She answered him valiantly, seeing through his unusual boastfulness, who was commonly so modest of his own attainments, and smiling back upon him with the same undaunted courage he brought to their changed life. It was taking bread from her own children’s mouths to do what now she did, yet her step never faltered as she walked across to the little cupboard and took from some hidden nook, known only to herself, their last quarter dollar. This she gave to her husband, saying cheerily:
“If you go at once, Joe, you may be home again in time for dinner. I’d like to be prompt with it for I’ve secured a dress to make for a woman in the neighborhood and can begin it to-night. Besides, I’m all impatience to see this little Josephine. Think of it, dear, the child who was named for you. How little we dreamed she was right here in our own Baltimore all this time. Go, dear, at once.”
With something like a groan the man caught the brave little creature in his arms, and was not ashamed to kiss her then and there before this staring stranger who had brought them this news. Ill or good, which would it prove? Then he put on his hat and went directly away.
Mr. Wakeman followed more slowly. He did not feel as much elated over his success as an amateur detective as he fancied he should feel. He was thinking of many things. Suppose this fellow, who was so down on his luck, this other unknown, insignificant Joseph Smith, should happen to take the fancy of the great Joseph Smith, of whom the world of business stood in such awe, and that magnate should happen to employ him on certain little matters of his own? Suppose those inquiries were directed toward his, Mr. Wakeman’s, own accounts, what would follow? Who could tell? Hmm! Yes, indeed. To prevent any such “happenings” that might prove unpleasant, it would be as well to make a little detour around by the office, even though it was after office hours and business all done for that day. In any case the new-found Uncle Joe, the real article, was now en route for 1000 Bismarck Avenue, and it wouldn’t take two to tell the same story. Mr. Wakeman hoped the story would be told, and that child which had caused him so much trouble well out of the way before he again met his master. Then would be quite time enough to look for a reward, such as was due from a multi-millionaire to his trusted and effective man of affairs.
Pondering thus, Mr. Wakeman rode back to town in a livery hack, while the impecunious uncle of the little Californian rode thither in a democratic street car. The faster the car sped the more impatient the improvident young man became. He wondered if his twin’s little daughter could be half as pretty and interesting as his own small people. He was glad he had never once written John or Helen anything about his business troubles. They supposed him to be doing uncommonly well and living in comfort, if not in luxury. Well, if this young Josephine were of the same good stock as her father a little poverty and privation in her youth wouldn’t hurt her; and where, search the wide world over, could any child find a sweeter, better foster-mother than his own Kitty?
When he arrived at Bismarck Avenue, things were already happening there which were out of the ordinary, to say the least. Among the day’s mail had come several letters to one Miss Desire Parkinson Smith, care of Mr. Joseph Smith. These letters had been handed to the master along with his own, and had caused him surprise amounting almost to consternation.
“Desire Parkinson! Desire Parkinson! And Smith! The combination is remarkable, if nothing more, Peter,” he exclaimed.
“Yes, suh, Massa Joe. Yes, suh,” returned the also startled negro.
“Do you see these letters?” asked the master.
“Yes, sir,” said the butler.