In the morning Julius looked for his enemy, but he was nowhere to be seen. Inquiring in a guarded way, he ascertained that Marlowe had taken an early breakfast and had gone away. It might be that he feared Julius would cause his arrest. At any rate, he was gone.
Julius never saw him again, but read in a newspaper, not long afterward, the closing incidents in the career of this dangerous ruffian. He made his way to Milwaukee, and resumed his old business. While engaged in entering a house by night, he was shot dead by the master of the house, who had heard him enter. It was a fitting end to a misspent life. From a boy he had warred against society, and now he had fallen at the hands of one of his intended victims.
* * * * * * * * *
But little remains to be told—too little for a separate{217} chapter. Julius has redeemed the promise of his youth, and now in his early manhood possesses the respect and attachment, not only of Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, but of all who know him. His real estate speculation has turned out favorably. The property for which he paid fifteen hundred dollars is now worth three times that sum, owing to the rapid growth and increasing population of Brookville; but as it is likely to become still more valuable, he has decided not to sell yet. He has repaid Mr. Taylor the amount of the mortgage out of his earnings, and is now sole proprietor. He has assumed the management of Mr. Taylor’s large farm, and is likely in time to grow rich. It is reported that he is engaged to be married to a niece of Mrs. Taylor, who recently came from the East to visit her aunt; and it is not unlikely that the report is true. Though he can boast no proud lineage, and is even indebted to strangers for a name, the Taylors feel that the good qualities which he possesses will compensate for these deficiencies.
He has once visited New York. Last year he went to the East on business for Mr. Taylor, and sought out some of his old haunts. Among other places, he visited the Newsboys’ Lodging House, and, at the request of Mr. O’Connor, made a short speech to the boys, a portion of which will conclude this story:
“Boys,” he said, “it is but a few years since I was drifting about the streets like you, making my living{218} by selling papers and blacking boots, ragged, and with a dreary prospect before me. I used to swear and lie, I remember very well, as I know many of you do. If I had stayed in the city I might be no better off now. But in a lucky moment I was induced by Mr. O’Connor to go West. There I found kind friends and a good home, and had a chance to secure a good education. Now I carry on a large farm for my benefactor, and second father, as I consider him, and I hope in time to become rich. I tell you, boys, it will pay you to leave the city streets and go out West. You may not be as lucky as I have been in finding rich friends, but it will be your own fault if you don’t get along. There are plenty of homes waiting to receive you, and plenty of work for you to do. If you want to prosper and grow up respectable, I advise you to come out as soon as you get the chance.”
THE PATERNOSTERS.
“And do you really mean that we are to cross by the steamer, Mr. Virtue, while you go over in the Seabird? I do not approve of that at all. Fanny, why do you not rebel and say we won’t be put ashore? I call it horrid, after a fortnight on board this dear little yacht, to have to get on to a crowded steamer, with no accommodation and lots of seasick women, perhaps, and crying children. You surely cannot be in earnest?”