He went into the reading-room of an uptown hotel, and sitting down at the table wrote the following letter.
“You will find inclosed a five-dollar bill which is sent in return for your very kind loan. Don’t think I am pinching myself, as I have twenty dollars left in my pocketbook. Just at present I am doing remarkably well, but I have seen some anxious days since I left Wrayburn. I wouldn’t advise any boy to leave home unless he has as good reasons as I, or has a good prospect ahead. I must tell you that before I got steady work I was reduced to thirty-seven cents, and knew that in two days I had to meet a rent bill of two dollars. I fully expected to be turned out into the streets, for my landlady, though kind-hearted is poor, and could not afford to keep me unless I paid my rent regularly.
“You will be interested to hear what I am working at. Well, for a time I sold papers on the Bowery, clearing about seventy-five cents a day. But my first situation was distributing circulars, or rather bills of fare for a cheap restaurant on the same street. I was paid chiefly in meals, and such meals! Often and often I wished myself at my mother’s table, or at yours, where I could get good wholesome food. But I had a chance to change my business. You will hardly believe me when I tell you that I am acting at the People’s Theater. I am taking the part of a newsboy. How well I succeed you can judge from two or three newspaper clippings I send you. I don’t know how long my present employment will last. I hope a good while, for I am much better paid than I could hope to be in any other line of business.
“Now how are things going on in Wrayburn? Do you often see my mother? Please show her this letter and the newspaper clippings. Give her my love, but you needn’t trouble yourself to give any such message to my stepfather, to whom I owe no debt of gratitude.
“How I wish you could walk into my room and have an old-fashioned chat. Have you ridden at any races lately? If you have I hope you were successful. Write soon to
“Your true friend,
“Ben Bruce.”
Albert Graham no sooner received this letter than he went over to see Mrs. Winter. Jacob Winter had gone to a neighboring town on an errand, and Albert was glad to find Ben’s mother at home alone.
“You have heard from Ben,” exclaimed Mrs. Winter, noticing his bright face.
“How is he? Is he getting on comfortably? Last night I dreamed that the poor boy was penniless and suffering for food.”
“Dreams go by contraries, you know. The letter contained five dollars which he sent me in payment for the money I lent him when he went away.”
“Then he must be doing well!” said Mrs. Winter gladly.
“He writes that he has twenty dollars left in his pocketbook.”
“What in the world can he be doing?”