"Come upstairs with me, Rupert," said Mr. Malcolm, the clerk. "You've got a head on your shoulders. We'll soon find out what's the matter."

They ascended in the elevator to the third floor, and made their way hurriedly to No. 61.

There was a sound of a child crying inside. Mr. Malcolm tried the door but it was locked.

"Open the door!" he called out.

"I can't," was the answer, in a young child's voice. "It's locked."

"Can't you turn the key?"

"No; I don't know how."

"You will have to get through the transom," said the clerk. "If we only had a step-ladder."

"Lift me up and I'll get through," said Rupert. "I have practiced in a gymnasium."

"Very well, if you think you can."

The clerk bent over, and Rupert, standing on his shoulders, was lifted so that he could reach the transom.

Then, by a skillful movement, he raised himself still farther till he could look inside.

"What do you see?" asked Malcolm.

"There is a man lying on his face on the floor. He must have had a fit or something."

"Can you get through and lower yourself to the floor?"

"I think so. I will try."

"It is the only way to get into the room."

In very quick time Rupert accomplished his object. He turned the key and opened the door.

It was as he had said. A man lay prone upon the floor, and beside him, crying bitterly, was a pretty little boy of five, who was evidently very much frightened.

"Papa sick," he said.

Malcolm bent over the prostrate man, and tearing open his vest placed his hand on his heart.

"The man is dead!" he said, gravely, turning to Rupert.

The child was undressed, and the appearance of the bed showed that he at least had occupied it.

"How long has your papa been lying here?" asked Malcolm.

"I don't know. I woke up a little while ago, and I saw him on the floor."

"Is he cold?" asked Rupert.

"Yes; he must have been lying here for some time. Probably he was about to undress, when he had an attack of some kind, and fell as we see him. Call Dr. Bancroft."

A physician from Massachusetts was one of the guests of the hotel, and occupied Room 57.

Summoned by Rupert, he entered the room, and immediately made an examination of the body.

"Died of heart disease!" he said, briefly.

"Will papa soon be well?" asked the little boy, anxiously.

"We can tell better to-morrow," said the physician, pityingly. "You had better go with this gentleman, so as not to disturb your father, and we will do what we can for him."

Soothed by this assurance, for the little fellow did not understand that his father was beyond earthly help, the boy was led away and put in charge of a sympathetic lady guest for the night.

"Has he been dead long, doctor?" asked Malcolm.

"Probably for over an hour. What is his name?"

"I have forgotten. It is on the register."

"Perhaps we may find a letter in his pocket that will throw light on the matter."

Malcolm put his hand in the inside coat pocket and drew out, first, a letter addressed to

Paul Harvey,
Albany,
New York.

The other had no envelope and seemed to be an open letter. It ran thus:

"To whom it may concern—

"My doctor tells me that I am liable at any moment to drop dead from heart disease. I do not dread death for myself, but when I think of my little Fred, soon to be left fatherless, as he is already motherless, I am filled with anxiety. I am practically alone in the world, and there is no one to whom I can confide. Should death come to me suddenly, I trust some kind-hearted person will adopt Freddie, and supply a father's place to him. In my inside vest pocket will be found securities amounting to eleven hundred dollars. After defraying my funeral expenses there will probably be a thousand dollars left. I leave it to any one who will undertake the care and maintenance of my dear little boy.

Paul Harvey."

The three looked at one another after the clerk had read the letter.

"Here is a responsibility for some one," said Dr. Bancroft. "I wish it were in my power to take the little boy, but I am only here as a guest, and circumstances will not permit."

"I am a bachelor, and should find it impossible to assume such a charge," said the clerk, "though I feel for the little fellow."

An inspiration had come to Rupert. His heart had gone out to the little boy so tragically deprived of his natural protector.

"I will take the little boy if you are willing," he said.

"You! A boy! What can you do with him?" asked Malcolm.

"I am boarding in a nice family," he said. "I will put him under the care of Mrs. Benton, who has a young son of her own."

"But do you realize what a responsibility you are assuming?"

"I do, and I am not afraid. I never had a little fellow, and I shall be very fond of Fred."

"What do you think, doctor?" asked the clerk.

"I think from the little I know of this boy, that, though a young guardian, he will be a reliable one. I recommend that Fred, if that's his name, be put under his charge."

"In that case, according to the father's direction, the money will go to Rupert."

"Please take charge of it, Mr. Malcolm, till the funeral is over. Then we will place it in some bank."

"It will not go very far towards paying for the boy's board and education. He can't be more than five or six."

"When it is gone I will support him."

No objection was made, and it was agreed that Rupert should have the custody of the little orphan, not yet conscious of his loss.