Mrs. Ma.s.sanet had the peculiar French accent of the province of Lorraine, and Richard frequently experienced difficulty in understanding her, but her motherly way soon put him at ease, and in a few minutes he felt perfectly at home.

"This is my sister," said Frank, as a tall, dark-eyed girl of sixteen entered. "Mattie, this is Richard Dare."

"Frank has been telling us of you," said Mattie Ma.s.sanet, as she took Richard's hand. "We talked you all over last night," she added, with a merry twinkle of her eye.

"I'm sure it couldn't have been a very bad talk if you had a hand in it," said Richard gallantly.

They were soon at the table, and having by a lucky chance (or was it the girl's natural tact?) struck the right vein, the conversation became quite animated, and soon all were on very good terms.

"I like you verra mouch," said Mrs. Ma.s.sanet, when Richard had finished, "and I shall be pleased to have you as a boarder--eef you like ze _diner_."

"Thank you, Mrs. Ma.s.sanet. I shall be thankful to have you take me.

I know it will feel quite like a home."

"Ve make zat so. Ve keep no _hotel garni_ even--only for one."

"Thank you," returned Richard. He did not understand the French, which means a lodging-house. "Can I come to-night?"

"Oh, yees."

So it was arranged that he should become a boarder at the Ma.s.sanets', and having this settled took quite a load from his mind. Now if he could only do his work well for Williams & Mann, he would be all right, and have every chance of eventually attaining the object of his metropolitan venture.

Of one thing he was sure--Frank Ma.s.sanet's friendship and help, and in his present place he knew these would count for a good deal.

Little did he dream that the position kind-hearted Timothy Joyce had procured for him would lead him to the hardest trials of his youthful life, and place him in the bitterest situation he had ever yet experienced.

CHAPTER XVI.

PEP.

In a week Richard felt quite at home, both in the stock-room at Williams & Mann's and at the Ma.s.sanets'.

During that time Mr. Williams had returned from Chicago, and both of the members of the firm seemed to be well satisfied by the way in which their new clerk discharged the duties a.s.signed to him.

A warm friendship sprang up between Frank Ma.s.sanet and Richard--a friendship that was destined to bear important results. The stock-clerk, though Richard's superior in the business, acted more like a chum, and in the evenings the two, accompanied by Mattie Ma.s.sanet, walked, talked, played games, or listened to Mrs. Ma.s.sanet's music on the flutina, and were all but inseparable.

Richard received several letters from home--one from his mother, congratulating him on the position he had secured, and another from Grace and Nancy, full of village gossip, and what people had said about his going away.

Both Frank and Richard loved their work, and by the second week the books in the stock-room were in a neater and handier condition than they had ever been before, and Frank expressed his pleasure at having some one who could really help, and not hinder, as the discharged clerk had done.

On Tuesday morning of the second week, Richard was hurrying to the store a little earlier than usual. The big consignment of books was soon to arrive, and they must have even more room for it than had at first been antic.i.p.ated.

As he came down the Bowery at a rapid gait, a small figure crossed the street directly before him, and stopped to gaze into the well-filled window of a German bakery. It was the street Arab who had robbed Richard in Park Row!

For an instant Richard could hardly believe his eyes, but, stepping up, he took a closer view, and then grasped the urchin by the arm.

Instinctively the street Arab shrank away. Then he turned his pinched and startled face around, and, seeing who it was that held him, gave a loud cry of alarm.

"Oh, please, mister, please lemme go!" he pleaded. "I won't do it again, please, sir, no I won't! Oh, don't lock me up, mister!"

That piteous appeal went straight to Richard's heart. If he had felt any indignation, it melted away at the sight of that haggard, famished, desperate look.

"What have you done with the stuff you took from my pockets?" he asked, but his tones were not very harsh.

The boy began to whimper.

"I--I ain't got de money no more," he sobbed, "It's all gone, mister; I spent every cent of it but two nickels fer medicine and de doctor.

Please don't lock me up, mister."

"Medicine and the doctor?" repeated Richard, rather astonished by this unexpected statement. "Who is sick?"

"Me dad, mister."

"Your dad? Your father?"

"Yes, mister; been sick going on two months now, and ain't no better."

Richard looked at the boy sharply. He had been deceived so many times that he was half inclined to discredit the urchin's story.

"It's the truth, mister," went on the boy, seeing the look of distrust.

"I ain't tellin' no lies, so help--"

"What's your name?"

"Pep, sir."

"Pep what?"

The urchin held down his head.

"I ain't got no other name!" he answered hesitatingly.

"Oh, you must have!" exclaimed Richard. "Come, out with it."

But the little ragged figure only began to cry again, harder than ever.

"Come, tell me; I won't have you arrested," urged Richard.

"Oh, thank you, mister! It would kill dad to know I'd been stealin'.

I told him I made the money sellin' papers."

"That was a lie," said Richard sternly.

"I know it, mister, but I couldn't help it. It was better than tellin'