CHAPTER XXII. OLIVER ADOPTS A NEW GUARDIAN.

M RS. HILL, Oliver's landlady, was glad to obtain another lodger. She had a vacant square room which she was willing to let for five dollars a week. Oliver reported this to Nicholas Bundy at the hotel the next morning.

"If the price is too high," he added, with an involuntary glance at the stranger's shabby appearance, "perhaps Mrs. Hill will take less."

"I am willing to pay five dollars," said Nicholas promptly. "If you recommend it I have no doubt it will suit me."

When Mr. Bundy presented himself to the landlady, she, too,—for necessity had made her sharp-sighted and experience had made her suspicious,—evidently felt the same distrust as to his pecuniary status.

"Would you mind paying weekly in advance?" she asked doubtfully.

A smile lighted up his rough features.

"No, ma'am," he said; "that'll suit me just as well."

He drew out a large pouch, which appeared to be full of gold pieces, and drew therefrom an eagle.

"That'll pay for two weeks," he said, as he placed the coin in her hand.

The display of so much gold and his willingness to pay for his room two weeks in advance at once increased the lady's respect for him.

"I shall try to make your room comfortable for you," she said. "There's a sofa I can put in, and I've got an extra rocking-chair."

The stranger smiled.

"I'm afraid you'll spoil me," he said. "I'm used to roughing it, but you may put 'em in. When my young friend here comes to see me, he can sit on either."

A shabby-looking trunk and a heavy wooden box were deposited in the room before sunset.

"Now I'm at home," said Nicholas Bundy, with satisfaction. "You'll come and see me often, won't you, Oliver?"

He had already begun to call our hero by his Christian name, and evidently felt quite an interest in him.

"I can promise that," said Oliver, "for I am a gentleman of leisure just now."

"How is that?" asked Bundy quickly.

"I have lost my situation, and have all my time at my own disposal."

"How do you pay your way, then?" enquired Nicholas.

"I have money enough on hand to last me about ten weeks, or, with rigid economy, even longer. Before that time passes, I hope to get another situation."

"How much does it cost you to live?"

"About ten dollars a week."

"Suppose I employ you for about a week," proposed Bundy.

"Is it any work I am fit for?" asked Oliver. "If so, I say yes, and thank you."

"It is something you can do. You must know that it is twenty years since I have set foot in New York, and it's grown beyond my knowledge. I want to go about and see for myself what changes have taken place in it. Will you go with me?"

"Yes, Mr. Bundy, I will go with you, and charge nothing for it."

"That won't do," said the stranger. "I shall insist on paying you ten dollars a week."

"But it seems like robbing you."

"Don't you trouble yourself about that. You think I am poor, perhaps?"

"You don't look as if you were rich," said Oliver, hesitating.

"No, I suppose not," said Mr. Bundy slowly. "I don't look it, but I am worth fifty thousand dollars—in fact, more."

Oliver looked surprised.

"You wonder that I am so rough-looking—that I don't wear fine clothes, and sport a gold watch and chain. It aint in my way, boy. I've been used to roughing it so long that it wouldn't come nat'ral for me to change—that's all."

"I am glad you are so well off, Mr. Bundy," said Oliver heartily.

"Thank you, boy. It's well off in a way, I suppose, but it takes more than money to make a man well off."

"I suppose it does," assented Oliver, but he privately thought that a man with so much money was "well off" after all.

"Suppose, after twenty years' absence, you came back to your old home and found not a friend left,—that you were alone in the world, and had no one to take the least interest in you,—is that being well off?"

"That is very nearly my own situation," said Oliver. "I have a step-father, but he has cast me off."

"Did you care for him?"

"He never gave me cause to."

"Then you don't miss him?"

"He has all my mother's property,—property that should be mine,—and he cast me off with twenty dollars."

"He must be a mean skunk," said Mr. Bundy indignantly. "Tell me more about it."

Upon this Oliver told his story. Mr. Bundy listened with sympathizing interest. At one point he smote the table with his hard fist and exclaimed:

"The rhinoceros! I'd like to hammer him with my fist!"

"I should pity him if you did, Mr. Bundy," said Oliver smiling.

When the story was ended Nicholas took the boy's hand in his, while his rough features worked with friendly emotion.

"You've been treated bad, Oliver," he said, "but don't mind it, boy. Nicholas Bundy'll be your friend. He won't see you want. You shan't suffer as long as I have an ounce of gold."

"Thank you, Mr. Bundy," said Oliver gratefully. "I may need your help, but, remember, I have no claim on you."

"You have as much claim as anyone. Look upon me as your guardian, and don't be anxious about the future. I, too, have been wrongly used, and some day I'll tell you the story."

Two days later, as they sat on the deck of a Staten Island steamer, Nicholas Bundy told Oliver his story.

"Twenty years ago," he said, "I was a clerk in a store in New York. I was a spruce young man then—you wouldn't think it, but I was. I was earning a moderate salary, and spending it nearly all as I went along. About this time I fell in love with a young girl of sweet face and lovely disposition, and she returned my love. I've been battered about since, and the years have used me hard, but I wasn't so then. Well, I had a fellow-clerk, by name Jones,—Rupert Jones,—who took a fancy to the same girl. But he found she liked me better, and would say nothing to him, and he plotted my ruin. He was an artful, scheming villain, but I didn't know it then. I thought him to be my friend. That made it the easier for him to succeed in his fiendish plot. I needn't dwell upon details, but there was a sum of money missing by our employers, and through this man's ingenuity it was made to appear that I took it. It was charged upon me, and my denial was disbelieved. My employers were merciful men, and they wouldn't have me arrested. But I was dismissed in disgrace, and I learned too late that he did it. I charged him with it, and he laughed in my face. 'Addie won't marry you now!' he said. Then I knew his motive. I am glad to say he made nothing by it. I resigned all claim to my betrothed, but though she consented to this, she spurned him.

"Well, my career in New York was ended. I had a little money, and, after selling my watch, I secured a cheap passage to California. I made my way direct to the mines, and at once began work. I had varying luck. At times I prospered; at times I suffered privation. I made my home away from the coast in the interior. At last, after twenty years, I found myself rich. Then I became restless. I turned my money into gold and sailed for New York. Here I am, and I have just one purpose in view—to find my old enemy and to punish him if I get the chance."

"I can't blame you," said Oliver. "He spoiled your life."

"Yes, he robbed me of my dearest hopes. I have suffered for his sin, for I have no doubt he took the money himself."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"No; he may be in this city. If he is, I will find him. This is the great object of my life, and you must help me in it."

"I?"

"Yes. I will take care of you. You shall not want for anything. In return, you can be my companion, my assistant, and my friend. Is it a bargain?"

"Yes," said Oliver impulsively.

"So be it, then. If you ever get tired of your engagement I will release you from it; but I don't think you will."

"Do you know, or have you any idea, where this man is—this Rupert Jones?"

"I have heard that such a man is living on Staten Island. I saw his name in the New York Directory. That is why I wished to come here to-day."

"We are at the first landing," said Oliver. "Shall we land?"

"Yes."

The two passed over the gang-plank upon the pier, and the boat went on its way to the second landing.