“How much is there here?”
This was the first question that Julius asked himself.
Counting the bills hurriedly, he ascertained that they amounted to two hundred and sixty-seven dollars.
“Whew! what a pile!” he said to himself. “Ain’t I in luck? I could go to California for this, and make a fortune. Why shouldn’t I keep it? Mr. Taylor will never know. Besides, he’s so rich he won’t need it.”
To one who had been brought up, or rather who had brought himself up, as a bootblack in the streets of New York, the temptation was a strong one. Notwithstanding the comfort which he now enjoyed there were moments when a longing for his old, independent, vagrant life swept over him. He thought of Broadway, and City Hall Park, of Tony Pastor’s, and the old Bowery, of the busy hum and excitement of the streets of the great{110} city; and a feeling something like homesickness was aroused within him. Brookville seemed dull, and he pined to be in the midst of crowds. This longing he was now able to gratify. He was not apprenticed to Mr. Taylor. It is not the custom of the Children’s Aid Society to bind out the children they send West for any definite term. There was nothing to hinder his leaving Brookville, and either going back to New York, or going to California, as he had often thought he would like to do. Before the contents of the pocketbook were exhausted, which, according to his reckoning, would be a very long time, he would get something to do. There was something exhilarating in the prospect of starting on a long journey alone, with plenty of money in his pocket. Besides, the money wouldn’t be stolen. He had found it, and why shouldn’t he keep it?
These thoughts passed through the mind of Julius in considerably less time than I have taken in writing them down. But other and better thoughts succeeded. After all, it would be no better than stealing to retain money when he knew the owner. Besides, it would be a very poor return to Mr. Taylor for the kindness with which he had treated him ever since he became a member of his household. Again, it would cut short his studies, and he would grow up a know-nothing—to use his own word—- after all. It would be pleasant traveling, to be sure; it would be pleasant to see California, or to find himself{111} again in the streets of New York; but that pleasure would be dearly bought.
“I won’t keep it,” said Julius, resolutely. “It would be mean, and I should feel like a thief.”
He put the pocketbook carefully in the side pocket of his coat, and buttoned it up. As he whipped up the horse, who had taken advantage of his preoccupation of mind to walk at a snail’s pace, it occurred to him that if he should leave Brookville he would no longer be able to drive a horse; and this thought contributed to strengthen his resolution.
“What a fool I was to think of keeping it!” he thought. “I’ll give it to Mr. Taylor just as soon as I get back.”
He kept his word.