“Can you direct me to the house of Dr. Crawford?” asked a stranger.
The inquiry was addressed to Peter Cook in front of the hotel in Edgewood Center.
“Yes, sir; he is my stepfather!”
“Indeed! I did not know that my old friend was married again. You say you are his stepson?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He has an own son, about your age, I should judge.”
“That’s Carl! he is a little older than me.”
“Is he at home?”
“No,” answered Peter, pursing up his lips.
“Is he absent at boarding school?”
“No; he’s left home.”
“Indeed!” ejaculated the stranger, in surprise. “How is that?”
“He was awfully hard to get along with, and didn’t treat mother with any respect. He wanted to have his own way, and, of course, ma couldn’t stand that.”
“I see,” returned the stranger, and he eyed Peter curiously. “What did his father say to his leaving home?” he asked.
“Oh, he always does as ma wishes.”
“Was Carl willing to leave home?”
“Yes; he said he would rather go than obey ma.”
“I suppose he receives an allowance from his father?”
“No; he wanted one, but ma put her foot down and said he shouldn’t have one.”
“Your mother seems to be a woman of considerable firmness.”
“You bet, she’s firm. She don’t allow no boy to boss her.”
“Really, this boy is a curiosity,” said Reuben Ashcroft to himself. “He doesn’t excel in the amiable and attractive qualities. He has a sort of brutal frankness which can’t keep a secret.”
“How did you and Carl get along together?” he asked, aloud.
“We didn’t get along at all. He wanted to boss me, and ma and I wouldn’t have it.”
“So the upshot was that he had to leave the house and you remained?”
“Yes, that’s the way of it,” said Peter, laughing.
“And Carl was actually sent out to earn his own living without help of any kind from his father?”
“Yes.”
“What is he doing?” asked Ashcroft, in some excitement. “Good heavens! he may have suffered from hunger.”
“Are you a friend of his?” asked Peter, sharply.
“I am a friend of anyone who requires a friend.”
“Carl is getting along well enough. He is at work in some factory in Milford, and gets a living.”
“Hasn’t he been back since he first left home?”
“No.”
“How long ago is that?”
“Oh, ‘bout a year,” answered Peter, carelessly.
“How is Dr. Crawford? Is he in good health?”
“He ain’t very well. Ma told me the other day she didn’t think he would live long. She got him to make a will the other day.”
“Why, this seems to be a conspiracy!” thought Ashcroft. “I’d give something to see that will.”
“I suppose he will provide for you and your mother handsomely?”
“Yes; ma said she was to have control of the property. I guess Carl will have to stand round if he expects any favors.”
“It is evident this boy can’t keep a secret,” thought Ashcroft. “All the better for me. I hope I am in time to defeat this woman’s schemes.”
“There’s the house,” said Peter, pointing it out.
“Do you think Dr. Crawford is at home?”
“Oh, yes, he doesn’t go out much. Ma is away this afternoon. She’s at the sewing circle, I think.”
“Thank you for serving as my guide,” said Ashcroft. “There’s a little acknowledgment which I hope will be of service to you.”
He offered a half dollar to Peter, who accepted it joyfully and was profuse in his thanks.
“Now, if you will be kind enough to tell the doctor that an old friend wishes to see him, I shall be still further obliged.”
“Just follow me, then,” said Peter, and he led the way into the sitting-room.
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