Struggling Upward: Luke Larkin's Luck

LUKE’S VISIT TO NEW YORK

The morning train to New York carried among its passengers Luke and his new friend.  The distance was thirty-five miles, and the time occupied was a trifle over an hour.  The two sat together, and Luke had an opportunity of observing his companion more closely.  He was a man of middle age, dark complexion, with keen black eyes, and the expression of one who understood the world and was well fitted to make his way in it.  He had already given the Larkins to understand that he had been successful in accumulating money.

As for Luke, he felt happy and contented.  The tide of fortune seemed to have turned in his favor, or rather in favor of his family.  The handsome weekly sum which would be received for the board of Mr. Reed’s little daughter would be sufficient of itself to defray the modest expenses of their household.  If he, too, could obtain work, they would actually feel rich.

“Luke,” said his companion, “does your mother own the cottage where you live?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Free of incumbrance?”

“Not quite.  There is a mortgage of three hundred dollars held by Squire Duncan.  It was held by Deacon Tibbetts, but about three months since Squire Duncan bought it.”

“What could be his object in buying it?”

“I don’t know, sir.  Perhaps the deacon owed him money.”

“I am surprised, then, that he deprived you of your position as janitor, since it would naturally make it more difficult for you to meet the interest.”

“That is true, sir.  I wondered at it myself.”

“Your house is a small one, but the location is fine.  It would make a building lot suitable for a gentleman’s summer residence.”

“Yes, sir; there was a gentleman in the village last summer who called upon mother and tried to induce her to sell.”

“Did he offer her a fair price?”

“No, sir; he said he should have to take down the cottage, and he only offered eight hundred dollars.  Mother would have sold for a thousand.”

“Tell her not to accept even that offer, but to hold on to the property.  Some day she can obtain considerably more.”

“She won’t sell unless she is obliged to,” replied Luke.  “A few days since I thought we might have to do it.  Now, with the generous sum which you allow for your little girl’s board there will be no necessity.”

“Has Squire Duncan broached the subject to your mother?”

“He mentioned it one day, but he wanted her to sell for seven hundred dollars.”

“He is evidently sharp at a bargain.”

“Yes, sir; he is not considered liberal.”

There was one thing that troubled Luke in spite of the pleasure he anticipated from his visit to New York.  He knew very well that his clothes were shabby, and he shrank from the idea of appearing on Broadway in a patched suit too small for him.  But he had never breathed a word of complaint to his mother, knowing that she could not afford to buy him another suit, and he did not wish to add to her troubles.  It might have happened that occasionally he fixed a troubled look on his clothes, but if Roland Reed noticed it he did not make any comment.

But when they reached New York, and found themselves on Broadway, his companion paused in front of a large clothing store with large plate-glass windows, and said, quietly:  “Come in, Luke.  I think you need some new clothes.”

Luke’s face flushed with pleasure, but he said, “I have no money, Mr. Reed.”

“I have,” said Roland Reed, significantly.

“You are very kind, sir,” said Luke, gratefully.

“It costs little to be kind when you have more money than you know what to do with,” said Reed.  “I don’t mean that I am a Vanderbilt or an Astor, but my income is much greater than I need to spend on myself.”

A suit was readily found which fitted Luke as well as if it had been made for him.  It was of gray mixed cloth, made in fashionable style.

“You may as well keep it on, Luke.”  Then to the shopman:  “Have you a nice suit of black cloth, and of the same size?”

“Yes, sir,” answered the salesman, readily.

“He may as well have two while we are about it.  As to the old suit, it is too small, and we will leave it here to be given away to some smaller boy.”

Luke was quite overwhelmed by his new friend’s munificence.

“I don’t think mother will know me,” he said, as he surveyed himself in a long mirror.

“Then I will introduce you or give you a letter of introduction.  Have you a watch, Luke?”

“No, sir; you know I did not get the prize at the skating match.”

“True; then I must remedy the deficiency.”

They took the roadway stage down below the Astor House—­it was before the days of Jacob Sharp’s horse railway—­and got out at Benedict’s.  There Mr. Reed made choice of a neat silver watch, manufactured at Waltham, and bought a plated chain to go with it.

“Put that in your vest pocket,” he said.  “It may console you for the loss of the Waterbury.”

“How can I ever repay you for your kindness, Mr. Reed?” said Luke, overjoyed.

“I have taken a fancy to you, Luke,” said his companion.  “I hope to do more for you soon.  Now we will go uptown, and I will put my little girl under your charge.”

Luke had dreaded making a call at a nice city house in his old suit.  Now he looked forward to it with pleasure, especially after his new friend completed his benefactions by buying him a new pair of shoes and a hat.

“Luke,” asked his companion, as they were on their way uptown in a Sixth Avenue car, “do you know who owned the box of bonds taken from the Groveton Bank?”

“I have heard that it was a Mr. Armstrong, now traveling in Europe.”

“How did he come to leave the box in a village bank?”

“He is some acquaintance of Squire Duncan, and spent some weeks last summer at the village hotel.”

“Then probably he left the box there at the suggestion of Duncan, the president.”

“I don’t know, sir, but I think it very likely.”

“Humph!  This is getting interesting.  The contents of the box were government bonds, I have heard.”

“I heard Squire Duncan say so.”

“Were they coupon or registered?”

“What difference would that make, sir?”

“The first could be sold without trouble by the thief, while the last could not be disposed of without a formal transfer from the owner.”

“Then it would not pay to steal them?”

“Just so.  Luke, do you know, a strange idea has come into my head.”

“What is it, sir?”

“I think Prince Duncan knows more about how those bonds were spirited away than is suspected.”

Luke was greatly surprised.

“You don’t think he took them himself, do you?” he asked.

“That remains to be seen.  It is a curious affair altogether.  I may have occasion to speak of it another time.  Are you a good writer?”

“Fair, I believe, sir.”

“I have recently come into possession of a business in a city in Ohio, which I carry on through a paid agent.  Among other things, I have bought out the old accounts.  I shall need to have a large number of bills made out, covering a series of years, which I shall then put into the hands of a collector and realize so far as I can.  This work, with a little instruction, I think you can do.”

“I shall be very glad to do it, sir.”

“You will be paid fairly for the labor.”

“I don’t need any pay, Mr. Reed.  You have already paid me handsomely.”

“You refer to the clothing and the watch?  Those are gifts.  I will pay you thirty cents an hour for the time employed, leaving you to keep the account.  The books of the firm I have at the house where my daughter is boarding.  You will take them back to Groveton with you.”

“This is a fortunate day for me,” said Luke.  “It will pay me much better than the janitorship.”

“Do your duty, Luke, and your good fortune will continue.  But here is our street.”

They left the car at the corner of Fourteenth Street and Sixth Avenue, and turning westward, paused in front of a four-story house of good appearance.