kind of a life."

"So am I; but we cannot starve," replied the poor woman, bitterly. "It is harder for me than for you, for I was brought up in plenty and luxury, and never knew what it was to want for anything till your father spent all my property, and then became a burden upon me. You have been a good boy, Fitzherbert, and I hope you will not disappoint me now."

"I shall do everything I can for you, mother, of course; but it is hard to be ground down by that man, as I am."

The young gentleman said that man with an emphasis which meant something.

"I cannot help it," sighed the mother.

"Yes, you can. In my opinion,—and I think I understand the matter as well as any other man,—in my opinion, Mr. Checkynshaw owes you fifty thousand dollars, and is keeping you out of your just due. That's what galls me," added Fitz, rapping the table violently with his fist.

"It may be and it may not be. I don't know."

"I know! That man is not an honest man. I know something about his affairs, and if he presumes to discharge me, I shall devote some of my valuable time to the duty of ventilating them."

"Don't you do any such thing, Fitz."

"I will, mother! I will find out whether the money belongs to you or not," added the young man, decidedly. "I have my private opinion about the matter. I know enough about Checkynshaw to feel certain that he wouldn't let fifty thousand dollars slip through his fingers, if by any trickery he could hold on to it. If he has a daughter in France, fifteen years old, as she must be, wouldn't she write to him? Wouldn't he write to her? Wouldn't he go and see her? Wouldn't he send her money? She don't do it; he don't do it. I do all the post-office business for the firm, and no such letters go or come."

Mr. Wittleworth was very decided in his "private opinion;" but at last he so far yielded to the entreaties of his mother as to consent to return to the office, and if Mr. Checkynshaw wasn't savage, he would apologize. This he regarded as a great concession, very humiliating, and to be made only to please his mother.

CHAPTER III.

MR. CHECKYNSHAW IS VIOLENT.

MR. Fitzherbert Wittleworth walked slowly and nervously from his home to the banking-house in State Street. The situation was just as far from pleasant as it could be. He did not wish to deprive the family of the necessaries of life, which were purchased with his meagre salary, on the one hand, and it was almost impossible to endure the tyranny of Mr. Checkynshaw on the other hand. To a young man with so high an opinion of himself as the banker's clerk entertained, the greatest privation to which he could be subjected was a want of appreciation of his personal character and valuable services.

The banker had an utter contempt for him personally, and regarded his salary as high at five dollars a week, which was indeed a high rate for a young man of sixteen. Mr. Checkynshaw sat in his private office, adjoining the banking-house, when Mr. Wittleworth presented himself. He scowled savagely as the young man entered.

"You have concluded to come back—have you?" said he.

"Yes, sir," replied Fitz.

"Well, sir, you have only come to be discharged; for I will no longer have a stupid and useless blockhead about. I was willing to tolerate you for your mother's sake; but I won't submit to your impudence."

Stupid and useless blockhead! It was no use to attempt to effect a reconciliation with a person who had, or professed to have, such an opinion of him. Not even the strait to which his family was reduced could justify him in submitting to such abuse.

"Mr. Checkynshaw, I don't allow any man to insult me," Fitz began. "I have treated you like a gentleman, and I demand as much in return."

"Insult you? Impudent puppy!" gasped Mr. Checkynshaw. "What are we coming to?"

"You insulted me in a public barber's shop. Not content with that, you call me a stupid and useless blockhead—me, sir."

"No more of this! Take your pay, and be gone! There's five dollars, a full week's salary for three days' service," added the banker, pushing a five-dollar bill across the desk towards Fitz.

The young man was not too proud to take it.

"Go! Don't stop here another minute," said the wrathy banker, glancing at the clock, which now indicated the time he had appointed for the coming of Leo Maggimore.

"I am not ready to go just yet. I have a demand to make upon you. You have defrauded my mother out of a fortune."

"That will do! Not another word," said Mr. Checkynshaw, turning red in the face.

"My mother will take steps to obtain her rights."

"Will you go?" demanded the banker.

"No, sir. I will not till I have said what I have to say. You shall either prove that your first daughter is alive, or you shall deliver to my mother the property."

Mr. Checkynshaw could not endure such speech as this from any man, much less from his discharged clerk. He rose from his chair, and rushed upon the slender youth with a fury worthy a more stalwart foe. Grasping him by the collar, he dragged him out of the private office, through the long entry, to the street, and then pitched him far out upon the sidewalk. As he passed through the entry, Leo Maggimore was going into the banking-office. Not knowing the way, he inquired of a person he met in the long hall.

Leo did not know the banker, and was not aware that the excited gentleman he had seen was he; and he did not recognize Fitz in the young man who was so violently hurried before him. He followed the direction given him, and reached the private office of the banker. Through an open window he saw the clerks and cashiers rushing to the door to witness the extraordinary scene that was transpiring in the street. Taking off his cap, he waited for the appearance of Mr. Checkynshaw, who, he supposed, had also gone to "see the fun." As he stood there, a jaunty-looking individual hastily entered the office.

"What do you want?" asked this person.

"I want to see Mr. Checkynshaw," replied Leo.

"Go through that door, and you will find him," added the jaunty-looking man, in hurried tones.

Leo, supposing the man belonged there, did as he was directed, and inquired of an elderly clerk, who had not left his desk, for the banker. He was told to wait in the private office, and he returned, as he was bidden.

He found the jaunty-looking person taking some papers from the safe. He put a quantity of them into the pockets of his overcoat, locked the heavy iron door, and took out the key.

"Mr. Checkynshaw won't be here again to-day. You will have to call to-morrow," said the man, in sharp and decided business tones.

"He sent for me to come to-day at half past two," replied Leo.

"He was unexpectedly called away; come again to-morrow at this time," added the jaunty person, briskly.

"I can't come to-morrow at this hour; school keeps."

"Come at one, then," replied the business man, who did not seem to care whether school kept or not.

"Will you tell him, sir, that I came as he wished, and will call again at one to-morrow?"

"Yes, yes. I will tell him all about it," answered the brisk personage, as he took a small carpet-bag in his hand, and led the way out through the banking-room.

The clerks had returned to their desks, and were again busy over their books and papers; for the excitement had subsided, and people went their way as though nothing had happened. The unwonted scene of a man in Mr. Checkynshaw's position putting a clerk out of his office excited a little comment, and the banker had stopped in the long hall to explain to a bank president the occasion of his prompt and decisive action. Leo and the jaunty man passed him as they left the building; but the boy did not know him from Adam.

"Where do you live, my boy?" asked the jaunty man, coming up to him when he had crossed State and entered Congress Street.

"No. 3