Adrift in New York: Tom and Florence Braving the World. Alger Horatio Jr.Читать онлайн книгу.
can never love another. My heart is broken. Farewell, cruel girl. When you read the papers tomorrow morning, think of the unhappy Percy de Brabazon!”
Mr. de Brabazon folded his arms gloomily, and stalked out of the room.
“If my position were not so sad, I should be tempted to smile,” said Florence. “Mr. de Brabazon will not do this thing. His emotions are as strong as those of a butterfly.”
After a brief pause Florence seated herself at the table, and drew toward her writing materials.
“It is I whose heart should be broken!” she murmured; “I who am driven from the only home I have ever known. What can have turned against me my uncle, usually so kind and considerate? It must be that Curtis has exerted a baneful influence upon him. I cannot leave him without one word of farewell.”
She took up a sheet of paper, and wrote, rapidly:
“Dear Uncle: You have told me to leave your house, and I obey. I cannot tell you how sad I feel, when I reflect that I have lost your love, and must go forth among strangers—I know not where. I was but a little girl when you gave me a home. I have grown up in an atmosphere of love, and I have felt very grateful to you for all you have done for me. I have tried to conform to your wishes, and I would obey you in all else—but I cannot marry Curtis; I think I would rather die. Let me still live with you as I have done. I do not care for any part of your money—leave it all to him, if you think best—but give me back my place in your heart. You are angry now, but you will some time pity and forgive your poor Florence, who will never cease to bless and pray for you. Good-bye!
She was about to sign herself Florence Linden, but reflected that she was no longer entitled to use a name which would seem to carry with it a claim upon her uncle.
The tears fell upon the paper as she was writing, but she heeded them not. It was the saddest hour of her life. Hitherto she had been shielded from all sorrow, and secure in the affection of her uncle, had never dreamed that there would come a time when she would feel obliged to leave all behind her, and go out into the world, friendless and penniless, but poorest of all in the loss of that love which she had hitherto enjoyed.
After completing the note, Florence let her head fall upon the table, and sobbed herself to sleep.
An hour and a half passed, the servant looked in, but noticing that her mistress was sleeping, contented herself with lowering the gas, but refrained from waking her.
And so she slept on till the French clock upon the mantle struck eleven.
Five minutes later and the door of the room slowly opened, and a boy entered on tiptoe. He was roughly dressed. His figure was manly and vigorous, and despite his stealthy step and suspicious movements his face was prepossessing.
He started when he saw Florence.
“What, a sleeping gal!” he said to himself. “Tim told me I’d find the coast clear, but I guess she’s sound asleep, and won’t hear nothing. I don’t half like this job, but I’ve got to do as Tim told me. He says he’s my father, so I s’pose it’s all right. All the same, I shall be nabbed some day, and then the family’ll be disgraced. It’s a queer life I’ve led ever since I can remember. Sometimes I feel like leaving Tim, and settin’ up for myself. I wonder how ’twould seem to be respectable.”
The boy approached the secretary, and with some tools he had brought essayed to open it. After a brief delay he succeeded, and lifted the cover. He was about to explore it, according to Tim’s directions, when he heard a cry of fear, and turning swiftly saw Florence, her eyes dilated with terror, gazing at him.
“Who are you?” she asked in alarm, “and what are you doing there?”
CHAPTER V.
DODGER
The boy sprang to the side of Florence, and siezed her wrists in his strong young grasp.
“Don’t you alarm the house,” he said, “or I’ll–”
“What will you do?” gasped Florence, in alarm. The boy was evidently softened by her beauty, and answered in a tone of hesitation:
“I don’t know. I won’t harm you if you keep quiet.”
“What are you here for?” asked Florence, fixing her eyes on the boy’s face; “are you a thief?”
“I don’t know—yes, I suppose I am.”
“How sad, when you are so young.”
“What! miss, do you pity me?”
“Yes, my poor boy, you must be very poor, or you wouldn’t bring yourself to steal.”
“No. I ain’t poor; leastways, I have enough to eat, and I have a place to sleep.”
“Then why don’t you earn your living by honest means?”
“I can’t; I must obey orders.”
“Whose orders?”
“Why, the guv’nor’s, to be sure.”
“Did he tell you to open that secretary?”
“Yes.”
“Who is the guv’nor, as you call him?”
“I can’t tell; it wouldn’t be square.”
“He must be a very wicked man.”
“Well, he ain’t exactly what you call an angel, but I’ve seen wuss men than the guv’nor.”
“Do you mind telling me your own name?”
“No; for I know you won’t peach on me. Tom Dodger.”
“Dodger?”
“Yes.”
“That isn’t a surname.”
“It’s all I’ve got. That’s what I’m always called.”
“It is very singular,” said Florence, fixing a glance of mingled curiosity and perplexity upon the young visitor.
While the two were earnestly conversing in that subdued light, afforded by the lowered gaslight, Tim Bolton crept in through the door unobserved by either, tiptoed across the room to the secretary, snatched the will and a roll of bills, and escaped without attracting attention.
“Oh, I wish I could persuade you to give up this bad life,” resumed Florence, earnestly, “and become honest.”
“Do you really care what becomes of me, miss?” asked Dodger, slowly.
“I do, indeed.”
“That’s very kind of you, miss; but I don’t understand it. You are a rich young lady, and I’m only a poor boy, livin’ in a Bowery dive.”
“What’s that?”
“Never mind, miss, such as you wouldn’t understand. Why, all my life I’ve lived with thieves, and drunkards, and bunco men, and–”
“But I’m sure you don’t like it. You are fit for something better.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Dodger, doubtfullly.
“Yes; you have a good face. You were meant to be good and honest, I am sure.”
“Would you trust me?” asked the boy, earnestly, fixing his large, dark eyes eloquently on the face of Florence.
“Yes, I would if you would only leave your evil companions, and become true to your better nature.”
“No one ever spoke to me like that before, miss,” said Dodger, his expressive features showing that he was strongly moved. “You think I could be good if I tried hard, and grow up respectable?”
“I am sure you could,” said Florence, confidently.
There was something in this boy, young outlaw though he was, that moved her powerfully, and even fascinated her, though she hardly realized it. It was something more than a feeling of compassion for a wayward