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

“Your affectionate mother,

“RUTH FOWLER.”

Frank, following the instructions of the letter, found the gold pieces and put them carefully into his pocketbook. He did not mention the letter to Grace at present, for he knew not but Deacon Pinkerton might lay claim to the money to satisfy his debt if he knew it.

“I am ready, Frank,” said Grace, entering the room. “Shall we go?”

“Yes, Grace. There is no use in stopping here any longer.”

As he spoke he heard the outer door open, and a minute later Deacon Pinkerton entered the room.

None of the deacon’s pompousness was abated as he entered the house and the room.

“Will you take a seat?” said our hero, with the air of master of the house.

“I intended to,” said the deacon, not acknowledging his claim. “So your poor mother is gone?”

“Yes, sir,” said Frank, briefly.

“We must all die,” said the deacon, feeling that it was incumbent on him to say something religious. “Ahem! your mother died poor? She left no property?”

“It was not her fault.”

“Of course not. Did she mention that I had advanced her money on the furniture?”

“My mother told me all about it, sir.”

“Ahem! You are in a sad condition. But you will be taken care of. You ought to be thankful that there is a home provided for those who have no means.”

“What home do you refer to, Deacon Pinkerton?” asked Frank, looking steadily in the face of his visitor.

“I mean the poorhouse, which the town generously provides for those who cannot support themselves.”

This was the first intimation Grace had received of the possibility that they would be sent to such a home, and it frightened her.

“Oh, Frank!” she exclaimed, “must we go to the poorhouse?”

“No, Grace; don’t be frightened,” said Frank, soothingly. “We will not go.”

“Frank Fowler,” said the deacon, sternly, “cease to mislead your sister.”

“I am not misleading her, sir.”

“Did you not tell her that she would not be obliged to go to the poorhouse?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then what do you mean by resisting my authority?”

“You have no authority over us. We are not paupers,” and Frank lifted his head proudly, and looked steadily in the face of the deacon.

“You are paupers, whether you admit it or not.”

“We are not,” said the boy, indignantly.

“Where is your money? Where is your property?”

“Here, sir,” said our hero, holding out his hands.

“I have two strong hands, and they will help me make a living for my sister and myself.”

“May I ask whether you expect to live here and use my furniture?”

“I do not intend to, sir. I shall ask no favors of you, neither for Grace nor myself. I am going to leave the house. I only came back to get a few clothes. Mr. Pomeroy has invited Grace and me to stay at his house for a few days. I haven’t decided what I shall do afterward.”

“You will have to go to the poorhouse, then. I have no objection to your making this visit first. It will be a saving to the town.”

“Then, sir, we will bid you good-day. Grace, let us go.”