”Do you think Uncle Oliver has gone and got married again?“ she asked, in a hollow voice.
”I shouldn’t wonder a mite, ma,“ was the not consolitary reply.
”If so, what will become of us? My poor boy, I looked upon you and myself as likely to receive all of Uncle Oliver’s handsome property. As it is—-“ and she almost broke down.
”Perhaps he’s only engaged?“ suggested Alonzo.
”To be sure!“ said his mother, brightening up.
”If so, the affair may yet be broken off. Oh, Lonny, I never thought your uncle was so artful. His trip to Florida was only a trick to put us off the scent.“
”What are you going to do about it, ma?“
”I must find out as soon as possible where Uncle Oliver is staying. Then I will see him, and try to cure him of his infatuation. He is evidently trying to keep us in the dark, or he would have come back to his rooms.“
”How are you going to find out, ma?“
”I don’t know. That’s what puzzles me.“
”S’pose you hire a detective?“
”I wouldn’t dare to. Your uncle would be angry when he found it out.“
”Do you s’pose Phil knows anything about it?“ suggested Alonzo.
”I don’t know; it is hardly probable. Do you know where he lives?“
”With the woman who called here and said she was your cousin.“
”Yes, I remember, Lonny. I will order the carriage, and we will go there. But you must be very careful not to let them know Uncle Oliver is in New York. I don’t wish them to meet him.“
”All right! I ain’t a fool. You can trust me, ma.“
Soon the Pitkin carriage was as the door, and Mrs. Pitkin and Alonzo entered it, and were driven to the shabby house so recently occupied by Mrs. Forbush.
”It’s a low place!“ said Alonzo contemptuously, as he regarded disdainfully the small dwelling.
”Yes; but I suppose it is as good as she can afford to live in. Lonny, will you get out and ring the bell? Ask if Mrs. Forbush lives there.“
Alonzo did as requested.
The door was opened by a small girl, whose shabby dress was in harmony with the place.
”Rebecca’s child, I suppose!“ said Mrs. Pitkin, who was looking out of the carriage window.
”Does Mrs. Forbush live here?“ asked Alonzo.
”No, she doesn’t. Mrs. Kavanagh lives here.
”Didn’t Mrs. Forbush used to live here?“ further asked Alonzo, at the suggestion of his mother.
”I believe she did. She moved out a week ago.“
”Do you know where she moved to?“
”No, I don’t.“
”Does a boy named Philip Brent live here?“
”No, he doesn’t.“
”Do you know why Mrs. Forbush moved away?“ asked Alonzo again, at the suggestion of his mother.
”Guess she couldn’t pay her rent.“
”Very likely,“ said Alonzo, who at last had received an answer with which he was pleased.
”Well, ma, there isn’t any more to find out here,“ he said.
”Tell the driver–home!“ said his mother.
When they reached the house in Twelfth Street, there was a surprise in store for them.
”Who do you think’s up-stairs, mum?“ said Hannah, looking important.
”Who? Tell me quick!“
”It’s your Uncle Oliver, mum, just got home from Florida; but I guess he’s going somewhere else mum, for he’s packing up his things.“
”Alonzo, we will go up and see him,“ said Mrs. Pitkin, excited. ”I must know what all this means.“
CHAPTER XXVIII.
AN UNSATISFACTORY CONFERENCE.
MR. CARTER was taking articles from a bureau and packing them away in an open trunk, when Mrs. Pitkin entered with Alonzo. It is needless to say that his niece regarded his employment with dismay, for it showed clearly that he proposed to leave the shelter of her roof.
”Uncle Oliver!“ she exclaimed, sinking into a chair and gazing at the old gentleman spell-bound.
Mr. Carter, whose back had been turned, turned about and faced his niece.
”Oh, it is you, Lavinia!“ he said quietly.
”What are you doing?“ asked his niece.
”As you see, I am packing my trunk.“
”Do you intend to leave us?“ faltered Mrs. Pitkin.
”I think it will be well for me to make a change,“ said Mr. Carter.