The Errand Boy; Or, How Phil Brent Won Success

“Mr. Granville, I presume,” said the lady.

“Yes, madam. You are–”

“Mrs. Brent, and this,” pointing to Jonas, “is the boy you left at Fultonville thirteen years ago. Philip, go to your father.”

Jonas advanced awkwardly to Mr. Granville’s chair, and said in parrot-like tones:

“I’m so glad to see you, pa!”

“And you are really Philip?” said Mr. Granville slowly.

“Yes, I’m Philip Brent; but I suppose my name is Granville now.”

“Come here, my boy!”

Mr. Granville drew the boy to him, and looked earnestly in his face, then kissed him affectionately.

“He has changed since he was a little child, Mrs. Brent,” he said, with a half-sigh.

“That’s to be expected, sir. He was only three years old when you left him with us.”

“But it seems to me that his hair and complexion are lighter.”

“You can judge of that better than I,” said Mrs. Brent plausibly. “To me, who have seen him daily, the change was not perceptible.”

“I am greatly indebted to you for your devoted care—to you and your husband. I am grieved to hear that Mr. Brent is dead.”

“Yes, sir; he left me six months since. It was a grievous loss. Ah, sir, when I give up Philip also, I shall feel quite alone in the world,” and she pressed a handkerchief to her eyes. “You see, I have come to look upon him as my own boy!”

“My dear madam, don’t think that I shall be so cruel as to take him from you. Though I wish him now to live with me, you must accompany him. My home shall be yours if you are willing to accept a room in my house and a seat at my table.”

“Oh, Mr. Granville, how can I thank you for your great kindness? Ever since I received your letter I have been depressed with the thought that I should lose dear Philip. If I had a child of my own it would be different; but, having none, my affections are centered upon him.”

“And very naturally,” said Mr. Granville. “We become attached to those whom we benefit. Doubtless he feels a like affection for you. You love this good lady, Philip, who has supplied to you the place of your own mother, who died in your infancy, do you not?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Jonas stolidly. “But I want to live with my pa!”

“To be sure you shall. My boy, we have been separated too long already. Henceforth we will live together, and Mrs. Brent shall live with us.”

“Where do you live, pa?” asked Jonas.

“I have a country-seat a few miles from Chicago,” answered Mr. Granville. “We will go there as soon as I am well enough. I ought to apologize, Mrs. Brent, for inviting you up to my room, but my rheumatism makes me a prisoner.”

“I hope your rheumatism will soon leave you, sir.”

“I think it will. I have an excellent physician, and already I am much better. I may, however, have to remain here a few days yet.”

“And where do you wish Philip and I to remain in the meantime?”

“Here, of course. Philip, will you ring the bell?”

“I don’t see any bell,” answered Jonas, bewildered.

“Touch that knob!”

Jonas did so.

“Will that ring the bell?” he asked curiously.

“Yes, it is an electric bell.”

“By gosh!” ejaculated Jonas.

“Don’t use such language, Philip!” said Mrs. Brent hastily. “Your father will be shocked. You see, Mr. Granville, Philip has associated with country boys, and in spite of my care, he has adopted some of their language.”

Mr. Granville himself was rather disturbed by this countrified utterance, and it occurred to him that his new-found son needed considerable polishing.

“Ah, I quite understand that, Mrs. Brent,” he said courteously. “He is young yet, and there will be plenty of time for him to get rid of any objectionable habits and phrases.”

Here the servant appeared.

“Tell the clerk to assign this lady and the boy rooms on this floor if any are vacant. Mrs. Brent, Philip may have a room next to you for the present. When I am better I will have him with me. John, is dinner on the table?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, after taking possession of your rooms, you and Philip had better go to dinner. I will send for him later.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As Mrs. Brent was ushered into her handsome apartment her face was radiant with joy and exultation.

“All has gone well!” she said. “The most difficult part is over.”

CHAPTER XIX

A NARROW ESCAPE FROM DETECTION

The conspiracy into which Mrs. Brent had entered was a daring one, and required great coolness and audacity. But the inducements were great, and for her son’s sake she decided to carry it through. Of course it was necessary that she should not be identified with any one who could disclose to Mr. Granville the deceit that was being practiced upon him. Circumstances lessened the risk of detection, since Mr. Granville was confined to his room in the hotel, and for a week she and Jonas went about the city alone.

One day she had a scare.

She was occupying a seat in a Chestnut Street car, while Jonas stood in front with the driver, when a gentleman whom she had not observed, sitting at the other end of the car, espied her.

“Why, Mrs. Brent, how came you here?” he asked, in surprise, crossing over and taking a seat beside her.

Her color went and came as, in a subdued tone, she answered.

“I am in Philadelphia on a little visit, Mr. Pearson.”

“Are you not rather out of your latitude?” asked the gentleman.

“Yes, perhaps so.”

“How is Mr. Brent?”

“Did you not hear that he was dead?”

“No, indeed! I sympathize with you in your sad loss.”

“Yes,” sighed the widow. “It is a great loss to us.”

“I suppose Jonas is a large boy now,” said the other. “I haven’t seen him for two or three years.”

“Yes, he has grown,” said the widow briefly. She hoped that Mr. Pearson would not discover that Jonas was with her, as she feared that the boy might betray them unconsciously.

“Is he with you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you stay long in Philadelphia?”

“No, I think not,” answered Mrs. Brent.

“I go back to New York this afternoon, or I would ask permission to call on you.”

Mrs. Brent breathed more freely. A call at the hotel was by all means to be avoided.

“Of course I should have been glad to see you,” she answered, feeling quite safe in saying so. “Are you going far?”

“I get out at Thirteenth Street.”

“Thank Heaven!” said Mrs. Brent to herself. “Then he won’t discover where we are.”

The Continental Hotel is situated at the corner of Chestnut and Ninth Streets, and Mrs. Brent feared that Jonas would stop the car at that point. As it was, the boy did not observe that his mother had met an acquaintance, so intent was he on watching the street sights.

When they reached Ninth Street mother and son got out and entered the hotel.

“I guess I’ll stay down stairs awhile,” said Jonas.

“No, Philip, I have something to say to you. Come up with me.”

“I want to go into the billiard-room,” said Jonas, grumbling.

“It is very important,” said Mrs. Brent emphatically.

Now the curiosity of Jonas was excited, and he followed his mother into the elevator, for their rooms were on the third floor.

“Well, mother, what is it?” asked Jonas, when the door of his mother’s room was closed behind them.

“I met a gentleman who knew me in the horse-car,” said Mrs. Brent abruptly.

“Did you? Who was it?”

“Mr. Pearson.”

“He used to give me candy. Why didn’t you call me?”

“It is important that we should not be recognized,” said his mother. “While we stay here we must be exceedingly prudent. Suppose he had called upon us at the hotel and fallen in with Mr. Granville. He might have told him that you are my son, and that your name is Jonas, not Philip.”

“Then the fat would be in the fire!” said Jonas.

“Exactly so; I am glad you see the danger. Now I want you to stay here, or in your own room, for the next two or three hours.”

“It’ll be awfully tiresome,” grumbled Jonas.

“It is necessary,” said his mother firmly. “Mr. Pearson leaves for New York by an afternoon train. It is now only two o’clock. He left the car at Thirteenth Street, and might easily call at this hotel. It is a general rendezvous for visitors to the city. If he should meet you down stairs, he would probably know you, and his curiosity would be aroused. He asked me where I was staying, but I didn’t appear to hear the question.”

“That’s pretty hard on me, ma.”

“I am out of all patience with you,” said Mrs. Brent. “Am I not working for your interest, and you are doing all you can to thwart my plans. If you don’t care anything about inheriting a large fortune, let it go! We can go back to Gresham and give it all up.”

“I’ll do as you say, ma,” said Jonas, subdued.

The very next day Mr. Granville sent for Mrs. Brent. She lost no time in waiting upon him.

“Mrs. Brent,” he said, “I have decided to leave Philadelphia to-morrow.”

“Are you quite able, sir?” she asked, with a good assumption of sympathy.

“My doctor tells me I may venture. We shall travel in Pullman cars, you know. I shall secure a whole compartment, and avail myself of every comfort and luxury which money can command.”

“Ah, sir! money is a good friend in such a case.”

“True, Mrs. Brent. I have seen the time when I was poorly supplied with it. Now I am happily at ease. Can you and Philip be ready?”

“Yes, Mr. Granville,” answered Mrs. Brent promptly. “We are ready to-day, for that matter. We shall both be glad to get started.”

“I am glad to hear it. I think Philip will like his Western home. I bought a fine country estate of a Chicago merchant, whose failure compelled him to part with it. Philip shall have his own horse and his own servants.”

“He will be delighted,” said Mrs. Brent warmly. “He has been used to none of these things, for Mr. Brent and I, much as we loved him, had not the means to provide him with such luxuries.”

“Yes, Mrs. Brent, I understand that fully. You were far from rich. Yet you cared for my boy as if he were your own.”

“I loved him as much as if he had been my own son, Mr. Granville.”

“I am sure you did. I thank Providence that I am able to repay to some extent the great debt I have incurred. I cannot repay it wholly, but I will take care that you, too, shall enjoy ease and luxury. You shall have one of the best rooms in my house, and a special servant to wait upon you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Granville,” said Mrs. Brent, her heart filled with proud anticipations of the state in which she should hereafter live. “I do not care where you put me, so long as you do not separate me from Philip.”

“She certainly loves my son!” said Mr. Granville to himself. “Yet her ordinary manner is cold and constrained, and she does not seem like a woman whose affections would easily be taken captive. Yet Philip seems to have found the way to her heart. It must be because she has had so much care of him. We are apt to love those whom we benefit.”

But though Mr. Granville credited Mrs. Brent with an affection for Philip, he was uneasily conscious that the boy’s return had not brought him the satisfaction and happiness he had fondly anticipated.

To begin with, Philip did not look at all as he had supposed his son would look. He did not look like the Granvilles at all. Indeed, he had an unusually countrified aspect, and his conversation was mingled with rustic phrases which shocked his father’s taste.

“I suppose it comes of the way in which he has been brought up and the country boys he has associated with,” thought Mr. Granville. “Fortunately he is young, and there is time to polish him. As soon as I reach Chicago I will engage a private tutor for him, who shall not only remedy his defects of education, but do what he can to improve my son’s manners. I want him to grow up a gentleman.”

The next day the three started for Chicago, while Mr. Granville’s real son and heir continued to live at a cheap lodging-house in New York.

The star of Jonas was in the ascendant, while poor Philip seemed destined to years of poverty and hard work. Even now, he was threatened by serious misfortune.

CHAPTER XX

LEFT OUT IN THE COLD

Of course Phil was utterly ignorant of the audacious attempt to deprive him of his rights and keep him apart from the father who longed once more to meet him. There was nothing before him so far as he knew except to continue the up-hill struggle for a living.

He gave very little thought to the prediction of the fortune-teller whom he had consulted, and didn’t dream of any short-cut to fortune.

Do all he could, he found he could not live on his wages.

His board cost him four dollars a week, and washing and lunch two dollars more, thus compelling him to exceed his salary by a dollar each week.

He had, as we know, a reserve fund, on which he could draw, but it was small, and grew constantly smaller. Then, again, his clothes were wearing out, and he saw no way of obtaining money to buy new.

Phil became uneasy, and the question came up to his mind, “Should he write to his step-mother and ask her for a trifling loan?” If the money had been hers, he would not have done so on any condition; but she had had nothing of her own, and all the property in her hands came through Mr. Brent, who, as he knew, was attached to him, even though no tie of blood united them. He certainly meant that Phil should be cared for out of the estate, and at length Phil brought himself to write the following letter:

“NEW YORK, March 10, 18—.

“DEAR MRS. BRENT: I suppose I ought to have written you before, and have no good excuse to offer. I hope you and Jonas are well, and will continue so. Let me tell you how I have succeeded thus far.

“I have been fortunate enough to obtain a place in a large mercantile establishment, and for my services I am paid five dollars a week. This is more than boys generally get in the first place, and I am indebted to the partiality of an old gentleman, the senior member of the firm, whom I had the chance to oblige, for faring so well. Still I find it hard to get along on this sum, though I am as economical as possible. My board and washing cost me six dollars a week, and I have, besides, to buy clothing from time to time. I have nearly spent the extra money I had with me, and do not know how to keep myself looking respectable in the way of clothing. Under the circumstances, I shall have to apply to you for a loan, say of twenty-five dollars. In a year or two I hope to earn enough to be entirely independent. At present I cannot expect it. As my father—Mr. Brent—undoubtedly intended to provide for me, I don’t think I need to apologize for making this request. Still I do it reluctantly, for I would prefer to depend entirely upon myself.

“With regards to you and Jonas, I am yours truly, PHILIP BRENT.”

Phil put this letter in the post-office, and patiently waited for an answer.

“Mrs. Brent surely cannot refuse me,” he said to himself, “since I have almost wholly relieved her of the expense of taking care of me.”

Phil felt so sure that money would be sent to him that he began to look round a little among ready-made clothing stores to see at what price he could obtain a suit that would do for every-day use. He found a store in the Bowery where he could secure a suit, which looked as if it would answer, for thirteen dollars. If Mrs. Brent sent him twenty-five, that would leave him twelve for underclothing, and for a reserve fund to meet the weekly deficit which he could not avoid.

Three—four days passed, and no letter came in answer to his.

“It can’t be that Mrs. Brent won’t at least answer my letter,” he thought uneasily. “Even if she didn’t send me twenty-five dollars, she couldn’t help sending me something.”

Still he felt uneasy, in view of the position in which he would find himself in case no letter or remittance should come at all.

It was during this period of anxiety that his heart leaped for joy when on Broadway he saw the familiar form of Reuben Gordon, a young man already mentioned, to whom Phil had sold his gun before leaving Gresham.

“Why, Reuben, how are you?” exclaimed Phil joyfully. “When did you come to town?”

“Phil Brent!” exclaimed Reuben, shaking hands heartily. “I’m thunderin’ glad to see you. I was thinkin’ of you only five minutes ago, and wonderin’ where you hung out.”

“But you haven’t told me when you came to New York.”

“Only this morning! I’m goin’ to stay with a cousin of my father’s, that lives in Brooklyn, over night.”

“I wanted to ask you about Mrs. Brent and Jonas. I was afraid they might be sick, for I wrote four days ago and haven’t got any answer yet.”

“Where did you write to?”

“To Gresham, of course,” answered Phil, in surprise.

“You don’t mean to say you hain’t heard of their leavin’ Gresham?” said Reuben, in evident astonishment.

“Who has left Gresham?”

“Your mother—leastwise, Mrs. Brent—and Jonas. They cleared out three weeks ago, and nobody’s heard a word of them since—that is, nobody in the village.”

“Don’t you know where they’ve gone?” asked Phil, in amazement.

“No. I was goin’ to ask you. I s’posed, of course, they’d write and let you know.”

“I didn’t even know they had left Gresham.”

“Well, that’s what I call cur’us. It ain’t treatin’ you right accordin’ to my ideas.”

“Is the house shut up?”

“It was till two days ago. Then a brother of Mrs. Brent came and opened it. He has brought his wife and one child with him, and it seems they’re goin’ to live there. Somebody asked him where his sister and Jonas were, but they didn’t get no satisfaction. He said he didn’t rightly know himself. He believed they was travelin’; thought they might be in Canada.”

Phil looked and felt decidedly sober at this information. He understood, of course, now, why his letter had not been answered. It looked as if he were an outcast from the home that had been his so long. When he came to New York to earn a living he felt that he was doing so voluntarily, and was not obliged to do so. Now he was absolutely thrown upon his own resources, and must either work or starve.

“They’ve treated you real mean,” said Reuben.

“I never did like Mrs. Brent, or Jonas either, for that matter.

“Where are you working?”

Phil answered this question and several others which his honest country friend asked, but his mind was preoccupied, and he answered some of the questions at random. Finally he excused himself on the ground that he must be getting back to the store.

That evening Phil thought seriously of his position. Something must be done, that was very evident. His expenses exceeded his income, and he needed some clothing. There was no chance of getting his wages raised under a year, for he already received more pay than it was customary to give to a boy. What should he do?

Phil decided to lay his position frankly before the only friend he had in the city likely to help him—Mr. Oliver Carter. The old gentleman had been so friendly and kind that he felt that he would not at any rate repulse him. After he had come to this decision he felt better. He determined to lose no time in calling upon Mr. Carter.

After supper he brushed his hair carefully, and made himself look as well as circumstances would admit. Then he bent his steps toward Twelfth Street, where, as the reader will remember, Mr. Carter lived with his niece.

He ascended the steps and rang the bell. It was opened by Hannah, who recognized him, having admitted him on the former occasion of his calling.

“Good-evening,” said Phil pleasantly. “Is Mr. Carter at home?”

“No, sir,” answered Hannah. “Didn’t you know he had gone to Florida?”

“Gone to Florida!” repeated Phil, his heart sinking. “When did he start?”

“He started this afternoon.”

“Who’s asking after Uncle Oliver?” asked a boy’s voice.

Looking behind Hannah, Phil recognized the speaker as Alonzo Pitkin.

CHAPTER XXI

“THEY MET BY CHANCE.”

“Who was asking after Uncle Oliver?” demanded Alonzo superciliously.

“I was,” answered Philip.

“Oh! it’s you, is it?” said Alonzo, rather disdainfully.

“Yes,” answered Phil calmly, though he felt provoked at Alonzo’s tone, which was meant to be offensive. “You remember me, don’t you?”

“You are the boy that got round Uncle Oliver, and got him to give you a place in pa’s store.”

“I deny that I got round him,” returned Phil warmly. “I had the good luck to do him a favor.”

“I suppose you have come after money?” said Alonzo coarsely.

“I sha’n’t ask you for any, at any rate,” said Phil angrily.

“No; it wouldn’t do any good,” said Alonzo; “and it’s no use asking ma, either. She says you are an adventurer, and have designs on Uncle Oliver because he is rich.”

“I shall not ask your mother for any favor,” said Phil, provoked. “I am sorry not to meet your uncle.”

“I dare say!” sneered Alonzo.

Just then a woman, poorly but neatly dressed, came down stairs. Her face was troubled. Just behind her came Mrs. Pitkin, whose face wore a chilly and proud look.

“Mr. Carter has left the city, and I really don’t know when he will return,” Phil heard her say. “If he had been at home, it would not have benefited you. He is violently prejudiced against you, and would not have listened to a word you had to say.”

“I did not think he would have harbored resentment so long,” murmured the poor woman. “He never seemed to me to be a hard man.”

Phil gazed at the poorly dressed woman with a surprise which he did not attempt to conceal, for in her he recognized the familiar figure of his landlady. What could she have to do in this house? he asked himself.

“Mrs. Forbush!” he exclaimed.

“Philip!” exclaimed Mrs. Forbush, in a surprise as great as his own, for she had never asked where her young lodger worked, and was not aware that he was in the employ of her cousin’s husband and well acquainted with the rich uncle whom she had not seen for years.

“Do you know each other?” demanded Mrs. Pitkin, whose turn it was to be surprised.

“This young gentleman lodges in my house,” answered Mrs. Forbush.

“Young gentleman!” repeated Alonzo, with a mocking laugh.

Philip looked at him sternly. He had his share of human nature, and it would have given him satisfaction to thrash the insolent young patrician, as Alonzo chose to consider himself.

“And what do you want here, young man?” asked Mrs. Pitkin in a frosty tone, addressing Phil of course.

“I wished to see Mr. Carter,” answered Phil.

“Really, Mr. Carter seems to be very much in request!” sneered Mrs. Pitkin. “No doubt he will be very much disappointed when he hears what he has lost. You will have to go to Florida to see him, I think, however.” She added, after a pause: “It will not be well for either of you to call again. Mr. Carter will understand the motive of your calls.”

“How cruel you are, Lavinia!” said Mrs. Forbush sadly.

“My name is Mrs. Pitkin!” said that lady frigidly.

“You have not forgotten that we are cousins, surely?”

“I do not care to remember it, Mrs. Forbush. Good-day.”

There was no alternative but for Mrs. Forbush to say “good-day” also, and to descend the steps.

Philip joined her in the street.

“Are you really the cousin of Mrs. Pitkin?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered Mrs. Forbush. “I bear the same relationship to Mr. Carter that she does. We were much together as girls, and were both educated at the same expensive schools. I offended my relatives by marrying Mr. Forbush, whose fault was that he was poor, and chiefly, I think, through the efforts of Lavinia Pitkin I was cast out by the family. But where did you meet Uncle Oliver?”

Philip explained the circumstances already known to the reader.

“Mr. Carter seems to me to be a kind-hearted man,” he said. “I don’t believe he would have cast you off if he had not been influenced by other parties.”

“So I think,” said Mrs. Forbush. “I will tell you,” she continued, after a pause, “what drew me here this afternoon. I am struggling hard to keep my head above water, Mr. Brent, but I find it hard to meet my expenses. I cannot meet my rent due to-morrow within fifteen dollars, and I dared to hope that if I could meet Uncle Oliver face to face and explain matters to him, he would let me have the money.”

“I am sure he would,” said Phil warmly.

“But he is in Florida, and will probably remain there for a month or two at least,” said Mrs. Forbush, sighing. “But even if he were in the city I suppose Lavinia would do all in her power to keep us apart.”