Five Hundred Dollars; or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret. Alger Horatio Jr.Читать онлайн книгу.
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 have fallen, had not the other held her up. "You here," she exclaimed, in amazement, "after being absent so many years?"
"Yes; it has been a cruel exile. We have been very unfortunate."
"Where have you been these last ten years, Simeon?"
"For the last eight years in Canada."
"And you did not write me?"
"No; I feared it would set officers on my track. I have heard from you now and then, indirectly. Have you suffered much?"
"It has been a weary time. It would have been easier to bear if I had heard from you."
"A letter from Canada would have been sure to attract attention and invite comment. Besides, I had no money to send you. Misfortune has pursued me, and I have only been able to support myself. When I think of the probable author of my misfortunes, I own it has made me feel revengeful."
"To whom do you refer, Simeon?"
"To Albert Marlowe."
"What do you mean? How is he responsible for your—misfortune?"
"I will tell you. I believe that it was he who stole the bonds, the loss of which was imputed to me."
"Is it possible that you have any proof of this?" asked Mary Barton eagerly. "The bond that was found in your possession–"
"Was placed in my overcoat pocket for the express purpose of throwing suspicion upon me. You remember that it was a bond for five hundred dollars, while the amount stolen was six thousand."
"Yes."
"Albert and I were both at work in the same establishment. We were on a level, so far as means are concerned."
"Yes."
"Now he is a rich man," added Simeon Barton significantly.
"Yes; he is considered worth thirty thousand dollars."
"It was the stolen money that gave him his start, I verily believe."
"He did not start in business for himself for more than a year after—the trouble."
"No; for he thought it would invite suspicion. I have reason to think that he disposed of the bonds in Canada, and with the proceeds started in as a manufacturer. How otherwise could he have done so? He was only earning two dollars a day when we were working together, and it cost him all of that to support his family."
"I have often wondered where he obtained money to go into business."
"I don't think there is any mystery about it."
"And you have been compelled to bear the consequences of his wrong-doing while he has been living in luxury?" said Mary Barton bitterly.
"Yes; but mine is not a solitary case. Wickedness often flourishes in this world. We must look to the future for compensation."
"Do you think you will ever be able to prove your innocence, Simeon?"
"It is all that I live for. If I can do that, we can live together again. But tell me, before I go any further, how are you and the boy getting along?"
"We are comfortable," answered Mary Barton briefly. She did not care to add to her husband's anxieties by speaking of Bert's discharge.
"I wish I had some money to give you, but I only had enough to bring me here and return."
"You had an object in coming?"
"Yes; there was a man who was employed by Weeks Brothers at the time of the loss of the bonds. I learned some months since—it is not necessary to explain how—that he could throw