AN IMPORTANT REVELATION.
Gilbert did not lose sight of the little flower-girl whom he had
befriended. Even when his fortunes were at the lowest, he never failed
to buy a bouquet of her daily. More than this he did not feel able to do
then. But as soon as he obtained the position of Fred’s teacher, he
again visited Mr. Talbot in his poor lodgings, and gave him more
substantial assistance. The sick man improved steadily in health and
spirits. It did him great good to feel that he had a friend, though that
friend was only a boy, dependent on his earnings for support.
On the day after he had heard of Mr. Briggs’ return from Europe, Gilbert
made a hurried call during his dinner-hour.
“How are you to-day, Mr. Talbot?” he asked.
“I am better,” said the sick man. “I hope I shall soon be well enough to
go to work again.”
“I think you will,” said Gilbert, cheerfully. “I must try to see what I
can find for you to do, among my business friends.”
“Thank you; do you know many business men?”
“No,” answered Gilbert. “I wonder,” he said, half to himself, “whether
my guardian couldn’t give you work.”
“Your guardian!” repeated Mr. Talbot, in surprise.
“Yes,” said Gilbert, smiling; “but you mustn’t think because I have a
guardian that I have any property.”
“Who is your guardian?”
“Mr. Richard Briggs, a New York merchant. He only got home from Europe
yesterday.”
“Richard Briggs!” exclaimed the sick man in evident excitement.
“Yes; do you know anything of him?”
“His name is very familiar to me. Tell me, are you the son of James
Greyson, formerly a merchant in the West Indies?”
It was Gilbert’s turn to be excited.
“My father died in the West Indies,” he answered; “but I know very
little of him. Did you know him, Mr. Talbot?”
“I ought to know him. I was his book-keeper up to the time of his
death.”
“Is it possible?” ejaculated Gilbert. “How glad I am to meet you! I know
nothing of my father except what Mr. Briggs has told me.”
“One thing I do not understand,” continued the sick man. “You say you
have no property; but this cannot be. Your father left seventy-five
thousand dollars.”
“Seventy-five thousand dollars! Are you sure, Mr. Talbot?”
“No one can be surer. I knew all about your father’s business and the
extent of his property.”
“Was this money entrusted to my guardian?” asked Gilbert, quickly.
“It was. Your father and Richard Briggs were schoolmates, so I have
heard him say; and he felt sufficient confidence in him to confide you
to his care.”
It is not a pleasant moment when for the first time we are led to
suspect those in whom we have confided; and important and welcome as the
intelligence otherwise was, Gilbert felt sober at the treachery of Mr.
Briggs. The latter, as we have seen, had been kinder to him than his
wife or son, and Gilbert had felt grateful. Even now he could not rid
himself of a certain feeling of kindness to his guardian, false as he
had been to his trust.
“I am sorry to hear this,” he said, gravely.
“Sorry to hear that your father left you a fortune?”
“I don’t mean that. I am sorry that my guardian has been wicked enough
to attempt to cheat me out of it.”
“What sort of a man is Mr. Briggs?”
“At first I was not prepossessed in his favor; but he improved on
acquaintance. When his wife and son spoke against me, he always took my
part. When I was charged with dishonesty, he refused to believe it.”
“I think it quite possible that he is a naturally kind-hearted man,”
said the sick man; “but human nature is sometimes inconsistent. I think
it may have been in a moment of embarrassment that he appropriated your
fortune. If he has since prospered, it may be possible for you to
recover it.”
“Are you sure it was as much as seventy-five thousand dollars, Mr.
Talbot?” asked Gilbert, dazzled as he well might be by the magnitude of
the sum.
“I am sure of it.”
“Can you prove it, so that Mr. Briggs will be compelled to give it up to
me?”
“Fortunately I can. I have in my trunk a document, in your father’s own
handwriting, giving a schedule of his property, in which he expressly
says that he makes it over in trust to Richard Briggs, for your use.
Indeed, it must now amount to more than seventy-five thousand dollars;
for only a small part of the income has been expended for you. Probably
a few hundreds of dollars a year are all that have been spent for you.”
“I don’t see how Mr. Briggs could make such false representations,” said
Gilbert, thoughtfully.
“‘Money is the root of all evil,’ my young friend. It is an old proverb,
and unfortunately a true one.”
“I have noticed one thing,” continued our hero. “When I thanked Mr.
Briggs for paying my board, as I supposed, out of his own pocket, he
always seemed uncomfortable and embarrassed.”
“That shows he is not wholly without shame.”
“It is about time for me to be going back to the office, Mr. Talbot; but
before I go I want to ask your advice on one point. How soon shall I
speak to Mr. Briggs on this subject?”
“Whenever you have an opportunity.”
“Of course, I must refer to you as my informant.”
“By all means,” said the sick man, promptly. “It will be a great
satisfaction to me if, through my means, you succeed in obtaining your
rights.”
For the rest of the day and through the evening Gilbert’s mind was
occupied with the important intelligence he had learned. He did not make
a confidant of any one, feeling that it was not yet time.
Mr. Ingalls, his room-mate, saw that he was thinking busily about
something, but did not make any inquiries. He knew that Gilbert would
let him know when he got ready. Alphonso Jones was not so forbearing.
“By Jove! Greyson, I believe you are in love,” he said, abruptly.
“What makes you think so, Mr. Jones?”
“You’ve been sitting with your eyes fixed on the carpet for five minutes
without speaking a word.”
“Your opinion about love is worth something, Mr. Jones,” said Gilbert,
smiling. “You know how it is yourself. Didn’t I see you walking with a
fair widow last evening?”
“Who do you mean?” asked Alphonso, smiling.
“Mrs. Kinney, of course.”
“I only happened to meet her going to a concert with Mr. Pond,”
exclaimed Alphonso. “He was called away a moment, and left her in my
care.”
“He was very imprudent,” said Mr. Ingalls. “You know, Jones, you’re a
regular lady-killer. I really hope you won’t try any of your
fascinations on the widow.”
Mr. Jones simpered, and was evidently pleased. It was his private
opinion that he was unusually fascinating, and this public
acknowledgment of it was gratifying.
“You will have your joke, Mr. Ingalls,” he said. “I have a high respect
for Mrs. Kinney; but, really, there is nothing in it, I do assure you.”
“Time will show,” said Mr. Ingalls, nodding his head in an oracular way.
“But don’t be precipitate, Mr. Jones. Remember the Countess de
Montmorency, who may yet be your bride.”
“I have no hopes in that quarter,” said Alphonso, who had ascertained
that the count had been reduced by family misfortunes to accept a
position in a barbers shop. “Good-evening, gents.”
When Alphonso had retired, Gilbert said, “I have something on my mind,
Mr. Ingalls, though not what Mr. Jones supposed. I hope soon to let you
know what it is.”
“Whenever you are ready, Gilbert. I am not curious; but shall be
interested in anything that concerns you. It isn’t anything unpleasant,
I hope.”
“It may be greatly to my advantage.”
“If that is the case, I can wait cheerfully.”