"I don"t make any comparison between us, Maurice," said Gilbert. "I am perfectly willing you should get as high pay as I do."
"You are very kind," said Maurice, sarcastically.
"Now, don"t get mad with a fellow," said Gilbert, good humoredly. "I can"t help it."
But Maurice was sullen all day, and for some days subsequently. He insisted on regarding Gilbert as a successful rival, and would have injured him if he could.
It was about this time that our hero had his thoughts suddenly recalled to the uncle who had defrauded him of his birthright. Walking in Vine street one morning, he suddenly came face to face with the man whose boots he had brushed, more than three years before, on the steps of the Astor House. He knew him at once by the _peculiar scar upon his right cheek_, of which he had taken particular notice when they first met.
CHAPTER XVIII.
UNCLE AND NEPHEW.
Our hero stopped short, and, being directly in the path of his uncle, the latter was compelled to stop, too.
"Mr. Grey," said Gilbert.
"That"s my name," said the other, who had not yet taken particular notice of the youth who addressed him. But, as he spoke, he looked at him, and instantly recognized him. Gilbert could see that he did by his sudden start, and expression of surprise and annoyance. He couldn"t understand how the New York bootblack had been metamorphosed into the well-dressed and gentlemanly-looking young clerk. He regretted so soon acknowledging his name, and marveled how Gilbert could have learned it.
"What business have you with me, young man?" he continued, formally.
"I have wanted to meet you for a long time," said Gilbert.
"Indeed!" said his uncle, with a sneer. "I am rather surprised to hear this, not having, to my knowledge, ever had the honor of seeing you before."
"I am your nephew," said Gilbert, bluntly.
"Then he knows," said Mr. Grey to himself, rather disturbed.
"I confess," he said, in the same sarcastic tone, "I am slightly disturbed at being claimed as a near relative by a stranger whom I happen to encounter in the street. May I ask how you happen to be my nephew?"
"I am the son of your older brother, John," said Gilbert.
"That can hardly be, young man. My brother had but one son, and he died."
"Disappeared, you mean," said Gilbert, significantly.
"There is no doubt that he died," said Mr. Grey, positively.
"Then he has come to life again, for I am he."
"You are an impudent impostor," said Mr. Grey, hotly; "but you have missed your mark. I am not so easily humbugged. I denounce you and your pretensions as alike false. Let me pa.s.s."
As he said this he attempted to pa.s.s Gilbert, but our hero had no intention of losing sight of his uncle.
"Of course you can pa.s.s," he said; "but I shall follow you."
"You will?" demanded his uncle, shaking his cane angrily. "Then I will put you in the hands of the police."
"I don"t think you will," said Gilbert, with perfect composure.
"Why not? What is to hinder me, I should like to know?"
"It wouldn"t be good policy for you to do it."
"Why not, you impudent young rascal?"
"Because I should let the relationship be known."
"Well?"
"And why is it that you deny it?"
"Well," said Mr. Grey, his attention caught, "why do I deny it?"
"Because you are in possession of my father"s property, which, of right, belongs to me!" said Gilbert, firmly, looking his uncle in the eyes. "It is your interest to deny the relationship."
James Grey saw that his long injustice had come home to him at last.
How could this stripling have learned what he had taken such pains to conceal? What was he to do? Was he to admit the boy"s claims, and surrender the estate? He could not make up his mind to do it. He must stave off the attack, if he could.
"This is a ridiculous story," he said. "Somebody has been making a fool of you."
"Didn"t you have an older brother, named John?"
"Yes," Mr. Grey admitted, unwillingly.
"Did he not have a son?"
"Yes; but, as I told you, he died."
"He only disappeared. He was carried away, for what object, you can tell."
"You are dealing in mysteries. I don"t know what you are talking about." Mr. Grey said this, but his troubled look showed that he did not feel as unconcerned as he pretended.
Gilbert continued:
"The man who carried me off was a clerk in your employ. His name was Jacob Morton."
"So he took you to Australia, did he? That"s a likely story."
"Yes. He was supplied with money by you for the purpose. But he did not like Australia. After awhile he returned to New York, and there I was brought up in the streets, suffering every privation, while you were enjoying the property my father left."
"Well, have you got anything more to say? The tale does great credit to your invention."
"Three years ago--a little more, perhaps--I saw you in New York. I brushed your boots on the steps of the Astor House."