The Cash Boy by Jr. Horatio Alger (good ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“Not my mother!” he exclaimed. “Who, then, is my mother?”

“I cannot tell you, Frank. I never knew. You will forgive me for concealing this from you for so long.”

“No matter who was my real mother since I have you. You have been a mother to me, and I shall always think of you as such.”

“You make me happy, Frank, when you say that. And you will look upon Grace as a sister also, will you not?”

“Always,” said the boy, emphatically. “Mother, will you tell all you know about me? I don’t know what to think; now that I am not your son I cannot rest till I learn who I am.”

“I can understand your feelings, Frank, but I must defer the explanation till to-morrow. I have fatigued myself with talking, but to-morrow you shall know all that I can tell you.”

“Forgive me for not thinking of your being tired, mother,” and he bent over and pressed his lips upon the cheek of the sick woman. “But don’t talk any more. Wait till to-morrow.”

In the afternoon Frank had a call from Sam Pomeroy.

“The club is to play to-morrow afternoon against a picked nine, Frank,” he said. “Will you be there?”

“I can’t, Sam,” he answered. “My mother is very sick, and it is my duty to stay at home with her.”

“We shall miss you—that is, all of us but one. Tom Pinkerton said yesterday that you ought to resign, as you can’t attend to your duties. He wouldn’t object to filling your place, I fancy.”

“He is welcome to the place as soon as the club feels like electing him,” said Frank. “Tell the boys I am sorry I can’t be on hand. They had better get you to fill my place.”

“I’ll mention it, but I don’t think they’ll see it in that light. They’re all jealous of my superior playing,” said Sam, humorously. “Well, good-bye, Frank. I hope your mother’ll be better soon.”

“Thank you, Sam,” answered Frank, soberly. “I hope so, too, but she is very sick.”

The next day Mrs. Fowler again called Frank to the bedside.

“Grace is gone out on an errand,” she said, “and I can find no better time for telling you what I know about you and the circumstances which led to my assuming the charge of you.”

“Are you strong enough, mother?”

“Yes, Frank. Thirteen years ago my husband and myself occupied a small tenement in that part of Brooklyn know as Gowanus, not far from Greenwood Cemetery. My husband was a carpenter, and though his wages were small he was generally employed. We had been married three years, but had no children of our own. Our expenses were small, and we got on comfortably, and should have continued to do so, but that Mr. Fowler met with an accident which partially disabled him. He fell from a high scaffold and broke his arm. This was set and he was soon able to work again, but he must also have met with some internal injury, for his full strength never returned. Half a day’s work tired him more than a whole day’s work formerly had done. Of course our income was very much diminished, and we were obliged to economize very closely. This preyed upon my husband’s mind and seeing his anxiety, I set about considering how I could help him, and earn my share of the expenses.

“One day in looking over the advertising columns of a New York paper I saw the following advertisement:

“‘For adoption—A healthy male infant. The parents are able to pay liberally for the child’s maintenance, but circumstances compel them to delegate the care to another. Address for interview A. M.’

“I had no sooner read this advertisement than I felt that it was just what I wanted. A liberal compensation was promised, and under our present circumstances would be welcome, as it was urgently needed. I mentioned the matter to my husband, and he was finally induced to give his consent.

“Accordingly, I replied to the advertisement.

“Three days passed in which I heard nothing from it. But as we were sitting at the supper table at six o’clock one afternoon, there came a knock at our front door. I opened it, and saw before me a tall stranger, a man of about thirty-five, of dark complexion, and dark whiskers. He was well dressed, and evidently a gentleman in station.

“‘Is this Mrs. Fowler?’ he asked.

“‘Yes, sir,’ I answered, in some surprise

“‘Then may I beg permission to enter your house for a few minutes? I have something to say to you.’

“Still wondering, I led the way into the sitting-room, where your father—where Mr. Fowler——”

“Call him my father—I know no other,” said Frank.

“Where your father was seated.

“‘You have answered an advertisement,’ said the stranger.

“‘Yes, sir,’ I replied.

“‘I am A. M.,’ was his next announcement. ‘Of course I have received many letters, but on the whole I was led to consider yours most favorably. I have made inquiries about you in the neighborhood, and the answers have been satisfactory. You have no children of your own?’

“‘No, sir.’

“‘All the better. You would be able to give more attention to this child.’

“‘Is it yours, sir?’ I asked

“‘Ye-es,’ he answered, with hesitation. ‘Circumstances,’ he continued, ‘circumstances which I need not state, compel me to separate from it. Five hundred dollars a year will be paid for its maintenance.’

“Five hundred dollars! I heard this with joy, for it was considerably more than my husband was able to earn since his accident. It would make us comfortable at once, and your father might work when he pleased, without feeling any anxiety about our coming to want.

“‘Will that sum be satisfactory?’ asked the stranger.

“‘It is very liberal,’ I answered.

“‘I intended it to be so,’ he said. ‘Since there is no difficulty on this score, I am inclined to trust you with the care of the child. But I must make two conditions.’

“‘What are they, sir?’

“‘In the first place, you must not try to find out the friends of the child. They do not desire to be known. Another thing, you must move from Brooklyn.’

“‘Move from Brooklyn?’ I repeated.

“‘Yes,’ he answered, firmly. ‘I do not think it necessary to give you a reason for this condition. Enough that it is imperative. If you decline, our negotiations are at an end.’

“I looked at my husband. He seemed as much surprised as I was.