ANSWERING THE ADVERTISEMENT
The advertisement for Ernest in a St. Louis daily paper came about in this
way.
Bolton was in the habit of inquiring from time to time of Western clients
if they were acquainted with any persons bearing the name Ray. One
gentleman, who frequently visited St. Louis, answered, "Yes, I know a boy
named Ray."
"Tell me all you know about him," said Bolton eagerly.
"I was staying at the Southern Hotel last winter," answered Mr. Windham,
"when my attention was called to a bright-looking newsboy who sold the
evening papers outside. I was so attracted by him that I inquired his
name. He said it was Ray, and that he was alone in the world."
"What was his first name?"
"I can't recall. I am not sure that I heard it."
"Was it Ernest?"
"I cannot speak with any certainty."
"How old did the boy appear to be?"
"About sixteen."
"That would have been the age of Dudley Ray's son," said Bolton to
himself.
"I suppose you didn't learn where the boy lived?"
"No."
This was all the information Mr. Windham was able to impart, but Bolton
felt that it was possibly of importance. It was the first clue he had been
able to obtain.
That Dudley Ray's son should be forced by dire necessity to sell
newspapers was not improbable. Bolton therefore inserted the advertisement
already mentioned.
A few days later he received two letters post-marked St. Louis.
He opened them with a thrill of excitement. He felt that he was on the
verge of making an important discovery.
One letter was addressed in a schoolboy hand, and ran thus:
Dear Sir: I saw your advertisement in one of the morning papers. I
hope it means me. My name is not Ernest, but it may have been changed
by some people with whom I lived in Nebraska. I am sixteen years old,
and I am obliged to earn my living selling papers. My father died
when I was a baby, and my mother three years later. I am alone in the
world, and am having a hard time. I suppose you wouldn't advertise
for me unless you had some good news for me. You may send your answer
to this letter to the Southern Hotel. The clerk is a friend of mine,
and he says he will save it for me.
Yours respectfully,
Arthur Ray.
"That isn't the boy," said Bolton, laying down the letter in
disappointment. "The name is different, and, besides, the writer says that
his father died when he was a baby. Of course that settles the question.
He is a different boy."
He opened the second letter, hoping that it might be more satisfactory.
It was the letter of Tom Burns, setting forth his meeting Ernest at Oak
Forks, and afterward at Oreville in California.
"Eureka!" exclaimed Bolton, his face beaming with exultation. "This is the
boy and no mistake. I will at once answer this letter, and also write to
Ernest Ray in California."
This was the letter received by Burns:
Dear Sir: I am very much indebted to you for the information
contained in your letter of two days since. I have reason to think
that the boy you mention is the one of whom I am in search. If it
proves to be so, I am free to tell you that he will be much benefited
by your communication. There is a considerable estate, now wrongfully
held by another, to which he is entitled. Should things turn out as I
hope, I will see that you lose nothing by the service you have
rendered him and myself. I will write to him by this mail. Should you
change your address, please notify me.
Yours truly,
BENJAMIN BOLTON.
182 Nassau Street, New York.
The letter written to Ernest ran thus:
Ernest Ray, Oreville, California:
I have for some time been seeking to find you. In response to an
advertisement inserted in a St. Louis daily paper, I learn that you
are at present living in Oreville, California. This information was
given me by one Thomas Burns, who is employed at the Planters' Hotel.
The name is, I hope, familiar to you. It is very desirable that I
should have an interview with you. If you are the son of Dudley Ray,
formerly residing at or near Elmira, what I have to say will be
greatly to your advantage.
Will you write me at once, letting me know whether this be the case?
Also state your present circumstances, and whether you need pecuniary
help. It is unfortunate that we are so far apart. I am connected with
a New York legal firm, and cannot very well go to California; but I
might assist you to come to New York, if as I suppose, your means are
limited. Will you write to me at once whether this is the case? I
shall anxiously await your reply.
Benjamin Bolton,
Attorney at Law.
182 Nassau Street, New York City.
Ernest read this letter with eager interest, and showed it to Luke
Robbins.
"What do you think of it, Luke?" he asked.
"What do I think of it? It looks very much as if you were entitled to some
money."
"What shall I do?"
"Write this Mr. Bolton that you will go at once to New York, and call upon
him."
"But how about the store? I should not like to leave Mr. Ames in the
lurch."
"I will take your place here, and to qualify myself for it I will come in
to-morrow, and begin to serve an apprenticeship."
Ernest wrote to Bolton that he would start for New York in a week. He
added that he had the money necessary for the journey. He said also that
he was the son of Dudley Ray, and that he remembered visiting Elmira with
his father.
When Bolton received this letter, he exclaimed triumphantly: "Now, Stephen
Ray, I have you on the hip. You looked down upon me when I called upon
you. In your pride, and your unjust possession of wealth, you thought me
beneath your notice. Unless I am mistaken, I shall be the instrument under
Providence of taking from you your ill-gotten gains, and carrying out the
wishes expressed in the last will of your deceased uncle."
Ernest left Oreville with four hundred dollars in his pocket. The balance
of his money he left, in the hands of his friend Horace Ames, upon whom he
was authorized to draw if he should have need.
"I don't intend to carry all my money with me," he said to Luke Robbins.
"I might lose it all."
"Even if you did, Ernest, you could draw on me. If you need it, do so
without any hesitation."
"You are a good friend, Luke," said Ernest warmly. "What should I do
without you?"
"I am beginning to wonder what I should do without you, Ernest. Suppose,
now, this lawyer puts a fortune in your hands?"
"If he does, Luke, I am sure to need your help in some way."
"Thank you, Ernest. I know you mean what you say. You may find a better
friend, but you won't find one that is more ready to serve you than Luke
Robbins."
"I am sure of that, Luke," said Ernest with a bright smile as he pressed
the rough hand of his faithful friend.
Ernest did not loiter on his way, though he was tempted to stop in
Chicago, but he reflected that he would have plenty of chances to visit
that bustling city after his business had been attended to.
As he approached Buffalo on the train his attention was attracted to two
persons sitting a little distance in front of him. They were a father and
son, as he gathered from the conversation.
The son was about his own age and size apparently, but rather more slender
in figure. He had a peevish expression, and Ernest doubted whether he
would like him.
"Father," Ernest heard him say, "won't you give me a little money? I am
dead broke."
"I gave you five dollars when we set out on this journey," he said.
"Well, five dollars won't last forever," was the pert rejoinder.
"It ought to last more than four days, Clarence."
Ernest started. He knew that his cousin's name was Clarence. Could this be
Stephen Ray and his son?
Even if it were so, he felt that it would not be advisable to make himself
known. This business which was carrying him to New York might bring him
into conflict with Stephen Ray. If so, he would not care to let his
presence be known.
On arriving at Buffalo Ernest left the train. He had never visited
Niagara, and being now so near he felt that he could not forego the
opportunity.
He registered at the Tefft House, and decided to remain for a day. This
would give him time to see the Falls.
Ernest had a room assigned to him, and went up to it at once to have the
luxury of a good wash.
Five minutes afterward Stephen Ray and his son Clarence entered the
hotel.
Mr. Ray, in a pompous manner, went up to the desk and said to the clerk:
"Can you give me a good room?"
"Yes, sir."
"I want a front room if you have it."
"I can't give you a front room, but I can give you a good side room."
Stephen Ray grumbled a little, but finally decided to take the room
offered him. He saw that his haughty manner did not impress the clerk, who
was accustomed to men of his class.
Clarence looked over his father's shoulder as he registered.
"Why, pa," he exclaimed in surprise, "there's another guest of our name."
"Where?" asked his father.
"There, three names above your signature."