The Cash Boy Read online

  CHAPTER III

  LEFT ALONE

  Frank listened to this revelation with wonder. For the first time in hislife he asked himself, "Who am I?"

  "How came I by my name, mother?" he asked.

  "I must tell you. After the sudden departure of the gentleman whobrought you, we happened to think that we had not asked your name. Weaccordingly wrote to the address which had been given us, making theinquiry. In return we received a slip of paper containing these words:'The name is immaterial; give him any name you please. A. M.'"

  "You gave me the name of Frank."

  "It was Mr. Fowler's name. We should have given it to you had you beenour own boy; as the choice was left to us, we selected that."

  "It suits me as well as any other. How soon did you leave Brooklyn,mother?"

  "In a week we had made all arrangements, and removed to this place. Itis a small place, but it furnished as much work as my husband felt ableto do. With the help of the allowance for your support, we not only goton comfortably, but saved up a hundred and fifty dollars annually, whichwe deposited in a savings bank. But after five years the money stoppedcoming. It was the year 1857, the year of the great panic, and amongothers who failed was Giles Warner's agent, from whom we received ourpayments. Mr. Fowler went to New York to inquire about it, but onlylearned that Mr. Warner, weighed down by his troubles, had committedsuicide, leaving no clew to the name of the man who left you with us."

  "How long ago was that, mother?"

  "Seven years ago nearly eight."

  "And you continued to keep me, though the payments stopped."

  "Certainly; you were as dear to us as our own child--for we now had achild of our own--Grace. We should as soon have thought of casting offher as you."

  "But you must have been poor, mother."

  "We were economical, and we got along till your father died three yearsago. Since then it has been hard work."

  "You have had a hard time, mother."

  "No harder on your account. You have been a great comfort to me, Frank.I am only anxious for the future. I fear you and Grace will suffer afterI am gone."

  "Don't fear, mother, I am young and strong; I am not afraid to face theworld with God's help."

  "What are you thinking of, Frank?" asked Mrs. Fowler, noticing the boy'sfixed look.

  "Mother," he said, earnestly, "I mean to seek for that man you have toldme of. I want to find out who I am. Do you think he was my father?"

  "He said he was, but I do not believe it. He spoke with hesitation, andsaid this to deceive us, probably."

  "I am glad you think so, I would not like to think him my father. Fromwhat you have told me of him I am sure I would not like him."

  "He must be nearly fifty now--dark complexion, with dark hair andwhiskers. I am afraid that description will not help you any. There aremany men who look like that. I should know him by his expression, but Icannot describe that to you."

  Here Mrs. Fowler was seized with a very severe fit of coughing, andFrank begged her to say no more.

  Two days later, and Mrs. Fowler was no better. She was rapidly failing,and no hope was entertained that she would rally. She herself feltthat death was near at hand and told Frank so, but he found it hard tobelieve.

  On the second of the two days, as he was returning from the villagestore with an orange for his mother, he was overtaken by Sam Pomeroy.

  "Is your mother very sick, Frank?" he asked.

  "Yes, Sam, I'm afraid she won't live."

  "Is it so bad as that? I do believe," he added, with a sudden change oftone, "Tom Pinkerton is the meanest boy I ever knew. He is trying to getyour place as captain of the baseball club. He says that if your motherdoesn't live, you will have to go to the poorhouse, for you won't haveany money, and that it will be a disgrace for the club to have a captainfrom the poorhouse."

  "Did he say that?" asked Frank, indignantly.

  "Yes."

  "When he tells you that, you may say that I shall never go to thepoorhouse."

  "He says his father is going to put you and your sister there."

  "All the Deacon Pinkertons in the world can never make me go to thepoorhouse!" said Frank, resolutely.

  "Bully for you, Frank! I knew you had spunk."

  Frank hurried home. As he entered the little house a neighbor's wife,who had been watching with his mother, came to meet him.

  "Frank," she said, gravely, "you must prepare yourself for sad news.While you were out your mother had another hemorrhage, and--and--"

  "Is she dead?" asked the boy, his face very pale.

  "She is dead!"