Down at Chief Trask’s quarters Bruce was quietly resting after the
excitement and fatigue of the night before, when to his surprise he saw
Mr. Van Kuren cross the threshold, and he was even more surprised when
that gentleman seized him by the hand and with an emotion that showed
itself in his voice as well as his face, thanked him for his heroism in
saving Laura from the flames. The young boys cheeks burned as he
listened to the older man’s expressions of praise and gratitude. He had
been so accustomed to hearing of and sometimes seeing deeds of gallantry
that it had not occurred to him that he had done anything remarkable.
That it had been his good fortune to render a great service to Laura Van
Kuren was enough for him, and he wanted no other reward than her
gratitude.
“And now, Bruce,” said Mr. Van Kuren, “there is a matter of some
importance which I wish to discuss with you. Will you please tell me
what you know about your father’s family, and what sort of a looking man
your father was.”
Bruce replied as best he could, and then Mr. Van Kuren went on: “Do you
remember if your father had a little grey patch on the back of his
head?”
“Yes, sir, and so have I,” replied the boy readily, as he took off his
hat and turned partly around.
Mr. Van Kuren then gazed intently not only at the slight patch of grey,
but also at the boy’s honest, intelligent face and continued: “If you
had a picture of your father—”
“Why there’s one here, sir,” exclaimed Bruce, as he led the way to a
large photograph of a group of firemen, in which his father was one.
“There is no sort of a doubt about it,” said Mr. Van Kuren as his eye
fell upon the portrait of Frank Decker, “and I am very glad to
congratulate you, my boy, on your good fortune.”
“I wish you would tell me what all this means,” exclaimed Bruce
excitedly, “for to-morrow I’m going to start for England, and if I have
any good fortune I would like to enjoy it at once.”
“I can tell you in a very few words my boy,” replied Mr. Van Kuren.
“Your father’s name was Dexter, not Decker. And he was the son of an old
gentleman who lives not far from me in the upper part of the city and
whom you have met I believe. Through the cunning and deceit of one of
the most treacherous scoundrels whom I have ever known your father
became estranged from your grandfather, and I suppose took the name of
Decker because he did not wish to have his old friends know what he was
doing. He and I were boys together and although it is more than twenty
years since I last saw him, I can readily recognize him in that picture.
It was through the merest accident that your grandfather came to suspect
your identity and the fact that you can dimly remember the house and
grounds uptown, convinces me that you must have been taken there in your
early childhood. Very likely your father went up there from time to time
in order to re-visit unobserved the scenes of his boyhood. Well, you
must come at once for your grandfather is waiting to see you.”
To say that Bruce was surprised at what he heard is but a mild way of
expressing the sensations that filled his breast as he listened to the
words of his father’s old friend. It would be nearer the truth to say
that he was stunned by the recital. He said nothing however, but put on
his coat in a dazed manner and was about to accompany Mr. Van Kuren
uptown without even stopping to obtain permission of his superior, when
he stopped suddenly and said, “But I am going away to-morrow to England
to get a fortune that was left to my father and which through his death
has come to me. Perhaps you can tell me what relatives I have over
there.”
“Relatives in England!” cried Mr. Van Kuren, “I know your family, root
and branch, my boy, and you have absolutely no connections in England,
that is to say not on your father’s side. Who told you about this
fortune and advised you to go and get it?”
“I was told about it by a man whose real name I think is Dexter, and who
keeps a sort of a loan office in Eldridge Street.”
“I think I understand it all now,” said Mr. Van Kuren significantly,
“that man was the same one who made the trouble between your father and
all his friends, and I have no doubt he will be very glad to get you out
of the way in order that he may inherit all of your grandfather’s
property. Did he kindly offer to pay your fare to England?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the boy, “and he told me it might be necessary for
me to stay there a month or two, during which time he would pay all my
expenses.”
“Yes, it would serve his purpose very well to get you out of the way for
two or three months and then levy blackmail on your grandfather. But
thank Heaven there is time to put a stop to that.”
“Hey, boss,” said a piping voice, and Bruce turned round to find Skinny
the Swiper standing beside him with his face and clothes as grimy as if
he had been working all night at a fire. He was panting with the
exertion of a swift run, and as soon as he could regain his breath he
said, “I was up ter dat hotel fire last night, an’ dat Scar-faced
Charley got burnt up. Dey jest dragged him outter de ashes an’ I seen
his body.”
“What, dead!” exclaimed Bruce, and then turning to Mr. Van Kuren he
said, “that man who wanted me to go to England was burnt up in the big
fire last night. I never knew that he lived in that hotel.”
“He probably went there when his uncle turned him out of doors,”
explained Mr. Van Kuren, and then added, “Well, he is dead now and it is
best to let his faults be buried with him. We will go up now and see
your grandfather.”
The meeting between the fine old gentleman and his newly found grandson
was an affecting one. Mr. Dexter’s eyes brightened and his cheeks
flushed when he heard of Bruce’s bravery at the fire, and it was with no
small pride that he introduced the boy to his friends and the members of
his household as his grandson, the son of his dearly beloved son, Frank.
“And now, my boy,” said the old gentleman, after they had had a long and
affectionate talk together, “if you will go into the drawing-room you
will find someone there, I think, who wishes to see you.”
Bruce did as he was desired, and as he entered the room a young girl
rose from her seat by the window and came towards him holding out both
hands. “Can you ever forgive me, Bruce, for the way I treated you that
day?”
Those who have followed the fortunes of the young fire lad as described
in this book do not need to be told that there was no room in his
magnanimous heart for any feeling of resentment toward the young girl
who stood before him now. Nor is it necessary to say that the whole of
the Van Kuren family received Bruce with every manifestation of
gratitude and with assurances that henceforth he was to consider himself
as one of their own flesh and blood. But in his new sphere, as the
grandson and heir of the aristocratic and kindly old gentleman whose
name he was now to bear, Bruce did not forget the friends who had been
kind to him during his days of service at the Hook and Ladder quarters.
And one of the first things that he did after he had been installed in
the big house near the Harlem River was to send substantial tokens of
his regard to Chief Trask, Charley Weyman, Tom Brophy and Mr. Dewsnap.
Nor was Skinny the Swiper forgotten. And when the little newsboy started
for the Wolcott homestead dressed in a neat new suit of clothes and
wearing, for perhaps the first time in his life, a new and fashionable
hat, very few of those who had associated with him in New York would
have recognized him.
“Well,” remarked Chief Trask to Tom Brophy as the two sat together at
the quarters, “the boy deserves all his good luck, but you mark my
words, you’ll see him back in the department again before he’s a year
older. He’s just like his father, a fireman born and bred.”
THE END.
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Contents added by transcriber.
2. Added “Skinny writes a letter to Mr. Korwein.” 270 to the List of
Illustrations.
3. Silently corrected typographical errors.
4. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.
5. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.