The Last Cruise of the Spitfire or, Luke Foster's Strange Voyage

Excerpt

MYSELF AND MY UNCLE.

"Luke!"

"Yes, Mr. Stillwell."

"Why didn't you sweep and dust the office this morning?"

"I did, sir."

"You did!"

"Yes, sir."

"You did!" repeated the gentleman, who, I may as well state, was my esteemed uncle. "I must say, young man, that lately you have falsified to an astonishing degree."

"Excuse me, but I have not falsified—not to my knowledge, sir."

"Stop; don't contradict me——"

"I am telling the truth, sir."

"Stop, I tell you! I will not have it! Look here, and then dare to tell me that this office has seen the touch of a broom or duster this day!"

And my Uncle Felix motioned me majestically into his office with one hand, while with the other he pointed in bitter scorn at the floor.

Mr. Felix Stillwell was in a bad humor. His sarcastic tones told this quite as well as the sour look upon his face. Evidently some business matters had gone wrong, and he intended to vent the spleen raised thereby upon me. He was a high-strung man at the best, and when anything went wrong the first person in his way was sure to catch the full benefit of his ire.

I was an orphan, and had lived with my Uncle Felix three years. Previous to that time I was a scholar at the Hargrove Military and Commercial Academy, a first class training-school for boys, situated upon the Palisades, overlooking the Hudson River.

My father was a retired lawyer, who, being in ill health, went with my mother on a two years' trip to Europe. They journeyed from place to place for sixteen months, and then lost their lives in a terrible railway accident in England. The death of both my parents at once was a fearful blow to me, and for a long while I could not think, and was utterly unable to judge what was taking place around me. At the end of three months I was informed that Mr. Stillwell had been appointed my guardian, and then I was taken from school and placed in his office in New York City.

My duties at the office of Stillwell, Grinder & Co. were varied. In the morning I was expected to clean everything as bright as a pin. Then I went to the post-office, and on a dozen other errands; after which I did such writing as was placed in my hands.

For this work I was allowed my board, clothing and fifty cents a week spending money—not a large sum, but one with which I would have been content had other things been equal.

But they were far from being so. I lived with my uncle, but I was not treated as one of the family. His wife—I do not care to call her my aunt—was a very proud woman who had come from a blue-blooded Boston family, and she hardly deigned to notice me. When she did it was in a patronizing manner, as if I was a menial far beneath her.

My two cousins, Lillian and Augustus, were even less civil. Lillian, who was a fashionable miss of seventeen, never spoke to me excepting when she wanted something done, and Gus, as every one called him, thought it his right to order me around as if I was his valet.

In the matter of food and clothing I was scarcely considered. Any of Gus's cast-off suits were thought good enough for the office, and my Sunday suit was two years old....