to consider 
 the vanity of worldly hopes. 
 
 " That depends upon what kind of one you want. 
 If you wish for one like this, I can't get it done 
 before Monday. I can give you a two-dollar house, 
 with one pair of mice, to-morrow," replied Leo, in 
 the most business-like tones. 
 
 "I want the best one you can get up. I want 
 one as good or better than this." 
 
 " I will build one as good as this. I will have it 
 at your house on Monday ; but the price will be 
 six dollars." 
 
 "Very well. I thought I should be able to buy 
 this one for two or three dollars before nisrht, for I 
 
 O ' 
 
 didn't think any one else would want it." 
 
 Probably the example of Mr. Checkynshaw had 
 some influence on the customer. If white mice and 
 their habitations were really articles of merchandise, 
 he was willing to pay the market price. Leo wrote
 
 190 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 down his name and residence, and assured the gen 
 tleman that he should have the mice on Monday ; 
 or, if he got the house done, on Saturday. 
 
 "Don't you want an establishment of this kind, 
 Baxter ? " asked Mr. Chcckynshaw of a busy person 
 who had worked his way through the crowd. " You 
 have two or three boys." 
 
 Mr. Baxter examined the palace and its denizens, 
 and answered that he did want one, though not till 
 the banker informed him that he had purchased one. 
 It is wonderful how things sell after a great man 
 has purchased. The new customer did not want 
 any two-dollar palaces ; he desired one as good as 
 any other person had, and he gave his order accord 
 ingly. If Mr. Checkynshaw was fool enough to pay 
 six dollars for such an establishment, Mr. Baxter 
 could not suffer in reputation by doing the same. 
 
 Leo was as happy as a lord. It was make, and 
 not break. 
 
 " Leo," said the banker, " how is your father ? " 
 
 " Better, sir, I thank you." 
 
 "I think I will go down and see him. He has 
 shaved me for years. By the way, is your sister 
 what's her name ? "
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 191 
 
 "Maggie, sir." 
 
 " Is Maggie at home ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "I wish to see her very much," said Mr. Check- 
 ynshaw, walking away. 
 
 What could he want to see Maggie for ? was 
 Leo's thought, as he started his team Tom Casey 
 up State Street.
 
 192 MAKE OK BREAK, OB 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE LETTER FROM MARGUERITE. 
 
 MR. CHECKYNSHAW walked down to No. 
 3 Phillimore Court. It was very plain that 
 he had bu&iness there, for it was not his style to visit 
 a poor man who was sick. He was admitted by Mag 
 gie, who feared that his coming related to the robbery 
 of his safe, and that Leo might be in some manner 
 implicated in that affair. 
 
 " How is your father, miss ?" asked the stately gen 
 tleman from State Street, as he entered the house. 
 
 "He is more comfortable to-day, sir; but I don't 
 know that he is really any better," answered Maggie. 
 
 "I am very sorry he is sick. I miss him very 
 much. He has waited upon me at the shop for sev 
 eral years, and I never let any other barber shave 
 me, if I can have him by waiting an hour," added 
 Mr. Checkynshaw, with a degree of condescension 
 which he rarely exhibited. "You are his daughter, 
 I believe."
 
 THE ETCH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 193 
 
 u Not his own daughter ; but it is just the same." 
 
 " I think I have seen you at the shop several 
 times." 
 
 " Yes, I always carry up mon pere's dinner at half 
 past twelve. He can't come home at noon." 
 
 "Mon peref You speak French do you?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. I speak French and English equally 
 well. Won't you go in and see mon pere?" 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw would be very glad to see Andre, 
 and Maggie conducted him to the front room. 
 
 " I am sorry you are sick, Andre," said the great 
 man. 
 
 "Thank you, sir. It is very kind of you to call 
 upon me," replied Andre, amazed at the gracious 
 mien of one who had rarely spoken to him save in 
 the tones of authority, addressing him as a menial 
 and an inferior. 
 
 " I always feel an interest in those I see every 
 day; but the fact that you were taken sick at my 
 house probably brought the matter more directly to 
 my attention. Are you comfortably provided for, 
 Andre ? " asked the rich man, glancing around the 
 room. 
 
 13
 
 194 MAKE OR BREKK, OR 
 
 "Yes, sir; thank you, sir. I have everything I 
 need," replied Andre, faintly; for he was not quite 
 so sure of what he said as he wished to be, though 
 his pride and independence revolted at any sugges 
 tion of charity. 
 
 " I saw Leo up in State Street. Your boy's name 
 is Leo isn't it?" asked the banker, just as though 
 it derogated from his dignity to know the name of a 
 poor boy like the barber's son. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; his name is Leo," replied Maggie, taking 
 up the conversation, so that the invalid might not be 
 compelled to talk too much. 
 
 " He is driving quite a trade in white mice," laughed 
 the great man. 
 
 "Has he met with any success, sir?" asked Maggie, 
 who felt that everything depended upon Leo's exer 
 tions ; and she hardly expected him to accomplish 
 anything in the mouse business. 
 
 " Yes, he has been remarkably successful, I should 
 say." 
 
 " I am so glad ! " 
 
 "I bought the house he had with him for six dol 
 lars, and he has orders for two more just like it, at
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 195 
 
 the same price. That will give him quite a lift, I 
 hope." 
 
 " Indeed it will ! " exclaimed Maggie, delighted with 
 the good news. " Eighteen dollars for white mice, 
 mon pere" she added, turning to Andre. 
 
 " That is very good indeed ! " said the barber. 
 " Leo is a brave boy." 
 
 " Knowing that you had a family, Andre, and that 
 your wages were not very large, I thought I would 
 inquire into the matter a little. I should be very 
 glad to help you." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Checkynshaw," replied Andre, 
 in his feminine tones, weakened by his sickness. "I 
 think we do not need any help do we, Maggie ? " 
 
 " No, mon pere, especially as Leo is doing so well. 
 I think we shall get along well enough." 
 
 " I am afraid you are too proud to be very poor," 
 said the banker, glancing at Maggie. 
 
 "We have always got along very well, and I think 
 we shall in the future. Leo says he shall do great 
 things; and I hope he will." 
 
 "Then Leo is to support the family," added Mr. 
 Checkynshaw, fixing his gaze upon the fair girl, who
 
 196 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 seemed to him altogether too delicate and refined to 
 be a poor man's daughter. 
 
 " Perhaps I may be able to do something by and 
 by, when mon pere gets better." 
 
 "What can you do?" 
 
 " I can sew, and do any work that I can take home 
 with me." 
 
 " Ah, ma fille, you can take in no work. I shall 
 soon be able to go to the shop again," interposed 
 Andre. 
 
 " I have a great deal of spare time, mon pere. I 
 am able, and O, I am so willing to work for you ! " 
 
 "Perhaps I may be of service to you," suggested 
 Mr. Cheeky nshaw. 
 
 "Thank you, sir." 
 
 " You speak French, miss, I think you said," added 
 the banker, with an assumed indifference. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Can you write it correctly ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, I think I can.'* 
 
 "Maggie is a very good scholar, and she writes 
 French quite as well as she does English." 
 
 w Perhaps you will be willing to give me a speci 
 men of your skill in translating."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 197 
 
 "Certainly, sir, if you desire it." 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw took from his pocket the letter 
 he had written in his private office, and the French 
 note paper he had purchased at the stationery store, 
 and handed them to her. 
 
 "If you will sit down in the other room, and give 
 me a translation into French of this letter, I can at 
 once determine whether you would be of any service 
 to us. If you are, we will pay you very liberally ; 
 but most of our work of this kind is translating 
 French into English." 
 
 "I will try, sir," replied Maggie. 
 
 " I will stay here with your father while you do it." 
 
 Maggie went into the rear room; and in less than 
 half an hour she produced a translation of the letter 
 handed to her. 
 
 "That is excellently well done, miss," said Mr. 
 Checkynshaw, when he had glanced at the translation. 
 "You write a beautiful hand. It is even better than 
 my daughter's." 
 
 "You are very kind, sir." 
 
 "I will keep this as a specimen of your work. 
 Here are two dollars for the job," added Mr. Check 
 ynshaw, as he gave her the money.
 
 198 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 "Indeed, sir, you are too kind. I don't ask any 
 money for that." 
 
 " Take it, Maggie ; I always pay people that work 
 for me, especially when they do their work as well 
 as you have done this. Take it, miss, or I shall be 
 offended." 
 
 It was not safe to offend such a munificent patron, 
 and Maggie took the money, blushing as she did so. 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw folded up the translation, and 
 put it into his pocket; and, promising to send her 
 some more letters in a few days, he took his leave. 
 The banker went back to his private office. After 
 ransacking his papers for a long time, he found an 
 old letter directed to him, in the care of the firm, 
 postmarked at Paris, with a French postage stamp 
 upon it. Into the envelope of this letter he thrust 
 the translation which Maggie had made. 
 
 The banker seated himself in his arm-chair, put 
 his feet on the desk, and lighted a cigar. Mr. Check 
 ynshaw held to the pernicious belief that smoking 
 soothed the nerves of an excited man. He smoked 
 and thought for a while, till his meditations were 
 disturbed by the entrance of Mrs. Wittleworth and 
 Fitz.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 199 
 
 "I hope you will excuse me for coming again so 
 soon, Mr. Checkynshaw," said Mrs. Wittleworth, 
 timidly. 
 
 " I hope you'll excuse me too," added Fitz, thrust 
 ing his thumbs into the arm-holes of his vest, and 
 pursing up his under lip, as he had a habit of doing 
 when he particularly realized his own importance. 
 
 He stood with his hat on his head a narrow- 
 brimmed "stove-pipe," which young men were more 
 in the habit of wearing at that period than at the 
 present time. He was the impersonation of impu 
 dence and self-conceit, and the banker looked angry 
 enough to annihilate him. 
 
 " I thought I would come and see if you had any 
 thing to show me from Marguerite," continued Mrs. 
 Wittleworth, after the banker had bestowed a look 
 of supreme contempt upon Fitz. 
 
 "I have something to show you," replied Mr. Check 
 ynshaw, taking the old envelope which contained Mag 
 gie's translation from his pocket, and handing it to her. 
 
 Fitz was rather taken aback by this ready reply, and 
 by the sight of the musty envelope. His nether lip 
 actually returned to its normal position under the 
 shock.
 
 200 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " This is from Marguerite is it ? " asked Mrs. "Wit- 
 tleworth. 
 
 "It is from Marguerite," replied Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 
 ""What is it, mother? Open it. Don't be hum- 
 bugged," said Fitz. 
 
 The poor woman opened the letter, and looked 
 blankly at its contents. 
 
 "It is in French," she added. 
 
 "Marguerite always writes her letters in French," 
 added the banker. 
 
 "Because she knows you can't read a word of 
 French," sneered Fitz. 
 
 " No impudence, young man ! " 
 
 " Don't, Fitz ! " pleaded Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 "Mr. Checkynshaw, this business must be settled 
 between me and you. You will not be permitted 
 to take advantage of a woman's weakness to impose 
 upon her," added Fitz, magnificently. 
 
 "If you use any impudence in this office, young 
 man, I shall kick you out to-day as I did yesterday." 
 
 "Mr. Checkynshaw, I have my own views and opin 
 ions on this subject, and I claim the privilege of ex 
 pressing them as a gentleman should. I have been
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 201 
 
 to see Ohoate on this business ; and me and Choate 
 will see that justice is done to the unfortunate." 
 
 "Be still, Fitz!" said his mother. 
 
 "I will not be still, mother," protested Mr. Wittle- 
 worth. " I will not stand still and have you imposed 
 upon." . 
 
 The banker sprang out of his chair, and his late 
 clerk retreated a pace or two. 
 
 " Mr. Checkynshaw, I have only one word to say," 
 he added, placing himself near enough to the door 
 to effect a hasty retreat in case of necessity. "My 
 mother is disposed to accept your offer of ten thou 
 sand dollars for a quitclaim deed of the block of 
 stores. I don't intend that she shall do anything of 
 the kind. I've been to my lawyer, sir a gentleman 
 recommended by Choate ; for Choate is so busy that 
 he can't attend to the case personally ; and my lawyer 
 says that none but a non compos would give a quit 
 claim deed to the property. If my mother sees fit 
 to sign any such paper, my lawyer will take steps to 
 restrain her, sir. Those are my views. I've nothing 
 more to say, Mr. Checkynshaw." 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth tipped his hat over on one side,
 
 202 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 thrust his thumbs into his arm-holes, and pursed up 
 his lips again, as though he had already set the river 
 on fire. His mother was angry and disgusted with 
 him, as she often had occasion to be. 
 
 " Is the quitclaim deed ready, Mr. Checkynshaw ? " 
 asked the poor woman. 
 
 " No ; but it shall be ready, and the check with it^ 
 to-inorrow." 
 
 "Mother," exclaimed Fitz, in warning tones, and 
 he evidently did not place much dependence upon 
 the restraining power of his lawyer, "you prom^ 
 ised not to sign any paper to-day." 
 
 "And you promised to behave yourself, Fitz, if 1 
 permitted you to come with me. I can't depend upon 
 you, and I am going to accept Mr. Checkynshaw's 
 offer," retorted his mother, sharply. 
 
 " You are ? " gasped Fitz. 
 
 " I am ; and if the paper was* ready, I would sign 
 it this moment. Will you let me take this letter 
 home with me, Mr. Checkynshaw?" 
 
 "Certainly, Ellen," replied the banker, graciously. 
 
 " I used to read French a little when I was a girl, 
 and I may be able to study out some of it."
 
 THE KICK MAN'S DAUGHTER. 203 
 
 " As you like ; but when you come again, don't 
 bring that boy with you." 
 
 Mrs. Wittleworth and her son retired. On their 
 way home, an angry discussion ensued. Fitz raved 
 at the weakness of women in general, and of his 
 mother in particular; but she firmly declared, even 
 if she was satisfied that Marguerite was not living, 
 she would sign the deed. In the house, both of them 
 examined the letter. Fitz did not know a word of 
 French, and his mother could only make out ''Man 
 cher pere" and an occasional word in the letter. 
 
 "I will tell you what we can do, mother. Andre 
 Maggirnore, round in Phillimore Court, is a French 
 man, and can talk French like a Dutchman." 
 
 "But he is very sick, you said." 
 
 " So he is. Well, his daughter Maggie can read it. 
 I will take it to her this evening." 
 
 After supper, Fitz, with the letter in his pocket, 
 started for the barber's house.
 
 204 MAKE OK BREAK, OB, 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE LETTEK FROM FRANCE. 
 
 LEO conducted his team to Pemberton Square, 
 and knocked at the back door of the rich man's 
 house. One of the kitchen girls answered the sum 
 mons, and great was her surprise when she saw the 
 palace of the mice. It was taken into the kitchen, 
 and Mrs. Checkynshaw was called. She came down, 
 accompanied by Miss Elinora. Leo explained that 
 the banker had purchased the establishment, and 
 that he had been directed to deliver it. 
 
 Elinora, though she had sat up late the night be 
 fore at the party, and had been very ill-natured all 
 day, was surprised into a smile of pleasure when she 
 saw the cunning little creatures in their curious 
 house. Leo gave them some canary seed, of which 
 he carried a supply in his pocket, in order to in 
 duce the pets to exhibit themselves when desired. 
 They had behaved very well thus far, and had pro-
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 205 
 
 duced a favorable impression upon all who had seen 
 them. 
 
 Elinora was pleased with the mice because they 
 promised to afford her a new sensation. 
 
 "I think I'll have them in my chamber, mother, 
 where I can see them," said she, after she had 
 looked at them a while. 
 
 " I wouldn't have them in my chamber, miss," re 
 plied Leo. 
 
 "Why, not?" 
 
 " They sleep in the daytime, and train in the 
 night. They would rattle about the house so that 
 you could not sleep." 
 
 " I will have them in my dressing-room, then," 
 added she. 
 
 " That's not exactly the place for them," continued 
 Leo, who had not a very clear idea of what the 
 dressing-room was. 
 
 " Where would you keep them, then ? " asked 
 Elinora, petulantly. 
 
 "In the kitchen, or the back room." 
 
 " What, keep such a pretty cage as that in the 
 kitchen ? " exclaimed the rich man's daughter.
 
 206 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 "You can see it just as well in the kitchen as in 
 the parlor, and it is just as handsome in one place 
 as another, miss. White mice are pretty little crea 
 tures, miss ; but, like rabbits, squirrels, and other 
 animals, they have an odor of their own which isn't 
 pleasant, especially when they are shut up in a warm 
 room," Leo explained, with a smile to soften the dis 
 paraging remark, for he didn't like to say anything 
 against the pets. 
 
 " I don't want them, then," said Elinora, turning 
 up her delicate nose. 
 
 " They won't trouble you if you have them well 
 cared for, and keep them in a proper place. A 
 horse is a very fine animal ; but you would not find 
 him agreeable in the parlor," added Leo. " There's 
 a nice place for them ; " and he pointed to the wash 
 room, through which he had entered the kitchen. 
 " You can come down and see them when you 
 wish, and they won't trouble any one out there." 
 
 Mrs. Checkynshaw decided to have the house put 
 up in the wash-room, as Leo suggested, and the 
 young mechanic volunteered to do the work. He 
 had brought with him a couple of wooden brackets
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 207 
 
 and some screws, and, with the assistance of Tom 
 Casey, he put them up, and placed the palace upon 
 them. Mrs. Checkynshaw and her daughter watched 
 the operation with interest, and asked a great many 
 questions about the mice and their habits. Leo 
 talked and worked, and by the time he had finished 
 th'e job, he had explained all he knew of the little 
 animals. He told the kitchen girl, who was to take 
 care of them, how to feed them, and how to clean out 
 the cage, admonishing her to do the latter every day. 
 
 The lady of the house was so well pleased with 
 the zeal and pains displayed by the young mechanic, 
 that she gave him half a dollar for the extra labor 
 he had performed ; and Leo and Tom left the house. 
 
 " It's a good job you've done the day," said Tom, 
 as they walked down the square. 
 
 " I've done first rate, Tom. I've sold my work 
 for a fair price, and got two more jobs. I'm lucky, 
 and I'm very grateful, too, for my good fortune. 
 Tom, I'll give you the half dollar the lady handed 
 to me for your share of the work." 
 
 " Go way wid you ! I won't take it ! " protested 
 the Irish boy.
 
 208 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " Yes, you must, Tom. You have helped rn&. I 
 don't know how I should have got along without 
 you." 
 
 "Niver you mind that. Your ould man is sick, 
 and it's great need you'll have of all the money you 
 can lay your hands on." 
 
 "But I have made six dollars besides this, and 
 I'm not going to pocket all the plunder. Take this, 
 and buy some book you need." 
 
 Tom was finally prevailed upon to accept the 
 half dollar, though he did so under protest. Leo 
 was happy never so happy before in his life. Suc 
 cess had crowned his darling scheme, and he entered 
 the house with a radiant smile upon his face. But, 
 in the midst of his exultant joy, he did not forget 
 that his father, for whose sake he had been stimu 
 lated to make this mighty effort, was very sick. As 
 softly as a cat he opened the front door, and carried 
 his wagon down cellar. He was disposed to go to 
 work at once at his bench, and make the two 
 palaces which had been ordered ; but he could not 
 resist the temptation to go up and tell Maggie what 
 a splendid success he had realized.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 209 
 
 " How is father ? " he asked, in a whisper, as he 
 entered the rear room, where Maggie was at work. 
 
 " He is about the same. He sleeps a great deal, 
 and I hope he will soon be better," she replied. 
 " So you have sold your mouse-house, Leo," she 
 added, with a sympathizing smile. 
 
 "Who told you I had?" asked Leo, rather pro 
 voked that any one had robbed him of the pleasure 
 of telling the triumphant news himself. 
 
 " Mr. Checkynshaw has been here," said she, laughing. 
 
 "Did he tell you how much he gave for the 
 mouse-house ? " 
 
 " Six dollars ; and he said you had orders for two 
 more at the same price. How lucky you are, Leo ! " 
 
 " So I am ; but I was almost discouraged before 
 I found a single purchaser. If it hadn't been make 
 or break with me, I should have given up, and come 
 home. I feel good now, Maggie, I can tell you ! If 
 the market for white mice holds good, I shall make 
 my fortune." 
 
 " I hope it will hold good, at least till father gets 
 well. He was so delighted when he heard of your 
 success ! " 
 
 14
 
 210 MAKE OR BREAK, OK 
 
 "I shall finish the two houses ordered this week, 
 if I can, and that will make eighteen dollars not 
 in a week, but in three days." 
 
 " Twenty, Leo," added Maggie, with a smile. 
 
 " Twenty ? Three times six are eighteen," laughed 
 Leo. 
 
 "I made two dollars to-day by translating a letter 
 for Mr. Checkynshaw ; and he has more such work 
 for me to do." 
 
 " How lucky we are ! " exclaimed Leo ; and he 
 had not lived long enough, or seen enough of the 
 world, to realize that the lucky ones are almost 
 always those who are industrious and energetic a 
 lesson he was to learn in due time. 
 
 Leo went in to see Andre ; and the barber de 
 clared, that with two such children as he had, he 
 could afford to be sick, and that a terribly heavy 
 load had been removed from his mind. 
 
 " The good God is kind to me," said he, reverently 
 raising his eyes. "My children are taking care of 
 me while I am helpless, as I took care of them 
 when they were helpless." 
 
 Andre was patient and submissive not as a
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 211 
 
 philosopher, but as a Christian. The great calamity 
 of want had apparently been turned from his door, 
 and he was happy happy in his heart, even while 
 tiis frame was suffering. Blessed are they in whom. 
 Christian faith and hope have found a resting-place ! 
 In his care for these two children, Andre had long 
 before been led to place his trust in things higher 
 than earth, and in striving to guide them in the 
 right path, he had found it himself. 
 
 Leo remained but a few moments in the sick 
 room, and then hastened down to the workshop to 
 commence the jobs for which he had contracted. 
 Laying aside the four houses in which he had made 
 some progress, he proceeded to " get out " the lum 
 ber for the others. On a paper, stuck up under 
 the window, was the plan of the establishment he 
 had sold to the banker, with all the dimensions writ 
 ten upon it. Under the bench he had several hun 
 dred feet of half-inch pine boards, which he had 
 purchased with money earned by shovelling off side* 
 walks. 
 
 As the plan was already drawn, and he knew ex 
 actly how all the parts were to be put together, there
 
 212 MAKE OR BKEAK, OR 
 
 was no delay in the work. He had sawed out all 
 the lumber required for the two houses, and had 
 nicely planed the boards, when Maggie called him 
 to supper. He had worked very hard, but he did 
 not feel tired. He was never weary of mechanical 
 employment like this, even when doing it with no 
 distinct end in view ; but now that he was to keep 
 the wolf from the door, there was an inspiration 
 in the work which lifted him. above bodily fa 
 tigue. 
 
 He went to his supper with a keen appetite ; but 
 he did not like to spare the time to eat it, and it 
 seemed like a hardship to be compelled to leave the 
 workshop. When he had finished his supper, and 
 was hurrying down stairs, there was a knock at the 
 front door. He hoped it was a customer come to 
 order a mouse-house ; but he was disappointed, when 
 he went to the door, to find only Fitz Wittleworth 
 there. 
 
 " Good evening, Leo. Is your sister at home ? " 
 asked Fitz, in his usual patronizing tones. 
 
 "She is," replied Leo, rather coldly, for he could 
 not see what Fitz wanted with his sister.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 213 
 
 " I should like to see her," added Fitz, loftily, aa 
 though his presence at the house of the barber was 
 a condescension which Leo ought to appreciate. 
 
 " My father is sick, and Maggie is busy taking 
 care of him," replied Leo, who felt that he was now 
 the guardian of his sister, and he did not want any 
 young men " hanging round," especially such young 
 men as Mr. Wittleworth. 
 
 "I wish to see her on business," persisted Fitz, 
 annoyed at Leo's answers, and the evident want 
 of appreciation of the honor of his visit which the 
 young mechanic exhibited. 
 
 " I'll speak to her. Won't you come in ? " 
 
 Fitz would come in, and he did. He was shown 
 to the rear room, where Maggie was clearing off the 
 supper table. Fitz was a young " man of the world," 
 and as imitative as a monkey. He had once moved 
 in what he called "good society," and was familiar 
 with all the little courtesies of life. He expressed 
 his regret at the illness of Andre in the most courtly 
 terms, and his sympathy with Maggie. Leo wanted 
 to go to work, but he felt obliged to remain, and 
 witness the interview.
 
 214 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 "You will excuse me for calling at such a time; 
 but I will not detain you long, Miss Maggimore. I 
 understand that you are a French scholar. Am I 
 rightly informed ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, I speak French," replied Maggie, begin 
 ning to expect another job in translating. 
 
 "And I suppose you read French." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " I have really forgotten all the French I ever 
 knew," continued Mr. Wittleworth, apologetically ; 
 and one would have supposed, from his manner, 
 that the French language was the only thing in 
 the world he did not know, and that it was in 
 tensely humiliating to acknowledge that he did not 
 know that. " I have a letter from France, written 
 in French, which it is of the utmost importance that 
 I should read. I have taken the liberty to call 
 upon you to beg the favor of a translation of the 
 letter." 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth took from his pocket the letter 
 which the banker had given to his mother. 
 
 " I shall be very happy to assist you," added 
 Maggie, kindly.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 215 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Maggimore. If you will give 
 me the English of the letter, I will write down the 
 important part of it," continued Fitz, taking a pencil 
 and paper from his pocket, seating himself at the 
 table, and handing her the letter. 
 
 " It is postmarked Paris," said she, glancing at the 
 envelope. 
 
 " So I observed." 
 
 " Why, this is the very letter I translated into 
 French for Mr. Checkynshaw to-day ! " exclaimed 
 Maggie, innocently, as she took the paper from the 
 envelope. 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! " replied Fitz, thoroughly illuminated 
 by this flood of light. 
 
 Maggie's fair face was instantly covered with 
 blushes. She was confident, a moment too late, 
 that she had exposed some of Mr. Checkynshaw's 
 business. 
 
 * 
 
 " You translated this letter into French for Mr. 
 Checkynshaw did you ? " asked Fitz, taking the 
 letter from her, and folding up his paper, as he rose 
 from his chair. 
 
 " I did," replied Maggie ; for now that the mis-
 
 216 MAKE OB BREAK, OK 
 
 chief, whatever it was, had been done, she could 
 only tremble for the consequences. 
 
 " If you did, I needn't trouble you to translate it 
 back again," added Fitz, as he took his hat and left 
 the house very abruptly.
 
 THE KICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 217 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE QUITCLAIM DEED. 
 
 *' "1\ /" OTHER, you are determined to be imposed 
 _1_T JL upon," said Fitz, as he rushed into the house 
 with the astounding intelligence he had obtained in 
 Phillimore Court. 
 
 " Perhaps you can afford to refuse a gift of ten thou 
 sand dollars I cannot," replied Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 "I did not ask or beg anything of Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 He volunteered to give it to me, rather for my sister's 
 sake than my own, perhaps ; but I feel that I ought 
 to take it." 
 
 " Don't touch it, mother ! " protested Fitz. " It will 
 be the ruin of you if you do. Mother, you have no 
 confidence in me. You are willing to trust almost 
 any one rather than me." 
 
 "I judge for myself. It is better to take Mr. Check- 
 ynshaw's gift than to starve." 
 
 " O, nonsense, mother ! Why will you be so ab*
 
 218 MAKE OK BREAK, OB 
 
 surd ? " groaned Fitz. " Why will you persist in talk 
 ing about starving?" 
 
 " Why will I, Fitz ? Because we have hardly five 
 dollars in the world, and both of us are out of work." 
 
 " But I shall get something to do in a few days. 
 Will you let me bring the suit against Checkynshaw 
 for the block of stores ? " 
 
 "No, I will not, Fitz." 
 
 "I told you Checkynshaw was imposing upon you, 
 and now I have proved it." 
 
 " What have you proved ? " 
 
 "I have proved that this letter is a forgery, as I 
 believed it was. It was translated into French this 
 very day by the barber's daughter. It was not writ 
 ten by Marguerite, and I knew it was not ! " replied 
 Fitz, triumphantly; and he proceeded to describe in 
 detail the result of his application to Maggie to trans 
 late the letter. 
 
 "It doesn't make much difference whether it is a 
 forgery or not," added the poor woman, in whose 
 mind ten thousand dollars overshadowed every other 
 consideration. 
 
 "Doesn't it!" sneered Fitz, out of patience with his 
 mother.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 219 
 
 "Not much. Mr. Checkynshaw says Marguerite is 
 living; and, whether he means to do right or wrong, he 
 is a man of great wealth and influence, and we could 
 makb nothing by going to law with him. We haven't 
 money enough to keep us out of the almshouse more 
 tnan a fortnight longer." 
 
 "But don't I say we need no money to carry on 
 the suit ? All we have to do is to attach the prop 
 erty. Checkynshaw won't stand trial. He'll settle 
 it ; he'll give up the block of stores." 
 
 "You don't know him," sighed Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 "If I don't know him, I'd like to know who does. 
 Haven't I been in the office with him for years? 
 Choate couldn't attend to this business himself; but 
 he recommended a lawyer, a friend of his, and I have 
 been to see him. I am to call again to-morrow." 
 
 " I am willing to hear all that can be said, Fitz, on 
 both sides," replied the poor woman, tired of the con 
 troversy, but still believing that "a bird in the hand 
 was worth two in the bush." "I will go with you, 
 and hear what your lawyer has to say." 
 
 "Go with me!" sneered Fitz. "Do you think 1 
 can't do the business alone?"
 
 220 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " You don't know as much as you think you do, 
 Fitz." 
 
 " Perhaps I don't ; but if I don't understand this 
 case, then nobody does." 
 
 Mrs. Wittleworth was disgusted, and Fitz was dis 
 gusted ; and both were silent, rather because there 
 was no prospect of making any progress in the busi 
 ness than because either was satisfied. Fitz had been 
 to see the attorney recommended by the distinguished 
 orator a young fellow, whose practice was mostly 
 confined to the police court, and who was so weak 
 and silly as to be an object of ridicule to his profes 
 sional brethren. This gentleman was willing to look 
 into the case. He went to the registry of probate, 
 and read the will. So far Fitz was justified. The 
 next morning the lawyer called on Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 It was very unprofessional, but it was very prudent. 
 He did not wish to annoy a gentleman in his position 
 if there were no just grounds for a suit. 
 
 The banker was much obliged to him for calling. 
 The banker was plausible, and the banker finally 
 gave him a retaining fee of fifty dollars to act for 
 the defence, in case a suit was brought against him.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 221 
 
 He had discharged Fitz for impudence, and he was 
 merely seeking some way to annoy him. The lawyer 
 was satisfied, and so was the banker. 
 
 In the course of the forenoon, Fitz, attended by his 
 mother, called upon the attorney. He had looked 
 into the case ; he was satisfied there was no ground 
 for an action, and he declined to undertake the suit. 
 Fitz was confounded by this reply. 
 
 "I hope you are satisfied now, Fitz," said Mrs. Wit- 
 tleworth, when they were in the street. 
 
 " I am sui-e I am not. That man has been tam 
 pered with! I'll speak to Choate about that. Does 
 that man mean to tell me that we have no grounds 
 for a suit ? " replied Fitz, indignantly. " I shall find 
 another lawyer, who will undertake the case." 
 
 "You needn't do anything more about it. I am. 
 going to Mr. Checkynshaw's now." 
 
 "Are you going to accept his offer?" almost gasped 
 Fitz. 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "This is madness, mother." 
 
 "It would be madness not to accept it; and I 
 will not let the sun go down again before I close
 
 222 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 the business, if Mr. Checkynshaw is still of the same 
 mind." 
 
 " Will you give up a hundred thousand dollars for 
 ten thousand ? " groaned Fitz. " We can live in 
 Beacon Street, and ride in our carriage, if you will 
 only take my advice." 
 
 "I shall be more likely to ride in the Black Maria 
 over to the almshouse, if I take your advice. My 
 mind is made up, Fitz," replied his mother, very de 
 cidedly. 
 
 " I will go with you, mother," said Fitz, desperately. 
 
 "You needn't." 
 
 " I must be a witness of the transaction, for, in 
 my opinion, it will be a swindle on the part of Check 
 ynshaw ; and if I can pick him up on it I mean to 
 do so." 
 
 "Fitz, if you are impudent to Mr. Checkynshaw, he 
 will put you out of his office." 
 
 " I will not be impudent to him unless he is impu 
 dent to me." 
 
 Mrs. Wittleworth led the way now, and Fitz reluc 
 tantly followed toer. He was in despair. He actually 
 believed his mother was selling out her inheritance,
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 223 
 
 a princely fortune, for a mere song; that she was 
 sacrificing the brightest hopes a person ever had. 
 Indeed, he went a point beyond this, and believed 
 she was selling out his hopes and expectations; that 
 she was wronging him out of a brilliant future. But 
 Fitz might have comforted himself with the reflection 
 that he had vigorously opposed the sacrifice, and that 
 it had been made on account of no want of judgment 
 and forethought on his part. 
 
 Fitz followed his mother into the banker's private 
 office. Mrs. Wittleworth herself was not entirely 
 satisfied with the situation. She was not at all sure 
 that Marguerite had not died of cholera ten years 
 before. Mr. Checkynshaw's course rather indicated 
 that he was playing a deep game. Why did he want 
 a quitclaim deed, if his rights were clear? Why had 
 he forged a letter from Marguerite, when he must 
 have real ones, if the daughter was still living? And 
 it was not like him to give ten thousand dollars to 
 a person who had no claim upon him. 
 
 The poor woman's circumstances were desperate. 
 Want or the almshouse stared her in the face. It 
 was possible, nay, it was probable, that Mr. Cheeky n-
 
 224 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 shaw was deceiving her ; that Marguerite was dead, 
 and that the block of stores rightfully belonged to 
 her ; but she had no chances of success in fighting 
 a battle with wealth and influence. If she brought 
 the suit, the ten thousand dollars would certainly be 
 lost, and the chances of obtaining the block of stores 
 were all against her. The money the banker would 
 pay her would keep her from want for the rest of her 
 lifetime. The income of it would support her little 
 family comfortably. 
 
 " I will sign the deed, Mr. Checkynshaw," said she, 
 walking up to the desk where the banker sat. 
 
 " Why did you bring that boy with you ? " asked 
 the great man, with a look of contempt at his late 
 clerk. 
 
 "He insisted upon coming." 
 
 "I think I have an interest in this business," replied 
 Fitz, loftily. "I will be civil, Mr. Checkynshaw, but 
 I should like to ask you one or two questions." 
 
 "You needn't." 
 
 "But I will. Why do you give my mother a letter 
 purporting to come from your daughter Marguerite, 
 which was written by Miss Maggimore? That's the
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 225 
 
 first question I want to ask," said Fitz, with the air 
 of a conqueror. 
 
 The banker was a little startled; but he did not 
 lose his self-possession he seldom did in merely 
 business transactions. 
 
 "The letter I gave you was a true copy, Ellen," 
 said he. 
 
 " It makes but little difference to me whether it was 
 a true copy or not," she added. 
 
 " The originals of Marguerite's letters were in 
 my safe, and were stolen with other papers. If your 
 son knows Pilky Wayne, he may be able to recover 
 them." 
 
 " I scorn the insinuation, Mr. Checkynshaw," replied 
 Fitz, indignantly. 
 
 "I speak a little French, Ellen, but I do not read 
 it very readily ; and I had translations made of Mar 
 guerite's letters," continued Mr. Checkynshaw, with 
 out noticing the irate young man. " One of these 
 translations I had rendered back into the French 
 rather to give employment to the barber's daughter 
 than for any other reason." 
 
 Mrs. Wittleworth felt no interest in the translation. 
 15
 
 226 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 Probably the banker was imposing upon her credulity, 
 but she did not care if he was. 
 
 " Are the papers ready, Mr. Checkynshaw ? " she 
 asked, timidly, fearful that he had altered his mind 
 in regard to the money. 
 
 "They are." 
 
 "I am ready to sign the deed." 
 
 The banker produced the document, and the check, 
 and laid them upon the desk. 
 
 "Will you witness your mother's signature, Fitz?" 
 asked Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 
 "No, sir. I will have no part in this transaction," 
 replied he, sourly. "It will become my duty, at no 
 distant day, to rip up the whole thing." 
 
 " Burnet ! " called the banker, opening the window. 
 
 The taciturn cashier appeared. 
 
 "Witness this signature," added Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 
 Mrs. Wittleworth signed the quitclaim deed, and 
 took the check. The cashier saw the act, and wrote 
 his name in the proper place on the deed. 
 
 "Take the acknowledgment," said Mr. Checkyn- 
 ehaw to the cashier, who was a justice of the peace. 
 
 "You acknowledge this to be your free act and 
 deed, Mrs. Wittleworth ?" added Burnet.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 227 
 
 " I do," replied the poor woman, or rather the rich 
 one now, in the most decided manner. 
 
 " Have it recorded," continued the banker ; and 
 the cashier left the room with the deed in his hand. 
 
 "I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Checkyn- 
 shaw," said Mrs. Wittleworth. " You have been very 
 kind and very liberal to me." 
 
 " Liberal ! " sneered Fitz. " He has given you ten 
 thousand dollars for a hundred thousand. It's the 
 best trade he ever made." 
 
 " Ellen, I am glad you are satisfied with what you 
 have done. I give you the ten thousand dollars for 
 the reason I stated yesterday not because you had 
 any claim upon me." 
 
 " I know you did, sir ; and I am very grateful to 
 you," replied Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 "After what I have done, it is not right that I 
 should be annoyed by your son," added the banker. 
 
 " He shall not annoy you if I can help it." 
 
 " That's enough, Ellen. I forbid his coming here 
 again on any pretence whatever." 
 
 "You needn't trouble yourself," replied Fitz. "I 
 shall not come near you again if I can help it. I 
 am rather particular about my associates."
 
 228 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 Mrs. Wittleworth left the office, followed by Fit& 
 The fact that his mother had ten thousand dollars in 
 her pocket did not seem to comfort him. He offered 
 to draw the check for her, but his mother preferred 
 to transact her own business. She presented the 
 check at the bank upon which it was drawn, and 
 deposited the money at another. She went home 
 with a light heart, feeling that the wolf was slain, 
 and that she was secured against grim want for the 
 rest of her life. 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw smiled when Mrs. Wittleworth 
 had gone. Perhaps, as Fitz suggested, he felt that 
 he had made a good trade. Apparently he had dis 
 posed of the only person who had the power to an 
 noy him. 
 
 No one did annoy him. Coi.i cable Clapp came 
 back from New York; but Le brought no tidings 
 of Pilky Wayne. The banker offered a reward of 
 Ive hundred dollars for his valuable papers ; but 
 iveek after week passed away, and nothing was heard 
 of them. The banker concluded that the rogue had 
 burned them, so that no clew should be had to him.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD. 
 
 LEO worked till a late hour in the night, on the 
 day that he received the orders for the two 
 mouse-houses^ At eleven o'clock Maggie went down 
 to the shop, and entreated him not to wear himself 
 out. Very likely he would have worked all night 
 if her friendly warning had not sent him to bed. 
 The next day he stuck to his bench till nine o'clock 
 in the evening. 
 
 On Saturday afternoon the two houses were fin 
 ished, and put up at the residences of those who had 
 ordered them. His wildest dream had been more 
 than realized, and there was more money in the 
 house over Sunday than there had ever been before. 
 The prospect was still hopeful for the future. The 
 good physician had kept his promise, and Leo had 
 orders enough to keep him at work for two weeks. 
 He finished the four small houses, and disposed of
 
 230 MAKE OE BREAK, OR 
 
 them at two dollars apiece, and two like that sold 
 to the banker at six dollars apiece, during the coming 
 week; and this made twenty dollars. 
 
 This extraordinary run . of good fortune, however, 
 did not continue long; for, during the third week, 
 he sold but twelve dollars' worth of his merchandise, 
 and the stock was accumulating on his hands. At 
 the end of the fourth week he had six houses unsold ; 
 but the average proceeds of his sales had been over 
 fifteen dollars a week. 
 
 Leo was enterprising, and with some of his funds 
 he purchased half a dozen pairs of rabbits, and en 
 larged the sphere of his business. He built very 
 tasty houses for each pair of these animals, with wire 
 netting in front, so that they could be seen. They 
 were provided with proper nests, with conveniences 
 for keeping them clean. These establishments found 
 a ready sale, at remunerative prices for the rabbits 
 and the work. 
 
 Then he enlarged the business still further, adding 
 guinea pigs and doves to his stock, till the basement 
 of the house became a menagerie of pets. The dove- 
 houses were made to be placed on sheds, or fastened
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 231 
 
 to the sides of buildings, generally in front of back 
 attic windows, where they could be readily reached. 
 The good doctor, the banker, and his other customers 
 had thoroughly advertised his business for him, and 
 purchasers came every day to see his merchandise. 
 He was continually inventing new patterns for houses, 
 and could now keep a variety of them on hand, to 
 enable those who patronized him to select for them 
 selves. 
 
 Leo Maggirnore worked very hard ; but his business 
 was profitable, and he had every encouragement to 
 persevere. His net proceeds were generally twenty 
 dollars a week ; and, after paying for lumber, hard 
 ware, glass, and wire netting, his average gains were 
 fully up to the standard he had fixed. Perhaps the 
 young mechanic did not realize the fact, but it was 
 none the less true, that he was largely indebted to 
 powerful friends for the extensive sales he made. 
 Probably many persons bought his wares solely for 
 the purpose of assisting him in his self-imposed task 
 of maintaining the family. Dr. Fisher, while attend 
 ing the barber, stated the case to at least a hundred 
 of his patients and friends.
 
 232 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 The spring came, and Leo's business was as good 
 as ever. He was making his fifteen dollars a week 
 right along, to which Maggie sometimes added two 
 or three more. All this time Andre had been 
 steadily improving. He was now able to go out 
 every day, and had almost recovered the use of his 
 limbs. He was not yet in condition to use a razor, 
 which requires a very steady and delicate hand ; 
 but he was able to do a great deal of work about 
 the house. He helped Leo, and became general 
 salesman for all his merchandise. The affairs of the 
 family had been improving from the very day that 
 Andre was stricken down by his malady. The only 
 misfortune over which they mourned was, that the 
 young mechanic had been taken out of school. 
 
 At the end of three months, when the barber felt 
 quite able to go to work, and Cutts & Stropmore 
 were very anxious to have him do so, the family 
 were never in a more prosperous condition. There 
 was actually about a hundred dollars in the exche 
 quer, though Dr. Fisher's bill had not been paid ; 
 but they need not have troubled themselves about 
 that, for the physician would no more have carried
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 233 
 
 in a bill than he would have cheated one of his 
 neighbors; and that was quite impossible for him 
 to do. 
 
 Leo went up to see the master of the school as 
 soon as his father was able to go to work ; and it was 
 decided that he should immediately resume his place. 
 The teacher was confident that, with extra study, it 
 was still possible for him to obtain the medal. Leo 
 went to work upon his studies with the same energy 
 and determination he had brought to bear upon the 
 mouse business. 
 
 " Make or break ! " said he ; "I will catch up with 
 my class." 
 
 Of course he succeeded, though between the shop 
 and the books he had nearly " broken ; " for there 
 was still a demand for mice, doves, rabbits, and 
 guinea pigs, and he added several dollars a week 
 to the income of his father. He worked too hard ; 
 and Maggie, seeing that he was likely to " break," 
 took upon herself the care of the menagerie and the 
 sales, in addition to the housework, which was really 
 quite enough for a girl of fifteen. 
 
 Maggie was a good housekeeper. Mindful of the
 
 234 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 traditions of the elders, as the spring came on 
 she commenced the semiannual operation of house- 
 cleaning. She went through the performance in the 
 front room first, and then devoted herself to the 
 chamber over it, which was Leo's room. According 
 to her custom she took everything out of the closets, 
 bureau, chest, and table drawers. In the course of 
 this ceremonial she came to the chest in which Leo 
 kept his clothes. 
 
 At the bottom she found the papers deposited 
 there by "Mr. Hart," or possibly Pilky Wayne, for 
 it was not certainly known who committed the rob 
 bery. There was quite a large bundle of them ; and 
 Maggie, inheriting the propensity of Mother Eve, 
 was, of course, anxious to know what they were. 
 She laid them on the table with other articles, and 
 then opened one of them. She saw the name of 
 Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 
 She was terrified when she remembered that the 
 banker's safe had been robbed, and that Mr. Check 
 ynshaw had come to the house with the detective 
 to see about it. She was not quite sure of the fact, 
 but it seemed to her that Leo had been suspected
 
 THE KICH MAM'S DAUGHTER. 235 
 
 of being concerned in the robbery. Here were the 
 valuable papers, hidden away very carefully at the 
 bottom of Leo's chest. They must have been there 
 at least three months, and of course her brother 
 knew they were there. 
 
 The longer she considered the matter, the more 
 terrified she became. It was awful to think that 
 Leo had been concerned in a robbery. She was not 
 willing to believe it. If there were any good boys 
 in the world, Leo was one of them. He would cut 
 his right hand off before he would do a wicked thing. 
 It was impossible for her to charge the dear fellow 
 with anything that looked like a crime. 
 
 She turned the papers over again. They were 
 strange documents to her, with great seals on them, 
 and no end of legal phrases. Perhaps, after all, they 
 were not good for anything. They could not be the 
 papers which Mr. Checkynshaw had lost. Probably 
 they were some old and useless documents, which 
 the banker had thrown away when they were of no 
 further consequence. It was quite likely that Leo, 
 who was always studying up methods of doing busi 
 ness, had saved them from the dirt barrels in the
 
 236 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 streets, so as to learn the forms of making out such 
 papers. 
 
 This explanation was not quite satisfactory, though 
 it was plausible, to her. It was about nine o'clock 
 in the morning when she found the papers. Leo 
 had gone to school, and her father would not return 
 till night. She was so impatient to know whether 
 the documents were of any value or not, that she 
 was unwilling to wait till noon. At first she thought 
 she would take them up to Mr. Checkynshaw him 
 self, and ask him if they were good for anything; 
 but she did not exactly like to do that. 
 
 Then it occurred to her that Fitz Wittleworth, 
 who had been a clerk for the banker, could tell her 
 just as well as his late employer, and he lived only 
 a short distance from Phillimore Court. Mrs. Wit 
 tleworth, with a portion of the money received from 
 the banker, had purchased a small house near her 
 former residence. Fitz had not yet found another 
 place, and probably both he and his mother would 
 have come to want before this time, if she had taken 
 his advice. Maggie went to the front door, and 
 called Tom Casey, whom she had seen in the court 
 from the window.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 237 
 
 Tom was one of the gallantest young Irishmen in 
 the city. He was a fast friend of Leo, and spent 
 much time in the shop with him. Tom made no 
 mental reservation when he declared that Maggie 
 was the " purtiest guii in the wurruld ; " and he was 
 only too happy to oblige her when she asked him 
 to request Fitz to step in and see her for a moment. 
 In ten minutes Mr. Wittleworth made his appear 
 ance, as grand as ever, for three months' idleness had 
 not taken any of the starch out of him. 
 
 Maggie showed him the papers with fear and 
 trembling. Fitz rubbed his chin, and pursed his 
 lips, as he examined them, looked wise, and finally, 
 after much sage deliberation, declared that the papers 
 were of the utmost importance. 
 
 " O, dear ! " groaned poor Maggie. 
 
 " What is the matter, Miss Maggimore ? " de 
 manded Mr. Wittleworth. 
 
 " What shall I do ! How came those papers in 
 my brother's chest ? " 
 
 " I haven't the least idea, Miss Maggimore. I can 
 only say that the papers are very valuable, and that 
 Checkynshaw offered a reward for them. Now I
 
 238 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 remember! Your brother was with the man that 
 robbed the safe." 
 
 "That's what troubles me," gasped poor Maggie. 
 
 "Don't be alarmed, Miss Maggimore. It is very 
 fortunate that you called me to attend to this deli 
 cate business. If you had not done so, they might 
 have thrown your brother into jail. Checkynshaw 
 has no more consideration for a young man than a 
 mule," said Fitz, patronizingly. " Leave it all to me, 
 Miss Maggimore. I will see that the papers are 
 restored to the owner, and that no harm comes 
 to Leo." 
 
 " You are very kind," replied Maggie, hopefully. 
 
 "I am always glad to do what I can for those 
 who are in need of assistance. It" is fortunate you 
 called me in. It will be best for you not to men 
 tion to any one that I have taken them." 
 
 Maggie thought so too, and she was very glad to 
 have her visitor take the papers away from the 
 house. She felt as though a contagious disease had 
 been removed as soon as the door closed behind 
 Fitz. Was it possible that Leo had been concerned 
 in the robbery ? If so, sooner or later he would
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 239 
 
 ask what had become of the papers. The man that 
 stole the papers had come to the house with Leo, 
 she then called to mind for the first time ; but her 
 thoughts were confused, and instead of this circum 
 stance affording a satisfactory explanation to her of 
 the presence of the package in Leo's chest, it had 
 just the opposite effect. 
 
 Fitz Wittleworth went home with the papers ; 
 went up to his room with them ; examined every 
 document in the bundle. There was a copy of his 
 grandfather's will among them, but nothing else re 
 lating to the block of stores, and nothing which 
 related to Marguerite not even the letters which 
 Mr. Checkynshaw had declared were stolen with the 
 papers. 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth went up to the banker's office. 
 He was civil, and Mr. Checkynshaw asked him, 
 very sternly, what he wanted. 
 
 " You offered a reward of five hundred dollars for 
 the recovery of the papers taken from your safe, Mr. 
 Checkynshaw," Fitz began, pompously. 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "I claim it."
 
 240 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " The money is ready ; where are the papers ? " 
 asked the banker, promptly. 
 
 " I have them here," replied Fitz, producing the 
 package. 
 
 " Where did you get them ? " 
 
 " That is what I must decline to answer," added 
 Fitz, decidedly. 
 
 "Must you? Then I suppose I am to understand 
 that you were a party to the robbery, as I have sus 
 pected from the beginning." 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth thought this was a very unrea 
 sonable view to take of the case. He decided to 
 leave, and conduct the negotiation for the reward in 
 some other manner. He turned to go, but the banker 
 seized him by the collar and held him. 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth was in hot water.
 
 THE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 241 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 AN AVALANCHE OF GOOD FORTUNE. 
 
 MR. WITTLEWORTH was more astonished 
 than he had ever before been in his life. 
 This was the gratitude of great men ! Mr. Checkyn- 
 shaw did not seem to be at all rejoiced to find his 
 papers, and was so mean as to send for Constable 
 
 " Didn't you offer a reward of five hundred dollars 
 for your papers, Mr. Checkynshaw ? " asked Fitz. 
 
 "I did; and I am willing to pay the reward the 
 moment you have explained to me where you got 
 them," replied the banker, as he pitched his prisoner 
 into a chair to await the arrival of the officer. 
 
 " I came here in good faith, and I didn't expect to 
 be treated in this -manner," growled Mr. Wittleworth. 
 
 "I am not yet willing to pay you for stealing my 
 papers and money, or for employing another person to 
 do it for you," added Mr. Checkynshaw, dryly. 
 16
 
 242 MAKE OB BREAK, OB 
 
 "I did not steal them." 
 
 " Then you cannot object to telling me where you 
 obtained them." 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth did object. He had undertaken 
 to manage this business, and he expected to make 
 at least a commission out of it. His plan was to 
 pay Maggie fifty or a hundred dollars of the reward, 
 and keep the rest himself. It was not probable that 
 the barber, who was ill at the time, or his fam 
 ily, had read the newspapers, and it was not likely 
 that they knew anything about the reward. Maggie, 
 or even Leo, would be entirely satisfied with the fifty 
 dollars, and ought to be exceedingly obliged to him 
 for managing the matter so well for them. 
 
 Constable Clapp arrived in a few moments, and 
 the case was stated to him. 
 
 *' How much money was stolen with the papers V " 
 asked the officer. 
 
 "About three hundred and fifty dollars," replied 
 the banker. 
 
 " Very well ; if this young gentleman will restore 
 the papers and the money, he may take the reward ; 
 and then we shall be ready to attend to the criminal
 
 THE KICK MAN'S DAUGHTER. 243 
 
 charge. That will make a balance of one hundred 
 and fifty dollars in his favor," chuckled the officer. 
 
 " I am entirely willing to pay the reward I offered," 
 added Mr. Checkynshaw, magnanimously. 
 
 " Where did you get the papers, Mr. Wittle- 
 worth ? " asked the detective. 
 
 "I didn't steal them." 
 
 "I don't say you did. Where did you get them, 
 was the question I asked." 
 
 " Of course I don't wish to expose anybody. They 
 came into my possession in consequence of an ac 
 cident." 
 
 " Exactly so ! " said the officer, taking the papers 
 from Fitz, and producing a pair of handcuffs. " In 
 consequence of an accident, I shall be obliged to 
 put these irons on your wrists, and take you over 
 to the jail." 
 
 " Me ! " gasped Fitz, the iron entering his lofty 
 soul. " I should like to know what my friend Choate 
 would say to that ! " 
 
 " In one word, will you wear the bracelets, or will 
 you tell where you obtained the papers? Of course 
 Mr. Checkynshaw will pay the reward. He is an
 
 244 MAKE OB BREAK, OR 
 
 
 
 honorable man, and does all he agrees. You will 
 want the money to pay your friend Choate for keep 
 ing you out of the State Prison. What will you 
 do?" 
 
 Fitz thought for a moment. The disgrace of being 
 marched through the streets by a person so well 
 known as Mr. Clapp, and with a pair of irons on his 
 wrists, was intolerable to think of, and he decided 
 to inform the officer where he had obtained the 
 papers. He then related the particulars of his inter 
 view with Maggie. 
 
 " Then you did not find the papers yourself? " said 
 Mr. Checkynshaw, with a feeling of relief, for it would 
 have galled him sorely to pay the five hundred dol 
 lars to one he disliked so much. 
 
 "I did not," replied Fitz. 
 
 "Then the reward does not belong to you." 
 
 "It is hardly necessary for me to say that I was 
 doing the business for Miss Maggimore." 
 
 " But it was hardly necessary for you to conceal 
 her name." 
 
 The banker was really overjoyed to find his papers, 
 and at once drew a check for the amount which be 
 had offered as a reward.
 
 THE KICK MAN'S DAUGHTER. 245 
 
 " We will go down and see Maggie," said the 
 banker, putting the check into his pocket. 
 
 " I think the case is plain enough," added the con 
 stable. " When I ascertain where the papers were 
 found, I shall be better satisfied." 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw called a carriage, and they went 
 to Phillimore Court. No further notice was taken 
 of Mr. Wittle worth ; in fact he was utterly ignored 
 from the moment he had told his story. He was 
 permitted to depart in peace. He did depart, but not 
 in peace ; for he was not entirely satisfied. The re 
 ward ought to have been paid to him, and he should 
 have had the lion's share of it. This was his feeling 
 as he retired from the office. 
 
 Maggie was fearfully frightened when she saw the 
 banker and the constable. The roses fled from her 
 cheek, and she was pale and trembling. That awful 
 officer had come to bear Leo away to the jail. She 
 was almost sorry that she had not burned the papers, 
 instead of sending them back to the owner. 
 
 " You have come for poor Leo ! " exclaimed she, 
 in terror, when she opened the door. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, Maggie," said Mr. Checkynshaw,
 
 246 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 in a tone which was gentle for him. " We come to 
 inquire about those papers you found." 
 
 " I knew you did ! " gasped Maggie in despair, as 
 the two gentlemen followed her into the rear room. 
 
 " Where did you find them ? " asked Mr. Clapp, in 
 a gentler tone than the banker could speak. 
 
 " In Leo's room," stammered she. " I must tell 
 the truth ; but I hope you won't harm poor Leo." 
 
 "Will you show us just where you found them?" 
 
 "I will, if you will come up stairs," she added, 
 leading the way. "You won't put poor Leo in jail 
 will you? I'm sure he didn't intend to do any 
 wrong." 
 
 "I don't think he did," replied the officer, moved 
 by the distress of the poor girl. 
 
 " I found them at the bottom of Leo's chest," said 
 Maggie, as she pointed to the place where she had 
 discovered them. "I was cleaning house, and I 
 cleared out all the closets and drawers. I took all 
 Leo's things out of his chest, and I found those pa 
 pers under his summer clothes." 
 
 " Did Leo know they were there ? " 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know whether he did or not. I
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 247 
 
 don't believe he did. He never stays in his room 
 only when he is asleep. All the clothes he wears in 
 the winter are in the top of the chest." 
 
 " I looked into that chest when I searched the 
 room on the day the safe was robbed," added the 
 officer. " I put my hand down into the clothing ; but 
 I suppose I didn't reach the bottom. Where is Leo 
 now ? " 
 
 "He is at school." 
 
 " Can you send for him ? " 
 
 "You won't take him up will you? It would 
 break his heart," pleaded Maggie. 
 
 " I don't think it will be necessary to arrest him," 
 replied the constable, rather cautiously. " The man 
 that stole the papers came to this room, and I have 
 no doubt he put them there to get rid of them." 
 
 " Send for Leo ; I will promise you he shall not 
 be taken up," added Mr. Checkynshaw, taking the 
 responsibility upon himself. 
 
 Maggie wrote a note, and sent Tom Casey to the 
 school with it, the gentlemen having taken seats io 
 the front parlor. In a short time Leo appeared, trem 
 bling lest his father had had another attack of paralysis,
 
 248 MAKE OR BREAK, OK 
 
 He was not a little surprised to find the banker and 
 the constable awating his arrival. 
 
 " Leo, what do you keep in that chest of yours, up 
 in your room?" asked the officer. 
 
 "My clothes, sir," replied Leo, astonished at the 
 strange question. 
 
 "What else?" 
 
 "Nothing else." 
 
 " Don't you keep any white mice in it ? " said the 
 constable, smiling. 
 
 No, sir." 
 
 "Don't your mice get out of their houses down 
 ptairs, and come up ? " 
 
 " I have seen tw r o or three of them in the kitchen.' 
 
 " But don't they go up in your chamber ? " 
 
 " I never saw any up there," answered Leo, puzzled 
 by these singular inquiries. 
 
 " What would you say if I told you that a couple 
 of them had made a nest in your chest up stairs, and 
 had a litter of little ones there ? " 
 
 " I don't know what I should say. I don't know 
 that it would be very strange." 
 
 "Should you deny it?"
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 249 
 
 " If you saw them there I should not, though 1 
 don't see how they could get into the chest. The 
 lid is always closed." 
 
 " But you might have left the lid up some morn 
 ing, and the mice might have crawled down to the 
 very bottom of the chest, and had a family there. 
 Could this have happened ? " 
 
 " It could ; but I don't think it is very likely it did 
 happen." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I should have smelt them," laughed Leo. 
 
 " Shouldn't you have seen them ? " 
 
 " I don't think I should. Maggie puts my shirts 
 and stockings at the top of the chest, and I hardly 
 know what there is at the bottom. She takes care 
 of my things." 
 
 "Is there anything in that chest besides your 
 clothes ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I believe there is a piece of brass chain, a 
 ball, some marbles, and a top in the till." 
 
 "Anything else?" 
 
 " There may be some other things of that sort in 
 the till. I don't remember ; if you want to know I 
 will go up and show you."
 
 250 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " Are there any papers there ? " demanded the con 
 stable, sharply. 
 
 " Yes, sir, there are two or three newspapers." 
 
 " Any written papers ? " 
 
 " Not a paper." 
 
 " Have you had any papers there at any time ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; I don't remember that I ever did. I 
 keep my papers in the table drawer in the kitchen." 
 
 " Didn't you know there was a package of papers 
 in the chest such as bonds, deeds, and notes ? " 
 
 " No, sir, I didn't know it. I never saw anything 
 of the kind there," replied Leo, still puzzled, but sat 
 isfied now that something serious had happened. 
 
 " Have you overhauled the contents of your chest 
 lately ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; not since last summer, that I remember." 
 
 "Leo, in your chest were found the papers which 
 Mr. Checkynshaw lost." 
 
 "Then that Mr. Hart, or whatever his name was, 
 put them there ! " exclaimed Leo, his face turning 
 red. "I never saw them, and didn't know they 
 were there." 
 
 "I am satisfied," interposed Mr. Checkynshaw.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 251 
 
 "So am I," added Mr. Clapp. 
 
 The truth as it was had been correctly discerned. 
 
 "Maggie, I offered a reward of five hundred dollars 
 for those papers," continued the banker. " I would 
 have given five thousand rather than not have had 
 them." 
 
 " Then I am very glad you have found them," re 
 plied the fair girl, now entirely relieved of all her 
 fears on account of her brother. 
 
 " But you found them, Maggie, and you are 
 entitled to the reward. Here is my check for the 
 amount. Your father can draw the money for 
 you." 
 
 " I don't deserve the reward ! " exclaimed Maggie, 
 blushing deeply, as she took the check. " It is re 
 ward enough for me to find that Leo is as good as I 
 always believed him to be." 
 
 " You found the papers, and I am indebted to you 
 for their preservation. Another might have destroyed 
 them." 
 
 " But I only took them out of the chest. I didn't 
 know what they were. I almost made up my mind 
 that they were good for nothing, and that Leo had
 
 252 " MAKK OE BREAK, OR 
 
 saved them from the dirt barrels to learn how to 
 write such papers from. I didn't know what to 
 do, and I sent for Mr. Wittleworth to tell me 
 whether they were good for anything or not. He 
 said they were very valuable, and told me it was 
 fortunate I sent for him, and then kindly undertook 
 to return them to you." 
 
 " Very kindly ! " sneered the banker. " He claimed 
 this reward." 
 
 "He did?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I am very glad it goes to you, instead 
 of to him." 
 
 Maggie objected to taking such a vast sum of 
 money for so slight a service ; but Mr. Checkynshaw's 
 mandate was imperative, and he departed, leaving 
 her bewildered at the sudden fortune which had 
 come down like an avalanche upon her. Leo went 
 back to school, as delighted at her good luck as 
 his own in finding himself entirely freed from the 
 charge of being concerned in the robbery. 
 
 As usual, Mr. Wittleworth was the only person 
 who was not satisfied. He had again been " left 
 out in the cold." He wanted to know what had
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 253 
 
 happened at the house of Andre, and after dinner 
 he called there; but Maggie had gone to the bar 
 ber's shop with her father's noonday meal, and he 
 found the door locked. In the evening he went 
 again, when both Andre and Leo were at home.
 
 264 MAKE OE BREAK, CE 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ME. WITTLEWOETH'S WEOXGS. 
 
 MAGGIE, fluttering with delight, had taken Mr. 
 Checkynshaw's check to her father when she 
 carried his dinner. The barber was astonished as 
 well as pleased with the gift, and, having drawn the 
 check, deposited the money in the Savings Bank, as 
 a provision for dark days, like those through which 
 they had passed at the beginning of Andre's illness. 
 After supper the family gathered around the cook 
 ing-stove in the kitchen. Never before had they 
 been so happy as now, and never before were they 
 so strongly attached to each other. They had passed 
 through the storm of privation and trial they had 
 triumphed over adverse circumstances. Leo tried to 
 study his lesson, while Andre and Maggie were talk 
 ing about the great event of the day, and comparing 
 their present situation with the first days of the bar 
 ber's illness, when all of them were trembling for the 
 future.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 255 
 
 " God has been very good to us, my children, and 
 i hope we shall always be grateful to him for his 
 mercies," said Andre, as a tear, which he could not 
 repress, stole down his pale cheek. 
 
 " I'm sure I never felt so good before in my life ; 
 and I know my prayers mean more to me now than 
 ever before," replied Maggie. 
 
 " We have been faithful to each other, and God 
 has been faithful to all of us, as he always is, even 
 when we forsake and forget him." 
 
 " Ah, mon pere, how could we help being faithful 
 to you, when you were always so kind to us ! " ex 
 claimed Maggie, as she rested her hand on Andre's 
 arm. "And Leo he has really been a lion! You 
 don't know how brave he was ; how he worked, and 
 how he persevered ! It was all make^ and no break 
 wan't it, Leo?" 
 
 " It has been, so far," replied Leo, less demonstra 
 tive, but not less delighted than the other members 
 of the family. " I think we can do anything we 
 make up our minds to do. I have made up my mind 
 to take the Franklin medal this year, and, make 01 
 break, I'm going to do it."
 
 256 MAKE OK EKEAK, OK 
 
 Leo bent over his slate again, and seemed to le 
 determined, make or break, that he would attend to 
 his lessons, whatever happened in the room. Unfor 
 tunately, in this instance, it was at least a partial 
 break, for a very imperative knock was heard a few 
 moments later at the front door. Andre answered 
 the summons, and admitted Mr. Wittleworth. 
 
 "I hope I don't intrude," said Fitz, as daintily as 
 Paul Pry himself could have said it. 
 
 "Take a seat, Mr. Wittleworth,'' added Maggie, 
 giving him a chair at the stove. 
 
 "Thank you. I don't often go out evenings, for 
 mother is alone. My friends groan and complain be 
 cause I don't visit them ; but really this is the first 
 time I have been out of the house of an evening for 
 a month," continued Mr. Wittleworth, as he seated 
 himself in the offered chair, expecting the barber's 
 family to appreciate his condescension in this particu 
 lar instance. 
 
 "The last time I went out of an evening," he 
 added, " I called on my friend Choate you know 
 Choate? Of course you do, Mr. Maggimore." 
 
 " I have not that honor," replied the barber, mod 
 estly.
 
 1HE EICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 257 
 
 "Choate's a good fellow Choate is. He is the 
 most gentlemanly person I ever met, not even except 
 ing Everett, who, by the way, was at Choate's when 
 I called upon him. Winthrop was there, too ; but 
 Winthrop is rather stiff Winthrop is. Of course I 
 haven't anything to say against Winthrop. He is a 
 great man, talented, a good speaker, and all that sort 
 of thing ; but you see he hasn't that companionable 
 way with him that Choate has. Of course you will 
 not mention what I say to Winthrop, for I don't 
 want him to know but what I think as much of him 
 as I do of Choate or Everett." 
 
 Andre very kindly promised not to mention any 
 disparaging allusion he might make in regard to the 
 honorable gentleman. 
 
 " In a private conversation one does not like to be 
 held responsible for remarks dropped without much 
 reflection," continued Fitz. "I have nothing against 
 Winthrop, only he is not just like Choate. Choate 
 is my idea of a perfect gentleman Choate is. But 
 perhaps I am prejudiced in Choate's favor. I used 
 to be in the law business myself in the same office 
 with Choate. Well, really, I didn't come here to 
 17
 
 258 MAKE OK BREAK, OR 
 
 talk about Choate, or any of the rest of my friends. 
 Isn't it singular how a light remark, casually dropped, 
 leads us off into a conversation which occupies a whole 
 evening ? " 
 
 Andre acknowledged that it was singular how a 
 light remark, casually dropped, leads us into a con 
 versation which occupies a whole evening; but he 
 hoped no light remark of Mr. Wittleworth would be 
 expanded to that extent, for his room was better than 
 his company, now that the family were at the high 
 tide of happiness and prosperity. 
 
 " I suppose Miss Maggimore has informed you that 
 she sent for me this morning, in order to obtain the 
 benefit of my advice," continued Fitz. 
 
 "Yes, sir, she did," replied Andre. 
 
 "The case was rather a singular one; and being 
 alone, she needed the counsel of some person of expe 
 rience, and of extensive knowledge. She sent for me, 
 and I came," added Mr. Wittleworth, rubbing his chin 
 and pouting his lips, as was his habit when his bump 
 of self-esteem was rubbed ; though it was a notable 
 fact that he always rubbed it himself nobody else 
 ever appeared to do so.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 259 
 
 " It was kind of you to come when I sent for you," 
 said Maggie, willing to give him all the credit she 
 could. 
 
 "I came; I saw " but he did not conquer. "I 
 saw the papers, and I undertook to manage the busi 
 ness for Miss Maggimore. I was willing to give her 
 the full benefit of my knowledge and experience, 
 though my doing so came very near involving me 
 in a painful difficulty." 
 
 "I am very sorry for that," interposed Maggie. 
 
 "It was all on account of my own excessive expen 
 diture of good-nature. I wished to do you a good 
 turn, and Checkynshaw a good turn. So far as Check- 
 ynshaw was concerned, it was a mistake ; I am will 
 ing to confess that it was a blunder on my part. I 
 confided in his honor. I might have known better, 
 for Checkynshaw is a cur Checkynshaw is." 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth slipped lightly over the " painful 
 difficulty" in which he was so nearly involved. He 
 was willing to give Maggie the benefit of his knowl 
 edge and experience in negotiating the strictly busi 
 ness matter in relation to the reward ; but Checkyn 
 shaw "basely calumniated him, and bit the hand that 
 was extended to serve him.
 
 260 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 "Mr. Checkynshaw came here, with the constable, 
 and inquired into all the circumstances attending the 
 finding of the papers," said Maggie, tired of Mr. "VVit- 
 tleworth's tedious exordium. " He was entirely satis 
 fied with what we had done." 
 
 Maggie then explained the manner in which the 
 papers had come into Leo's chest ; that they were 
 concealed there by " Pilky Wayne." 
 
 "Mr. Checkynshaw was very good and very kind," 
 she added, with enthusiasm. 
 
 "Checkynshaw?" exclaimed Fitz, incredulously. 
 
 "He was, indeed." 
 
 "Checkynshaw don't know how to be good and 
 kind Checkynshaw don't. It isn't in him." 
 
 " Indeed, he does ! " protested Maggie. 
 
 " So he does ! " chimed in Leo, who was very grate 
 ful to Mr. Checkynshaw for buying his merchandise 
 and recommending it to his friends. " I blow for 
 Checkynshaw ! " 
 
 "Mr. Checkynshaw has been very kind to us, and 
 we feel grateful to him for his goodness," added An 
 dre, in his mild, silky-toned voice. 
 
 "I know Checkynshaw. I've summered him and
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 261 
 
 wintered him ; and you have to summer and winter 
 a man like Checkynshaw before you know him. My 
 friend Choate knows him. Me and Choate both know 
 him. Checkynshaw is mean ; Checkynshaw has a 
 small soul. You could set up two such souls as 
 Checkynshaw's on the point of a cambric needle, and 
 they could wander about till the end of time with 
 out coining within hailing distance of each other." 
 
 "Mr. Checkynshaw is not mean," replied Maggie, 
 her pretty face red with excitement and indignation. 
 
 " Excuse me, Miss Maggimore, but you don't know 
 him." 
 
 " I think I do know him. He gave me the reward 
 of five hundred dollars for returning the papers to 
 him," said Maggie, warmly ; and the banker might 
 have rejoiced to be defended by so fair and spirited 
 an advocate. 
 
 "Checkynshaw!" ejaculated Mr. Wittleworth, spring 
 ing out of his chair. 
 
 About the same instant Leo closed his book sav 
 agely, and sprang to his feet, his manly face wearing 
 a decidedly belligerent look. 
 
 "See here, Fitz; you have said just about enough,"
 
 262 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 Leo began, both fists clinched. "Mr. Checkynshaw 
 is a friend of ours, and we are not going to sit here 
 and have him abused." 
 
 " Don't be angry, Leo ; he isn't worth minding," 
 whispered Maggie in his ear. 
 
 " Then he gave you the reward ? " added Fitz, sit 
 ting down again. 
 
 "He did," replied Maggie. 
 
 "Well, that is the only white spot on the general 
 blackness of his character." 
 
 "No, 'tisn't!" protested Leo. 
 
 "You will excuse me, Miss Maggimore, if you think 
 I speak too plainly ; but candor is one of the attri 
 butes of a gentleman." 
 
 " It's not necessary for you to be so very candid," 
 suggested Maggie. 
 
 " I know the man," said Fitz, pompously. " Did I 
 ever tell you how he treated me and my mother? I 
 never did. Well, I will." 
 
 "Nobody cares how he treated you and your moth 
 er," interposed Leo. 
 
 "Allow me to contradict you, Leo. I care; my 
 mother cares ; and every person who loves justice 
 and fairness cares."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 2G3 
 
 In spite of several very pointed hints from Andre, 
 Maggie, and Leo, that they did not care to bear the 
 story, Fitz persisted in telling it, and did tell it. He 
 declared it was his solemn conviction that Mr. Check- 
 ynshaw had wronged his mother out of the block of 
 stores, and ten years' income of the same, for which 
 he had paid her the petty consideration of ten thou 
 sand dollars. Fitz had heard from his mother the 
 narrative of the second Mrs. Checkynshaw's sickness, 
 and of the sickness of little Marguerite, who had been 
 taken to the cholera hospital ; and he related it all in 
 the most painfully minute manner. 
 
 "That child was the heir of my grandfather's prop 
 erty," continued Fitz, eloquently ; for he was still 
 burning under the sense of his own wrongs. "If 
 that child died, the block of stores, according to my 
 grandfather's will, was to come to my mother. That 
 child did die, in my opinion." 
 
 " What makes you think so ? " asked Andre, inter 
 ested, in spite of himself, in the story. 
 
 " What makes me think so ? " repeated Mr. Wittle- 
 worth, magnificently. "Am I a man of ordinary 
 common sense? Have I lived to attain my present
 
 264 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 stature without growing wiser with every clay of lift 
 I lived ? Of what avail are my judgment, my knowl 
 edge, and my experience, if I cannot penetrate a sham 
 so transparent as this? What makes me think so? 
 Does a man of wealth and influence leave his own 
 child among strangers, in a foreign land, for ten 
 years? No! I repeat it, no!" 
 
 "You say the child was sent to the cholera hospi 
 tal?" asked Andre, nervously. 
 
 "She was; but in my opinion she died there." 
 
 "O, she died there did she?" said Andre, with 
 apparent relief. 
 
 " Checkynshaw says she did not die ; I say she 
 did." 
 
 " Why should he say she didn't die, if she did 
 die?" inquired Maggie, very innocently. 
 
 " Why should he ? Why, indeed ? " repeated Fitz, 
 amazed at her obtuseness. "Don't you see that, if 
 the child died, the block of stores belongs to my 
 mother? But it makes no difference now," sighed 
 Mr. Wittleworth, "for my mother, contrary to my 
 advice, contrary to my solemn protest, sold out all 
 her right in the premises for a mere song."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 265 
 
 "But where is the child now?" 
 
 "Dead!" replied Fitz, in a sepulchral tone. 
 
 "Mr. Checkynshaw does not say so," persisted An 
 dre. "What does he say about the child?" 
 
 "He says the child was taken by the Sisters of 
 Charity, and that he found her in one of their nun 
 neries or schools ; but of course that is all bosh." 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth had told his story, and having 
 done so, he tore himself away, leaving Andre very 
 thoughtful.
 
 266 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE TWO MARGUERITES. 
 
 WHEN Mr. Wittleworth passed out into the 
 street, the excitement of the argument sub 
 sided. He felt that he had thoroughly and corn' 
 pletely demolished Mr. Checkynshaw, and that noth 
 ing more could be said in the banker's favor after 
 what he had said against him. The great man need 
 not attempt to hold up his head again, after that. 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw had actually paid the reward to 
 Maggie. It was strange, but it was true; and the 
 saddest part of it was, Mr. Wittleworth had received 
 no share of the money. He had given his valuable 
 advice to the barber's daughter, and his late em 
 ployer had received the full benefit of it. If he, Mr. 
 Wittleworth, had been so vicious and depraved, so 
 lost to the high instincts of a gentleman, as wilfully 
 and maliciously to have given Miss Maggimore bad 
 advice advice not based on his experience and
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 267 
 
 knowledge of the world ; in a word, if he had told 
 her that the papers were good for nothing, the 
 young lady would doubtless have destroyed them. 
 
 Instead of this, he had been upright and con 
 scientious ; he had given good, wholesome counsel, 
 worthy of his knowledge and experience. Miss Mag- 
 gimore had actually asked him if the papers were 
 good for anything; and he had actually informed 
 her that they were very valuable, thus saving them 
 from a devastating conflagration in the cooking-stove. 
 Miss Maggimore had actually been paid five hundred 
 dollars for opening that chest, and taking therefrom 
 the package of papers ; while he, who had furnished 
 the intelligence, supplied the brains, and even the 
 physical power by which the papers had been con 
 veyed to the banker's office, had not received a cent ! 
 
 There was something wrong, in the opinion of Mr. 
 Wittleworth. The reward should be at least equally 
 shared between him and her. In the morning he 
 had made up his mind that fifty dollars would pay 
 her handsomely, while the four hundred and fifty 
 would not be an over-adequate compensation for the 
 brains of the transaction. His calculations had been
 
 268 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 set at nought. He knew the value of those papers, 
 but he had given the banker credit for integrity he 
 did not possess, and had lost all. The world was 
 always hard on Mr. Wittlewofth, and at this time 
 it seemed to be peculiarly savage towards him, espe> 
 cially as he had been out of business three mouths, 
 and needed money badly. 
 
 It would be useless for him to represent his re 
 deeming agency in the affair to Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 The great man refused to acknowledge his shining 
 abilities. Mr. Checkynshaw was prejudiced he was. 
 But the barber was a singularly simple-hearted man. 
 He would not rob a flea of the mite of warm blood 
 needed for its supper. Maggie was known through 
 out the neighborhood as a good little girl, and Leo 
 was a mere tinker. These people might be brought 
 to see the justice of his claim, and to acknowledge 
 that through his advice and influence the papers had 
 been saved from destruction, and restored to their 
 owner ; or, to put the matter in its most direct form, 
 that he had enabled them to obtain the reward. 
 They were indebted to him for it, and it would 
 be exceedingly stupid of them if they could not
 
 THE pace MAN'S DAUGHTER. 269 
 
 see that he was fairly entitled to at least one half 
 of it. 
 
 The next evening Mr. Wittleworth, to the con 
 sternation of Leo, paid another visit to the hum 
 ble domicile of the barber. The young student was 
 disgusted. His lessons were behind, and he could 
 not afford to be interrupted ; and as soon as Fitz 
 came in, Leo retreated to his chamber a move 
 ment which suited the visitor quite as well as the 
 scholar. 
 
 "Mr. Wittleworth, I am very glad you called," 
 said Andre, "for I wished to ask you something 
 more about Mr. Checkynshaw's daughter." 
 
 "Any information which I possess I will most 
 cheerfully impart to those who need it; but I ought 
 to say that I came on business, however," replied 
 Fitz, rather anxiously. 
 
 " Very well, Mr. Wittleworth ; we will attend to 
 the business first, if you desire." 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth did desire, and it took him 
 about an hour to go over the argument which had 
 passed through his brain the night before ; but he 
 made it appear, to his own entire satisfaction, that
 
 270 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 he had been the sole instrun entality in enabling his 
 auditors to obtain the princely reward. 
 
 " But I hadn't the least intention of burning the 
 papers," protested Maggie. " It is true I almost 
 wished I had burned them; but it was when I was 
 afraid they would get Leo into trouble." 
 
 M Exactly so ; and it was through my advice, per 
 sonal influence, and personal efforts, that the papers 
 were restored to Checkynshaw." 
 
 " What portion of the reward do you claim, Mr. 
 Wittleworth ? " asked Andre, very mildly. 
 
 "I should be satisfied with one half of it, at this 
 stage of the proceedings; though, when I consider 
 that it was entirely through my advice and discreet 
 action that the papers were saved, I think I should 
 be justified in claiming four fifths, or even nine tenths 
 of it. As it is, you having already received the 
 money, I will be content with half of it ; though this 
 is rather hard on me, considering the personal indig 
 nity and the injury in my feelings to which I was 
 subjected." 
 
 Maggie looked at Andre, and Andre looked at 
 Maggie. Mr. Wittleworth was modest in his de-
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 271 
 
 mand, and it was plainly useless to discuss the 
 question. 
 
 " We understand your position, Mr. "Wittleworth," 
 said Andre. " It takes us rather by surprise ; but we 
 will consider your demand, and return you an answer 
 in a day or two. We may wish to consult Mr. Check- 
 ynshaw about it." 
 
 " No ! " said Fitz, very decidedly. " After what I 
 have said to you about Checkynshaw, it would be 
 absurd for you to consult him. Checkynshaw is rich, 
 and he is prejudiced against me Checkynshaw is. 
 This is a question of abstract justice, not of per 
 sonal feeling or personal prejudice. I only ask for 
 justice." 
 
 " We will think of it, Mr. Wittleworth, and give 
 you an answer to-morrow or next day," repeated 
 Andre. " I am very much interested in what you 
 said about Mr. Checkynshaw's first child." 
 
 " In a question of abstract justice, Andre, it is 
 hardly necessary for an honest man to wait a single 
 day before he does his duty. I prefer to settle thil 
 little matter at once," added Fitz. 
 
 " But I have not the money in the house. I put
 
 272 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 it in the Savings Bank," replied the barber, anxious 
 only to defer the final answer. 
 
 "But you can determine your duty in regard to 
 my claim, and inform me of your intentions." 
 
 " I have no intentions at present, and you will 
 pardon me if I decline to say anything more about 
 it to-night." 
 
 Fitz began to think he was overdoing the matter. 
 Andre appeared to be slightly ruffled, and he deemed 
 it prudent to proceed no further. 
 
 " Very well, Andre ; if you do not see the justice 
 of my claim, I will not press it. You are an honest 
 and a just man. If I had not known you as such, I 
 should not have troubled you. Of course my future 
 opinion of you must depend very much upon your 
 decision in this matter. Not that I care so much 
 for the money, but I love justice. If I can afford 
 you any information in regard to Checkynshaw's 
 child, I shall be glad to do so." 
 
 "Mr. Wittleworth, I was in one of the cholera 
 hospitals of Paris at the time that child died I 
 think you said ten years ago." 
 
 " Is it possible ! " exclaimed Fitz. " It was ten 
 years ago last August."
 
 THE KICK MAN'S DAUGHTER. 273 
 
 " Do you know in what hospital the child was 
 placed ? " asked Andre, with breathless interest. 
 
 " I do not, but my mother does. She has a letter 
 written to her by the present Mrs. Checkynshaw, in 
 which she informed her that Marguerite had died in 
 the hospital. But Checkynshaw looked the matter 
 up afterwards ; and he says the child did not die ; 
 that she was taken away by the Sisters of Charity. 
 That was all bosh." 
 
 "Could I see your mother?" asked Andre. 
 
 " Certainly ; you can walk over to my house and 
 see her if you like." 
 
 " I do not ask from an idle curiosity," added Andre 
 " The foreign residents in Paris were generally taken 
 to the same hospital, in the Rue Lacepede. I was 
 then the valet of an English gentleman, who died 
 there of cholera. While I was there for, after the 
 death of my employer, I was engaged as a kind of 
 interpreter for the English patients who did not 
 speak French the Hopital des Enfants Malades 
 was full, and a portion of our establishment was de 
 voted to foreign children. I well remember two 
 children of the name of Margaret ; and I have reason 
 18
 
 274 MA.KE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 to remember them;" and Andre glanced tenderly at 
 Maggie. " One of them died, and the other is my 
 Maggie." 
 
 " But what was the other name of the one that 
 died ? " asked Fitz, nervously. 
 
 "Marguerite Chuckingham. I suppose there were 
 other Marguerites there ; but I did not know them. 
 They could not find the dead child's parents ; they 
 were dead themselves. I would like to see your 
 mother's letter," added Andre. 
 
 Accepting Fitz's invitation, the barber and his 
 daughter walked over to "his house," and were in 
 troduced to Mrs. Wittleworth. Andre repeated his 
 Btory about the two Marguerites, and she was quite 
 as much interested in it as her son had been. 
 
 " I have the letter," said she. " I thought the prop 
 erty was mine, and that the letter might be of use to 
 me ; so I have carefully preserved it." 
 
 She went to the bureau, and produced the letter. 
 It contained a pitiful account of the sufferings of Mrs. 
 Checkynshaw during the cholera season, and the an 
 nouncement of little Marguerite's death at the hospital 
 in the Rue Lacepede.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 275 
 
 " That's the place ! " exclaimed Andre, much ex 
 cited. 
 
 " What became of the child ? " asked Mrs. Wit- 
 tleworth, not less agitated. 
 
 "It must have been Marguerite Chuckingham, for 
 that was as near as a Frenchman would be likely to 
 get the name." 
 
 " But it may have been the other Marguerite," 
 suggested Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 " No ! " exclaimed Andre, with something like a 
 shudder at the thought of having Maggie taken froio. 
 him, even to dwell in the palatial home of the banker. 
 
 "Why may it not have been?" 
 
 " Because I traced the parents of my Maggie to 
 their lodgings, and both of them had died of cholera. 
 The concierge identified the clothing and a locket I 
 found upon her neck. Besides, Maggie spoke French 
 then, and the other child did not. I have no doubt 
 the child that died was Mr. Checkynshaw's." 
 
 "Andre, your hand!" said Fitz. 
 
 "I don't wish to harm Mr. Checkynsluiw," pro 
 tested the barber, taking the hand involuntarily, 
 rather than because he was interested in the act.
 
 276 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 "You love truth and justice; you have the reputa 
 tion of loving truth and justice, all over the world 
 you have. You are a noble-minded man," continued 
 Fitz, eloquently. " Now you can see what Cheeky n- 
 shaw is, and now you can see what I am." 
 
 " Don't be foolish, Fitz ! " interposed Mrs. Wittle- 
 worth. 
 
 " Foolish ! Mother, have I not furnished wisdom 
 for our family ? Have I not told you from the begin 
 ning what Checkynshaw was ? I told you the child 
 was dead. Now it is proved." 
 
 " No matter if it is. It makes no difference now." 
 
 "It is matter; it does make a difference. Mother, 
 you know how earnestly I protested against your 
 signing that quitclaim deed. Now I am justified. 
 Now you can see that I was right, and you were 
 wrong." 
 
 Andre and Maggie had no interest in this discus 
 sion, and they hastened their departure as soon as 
 the atmosphere began to look stoi'iny. The barber 
 was sorry he had said anything. Simple-minded 
 man as he was, he had not foreseen that he was 
 getting Mr. Checkynshaw into trouble, and he de 
 termined to say nothing more about it.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 277 
 
 Fitz stormed furiously when it was proved that 
 u wisdom was justified of her followers." He de 
 clared that Checkynshaw had cheated his mother 
 and himself out of their inheritance, and that justice 
 should be done, if the heavens fell. 
 
 " What can we do ? I have signed the quitclaim 
 deed to the block of stores." 
 
 " No matter if you have. Checkynshaw deceived 
 you. You signed the deed only because he said the 
 child was living. We shall prove that the child is 
 dead. The proceeding will be in equity ; all that 
 has been done can be ripped up as easily as you 
 can tear up a piece of paper. I know something 
 about law. Me and Choate have talked over cases 
 in equity." 
 
 How long this tempestuous debate would have con 
 tinued none can know, for it was disturbed by the 
 ringing of the door bell. The person admitted was 
 John Wittlevvorth himself, the husband and father, 
 who came to his family clothed and in his right 
 mind, from the House of Correction, where he had 
 served a term of four months as a common drunkard. 
 He was cordially welcomed, for he was himself; and
 
 278 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 there, on his bended knee, he promised, and called 
 upon Heaven to record his vow, that he would never 
 again taste the intoxicating cup. 
 
 He had been discharged that afternoon, and had 
 been endeavoring till that late hour to find his wife 
 and son. He had finally traced them to their new 
 home. In the course of the evening, after the past 
 had been fully discussed, Fitz brought up the matter 
 of Mr. Checkynshaw's child, and all the facts which 
 had been developed were fully stated to him. 
 
 Fitz found a warm supporter of his views in his 
 father, who declared that the quitclaim deed was not 
 valid, because he had not joined her in making it. 
 Within three days proceedings in equity were com 
 menced against Mr. Checkynshaw.
 
 THE KICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 279 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE GOLD LOCKET. 
 
 MR. CHECKYNSHAW was astonished and dis 
 gusted at the conduct of the Wittleworths. 
 The block of stores did not appear even yet to be 
 securely in his possession. It was true he had the 
 quitclaim deed of the contingent heir, but this did 
 not seem to be of much value under the circum 
 stances. Mr. Wittleworth, senior, had again appeared 
 upon the stage. He had not before considered him 
 in making his calculations ; for he was a miserable 
 sot, before whom, and at no great distance from him, 
 yawned the drunkard's grave. 
 
 John Wittleworth, in his right mind, was an able 
 man, and his reappearance explained the decided 
 action of the family. He had joined the temperance 
 society, and he was now a stumbling-block in the 
 path of the banker. 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw was indignant. He had paid ten
 
 280 MAKE OR BREAK, OR, 
 
 thousand dollars for that quitclaim deed, or rather he 
 had given it in charity ; and this money was to pay 
 the expenses of the suit brought against him ! 
 
 lie went to see Mrs. Wittleworth, and only hoped 
 that he should not see John or his son. Unfortu 
 nately, Fitz was at home. Fitz was airy, Fitz was 
 grand, Fitz was magnificent. His views and opinions 
 had come to be appreciated ; they had risen where 
 the froth on the beer rises, to the top of the mug. 
 To use his mother's homely but expressive saying, 
 "you couldn't touch Fitz with a ten-foot pole." 
 
 "Ellen," said Mr. Checkynshaw, solemnly, "it did 
 seem to me that I had done my whole duty to you, 
 when, three months ago, I placed you out of the 
 reach of want for the rest of your lifetime. I con 
 fess my grief and surprise, after what I have done for 
 you, that this suit should be brought against me." 
 
 " If the matter had been left to me, the suit would 
 not have been brought against you," replied Mrs. 
 Wittleworth, who was really much confused and 
 abashed at the reproaches of the great man. 
 
 "But, Ellen, I must hold you responsible for it 
 If you had not consented, it could not hav<- 
 commenced. It is done in your name."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 281 
 
 "Hold- me responsible, Mr. Checkynshaw," inter 
 posed Fitz, placing himself before the banker, and 
 stroking his chin with the most elegant assurance. 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw utterly ignored Fitz, took no 
 notice of him, passed him by in silence. 
 
 "The consideration mentioned in the quitclaim 
 deed, Ellen, was ten thousand dollars," continued 
 the great man. "Of course you are ready to pay 
 this back." 
 
 " Not at all, sir ; we are not ready to pay it back," 
 said Fitz ; " but we are ready to give you a receipt 
 for it on account." 
 
 " It is hardly right, Ellen, that I should furnish 
 money for you to carry on a suit against me. I gave 
 it to you to keep you from the almshouse, and that 
 you might be independent of any neglect on my part 
 in the future. This money is now to be wasted in 
 idle litigation in paying the expenses of a lawsuit 
 brought for the sole purpose of annoying me." 
 
 "The suit is brought in the name of justice and 
 humanity," shouted Fitz, eloquently, and with a 
 spread-eagle gesture. "The palladium of our liber 
 ties "
 
 282 MAKE OB BREAK, OR 
 
 "Be still, Fitz don't be silly!" interposed his 
 mother. 
 
 Fitz's elegant speech was nipped in the bud. 
 
 " I don't like to do it, Ellen, but I must insist 
 that the money be paid back to me immediately," 
 added the banker. "It is not right for you to spend 
 money given to keep you out of the poorhouse in 
 annoying your benefactor." 
 
 Mr. Cheeky nshaw looked injured. 
 
 "I am willing to pay the money back as soon as 
 I can," added Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 "We are not willing to pay the money back, 
 mother. That would not be proper or business-like, 
 when Mr. Checkynshaw owes us at least fifty thou 
 sand dollars for back rents of the block of stores," 
 Fitz protested. 
 
 " I shall have to sue you at once, unless the money 
 is paid," said Mr. Checkynshaw, mildly. "Your hus 
 band brought the suit against me without giving me 
 any notice. I wished to take a more Christian course 
 with you ; but I can stay no longer to be insulted by 
 this puppy!" And the banker nodded his head in 
 the direction of Fitz.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 283 
 
 "Puppy!" yelled Mr. Wittleworth, throwing back 
 his head. "Puppy!" 
 
 "Be still, Fitz!" said his mother. 
 
 "Be still, and be called a puppy!" 
 
 "Mr. Checkynshaw, I can only say that I meant 
 to do right," added Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 " Puppy ! " howled Fitz, pacing the room violently. 
 Puppy ! " 
 
 " You meant to do right ! " exclaimed the banker. 
 
 "I did. You told me that Marguerite was alive 
 and well, and that I was " 
 
 " A puppy ! That's an insult ! " soliloquized Mr. 
 Wittleworth. 
 
 "That I was not the legal heir; that I had no 
 claim upon you." 
 
 "And you have not," replied Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 
 " The blood of the Wittleworths boils ! " stormed 
 Fitz. 
 
 "But Marguerite is dead died ten years ago." 
 
 " What nonsense is this ! " said the banker, in dis 
 gust, though his face was a shade paler than usual, 
 
 "We have the means of proving that Marguerite 
 died at the time your wife wrote me the letter to 
 that effect."
 
 284 MAKE OK BREAK, OR 
 
 "Yes, sir; we can prove it, sir!" added Fitz, for 
 getting for the moment that he was a puppy. " "W 6 
 can prove it by good and reliable witnesses, sir." 
 
 " Ellen, this is absurd," continued Mr. Checkynshaw 
 "My wife did write you a letter; but you know what 
 Paris must have been when the cholera was cutting 
 down men, women, and children by the hundred daily. 
 Marguerite had the cholera, and my wife had it. Is 
 it strange that they were separated? Is it strange 
 that the child was reported to be dead ? Is it strange 
 that, at such a time, my wife believed the report? 
 She was mistaken. I found the child, and hastened 
 to correct the false rumors." 
 
 ""We can prove, by a credible witness, that the 
 child, called Marguerite Chuckingham, died," foamed 
 Fitz. 
 
 " Who is the witness ? " demanded the banker, 
 turning suddenly upon Mr. "Wittle worth, and for the 
 first time, apparently, conscious of his presence. 
 
 "By Andre Maggimore, a good man and true, who 
 was employed in the Hotel de Saltpetre, in the Ruee 
 Saleratus," replied Mr. Wittleworth, triumphantly. 
 
 He had been reading a book on Paris, where men-
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 285 
 
 tion was made of the Salpetriere, a great almshouse ; 
 but the street he named was doubtless his own cor 
 ruption of the Hue Lacepede, of which he had only 
 heard in Andre's narrative. 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw was really troubled now. An 
 other of the recipients of his bounty had proved 
 faithless; one renegade beneficiary had played into 
 the hands of another. Andre had shaved him for 
 years, but had never said a word about the hospitals 
 of Paris to him ; indeed, Andre had never said any 
 thing to him, except in answer to his own questions. 
 
 In reply to his inquiries, Mrs. Wittleworth stated 
 that the barber had called upon her, and repeated 
 what he had said, in evidence of the truth of her 
 assertion that Marguerite was dead. 
 
 "Perhaps Andre means to be truthful, and to assert 
 only what he believes to be true ; but he is mistaken," 
 said Mr. Checkynshaw, nervously. "Do you think I 
 should not know my own child when I saw her?" 
 
 "Of course you would; but Andre is very positive 
 your child was the Marguerite Chuckingham that 
 died," added Mrs. Wittleworth. 
 
 " This matter is too ridiculous to take up my time
 
 286 MAKE OB BREAK, OR 
 
 for a moment. I am ready to abide the decision of 
 the court," continued the banker, taking his hat and 
 moving towards the door. "I hope you are equally 
 ready to do so, Ellen." 
 
 "I wish to do only what is right," replied she. 
 " Will you see my husband ? " 
 
 " ~No ; I will not," answered Mr. Checkynshaw. 
 "If he wished to see me before he commenced this 
 suit, it would have been proper for him to do so. I 
 shall not run after him." 
 
 "And he will not run after you," interposed Fitz. 
 "Justice and humanity " 
 
 "Be still, Fitz." 
 
 "We shall retain Choate in this case. Me and 
 Choate have talked the matter over, and " 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw bowed stiffly, and left the room 
 before Fitz had time to say what terrible things "me 
 and Choate" intended to do. The banker was evi 
 dently in the most uncomfortable frame of mind. He 
 was nervous and uneasy. His step in the street was 
 quick and sharp, as he walked to Phillimore Court. 
 He did not expect to find Andre there, and he did 
 not. But Maggie was a remarkably intelligent girl,
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 287 
 
 open and truthful, and she would be less likely to 
 veil any designs from him than one who had seen 
 more of the world. 
 
 The banker tried to think what motive the barber 
 could have for arraying himself against one who had 
 done so much for him one who had voluntarily 
 paid his family the reward of five hundred dollars. 
 It was possible that the Wittleworths had been at 
 work upon Andre ; that they had induced him to 
 give evidence in support of their assertion that Mar 
 guerite was dead. Mr. Checkynshaw was a shrewd 
 and deep man, in his own estimation, and he was 
 confident, if any such scheme had been devised, he 
 could fathom it. He rather preferred, therefore, to 
 see the members of the family separately, and Mag 
 gie was the best one to begin with. 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw was admitted to the parlor of the 
 barber's home, and Maggie was the only person in 
 the house with him; for Leo was at school, still de 
 termined, make or break, to obtain the medal. The 
 fair girl blushed when she recognized the visitor, and, 
 having heard that the Wittleworths had instituted 
 
 the suit, she trembled with fear; for she suspected 
 
 
 that the great man's coming related to that event.
 
 288 
 
 "Maggie, I am sorry you and yonr father have 
 been giving bad counsels to those Wittle worths," 
 the banker began, in solemn tones, but apparently 
 more in grief than in anger. 
 
 "Why, sir! Bad counsels?" exclaimed Maggie. 
 
 "I have given the Wittleworths money enough to 
 keep them comfortable for the rest of their lives ; but 
 they are ungrateful, and are now seeking to annoy 
 ine as much as possible." 
 
 "I am very sorry." 
 
 "I thought I had done enough for your family to 
 make you all my friends ; but it seems I was mis 
 taken," added the great man, sadly reproachful in his 
 manner. 
 
 " I am sure, sir, we are very grateful to you, and 
 would not willingly do anything to injure you," pro 
 tested Maggie, warmly. 
 
 "Why did your father tell the Wittleworths, then, 
 that he was employed in the cholera hospital in 
 Paris?" 
 
 " Because he was employed there," replied Mnggie, 
 who deemed this a sufficient reason for saying so. 
 
 u Was he, indeed ? " asked the banker, who had 
 been sceptical even on this point.
 
 THE RICH MAN S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Maggie told the whole story of the two Marguerites, 
 as she had heard it from her father. 
 
 "One Marguerite died, and you were the other," 
 said Mr. Checkynshaw, musing. 
 
 "Yes, sir; and I don't know to this day who my 
 father and mother were ; but I suppose they died of 
 cholera. I was told they did. Mon pere traced 
 them to their lodgings, and identified the clothing 
 and a locket I wore." 
 
 "A locket?" asked the banker, curiously. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "What was the locket?" 
 
 " It was a gold one, with the miniature of a gentle 
 man on one side, and a lady on the other, with locks 
 of hair. I suppose they were my father and mother." 
 
 "Where is the locket now?" 
 
 ''Mon pere has it. I don't know where he keeps 
 it. He tried to find my parents before he came to 
 America, but without success. I saw the locket once, 
 when I was a little girl ; but mon pere don't like to 
 talk about these things. He loves me, and he only 
 fears that I may be taken from him." 
 
 " But he talked with the Wittleworths about them." 
 19
 
 290 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " He couldn't help it then," pleaded Mnggie, " when 
 he heard the story of your child from Fitz." 
 
 JVlr. Checkynshaw abruptly left the house, and has 
 tened to the shop of Cutts & Stropmore. He had a 
 long conversation with Andre, and finally they went 
 to Phillimore Court together. 
 
 The banker insisted upon seeing the locket, and 
 Andre showed it to him.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 291 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ME AND CHOATE. 
 
 " A PUPPY ! " hissed through the teeth of Fitz> 
 JLV_ when the door closed behind the great man. 
 " The blood of the Wittleworths boils ! " 
 
 " Then you had better let the blood of the Wittle 
 worths cool off, my son," added his mother, who had 
 no taste for the grandiloquent. 
 
 "He called me a puppy called me a puppy!" 
 
 " You shouldn't bark so loud, then. I don't know 
 that any but puppies interrupt people who are busy 
 in conversation. "When will you learn to keep still, 
 Fitz?" 
 
 "When! When justice and humanity no longer 
 require me to speak in tones of thunder against op 
 pression ! Mother, we have struck the enemy a fatal 
 blow ! Didn't you see him cringe ? " 
 
 " No, I didn't see him cringe. I am only sorry 
 that I consented to have this suit brought against 
 Mr. Checkynshaw."
 
 292 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 " O, mother ! After all, you are only a woman ! " 
 
 " Stop your nonsensical talk, Fitz ! "Why don't 
 you go out and try to find a place to work?" 
 
 " A place to work ! " sneered Fitz. " In a few 
 weeks be it a few months, if you please we shall 
 be in possession of that block of stores, with fifty 
 thousand dollars in the bank. What need have I of 
 a place ? Besides, I have this trial to look out for." 
 
 " I think your father can attend to that better with 
 out you than with you." 
 
 " Father means well, and I trust he will do well," 
 added the hopeful son, patronizingly. " But father's 
 infirmity has weakened him. He is only the ghost 
 of what he was," 
 
 "Are you not ashamed of yourself to speak of your 
 father in that way, Fitz? Don't you make another 
 such remark as that ; if you do, you shall not stay 
 in the house with him. Your father has more knowl 
 edge and experience in one hair of his head than you 
 have in the whole of your silly brain." 
 
 "Was I not right about this affair? Have I not 
 persisted, from the beginning, that the ehild was 
 dead ? "
 
 THE EICII MA^'S DAUGHTER. 293 
 
 " That remains to be proved." 
 
 " I think I understand this business better than 
 any other man ; and if you are beaten in the suit, 
 it will only be because father does not take my ad 
 vice. I have studied the case. I have given ray 
 whole, my undivided attention to the matter for 
 several weeks." 
 
 " It would have been better if you had given your 
 undivided attention to something else." 
 
 " Mother, I see that you are bound to follow after 
 foolishness rather than wisdom. But I cannot forget 
 that I am your son, and that you are my mother. I 
 shall not willingly permit your interests to be sacri 
 ficed. I advised father to retain Choate. He has not 
 seen fit to do so. This shows that he don't under 
 stand the matter ; that he does not comprehend the 
 diiliculty in fighting a man like Checkynshaw, who 
 is both wealthy and influential. Choate can carry the 
 case. Choate is a friend of mine Choate is ; and 
 I am going to see to it that Choate don't stand in a 
 false position before the country in this great case." 
 
 "You silly fellow! What are you going to do 
 now ? " demanded Mrs. Wittleworth.
 
 294 MAKE OB BKEAK, OK 
 
 " I'm going to see Choate," replied Fitz, putting on 
 his cap. 
 
 His mother protested against any and all steps 
 which her son might take ; but Fitz left the house. 
 He had a supreme contempt for the every-day prac 
 tical wisdom of his father and mother, and believed 
 that failure could result only from their neglect to 
 hear and heed his sage counsels. He actually went 
 to the office of the distinguished gentleman who 
 stood at the head of the legal profession, and who 
 had been a member of the United States Senate. 
 Mr. Choate was a very gentlemanly man, affable and 
 kind to all, to whatever sphere in life they belonged. 
 He spoke with gentleness and consideration to the 
 boy as well as to the man. 
 
 Fitz had been the errand boy in the office of the 
 eminent lawyer, and, of course, had practically experi 
 enced the kindness of his nature and the gentleness 
 of his manner. Fitz " felt big," and put on airs, 
 even when he was a smaller boy than now. Mr. 
 Choate appreciated genuine humor, and it is more 
 than probable that he enjoyed the " big talk " of 
 the office boy. Perhaps he was more familiar with
 
 THE KICK MAN'S DAUGHTER. 295 
 
 him on this account than he otherwise would have 
 been. 
 
 Fitz did not find the distinguished gentleman in 
 his office the first time he went there ; but he re 
 peated the call till he did find him. The eloquent 
 advocate received him very graciously, as he did 
 everybody who had any claim upon his attention. 
 Fitz stated his business as briefly as he could. 
 
 " I cannot attend to the case," said the great lawyer, 
 very kindly, but very decidedly. 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Choate ; but this is a case of no 
 little importance. Ever since I was in your office, 
 I have had the highest opinion of you, both as a man 
 and a lawyer." 
 
 "I thank you for your favorable consideration," re 
 plied the eminent orator, soberly. 
 
 " If there is any man on the earth whom I respect 
 and esteem above all others, that man is Mr. Choate." 
 
 " I hope always to prove worthy of your regard." 
 
 "I come to you now, sir, as a friend for I am 
 proud and happy to consider you as such. You were 
 always very kind to me." 
 
 " I trust I have always recognized your great merit."
 
 296 MAKE OB BREAK, OK 
 
 " You have, sir ; and the boast of my life will be, 
 that I have been associated with you in your office." 
 
 " You do me honor ; and I shall always hold in 
 grateful remembrance the distinguished service you 
 rendered us here." 
 
 " It is glorious to be appreciated, Mr. Choate. You 
 are appreciated, Mr. Choate. Folks know you, and 
 look up to you. They believe you are some" 
 
 " I arn grateful for their and your appreciation. 
 But, really, Mr. Wittleworth, I must beg you to 
 excuse me, for I have important business before me," 
 added the lawyer, nervously turning over a bundle 
 of papers, covered with strange characters, which no 
 mortal man could read ; for they were more inexpli 
 cable than Chinese and Syriac to a Yankee farmer. 
 
 " Pardon me for detaining you yet a moment long 
 er," pleaded Fitz, placing himself in the centre of the 
 room, with his hat under his arm. "This is a case 
 of wrong and injustice, of oppression and usurpation. 
 My mother is the rightful heir to a block of stores 
 in this city, which the greed of avarice withholds 
 from her. Me and father have taken up the matter. 
 We have been foully wronged ; " and Mr. Wittleworth
 
 THE KICK MAN'S DAUGHTER. 297 
 
 threshed his arm, and waxed eloquent. " The heel 
 of injustice has been placed upon our necks. Mr. 
 Choate, you are the people's advocate. Rising supe 
 rior to all hopes of fee or reward, you raise your elo 
 quent voice in behalf of the widow and the orphan. 
 You plead at the bar of justice for the rights of the 
 down-trodden. Your voice is like a trumpet, and " 
 
 " So is yours ; I beg you will not speak so loud. 
 What do you wish me to do ? " interposed Mr. 
 Choate. 
 
 Fitz explained what he wished the great orator to 
 do to raise his voice in behalf of the oppressed, 
 meaning his mother and himself; and he soon became 
 quite stormy again. His single auditor, evidently 
 amused by this display of rhetoric, permitted him 
 to go on. 
 
 "Who has the block of stores now?" asked Mr. 
 Choate, when Fitz began to be out of breath. 
 
 "Mr. Checkynshaw, the banker." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! I am very sorry, but I am already 
 retained on the other side." 
 
 " On the other side ! " gasped Fitz. 
 
 "I am ; and really, Mr. Wittleworth, you must ex 
 cuse me now"
 
 298 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 " On the other side ! " repeated Fitz. " Can it be 
 that the mighty name of Choatc is to be linked with 
 injustice and oppression? I will not believe it! I 
 counted something upon your friendship for me, Mr. 
 Choate." 
 
 The great orator was evidently trying to read some 
 of the strange characters in the manuscript before 
 him, and, regardless of what Fitz was saying, had 
 relapsed into a fit of abstraction, which effectually 
 placed him out of the reach of Mr. Wittleworth's 
 reproaches. The sheets looked as though a fish-worm 
 had come out of the inkstand, and crawled over the 
 virgin page. It was doubtful whether he was able 
 to read anything lie had written, and possibly he was 
 trying to remember what he had intended to commit 
 to the paper. 
 
 Fitz, finding that the distinguished gentleman took 
 no further notice of him, put on his hat, and marched 
 in stately grandeur out of the office. The great man 
 had sunk considerably in his estimation, though, as a 
 matter of history, he was never pained by having the 
 fact brought to his knowledge. 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth had a great deal of confidence in
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 299 
 
 abstract right and justice. If Mr. Choate pleaded 
 the cause of Mr. Checkynshaw, he would in this 
 instance be beaten. It would be a good lesson to 
 the great lawyer, and Mr. Wittle worth magnani 
 mously hoped that he would profit by it. He was 
 to lose all the glory, honor, and immortality to be 
 gained by being on the right side in the great case 
 of Wittleworth vs. Checkynshaw ; but it was not Mr. 
 Wittleworth's fault. He had given him an oppor 
 tunity to enlist under the banner of truth and justice, 
 and he had refused to do so. It was his own choice, 
 and he must abide the consequences. Mr. Wittle 
 worth rather pitied him, for he always had a very 
 tender regard for the reputation of his friends. 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth was compelled to rely upon the 
 skill and knowledge of the legal gentleman whom his 
 father had employed to conduct the suit ; but he 
 had faith that justice was on his side, and must pre 
 vail in the end. He waited he could not do any 
 thing but wait until the day assigned for the hear 
 ing of the case arrived. Mr. Wittleworth took a seat 
 with his father and mother within the bar, on this, as 
 it seemed to him, most momentous occasion the \vorld 
 had ever seen.
 
 300 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw appeared by counsel, and asked 
 for a continuation of the case for a reasonable time 
 to enable him to bring his daughter from France. 
 
 O O 
 
 The banker's business lawyer said a few words in 
 making the request, and then Mr. Choate, who had 
 been employed by the banker, as well as retained, 
 added the weight of his personal influence to the 
 application. To the intense disgust of Mr. Wittle- 
 worth, it was granted so promptly that he hardly 
 knew what had happened. Another case was called, 
 and the Wittleworths went home. 
 
 Though Mr. Checkynshaw had threatened to sue 
 them for the money he had paid, nothing more was 
 said or heard from the action. Fitz assured his father 
 and mother that the banker could not produce his 
 daughter, and that the case would not come to trial. 
 If they were only firm and decided with him, Mr. 
 Checkynshaw would give up the block of stores, and 
 pay over the back rents. He must do so, or his repu 
 tation would be blasted forever. He must stand be- 
 fore the world as a knave and a swindler, unless he 
 did full and ample justice to the widow (who had 
 a husband), and the orphan (who had a father and
 
 THK RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 30J 
 
 mother) ; for Mr. Wittleworth, when he waxed elo< 
 quent, had a habit of confounding terms. 
 
 About a week after the hearing which had been 
 cut short so suddenly, Fitz, deeming it his duty to 
 look after the witnesses in the great case of Wittle 
 worth vs. Checkynshaw, thought it advisable to call 
 one evening at No. 3 Phillimore Court. The door 
 was locked, and the house was dark. He repeated 
 the call every evening for a week, but with no better 
 result. Then he went in the daytime. No one an 
 swered his knock, and the door was as unyielding as 
 a rock of granite. 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth was bewildered. Mr. Checkyn 
 shaw had done this ! He had spirited away the 
 chief witness. Fitz went to the barber's shop, and 
 inquired for Andre. lie had left his place ten days 
 before. Fitz met Leo on the street one day, a month 
 later. 
 
 " Where do you live now ? " he asked. 
 
 " I am boarding in Gridley Street." 
 
 
 " Where are Maggie and your father ? " 
 
 " Gone to France with Mi-. Checkynshaw after 
 his daughter," replied Leo, hurrying on his way ;
 
 302 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 for, make or break, he intended to be at school in 
 season. 
 
 Mr. Wittleworth scratched his head and looked 
 foolish. Mr. Checkynshaw appeared to be flanking 
 him.
 
 THE fclCIH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 303 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE ELEGANT YOUNG LADY. 
 
 LEO still slept at the house in Phillimore Court, 
 though he took his meals in Gridley Street 
 It was necessary for him to go two or three times 
 day to his shop to look after his stock of mice, rab 
 bits, pigeons, and guinea pigs, in which he still 
 carried on a tolerably lucrative commerce in supply 
 ing his old friends and customers. Every moment of 
 his time was occupied from six o'clock in the morning 
 until ten o'clock at night. He did everything " upon 
 honor," and he carried this rule into his lessons as 
 well as his mercantile speculations. What he learned 
 he really learned, and never left the subject till he 
 had fully mastered it. 
 
 Though he had been absent from school over two 
 months, he stood so well in his class, that, with the 
 severe exertion he made, he was able to regain the 
 position he lost. As soon as his father began to
 
 304 MAKE OR BKEAK. OH 
 
 improve in health, and there was a prospect that Leo 
 might again take his place in school, he devoted 
 himself to his studies, and followed up his geogrnphy, 
 history, and arithmetic with a zeal which promised 
 the best results. He called upon the master, and 
 received directions for the conduct of his course. 
 There are always plenty of good people to help 
 those who are willing to help themselves, and Leo 
 had all the friends he needed. 
 
 Everything was going on well with Leo, even aftei 
 the sudden disappearance of Andre and Maggie, whom } 
 no doubt, he greatly missed in their absence. If he 
 knew anything about the reason for their abrupt de 
 parture, he kept his own counsel, especially in the 
 presence of Fitz Wittleworth, who, since he had dis 
 covered that "his witness" had been tampered with, 
 had become the tormentor of the young mechanic. 
 Fitz placed himself at the corner of Gridley Street 
 almost every day, intent upon worming something out 
 of Leo. The latter was too busy to waste any time 
 on such a fellow as Mr. Wittleworth, and used to 
 avoid him, as far as he could, by taking a round 
 about way to his boarding-house. But sometimes 
 Fitz blundered upon his victim.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 305 
 
 " I want to see you, Leo," said he one day, when 
 he had by a happy scheme outflanked him. 
 
 " I'm in a hurry, Fitz ; I can't stop now. My 
 mice haven't had their dinner yet," replied Leo, 
 uneasily. 
 
 " They won't starve just yet. Hold on ! I've got 
 something for you," persisted Fitz, when the victim 
 began to move on. 
 
 " I don't want anything." 
 
 "Did you know your father had got himself into 
 a scrape ? " 
 
 " No, I didn't," answered Leo, who was interested 
 in this intelligence. 
 
 "He has; and he'll have to answer to the court 
 for clearing out. I suppose you never read law, and 
 don't know anything about the subordination of wit 
 nesses. I'll tell you." 
 
 " I can't stay to hear it now," replied Leo, laugh 
 ing, for he knew the difference between " subordina 
 tion " and " subornation." 
 
 a I want to talk with you about half an hour 
 some time." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 20 -
 
 306 MAKE OR BREAK, OB 
 
 " About your father. Checkynshaw has bought 
 him up." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' bought him up ' ? " de 
 manded Leo, indignantly. 
 
 " I mean that Checkynshaw has paid him to keep 
 out of the way in our great case of Wittleworth 
 versus Checkynshaw," added Fitz. 
 
 "I say he hasn't." 
 
 "Hasn't he cleared out?" 
 
 " What if he has ? He's coming back again." 
 
 "Don't tell me! I know something about law." 
 
 " I won't tell you, and you needn't tell me. If 
 you'll keep your side of the street, I'll keep mine. 
 If you mean to tell me that Andre Maggimore has 
 done anything wrong, or means to do anything wrong, 
 you don't know the man." 
 
 " I say he has. He was summoned as a witness 
 for our side, and he has sold out to the enemy." 
 
 "He hasn't done anything of the sort." 
 
 "What has he gone to France for, then?" 
 
 "That's his business, not yours." 
 
 " Yes, it is my business ; I manage our suit, and 
 you had better tell me all you know about it.' r
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 307 
 
 " I guess not ! In the first place, I don't know 
 much about it ; and in the second, if I did, . 1 
 wouldn't tell you." 
 
 "If Andre Maggimore commits perjury " 
 
 "That will do, Fitz Wittleworth. I don't want 
 to quarrel svith you, and I don't mean to do so ; but 
 you can't talk like that to me without getting a 
 broken head. So you can't talk to me at all. If 
 you speak to me again, I won't answer you." 
 
 Leo turned abruptly from Fitz, bolted into a run, 
 and did not slacken his pace till he reached the 
 house. He was tempted to pitch into Fitz ; his fists 
 had involuntarily closed; and he felt that if he lis 
 tened any longer, he should not be able to control his 
 wrath. Leo stuck to his text, and when Fitz at 
 tempted to speak to him, he dodged him as though 
 he had been an unclean beast. Of course Leo knew 
 why his father and his sister had gone away ; but he 
 did not intend to give the Wittleworths the benefit 
 of his knowledge. He had an occasional letter from 
 Maggie, and about a week before the exhibition, he 
 received one informing him that she and her father 
 would sail for home in the next steamer, and ex 
 pected to be present at the exhibition.
 
 308 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 The great day of the school year arrived. The 
 examination for medals had taken place, and Leo 
 confidently expected this crowning distinction of his 
 school life, though no one could know who were to 
 be the happy recipients of the medals until their 
 names were called on the great day. There was 
 only one damper upon his enthusiasm as the eventful 
 occasion dawned upon him. The steamer bearing 
 Andre and Maggie had been expected the day be 
 fore, but she had not arrived ; and Leo felt that half 
 his pleasure would be lost because they were not 
 present to witness his triumph. 
 
 The exercises of the exhibition proceeded, and Leo 
 spoke his piece, and carried through his part in the 
 original dialogue to the entire satisfaction of all in 
 terested. The silver pitcher had been presented to 
 the " beloved teacher," and the chairman of the dis 
 trict committee had risen to deliver the medal speech, 
 when the crowd at the doors was opened by the gen 
 tlemanly policeman in attendance to allow the passage 
 of some favored guests. Leo was in a flutter of ex 
 citement ; for, shortly after the exercises began, the 
 school-house being located near the bay, he had heard
 
 THE RICH MAN S DAUGHTER. dU9 
 
 the two guns which announced the arrival of an Eng 
 lish steamer, in those blissful days when Boston was 
 favored by the Cunard line. 
 
 Through the crowd came Mr. Checkynshaw, fol 
 lowed by a young lady of remarkable beauty, who 
 was most elegantly dressed ; and behind her came 
 Andre Maggimore. They were provided with seats, 
 and the exercises proceeded. Everybody seemed to 
 pay more attention to the beautiful young l*^ uian 
 to the excellent chairman, whose forte certainly was 
 not speech-making. The fashion of her dress was a 
 season ahead of the ideas of other ladies present, and 
 was of the most costly material. 
 
 Some of the people thought they had seen her 
 before, but they were not quite sure. Leo was cer 
 tain that he had seen her before, and he found it 
 hard work to keep his seat during the solemn and 
 impressive remarks of the worthy chairman of the 
 district committee ; and it was only when he began ta 
 call the names of the successful candidates for th 
 medal that the whole attention of the aspirant was 
 given to him. 
 
 " Leopold Maggimore," called the chairman for the
 
 S10 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 sixth name, which would have been the first if Lea 
 had not been absent so long. 
 
 There was some applause bestowed upon each of 
 the recipients; but that which greeted Leo's name 
 was warm and enthusiastic. Andre smiled, and the 
 beautiful young lady in the elegant dress smiled ; and 
 even Mr. Checkynshaw was so far in sympathy with 
 the occasion that he smiled too, when the blue ribbon 
 was put upon the neck of Leo. After that, the time 
 hung heavy upon all our characters who were present, 
 especially as the distinguished gentlemen who had 
 been invited to make a " few remarks " were unu 
 sually long-winded and prosy. 
 
 The exhibition was finished at last, and the elegant 
 young lady flew to the seat of Leo, the silk fluttering 
 like a summer tempest, grasped both his hands, and 
 actually kissed him before the assembled multitude. 
 There were several scores of nice young men present, 
 who envied Leo now more than when the blue ribbon 
 was placed on his neck ; and it ought to be added 
 that Leo bore his martyrdom with remarkable forti 
 tude. Andre then grasped his hand, and the teara 
 stole down his pale face. Even Mr. Checkynshaw
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 311 
 
 condescended to take the hand of the young man., 
 and congratulate him upon the distinction he had won. 
 
 The party left the school-house. There was a car 
 riage waiting at the door for the banker, which bore 
 them to Pemberton Square. It is not of much con 
 sequence what happened there, and we need only say 
 that the elegant young lady was rather sad, and 
 seemed to cling more to Andre and Leo than to the 
 lofty man who entertained them, or to his family. 
 
 The great case of Wittle worth vs. Cheeky nshaw 
 had been twice postponed during the absence of the 
 defendant, and it was called for the fourth time only 
 a few days after his return. All the parties were 
 present this time. Mr. Fitz Wittleworth did not 
 seem quite as confident as before. There were in 
 dications of a "gigantic conspiracy," as he expressed 
 it, against the majesty of justice as represented by 
 the "Wittleworths. It was alleged that the defendant 
 had his daughter in court and a beautiful young 
 lady she was ; but Mr. Wittleworth insisted that this 
 person elegant and richly dressed as she appeared 
 was an impostor, employed to personate the de 
 ceased child of his powerful rival, and thus enable
 
 312 MAKE OK BREAK, OR 
 
 him to retain the block of stores and the back 
 rents. 
 
 Mrs. Cheeky nshaw and Elinora were in court ; so 
 were Andre and Leo. Mr. Choate was there, and 
 Mr. Wittleworth cast a reproachful glance at him ; 
 but it was fortunate for the distinguished orator that 
 he did not know how much he had fallen in the esti 
 mation of one " who had formerly been in the office 
 with him." 
 
 Certain dry formalities were solemnly passed 
 through; the counsel for the plaintiff made a state 
 ment, during which he read extracts from the will 
 of Mr. Osborne. It was plain enough to everybody 
 that the block of stores belonged to Mis. Wittle 
 worth, unless the trustee and defendant could produce 
 his daughter. She was produced ; but Fitz was still 
 hopeful. The elegant young lady was no other than 
 Miss Maggie Mnggimore. It was evident enough to 
 him that she had been engaged to play the part in 
 the farce. Mrs. Checkynshaw was the first witness 
 called. She told the whole story about the cholera 
 in Paris; that Marguerite, her husband's daughter, 
 had the disease first, and was reported to have died
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 313 
 
 with it ; that she was taken with the terrible malady 
 shortly afterwards; and that the child wore, at the 
 time she was taken to the hospital, a gold locket^ 
 which contained portraits of her father and mother, 
 and a lock of the hair of each. This locket was 
 handed to her, and she identified it. 
 
 Fitz began to be alarmed. 
 
 Andre was called next. He had been employed 
 as an interpreter in the hospital in the Rue Lace- 
 pede. He had frequently seen the child whose name 
 was entered on the books of the establishment as 
 Marguerite Poulebnh. He was informed that her 
 parents had died, and that she had no friends to 
 whom she could be sent. He became very much in 
 terested in her, and when something was said about 
 taking her to an orphan asylum, he had invited her 
 to go home with him. He kept her there a few 
 days, and became so much attached to her that he 
 was not willing to give her up. His landlady took 
 care of her till he embarked for America, where he 
 soon found employment as. a barber, and had ever 
 since retained her. He identified the locket as the 
 one worn by the child when he took her from the
 
 314 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 hospital. He confessed that he had done wrong in 
 not using greater efforts to find the friends of the 
 child ; but they were so much attached to each other 
 that a separation would have been insupportable to 
 either. 
 
 Andre finished his direct statement, and the coun 
 sel for the plaintiff immediately opened upon him so 
 fiercely that Fitz began to feel that the day was not 
 wholly lost.
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 315 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE RICH MANS DAUGHTER. 
 
 fc ~lT7~HERE were you born, Mr. Maggimore?" 
 ? f asked the Wittleworth lawyer. 
 
 tt ln London," replied Andre. 
 
 "Are you a Frenchman?" 
 
 "My father was Italian, ray mother French." 
 
 " Did you ever learn the barber's trade, or did you 
 pick it up yourself?" 
 
 "I was apprenticed to a barber in London, and 
 served seven years." 
 
 *' Have you always worked at the business ? " 
 
 "No, sir. I used to shave an English gentleman 
 who had a stiff arm, and I finally went into his ser 
 vice as his valet. I remained with him till he died 
 of cholera in Paris. I lived with him fourteen years," 
 answered Andre, meekly. 
 
 "Have you ever told any person that Marguerite 
 Checkynshaw died at the hospital?" demanded the 
 attorney, sharply.
 
 316 MAKE OR BREAK, Oii 
 
 "I have, sir." 
 
 "Was it true?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Why did you say so, then?" 
 
 "Because I thought it was true." 
 
 "What made you think so?" 
 
 "The last name of the Marguerite that died waa 
 so like Checkynshaw." 
 
 " What was the name of the other Marguerite ? " 
 
 "Poulebah." 
 
 "Did you make any effort to find the parents of 
 the child you adopted ? " 
 
 " I did ; I found the lodgings they had occupied, 
 and the concierge identified some clothing and the 
 locket which I carried to him. He told me that the 
 parents of the child were both dead. He only knew 
 that they were English. I have no donbt now that 
 he was a bad man, and that he told me what he knew 
 was not true in regard to the child." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 "I think it is probable the Chuckinghams left some 
 property in their rooms which he desired to keep, and 
 because I have learned from Mr. Checkynshaw that
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 817 
 
 the house I visited was not the one occupied by him. 
 The concierge told me two falsehoods that the 
 clothing and locket belonged to the child of his 
 lodger, and Jhat she spoke French." 
 
 The lawyer twisted the matter about in various 
 ways ; but Andre was as clear as light itself, and he 
 did not materially contradict himself. Mrs. Cheeky n- 
 shaw was called for the defence; but, to the aston 
 ishment and disgust of the legal gentleman and his 
 employers, she testified, in the most positive manner, 
 that the elegant young lady in court was Marguerite 
 Checkynshaw. She had taken care of her as a child, 
 and she could not be mistaken. Mrs. Wittleworth 
 was put upon the stand, with the letter announcing 
 the death of Marguerite in her hand ; but, poor 
 woman, all her evidence was against herself. She 
 identified the locket, and was in the end very sure 
 that the beautiful young lady was her niece. 
 
 Mr. Fitzherbert Wittleworth was utterly disgusted, 
 though he could not help believing that the young 
 lady was his cousin. Not a doubt was left in the 
 mind of any person, and of course Mr. Checkynshaw 
 won his case ; but the great man was very far from
 
 318 MAKE OE BKEAK, OR 
 
 satisfied with himself, or with the position in which 
 the trial left him. It was apparent to all the world 
 that he had attempted to defraud Mrs. Wittleworth 
 out of the block of stores, and ten years' income 
 upon it ; but the banker was not a man to bend 
 before the storm of popular opinion. He took the 
 trouble to define his position, and to explain away 
 what was dark and unsatisfactory. He did not 
 believe his child was dead. He was satisfied that 
 Marguerite Poulebah was Marguerite Checkynshaw, 
 though he could not find her. The director of the 
 hospital said the Sisters had taken her, and he was 
 sure she was living. 
 
 Besides, it would have been wicked to hand the 
 property over to Mrs. Wittleworth for her drunken 
 husband to squander away, and make her a beggar 
 a second time. He intended, in due time, if his 
 daughter did not appear, to pass the property to the 
 rightful heir when it could be safely done. The 
 integrity of his intentions could not be doubted, for 
 had he not given Mrs. Wittleworth ten thousand 
 dollars? The quitclaim deed, he declared, was only 
 to save himself from being annoyed by Fitz and his
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 319 
 
 father. Of course he intended to make it all right 
 in the end. 
 
 Mr. Checkynshaw did not forgive the Wittlewortha 
 for the mischief they had attempted to do. He hint 
 ed at steps for compelling them to restore the ten 
 thousand dollars; but Maggie protested, in her way, 
 against such a course, and nothing was ever done. 
 
 Marguerite Checkynshaw went to live in Pember- 
 ton Square ; but she was not happy there, and every 
 day she visited the house at No. 3 Phillimore Court. 
 Poor Andre was actually miserable. He had lost his 
 darling child, and it was little comfort to know that 
 she dwelt in the midst of luxury and splendor. 
 Though he saw her every day, he was sad, and 
 almost disconsolate. 
 
 Maggie tried to be happy in her new home, but 
 her heart was not there. Mrs. Checkynshaw was 
 cold and distant to her, and Elinora was a little, 
 petulant, disagreeable tyrant, who lived for herself 
 alone. She tried to love her, but she tried in vain. 
 Her father was kind and indulgent to her; yet she 
 saw but little of him. Maggie went to school for 
 two years, and was busy with her studies and her
 
 320 MAKE OB BREAK, OK, 
 
 music lessons ; but not an evening passed without 
 her going to see her foster-father, after he left the 
 shop. About nine o'clock Leo walked home with 
 her; but he seldom entered her father's house. 
 
 In the choice of a pursuit for life, Leo won the 
 day, and went to learn the machinist's trade. He 
 did not give up the "mouse business" entirely, but 
 found time to make new houses; and there were cus 
 tomers to purchase them, adding quite a sum to the 
 income of his foster-father. A housekeeper was em 
 ployed to take Maggie's place; but home was never 
 the place it had been after Maggie went away. 
 
 John Wit tie worth kept his solemn promise, and con 
 tinued to be a steady man. He obtained employ 
 ment in a wholesale grocery, and served so faithfully 
 that he won the esteem and regard of the firm. His 
 former ambition returned to him, and when he spoke 
 of going into business on his own account, with a 
 portion of his wife's money as his capital, he was 
 admitted as a partner in the firm that employed him. 
 He was a man of excellent abilities, and in time he 
 acquired a handsome property. 
 
 Fitz never amounted to much. His ideas were too
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 321 
 
 big for his station. He obtained several situations; 
 but, as he aspired to manage his employers' business 
 without their aid, he was often out of a place. When 
 his father went into business, he was taken as an entry- 
 clerk ; but he was such a trial that even parental solici 
 tude could not tolerate him, and he was sent away. 
 He was not a bad boy; but self-conceit was the rock 
 on which he wrecked himself. He found another 
 situation, and another, and another; but his stay in 
 each was short. And so ho went from one place to 
 another, achieving nothing, until he was twenty-five 
 years old, when he married a lady ten years his senior, 
 whom even the twenty thousand dollars she possessed 
 did not tempt any one else to make a wife. Fitz is 
 a gentleman now ; and though his lot at home is try 
 ing, he still maintains his dignity, and lives on his 
 wife's property. He is not dissipated, and has no 
 bad habits; but he docs not amount to anything. 
 People laugh at him, and speak contemptuously of 
 him behind his back; and he is, and will continue to 
 be, nothing but a cipher in the community. 
 
 In the little smoking-room in the house in Pem- 
 berton Square, three years after Maggie went to live 
 21
 
 322 MAKE OK BREAK, OU 
 
 there, on the very sofa where Andre Mnggimore had 
 lain, was stretched the inanimate form of another 
 person, stricken down by the same malady. It wa3 
 Mr. Checkynshaw. The two gentlemen with whom 
 he had been conversing Avhen attacked by the fit had 
 placed him there, and Dr. Fisher had been sent for. 
 From that sofa he was conveyed to his bed, still 
 insensible. His eyes were open, but he knew none 
 of those who stood by his couch. 
 
 The doctor came; but the banker was out of the 
 reach of human aid, though he survived a day and a 
 half. Maggie watched over him, as she had over An- 
 dro; but vain was her care, and vain were her hopes. 
 Her father died. A few days later a long funeral 
 procession left the house, and Mr. Checkynshaw was 
 borne to his lost resting-place at Mount Auburn. Mrs. 
 Checkynshaw was bewildered and overwhelmed ; Eli- 
 nora was so nervous that she required an attendant 
 constantly; and Maggie had little time to weep her 
 self, so devoted was she to the wants of others. 
 
 By the death of her father, everything was changed 
 with Maggie. There was little sympathy between her 
 and the other members of the family. Mrs. Checkyn-
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 323 
 
 shaw decided that the house should be sold, and that 
 she and the two daughters should board with a rela 
 tive of her own. Maggie did not like this arrange 
 ment, though she was prepared to accept it if no 
 better one could be suggested. She stated her objec 
 tion in the gentlest terms; but her step-mother was 
 cold, and even harsh, and Maggie realized that the 
 future was to be more unhappy than the past. In 
 this emergency she consulted her old friend, Dr. 
 Fisher, who was familiar with all the circumstances 
 of the family. 
 
 " I cannot live with Mrs. Checkynshaw and Elinora, 
 now that my father is no longer with us," said she, 
 sadly. " I do not like them, and they do not like 
 me." 
 
 -"It is not necessary that you should live with 
 them," replied the doctor. 
 
 " Couldn't I live with Andre again ? " asked she, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Certainly you can. Leave this to me. I will see 
 your father's executors, and tell them your wishes." 
 
 "Thank you, doctor." 
 
 "The block of stores yields a large income, besides
 
 324 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 your share of your father's property ; but, Maggie, 
 you are under age, and you must have a guardian to 
 take charge of your property. Your own wishes in 
 this matter will be consulted." 
 
 "Andre!" exclaimed she, with enthusiasm. 
 
 The doctor smiled, and shook his head. 
 
 " "Why not ? " demanded she, her face looking sad 
 again. 
 
 " Andre is a very good man, but he does not know 
 much about business." 
 
 "There is nothing to do at present but to collect 
 the rents on the block of stores. I could not name 
 any one but Andre for my guardian." 
 
 " Perhaps the court will not approve of him if you 
 do," added the doctor, with a smile. 
 
 "I'm sure Andre is honest and true, and will be 
 faithful to the end. He knows enough about busi 
 ness to take care of the property." 
 
 Maggie argued like a woman, and the doctor prom 
 ised to do what he could to meet her wishes. Mr. 
 Checkynshaw's executors were opposed to the plan ; 
 but, at the earnest solicitation of Maggie and the 
 doctor, they at last consented to recommend it, and
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 325 
 
 Andre was appointed guardian of the rich man's 
 daughter. If ever a man was amazed and bewil 
 dered, Andre was, when he found himself the keeper 
 of such a vast property. 
 
 Maggie had a plan of her own. Andre was to be 
 a barber no longer. A nice brick house in Harrison 
 Avenue was hired, and furnished in good style, and 
 the strange family were once more united. Leo sold 
 out the mouse business to Tom Casey, and was as 
 happy as a lord in his new home. The executors 
 paid Maggie's share of her father's estate to Andre, 
 in accordance with the provisions of the will. The 
 ex-barber was not a business man ; but this fact ren 
 dered him all the more cautious in handling the prop 
 erty intrusted to his care. He had shaved men of 
 dignity and substance for so many years, that he had 
 no lack of friendly advisers. With fear and trem 
 bling he discharged his sacred duty. 
 
 But Andre's duties as guardian were abruptly ter 
 minated one day, before Maggie was twenty-one. A 
 remarkably good-looking young lawyer, Mr. Charles 
 Harding, the partner of an older legal gentleman 
 who had done Andre's business, relieved him of his
 
 326 MAKE OR BREAK, OR 
 
 charge by marrying his ward. Everybody said he 
 was a splendid fellow, and Maggie knew he was. No 
 one seemed to be astonished except Leo, who thought 
 the affair had come off rather suddenly. He did not 
 exactly understand how Maggie could have fallen in 
 love with any fellow he never thought of such 
 things. 
 
 " So Maggie is married," said Mr. Fitz Wittleworth 
 one day, when they met in the street. 
 
 " Yes ; and a capital fellow Harding is, too," replied 
 Leo, warmly. 
 
 "It was rather sudden wasn't it?" 
 
 " Well, it was rather sudden ; but when I think 
 what a beautiful girl Maggie was, and when I think 
 what a good girl she was, I am not at all surprised 
 not a bit." 
 
 "But, Leo, I always thought you would marry 
 Maggie," added Mr. Wittleworth, stroking his chin. 
 
 "I!" exclaimed Leo, opening his eyes. "Why, I 
 never thought of such a thing." 
 
 "The more fool you, when you could have done it.* 
 
 "What, marry my sister!" 
 
 "She isn't your sister, any more than I am."
 
 THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER. 327 
 
 "Well, it's all the same thing, and I could never 
 look upon her as anything but a sister," replied Leo, 
 as he hastened to his work. 
 
 Leo was satisfied ; for lie could still love Mrs. Har 
 ding as a sister ; and he had certainly never thought 
 of her in any other relation. Perhaps he did not 
 think of anything at that time but machines and ma 
 chinery. Both he and Andre remained with Mrs. 
 Harding, for she would not consent to their leaving 
 her. And her husband liked them because she did. 
 
 When Leo was twenty-five, his inventive genius 
 had laid the foundation of his fortune, and his "roy 
 alties" soon made him independent, for ho had the 
 business ability to profit by his inventions. When 
 he was married, the "strange family" was separated, 
 but never in spirit. Andre goes from one house to 
 the other half a dozen times a day, and is honored 
 as a "grandpa" by four little boys and girls. 
 
 Leo has always been the determined and perse 
 vering individual he was in his youth, when engaged 
 in the " mouse business." As an apprentice, as rv 
 journeyman, as a master machinist, and as an in 
 ventor, it has been "MAKE or BKEAK" with him;
 
 328 MAKE OR BREAK. 
 
 and, though the parts of his machinery often did 
 break, and the apparatus failed to do its expected 
 work, he did not give up; and he conquered in. the 
 end, whatever trials and difficulties interposed. 
 
 Mrs. Harding is superlatively happy in her hus 
 band, her children, her foster-father, whom she still 
 lovingly calls "mon pere? and in her noble brother. 
 She calls, at long intervals, upon Mrs. Checkynshaw 
 and Elinora ; and peace reigns between the two 
 houses of Checkynshaw and Wittleworth. Though 
 she was never happier than when she knew no other 
 relation than that of the poor man's daughter, she 
 has every reason to be thankful, and is thankful, to 
 God for the blessings which have come to her as THE 
 RICH MAN'S DAUGHTEB.
 
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