CHAPTER XXVI. WHO RUPERT JONES WAS.

J UST before leaving New York Oliver wrote a letter to Frank Dudley, announcing the plan he had in view.

My new guardian, Mr. Bundy, goes to Chicago on business [he wrote] and I am to go with him. I don't know how long we shall be away. I shall be well provided for, and expect to have a good time. I may write you from the West. Remember me to Carrie, and believe me to be your affectionate friend,

Oliver Conrad.

"So Oliver is going to Chicago," said Frank Dudley to Roland Kenyon, on the afternoon of the same day.

Roland looked surprised.

"How do you know?" he asked.

Frank showed him the passage quoted above.

"He doesn't send his love to you," said Frank mischievously.

"I don't care for his love," returned Roland, tossing his head. "I'm glad he is going to a distance."

"Why?"

"So he needn't disgrace the family."

"Are you really afraid of that?" asked Frank, in rather a sarcastic tone.

"Yes; he's a bad fellow, and you'll find it out sooner or later."

"I don't agree with you; I think Oliver a fine, manly fellow."

"Oh, I know you have always stuck up for him!" said Roland, annoyed. "You are deceived—that is all."

"Carrie is deceived, too, then," said Frank, knowing that this would tease Roland. "She has just as high an opinion of Oliver as I have."

"She'll find him out sometime," said Roland, and walked moodily away.

Reaching home, he told his father the news.

"Oliver gone to Chicago!" repeated Mr. Kenyon, with evident pleasure. "I am glad of it. I hope he'll never come back to annoy us."

"I hope so, too."

"But I am afraid he will get out of money and write for help."

"He's found some flat who has taken a fancy to him, and is paying his expenses. Very likely he'll get tired of him, though."

"Who is it?" asked Mr. Kenyon, with some curiosity.

"It's a rough sort of a man. Frank Dudley met him one day at Staten Island. An old miner from California, I believe, named Bundy."

"What!" exclaimed his father hastily and in visible agitation. "What is the man's name?"

"Bundy."

"What is his first name?"

"Nicholas, I believe."

"Is it possible?" exclaimed Mr. Kenyon, moved in some unaccountable manner. "How strange the boy should have fallen in with him!"

"Why, do you know him, father?" asked Roland, whose turn it was now to be surprised.

"I have heard of him," answered Mr. Kenyon, in an embarrassed voice; "not lately—years ago."

"What sort of a man is he?" asked Roland, who was endowed with a full share of curiosity.

"His character was bad," answered his father briefly. "He was discharged from his place for dishonesty. I knew very little of him."

"Then he's good company for Oliver," said Roland, shrugging his shoulders. "They are well matched. I'll tell Frank Dudley what sort of a guardian his dear friend has chosen."

"I desire you will do nothing of the kind," said his father hastily.

"Why not?" asked Roland, in surprise.

"I don't care to have it known that I ever heard of the man. Frank Dudley might write to Oliver what I have said, and then it would get to the ears of this man Bundy. I have nothing against him, remember. In fact I am grateful to him for taking the boy off my hands. If we are wise, we shall say nothing to separate them."

"I see," said Roland. "I guess you're right, father. I'd like to tell Frank, but I won't."

"How strange things turn out in this world!" said Kenyon to himself, when Roland had left him. "Of all men in the world Oliver has drifted into the care of the man who hates me most. It is fortunate that I have changed my name. He will never suspect that the step-father of the boy he is befriending is the man he once knew as—Rupert Jones."