"He has done me a service this morning. He has brought to my notice a son of one of my old school mates who is in a strait, and I have just sent him fifty dollars."

"By that boy?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"Are you sure the person to whom you sent the money will ever get it?"

"Please speak out what you mean. Don't hint. I hate hints."

"In plain terms, then, I think the boy will keep the money himself, or, at any rate, a part of it."

"I don't fear it."

"Have you any more to say?"

"Nothing, except to warn you against that designing boy."

"You are very kind, Louisa, but I am not quite a simpleton. I have seen something of the world, and I don't think I am easily taken in."

Mrs. Tracy left the room, not very well satisfied. She really thought Luke had designs upon the old lady's money, and was averse even to his receiving a legacy, since it would take so much from Harold and herself.

"Harold, when I entered your aunt's room, what do you think I saw?"

This she said to Harold, who was waiting below.

"I don't know."

"Aunt Eliza was giving money to that boy."

"Do you know how much?"

"Fifty dollars."

"Whew! Was it for himself?"

"He came to her with a trumped-up story of an old schoolmate of aunt's who was in need of money."

"Do you think he will keep it himself?"

"I am afraid so."

"What a cheeky young rascal he is, to be sure! I have no doubt you are right."

"Yes; there is too much reason to think he is an unscrupulous adventurer, young as he is."

"Why don't you tell aunt so?"

"I have."

"And what does she say?"

"It doesn't make the least impression upon her."

"What do you think the boy will do?"

"Get her to make a will in his favor, or at least to leave him a large legacy."

Harold turned pale.

"That would be robbing us," he said.

"Of course it would. He wouldn't mind that, you know."

"He was very impertinent to me this morning."

"I presume so. He depends upon his favor with aunt."

"Isn't there anything we can do, mother?"

"I must consider."

Meanwhile Luke returned at once to the room of Ambrose Kean. He found the young man awaiting him with great anxiety.

"What success?" he asked, quickly.

"I have got the fifty dollars," answered Luke.

"Thank God! I am saved!" ejaculated the young man.

"Would you mind taking it round to the office with a note from me?" asked Kean.

"I will do so cheerfully."

"Then I shall feel at ease."

"Mrs. Merton would like to have you call on her. She remembered your mother at once."

"I shall be glad to do so, but shall be ashamed to meet her now that she knows of my yielding to temptation."

"You need not mind that. She also suffered from the rascality of Thomas Browning, and she will make allowances for you."

"Then I will go some day with you."

"You had better give me a letter to take to your employer with the money."

"I will."

Ambrose Kean wrote the following note:

JAMES COOPER:

DEAR SIR: – Hiram Crossley called at the office yesterday and paid in fifty dollars due to you. Being busy, I thrust it into my pocket, and inadvertently took it with me. I think I shall be able to be at the office to-morrow, but think it best to send the money by a young friend. I gave Mr. Crossley a receipt.

Yours respectfully, AMBROSE KEAN.

When Luke reached the office, Mr. Cooper was conversing with a stout, broad-shouldered man, of middle age, and Luke could not help hearing some of their conversation.

"You say you paid fifty dollars to my clerk, Mr. Crossley?" asked the merchant.

"Yes."

"Have you his receipt?"

"Here it is."

Mr. Cooper examined it.

"Yes, that is his signature."

"Isn't he here to-day?"

"No; he sent word that he had a headache."

"And you don't find the money?"

"No."

"That is singular." And the two men exchanged glances of suspicion.

"What sort of a young man is he?"

"I never had any cause to suspect him."

"I hope it is all right."

"If it isn't, I will discharge him," said Cooper, nodding emphatically.

"He probably didn't think I would be here so soon. I didn't expect to be, but a telegram summoned me to the city on other business."

Of course Luke understood that the conversation related to Kean, and that he had arrived none too soon. He came forward.

"I have a letter for you from Mr. Kean," he said.

"Ha! Give it to me!"

Mr. Cooper tore open the envelope, saw the bank bills, and read the letter.

"It's all right, Mr. Crossley," he said, his brow clearing. "Read that letter."

"I am really glad," said Crossley.

"How is Mr. Kean?" asked Cooper, in a friendly tone.

"He had a severe headache, but he is better, and hopes to be at the office to-morrow."

"Tell him I shall be glad to see him, but don't want him to come unless he is really able."

"Thank you, sir. I will do so." And Luke left the office.

He went back to Ambrose Kean, and told him what had happened at the office.

"I have escaped better than I deserved," he said. "It will be a lesson to me. Please tell Mrs. Merton that her timely aid has saved my reputation and rescued my poor mother from sorrow and destitution."

"I will, and I am sure she will consider the money well spent."

The next morning, as Luke stood at his usual post, he saw Thomas Browning, of Milwaukee, come out of the Sherman House. He knew him at once by the wart on the upper part of his right cheek, which gave him a remarkable appearance.

"Can there be two persons answering this description?" Luke asked himself.

Thomas Browning came across the street, and paused in front of Luke.

CHAPTER XXIII

STEPHEN WEBB IS PUZZLED

"Will you have a morning paper?" asked Luke.

He wanted to have a few words with Mr. Browning, even upon an indifferent subject, as he now thought it probable that this was the man who had defrauded his mother and himself.

Browning, too, on his part, wished for an opportunity to speak with the son of the man he had so shamefully swindled.

"Yes," he said, abruptly, "you may give me the

Times.

When the paper had been paid for, he said:

"Do you make a good living at selling papers?"

"It gives me about seventy-five cents a day," answered Luke.

"You can live on that, I suppose?"

"I have a mother to support."

"That makes a difference. Why do you stay in Chicago? You could make a better living farther West."

"In California?" asked Luke, looking intently at Browning.

Thomas Browning started.

"What put California into your head?" he asked.

"My father died in California."

"A good reason for your not going there."

"I thought you might be able to tell me something about California," continued Luke.

"Why should I?"

"I thought perhaps you had been there."

"You are right," said Browning, after a pause. "I made a brief trip to San Francisco at one time. It was on a slight matter of business. But I don't know much about the interior and can't give you advice."

"I wonder if this is true," thought Luke. "He admits having been to California, but says he has never been in the interior. If that is the case, he can't have met my father."

"I may at some time have it in my power to find you a place farther West, but not in California," resumed Browning. "I will take it into consideration. I frequently come to Chicago, and I presume you are to be found here."

"Yes, sir."

Thomas Browning waved his hand by way of good-by, and continued on his way.

"The boy seems sharp," he said to himself. "If he had the slightest hint of my connection with his father's money, he looks as if he would follow it up. Luckily there is no witness and no evidence. No one can prove that I received the money."

At the corner of Adams Street Mr. Browning encountered his nephew, Stephen Webb, who was gazing in at a window with a cigar in his mouth, looking the very image of independent leisure.

"You are profitably employed," said Browning, dryly.

Stephen Webb wheeled round quickly.

"Glad to see you, Uncle Thomas," he said, effusively. "I suppose you received my letter?"

"Yes."

"I hope you are satisfied. I had hard work to find out about the boy."

"Humph! I don't see how there could be anything difficult about it. I hope you didn't mention my name?"

"No. I suppose you are interested in the boy," said Stephen, with a look of curious inquiry.

"Yes; I always feel interested in the poor, and those who require assistance."

"I am glad of that, uncle, for you have a poor nephew."

"And a lazy one," said Browning, sharply. "Where would I be if I had been as indolent as you?"

"I am sure I am willing to do whatever you require, Uncle Thomas. Have you any instructions?"

"Well, not just now, except to let me know all you can learn about the newsboy. Has he any other source of income except selling papers?"

"I believe he does a few odd jobs now and then, but I don't suppose he earns much outside."

"I was talking with him this morning."

"You were!" ejaculated Stephen in a tone of curiosity. "Did you tell him you felt an interest in him?"

"No, and I don't want you to tell him so. I suggested that he could make a better income by leaving Chicago, and going farther West."

"I think I might like to do that, Uncle Thomas."

"Then why don't you?"

"I can't go without money."

"You could take up a quarter-section of land and start in as a farmer. I could give you a lift that way if I thought you were in earnest."

"I don't think I should succeed as a farmer," said Stephen, with a grimace.

"Too hard work, eh?"

"I am willing to work hard, but that isn't in my line."

"Well, let that go. You asked if I had any instructions. Find opportunities of talking with the boy, and speak in favor of going West."

"I will. Is there anything more?"

"No. I believe not."

"You couldn't let me have a couple of dollars extra, could you, uncle?"

"Why should I?"

"I – I felt sick last week, and had to call in a doctor, and then get some medicine."

"There's one dollar! Don't ask me for any more extras."

"He's awfully close-fisted," grumbled Stephen.

"I am afraid King might visit Chicago, and find out the boy," said Browning to himself as he continued his walk. "That would never do, for he is a sharp fellow, and would put the boy on my track if he saw any money in it. My best course is to get this Luke out of Chicago, if I can."

Stephen Webb made it in his way to fall in with Luke when he was selling afternoon papers.

"This is rather a slow way of making a fortune, isn't it, Luke?" he asked.

"Yes; I have no thoughts of making a fortune at the newspaper business."

"Do you always expect to remain in it?" continued Webb.

"Well, no," answered Luke, with a smile. "If I live to be fifty or sixty I think I should find it rather tiresome."

"You are right there."

"But I don't see any way of getting out of it just yet. There may be an opening for me by and by."

"The chances for a young fellow in Chicago are not very good. Here am I twenty-five years old and with no prospects to speak of."

"A good many people seem to make good livings, and many grow rich, in Chicago."

"Yes, if you've got money you can make money. Did you ever think of going West?"

Luke looked a little surprised.

"A gentleman was speaking to me on that subject this morning," he said.

"What did he say to you?" asked Stephen, curiously.

"He recommended me to go West, but did not seem to approve of California."

"Why not. Had he ever been there?"

"He said he had visited San Francisco, but had never been in the interior."

"What a whopper that was!" thought Stephen Webb. "Why should Uncle Thomas say that?"

"What sort of a looking man was he? Had you ever seen him before?" he inquired.

"He is a peculiar-looking man – has a wart on his right cheek."

"Did he mention the particular part of the West?"

"No; he said he would look out for a chance for me."

"It is curious Uncle Thomas feels such an interest in that boy," Webb said to himself, meditatively.

CHAPTER XXIV

MRS. MERTON PASSES A PLEASANT EVENING

Ambrose Kean called with Luke an evening or two later to thank Mrs. Merton in person for her kindness. They arrived ten minutes after Mrs. Tracy and Harold had started for Hooley's Theater, and thus were saved an embarrassing meeting with two persons who would have treated them frigidly.

They were conducted upstairs by the servant, and were ushered into Mrs. Merton's room.

Ambrose Kean was naturally ill at ease, knowing that Mrs. Merton was acquainted with the error he had committed. But the old lady received him cordially.

"I am glad to meet the son of my old schoolmate, Mary Robinson," she said.

"In spite of his unworthiness?" returned Ambrose, his cheek flushing with shame.

"I don't know whether he is unworthy. That remains to be seen."

"You know I yielded to temptation and committed a theft."

"Yes; but it was to help your mother."

"It was, but that does not relieve me from guilt."

"You are right; still it greatly mitigates it. Take my advice; forget it, and never again yield to a similar temptation."

"I will not, indeed, Mrs. Merton," said the young many earnestly. "I feel that I have been very fortunate in escaping the consequences of my folly, and in enlisting your sympathy."

"That is well! Let us forget this disagreeable circumstance, and look forward to the future. How is Mary your mother?"

"She is an invalid."

"And poor. There is a remedy for poverty. Let us also hope there is a remedy for her ill-health. But tell me, why did you not come to see me before? You have been some time in Chicago."

"True, but I knew you were a rich lady. I didn't think you would remember or care to hear from one so poor and obscure as my mother."

"Come, I consider that far from a compliment," said the old lady. "You really thought as badly of me as that?"

"I know you better now," said Ambrose, gratefully.

"It is well you do. You have no idea how intimate your mother and I used to be. She is five years my junior, I think, so that I regarded her as a younger sister. It is many years since we met. And how is she looking?"

"She shows the effects of bad health, but I don't think she looks older than her years."

"We have both changed greatly, no doubt. It is to be expected. But you can tell her that I have not forgotten the favorite companion of my school days."

"I will do so, for I know it will warm her heart and brighten her up."

"When we were girls together our worldly circumstances did not greatly differ. But I married, and my husband was very successful in business."

"While she married and lost all she had."

"It is often so. It might have been the other way. Your mother might have been rich, and I poor; but I don't think she would have been spoiled by prosperity any more than I have been. Now tell me how you are situated."

"I am a clerk, earning twelve dollars a week."

"And your employer – is he kind and considerate?"

"He is just, but he has strict notions. Had he learned my slip the other day he would have discharged me, perhaps had me arrested. Now, thanks to your prompt kindness, he knows and will know nothing of it."

"Is he likely to increase your salary?"

"He will probably raise me to fifteen dollars a week next January. Then I can get along very well. At present it is difficult for me, after sending my mother four dollars a week, to live on the balance of my salary."

"I should think it would be."

"Still, I would have made it do, but for mother's falling sick, and so needing a larger allowance."

"I hope she is not seriously ill," said Mrs. Merton, with solicitude.

"No, fortunately not. I think she will be as well as usual in a few weeks."

"Tell her I inquired particularly for her, and that I send her my love and remembrance."

"I shall be only too glad to do so."

The time slipped away so rapidly that Luke was surprised when, looking at the French clock on the mantel, he saw that it lacked but a quarter of ten o'clock.

"Mr. Kean," he said, glancing at the clock, "it is getting late."

"So it is," said Ambrose, rising. "I am afraid we have been trespassing upon your kindness, Mrs. Merton."

"Not at all!" said Mrs. Merton, promptly. "I have enjoyed the evening, I can assure you. Mr. Kean, you must call again."

"I shall be glad to do so, if you will permit me."

"I wish you to do so. Luke will come with you. I shall want to hear more of your mother, and how she gets along."

As they were leaving, Mrs. Merton slipped into the hand of Ambrose Kean an envelope.

"The contents is for your mother," she said. "I have made the check payable to you."

"Thank you. It is another mark of your kindness."

When Ambrose Kean examined the check, he ascertained to his joy that it was for a hundred dollars.

"What a splendid old lady she is, Luke!" he said, enthusiastically.

"She is always kind, Mr. Kean. I have much to be grateful to her for. I wish I could say the same of other members of the family."

"What other members of the family are there?"

"A niece, Mrs. Tracy, and her son, Harold."

"Why didn't we see them to-night?"

"I don't know. I suppose they were out."

The next day Ambrose handed the check to his employer and asked if he would indorse it, and so enable him to draw the money.

James Cooper took the check and examined the signature.

"Eliza Merton," said he. "Is it the rich Mrs. Merton who lives on Prairie Avenue?"

"Yes, sir."

"Indeed; I did not know that you were acquainted with her."

"She and my mother were schoolmates."

"And so you keep up the acquaintance?"

"I spent last evening at her house. This check is a gift from her to my mother."

Ambrose Kean rose greatly in the estimation of his employer when the latter learned that Kean had such an aristocratic friend, and he was treated with more respect and consideration than before.

Meanwhile Harold and his mother had enjoyed themselves at the theater.

"I suppose Aunt Eliza went to bed early, Harold," said Mrs. Tracy, as they were on their way home.

"Went to roost with the hens," suggested Harold, laughing at what he thought to be a good joke.

"Probably it is as well for her," said his mother. "It isn't good for old people to sit up late."

It was about half-past eleven when they were admitted by the drowsy servant.

"I suppose Mrs. Merton went to bed long ago, Laura," said Mrs. Tracy.

"No, ma'am, she set up later than usual."

"That is odd. I thought she would feel lonely."

"Oh, she had company, ma'am."

"Company! Who?"

"Master Luke was here all the evenin', and a young man with him."

Mrs. Tracy frowned ominously.

"The sly young artful!" she said to Harold when they were alone. "He is trying all he can to get on aunt's weak side. Something will have to be done, or we shall be left out in the cold."

CHAPTER XXV

MRS. TRACY'S BROTHER

A day or two later, while Mrs. Merton was in the city shopping, accompanied by Luke, a man of thirty years of age ascended the steps of the house on Prairie Avenue and rang the bell.

"Is Mrs. Tracy at home?" he asked of the servant who answered the bell.

"Yes, sir; what name shall I give?"

"Never mind about the name. Say it is an old friend."

"Won't you come in, sir?"

"Yes, I believe I will."

Mrs. Tracy received the message with surprise mingled with curiosity.

"Who can it be?" she asked herself.

She came downstairs without delay.

The stranger, who had taken a seat in the hall, rose and faced her.

"Don't you know me, Louisa?" he asked.

"Is it you, Warner?" she exclaimed, surprised and! startled.

"Yes," he answered, laughing. "It's a good while since we met."

"Five years. And have you – "

"What – reformed?"

"Yes."

"Well, I can't say as to that. I can only tell you that I am not wanted by the police at present. Is the old lady still alive?"

"Aunt Eliza?"

"Of course."

"Yes, she is alive and well."

"I thought perhaps she might have died, and left you in possession of her property."

"Not yet. I don't think she has any intention of dying for a considerable number of years."

"That is awkward. Has she done nothing for you?"

"We have a free home here, and she makes me a moderate allowance, but she is not disposed to part with much money while she lives."

"I am sorry for that. I thought you might be able to help me to some money. I am terribly hard up."

"You always were, no matter how much money you had."

"I never had much. The next thing is, how does the old lady feel toward me?"

"I don't think she feels very friendly, though nothing has passed between us respecting you for a long time. She has very strict notions about honesty, and when you embezzled your employer's money you got into her black books."

"That was a youthful indiscretion," said Warner, smiling. "Can't you convince her of that?"

"I doubt if I can lead her to think of it in that light."

"I know what that means, Louisa. You want to get the whole of the old lady's property for yourself and that boy of yours. You always were selfish."

"No, Warner, though I think I am entitled to the larger part of aunt's money, I don't care to have you left out in the cold. I will do what I can to reconcile her to you."

"Come, that's fair and square. You're a trump, Louisa. You have not forgotten that I am your brother."

"No, I am not so selfish as you think. If I don't succeed in restoring you to Aunt Eliza's good graces, and she chooses to leave me all her property, I promise to take care of you and allow you a fair income."

"That's all right, but I would rather the old lady would provide for me herself."

"Do you doubt my word?"

"No,

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