Nelson The Newsboy

"All here," he murmured. "This is a lucky strike. Now Sam Pepper can whistle for his money."

He placed the things he had taken in his own pocket and hurried to the street.

Nobody had noticed what was going on, and he breathed a long sigh of relief.

"He won't dare to give me away," he said to himself. "If he does he'll go to prison for stealing the boy in the first place. And he'll never be able to prove that I drugged him because nobody saw the act. Yes, I am safe."

It did not take Homer Bulson long to reach his bachelor apartments, and once in his rooms he locked the door carefully.

Then, turning up a gas lamp, he sat down near it, to look over the papers he had taken from the insensible Pepper.

"I'll destroy the letters," he said. He smiled as he read one. "So Uncle Mark offered five thousand for the return of little David, eh? Well, it's lucky for me that Sam Pepper, alias Pepperill Sampson, didn't take him up. I reckon Pepper was too cut up over his discharge, for it kept him from getting another fat job." He took up the will. "Just what I want. Now, if Uncle Mark makes another will, I can always crop up with this one, and make a little trouble for somebody."

He lit the letters one by one, and watched them turn slowly to ashes. Then he placed the other papers in the bottom of his trunk, among his books on poisons, and went to bed.

CHAPTER XXXII.

SOMEBODY WAITS IN VAIN

Mrs. Kennedy was busy at her stand, piling up some fruit, when a woman who was a stranger to her approached.

"Is this Mary Kennedy?" the newcomer asked.

"That's me name," answered the old woman. "But I don't know you, ma'am."

"My name is Mrs. Conroy. I'm a nurse. Mrs. Wardell sent me to you."

"Yes, I know Mrs. Wardell. But what is it you want, ma'am? I don't need a nurse now, though I did some time ago, goodness knows."

"I am not looking for a position," smiled Mrs. Conroy. "I am looking for a young lady named Gertrude Horton."

"Gertrude Horton! Who sint you?" questioned Mrs. Kennedy suspiciously.

"Her uncle, Mark Horton, sent me."

At this Mrs. Kennedy was more interested than ever.

"An' what does he want of the darling, Mrs. Conroy?"

"He wants her to return home."

"Heaven be praised fer that!"

"Where can I find Miss Horton?"

Again Mrs. Kennedy grew suspicious.

"I can tell you that quick enough, ma'am—but I must know if it's all right, first."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"There's a villain of a cousin, Homer Bulson, who's been tryin' to git Miss Gertrude in his clutches. You're not doing this work for him?"

"No, indeed, Mrs. Kennedy. Mr. Horton sent me himself. He wants Miss Gertrude to come straight home. He wants her to forgive him for his harshness."

"To hear that now!" ejaculated Mrs. Kennedy joyfully. "What a change must have come over him!"

"I do not know how he was before, but he is now very anxious for her to return. He thinks he might get better if she were with him."

"What a pity Gertrude can't go to him this minit!" said Mrs. Kennedy.

"Will you tell me where I can find her?"

"She is not in New York, Mrs. Conroy. She went to Lakewood early this morning."

"To stay?"

"Oh, no! She'll be back to-night."

"Will you see her then?"

"To be sure—she lives with me."

"Oh!"

"I'll send her home the minit I see her," went on Mrs. Kennedy.

"Then I'll return and tell him that," said the nurse. "Be sure and insist upon her coming. He is so anxious he is almost crazy over it."

"Sure and he ought to be—drivin' her away in that fashion."

"I guess it was his sickness did it, Mrs. Kennedy. The man is not himself; anybody can see that. The case puzzles the doctors very much."

Mrs. Conroy had some necessary shopping to do, but an hour saw her returning to the mansion on Fifth Avenue.

"Well?" questioned Mark Horton anxiously. "Did you see her?"

"She had gone out of town—to Lakewood. But she will be back to-night."

"And will she come to me?"

"I cannot answer that question, Mr. Horton. I told the woman with whom she lives to send her up here."

"Did you say she must come—that I wanted her to come?" persisted the retired merchant eagerly.

"I did, and the woman was quite sure Miss Gertrude would come."

"When was she to get back from Lakewood?"

"By seven or eight o'clock."

"Then she ought to be here by nine or ten."

All that afternoon Mark Horton showed his impatience. Usually he took a nap, but now he could not sleep. He insisted upon getting up and walking around.

"The very thought that she will be back makes me feel stronger," he declared. "It is more of a tonic than Homer's wine."

"Please do not grow impatient," said Mrs. Conroy. "You know there may be some delay."

Slowly the evening came on and the street lamps were lit. Mr. Horton sat at a front window, looking out. He did not want a light in the room.

"I wish to watch for her," he explained. "You may light up when she comes."

He was now feverish, but would not take the soothing draught the nurse prepared. Hour after hour passed, and presently he saw Homer Bulson enter his quarters, and then go out again.

"I do not know how Homer will take the news," he told himself. "But he will have to make the best of it. Of one thing I am resolved—Gertrude shall do as she pleases if only she remains with me, and she shall have half of my fortune when I die."

At last it was nine o'clock, and then the sick man became more nervous than ever. Every time a woman appeared on the dimly lit street he would watch her eagerly until she went past the mansion.

"She will not come!" he groaned. "She will not come!"

At ten o'clock Mrs. Conroy tried to get him to bed, but he was stubborn and would not go. Another hour went by, and then another. As the clock struck twelve Mark Horton fell forward in his chair.

"She has deserted me!" he groaned. "And I deserve it all!" And he sank in a chair in a dead faint.

With an effort the nurse placed him upon the bed and did what she could for him. But the shock had been great, and in haste she sent for a physician.

"He has had them before," explained the doctor. "I will give him something quieting—I can do no more. Each shock brings him closer to the end. It is the most puzzling case on record."

As he was so feeble Mrs. Conroy thought best to send for his nephew, and Homer Bulson was summoned just as he was waking up.

"All right, I'll be over," he said, with a yawn. He did not feel like hurrying, for he was tired, and had been through such an experience before. It was after eight when he at last showed himself.

"You are worse, Uncle Mark," he said, as he took the sufferer's hand.

"Yes, I am worse," was the low answer. "Much worse."

"It is too bad. Hadn't you better try some of that new wine I brought you?"

"Not now, Homer. I feel as if I never cared to eat or drink again." And Mark Horton gave a groan.

"You must not be so downcast, uncle."

"Homer, Gertrude has turned her back upon me!"

"Gertrude!" cried the nephew, very much startled.

"Yes, Gertrude. I—I did not think it possible."

"But I don't understand, Uncle Mark. Did you—er—did you send to her?"

"I will confess I did, Homer. I could stand it no longer. I wanted to see the dear child again."

"And she turned her back on you?" went on Bulson, hardly knowing what to say.

"She did. I sent for her to come at once. She had not gone to Boston, but to Lakewood, and was to be back in the evening. That was yesterday. She is not yet here, and that proves that she has forsaken me and wants nothing more to do with me."

At these words a crafty look came into Homer Bulson's eyes.

"Uncle Mark, I am sorry for you, but I could have told you as much some time ago," he said smoothly.

"You could have told me?"

"Yes. I went to Gertrude when she was thinking of going to Boston and begged her to come back. I even offered to go away, so that she would not be bothered with me. But she would not listen. She said that she was done with you, and that she preferred her theatrical friends to such a home as this, where there was no excitement. She is changed—and changed for the worse."

"Oh, Homer! can this be true? The dear, gentle Gertrude I once so loved and petted! But it is my own fault. I drove her away. I have only myself to blame." And burying his face in his pillow, the sick man sobbed aloud.

Instead of replying, Homer Bulson got out of a medicine closet the bottle of wine he had brought two days before and poured out a glassful.

"Take this, Uncle Mark. I know it will do you good," he said.

"No, I want no wine!" cried Mr. Horton. And suddenly he dashed wine and glass to the floor. "I hate it! It does me no good. I want nothing but Gertrude!" And he buried his face in his pillow again.

"I will do my best to bring her to you," said Bulson hypocritically.

He remained at the mansion a short while, and was then told that there was a man who wished to see him.

He hurried to his own apartments across the way, and here found himself face to face with Sam Pepper.

"You played me a fine trick," growled Pepper. "Give me back the papers you stole from me."

"Let us come to an understanding," said Bulson. "I am willing to pay for what I took, Pepper. Come with me."

"Want to drug me again?"

"No. I want to get where it is quiet. Come."

"All right, I'll go along. Supposing you come to my place?"

"That will suit me. I want to make a new deal with you."

And the pair started for Sam Pepper's resort on the East Side.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

QUESTIONS OF IMPORTANCE

"Sure, and this is a double mystery, so it is. What do you make of it, Mr. Van Pelt?"

It was Mrs. Kennedy who spoke. The non-appearance of Gertrude had worried her greatly, and she had visited Van Pelt, to learn that Nelson was also missing.

"I don't know what to make of it," answered George Van Pelt. "Nelson went after Billy Darnley, who robbed our stand. Perhaps he has met with foul play."

"Could our Gertrude have met with foul play at Lakewood?"

"I shouldn't think so. She knew where she was going, didn't she?"

"To be sure—to a Mrs. Broaderick's; she read the letter to me herself."

"Perhaps Mrs. Broaderick asked her to stay over," said Van Pelt. "I can't think of anything else."

While the pair were talking Mrs. Kennedy happened to look up the street.

"Here comes Nelson now!" she cried suddenly.

She was right, and soon our hero was at the stand, and shaking each by the hand.

"I feel as if I've been on a long trip," he said, with a broad smile.

"Where have you been?" questioned Van Pelt and Mrs. Kennedy in a breath, and then he told them his story, and also told of what had happened to Gertrude.

"The dirty villain!" cried Mrs. Kennedy, referring to Bulson. "He ought to be put in prison. But the poor girl's troubles are over now."

Then she told of how Mark Horton wanted his niece to come back to him.

"Perhaps he wants her back, and perhaps this is another trick," said Nelson. "After this I am going to help guard her more than ever."

"Where is she now?"

"At home. She doesn't know what to do. She thinks of calling on her uncle—to warn him against Bulson. We've got an idea the man is poisoning his uncle in order to get the entire fortune."

"Those books on poison–" began Van Pelt.

"Exactly," said Nelson. "You can testify to them, can't you?"

"To be sure. You had better tell the police of this."

"I shall," said Nelson, quietly but firmly.

The matter was talked over, and our hero determined to call again upon Gertrude, whom he had just left at Mrs. Kennedy's rooms.

When told of the message her uncle had sent the poor girl burst into tears of joy.

"Dear Uncle Mark! He is not as bad as I thought!" she cried. "He would be as kind as ever, if he wasn't so sick. Yes, I will go at once, and I will tell him all."

"And I'll go along—to prove your story and to tell him about the books on poisons," said Nelson.

Soon the pair were on their way to the mansion on Fifth Avenue. Gertrude was all in a tremble, and could scarcely contain herself for joy. The housekeeper let her in, with a smile.

"I am glad to see you back," she said warmly. "I hope you'll stay, Miss Gertrude."

"How is my uncle?"

"Very feeble. I hope the shock doesn't hurt him."

"Is that Gertrude?" came in Mark Horton's voice from the head of the stairs.

Instead of replying the girl ran to meet him, and in another moment uncle and niece were in each other's arms.

"Oh, Uncle Mark!" was all Gertrude could say.

"My dear Gertrude," murmured the feeble man, "I am so thankful you have come back to me! I was cruel, nay crazy—but I will never be so again. Will you forgive me?"

"Willingly, uncle," she answered. "You were not yourself; it was your sickness made you act so. Now I will nurse you back to health and strength."

"Ah! Gertrude! I do not feel as if I can get back my strength again. I am too far gone," murmured the retired merchant.

"Rest yourself, uncle." And she led him to a chair. "After a while I want to have a long talk with you. But tell me first, have you been taking any wine lately—I mean the wine Homer Bulson gave you?"

"A little. But I do not like it—although he almost forces me to take it. Why do you ask?"

"If you will hear me out, I will tell you. It is a long story."

"I will listen to every word, Gertrude."

As briefly as she could she told of what had happened to her since she had left home, how Homer Bulson had followed her up, and what he had done at Lakewood. Then she spoke of Van Pelt and Nelson, and how they could prove that Bulson had purchased several books on poisons. At this last revelation Mark Horton grew deadly pale.

"And you think–" He faltered, and paused. "Oh, Heavens, can it be possible? My own nephew!"

"I would have the wine analyzed," said Gertrude. "And I would have him watched carefully."

At that moment came a ring at the front door bell, and the doctor appeared.

"Ah, Miss Horton!" he said with a smile. "I am glad that you are back."

"Doctor, I want that wine examined without delay," broke in the retired merchant.

"Examined? What for?"

"See if it is pure. I have an idea it is impure."

The doctor smiled, thinking this was another of the sick man's whims. But Gertrude called him aside.

"We think the wine is poisoned," she whispered. "Examine it as soon as you can, and report to me."

"Oh!" The doctor's face became a study. "By Jove, if this is true–" He said no more, but soon departed, taking the wine with him, and also a glass of jelly Bulson had brought in for his uncle's use.

"And so you have brought Nelson with you," said Mark Horton. "Perhaps I had better see him."

"Do you remember him?" asked Gertrude, her face flushing. "He was in the library that night–"

"So that is the young man that was here! Gertrude, for the life of me I cannot understand that affair."

"Nelson did not want to explain all he knew, because he wanted to shield a man who used to care for him, uncle. He thought the man came here to rob you, but he made a mistake, for after he left this house he saw the man come out of the house opposite, with Homer Bulson."

"Who was the man?"

"A rough kind of a fellow who keeps a saloon on the East Side. His name is Samuel Pepper."

"Samuel Pepper? Samuel Pepper?" Mark Horton repeated the name slowly. "That sounds familiar. Pepper? Pepper? Ah!" He drew a breath. "Can it be the same?" he mused.

"Shall I bring Nelson up?"

"Yes, at once."

Soon our hero was ushered into the sick room. He was dressed in his best, and cut far from a mean figure as he stood there, hat in hand.

"You are Nelson?" said Mark Horton slowly.

"Yes, sir."

"I must thank you for all you have done for my niece. I shall not forget it."

"That's all right," said Nelson rather awkwardly. "I'd do a good deal for Gertrude, any day."

"You are a brave boy, Nelson. I believe I once misjudged you."

"You did, sir. I'm no thief."

"I am willing to believe that I was mistaken." Mark Horton paused for a moment. "Gertrude tells me you live with a man named Sam Pepper," he went on slowly.

"I used to live with him, but we parted some time ago. I didn't want anything to do with drink or with a saloon, and I did want to make a man of myself."

"That was very commendable in you. But tell me, is this man's right name Sam Pepper?"

"I hardly think it is, sir. I once saw some letters, and they were addressed to Pepperill Sampson."

"The same! He must be the same!" Mark Horton breathed hard. "Do you know anything about him—where he came from, and so on?"

"Not much. You see, I'm not very old. But he did tell me once that you had been an enemy to my father."

"Me? Who was your father?"

Our hero hung his head and flushed up.

"I don't know, sir."

"This Pepperill Sampson is a villain. Why, he robbed me of my son years ago, to get square with me because I had discharged him for stealing."

"Robbed you of your son?" repeated Nelson. "Do you mean to say he killed your boy?"

"I don't know what he did. At first he was going to let me have my little David back for five thousand dollars, but then he got scared, and disappeared, and that was the last I heard of him or of my child."

"Then David may be alive!" cried Gertrude. "Nelson–" She stopped short. Each person in the room gazed questioningly at the others. Our hero's breath came thick and fast. Then the door bell below rang violently, and Nelson and Gertrude heard Mrs. Kennedy admitted.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

FATHER AND SON—CONCLUSION

"It's Nelson an' Miss Gertrude I want to see," those in the sick chamber heard Mrs. Kennedy exclaim. "An' I want to see 'em at once. I have great news for 'em."

"I'll go," said Nelson, and slipped downstairs, followed by Gertrude. They found Mrs. Kennedy in a state of high excitement. Her faded bonnet was on one ear, and she walked the floor rapidly.

"Oh, my! Upon me soul, I can't belave it!" she burst out. "It's like a dream, Nelson, so it is."

"What is like a dream, Mrs. Kennedy?"

"The story I have to tell, Nelson. Poor, poor man! but it was all for the best—wid that crime on his mind."

"What are you talking about?" put in Gertrude.

"I'm talkin' av poor Sam Pepper, Miss Gertrude. He's dead."

"Dead!" burst out Gertrude and Nelson simultaneously.

Mrs. Kennedy nodded her head half a dozen times.

"Yes, dead; cut to pieces on the elevated railroad, at the station close to me little stand. He died wid me a-holdin' av his hand."

"It's too bad," murmured Nelson. "Poor fellow! he had some ways about him that I liked."

"But it's not that I came about," went on Mrs. Kennedy. "Whin they brought the poor man to the sidewalk to wait for an ambulance, I stayed by him, and he says to me, says he, 'Mrs. Kennedy, I have something on me mind,' says he. 'I want to tell it to you,' says he. So says I, 'What is it?' Says he, 'It's about Nelson. He's a good boy,' says he. 'And I aint done right by him. Tell him I stole him from his father, and that his father is Mr. Mark Horton, Miss Gertrude's uncle.'"

"Mark Horton my father!" gasped Nelson, and the room seemed to go round and round in a bewildering whirl. "He my father! Can it be true?"

"It must be true!" cried Gertrude.

"And he says, too, 'Beware of Homer Bulson. He is a thief—he robbed his uncle's safe. I caught him at it. He has his uncle's will, too,' says poor Pepper. 'He wants to git hold of all the money,' says he."

"Yes, I know Homer Bulson is a rascal," said Nelson. "But this other news–" He sank in a chair.

"Then you are David Horton, Nelson!" cried Gertrude. "I am indeed very glad of it. I know of no one I would like more for a cousin."

"David Horton!" came a hollow voice from the doorway, and Mr. Horton staggered in. "Can this be possible? It must be! See, I recognize his face now. Yes, yes; you are my son David! Come to me!" And he held out his arms.

Nelson came forward slowly, then of a sudden he reached forth, and grasped Mark Horton's hands tightly.

"I—I suppose it's true," he faltered. "But it will take me a long time to—to get used to it."

"My little David had just such eyes and hair as you have," went on Mark Horton, as he still held Nelson closely to him. "And your face reminds me greatly of your mother. There can be no mistake. You are my own little David."

"Well, I'm glad that I'm not Nelson, the nobody, any longer," stammered our young hero. He could scarcely talk intelligibly, he felt so queer.

"My own cousin David!" said Gertrude, and she, too, embraced him.

"Well, I always thought we'd be something to each other, Gertrude," said he. "But, come to think of it, if I am David Horton, then Homer Bulson is a cousin, too."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Do not fear! He shall not come between you," said Mark Horton. "My eyes are being opened to his schemes."

"Sure an' he's a snake in the grass," burst out Mrs. Kennedy.

She had scarcely spoken when there was another arrival at the mansion, and Homer Bulson came in.

On seeing the assembled company, he was nearly struck dumb. He looked from one to another in open-mouthed and speechless amazement.

"Why—er—how did you get here?" he questioned at last, addressing Gertrude.

"That is my affair, Mr. Bulson," she answered coldly.

"And you?" he added, turning sharply to our hero. "You have no business in a gentleman's house."

"Homer!" exclaimed Mark Horton, and shook his fist at his nephew.

"Hush, uncle! We will deal with him," remonstrated Gertrude. "Pray, do not excite yourself."

"I have business here," said our hero dryly, realizing that he had a great advantage over Bulson. "You hardly expected to see Gertrude come back from Lakewood so soon, did you?"

"I—er—I know nothing of Lakewood," stammered Bulson.

"That proves you have a wonderfully short memory, Homer Bulson."

"I won't listen to you. You get right out of this house."

"I won't get out."

"Then I'll call an officer, and have you put out."

"If you call an officer, you'll be the one to go with him," returned our hero calmly. "Homer Bulson, your game is played to the end, and you have lost."

"Boy, you talk in riddles."

"Then I'll explain myself. You plotted to drive Gertrude from this house, and you succeeded. Then you plotted against your uncle, and had Gertrude made a prisoner at Lakewood."

"Stuff and nonsense!"

"It is the truth. Perhaps you'll deny next that you ever knew Sam Pepper."

"Why, has that fool come here?" roared Bulson, in a rage. "I told him–" He stopped short in confusion.

"Sam Pepper is dead—killed on the elevated railroad. Before he died he confessed several things, and, among others, what a villain you were."

"Ah! and what else?"

"He said I was the son of Mr. Horton here."

At this Homer Bulson grew as pale as death. He clutched at a table, then sank heavily on a near-by chair.

"It is—is false," he muttered, but his looks belied his words.

"It is true," broke in Mark Horton. "The boy is my son. This Sam Pepper was merely Pepperill Sampson in disguise. Homer, you are a villain!"

"Uncle Mark–"

"No, I won't listen to you. I listened before; now I am done. If you ever try to lift a finger against Gertrude or David, I will cut you off without a penny."

"But—but–"

"I am having the wine which you gave me examined. If I find that it was doctored—well, you had better be missing, that's all," added Mark Horton sternly. "I am willing to do much to avoid a family scandal, but I will not stand too much."

"Who—who has the wine?"

"The doctor."

At this piece of information Homer Bulson leaped to his feet.

"It's an outrage! I won't stand it!" he shouted. "You are all plotting against me!" And so speaking, he ran to the hall, picked up his silk hat, and hastily rushed from the mansion.

"Shall I go after him?" questioned our hero.

"No; let him go," returned the retired merchant.

"But he will never come back—you may be certain of that."

"So much the better, for then all scandal will be avoided, and we will be very well rid of him."