So Gilbert was reinstated in his old position, at an advanced salary. His income was now seventeen dollars a week,—an amount which enabled him to live very comfortably, and even to lay aside a few dollars every week. Of course, this required the exercise of economy; but Gilbert felt it to be his duty to be prudent, and prepare for a time when his income might be less.

He found the new book-keeper a very different man from Mr. Moore. He was quite as efficient, and far more agreeable. From the first he regarded Gilbert with friendly interest, and treated him as a friend.

For some time Gilbert had seen nothing of Randolph Briggs. The latter occasionally condescended to wonder how that beggar Greyson was getting along, but did not feel any very deep anxiety on his account. One day, however, Randolph ventured down-town, and had the curiosity to enter Mr. Sands’ office.

The book-keeper chanced to be out, and Gilbert was in charge.

Randolph stared in astonishment at our hero.

“How do you happen to be here?” he asked, abruptly.

“Why shouldn’t I be here?” returned Gilbert, pleasantly. “This is my place of business.”

“But, I say, I thought you were sent off.”

“So I was.”

“How did you get back?”

“Mr. Sands took me back, and discharged the book-keeper.”

“Whew!” exclaimed Randolph. “He must think a good deal of you.”

“He believed the charge to be false, and that it was a conspiracy against me.”

Randolph did not know what to think. He had predicted that Gilbert would never get back; and it is not pleasant to be mistaken in one’s predictions.

“Do you board at the same place?” he asked, after a while.

“Yes.”

“Don’t you find it hard to pay your board?”

Gilbert smiled. The question was an impertinent one; but he felt amused rather than offended.

“I have paid regularly so far,” he said.

“How did you do when you were out of a place?”

“I lived on my salary as teacher.”

Randolph opened wide his eyes in astonishment.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I teach in the evening,” explained our hero.

“You don’t say so! Why, you are only a boy!”

“But I know enough to teach a younger boy.”

“Who are you teaching?”

“Fred Vivian.”

“What, Laura’s brother?”

“The same.”

“He don’t come to your room, does he?”

“No, I go there five evenings in the week.”

“Do you get much pay?”

“I don’t think you can expect me to answer that question, Randolph.”

“Why, aint you willing to tell?”

“I’ll tell you so much,—that Mr. Vivian pays me more than Mr. Sands.”

Randolph was silent for a moment. This news was worse than the other. He had an admiration for Laura, and it was very disagreeable to think that while he was not on visiting terms at her house, this boy, so much his social inferior, should be freely admitted to Laura’s presence. Perhaps, however, he only saw Fred.

“Does Laura come into the room when you teach her brother?” he asked.

“Certainly. In fact, I help her a little too.”

“It’s the strangest thing I ever heard of,” muttered Randolph.

“What is?”

“That Mr. Vivian should take a poor office-boy to teach his children.”

“It is strange, but true,” assented Gilbert, smiling.

“I didn’t think you were so artful.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you hadn’t been artful, you wouldn’t have got so thick with the Vivians.”

“I don’t want to get angry with you, Randolph, but I don’t like that remark. Suppose we change the subject. What do you hear from your father?”

“He was in Manchester when we last heard from him.”

“When do you expect him home?”

“In a month or six weeks.”

“You must be glad to have him return.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Randolph. “I’m having a pretty good time.”

“He don’t seem to have overmuch affection for his father,” thought Gilbert. And Gilbert was right. Randolph was very selfish; and his chief regard was for himself. Even his mother, who idolized him, received but a scant return. One reason why Randolph would be sorry to have his father return was, that he was now receiving, from his mother, the six dollars a week which properly should have gone for Gilbert’s board; and of this he would doubtlessly be deprived when Mr. Briggs came back.

“Well, I guess I can’t stay any longer,” said Randolph, looking at his watch. “You haven’t been up to the house lately.”

“No; my evenings are engaged, you know.”

“You’d better come up and dine soon.”

Gilbert was rather surprised at this invitation; but Randolph’s motive was soon apparent.

“If you will, I will go round to the Vivians afterwards with you.”

“Perhaps,” suggested Gilbert, “when I want to be away for an evening, you will go in my place.”

“No, I guess not. I don’t think I should like to teach. I’d rather go with you.”

“I will think of it. At any rate, I thank you for the invitation.”

Randolph went home at once. He wanted to tell his mother the news. It may well be believed that she was not pleased. She would have been glad to hear that he had been compelled to leave the city.

“It seems,” said she, sharply, “that Mr. Briggs is not the only fool in the city.”

“I wonder what father would say to hear that,” chuckled Randolph.

“You know what I mean. He was perfectly infatuated with that Greyson boy; and now it appears that Mr. Vivian is just as much of a dupe.”

“He’s very artful,” suggested Randolph.

“That is the very word to use,” said Mrs. Briggs, energetically. “It does credit to your insight into character.”

“I always thought he was artful,” said Randolph, much flattered.

“He never deceived me,” said his mother, emphatically. “I felt instinctively that he was a boy to be shunned. I dare say he would like to ingratiate himself with your father so far as to induce him to adopt him, and put him on an equality with you.”

“By gracious, I hope not,” exclaimed Randolph, alarmed.

“He shall never do it with my consent,” said Mrs. Briggs, energetically. “Fortunately you have a mother, who is devoted to you, my son.”

“Of course you are, mother. You won’t let father pay Gilbert’s board, after he gets back will you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“And you’ll persuade him to give the extra amount to me?”

“I will do my best; but your father is sometimes very obstinate.”

“It takes you to manage him, mother. Just let him know what you think of Gilbert.”

“He knows that very well already; but I will do my best for you, Randolph.”

Six weeks later Mr. Briggs arrived in New York. Gilbert saw his name in a list of the passengers by the last Cunard steamer, but decided not to call upon him immediately.

“He would think I was applying to have my board paid again,” he said to himself; “and that is no longer necessary.”