Chapter XIII.
A JOYFUL MEETING.
It is highly probable that one might have searched over New York City that night and not found a happier household than that of Mrs. Green’s. Paul was so wonderfully happy in the thought that he was going back to Chicago, where, even though he could not see his parents, he should find relatives and friends, that he could talk of little else. Even the theatre was forgotten by him; for when Mopsey spoke of the necessity of getting another boy to take his place in the dramatic company he hardly gave the matter a thought, except to say that he hoped they would make plenty of money out of it. And Paul’s partners were happy, more happy than they could possibly have been by any other outlay of their money; Paul’s pleasure reflected on them to such a degree that they became almost as much excited as he was before the evening was over.
Good Mrs. Green alternately laughed and cried, until she seemed to realize that such nervousness was not exactly suitable to the occasion, and then she busied herself by reading one of the papers Ben had brought home.
Master Treat had spent so much time on the good work he had carried through so successfully, and then had paid so much more attention to the boy he was going to surprise than to the sale of his goods, that, instead of helping Johnny as had been his purpose when he took some of his papers to sell, he was a drawback, and the consequence was that Mrs. Green had three evening papers to read, while Messrs. Jones and Treat had been “stuck” just that number.
After she had joined in the general good time over Paul’s good-fortune with her daughter and her boarders, and found that she was marring rather than adding to it by her nervousness, she ceased to pay any more attention to what was said by those about her, but became interested in the advertisements of fruit for sale. Suddenly she came across something that seemed to surprise her greatly, for she took off her glasses and wiped them, as though she mistrusted that which she saw was on the glass and not in the paper.
After satisfying herself that she was not the victim of an optical delusion, her face was a remarkable sight, exhibiting as it did surprise and delight alternately. It appeared as if it was difficult for her to speak, for she tried several times before she succeeded in saying,
“Listen to me every one of you, an’ if I ain’t mistaken Paul will be more glad to hear this than he was to get his ticket. This is what it says in this paper, word for word: ‘Paul Weston’—that’s in big letters. ‘Any one who can give information of Paul Weston, who strayed from an outward-bound steamer on the afternoon of the seventeenth, will receive a handsome reward by calling on the undersigned. Said boy is ten years old, has light hair, blue eyes, nose slightly turned up, and at the time of his disappearance was dressed in dark blue clothes; he would most likely be trying to make his way to Chicago, and any one who has seen such a boy will please communicate at once with Rufus Weston, Fifth Avenue Hotel.’ There! what do you think of that?” and Mrs. Green looked around at her circle of listeners, who appeared to have been stricken dumb with astonishment.
“Why, that means me!” exclaimed Paul, suddenly, as if he had thought some one else was spoken of. “And Rufus Weston, that’s my father! He didn’t go away, after all. And now, somebody, tell me where that hotel is.”
As he spoke he had grasped his coat and hat, running from the house at full speed before he even knew which direction he should take. There were none of that party who had a very clear idea of what they were saying or doing just then; but as the most important thing in their minds was to see this father of Paul’s, who had come at a time when his son was about to go home without his assistance, each one of the boys started out in the same rapid way, overtaking their more excited companion just as he was stopping to consider which direction he should take.
“This way, Polly!” shouted Ben, waving his hand, and started along as if he were going to a fire.
No one thought of walking, for it seemed as if every moment was precious then, and that they might not find him if they were two or three minutes late. On they ran, at full speed; and when they stood in a row before the clerk of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, they were so breathless that they could not speak distinctly.
“Polly’s come to see his father,” said Ben, after they had stood there so long that the clerk was about to order one of the porters to turn this quite dirty and very ragged crowd, who appeared to have come there simply to look at him, out-of-doors.
“Who is his father?” asked the man, hardly believing that any guest in that hotel would claim a son from that rather disreputable-looking party, for Paul looked almost as dirty and ragged as the others did.
“His name’s Rufus Weston,” said Paul, speaking in a low voice, because of the tears that would persist in coming into his eyes, so much afraid was he that his father was no longer there.
THEY STOOD IN A ROW BEFORE THE CLERK OF THE FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL.
Almost every one in the hotel knew Mr. Weston’s story, and no sooner did he hear the name than the clerk, calling one of the servants, ordered him to show this odd-looking party to Mr. Weston’s room. Paul almost ran ahead of the man in his eagerness to see his father, while the others were inclined to remain quite a distance in the rear, awed by the elegant things they saw around them, and not quite certain as to whether they ought to follow their friend. When, finally, the man stopped before one of the doors, knocked, and Paul rushed into the room, the boys heard a scream of delight, and then they were shut out, as if their companion had forgotten them entirely.
Ranged close to the wall, opposite the door which Paul had entered, wondering whether they ought to go or stay, four boys stood in bewilderment, hardly daring to speak. Porters, servants, and guests passed them with looks of wonder at the motionless line, who appeared to be trying to make themselves as small as possible, so that they should be in no one’s way; and each time they were favored with a look of scrutiny or surprise they fancied that they were to be ordered to leave the house at once.
“I guess we’d better go,” whispered Dickey, after one of the porters had looked at them unusually hard.
“Yes,” replied Mopsey, in an injured tone; “he’s got all he can out of us, an’ we sha’n’t see him agin.”
“Now don’t you go to tryin’ to be a fool, Mopsey Dowd,” said Ben, indignantly. “Polly ain’t the kind of a feller to forget his chums, an’ I’m going to stay here till he comes out, if it ain’t till mornin’. S’posen you had a father that had got lost, an’ you’d jest found him, wouldn’t it be quite a while afore you’d think of such a lot of duffers as we be?”
Mopsey was silent, but not convinced; he shook his head in a knowing way, as if to say that his companions would soon see that he had spoken the truth, and then he tried to push himself farther into the wall in order to occupy less space in the hall. For fully ten minutes the boys stood there, first on one foot and then on the other, like motherless chickens in a rain-storm, and then the turning of the handle of the door caused them to straighten up into what they intended should be careless attitudes, which should say that they had intended to go right away, but had been delayed by the discussion of some important question. It was Paul who came out of the room; and if the boys had had any doubts as to whether they had done right in staying, they were convinced now, for their companion looked around as if he were absolutely certain they would be there.
“Father wants to see you; come in,” he said, holding the door open for them to enter.
But they were not disposed to accept the invitation; they had waited to see Paul, not his father, and they had an idea that they should not feel exactly at their ease in there.
“Come in,” insisted Paul; “there’s no one here but father, and he wants to see all of you.”
Mopsey was the first to enter; he had settled it in his mind that they ought to be invited to see Mr. Weston, and he considered it his right to go in because of the money he had contributed towards Paul’s ticket to Chicago. The others followed him, but did not appear as confident as he did. Whatever extravagant idea Mopsey may have had as to the way in which they ought to be received by Mr. Weston, he was not disappointed. Paul’s father welcomed them in the most cordial manner possible, and had they been his most intimate and esteemed friends they could not have been received more kindly.
Paul had given his father a brief account of his life since the time he learned that the steamer had sailed without him, and he had spoken in the warmest terms of the boys who had befriended him when he was in such bitter trouble. After the boys had entered the room, Mr. Weston explained why it was that he was still in New York City, when it seemed almost certain that he had sailed for Europe.
In a very few moments after the steamer had started from the pier Mrs. Weston had asked him to send Paul to their cabin, she needing his service in some trifling matter; and when Mr. Weston looked around for his son, of course he could not be found. A hasty and vain search was made, and then the boy whom Paul had left behind to acquaint his father of the important business of buying tops that had called him away, told the story which he would probably have told before had he known which one of the many passengers his newly-made friend’s father was. Leaving his wife and daughter to continue the journey alone, Mr. Weston had come back with the pilot, and from that day until then he had searched for his son, never once thinking that almost any newsboy in the vicinity of City Hall could have given him full particulars.
Paul had told him of the generosity which his friends had shown in devoting all the theatrical funds, and nearly all of the money they had individually, to the purchase of the ticket to Chicago; and after he had told them how it was that he had remained in the city, he said, as he took the ticket Paul was holding in his hand to give back to his friends,
“I shall keep this ticket, boys, even though Paul will not need it, for we shall sail for Europe in the next steamer. I want it as a reminder of generosity and nobility as shown by four boys, who could not have been censured if they had let the lost boy work his own way back to his home. I shall have it framed, with your names written on it; and when any one asks the meaning of it, I shall tell them that it was bought for my son by four noble boys of New York.”
Ben’s eyes fairly sparkled with delight as Mr. Weston bestowed this praise, and Mopsey drew himself up at full height, as if the idea of doing the charitable deed had originated with him, instead of his having been opposed to it.
“Now, boys,” continued Mr. Weston, “I shall try to do something towards repaying you for your kindness to Paul; but then I have another matter to settle with you. I advertised that I would give a reward to any one who should bring me information of my son. You have done that by bringing the boy himself, and are, therefore, entitled to the sum I should have paid any one else.”
As he spoke he handed some money to Paul, and he in turn handed it to Ben, who said, as he took it rather unwillingly,
“We don’t want any pay for comin’ here with Polly, an’, besides, it warn’t very far, so we won’t say nothin’ ’bout it.”
“All we shall say about it, my boy, is that you will keep that money in order that I may keep my word. To-morrow we will see what can be done to reward you for your kindness to Paul, and he and I will call at your house some time in the evening, where I hope you will all wait for us.”
Ben concluded from this that Mr. Weston wanted to be alone with his son, and he said, as he went towards the door,
“We’ll keep the money, though it don’t seem jest right; it kinder looks as though we was takin’ what didn’t belong to us, an’ the only way I know of to get square on it is for us to give a show all for you alone, an’ let you come in for nothin’.”
Mr. Weston seemed highly pleased at the novel idea, and he told them, as he shook their hands in parting, that he would be obliged to give the matter some considerable attention before he could accept any such generous offer, but that they could talk the matter over the following evening. Paul bade them good-night, with the assurance that he would see them the next day, and the boys marched out of the hotel saying not a word, but looking as if they believed they had grown considerably in importance during their call.
Once in the street, Mopsey stopped under the nearest gas-light and asked Ben to see how much money Mr. Weston had given them. Ben unfolded the bills, which he held crumpled up in his hand, and the surprise of all four may be imagined when he unrolled five twenty-dollar notes.
“Jinks!” squeaked Dickey, with delight, after he had turned four consecutive hand-springs to quiet himself down a little, “that’s a hundred dollars; an’ if we don’t swell ’round with that it’ll be ’cause we don’t know how to put on style.”
Then, quite as fast as they had left Mrs. Green’s, they ran back to relate the startling news, and surprise their landlady and her daughter with the treasure that had come because of their generous act.