THE MYSTERY DEEPENS.
The cab stopped in front of a handsome office building on Wall Street.
Mrs. Harcourt dismissed it.
“I shall have some other calls to make, Edwin,” she said, “and won’t
take a carriage till I am through. Now let us go up-stairs.
“Remember,” she said, as they were ascending the stairway, “we are for
the present mother and son.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Should anything be said to you answer as briefly as possible.”
“Very well.”
Ben felt puzzled. He did not at all comprehend what was going on, but
concluded that it was all “in the play.”
Mrs. Harcourt opened the door of a large office and entered. Several
clerks were working behind a counter or partitioned wall, which
separated the inner from the outer office.
A young man came forward and said politely, “What can I do for you,
madam?”
“Is Mr. Stormleigh in?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Give him my card.”
“Certainly.”
He returned presently with an invitation to Mrs. Harcourt to follow him.
“Stay here, Edwin, till I return or send for you,” she said, and Ben
seated himself in a chair near the window.
In the inner office sat a pleasant-looking man of fifty.
“I am glad to see you, Mrs. Harcourt,” he said rising. “Let me see, how
long is it since we met?”
“Five years.”
“Indeed. You look as young as ever.”
“I am afraid you are a flatterer, Mr. Stormleigh.”
“Your son----” began Mr. Stormleigh in a tone of hesitation.
“My son is in the outer office.”
“What? I heard a rumor that he was dead.”
“And that was probably the reason you did not send me the last
quarterly income due to me as his guardian?”
“Yes. Of course, if he were dead, it would no longer be due.”
“Thank Providence, the dear boy is in the best of health.”
“I am heartily glad of it. And you brought him with you?”
“Yes.”
“May I see him?”
“I will call him.”
Ben was summoned, and Mr. Stormleigh regarded him with evident approval.
“Really, Mrs. Harcourt, you have reason to feel proud of such a
fine-looking boy.”
“Have I not? Edwin, shake hands with Mr. Stormleigh. He is an old
friend of mine, besides being your trustee.”
“Well, my boy, how old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
Mrs. Harcourt looked relieved. The age tallied exactly.
“And now, Edwin,” said the lady, “I won’t detain you. You may go down
at once to the Fifth Avenue Hotel and await me there. Or, if you want
two hours for yourself, meet me at the end of that time at my room. I
am not sure whether you have any money. Here is a ten-dollar bill.”
“Thank you--mother.”
Mrs. Harcourt remained fifteen minutes longer, receiving a large check
from Mr. Stormleigh, which she deposited to her credit in the Park
National Bank.
“What are your plans, my dear Mrs. Harcourt?” asked the banker. “Shall
you remain in America?”
“I am not sure. I may go back to Europe, taking Edwin with me.”
“Is he at school?”
“I shall probably place him at school, but my plans are not fully
formed.”
“He does not appear to have any resemblance to the late Mr. Harcourt.”
“Boys often change in looks as they get older.”
“True.”
“And you have not seen Edwin for several years.”
“And then I only had a glimpse of him.”
“Well, I must really go. I have no doubt you have important business,
so that you will be glad to get rid of me.”
“I confess that I am quite busy this morning. Call again, however, when
you have an opportunity.”
Meanwhile Ben went down-stairs, more and more mystified. He thought
Mrs. Harcourt a very mysterious character.
She had treated him handsomely, however. He had on an elegant suit and
a ten-dollar bill in his pocket. His life seemed to be entirely changed.
In the morning he had been a Bowery newsboy; now he was boarding at the
Fifth Avenue Hotel. That reminded him that he must give notice to his
landlady that he would not sleep in his room at present.
“But how long will this last?” he asked himself.
If only a week he might as well keep the room, as the price was so
small, and he was in funds. Having no urgent business, he decided to
walk up Broadway.
He sauntered along, looking in at shop windows, and experienced the
pleasure of feeling that for the present, at least, he need feel no
pecuniary anxieties.
About the corner of Bleecker Street he came near running into his
friend, the eminent novelist, Mr. Sylvanus Snodgrass.
“How are you, Mr. Snodgrass?” he said.
Sylvanus turned, and at the sight of Ben in his elegant new suit he
opened wide his astonished eyes.
“Is it you, Ben?” he exclaimed.
“No doubt of it, Mr. Snodgrass.”
“When did you obtain that elegant suit? How comes it that you are
arrayed in purple and fine linen? I didn’t imagine selling newspapers
on the Bowery paid so well.”
“It doesn’t. This suit was a present.”
“Which one of the Vanderbilts gave it to you?”
“It is a gift from a lady.”
“Is she mashed on you?”
“The lady must be over forty. She has adopted me for the time being. I
am to call her mother.”
“Doesn’t she want another son?” asked Sylvanus.
“I am afraid you would be too old.”
“Where does she live?”
“Where I do--at the Fifth Avenue Hotel.”
“You are joking, Ben.”
“Not at all. I wish you would tell Mrs. Robinson that I shall not sleep
at home to-night, but will keep my room for the present, as I don’t
know how long the arrangement will last.”
“Then you are really staying at the Fifth Avenue?”
“I expect to dine there. My new patroness is in Wall Street, but will
be back by two o’clock.”
“Do you receive a salary?”
“I don’t know what arrangements I shall make. I received this this
morning,” and Ben displayed the ten-dollar bill.
“Is it genuine?” asked the novelist.
“It looks all right, doesn’t it?”
“I wish it were mine. I have a story at the _Bugle_ office, but I have
not as yet received any payment on it. I won’t tell you how little I
have in my pocketbook, but I can hardly afford to provide myself with a
lunch, and unluckily I am very hungry.”
“So am I, Mr. Snodgrass, and I can hardly wait till I reach the hotel.
I will invite you in with me to lunch at the Sinclair House.”
They had by this time reached the corner of Eighth Street, the location
of a hotel well known to fastidious eaters.
Ben ate only moderately, but Mr. Snodgrass, who had not for a long time
patronized a restaurant of so high a grade, made an ample meal.
“That does me good,” he said with a sigh of satisfaction as they passed
into the street. “I wish I could dine here every day.”
“When your genius is recognized like that of Mr. Howells,” suggested
Ben, “you may be able to do so.”
“It is strange, the infatuation about Howells,” said Sylvanus. “I am
sure my stories are quite as interesting as his.”
“No doubt they suit the readers of the _Bugle_ better.”
“You are right, and yet he gets his thousands of dollars for a novel,
while I--but----”
“Better days may be in store for you, Mr. Snodgrass.”
Ben took a walk with his literary friend, and at the end of the two
hours reached the hotel just as Mrs. Harcourt drove up in a cab.
“I am quite tired, Edwin,” she said, as Ben helped her out, “but I have
done a good morning’s work. Go up-stairs and brush your hair, and we
will go in to lunch.”
When lunch was over she said: “Of course you are not provided with
suitable underclothing. Go and buy a supply, and stop somewhere and
purchase a steamer trunk. Don’t buy any cheap articles, but spare no
expense. As my son you must be suitably dressed. Here are seventy-five
dollars. Use it as far as it will go, and if necessary you can complete
your purchases to-morrow. Have everything sent to Edwin Harcourt, Fifth
Avenue Hotel.”
“Thank you. You are very kind,” said Ben, who felt quite overwhelmed.
“That is all right, Edwin. By the way, it is only fair that I should
make you an allowance. I will begin next Monday morning. You shall have
fifteen dollars a week. That is only for spending money. Clothing and
all necessary articles will be paid for separately.”
Ben tried to thank her, but she appeared to think it unnecessary.
“All that is understood, my son,” she said. “Now I must dismiss you, as
I am fatigued, and shall lie down to rest. There is another entrance to
your room. They will give you the key in the office.”
“When do you wish me to return?”
“We will dine at seven. If you are not too tired, you can make your
purchases this afternoon.”
“I wonder whether this is all a dream,” thought the mystified Ben. “If
it is I shall be sorry to wake up.”
He drew the roll of bills from his pocket, and this gave him an
assurance that it was no dream, but a very fortunate reality.