The Errand Boy | Page 8

too bad."
"I don't know why you should expect them. I needed the money they
brought me to pay my expenses till I get work."
"I will pay your expenses to New York if you wish," said Mrs. Brent.
"Thank you; but I shall have money enough," answered Phil, who
shrank from receiving any favor at the hands of Mrs. Brent.
"As you please, but you will do me the justice to remember that I
offered it."
"Thank you. I shall not forget it."
That evening, just before going to bed, Mrs. Brent opened a trunk and
drew from it a folded paper.
She read as follows--for it was her husband's will:
"To the boy generally known as Philip Brent, and supposed, though
incorrectly, to be my son, I bequeath the sum of five thousand dollars,
and direct the same to be paid over to any one whom he may select as
guardian, to hold in trust for him till he attains the age of twenty-one."
"He need never know of this," said Mrs. Brent to herself in a low tone.
"I will save it for Jonas."
She held the paper a moment, as if undecided whether to destroy it, but
finally put it carefully back in the secret hiding-place from which she
had taken it.

"He is leaving home of his own accord," she whispered. "Henceforth he
will probably keep away. That suits me well. but no one can say I drove
him to it."

CHAPTER IV.
MR. LIONEL LAKE.
Six months before it might have cost Philip a pang to leave home. Then
his father was living, and from him the boy had never received aught
but kindness. Even his step-mother, though she secretly disliked him,
did not venture to show it, and secure in the affections of his supposed
father, he did not trouble himself as to whether Mrs. Brent liked him or
not. As for Jonas, he was cautioned by his mother not to get himself
into trouble by treating Phil badly, and the boy, who knew on which
side his interests lay, faithfully obeyed. It was only after the death of
Mr. Brent that both Jonas and his mother changed their course, and
thought it safe to snub Philip.
Planktown was seventy-five miles distant from New York, and the fare
was two dollars and a quarter.
This was rather a large sum to pay, considering Phil's scanty fund, but
he wished to get to the great city as soon as possible, and he decided
that it would be actually cheaper to ride than to walk, considering that
he would have to buy his meals on the way.
He took his seat in the cars, placing a valise full of underclothes on the
seat next him. The train was not very full, and the seat beside him did
not appear to be required.
Mile after mile they sped on the way, and Phil looked from the window
with interest at the towns through which they passed. There are very
few boys of his age--sixteen--who do not like to travel in the cars.
Limited as were his means, and uncertain as were his prospects, Phil
felt not only cheerful, but actually buoyant, as every minute took him

farther away from Planktown, and so nearer the city where he hoped to
make a living at the outset, and perhaps his fortune in the end.
Presently--perhaps half way on--a young man, rather stylishly dressed,
came into the car. It was not at a station, and therefore it seemed clear
that he came from another car.
He halted when he reached the seat which Phil occupied.
Our hero, observing that his glance rested on his valise, politely
removed it, saying:
"Would you like to sit down here, sir?"
"Yes, thank you," answered the young man, and sank into the seat
beside Phil.
"Sorry to inconvenience you," he said, with a glance at the bag.
"Oh, not at all," returned Phil. "I only put the valise on the seat till it
was wanted by some passenger."
"You are more considerate than some passengers," observed the young
man. "In the next car is a woman, an elderly party, who is taking up
three extra seats to accommodate her bags and boxes."
"That seems rather selfish," remarked Phil.
"Selfish! I should say so. I paused a minute at her seat as I passed along,
and she was terribly afraid I wanted to sit down. She didn't offer to
move anything, though, as you have. I stopped long enough to make
her feel uncomfortable, and then passed on. I don't think I have fared
any the worse for doing so. I would rather sit beside you than her."
"Am I to consider that a compliment?" asked Phil, smiling.
"Well, yes, if you choose. Not that