"Got up for me by a printer's boy I know. I had done some favors for
him, and so he made me a few cards. Handy to have sometimes, you know."
"Well, Herbert," said the old man, "I'm glad to make your acquaintance,
and I hope you'll come and see me. You'll find me in very humble
quarters; but you are not aristocratic, you say. Now won't you let me
pay for my dinner? I believe I have money enough. Let me see." And he
put his hand in his pocket.
Bert would not hear of such a thing; but walked up to the desk, and
settled the bill with the air of a person who did not regard a trifling
expense.
When he looked around again, the little old man was gone.
"Now mind; I'll go and see him the first chance I have," said Bert, as
he looked at the penciled strip of newspaper margin again before putting
it into his pocket.
He then went round to his miserable quarters, in the top of a cheap
lodging-house, and prepared himself at once to go and see his mother. He
could not afford to ride, and it was a long walk,--at least five miles
to the place where his mother was nursing.
On the following Monday, Bert, having a leisure hour, went to call on
his new acquaintance in Devonshire street.
Having climbed the two nights, he found the door of the back room at the
right ajar, and, looking in, saw Mr. Crooker at a desk, in the act of
receiving a roll of money from a well-dressed visitor.
Bert entered unnoticed, and waited till the money was counted and a
receipt signed. Then, as the visitor departed, Mr. Crooker noticed the
lad, offered him a chair, and then turned to place the money in the
safe.
[Illustration: "_He saw Mr. Crooker receiving a roll of money_."]
"So this is your place of business?" said Bert, glancing about the plain
office room. "What do you do here?"
"I buy real estate, sometimes--sell--rent--and so forth."
"Who for?" asked Bert.
"For myself," said the old gentleman, with a smile.
Bert started, perfectly aghast, at this situation. This, then, was the
man whom he had invited to dinner and treated so patronizingly the
preceding Thursday!
"I--I--I thought--you were a poor man!"
"I am a poor man," said Mr. Crooker, locking his safe. "Money doesn't
make a man rich. I've money enough. I own houses in the city. They give
me something to think of, and so keep me alive. I had truer riches once,
but I lost them long ago."
From the way the old man's voice trembled and eyes glistened, Bert
thought he must have meant by these riches, the friends he had lost,
wife and children, perhaps.
"To think of me inviting you to dinner!" he said, abashed and ashamed.
"It was odd. But it may turn out to have been a lucky circumstance for
both of us. I like you. I believe in you, and I've an offer to make you.
I want a trusty, bright boy in this office, somebody I can bring up to
my business, and leave it with, as I get too old to attend to it myself.
What do you say?"
What could Bert say?
Again that afternoon he walked--or rather ran--to his mother; and, after
consulting with her, joyfully accepted Mr. Crooker's offer.
Interviews between his mother and his employer followed. The lonely,
childless old man, who owned so many houses, wanted a home; and one of
these houses he offered to Mrs. Hampton, with ample support for herself
and children if she would also make it a home for him.
Of course this proposition was accepted; and Bert soon had the
satisfaction of seeing the great ambition of his life accomplished. He
had employment, which promised to become a profitable business, as indeed
it did in a few years. The old man and the lad proved useful to each
other; and, more than that, he was united once more with his mother and
sisters in a happy home, where he has since had many Thanksgiving
dinners.
[Illustration: "_One of these houses he offered to Mrs. Hampton_."]
[Illustration]