SQUIRE MARLOWE IS SURPRISED.
It may be well to return to Lakeville, as something has occurred there
which deserves to be recorded.
It is needless to say that Mrs. Barton missed Bert, whose bright and
cheerful presence had filled the little house with comfort and
gladdened his mother's heart. Still she knew that he was well, and
heard from him every week, though Bert only detailed his experiences in
general terms, not caring to raise expectations which perhaps might
prove illusive.
Bert's absence from Lakeville excited some surprise and speculation.
Squire Marlowe, to whom it had been mentioned by Percy, stopped Mrs.
Barton in the street one day, and said: "Percy tells me that your son is
away."
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"He went to New York."
"Is he at work there?"
"No, he is travelling."
"Travelling? What do you mean?"
"Uncle Jacob has sent him off on some mission. He is at Harrisburg, I
believe."
"That is very strange!" remarked the squire, arching his eyebrows. "What
possible mission can Jacob have for the boy?"
"He doesn't write particulars; but his expenses are paid."
"I don't see how Jacob Marlowe, with his paltry twelve dollars a week,
can make such arrangements."
"Nor I; but probably Uncle Jacob has interested his employer in Bert."
"It may be so, but I think it very unwise to send off a boy by himself.
What judgment has he, or what can he do?"
"I don't very well know. He seems to enjoy the trip."
"Of course; but it will spoil him for solid work. He had better have
stayed at home."
"What encouragement was there for him to stay in Lakeville? If you had
not discharged him, he would be here now. If you will take him back into
the factory, I will write him to that effect, and perhaps it will induce
him to return."
"Ahem! I will think of it. Does he send you any money?"
"Not yet."
"Then how do you live?"
"Without calling upon you, Albert," said Mrs. Barton, with a little
tinge of bitterness. "I hardly think you feel enough interest in me to
care how I live."
Albert Marlowe was somewhat embarrassed, and regretted that he had asked
the question. Mrs. Barton might take it into her head that he was
willing to contribute to her support, and this was far from being the
case.
"Women look at things from a peculiar point of view," he said. "Of
course I wish you well, and for that reason regret that you are so
injudicious in your management of Bert."
"I have no fear but that Bert will turn out well," rejoined Mrs. Barton
proudly.
"Ahem! I hope so, though that twenty-dollar affair led me to fear that
he had inherited loose ideas about honesty."
"What do you mean?" demanded Mrs. Barton, her cheeks aflame with
indignation.
"I shouldn't think you would need to ask. Of course we both know why Mr.
Barton is an exile, unable to return home."
"Yes, Albert Marlowe, we do know! He is an innocent man, suffering for
the crime of another."
"That is what he says, is it?" sneered the squire. "That might be
expected."
"Because it is true; but, Albert Marlowe, I have good hopes that his
innocence may be vindicated, and the real criminal brought to light."
Her intense gaze made the squire uncomfortable. "Did she mean anything?"
he asked himself.
"It is natural for you to take the most favorable view of the matter,"
he said; "but your hope is hardly likely to be realized. Good-morning."
Mrs. Barton looked after him, and her spirit rose in revolt against the
inequalities of fortune. Here was the real criminal, as she fully
believed--rich, prosperous, enjoying a high social position, while her
poor husband, the scapegoat for another's offense, was an exile from
home.
The next day Squire Marlowe went to New York on business. He
occasionally visited Wall Street, and now and then made an investment.
He looked the embodiment of dignity and respectability, with his ample
figure, fine broadcloth suit, and gold-rimmed eyeglasses, and might
readily have been taken for a prosperous and wealthy city banker.
About one o'clock he entered an expensive restaurant, a stone's throw
from Broadway, and taking up the bill of fare made a selection of dishes
for his dinner. As he did so, he said to himself, with a comfortable
smile: "When I was a common workman in a shoe shop, how little did I
think that I should ever be able to sit down in a restaurant like this,
and pay a dollar and a half for my dinner. Why, I didn't earn much more
than that by a day's labor. Here I am surrounded by brokers, bankers,
and wealthy merchants, and quite as good as they."
The thought led Squire Marlowe to look around him. What he saw almost
paralyzed him with surprise. There--at a neighboring table--sat Uncle
Jacob, enjoying a luxurious dinner, the cost of which the squire, with
the bill of fare before him, estimated must come to a high figure.
"Can that be Uncle Jacob?" Albert Marlowe asked himself in amazement.
"How on earth can a clerk on twelve dollars a week salary afford to dine
at a restaurant like this?"
As he had not yet given his order, he moved over to the table occupied
by Uncle Jacob, and took a seat opposite him.
"Albert Marlowe!" exclaimed the old man, recognizing him with surprise.
"Yes, Uncle Jacob, it is I. But what on earth brings you here?"
"I should think it was pretty evident," said Jacob Marlowe with a smile,
"I came in for my dinner."
"Yes, but do you usually come here?"
"Not always--perhaps half the time. I make my heartiest meal of the day
at this time--unlike most New Yorkers--and like it to be a good one."
"Of course, but--how can you afford to eat here? Didn't you say that
your salary was twelve dollars a week?"
"I think I said so."
"You are spending at that rate for your dinners alone. I don't
understand how you can do it."
"I am an old man, Albert. I can't live many years, and I think it
sensible to get as much comfort out of life as possible for my few
remaining years."
"Still----"
"I had a little money, you know, five hundred dollars, and I have
managed to turn it to good account, so that I don't feel quite so
cramped as when I was at Lakeville."
"The old man's been speculating!" thought Albert Marlowe, "and he has
had a stroke of luck; but he's a fool to think he can live like a banker
on the strength of that. Very likely his next venture will sweep away
his small amount of capital. Well, if he comes to grief, he needn't
apply to me. Henceforth I wash my hands of him and his affairs
altogether."
"Of course it's your own lookout," he said, "but to me you seem
recklessly extravagant."
"Because I come in here? Well, perhaps so. When I find I can't afford
it, I'll go to a cheaper place. Have you seen Mary Barton lately?"
"Yes; she is well. By the way, what have you done with her boy?"
"He is traveling."
"So I heard. It seems to me a very foolish proceeding. Who is paying his
expenses?"
"Himself."
"Is he working, then?" asked the squire in surprise.
"Yes; he is a member of the 'Streets of Gotham' company, and is earning
his living as an actor."
"What does he know about acting?" asked the squire in amazement.
"It appears that he is giving satisfaction. He sent me a paper
containing a highly commendatory notice of his first appearance."
"It won't last," said Albert Marlowe, his wish being father to the
thought.
When he returned to Lakeville that evening, he carried with him two
pieces of news--first, that Uncle Jacob was living in luxury, and
secondly, that Bert Barton was on the stage.
"If he can act, I can," said Percy jealously. "They must have been hard
up for an actor when they took Bert Barton. A boy brought up in a
country town. Never been to a theatre in his life before. Pooh! I dare
say he appeared for one night only. The idea of Mary Barton's son acting
before a regular audience, a boy who has hoed corn for farmer Wilson!"