A FRESH START.
Five days later, just as Mr. Taylor was sitting down to dinner, at the
close of the day, the door-bell rang violently.
There was a hurried step heard in the hall, and the door opening
quickly Henry Taylor rushed in, his face beaming with smiles.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you, Henry!” said Jennie, embracing him. “I
missed you awfully.”
Henry looked at his father, a little doubtful of his reception.
“Are you well, father?” he asked.
“Quite well,” responded Mr. Taylor coolly. “Where did you leave your
scalps?”
“What?” ejaculated Henry, bewildered.
“I thought you left home to kill Indians.”
“Oh!” said Henry, smiling faintly. “I didn’t meet any Indians—except
one—and he was friendly.”
“Then your expedition was a failure?”
“I guess I’ll leave the Indians alone,” said Henry sheepishly.
“That strikes me as a sensible remark. Of course, a few Indian scalps
would be of great use to you. I fully expected a present of one, as a
trophy of my son’s valor; but still, in case the Indian objected to
being scalped, there might be a little risk in performing the
operation.”
“I see you are laughing at me, father,” said Henry.
“Not at all. You can see that I am very sober. If you think you can
make a good living hunting Indians—I don’t know myself how much their
scalps bring in the market—I might set you up in the business.”
“I am not so foolish as I was. I prefer some other business. Philip
told me—”
“Where is Philip?” asked Jennie eagerly.
“I left him in the parlor. He said I had better come in first.”
“Go and call him. Invite him, with my compliments, to stay to dinner.”
Henry left the room, and reappeared almost immediately with Philip.
Both boys were perfectly neat in appearance, for Philip had insisted on
going to a hotel and washing and dressing themselves.
As he followed Henry into the room, with modest self-possession, his
cheeks glowing with a healthy color, both Jennie and Mr. Taylor were
instantly prepossessed in his favor.
“I am glad to see you, Philip,” said the broker, “and beg to thank you,
not only for the material help you gave Henry, but also for the good
advice, which I consider of still greater importance and value.”
“Thank you, sir. I don’t feel competent to give much advice, but I
thought his best course was to come home.”
“You haven’t as high an idea of hunting Indians as Henry, I infer?”
“No, sir,” answered Philip, smiling. “It seems to me they have as much
right to live as we, if they behave themselves.”
“I think so, too,” said Henry, who was rather ashamed of what had once
been his great ambition.
“You haven’t introduced me to Philip—I mean Mr. Gray,” said Jennie.
“This is my sister Jennie, Phil,” said Henry, in an off-hand manner.
“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Gray,” said Jennie, extending her hand.
“I am hardly used to that name,” said Philip, smiling.
“When I get well acquainted with you I shall call you Philip.”
“I hope you will.”
Within an hour Miss Jennie appeared to feel well acquainted with her
brother’s friend, for she dropped “Mr. Gray” altogether, and called him
Philip.
At her solicitation he played on his violin. Both Mr. Taylor and Jennie
were surprised at the excellence of his execution.
When Philip rose to go, Mr. Taylor said cordially:
“I cannot permit you to leave us, Philip. You must remain here as our
guest.”
“But, sir, I left my things at a hotel.”
“Then Henry will go with you and get them.”
So Philip found himself established in a fine house on Madison Avenue
as a favored guest.
The next morning, when Mr. Taylor went to his office, he asked Philip
to go with him. Arrived in Wall Street, he sent a boy to the bank with
a check. On his return, he selected five twenty-dollar bills, and
handed them to Philip.
“You have expended some money for Henry,” he said.
“Yes, sir; but not quarter as much as this.”
“Then accept the rest as a gift. You will probably need some new
clothes. Henry will take you to our tailor. Don’t spare expense. The
bill will be sent to me.”
“But, Mr. Taylor, I do not deserve such kindness.”
“Let me be the judge of that. In a few days I shall have a proposal to
make to you.”
This was the proposal, and the way it was made:
“I find, Philip,” said Mr. Taylor, some days later, “that Henry is much
attached to you, and that your influence over him is excellent. He has
agreed to go to an academy in Connecticut, and study hard for a year,
provided you will go with him. I take it for granted you haven’t
completed your education?”
“No, sir.”
“I shall pay all the bills and provide for you in every way, exactly as
I do for Henry.”
“But, Mr. Taylor, how can I ever repay you?” asked Philip.
“By being Henry’s friend and adviser—perhaps, I may say, guardian—for,
although you are about the same age, you are far wiser and more
judicious.”
“I will certainly do the best I can for him, sir.”
During the next week the two boys left New York, and became pupils at
Doctor Shelley’s private academy, at Elmwood—a pleasant country town
not far from Long Island Sound—and there we bid them adieu.
THE END.