Sophie and the Rising Sun by Augusta Trobaugh Read Free Book Online

elderly woman who waited for him to come to her in New York, sent by her brother to bring the money that would deliver her safely into the hands of the loving family in California.
    “Speak to no strangers, my son,” his old father had said to him when he sent him to New York to bring home the aunt, and Mr. Oto had protested, but respectfully, of course, “Father, I am a man of over fifty years. I know how to behave.”
    But the father had persisted. “I hear that the city is full of thieves and murderers. Go quietly, find my sister, and bring her home safely with you. With this deed I charge you.”
    Mr. Oto remembered those words throughout the long, long journey by bus across the country, sometimes thinking of their wisdom and then again rankling bitterly because they seemed to be words such as a father would speak to a young, impetuous, and completely foolish son—not to him! Not with the maturity of his years!
    So that when he arrived in New York, he put away everything his father said, and that was exactly the mistake that cost him everything—his honor, his father’s trust, and even perhaps his aunt’s one opportunity to join her family in faraway California.
    For he had just stepped off the bus in New York when a very well-dressed man came right up to him and offered him the opportunity to gain much more money than he had. Mr. Oto hesitated, but then he thought that perhaps this was a custom of the city—a courtesy extended to strangers from far away. Mr. Oto imagined himself returning to California in triumph—bringing not only his father’s sister, but also more money than his father had given to him when he left. How proud his father would be!
    So he went willingly with the man into an alley near the station, where two other men were laughing together and having great fun with a wonderful game Mr. Oto never heard of. They were throwing white cubes with black dots on them onto the pavement and then exchanging money, still laughing.
    What good luck! he thought—that they were willing to include him in their game, and for only a few pennies. And on the next throw of the cubes, they told him that he had won over ten dollars. When they counted out the pile of dollar bills into his hands, his good will toward those fine fellows nearly brought tears to his eyes. Why at this rate, he would return to his father bearing a great fortune that would assure him of high standing in the community.
    On the next roll of the cubes, he won again, and his new friends piled even more bills into his hands. So he reached deep into his pocket and brought out the roll of money his father had given him for purchasing the two tickets back to California—one for himself and one for his aunt.
    So suddenly, they were upon him, punching him with their hard fists and cursing and kicking him and... worst of all... wrenching the money away from his hand. Finally the punching and the kicking and the screaming curses stopped, and he heard them running away. He opened his bruised eyes to see the two white cubes with the black dots on them lying disinterestedly on the ground before him.
    When he was able to walk, he wandered around the alley, unsure of what to do. Go to his aunt, who was waiting for him, and confess to her? But then what? The money for their bus tickets was gone. What could he do but reveal his stupidity and his shame right to her face?
    No!
    All day, he wept and argued with himself, and that night, he slept—still bruised and aching—beneath a cardboard box in another alley. The next day, he moved about the backstreets as if in a daze, trying to think about what he should do, and hating himself for not listening to his father. By afternoon, hunger began to gnaw ferociously at his belly, and he had trouble remembering where he was and what had happened to him.
    He began digging through the trash cans that stood behind a restaurant where the succulent aromas of food almost drove him insane, and after his empty stomach