Five Hundred Dollars; or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret. Jr. Horatio Alger

you can think yourself a prince," said the squire, genially. "Now, if you want to wash your face and hands, and arrange your toilet, you will have abundant time before dinner. Come down when you have finished."

      Albert Marlowe returned to his wife.

      "Mr. Marlowe," said she, "are you very sure that old man is rich?"

      "I have no doubt of it, Julia."

      "But what an old fright he is! Why, he looks dreadfully common, and his clothes are wretchedly shabby."

      "True, Julia; but you must remember miners are not very particular about their dress."

      "I should think not, if he is a fair specimen. It makes me shudder to think of his occupying the blue-room. The hall bedroom on the third floor would have been good enough for him."

      "Remember, my dear, he is in all probability very wealthy, and we are his heirs. I am not so well off as people imagine, and it will be a great thing for us to have a fortune of a quarter or half a million drop in by and by."

      "There's something in that, to be sure," the lady admitted. "But can't you induce him to wear better clothes?"

      "I will suggest it very soon. We mustn't be too precipitate, for fear he should take offense. You know these rich uncles expect to be treated with a good deal of consideration."

      "Do you think he will expect to live with us? I shall really give up if I have got to have such a looking old tramp as a permanent member of the family."

      "But, Julia, if he is really very rich, it is important for us to keep him strictly in view. You know there will be plenty of designing persons, who will be laying snares to entrap him, and get possession of his money."

      "How old is he? Is he likely to live long?"

      "I think he must be about sixty-five."

      "And he looks alarmingly healthy," said Mrs. Marlowe, with a sigh.

      "His father died at sixty-seven."

      Mrs. Marlowe brightened up. "That is encouraging," she said, hopefully.

      "I don't think he looks so very healthy," added the squire.

      "He has a good color."

      "His father was the picture of health till within a few weeks of his death."

      "What did he die of?"

      "Apoplexy."

      "To be sure. The old man looks as if he might go off that way."

      "In that case we should only need to be troubled with him a couple of years, and for that we should be richly repaid."

      "They will seem like two eternities," groaned the lady, "and the chief burden will come on me."

      "You shall be repaid, my dear! Only treat him well!"

      "Will you give me half what money he leaves to us?"

      "Say one-third, Julia. That will repay you richly for all your trouble."

      "Very well! Let it be a third. But, Mr. Marlowe, don't let there be any mistake! I depend upon you to find out as soon as possible how much money the old man has."

      "Trust to me, Julia. I am just as anxious to know as you are."

      In twenty minutes Uncle Jacob came down stairs. He had done what he could to improve his appearance, or "slick himself up," as he expressed it, and wore a blue coat and vest, each provided with brass buttons. But from close packing in his valise both were creased up in such a manner that Squire Marlowe and his wife shuddered, and Percy's face wore an amused and supercilious smile.

      "I declare I feel better to be dressed up," said the old man. "How long do you think I've had this coat and vest, Albert?"

      "I really couldn't guess."

      "I had it made for me ten years ago in Sacramento. It looks pretty well, but then I've only worn it for best."

      Percy had to stuff his handkerchief in his mouth to repress a laugh. Uncle Jacob regarded him with a benevolent smile, and seemed himself to be amused about something.

      "Now, Uncle Jacob, we'll sit down to dinner. You must be hungry."

      "Well, I have got a fairish appetite. What a nice eatin' room you've got, Albert. I ain't used to such style."

      "I presume not," said Mrs. Marlowe, dryly.

CHAPTER III.

       Table of Contents

A VISIT TO THE FACTORY.

       Table of Contents

      During dinner the old man chatted away in the frankest manner, but not a word did he let drop as to his worldly circumstances. He appeared to enjoy his dinner, and showed himself entirely at his ease.

      "I'm glad to see you so well fixed, Albert," he said. "You've got a fine home."

      "It will do very well," returned the squire, modestly.

      "I suppose he never was in such a good house before," thought Mrs. Marlowe.

      "By the way, just before I fell in with you here," went on Jacob, "I ran across Mary's boy."

      "Herbert Barton?" suggested the squire, with a slight frown.

      "Yes; he said that was his name."

      "They live in the village," said his nephew, shortly.

      "They're poor, ain't they?"

      "Yes; Barton was not a forehanded man. He didn't know how to accumulate money."

      "I suppose he left very little to his widow."

      "Very little. However, I have given the boy a place in my factory, and I believe his mother earns a trifle by covering base-balls. They don't want for anything—that is, anything in reason.

      "Bert Barton seems a likely boy."

      "Oh, he's as good as the average of boys in his position."

      "I suppose he and Percy are quite intimate, being cousins."

      "Indeed we are not!" returned Percy, tossing his head. "His position is very different from mine."

      Uncle Jacob surveyed Percy in innocent wonder.

      "Still, he's kin to you," he observed.

      "That doesn't always count," said Percy. "He has his friends, and I have mine. I don't believe in mixing classes."

      "I expect things have changed since I was a boy," said Uncle Jacob, mildly. "Then, all the boys were friendly and sociable, no matter whether they were rich or poor."

      "I agree with Percy," broke in Mrs. Marlowe, stiffly. "His position in life will be very different from that of the boy you refer to. Any early intimacy, even if we encouraged it, could not well be kept up in after-life."

      "Perhaps you are right," said the old man. "I've been away so long at the mines that I haven't kept up with the age or the fashions."

      Percy smiled, as his glance rested on his uncle's creased suit, and he felt quite ready to agree with what he said.

      "I was thinkin' how pleasant it would be if you would invite Mary and her boy to tea—we are all related, you know. We could talk over old times and scenes, and have a real social time."

      Mrs. Marlowe seemed horror-struck at the suggestion.

      "I don't think it would be convenient," she said, coldly.

      "It would be better for you to see Mrs. Barton at her own