Struggling Upward: Luke Larkin's Luck

THE LARKINS ARE IN LUCK

Luke and his mother, accompanied by Roland Reed, took their way from the court-room to the widow’s modest cottage.

“You may take the tin box, Luke,” said the stranger, “if you are not afraid to keep in your charge what has given you so much trouble.”

“All’s well that ends well!” said Luke.

“Yes; I don’t think it will occasion you any further anxiety.”

Roland Reed walked in advance with Mrs. Larkin, leaving Luke to follow.

“What sort of a man is this Mr. Duncan?” he asked abruptly.

“Squire Duncan?”

“Yes, if that is his title.”

“He is, upon the whole, our foremost citizen,” answered the widow, after a slight hesitation.

“Is he popular?”

“I can hardly say that.”

“He is president of the bank, is he not?”

“Yes.”

“How long has he lived in Groveton?”

“Nearly twenty years.”

“Was he born in this neighborhood?”

“I think he came from the West.”

“Does he say from what part of the western country?”

“He says very little about his past life.”

Roland Reed smiled significantly.

“Perhaps he has his reasons,” he said meditatively.

“Is he thought to be rich?” he asked, after a pause.

“Yes, but how rich no one knows.  He is taxed for his house and grounds, but he may have a good deal of property besides.  It is generally thought he has.”

“He does not appear to be friendly toward your son.”

“No,” answered Mrs. Larkin, with a trace of indignation, “though I am sure he has no cause to dislike him.  He seemed convinced that Luke had come by your tin box dishonestly.”

“It seemed to me that he was prejudiced against Luke.  How do you account for it?”

“Perhaps his son, Randolph, has influenced him.”

“So he has a son—­how old?”

“Almost Luke’s age.  He thinks Luke beneath him, though why he should do so, except that Luke is poor, I can’t understand.  Not long since there was a skating match for a prize of a Waterbury watch, offered by the grammar-school teacher, which Luke would have won had not Randolph arranged with another boy to get in his way and leave the victory to him.”

“So Randolph won the watch?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose he had a watch of his own already.”

“Yes, a silver one, while Luke had none.  This makes it meaner in him.”

“I don’t mind it now, mother,” said Luke, who had overheard the last part of the conversation.  “He is welcome to his watches—­I can wait.”

“Has Squire Duncan shown his hostility to Luke in any other way?” inquired the stranger.

“Yes; Luke has for over a year been janitor at the school-house.  It didn’t bring much—­only a dollar a week—­but it was considerable to us.  Lately Squire Duncan was appointed on the school committee to fill a vacancy, and his first act was to remove Luke from his position.”

“Not in favor of his son, I conclude.”

Luke laughed.

“Randolph would be shocked at the mere supposition,” he said.  “He is a young man who wears kid gloves, and the duties of a school janitor he would look upon as degrading.”

“I really think, Luke, you have been badly treated,” said Roland Reed, with a friendly smile.

“I have thought so, too, sir, but I suppose I have no better claim to the office than any other boy.”

“You needed the income, however.”

“Yes, sir.”

By this time they were at the door of the cottage.

“Won’t you come in, sir?” asked Mrs. Larkin, cordially.

“Thank you.  I will not only do so, but as I don’t care to stay at the hotel, I will even crave leave to pass the night under your roof.”

“If you don’t mind our poor accommodations, you will be very welcome.”

“I am not likely to complain, Mrs. Larkin.  I have not been nursed in the lap of luxury.  For two years I was a California miner, and camped out.  For that long period I did not know what it was to sleep in a bed.  I used to stretch myself in a blanket, and lie down on the ground.”

“You won’t have to do that here, Mr. Reed,” said Luke, smiling.  “But it must have been great fun.”

“How can you say so, Luke?” expostulated his mother.  “It must have been very uncomfortable, and dangerous to the health.”

“I wouldn’t mind it a bit, mother,” said Luke, stoutly.

Roland Reed smiled.

“I am not surprised that you and your mother regard the matter from different points of view,” he said.  “It is only natural.  Women are not adapted to roughing it.  Boys like nothing better, and so with young men.  But there comes a time—­when a man passes forty—­when he sets a higher value on the comforts of life.  I don’t mind confessing that I wouldn’t care to repeat my old mining experiences.”

“I hope you were repaid for your trouble and privations, sir.”

“Yes, I was handsomely repaid.  I may soon be as rich as your local magnate, Prince Duncan, but I have had to work harder for it, probably.”

“So you know the squire’s name?” said Mrs. Larkin, in some surprise.

“I must have heard it somewhere,” remarked Roland Reed.  “Have I got it right?”

“Yes; it’s a peculiar name.”

When they reached the cottage Mrs. Larkin set about getting supper.  In honor of her guest she sent out for some steak, and baked some biscuit, so that the table presented an inviting appearance when the three sat down to it.  After supper was over, Roland Reed said:  “I told you that I wished to speak to you on business, Mrs. Larkin.  It is briefly this:  Are you willing to receive a boarder?”

“I am afraid, sir, that you would hardly be satisfied with our humble accommodations.”

“Oh, I am not speaking of myself, but of a child.  I am a widower, Mrs. Larkin, and have a little daughter eight years of age.  She is now boarding in New York, but I do not like the people with whom I have placed her.  She is rather delicate, also, and I think a country town would suit her better than the city air.  I should like to have her under just such nice motherly care as I am sure you would give her.”

“I shall be very glad to receive her,” said Mrs. Larkin, with a flush of pleasure.

“And for the terms?”

“I would rather you would name them, sir.”

“Then I will say ten dollars a week.”

“Ten dollars!” exclaimed the widow, in amazement.  “It won’t be worth half that.”

“I don’t pay for board merely, but for care and attendance as well.  She may be sick, and that would increase your trouble.”

“She would in that case receive as much care as if she were my own daughter; but I don’t ask such an exorbitant rate of board.”

“It isn’t exorbitant if I choose to pay it, Mrs. Larkin,” said Mr. Reed, smiling.  “I am entirely able to pay that price, and prefer to do so.”

“It will make me feel quite rich, sir,” said the widow, gratefully.  “I shall find it useful, especially as Luke has lost his situation.”

“Luke may find another position.”

“When do you wish your daughter to come?” asked Mrs. Larkin.

“Luke will accompany me to the city to-morrow, and bring her back with him.  By the way, I will pay you four weeks in advance.”

He drew four ten-dollar bills from his pocket and put them into the widow’s hand.

“I am almost afraid this is a dream,” said Mrs. Larkin.  “You have made me very happy.”

“You mustn’t become purse-proud, mother,” said Luke, “because you have become suddenly rich.”

“Can you be ready to take the first train to New York with me in the morning, Luke?” asked Roland Reed.

“Yes, sir; it starts at half-past seven.”

“Your breakfast will be ready on time,” said the widow, “and Luke will call you.”