liberal in his provision for his sister; but even his effrontery could not go so far as this.
In reality, Mrs. Baker would have found great difficulty in keeping her expenses within three hundred dollars a year if Ben had not managed to pick up a dollar or two a week by working at odd jobs, running errands, or assisting some of the neighboring farmers. But the small town of Sunderland did not satisfy the ambitious boy. There was no kind of business which he could learn at home that offered him a satisfactory career.
"Mother," he said, about three months before my story begins, "don't you think my uncle would give me a place in his store?"
"You don't want to leave home, Ben, do you?"
"I don't want to leave you, mother; but you know how it is. There is nothing to do in Sunderland."
"I am sure you pick up considerable money in the course of a year, Ben."
"But what does it all amount to, mother?"
"It is a great help to me," said Mrs. Baker.
"I don't mean that. It isn't getting me ahead. I can't do any more now than I could a year ago. If I learned my uncle's business I might get ahead, as he has."
"You may be right, Ben; but how could I spare you? I should feel so lonely."
"You have Alice, mother. She is ten years old, and is a good deal of company to you."
So the discussion continued. Finally, as might have been expected, Ben obtained from his mother a reluctant consent to his writing to his uncle. He did not have to wait long for the answer; but when it came, it was cold and unsatisfactory. It read thus:
"Nephew Benjamin: – Your letter has come to hand, asking me to give you a place in my store. I think you are much better off in the country. Besides that, I do not think you ought to leave your mother. You say there is no chance for you in Sunderland; but you are mistaken. You can work for some farmer, and gradually acquire a knowledge of the business, and in time I may help you buy a farm, or at any rate hire one, if I am satisfied with your conduct. As to the city, you had better keep away from it. I am sure your mother will agree with me.
"Your uncle seems to me to write very sensibly," said Mrs. Baker. "The city is full of temptations."
"If I go to the city I shall work too hard to be troubled in that way, mother."
"Your uncle makes a very kind offer, I think."
"It doesn't bind him to much," said Ben. "He says he may help me to buy or hire a farm, if I learn farming."
"That would be a gift worth having, Ben," said his mother, who thought chiefly of keeping Ben at home.
"I shall never make a farmer, mother; I don't like it well enough. It is a very useful and honorable business, I know, but I have a taste for business; and if Uncle Nicholas won't help me to a start, I must see what I can do for myself after a time."
Nicholas Walton congratulated himself when his letter to Ben remained unanswered.
"That will settle the matter," he said to himself. "I would rather keep the boy in the country. I couldn't have him in my establishment. I should never see him without thinking of his father's sudden death before my eyes," and the rich merchant shuddered in spite of himself. "Besides," and a shade of apprehension swept over his face, "I am in constant fear lest he should hear of the large sum of money which came into his father's hands just before his death. While he stays in Sunderland, there is little chance of any such knowledge coming to him; if he is in the city, there is a greater chance of it. Who knows; the man who paid Doctor Baker the money may turn up. It was his intention to go to Europe for five years. That period has nearly passed already. If this discovery should ever be made, I am ruined. I might even be accused of murdering him, though, happily, that could not be proved. But there would be a blot on my name, and my reputation would suffer."
For three months Ben made no sign, and his uncle concluded that he had given up his plan of coming to New York in search of employment.
But one evening – it was the one on which our story commenced – on his way back from a call upon some friends in Brooklyn, Nicholas Walton stepped into Hitchcock's lunch-room, knowing it well by reputation, and was startled by seeing the nephew whose appearance he so much dreaded.
It was his first impulse to speak to him, and harshly demand his reason for disobeying the positive command to remain at home; but this might be followed by an appeal for help (it was clear that Mr. Walton did not understand his nephew) and that might be awkward.
"No," thought the merchant; "I won't speak to him till he comes to the store, as no doubt he intends to. Then I will give him a piece of my mind."
We now come back to Ben and his new found friend, the reporter.
"If you don't object, I will walk down town with you, Mr. Manton," said Ben, as they left the restaurant where they had breakfasted.
"I shall be glad of your company, Ben," said Manton, cordially. "I will point out to you the chief landmarks, and places of interest, as we go along."
"I wish you would," said Ben. "I know very little of the city."
"That is a defect you will soon remedy," said his friend.
"By the way," said Ben, with a sudden thought, "how was it that you asked me if I knew Mr. Walton?"
"Because I saw that Mr. Walton knew you."
"You saw that he knew me?" repeated Ben, puzzled.
"Yes. Do you remember a stout gentleman who came into Hitchcock's just as we were going out?"
"No; I did not observe him."
"It was Nicholas Walton. When his glance first rested upon you he started and looked disturbed."
"He did not approve of my coming to New York," explained Ben. "Then you think he recognized me?"
"I am sure of it."
"I wonder he did not speak to me!" said Ben, thoughtfully.
"Probably for the reason you have assigned – because he did not approve of your coming. Do you expect to call upon him?"
"Yes; I am going to ask if he won't give me a place in his store. He employs a large number, I suppose?"
"Yes; not less than a hundred, I should think, in various ways inside the store, besides scores of seamstresses outside. He has a very large establishment, and is accounted a very rich man."
"So I have always heard," said Ben. "He wanted me to stay in Sunderland and become a farmer."
"And you don't fancy the advice?"
"No. I should never make a farmer. If I had any taste for it, I might have followed my uncle's advice."
"Have you ever seen Mr. Walton's store?" asked the reporter, presently.
"No."
"Here it is," and he pointed to a spacious store, with great plate-glass windows, in which was displayed suits of clothes in profusion.
"Then, Mr. Manton, I believe I will leave you and go in. I want to find out as soon as possible whether
