Tom turned to meet the smile of a District Telegraph messenger, who was crossing the park to Broadway.
"How's yourself, Mark?" he said. "I'd offer to shake hands, but I've been doin' a little business for these gentlemen, and my gloves ain't handy."
No. 79, following the direction of Tom's nod, glanced at Mr. Talbot and Edgar, and instantly a look of surprise came over his face.
"Why, Uncle Solon, is that you?" he exclaimed.
Solon Talbot looked embarrassed, and seemed in doubt whether to acknowledge his relationship to the humble telegraph boy.
"I haven't seen you for two years, you know."
"And this is Edgar!" continued the telegraph boy. "You've grown so I would hardly know you."
"I hope you are well," said Edgar coldly.
"Thank you. Uncle Solon, where are you staying?"
"Mother would like very much to see you. She would like to ask about grandfather's estate."
"No. 174 St. Mark's Place, near First Avenue."
"We'll call if we can. Edgar, we'll have to hurry away."
As they walked toward the other side of the park at a brisk pace, Tom asked: "You don't mean to say that's your uncle, Mark?"
"Yes; that is, he married my mother's sister."
"Why don't he do something for you and your mother?"
"He was always a very selfish man. But we don't ask any favors--mother and I don't. All we ask is justice."
"My grandfather, that is mother's father and Mrs. Talbot's, died two years ago, and Uncle Solon was the administrator. We supposed he had left a good deal of money, but all we have received from his estate is seventy-five dollars."
"Do you think the old feller's been playin' any game on you?"
"I tell you what, Mark, he deserves a good lickin' if he's cheated you, and I'd like to give it to him."
"Well, Tom, I must be going. I can't stop talking here, or I'll get into trouble at the office."
There is a large tenement house on St. Mark's Place, between Third Avenue and Avenue A. The suites of rooms consist, as is the general New York custom in tenement houses, of one square apartment used as kitchen, sitting room and parlor combined, and two small bedrooms opening out of it.
It was in an apartment of this kind on the third floor back, that Mark Mason's mother and little sister Edith lived. It was a humble home, and plainly furnished, but a few books and pictures saved from the wreck of their former prosperity, gave the rooms an air of refinement not to be found in those of their neighbors.