a year that way. Then I take better care of my money than some. I laid up five hundred dollars last year, and nearly as much the year before."
"You will soon be rich," said Ben, to whom five hundred dollars seemed a large sum of money.
The reporter smiled.
"It takes considerable money to make a man rich in New York," he said. "However, I know it makes me feel very comfortable to think I have a thousand dollars in the bank."
"I should think it would," said Ben, seriously.
"Here we are!" said the reporter, pausing in front of a restaurant on Ninth street, facing the side of the great retail store established by the late A. T. Stewart. "We can get a comfortable breakfast inside for a low price."
They entered, and sat down at one of the small tables. Hugh Manton ordered a beefsteak and a cup of coffee. This, with bread and butter, cost twenty cents. Ben duplicated the order. The meat was not of the best quality, but it was as good as could be afforded at the price, and Ben ate with the zest of a healthy boy of his age.
"By the way, Ben," said the reporter, with apparent carelessness, though he scanned the face of his young companion attentively as he spoke, "are you acquainted with a clothing merchant of this city named Nicholas Walton?"
Ben started in irrepressible astonishment.
"What makes you ask?" he said. "Did you know he was my uncle?"
It was Hugh Manton's turn to be astonished.
"Your uncle!" he exclaimed. "You don't mean to say Nicholas Walton is your uncle?"
"Yes, I do. My mother is his sister."
"Is it possible? He has the reputation of being very rich, while you – "
"While I am very poor. Yes, that is true."
"Are you going to call upon him?"
"Yes. I thought, being my uncle, he might give me a place in his store."
"Did you write him that you were coming?"
"No – that is, not lately. I wrote three months ago, and he wrote back that I had better stay where I was."
"What were you doing?"
"I was working on a farm. I was paid three dollars a week."
"Did you live on the farm?"
"No; I lived with my mother."
"She is living, then?"
"Yes," said Ben, and his face lighted up with love for his absent mother.
"I should think Mr. Walton would do something for his own sister."
"So he does. He sends her twenty-five dollars a month. She lives in a small house belonging to my grandfather. My uncle is part owner, but he lets mother live in it."
"I suppose you don't like the country, or you wouldn't have come to the city."
"I have a taste for business, and no taste for farming. My uncle came to New York a poor boy, and he has succeeded. I don't see why I can't."
"It doesn't always follow," said the reporter, thoughtfully. "Still I think you have it in you to succeed. You look bold, persevering and resolute."
"I mean to succeed!" said Ben, firmly. "I am not afraid of work."
"Shall you call on your uncle this morning?"
"Yes; I want to find out as soon as I can what I am to depend upon."
"Very well! Just make my room your home. I shall not be back myself till midnight, or later, but here is a latch-key which will admit you to my room whenever you like. I have Blodgett's with me, which I can use myself."
CHAPTER III.
The Merchant's Secret
Five years before Ben's arrival in the city Nicholas Walton kept a moderate sized store on Grand street. He was doing a good business, but he was not satisfied. He wished to take a store on Broadway, and make his name prominent among business men. In this wish his wife entirely sympathized with him. She boasted aristocratic lineage, but when Mr. Walton married her she was living in genteel poverty, while her mother was forced, very much against her will, to take lodgers. It was a great piece of good luck for Theodosia Granville to marry a prosperous young merchant like Nicholas Walton, but she chose to consider that all the indebtedness was on the other side, and was fond of talking about the sacrifice she made in marrying a man of no family.
They had two children, Emiline and Clarence Plantagenet Walton, the latter about three months older than his cousin Ben. Both were haughty and arrogant in temper and disposition, and as a matter of course neither was a favorite with their young associates, though each had flatterers whose interest was served by subserviency.
At that time Ben's father was living and practicing as a physician in the little town of Sunderland, fifty miles distant in the country. There was comparatively little intercourse between the families, though there was not yet that difference in their worldly circumstances that afterward arose.
One day, just as the clerks were getting ready to close up, Nicholas Walton was surprised by the sudden appearance of his brother-in-law, Dr. Baker.
"What brings you to town, James?" he asked.
"Business of great importance," answered Baker.
"Indeed!" said Walton, curiously.
"I will tell you all about it, but not here."
"Do you go back to Sunderland to-night?"
"No; I think of trespassing upon your hospitality."
"Certainly. I shall be glad to have you stay with me. My wife and children are out of town – visiting a sister of hers in Hartford – but the servants will see that we are comfortable."
"All the better. Of course I should have been glad to see Mrs. Walton and the children, but now you can give me more attention."
"I wonder whether he wants to borrow money," thought the merchant, with some uneasiness. "If he does, I shall refuse as civilly as I can. I don't propose to be a prey to impecunious relatives. I need all the money I can command to further my own schemes. In three or four years, if things go well, I shall be able to move to Broadway, and then our family can take a higher social position. My wife would like to have me move at once, but I don't choose to do anything rashly. The time has not yet come for so important a step."
"We will go now," said Mr. Walton. "The clerks will close up. If you will walk as far as the Bowery, we will board a Fourth avenue car."
"Do you still live on Twelfth street, Nicholas?"
"Yes. Mrs. Walton urges me to take a house on Madison avenue, but I must not go too fast."
"You are prospering, I take it, Nicholas?"
"He is feeling his way toward a loan, I am afraid," thought the merchant.
"Yes, I am making headway," he admitted, warily, "but I have to be very cautious. Oftentimes I am short of money, I assure
