"If only some old soldier would turn up, so that you could get your father's pension," went on Mattie, "that would be better than a reward."

"You're right," replied Richard. "Even if we only got a thousand dollars it would help along wonderfully at home."

Monday morning found the two hard at work in the stock-room. About ten o'clock Mr. Mann came up, and beckoned to Richard to come to one corner.

"I want to find out about an order that was shipped on the tenth to Pittsburgh," he said, when they were alone. "There is something wrong about it. You were here by yourself on that day. Do you remember it?"

"To Pittsburgh?" repeated Richard slowly. "Yes, I do. Mr. Williams filled that order."

"Mr. Williams!" Mr. Mann looked surprised. "I don't understand."

"Mr. Williams came up here while I was alone and offered to help me.

I said that the Pittsburgh order I couldn't read very well; so he took it and filled it. He will probably remember it."

"Probably he will," replied Mr. Mann, "and in that case the trouble is certainly _all_ downstairs. You need not mention this occurrence to any one."

Mr. Mann went below; and there were no more interruptions for that day. But trouble was in the air, and on the following day the climax came.

Richard was alone in the stock-room, Frank having just gone below on business. There was a clatter on the stairs, and turning to see what was the matter Richard confronted Earle Norris.

The shipping-clerk was pale, but his manner showed that he was also angry, whether reasonably or not remained to be seen.

"You little greenhorn, you!" he cried. "What do you mean by getting me into trouble?"

"I don't know as I have," replied Richard, as coolly as he could; and, not wishing to engage in a personal encounter, he very wisely placed several cases between himself and his angry accuser.

"Yes, you have!" roared Norris. "You told Mr. Mann that that order from Pittsburgh was sent down all right, and that if any of the goods were changed they were changed downstairs."

"I told no one anything of the kind," replied Richard briefly, though he could readily understand the mistake under which Norris was laboring.

"Yes, you did."

"No, I did not."

"Oh, come, I know better. If you didn't, who did? Ma.s.sanet wasn't here."

"That's true, too; but, nevertheless, I didn't tell Mr. Mann."

"You're a--" began the shipping-clerk pa.s.sionately.

"Here! here! Stop that, Norris!" came a voice from the elevator; and the next instant Mr. Williams stepped into the room. "What do you mean by creating such a disturbance?"

"Dare is trying to put up a job on me," began the shipping-clerk. "He told Mr. Mann that that order for Pittsburgh was sent down O.K. and--"

"And so it was," replied Mr. Williams calmly.

"No, sir; it was--"

"Hold up, Norris; there is no use of further words," said Mr. Williams sharply. "You were discharged half an hour ago, and you had better leave. It was I that told Mr. Mann that the order had gone down all right, because I filled it myself. I suspected you for a long time, and I wanted to find out the truth. Dare and Ma.s.sanet are entirely innocent in the matter. I have much more information against you--and also a book-dealer who has sold you old books and bought your new ones--but we will let that drop. I have learned that your family is quite a respectable one. For their sake, as well as your own, I advise you to turn over a new leaf. You can go."

For an instant Norris hesitated. Then he turned, and without a word of reply hurried down the stairs.

Richard breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone.

"I am sorry he placed you two up here in such a false position," said Mr. Williams to Richard. "Please tell Ma.s.sanet of it, too. Neither of you shall lose anything by it."

CHAPTER XXVII.

A FIRE AND ITS RESULT.

As one proof of Williams & Mann's good intentions towards Richard, the boy found his salary on the following week increased to eight dollars, and Frank received a proportionate addition to his pay.

In the middle of the week a new shipping-clerk, a German by the name of Bretzwartz, was engaged, and, though everybody in the establishment found it hard at first to understand the young man's broken English, yet he was such a jolly fellow--as well as an honest and capable one--that he was soon on good terms all around.

During the evenings of this week Richard wrote a great number of letters to the Grand Army and other military organizations, in the hope of finding some one who had known his father during the war or immediately after it.

On Thursday evening Frank accompanied him to the neighborhood in which Mr. Dare had once resided; but, though the two spent nearly three hours in the search, no trace of any former acquaintance was found.

"You see it's different here from what it is in the country," said Frank, when they were returning. "Here you often find that people don't know who lives next door, or even in the same house with them. It sounds queer, but it's true. No one is introduced, no one is sociable, and the majority are continually moving, in the hope of finding a better dwelling or cheaper rent."

"Yes, I noticed that," replied Richard, with something like a sigh.

"Out in the country everybody knows everybody else, and outside of a few prim people all are as sociable as can be. But I suppose if one wants to make money one must expect to give up some comforts."

"You're right there," replied Frank.

During the week Pep met them twice on the Bowery. He was cleanly washed, had his curly hair brushed, and wore a brand-new suit. In his altered appearance Richard hardly knew him.

"Dad's better," was the urchin's reply to the boy's question. "Uncle Doc is going to take him out of de hospital next week, so as Aunt Betty can nurse him herself. She's awful kind, she is."

"And how do you like the change?" asked Frank.

"I feel like I was dreamin'," was Pep's answer. "It don't seem natural--these clo'es and that nice home. It's like de times long ago."

"Are you selling papers yet?" asked Richard.

"No, sir. Uncle Doc says I'm to go to school in a week or so. He says I must have an eddication, and he's going to help dad get his money and invest it so it's safe, and all that. Here's yer dollar."

As Pep concluded, he suddenly dived into one of the pockets of his new trousers, and, after considerable difficulty, extricated a silver dollar.

"Never mind, Pep, you can keep it," said Richard, yet well pleased to see the urchin's evident desire to right the wrong he had done.

"No, no, it's yours," exclaimed Pep earnestly. "I won't keep it nohow.

And say," he added in a whisper, "I'm awful glad you didn't say nothin'

to me uncle of it. It's de first time I stole anything, and it's the last, too, and I wouldn't have Uncle Doc or Aunt Betty know it for de world."