"Certainly I do. I will give you a week's pay this morning, and I will call every week, and pay you the same."

"Do you hear that, mother?" said Tom, joyfully.

"G.o.d bless you, young gentleman, for your kindness to us!" said Mrs.

Brady, gratefully.

"Oh, it isn't much," said Frank; "I can spare it well enough. I have had such good luck myself that I ought to do something for those who need it."

"You're a good feller, Frank," said Tom, warmly. "I'll get well quick now. If you ever want anybody to fight for you, just call on Tom Brady."

"I generally do my own fighting, Tom," said Frank, laughing, "but I'll remember your offer. When you are well, you must come and spend an evening with me."

"I'm sure he'll be proud to do the same," said Mrs. Brady.

"I must bid you good-by, now, Tom. Keep a 'stiff upper lip,' and don't be down-hearted. We must all be sick sometimes, you know, and you'll soon be well."

"I won't be down-hearted now," said Tom, "with my wages comin' in reg'lar. Remember me to the boys, Frank."

"I will, Tom."

When Frank reached home he found a large, overgrown boy, with big red hands, and clothes of rural cut, who apparently did not know what to do with his legs and arms, waiting to see him.

It was his cousin Jonathan.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A COUNTRY COUSIN.

Jonathan was a loose-jointed, heavily built, and awkward boy of seventeen, bearing not the slightest resemblance to his cousin Frank.

Still he was a relation, and our hero was glad to see him.

"How are you, Jonathan?" said Frank, cordially. "I wasn't expecting to see you. Are all well at home?"

"They're pooty smart," answered Jonathan. "I thought I'd come down and look round a little."

"I shall be glad to show you round. Where would you like to go?--to Central Park?"

"I don't care much about it," said the country cousin. "It's only a big pasture, dad says. I'd rather go round the streets. Is there any place where I can buy a few doughnuts? I feel kinder empty."

"Do you prefer doughnuts to anything else?" asked Frank, with a smile.

"I hear they're cheap,--only a cent apiece," answered Jonathan, "and I calc'late five or six will be enough to fill me up."

"You needn't mind the expense, cousin; I shall pay for your dinner."

Jonathan's heavy face lighted up with satisfaction.

"I don't care if you do," he said. "I hear you've got a lot of money now, Frank."

"I shall have enough, to make me comfortable, and start me in business."

"I wish I had as much money as you," said Jonathan, longingly.

"You are all right. Some time you will have more than I."

"I don't know about that. Dad keeps me awful close."

"You have all you want, don't you?"

"I've got some money in the bank," said Jonathan, "but I'd like to put in more. I never thought you'd have more money than I."

"You used to tell me I ought to go to the poor-house," said Frank, smiling.

"That's because you was livin' on dad, you know," explained Jonathan.

"It wasn't fair to me, because he wouldn't have so much to leave me."

In the country Frank had not found much satisfaction in the company of his cousin, who inherited the combined meanness of both parents, and appeared to grudge poor Frank every mouthful he ate; but in the sunshine of his present prosperity he was disposed to forgive and forget.

Frank led the way to a restaurant not far away, where he allowed his cousin to order an ample dinner, which he did without scruple, since he was not to pay for it.

"It costs a sight to live in the city," he said, as he looked over the bill of fare.

"It costs something in the country, too, Jonathan."

"I wish you'd come and board with dad. He'd take you for five dollars a week, and it will cost you more in New York."

"Yes, it will cost me more here."

"Then you'll come, won't you? You'll be company for me."

Frank doubted whether Jonathan would be much company for him.

"You didn't use to think so, Jonathan."

"You couldn't pay your board then."

"Now that I can I prefer to remain in the city. I mean to go to school, and get a good education."

"How much do you have to pay for board here?"

"I can't tell what I shall have to pay. At present I am staying with friends, and pay nothing."

"Do you think they'd take me for a week the same way?" asked Jonathan, eagerly. "I'd like to stay a week first-rate if it didn't cost nothing."

"I shouldn't like to ask them; but some time I will invite you to come and pay me a visit of a week; it shall not cost you anything."