The Store Boy | Page 3

all the money I had."
"A highwayman, and so near Pentonville!" ejaculated Simon Crawford. "What was he like?"
"A regular tramp."
"Yet you say you have the money. How did you manage to keep it from him?"
Ben detailed the stratagem of which he made use.
"You did well," said the storekeeper approvingly. "I must give you a dollar for the one you sacrificed."
"But sir, it was bad money. I couldn't have passed it."
"That does not matter. You are entitled to some reward for the courage and quick wit you displayed. Here is a dollar, and--let me see, there is an entertainment at the Town Hall this evening, isn't there?"
"Yes, sir. Prof. Harrington, the magician, gives an entertainment," said Ben eagerly.
"At what time does it commence?"
"At eight o'clock."
"You may leave the store at half-past seven. That will give you enough time to get there."
"Thank you, sir. I wanted to go to the entertainment, but did not like to ask for the evening."
"You have earned it. Here is the dollar," and Mr. Crawford handed the money to his young clerk, who received it gratefully.
A magical entertainment may be a very common affair to my young readers in the city, but in a country village it is an event. Pentonville was too small to have any regular place of amusement, and its citizens were obliged to depend upon traveling performers, who, from time to time, engaged the Town Hall. Some time had elapsed since there had been any such entertainment, and Prof. Harrington was the more likely to be well patronized. Ben, who had the love of amusement common to boys of his age, had been regretting the necessity of remaining in the store till nine o'clock, and therefore losing his share of amusement when, as we have seen, an opportunity suddenly offered.
"I am glad I met the tramp, after all," he said to himself. "He has brought me luck."
At supper he told is mother what had befallen him, but she tool a more serious view of it than he did.
"He might have murdered you, Ben," she said with a shudder.
"Oh, no; he wouldn't do that. He might have stolen Mr. Crawford's money; that was the most that was likely to happen."
"I didn't think there were highwaymen about here. Now I shall be worrying about you."
"Don't do that mother; I don't feel in any danger. Still, if you think it best, I will carry a pistol."
"No, no, Ben! it might go off and kill you. I would rather run the risk of a highwayman. I wonder if the man is prowling about in the neighborhood yet?"
"I don't think my bogus dollar will carry him very far. By the way, mother, I must tell yon one strange thing. He asked me if I was John Barclay's son."
"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Barclay, in a tone of great surprise. "Did he know your name was Barclay?"
"Not till I told him. Then it was he asked if I was the son of John Barclay."
"Did he say he knew your father?"
"I asked him, but he answered evasively."
"He might have seen some resemblance--that is, if he had ever met your father. Ah! it was a sad day for us all when your poor father died. We should have been in a very different position," the widow sighed.
"Yes, mother," said Ben; "but when I get older I will try to supply my father's place, and relieve you from care and trouble."
"You are doing that in a measure now, my dear boy," said Mrs. Barclay affectionately. "You are a great comfort to me."
Ben's answer was to go up to his mother and kiss her. Some boys of his age are ashamed to show their love for the mother who is devoted to them, but it a false shame, that does them no credit.
"Still, mother, you work too hard," said Ben. "Wait till I am a man, and you shall not need to work at all."
Mrs. Barclay had been a widow for five years. Her husband had been a commercial traveler, but had contracted a fever at Chicago, and died after a brief illness, without his wife having the satisfaction of ministering to him in his last days. A small sum due him from his employers was paid over to his family, but no property was discovered, though his wife had been under the impression that her husband possessed some. He had never been in the habit of confiding his business affairs to her, and so, if he had investments of any kind, she could not learn anything about them. She found herself, therefore, with no property except a small cottage, worth, with its quarter acre of land, perhaps fifteen hundred dollars. As Ben was too small to earn anything, she had been compelled to raise about seven hundred dollars on mortgage, which by this time had