treatment of her own cousin."

It was arranged that on the morrow Mrs. Forbush and Julia should close
their small house, leaving directions to sell the humble furniture at
auction, while Mr. Carter and Philip would come up from the Astor House.

"What will the Pitkins say when they hear of it?" thought Philip. "I am
afraid they will feel bad."

CHAPTER XXVII.

AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE.

While these important changes were occurring in the lives of Philip
Brent and the poor cousin, Mrs. Pitkin remained in blissful ignorance
of what was going on. Alonzo had told her of his encounter with Phil on
Broadway and the intelligence our hero gave him of his securing a place.

"You may rest assured the boy was lying, Lonny," said Mrs. Pitkin.
"Boys don't get places so easily, especially when they can't give a
recommendation from their last employer.

"That's just what I thought, ma," said Alonzo.

"Still Phil looked in good spirits, and he was as saucy as ever."

"I can believe the last very well, Lonny. The boy is naturally
impertinent. They were probably put on to deceive you."

"But how does he get money to pay his way?" said Alonzo puzzled.

"As to that, he is probably selling papers or blacking boots in the
lower part of the city. He could make enough to live on, and of course
he wouldn't let you know what he was doing."

"I hope you're right, ma. I'd give ever so much to catch him blacking
boots in City Hall Park, or anywhere else; I'd give him a job. Wouldn't
he feel mortified to be caught?"

"No doubt he would."

"I've a great mind to go down town to-morrow and look about for him."

"Very well, Lonny. You may to if you want to."

Alonzo did go; but he looked in vain for Phil. The latter was employed
in doing some writing and attending to some accounts for Mr. Carter, who
had by this time found that his protege was thoroughly well qualified
for such work.

So nearly a week passed. It so chanced that though Uncle Oliver had now
been in New York a considerable time, not one of the Pitkins had met him
or had reason to suspect that he was nearer than Florida.

One day, however, among Mrs. Pitkin's callers was Mrs. Vangriff, a
fashionable acquaintance.

"Mr. Oliver Carter is your uncle, I believe?" said the visitor.

"Yes."

"I met him on Broadway the other day. He was looking very well."

"It must have been a fortnight since, then. Uncle Oliver is in Florida."

"In Florida!" repeated Mrs. Vangriff,