"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Flint; "he has a high fever, and I fear will be
very ill." After his mother had gone Willie put on his hat and slipped
out the front door.
"I want to do something to help my good, kind papa, who is sick," he
said to himself.
He wandered up to Main Street and stood looking at the tall buildings
that his poor father owned.
Passersby smiled when they saw the little flaxen-haired boy, and many
a rough face softened at the sight of his innocent blue eyes. Poor
little Willie. What could he do in the great, busy city to help his
sick father?
"I know what I will do," he said to himself presently. "I will go up
and raise the rent of several offices and that will make my papa feel
better."
Willie toiled up three flights of stairs of one of his father's
largest buildings. He had to sit down quite often and rest, for he was
short on wind.
Away up to the third story was an office rented by two young men who
had just begun to practice law. They had their sign out, and had given
their note to Mr. Flint for the first month's rent. As Willie climbed
the stairs the young lawyers were eating some cheese and crackers,
with their feet on their desks, and six empty quart beer bottles stood
upon a table. They were breathing hard, and one of them, who had a
magnolia in his buttonhole, was telling a funny story about a girl.
Presently one of them took his feet off his desk, opened his eyes and
said: "Jeeminy! Bob, get onto his Fauntleroyets."
The gentleman addressed as Bob also took his feet down, wiped his
knife, with which he had been slicing cheese, on his hair, and looked
around.
A little blue-eyed boy with long golden curls stood in the doorway.
"Come in, sissy," said one of the young men.
Willie walked boldly into the room.
"I'm not a girl," he said. "My name is Willie Flint, and I've come to
raise the rent."
"Now, that's kind of you, Willie," said the young man called Bob, "to
come and do that, for we couldn't do it if we were to be electrocuted.
Is that your own hair, Willie, or do you ride a bicycle?"
"Don't worry the little boy," said the other young gentleman, whom Bob
addressed as Sam. "I'm sure that this is a nice little boy. I say,
Willie, did you ever hear a gumdrop?"
"Don't tease him," said Bob severely. "He reminds me of
someone--excuse my tears--those curls, those bloomers. Say, Willie,
speak quick, my child--two hundred and ten years ago, were you
standing--"
"Oh, let him alone," said Sam, frowning at the other young gentleman.
"Willie, as a personal favor, would you mind weeping a while on the
floor? I am overcome by ennui, and would be moved to joy."
"My papa is very ill," said Willie, bravely forcing back his tears,
"and something must be done for him. Please, kind gentleman, let me
raise the rent of this office so I can go back and tell him and make
him better."
"It's old Flint's kid," said Bob. "Don't he make your face wide? Say,
Willie, how much do you want to raise the rent?"
"What do you pay now?" asked Willie.
"Ten dollars a month."
"Could you make it twelve?"
"Call it fifty," said Sam, lighting a black cigar, "at ninety days,
and open the beer, Willie, and it's a deal."
"Don't talk nonsense," said Bob. "I say, Willie, you may raise the
rent to twenty dollars if you like, and run and tell your father, if
it will do him any good."
"Oh, thank you," cried Willie, and he ran home with a light heart,
singing merrily.
When he got home he found Mr. Flint sinking fast and muttering
something about giving his wife a ten-dollar bill.
"He is out of his head," said Mrs. Flint, bursting into tears.
Willie ran to the bed and whispered to his father's ear: "Papa, I have
raised the rent of one of your offices from ten to twenty dollars."
"You, my child!" said his father, laying his hand on Willie's head.
"God bless my brave little boy."
Mr. Flint sank into a peaceful slumber and his fever left him. The
next day he was able to sit up, and feeling much stronger, when Willie
told him whose rent it was he had raised.
Mr. Flint then fell dead.
Alas! messieurs, life is full of disappointments!
(_Houston Daily Post_, Sunday morning, May 3, 1896.)