Five Hundred Dollars; or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret. Alger Horatio Jr.

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СКАЧАТЬ but he is my mother's cousin."

      "Then he ought to do something for you out of relationship."

      "I don't expect it," answered Bert. "He appears to feel very little interest in us."

      They had reached the factory, and entering, were soon at work. Before noon the bad news was confirmed, and the boys were informed that their services would not be required after Saturday night.

      At dinner Bert informed his mother, and she too was dismayed. It was a calamity she had never dreamed of. She supposed Bert was sure of continued employment in pegging till he was old enough to be employed in some other part of the business.

      "I don't see what we shall do, Bert," she said. "There is no other shop in Lakeville. If there were, you might get a chance there."

      "There is no business of any kind here outside of Marlowe's shop."

      "True. What are the other boys going to do?"

      "Luke Crandall is going into his uncle's shop at Bradford, and the other two boys talk of leaving town."

      "I do think Albert Marlowe might find some place for you. We are near relations, and he knows how I depend on your earnings."

      "He isn't a man to consider that, mother."

      Mrs. Barton was silent, but she determined to make an application to her cousin in Bert's behalf. Accordingly, in the evening, she said to him. "Bert, I am going out to make a call. I would like to have you look after the house while I am gone."

      "Yes, mother."

      Mrs. Barton did not venture to let Bert know of her intention, for he would have done his best to prevent her applying to the squire for a special favor. Perhaps he was too proud, but it was an honorable pride. Besides, he knew very well that the appeal was likely to prove ineffectual.

      With a faltering step Mrs. Barton advanced and rang the bell of her cousin's handsome house. It was a call from which she shrank, but she was spurred by necessity.

      "Is Mr. Marlowe in?" she inquired.

      "I will see, ma'am."

      Squire Marlowe was at home, and she was ushered into his presence.

      Albert Marlowe was not, on the whole, surprised to see his cousin. He guessed the errand that brought her, and he frowned slightly as she entered the room.

      "Good evening," he said, in a distant tone. "I hope you are well."

      "Well in health, but anxious in mind, Albert," she said. "Bert tells me that he has been discharged from the shop."

      "Yes, but he is not the only one. There are three other boys."

      "It has come upon us like a thunderbolt. I had no idea that he was in any danger of losing his place."

      "I have nothing against your son, Mrs. Barton. It is a business necessity that compels me to dispense with his services."

      "Why a business necessity?"

      "You may have heard that I intend to introduce a pegging machine. It will do the work cheaper and more effectually than under the present system."

      "Oh, why couldn't you have let matters remain as they were? You may gain something, but you are depriving the boys of their livelihood."

      "You don't regard the matter in a business light, Mrs. Barton. I must keep up with the times. Other manufacturers are making the change, and I should stand in my own light if I adhered to the old-fashioned system."

      "I don't pretend to know about business, Albert, but I do know that in dismissing Bert you deprive us of more than half our income, and Heaven knows we need it all."

      "Your son can find something else to do."

      "What is there for him to do in Lakeville? I shall be grateful if you will suggest anything."

      "No doubt he can get a chance to work on a farm."

      "I know of no farmer who needs his services, and even if there were one he would not get money for his services, and that is what we want."

      "Of course farming isn't the only thing," said the squire vaguely. "If he looks round sharp he will come across something–"

      Mrs. Barton shook her head.

      "You know how little business there is in Lakeville," she answered. "Isn't there some other department in the factory in which you can employ him?"

      Squire Marlowe shook his head.

      "He is too young for any other work," he said.

      "Then what are we to do?"

      "Oh, you'll think of something," said the squire indefinitely. "He is to be in the shop the rest of the week, and that will give you time to think the matter over."

      "Then you can't hold out any hope!" said Mrs. Barton mournfully.

      "No, but you mustn't be despondent. Something will turn up."

      Mrs. Barton was silent, and her sad face made the squire vaguely uncomfortable. He wished she would go.

      "Mrs. Marlowe is not feeling well this evening," he said awkwardly, "or I would invite you to meet her. Some other evening–"

      "I am not in the mood to meet any one to-night, Albert," she said. "I will be going," and she rose from her chair and moved toward the door.

      "Good-evening, then. I am glad to have seen you."

      Mrs. Barton did not reply to the compliment. Her heart was too full of sorrow to respond to what she knew to be insincere and unmeaning. She understood very well that Albert Marlowe was glad to be rid of her.

      "How unreasonable women are!" muttered Squire Marlowe, impatiently, as he closed the door upon his unwelcome guest. "Mary Barton would have had me postpone all improvements in my shop for the sake of keeping that boy of hers in his place. Business considerations are as nothing to women. They are so unpractical."

      Mrs. Barton walked homeward slowly, musing bitterly on her cousin's want of feeling.

      "How cold-hearted he is!" she murmured. "He evidently cares nothing for our needs, or the prospect of our hardships. He lives in a fine house, and rears his family in luxury, while Bert and I are likely to want even the necessaries of life."

      Perhaps Mrs. Barton was a little too despondent. Perhaps she ought to have had more trust in Providence; but there had been sorrows in her life which had robbed her of her natural hopefulness, and she was no longer as courageous in the face of threatening misfortune as she had once been.

      She had nearly reached home when, from out of the darkness, a man's figure advanced from the roadside and laid his hand upon her arm.

      "Who are you!" she asked faintly, suppressing a scream.

      "Don't be frightened, Mary," was the reply, "I am your husband, Simeon Barton."

      CHAPTER IX.

      MRS. BARTON'S SECRET

      Mrs. Barton staggered, and would СКАЧАТЬ