CHAPTER XIX.
WHAT HAPPENED IN NO. 61
"Come upstairs with me, Rupert," said Mr. Malcolm, the clerk. "You've got a head on your shoulders. We'll soon find out what's the matter."
They ascended in the elevator to the third floor, and made their way hurriedly to No. 61.
There was a sound of a child crying inside. Mr. Malcolm tried the door but it was locked.
"Open the door!" he called out.
"I can't," was the answer, in a young child's voice. "It's locked."
"Can't you turn the key?"
"No; I don't know how."
"You will have to get through the transom," said the clerk. "If we only had a step-ladder."
"Lift me up and I'll get through," said Rupert. "I have practiced in a gymnasium."
"Very well, if you think you can."
The clerk bent over, and Rupert, standing on his shoulders, was lifted so that he could reach the transom.
Then, by a skillful movement, he raised himself still farther till he could look inside.
"What do you see?" asked Malcolm.
"There is a man lying on his face on the floor. He must have had a fit or something."
"Can you get through and lower yourself to the floor?"
"I think so. I will try."
"It is the only way to get into the room."
In very quick time Rupert accomplished his object. He turned the key and opened the door.
It was as he had said. A man lay prone upon the floor, and beside him, crying bitterly, was a pretty little boy of five, who was evidently very much frightened.
"Papa sick," he said.
Malcolm bent over the prostrate man, and tearing open his vest placed his hand on his heart.
"The man is dead!" he said, gravely, turning to Rupert.
The child was undressed, and the appearance of the bed showed that he at least had occupied it.
"How long has your papa been lying here?" asked Malcolm.
"I don't know. I woke up a little while ago, and I saw him on the floor."
"Is he cold?" asked Rupert.
"Yes; he must have been lying here for some time. Probably he was about to undress, when he had an attack of some kind, and fell as we see him. Call Dr. Bancroft."
A physician from Massachusetts was one of the guests of the hotel, and occupied Room 57.
Summoned by Rupert, he entered the room, and immediately made an examination of the body.
"Died of heart disease!" he said, briefly.
"Will papa soon be well?" asked the little boy, anxiously.
"We can tell better to-morrow," said the physician, pityingly. "You had better go with this gentleman, so as not to disturb your father, and we will do what we can for him."
Soothed by this assurance, for the little fellow did not understand that his father was beyond earthly help, the boy was led away and put in charge of a sympathetic lady guest for the night.
"Has he been dead long, doctor?" asked Malcolm.
"Probably for over an hour. What is his name?"
"I have forgotten. It is on the register."
"Perhaps we may find a letter in his pocket that will throw light on the matter."
Malcolm put his hand in the inside coat pocket and drew out, first, a letter addressed to
Paul Harvey,Albany,New York.
The other had no envelope and seemed to be an open letter. It ran thus:
"To whom it may concern—
"My doctor tells me that I am liable at any moment to drop dead from heart disease. I do not dread death for myself, but when I think of my little Fred, soon to be left fatherless, as he is already motherless, I am filled with anxiety. I am practically alone in the world, and there is no one to whom I can confide. Should death come to me suddenly, I trust some kind-hearted person will adopt Freddie, and supply a father's place to him. In my inside vest pocket will be found securities amounting to eleven hundred dollars. After defraying my funeral expenses there will probably be a thousand dollars left. I leave it to any one who will undertake the care and maintenance of my dear little boy.
Paul Harvey."
The three looked at one another after the clerk had read the letter.
"Here is a responsibility for some one," said Dr. Bancroft. "I wish it were in my power to take the little boy, but I am only here as a guest, and circumstances will not permit."
"I am a bachelor, and should find it impossible to assume such a charge," said the clerk, "though I feel for the little fellow."
An inspiration had come to Rupert. His heart had gone out to the little boy so tragically deprived of his natural protector.
"I will take the little boy if you are willing," he said.
"You! A boy! What can you do with him?" asked Malcolm.
"I am boarding in a nice family," he said. "I will put him under the care of Mrs. Benton, who has a young son of her own."
"But do you realize what a responsibility you are assuming?"
"I do, and I am not afraid. I never had a little fellow, and I shall be very fond of Fred."
"What do you think, doctor?" asked the clerk.
"I think from the little I know of this boy, that, though a young guardian, he will be a reliable one. I recommend that Fred, if that's his name, be put under his charge."
"In that case, according to the father's direction, the money will go to Rupert."
"Please take charge of it, Mr. Malcolm, till the funeral is over. Then we will place it in some bank."
"It will not go very far towards paying for the boy's board and education. He can't be more than five or six."
"When it is gone I will support him."
No objection was made, and it was agreed that Rupert should have the custody of the little orphan, not yet conscious of his loss.
CHAPTER XX.
MR. PACKARD'S GIFT
It was not until the next day that Giles Packard knew of the tragedy in No. 61. He had gone to bed at once on reaching the hotel, and had not heard of Rupert's adopting a child.
"What is this I hear, Rupert?" he asked, on meeting the bell-boy. "I hear you have an adopted son."
"Yes," answered Rupert, with a smile.
"Won't you get tired of the care and responsibility?"
"I think not."
"Besides, there will be considerable expense."
"The money left by his father will pay that till I am older and am earning more."
"Not many boys of your age would dare to assume such a charge."
"Perhaps not, but Fred is such a sweet boy I cannot help loving him."
"Look here, Rupert, won't you let me share the expense? I am rich and have no family ties?"
"Thank you, Mr. Packard. I am very much obliged to you, but I should like to feel that I am Fred's sole guardian. I want him to learn to love me."
"I don't know but you are right. I won't interfere if you don't wish me to."
That evening Rupert took Fred to Mr. Benton's.
"I have brought you another boarder," he said.
Mrs. Benton looked surprised.
"Is it a relation of yours?" she asked.
"He is my son."
The good lady looked amazed.
"My adopted son," amended Rupert, with a smile; and then he told her of the sudden death at the hotel, and little Fred's bereavement. Mrs. Benton's heart went out to the little orphan, and she stooped and kissed him.
"Will you live with me?" she asked.
"I am going to live with him," said little Fred, taking Rupert's hand.
"He will live here, too."
"Then I will stay," answered the child, gravely. "I am to stay with him till papa comes back."
They had told the little boy that his father had gone on a long journey, and wished him to stay with Rupert during his absence. He had acquiesced quietly, for he was a docile child, and transferred his affection to Rupert, of whose love he felt assured.
"Now, Mrs. Benton, I must make a bargain with you for Fred's board."
Mrs. Benton at first refused to accept anything, protesting that a child would be little expense, but Rupert told her that the father had left money, and finally induced her to accept three dollars a week.
"I am afraid that is too little," said the bell-boy.
"No; it will help pay the rent, and I shall like to have Freddie here as a companion for Harry."
So it was arranged, and the little boy was provided with a happy and comfortable home at small expense.
Two days later Giles Packard sought out Rupert during an interval of the bell-boy's labors.
"How is the little boy?" asked the cattleman.
"He is well, and he seems to be happy. He thinks his father is away on a journey."
"The journey we must all take some time," said Packard, gravely. "Then you won't accept my help towards paying for the child's maintenance?"
"It won't be necessary, Mr. Packard. I am to pay only three dollars a week for his board."
"His clothing will cost something."
"Mrs. Benton will manage that. She says it won't cost over fifty dollars a year."
"I foresaw that you wouldn't let me help support the boy, so I have got even with you in another way."
"How is that?" asked Rupert, puzzled.
Mr. Packard, smiled.
"I decided to make you a present," he said. "You won't refuse that?"
"No; I am sure you are a good friend, and I won't reject your kindness."
Rupert fancied Mr. Packard might be intending to give him fifty dollars, or something like that, and he felt that it would be ungracious to refuse.
The man from Colorado drew from his pocket a large-sized envelope, and from it took a legal document.
"This," he said, "is a deed of two lots in Harlem, not far from One-hundred-and-twenty-fifth Street. The deed is made out to you, and establishes your ownership."
"I didn't know you had any lots in Harlem," said Rupert, in surprise.
"Neither had I till yesterday. I bought them through a real estate agent on Third Avenue, after carefully considering several others."
"But, Mr. Packard, they must have cost you a good deal of money."
"Two thousand dollars."
"And you give me such a valuable present?"
"Yes, Rupert, and I am glad to do so. Don't think I have pinched myself to do it. I am a rich man, and I haven't a chick or child, except—well, except you," he continued, with a smile.
"I don't know that I ought to accept such a handsome present, though I fully appreciate your great kindness."
"I don't quite see that you have any choice. The deed is made out in your name, and in due time you will find that you will have to pay taxes on them."
"Then I suppose I must submit. I don't know how to thank you."
"Then don't do it. It would make me feel awkward. I will give you some good advice before I leave you. Those lots I believe will advance in price very rapidly. Building is going on very near them, and they are in the path of improvement. My advice is that you hold on to them at least five years. They may realize you a small fortune."
"I will certainly be guided by your advice. Do you know, Mr. Packard, I imagine there are very few bell-boys in New York who are as rich as I am?"
"I don't think I have ever heard of a bell-boy millionaire," said the cattleman, smiling, "though I hope the one before me may make the first exception to a general rule. Did I tell you that I expect to start on my return to Colorado to-morrow?"
"So soon as that?"
"Yes; I have received news from my agent there—good news, mind—that makes it advisable for me to abridge my visit. May I hope that you will write me sometimes?"
"I shall be glad to do so, Mr. Packard."
"Mind, it is a compact. Some time I expect you to visit me out there."
"When my child gets a little older," said Rupert, with a smile.
"And if at any time you find the expense too great for your means, let me help you."
"I will."
So the two friends parted, and Rupert resumed his regular routine as a bell-boy.
CHAPTER XXI.
RUPERT BECOMES A CONFIDANT
Some three months later Rupert's attention was called to a boy of seventeen or thereabouts, with long black hair and a high forehead, who registered as a guest, and took one of the cheapest rooms in the hotel. The boy seemed to have no companion, and to know very little about the city.
"Can you direct me to Palmer's Theatre?" he asked, rather diffidently.
"It is on Broadway, corner of Thirtieth Street," answered Rupert.
"And Daly's?"
"That is nearly opposite, on the other side of Broadway."
The boy took out a memorandum-book and noted down these addresses.
"What can he want at those theatres?" thought Rupert.
Of course he might want to buy a reserved seat in advance, but Rupert did not think it likely.
After getting his information the boy went out (it was about ten o'clock), and did not reappear till four o'clock in the afternoon. Rupert noticed him as he entered the hotel, and observed that he looked anxious and despondent. He did not go upstairs at once, but sank into a chair near Rupert, and apparently gave way to sorrowful reflections.
"He has some secret trouble," thought the bell-boy. "If he would speak to me I might be able to comfort him."
On the impulse of the moment he went up to the young guest, and asked, in a low tone of sympathy,
"Are you in any trouble?"
The boy started, flushed, and looked at Rupert half suspiciously. But there was something so friendly and sympathetic in Rupert's face that he was assured of his being a safe confidant.
"Yes," he said, "I am in trouble."
"If you will tell me, perhaps I can help you."
The boy looked about him hesitatingly.
"I shouldn't like to tell you here," he answered. "There are too many people round."
"I shall be at leisure after six o'clock. Will that do?"
"Yes. Could you come up to my room?"
"I will come with pleasure."
"I want a confidant. I want advice. You are younger than I am—at least you look so—but you have lived in the city while I am from the country."
"At any rate I will give you the best advice I can."
"Thank you. I feel better for having found a friend. I will go and take a walk, and you will find me here at six o'clock."
When Rupert got through work he found the boy waiting for him in the same place.
"I can go upstairs with you now."
"All right!" said the young guest, rising from his seat quickly. "We will take the elevator, for my room is on the top floor."
"In business hours," said Rupert, "I am not allowed to use the elevator. Now I am no longer a bell-boy, but your visitor."
The room was a small hall bedroom. It was one that was let for seventy-five cents a day, while the better and larger rooms ranged upwards to a dollar and a half. The room contained one chair only.
"Please take a seat," said the young host.
"But where will you sit?"
"I will sit on the bed. I don't know but you will laugh at me," he went on, "when I tell you what brought me to New York."
"Oh, no. I shall not laugh at you. But first, as we are to be friends, let me tell you my name and ask yours. I am Rupert Rollins."
"That is a nice name. It sounds like a story name. Mine is Leslie Waters."
"Where do you live?"'
"I was born and brought up in Rahway. That is in New Jersey, about twenty miles from New York. My father lives about a mile from the village. He has a small farm."
"And you were brought up to work on the farm?"
"Well, it isn't exactly a farm, but we raise vegetables and fruits for the New York market. I went to school till a year ago. Then I graduated, and since then I have worked for my father."
"Did you like it?"
"No, I don't like working on land. I feel," continued Leslie, flushing, "that I was born for something better and nobler. Besides, I don't want to live in the country. I prefer the city. There's something going on here."
"Yes, that is true."
"And I wanted to be in the excitement. I'd rather live half as long in the city. You can live more here in a year than in the country in two years."
"Was there any particular thing that you wished to do?"
"Yes, I am coming to that. When I attended school there was one exercise that many of the boys did not like, but I did. I liked to declaim. I began with such pieces as 'Casabianca'—you know that, don't you?"
"Oh, yes," said Rupert, smiling. "I have spoken it more than once myself."
"But of course I got beyond that after a while. I used to speak pieces from Shakespeare and other dramatic authors. There was one I liked to speak in particular. It begins:
"The warrior bowed his crested head and tamed his heart of fire,
And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire."
"Yes, I know the poem."
"I got a prize for speaking it at one of our closing examinations," said Leslie, proudly. "Would you like to have me speak it for you now?"
"I afraid it would attract attention in some of the neighboring rooms, as it is a spirited piece."
Leslie looked disappointed but continued. "Then I have spoken 'Young Lochinvar' also—I liked that."
"Did you never speak any prose pieces?"
"No, I didn't care for prose. I like poetry best. I wish we were alone, so I could speak something for you."
"We will go on an excursion some Sunday—say to Weehawken—and then I shall have a chance to hear you."
"I am afraid I shall not be able to stay in the city," said Leslie, gloomily. "I have met nothing but disappointment since I came here."
CHAPTER XXII.
TRYING TO BE AN ACTOR
"Have you inquired for work?" asked Rupert.
"Yes."
"What kind of work?"
"I wanted to be an actor. So I applied at Palmer's Theatre and Daly's this forenoon, and this afternoon I went to others."
"How were you received?" asked Rupert, in considerable curiosity.
"They wouldn't talk with me," answered Leslie, indignantly. "One of the managers laughed at me when I asked if he would let me speak a piece, so that he might judge of my ability."
"Perhaps they had no vacancy," suggested Rupert, trying to keep his countenance.
"They asked me if I had ever acted. Of course I can't till I get the chance. I told him I would be willing to work for five dollars a week till I got some experience. I told them they might try me in small parts. One of them asked me if I had ever played Hamlet. He must have been in fun."
"I should think so."
"Of course great actors like Booth must have served an apprenticeship. I was reading an account of Booth's early life lately, and he began just as I want to begin."
"I expect the profession must be crowded. There was an actor staying at the hotel last week. He is out of employment, and I think he must be out of funds, for he got me to go out and pawn an overcoat for him."
"I am sure I could succeed if I only had a show," continued Leslie. "You don't happen to know any manager, do you?"
"No. Perhaps you would stand a better chance of getting into a variety theatre. Can you sing or dance?"
"No; I should not be willing to. I don't think Booth ever did, or Irving, or Forrest."
"No. I don't think they did."
"And I'll get some time to be a famous actor, so I wouldn't like to have it mentioned in my biographies that I ever played in a variety theatre."
"Are you going to make any more applications, Leslie?"
"I shall apply to every manager in the city," answered Leslie, energetically.
"I like your pluck. You deserve to succeed."
"Didn't you ever think of being an actor?"
"No; I don't think I have any talent for it."
"Don't you like to speak pieces?"
"Pretty well, but I like to write compositions better. How long do you expect to stay in the city?"
"Well, I'll tell you how I am situated. I had twelve dollars in a savings bank in Newark, and I took it out without letting my father know. I was sure he wouldn't approve it, especially if he thought I was trying to go on the stage. You see he doesn't approve of theatres. It is very strange, considering that the greatest man that ever lived was an actor and dramatic author."
"You mean Shakespeare?"
"Yes. However, father is old-fashioned in his ideas. I should like to become a great actor, and make piles of money. Then he might be proud of me."
Leslie's face flushed and his voice trembled, he was so carried away by the thought of becoming a dramatic star.
"You said you had twelve dollars?" remarked Rupert, by way of bringing him back to solid ground.
"Yes; but I have spent four dollars, though I have tried to be economical. I pay seventy-five cents a day for my room, and that counts up."
"Yes, so it does. If you were going to stop long in the city I think I could get a room for you at two dollars a week."
"I should like that, but I can't pay even that if I don't get something to do."
"In that case I suppose you would go home."
"I should have to. I suppose my father is very angry at me."
"Did you leave home without letting him know?"
"Yes; I knew he wouldn't let me come if he knew my plans."
"Didn't you leave a note for him?"
"Yes. I'll tell you what I wrote. I have a copy of it here."
Leslie drew from his pocket a half sheet of note paper, and read aloud the following words:
"Dear Father—
"When you read these words I shall be far from home. I suppose I ought not to go, but I am tired of the country, and I want to win fame and fortune. I have a plan in view which I have considered for years. I won't tell you what it is now, for though strictly honorable, you might not approve it. I think I understand myself better than you do, though you are my father. I will let you hear from me soon. Your son,
Leslie Waters."
"Of course you don't know how this was received by your father?"
"I met a boy from Rahway this morning. He told me that father was mad, and said he washed his hands of me, that I was a fool, and would very soon find it out."
"Then you don't think he will pursue you?"
"No, he isn't that kind of a man."
"It will be rather awkward for you to go home."
"Yes. I wouldn't like to do that."
"Suppose you don't get a chance to go on the stage, would you be willing to take a business place?"
"Yes, I would rather do that than go home. Here I should be in the midst of life, and if I bided my time I might get a chance to go on the stage after all."
"That is true. Now I will tell you why I asked. One of the bell-boys here is going to leave. I might get the position for you."
"You are a bell-boy, are you not?"
"Yes."
"How much do you get?"
"Five dollars a week and my meals. I have to hire a room outside."
"And you say I can get a room for two dollars a week?"
"Yes. Perhaps for a dollar and a half."
"Then I could get along."
"You might not like the duties of a bell-boy."
"What are they?"
Rupert explained.
"How early should I get off at night?"
"At six o'clock. The bell-boy who is about to leave is on through the day like myself."
"That would suit me. I could go to the theatre in the evening."
"True."
"If I don't get a chance to act to-day I will take the place if you can get it for me. It will be much better than going back to Rahway. Besides, my father will think better of me if he hears that I have found a place where I can make my expenses."
"Does he know that you have had thoughts of becoming an actor?"
"No; I never told him, but my mother knows it."
"What does she say to it?"
"She thinks I am smart enough to succeed, but fears I might get into bad company."
"There is danger of that."
"Not for me. I don't care for drinking, and I belong to the temperance society."
"So do I."
"When a boy is ambitious to be great I don't think he is likely to get dissipated."
"Perhaps you are right. One thing I must say to you, Leslie. If you take the place of bell-boy you must try to give satisfaction."
"I will, for it will keep me in the city. In Rahway there is no chance of my rising in life."
Rupert foresaw that there was very little chance of his new friend getting a position in any theatre, and he spoke at once to the manager of the hotel about giving a place as bell-boy to Leslie.
"Is he a friend of yours, Rupert?" asked the manager.
"Yes, sir."
"Have you known him long?"
"Not long enough to be sure that he will be satisfactory. Still you might be willing to take him on trial."
"I will try him for a week. If at the end of that time he suits me moderately well I will retain him."
"I will coach him a little and instruct him in his duties."
"That will help."
In the evening Leslie came home just before Rupert got through his day's work. He did not look as if he had succeeded. Still he was not as sober as the day before.
"Well?" said Rupert. "What luck?"
"I don't get a place. In some of the theatres they did not treat me respectfully, though one manager admitted that he went on the stage earlier than I did."
"Where was that?"
"In Brooklyn."
"Then I suppose you will be ready to accept the place of bell-boy?"
"Yes; but if a chance should come of my going on the stage I should want to resign it."
"You had better not say anything about that. Wait till the chance comes."
"I have one piece of good news," said Leslie, more cheerfully. "In two weeks a spectacular piece will be put on the stage at Niblo's, and they have promised me a place as supe."
"How much will you be paid?"
"Only twenty-five cents a night, but it will be a beginning. I shall have a place behind the footlights. More than one actor has made his start in that way."
"I am glad for you. I will go and see you when you make your first appearance."