The Store Boy

CHAPTER XIX A COOL RECEPTION

“This isn't quite the re­cep­tion I ex­pect­ed,” thought Ben. He was pro­voked with the dis­agree­able wom­an who per­sist­ed in re­gard­ing and treat­ing him as an in­trud­er, but he was not ner­vous or alarmed. He knew that things would come right, and that Mrs. Hill and her promis­ing son would see their mis­take. He had half a mind to let Con­rad call a po­lice­man, and then turn the ta­bles up­on his foes. But, he knew that this would be dis­agree­able to Mrs. Hamil­ton, whose feel­ings he was bound to con­sid­er.

“Be­fore you call a po­lice­man,” he said qui­et­ly, “it may be well for you to read this let­ter.”

As he spoke hand­ed Mrs. Hill the let­ter he had re­ceived from Mrs. Hamil­ton.

Mrs. Hill took the let­ter sus­pi­cious­ly, and glared over it. As she read, a spot of red glowed in each pal­lid check, and she bit her lips in an­noy­ance.

“I don't un­der­stand it,” she said slow­ly.

Ben did not feel called up­on to ex­plain what was per­fect­ly in­tel­li­gi­ble. He saw that Mrs. Hill didn't want to un­der­stand it.

“What is it, ma?” asked Con­rad, his cu­rios­ity aroused.

“You can read it for your­self, Con­rad,” re­turned his moth­er.

“Is he com­ing to live here?” ejac­ulat­ed Con­rad, as­ton­ished, in­di­cat­ing Ben with a jerk of his fin­ger.

“If this let­ter is gen­uine,” said Mrs. Hill, with at sig­nif­icant em­pha­sis on the last word.

“If it is not, Mrs. Hamil­ton will be sure to tell you so,” said Ben, pro­voked.

“Come out, Con­rad; I want to speak to you,” said his moth­er.

With­out cer­emo­ny, they left Ben in the par­lor alone, and with­drew to an­oth­er part of the house, where they held a con­fer­ence.

“What does it all mean, ma?” asked Con­rad.

“It means that your prospects are threat­ened, my poor boy. Cousin Hamil­ton, who is very ec­cen­tric, has tak­en a fan­cy to this boy, and she is go­ing to con­fer fa­vors up­on him at your ex­pense. It is too bad!”

“I'd like to break his head!” said Con­rad, scowl­ing.

“It won't do, Con­rad, to fight him open­ly. We must do what we can in an un­der­hand way to un­der­mine him with Cousin Hamil­ton. She ought to make you her heir, as she has no chil­dren of her own.”

“I don't think she likes me,” said the boy. “She on­ly gives me two dol­lars a week al­lowance, and she scold­ed me the oth­er day be­cause she met me in the hall smok­ing a cigarette.”

“Be sure not to of­fend her, Con­rad. A great deal de­pends on it. Two dol­lars ought to an­swer for the present. When you are a young man, you may be in very dif­fer­ent cir­cum­stances.”

“I don't know about that,” grum­bled Con­rad. “I may get two dol­lars a week then, but what's that?”

“You may be a wealthy man!” said his moth­er im­pres­sive­ly. “Cousin Hamil­ton is not so healthy as she looks. I have a sus­pi­cion that her heart is af­fect­ed. She might die sud­den­ly.”

“Do you re­al­ly think so?” said Con­rad ea­ger­ly.

“I think so. What you must try to do is to stand well with her, and get her to make her will in your fa­vor. I will at­tend to that, if you will do as I tell you.”

“She may make this boy her heir,” said Con­rad dis­con­tent­ed­ly. “Then where would I be?”

“She won't do it, if I can help it,” said Mrs. Hill with an em­phat­ic nod. “I will man­age to make trou­ble be­tween them. You will al­ways be my first in­ter­est, my dear boy.”

She made a mo­tion to kiss her dear boy, but Con­rad, who was by no means of an af­fec­tion­ate dis­po­si­tion, moved his head sud­den­ly, with an im­pa­tient ex­cla­ma­tion, “Oh, both­er!”

A pained look came over the moth­er's face, for she loved her son, unattrac­tive and dis­agree­able as he was, with a love the greater be­cause she loved no one else in the world. Moth­er and son were self­ish alike, but the son the more so, for he had not a spark of love for any hu­man be­ing.

“There's the bell!” said Mrs. Hill sud­den­ly. “I do be­lieve Cousin Hamil­ton has come. Now we shall find out whether this boy's sto­ry is true.”

“Let's go down­stairs, ma! I hope it's all a mis­take and she'll send me for a po­lice­man.”

“I am afraid the boy's sto­ry is cor­rect. But his day will be short.”

When they reached the hall, Mrs. Hamil­ton had al­ready been ad­mit­ted to the house.

“There's a boy in the draw­ing room, Mrs. Hamil­ton,” said Mrs. Hill, “who says he is to stay here--that you sent for him.”

“Has he come al­ready?” re­turned Mrs. Hamil­ton. “I am glad of it.”

“Then you did send for him?”

“Of course. Didn't I men­tion it to you? I hard­ly ex­pect­ed he would come so soon.”

She opened the door of the draw­ing room, and ap­proached Ben, with ex­tend­ed hand and a pleas­ant smile.

“Wel­come to New York, Ben,” she said. “I hope I haven't kept you wait­ing long?”

“Not very long,” an­swered Ben, shak­ing her hand.

“This is my cousin Mrs. Hill, who re­lieves me of part of my house­keep­ing care,” con­tin­ued Mrs. Hamil­ton, “and this is her son, Con­rad. Con­rad, this is a com­pan­ion for you, Ben­jamin Bar­clay, who will be a new mem­ber of our small fam­ily.”

“I hope you are well, Con­rad,” said Ben, with a smile, to the boy who but a short time be­fore was go­ing for a po­lice­man to put him un­der ar­rest.

“I'm all right,” said Con­rad un­gra­cious­ly.

“Re­al­ly, Cousin Hamil­ton, this is a sur­prise” said Mrs. Hill. “You are quite kind to pro­vide Con­rad with a com­pan­ion, but I don't think he felt the need of any, ex­cept his moth­er--and you.”

Mrs. Hamil­ton laughed. She saw that nei­ther Mrs. Hill nor Con­rad was glad to see Ben, and this was on­ly what she ex­pect­ed, and, in­deed, this was the chief rea­son why she had omit­ted to men­tion Ben's ex­pect­ed ar­rival.

“You give me too much cred­it,” she said, “if you think I in­vit­ed this young gen­tle­man here sole­ly as a com­pan­ion to Con­rad. I shall have some writ­ing and ac­counts for him to at­tend to.”

“I am sure Con­rad would have been glad to serve you in that way, Cousin Hamil­ton,” said Mrs. Hill. “I am sor­ry you did not give him the first chance.”

“Con­rad wouldn't have suit­ed me,” said Mrs. Hamil­ton blunt­ly.

“Per­haps I may not be com­pe­tent,” sug­gest­ed Ben mod­est­ly.

“We can tell bet­ter af­ter try­ing you,” said his pa­troness. “As for Con­rad, I have ob­tained a po­si­tion for him. He is to en­ter the of­fices of Jones & Wood­hull, on Pearl Street, to-​mor­row. You will take an ear­ly break­fast, Con­rad, for it will be nec­es­sary for you to be at the of­fice at eight o'clock.”

“How much am I to get?” asked Con­rad.

“Four dol­lars a week. I shall let you have all this in lieu of the week­ly al­lowance I pay you, but will pro­vide you with cloth­ing, as hereto­fore, so that this will keep you lib­er­al­ly sup­plied with pock­et mon­ey.”

"Con­rad's brow cleared. He was lazy, and did not en­joy go­ing to work, but the in­crease of his al­lowance would be sat­is­fac­to­ry.

“And now, Ben, Mrs. Hill will kind­ly show you your room. It is the large hall bed­room on the third floor. When you have un­packed your valise, and got to feel at home, come down­stairs, and we will have a lit­tle con­ver­sa­tion up­on busi­ness. You will find me in the sit­ting room, on the next floor.”

“Thank you,” said Ben po­lite­ly, and he fol­lowed the pal­lid cousin up­stairs. He was shown in­to a hand­some­ly fur­nished room, bright and cheer­ful.

“This is a very pleas­ant room,” he said.

“You won't oc­cu­py it long!” said Mrs. Hill to her­self. “No one will step in­to my Con­rad's place, if I can help it.”